House of Lime

Reading List 2012

2012-01-03T01:16:00.002-06:00

A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle

Machine Man - Max Barry

Big Babies - Sherwood Kiraly

*current as of January 26, 2012*

Reading List 2011

2011-12-30T12:50:00.000-06:00

As with the last part of 2010, I haven't put effort into blogging lately, though I'm still a frequent library visitor. Here are the books of 2011. As always, please leave a comment if you have any questions, and especially if you have a good recommendation.

My Year of Flops - Nathan Rabin

The Wisdom of Crowds - James Surowiecki

One Day - David Nicholls

The Irresistible Henry House - Lisa Grunwald

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest - Stieg Larsson

Mockingjay (Hunger Games #3) - Suzanne Collins

Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea - Barbara Demick

Gunn's Golden Rules - Tim Gunn

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War - Max Brooks

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk - David Sedaris

The Spellmans Strike Again - Lisa Lutz

The Devotion of Suspect X - Keigo Higashino

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks - Rebecca Skloot

How I Became a Famous Novelist - Steve Hely

The Dead Fathers Club - Matt Haig

Flashforward - Robert J. Sawyer

Half Empty - David Rackoff

A Red Herring Without Mustard - Alan Bradley

The Passage - Justin Cronin

Bossypants - Tina Fey

Unfamiliar Fishes - Sarah Vowell

Going Bovine - Libba Bray

Claire DeWitt and the City of the Dead - Sara Gran

Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea Handler

Ready Player One - Ernest Cline

Detours - Jeffrey Ricker

Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher

Spook - Mary Roach

A Visit From the Goon Squad - Jennifer Egan

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? - Mindy Kaling

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon - Stephen King

The Chronicles of Harris Burdick - Chris van Allsburg

I Am Half-Sick of Shadows - Alan Bradley

The First Husband - Laura Dave

Turn of Mind - Alice LaPlante

*current as of December 31, 2011*

This American Life

2011-02-09T10:10:00.000-06:00

I've often said that at some point, I'd really like to visit all fifty states. Ideally, I would see at least one point of interest in each one; in other words, sitting in the Minneapolis airport for a couple of hours doesn't count. Since the beginning of the year is always a fun time to get organizational stuff done, here's the list as it stands. Crossed out states are well and visited. Parenthetical states can technically be checked off the list, but it would be better to go back and see more (witness the short drive and corn purchase in North Carolina). The rest I have never set foot in, unless it was one of those disqualified layovers or something similar.

~~Alabama~~
Alaska
Arizona
(Arkansas)
~~California~~
Colorado
Connecticut
(Delaware)
~~Florida~~
~~Georgia~~
Hawaii
Idaho
~~Illinois~~
~~Indiana~~
~~Iowa~~
~~Kansas~~
~~Kentucky~~
~~Louisiana~~
Maine
~~Maryland~~
Massachusetts
~~Michigan~~
Minnesota
Mississippi
~~Missouri~~
Montana
~~Nebraska~~
~~Nevada~~
New Hampshire
~~New Jersey~~
New Mexico
~~New York~~
(North Carolina)
North Dakota
~~Ohio~~
Oklahoma
Oregon
~~Pennsylvania~~
Rhode Island
South Carolina
South Dakota
~~Tennessee~~
~~Texas~~
Utah
Vermont
~~Virginia~~
Washington
(West Virginia)
~~Wisconsin~~
Wyoming

And for good measure...~~Washington, D.C.~~

Now, let's get to work on crossing more off the list. Road trip, anyone?

Reading List 2010

2010-12-31T22:36:00.001-06:00

I've gotten a good jump on my 2010 reading, and happily, the books I've started with are already a generally better bunch than the majority of the ones I got to in 2009. As always, if you've read something wonderful, please leave a comment. My to-read list has dipped to a dangerously low number.

Persuasion - Jane Austen
Lady Susan - Jane Austen

Whenever I hear Jane Austen discussed, it's always Pride and Prejudice this and Sense and Sensibility that. I liked both of those books just fine, so I was surprised to find that I enjoyed Emma more than either of them. It turns out that it wasn't just a fluke, because Persuasion is a wonderful novel, and also outranks those two superstars. Anne Eliot, the protagonist, strikes me as more emotionally mature than many Austen heroines, which shapes the story a lot differently than some of the other stories that involve an innocent girl navigating the social scene to land a man. Anne actually once had a crack at the man she loves, but allowed herself to be talked out of the relationship. When he re-enters her life years later, she has to vie for his affection again. She also has to deal with an embarrassing social climbing family, and the stings of their snobbery and overspending are by turns cringeworthy and hilarious, and are still relevant today.

Lady Susan is not as well-known. It's an epistolary novel, and one of the most interesting things about it is that it features the only full-on, unapologetic, manipulative bitch in the entire Austen collection. There are plenty of distasteful Austen characters, but Lady Susan is above and beyond in her selfishness and scheming. The Post Office gets a workout, as letters from all the characters fly back and forth, describing Lady Susan's attempts to break up marriages, subdue her daughter, and establish her superiority over her sister-in-law. There isn't much in the way of actual events, but my fascination with a purely evil Austen character made it worth the read.

Food Matters: A Guide to Conscious Eating with More Than 75 Recipes - Mark Bittman

I'm always interested in what I'm eating and how it's prepared. Mark Bittman wrote How to Cook Everything, which is the best cookbook in my arsenal. It seemed that this book would be a nice marriage of the two, but unfortunately, it didn't tell me much I didn't already know. As with a lot of current books and movies that outline the problems with the way Americans eat today, if you've read Fast Food Nation and The Omnivore's Dilemma, you've already heard it all before. Artificial ingredients bad. Plants good. Got it. Even the recipes in the book were disappointing. If you've never done any digging into the world of "moral" eating, you could do worse than this offering, but that's about the highest praise I can offer.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie - Alan Bradley

This was one of the first books I read this year, and got the reading list off to a rousing start. Flavia de Luce is an eleven-year-old girl who lives in a small English town, and who spends all of her time studying chemistry, which is her great passion. Her father is distant and her sisters are obnoxious, so she retreats to her lab, where she carries out her research and experiments. It's the only source of her happiness. That is, until she finds a dying man in the cucumber patch, and excitedly resolves to solve his murder. Her ensuing adventures are grand fun, and made this a terrific read. I'm clearly not the only one who thought so, as the library's waiting list for the second Flavia de Luce book is a mile long.

Death Match - Lincoln Child

Over Christmas vacation, I spent a week down at LabRat's parents' house in the mountains of Georgia. Once I'd wiped out my library books, I scanned their shelves for something to occupy my time, and happened across this mystery. Dr. Christopher Lash used to be a forensic psychologist for the FBI, but agrees to take on work for a private company. This company is about the most powerful entity in the world, because they are a highly successful...computer dating service. No, really. They hire Lash because some of the couples they've matched up begin committing joint suicide, and they want to know why. Though there are some interesting avenues explored, the story goes beyond implausible into silly, and at one point, Child mixes up the names of some characters. I guess by that time, even the editors were too bored to pay attention.

First Among Sequels - Jasper Fforde
The Big Over Easy (Nursery Crime #1) - Jasper Fforde

I go back and forth a little bit on the Thursday Next novels. Some are better than others, and yet all of them leave me with a feeling of "Mmmm. That was fairly good. It didn't blow my socks off, but it was interesting." Welcome to First Among Sequels: Not An Exception. I did like the disparate plotlines in this one more than I have in others, but aside from The Eyre Affair, all of the Thursday Next books tend to wander in a hundred directions, and could do with some focus.

Focus which is finally achieved in the Nursery Crime series (at least the first one). I guess when it comes to Thursday Next stories, Fforde can sprint off in whatever direction he likes, and so he picks all of them. In The Big Over Easy, he must adhere to a more traditional nursery rhyme plot basis, and so the tangents are thankfully reined in. This first book deals with detective Jack Spratt and his new assistant Mary Mary, who are working to solve the murder of Humpty Dumpty, found shattered beneath a wall. Though they must wade through familiar territory in departmental disputes, red herrings, and motives aplenty, the book gives a lot of nods and winks as it tweaks traditional mystery "rules". Though the Thursday Next series can be enjoyable, this one really tightened up the narrative.

The Enthusiast - Charlie Haas

Hmm. What's this book about? Well, supposedly, it's about an aimless guy who seeks purpose in working at a string of magazines about other people's hobbies. In reality, it's a rambling tale in which nothing really happens, and nobody really cares, least of all me. This earned a rare one-star review over at Goodreads, and made me wonder who the audience for such a pointless non-story is.

I Am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to be Your Class President - Josh Lieb

This book is 97% hilarious. It's the story of evil genius Oliver Watson, who is unfortunately stuck with the fact that he is twelve years old. That doesn't stop him from setting up shell corporations to make his fortune, inventing new gizmos to terrify and annoy, or torturing his overly earnest father with faux stupidity. However much he hates his father, he still wants his approval, and so Oliver sets out to win the election for class president, which he figures will be a cakewalk. He soon finds that overthrowing African dictators is far easier than convincing pre-teen assholes to like you. I mention the 97% figure, because as funny as this book is, it doesn't have much of a payoff. Though the ending is mildly disappointing, the rest of the book more than makes up for it, and I'd certainly recommend a reading.

A Bad Day for Sorry: A Crime Novel - Sophie Littlefield

Was "A Crime Novel" really a necessary addendum? Wouldn't anyone who picked this up and read the flap realize that this is a crime novel? In any event, it is a crime novel, and frankly, a pretty paint-by-numbers one. Stella Hardesty was an abused wife, until she got fed up and killed her husband. Now she's an aging badass, and quietly hires herself out to intimidate other abusive men in the rural Missouri area. If the book had thoroughly explored this plotline, it would have been an interesting read. As it is, Littlefield runs out of steam with that train of thought, and so throws Stella into a violent showdown with the mob that comes out of nowhere. Putting aside the laughable idea that an organized crime syndicate would need a base of operations in Nowheresville, Missouri, I wish this book would have picked one story and stuck with it. As it is, it's a novel with the kernel of good idea, but that kernel never pops.

Revenge of the Spellmans (Spellman Series #3) - Lisa Lutz

As evidenced by the title, this is the third of the Spellman books. I really liked the first two, though I didn't enjoy the second as much as the first. This caused me to worry a bit that Lutz started out with her strongest material, and would never be able to recreate it. That didn't happen, though, because Revenge of the Spellmans is really good. Isabel Spellman is still trying to navigate the tricky waters of her manipulative, secretive family, but she also has some actual detective work to get done as well. It's very funny stuff, especially when added to Isabel's reluctance to attend court-ordered therapy.

Personal Days - Ed Park

This book struck me as the love child between The Company and The Boy Detective Fails. From the former, it's a successfully harrowing tale of trying to forge a career in a company where nothing gets done, and your job may be lost at a moment's notice for no particular reason. From the latter, a disjointed writing style that keeps your nerves on edge (in a good way). As with many books I've read lately, the ending doesn't quite live up to the rest of the book; it seems many authors either paint themselves into a corner or just want to be done with the damn thing already. That's not to say I don't recommend this book, though. It was engrossing to the point that I stayed up way too late, just so I could finish it.

Shatter - Michael Robotham

Sometimes, I'm in the mood to read one of those dime-a-dozen crime thrillers that get dropped by the truckload on the public. Then I'm always surprised when they don't turn out to be spectacularly good. Strange. I don't have any strong objections to this book, which is about a clinical psychologist who tries to solve the apparently motiveless suicides of local women. By the same token, I don't have much to praise, either. It kept my attention from beginning to end, but it indulged in an annoying ploy wherein trained psychologists and police officers don't leap to the most obvious conclusion, which of course turns out to be the key to the whole thing. These books are the literary equivalent of potato chips; they're simple and they pass the time.

I, Lorelei - Yeardley Smith

Yes, that Yeardley Smith. I like to read a mix of genres, and what better way to mix it up than a children's book by an actress whose work I thoroughly enjoy? The story is fleshed out very well, and is told via a diary that describes the events of a few short months, during which Lorelei Connelly mourns her recently-deceased cat (whom all the journal entries are written to), tries out for the school play, and tries to make sense of her parents' rapidly-crumbling marriage. In a very refreshing turn of events, the family problems are not wrapped up in a tidy little package by the end of the book, but Lorelei has certainly matured during the journey.

This is Where I Leave You - Jonathan Tropper

This is ostensibly the story of Judd Foxman, who loses his father (to cancer), wife (to infidelity), home (to aforementioned infidelity), and job (to aforementioned infidelity, which took place between aforementioned wife and Judd's boss) all in quick succession. Really, it's about the Foxman family, who is utterly screwed up, and whose members all pretty much detest one another. When Judd's father dies, he's told that the old man's dying wish was for the family to sit shiva together for seven full days. The family doesn't even like spending seven minutes together, but they agree out of what little sense of filial duty they have left. Over the course of the week, all of the family issues come out and fought over, but as you can probably guess, Judd is able to resolve some longstanding problems and get a fresh start on life. It was a good read, even if some of the passive-aggressive sniping hits a little close to home.

Friends Like These - Danny Wallace

A fun non-fiction book that strikes a chord with a lot of people, including myself. A guy who's about to turn thirty is horrified to discover that he's growing up, and is beginning to act like a boring, responsible adult. His response to this is to track down childhood friends, long since out of touch, to see if they're going through the same thing. The journey finds him traveling the world, reforging relationships, and coming to terms with what's expected of him in the next phase of his life. It's extremely funny, and packs an unexpected emotional wallop, as well.

John Dies at the End - David Wong

I guess the title kind of lets the cat out of the bag, eh? I have to say, a lot of books claim to be "scary", by which they mean "gross". This book, on the other hand, actually unsettled me. And yeah, was pretty gross, too. It's difficult to summarize in a few sentences, but basically, there's a new drug on the street that causes the user to be aware of all of the otherworldly beasts trying to destroy the human race. Two slacker dudes who find themselves saddled with this "gift" do their best to fight against the encroaching holocaust. They suck at it. It's actually a very good read, though I wish someone would have told me it's one of those cliffhanger books that doesn't have an actual ending.

So... after the above list was written, the Age of Blogging slowed to a crawl. That doesn't mean I stopped reading, however, so let's wrap up the list with the rest of the books I read in 2010. No reviews - just the titles and authors of the books in the order I read them. Some were great, some were so-so, and some sucked, so if you're reading this at some point in the future, and have questions or comments about one of the books, feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an email.

True Confections: A Novel - Katherine Weber

My Mother's Keeper - B.D. Hyman

Official Book Club Selection - Kathy Griffin

The Hole We're In - Gabrielle Zevin

The Girl Who Played With Fire - Stieg Larsson

The Fourth Bear - Jasper Fforde

Triangle - Katherine Weber

The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag - Alan Bradley

I Was Told There'd Be Cake - Sloane Crosley

Game Change: Obama and the Clintons, McCain and Palin, and the Race of a Lifetime - John Heilemann and Mark Halperin

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain

Lockdown: Escape From Furnace - Alexander Gordon Smith

Insignificant Others: A Novel - Stephen McCauley

These Children Who Come at You With Knives, and Other Fairy Tales - Jim Knipfel

Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang - Chelsea Handler

The Great Perhaps: A Novel - Joe Meno

Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook - Anthony Bourdain

How Did You Get This Number - Sloane Crosley

Last Call: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition - Daniel Okrent

I Shall Wear Midnight - Terry Pratchett

The Fortune Cookie Chronicles: Adventures in the World of Chinese Food - Jennifer 8 Lee

Modern Fairies, Dwarves, Goblins, and Other Nasties: A Practical Guide by Miss Edythe McFate - Lesley M.M. Blume

The Guinea Pig Diaries: My Life as an Experiment - A.J. Jacobs

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake - Aimee Bender

Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex - Mary Roach

Man of the House - Stephen McCauley

*current as of December 31, 2010*

Jug Band

2010-11-04T10:36:00.007-05:00

LabRat and I stop just short of actively worshipping Dionysus. Okay, not really, but wine does flow freely through our veins. Local business owners somehow sensed this, and opened a wine shop -- complete with reasonably-priced membership club -- within walking distance of the apartment. And that, as they say, was that. Rather than sticking to old favorites, we began trying new wines at a rapid pace. Some were fantastic. Some were blah. Some weren't fit for human consumption. LabRat, knowing of my affinity for list-making and organization, set me to the task of keeping track of the many, many, many types of wine we now encounter. After all, when you're half-sauced, it's important to have a written record of the highs and lows. Feel free to take the following notes as recommendations (or anti-recommendations), but they're mostly just for reference.

EXCELLENT

White

Borealis White Blend
Columbia Winery Gewurztraminer
Hahn Estates Pinot Gris
Mar de Frades Albarino

Red

Brujeria Red Blend (Misfit Wine Co. of Southeastern Australia)
Hahn Estates Pinot Noir
Layer Cake "Primitivo" Zinfandel
Meiomi Pinot Noir

Other

PRETTY DARN GOOD

White

Bloom Gewurztraminer
Columbia Winery Riesling
Fetzer Gewurztraminer - (our go-to choice for affordable, "weekday" white wine)
Kung Fu Girl Riesling
Rabbit House Chardonnay (especially considering that chardonnays usually top out at a "meh")
Santa Margarita Pinot Grigio
Seven Daughters White Blend
Blonde Bombshell White Blend
Bin 36 Chardonnay

Red

Rabbit House Pinot Noir
Seven Daughters Red Blend
Gnarly Head Zinfandel (would be "meh" if expensive, but very good for a cheap wine)

Other

MEH

White

Bloom Riesling
Covey Run Gewurztraminer
Shoofly Viognier
Caymus Conundrum White Blend

Red

Wyndham Estate Bin 555 Shiraz
Genesis Syrah

Other

Turkey Flat Rose
Twin Fin Rose - (Great, considering it rarely cracks five bucks)

SWILL

Red

Tiz Red Blend
Gnarly Head Pinot Noir

White

Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc
Nahe Weingut Gewurztraminer Spatlese
Star Lane Sauvignon Blanc
Freaky Muscato

Other

Pink Ink Rose (LabRat likes this one, but I hate it, and I'm the one with the password to the blog)

That's the Thing

2010-04-29T09:41:00.007-05:00

It's a progressive era, and I feel I can come out of the closet with this:

We all get particular cravings. As I sit here typing this, my frequent yen for sushi is flaring up, and it's not even ten in the morning. That causes some raised eyebrows when I admit it in mixed company, though nobody bats an eyelash when someone else admits to eating a pound of Starburst jellybeans in one sitting. This kind of bias cannot be allowed to continue. The sweet tooth majority gets all the press in our society, but that's over. I'm compelled to speak up for the silent millions who must share my devotion to the more savory aspects of the flavor wheel. It's time to garner support for the Salt Tooth.

Now, I like dessert as much as the next guy. Hell, I devote a full section of the blog to it. A well-made key lime pie will make my day. All that aside, I never crave sweets. If you told me tomorrow that I'd never again be able to eat another candy bar, I'd be disappointed. If you told me I could never experience another unagi platter, I'd lose my damn mind. My mom could spin you stories of how, when I was growing up, my after-dinner answer to "What would you like for dessert?" was, more often than not, "The rest of the wild rice."

My love of salty food is so broad that it gets broken down into sub-cravings. Sometimes, my urges are focused on strong, fishy flavors -- anchovies, sardines, smoked trout and/or salmon, sushi, caviar, pickled herring, and so on. Sometimes, the focus is more on the general snacks that incorporate salt, like pretzels or chips. Whoever thought up the sea salt/vinegar combination deserves a Nobel prize. Then, there are times when my taste buds call out for savory sauces. This is where the words "soy" and "Worcestershire" get thrown around a lot, and Chinese restaurants find their phones ringing off the hook. There's almost no end to the delights a salt tooth can seek out for himself. Strong cheeses. Spicy soups. Margaritas.

As I call attention to the plight of the poor, ignored salt tooth, a conflict brews. Just as the Civil War tore households asunder, I must, in the interest of full disclosure, report that I live with a sweet tooth. Check that, I live with King Sweet Tooth. While I'm tossing capers onto my sandwich to give it a salt boost, he's digging around in the cabinet to make sure we have enough cocoa powder. At barbecues, my plate is loaded with gherkins, his with brownies. A friend of mine once gave me tins of sardines for Hanukkah. All he asked for one Christmas was for his mom to make a chocolate pie. In truth, the war analogy is not a particularly apt one, because our parting of the ways actually benefits both of us. I'd imagine others would get a bit snappish to find their Valentine's Day candy plundered by the loved one who gave it to them, but I'm content to hand over the buttercreams if he doesn't object to me snatching the dill pickle off his plate at delicatessens.

My salt cravings are strong, but I'm not ruled by them. I can generally fight the urges, if need be. LabRat is not so fortunate. He's a full-fledged addict, and when the sweet tooth calls, he cannot help but answer. Not only that, but I learned soon after we started dating that he is almost constantly under the thrall of his "thing". No, not like that, perv. LabRat's "thing" is the food that he's completely devoted to, eating it at every opportunity, until he finally gets bored with it, and moves on to the next "thing". I generally cast around for variety in my salt fixes. LabRat demands consistency.

Shortly after we met, and started spending more and more time together, I noticed that LabRat was awfully devoted to Fudgsicles. Once in a while, we'd get the variety pack of popsicles (banana, root beer, lemon, and lime for me -- cherry, raspberry, grape, and strawberry for him), but the lion's share of his attention went straight to the chocolate.

One day, we decided to try a couple of the Mrs. Edwards ready-made pie slices. LabRat got the Butterfinger pie, and that was all she wrote for the Fudgsicles. Every day or so, another small box with a single slice of pie would appear in the freezer, only to disappear soon after. Hilariously, LabRat would never buy the full-sized pie, claiming he only wanted one slice. This particular "thing" was the only one that was tragically not terminated by LabRat himself. The pie was discontinued, and his ravenous sweet tooth was forced to find another outlet.

After a brief foray into a gummi bear "thing", he found a doozy in ice cream, which spread into a multi-month, three-part "thing", starting with Breyers vanilla ice cream with Hershey's syrup on top. This combination held strong until it became a bit too tame (or too vanilla, dare I say), and he moved on to the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup flavor. This lasted for a good, long while until the grocery shrink ray hit. Then came the pinnacle of the ice cream "thing": Haagen-Dazs Vanilla Bean. Not just "vanilla". "Vanilla Bean". Even this resident salt tooth must admit that it's an extraordinary flavor. LabRat would have happily taken his paycheck in pints of the stuff, given the chance.

His passion for it eventually waned, though it took several months. He had a little withdrawal, even spending a couple of weeks without a "thing". It was not to last, though, and just about the time we moved into our new apartment, the Little Debbie Nutty Bar "thing" took root. I'm firmly convinced that the sale on multiple boxes of Little Debbie products offered by the local grocery store came about because they noticed that Nutty Bars were flying off the shelves. They just didn't realize they were all flying to the same place.

A couple of weeks ago, I noticed the Nutty Bars weren't omnipresent on the kitchen counter anymore. There goes another "thing"! I was curious to see what would take their place. Then, we made one of our occasional jaunts to the nearby Steak 'n Shake. I, of course, was all over the chicken fingers. On a whim, I also decided to try their new specialty shake, made with Hershey's Special Dark flavoring. LabRat asked for a sip, and his eyes lit up. Uh, oh. Sure enough...

We're well into this new "thing" now. And I got him hooked by giving him his first taste! This must be how drug dealers get started.

Blogger, Interrupted

2010-04-15T13:00:00.003-05:00

Just a temporary post to mention that I made a resolution to get some blog posts written. Fifteen minutes after I made this resolution, my home computer imploded. Hopefully, it's fixable, but in the meantime, I'm afraid our new deck garden and other fun spring events will go unblogged. What is this, the Stone Age?

Monkey See...

2010-03-20T16:52:00.003-05:00

4Up

As winter starts to loosen its death grip, and the season of renewal is upon us, it sees fit to throw another broad hint about the relentless passage of time in my face; my nephew is growing up at an alarming rate.

I took a jaunt across to Kansas City to spend the weekend with Veruca, Monkey, Sparkletooth, and my dad and stepmother, and was amazed at Monkey's progress. He's crossed that magical, unknowable barrier from "baby" to "little person".

The two monkeys.

The weekend was full of surprises, from Monkey's newfound skill at jigsaw puzzles and skeeball to his determination to wear a particular pair of socks, come hell or high water. I floated a couple of the jokey interview questions from years past...

Limecrete: Hey, Monkey. Do you have a girlfriend?
Monkey: No.

But as his verbal skills increase, the answers aren't as funny anymore. Postscript to that answer, by the way: Veruca says it's a big lie. There's a girl at school that fawns all over him. Like any kid, he went through big 'ol mood swings during the weekend, but there's always one surefire way to put a grin on someone's face:

There's the family resemblance.

Through the Drinking Glass

2010-02-27T19:46:00.006-06:00

I understand that viewers aren't supposed to take commercials very literally. Ads are meant to be over-the-top, so that we'll catch whatever exaggerated point they're lobbing at us. I get it. Thing is, though, that the characters in the ads still need to have a tenuous link to actual humanity. If a lady dressed as a clown did a triple backflip into the room and screamed "DRINK MINUTE MAID!!!!" into the camera, you'd be flummoxed, and rightly so. Though I may mutter about a clear mislead here and a wild character inconsistency there, I'm generally inclined to let most of these things go. But when a commercial is entirely composed of nothing but idiotic events and people that only exist in Commercial World, I have to point it out.

Take it away, puffy Luke Wilson, who's wearing a jacket that appears to have been stolen from my grandfather:

That was thirty seconds long. And in this infinitesimally tiny little slice of time, the following things assault my brain:

1) What's up with the overall design of the restaurant? Why are there brilliantly-lit hanging lamps blazing in what seems to be the middle of a sunny day? Why are there so many speakers hanging from the ceiling, and why are they so obtrusive? What the hell is that thing at the right that looks like one of those eighteenth-century folding screens to hide the modest as they get dressed? This place looks like an actual restaurant like the old Star Trek sets looked like actual outer space.

2) The lady who whines "Where are all my apps?" looks like Amy Poehler. Distractingly so. Every time she pops up, a microsecond of my mind fires off with "What the hell is Amy Poehler doing in this commercial?"

3) There has been nobody in the history of time, nor will there ever be a person in what remains left of humanity's reign who grouses: "Where's my cool phone?" unironically.

4) You'll note that nobody complaining about their phone complains about placing, receiving, or dropping a TELEPHONE CALL. Those with developed senses of inductive reasoning can guess why AT&T would like to shift the focus away from network reliability.

5) And why are these people taking out their frustration on the restaurant? Is that a glass breaking sound in the background? Acting like a tantrum-throwing child is supposed to be cute or amusing now?

6) Actually, that feeds into the biggest problem I have with this ad. Nobody's eating solo at this restaurant. Everyone has a dining companion or two. And yet, every single person is ignoring everyone they're with in favor of their phones. Who cares where your apps went, when you should be paying attention to your husband/boyfriend/coworker? If your download is so slow, maybe you could spend the downtime setting down the phone and -- Horrors! -- having an actual conversation with someone present. We're supposed to watch this commercial and think "Tee-hee! These poor folks had the wool pulled over their eyes, and have to put up with an inferior product! Burn!" I see this commercial and think "Everyone in this place is a raging asshole."

I've taken some teasing for railing against this commercial. "It's a commercial," people say as they roll their eyes at me. That's fine; I'll take the hit. It is silly to overanalyze ads. But it's not like I'm tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because I'm just so darned angry at that stupid lady and her "cool" phone. It's just that I find it weird that someone wrote this idea down on a piece of paper, and a sizable group of other people listened to it and said, "Great! Run with it!"

Hap Birth!

2010-02-21T16:28:00.004-06:00

January may have been an awful, terrible, no-good, very bad month, but fortunately, February has almost entirely gotten me back to a more positive frame of mind. Sure, it has given us miserable weather for pretty much its entirety. That aside, things have taken a turn for the better. Or if not better, it has set me on a more determined path to make them better.

I made a list of all of those persistent little problems I was having, and started making a concerted effort to face them. The furniture still hasn't sold, but I'm making sure to keep the ad updated. Normally, I'd just chuck the stuff out onto the curb, but LabRat has helped me keep my patience so that I can hopefully make a few bucks, even if it's minimal. The dental issues are behind me (barring the permanent filling that is getting put in this week to replace the temporary one I got at the checkup), and I've been flossing like a madman to keep my gums from erupting again. I've started my taxes, and am just waiting for the incompetent financial group I wisely severed ties with last year to get me the documents I need before I wrap them up. Making progress on little things like these has helped calm me down, so now I can concentrate on bigger issues.

February has also contained some fairly fun stuff. LabRat and I don't make a huge deal of Valentine's Day, but we both like eating out, and we both like candy, so it's generally a good chance to get both. I wanted to add a little present to the mix, so I bought tickets for the Omnimax show at the Science Center. I unabashedly love Omnimax shows; they always turn me into a little kid full of wonder. This one was about undersea life, and was terrific. Plus, we got home before the skies opened up with some snow that was romantically photogenic, but not much fun to drive in. I let LabRat handle the driving to dinner, which wasn't the best Valentine's meal we ever had, but we still managed to have a good time. Once we got home, we took a walk in the pretty snow, then went back home for comfy clothes and hot tea.

Adventure Dining has been on hold for a while, but I managed to put one together last week. We tried a Nicaraguan place that was tiny. It only had about seven tables, and once the couple that was there when we arrived packed up, we had the place to ourselves. The food was great, I had an interesting milk-based drink with cloves and cinnamon, and the owner had a nice talk with us afterwards about wanting to bring a Latin drag show/gay bar to the area. Now, there would be a night on the town. It's always great to realize that you're having fun while you're having it, instead of just looking back with fondness, and Nicaraguan dinner was certainly one of those nights.

So February has really shaped up. Today is my half-birthday. I've kiddingly been needling LabRat about having to get me a half-present, but he hasn't fallen for it yet. I'll keep working on him; perhaps by next February, I can weasel half of a soft pretzel or maybe half a cupcake out of him.

Awesome Band Names #101-120

2010-02-03T18:54:00.000-06:00

As usual, a gazillion thanks to all who inspired or unwittingly contributed to the next installment of band names. I find it especially heartwarming that this particular list of twenty includes both Biblical allusions and genital references. Variety is the spice of life.

101) Hovering Labia
102) Psycho Sundae
103) Huda's Blueberries
104) Naomi and the Segos
105) Galactic Bulge
106) Sawed-Off Honky
107) Anal Cobwebs
108) Judith and the Touchscreens
109) Cultpuppy
110) Purple-Headed Yogurt Slingers
111) The Meat Muffins
112) Bottoming Jag
113) Zit Mistress
114) Garlic Fist
115) Candy Shaman
116) The Cookie Mafia
117) Smoking Vagina
118) Torrents of Snot
119) Four Tacos and a Blowjob
120) 3-2-1 Puke

Two Flus in the Cuckoo's Nest

2010-02-03T13:30:00.004-06:00

A Month of Silence would be a good name for a Lifetime movie-of-the-week, wouldn't it? I imagine it would star Kellie Martin, and be about a whistle-blower trying to testify against some evil corporation, but must first escape a hitman that turns out to be her abusive ex-husband. Or it could just be the state of this blog, which has lain dormant for a while. Would you like a good excuse? OK. During our Christmas vacation trip, LabRat's family gave him the gift of the worst flu he's ever had, which he then passed along to me. We spent the better part of January sunk in lethargic misery. We didn't go out. We didn't work on the apartment. I didn't blog. Three weeks passed in which the only things I could barely dredge up the energy for were going to work, watching TV, and blowing my nose.

Aside from that, the new year has brought a lot of what I call death-by-paper-cuts. Little niggling problems are fine when they can be handled and put behind you, but when a hundred little niggling problems all fall on your head at the same time, life can be a real chore. So during my flu, I also got to contend with all of the following:

-Two debilitating computer viruses in two months. Fortunately, Chris was able to swiffer away the problems, but each one took hours of diagnostic work and fixes. I'd be a mess at trying to deal with that while healthy.

-I was never hungry, and I never felt like cooking, so all I ate during my sickness was junk and bland crap, counter-balanced by as much fruit as I could stomach, hoping it would chase the sickness away.

-Clothing literally falling apart as I wear it. Nothing quite makes your day like the sole of your shoe falling off on the day you walked to work in four inches of snow. Oh, and it was the same day I was wearing the jeans that have the zipper that won't stay up for more than three minutes without making its way back down again. I sure looked classy.

-Thinking I'd scored a deal on free dining room furniture. My mom has been storing my grandmother's old set in her garage, and offered it to me. I was thrilled, thinking I could put together one of the rooms in the new apartment at low cost. We rented a cargo van, hauled it over to the new place, and wrestled it all the way up the stairs. Thing is, storing furniture in a garage for years takes its toll. All the joints are coming apart. Everything is unusable. It was a generous offer, but instead of getting our dining room ready for low cost, I now have a dining room crammed with worthless stuff that must be wrestled down the stairs before anything suitable can be wrestled back up. Then I have to figure out how much I have to spend on new furniture. I'm guessing it won't be free.

-Just as I was getting over my flu, and was looking forward to going out and doing something, I went to the dentist for a checkup and cleaning. After a stern lecture about flossing, the hygienist attacked my mouth with the metal pick. Now, I was expecting my gums to bleed. What I wasn't expecting was my gums to bleed for three days. And not a gentle pool of blood, either. It was an almost constant eruption that I could only staunch by not spitting it out and letting it crust over into a huge gob of blood-snot. It was as attractive as it sounds, not the mention the added bonus of tasting blood for 72 hours straight.

-My iPod is acting up. If I can't pass the time at work with podcasts, I'm going to go batshit.

-It's tax season. Nuff said.

-Not getting to vent about all this stuff, because they're all such minor problems. I sound like such a jackass when I whine about dining room furniture when people in Haiti are trying to claw their way out of their demolished houses.

As I said before, none of these things would really get me down if they'd happened on their own. But when they all happened, and I was too sick for anything good to happen to counteract them, I got pretty depressed.

Here I am, though, so that must mean some good news, right? Right. The flu is gone. The blood geysers are gone. Going to work healthy is an unexpected pleasure, compared to going to work sick and miserable. The iPod's getting looked at tomorrow. The Craigslist ad for someone to come and take the old dining room set is being written and posted tonight. LabRat and I have been able to resume a social life. I'm back in the kitchen, excited to try new recipes and concoctions. If I'm not completely back to my normal, optimistic self, I'm at least at lot closer. I will never look back at January '10 with fondness, but it's behind us now. Let's hope this happier outlook with assist me into cajoling someone into taking that damned furniture.

Reading List 2009

2009-12-29T14:40:00.009-06:00

Even though I hadn't touched this entry since June, my daily train ride to work (plus a week's vacation in the mountains of Georgia) has meant that I've had plenty of reading time. I've been dutifully noting the titles, and now that I look back at them, am frankly underwhelmed. It's been kind of a disappointing year of books, but I'm not sure if that's because the books I chose were substandard, my standards are too high, or it's just a case of bad luck. In any event, if you read something this year that knocked your socks off (or have a favorite that you love to sing the praises of), please leave a comment or recommendation. I'm always looking for books to add to the list.

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

Another lull in library books meant it was time to go back to Jane Austen: The Complete Novels. The next novel in line was Northanger Abbey, and I was happy to discover that it is (or at least seems to be) a lot shorter than the previous novels I've tackled. That's because Northanger Abbey is by far the weakest of the Austen novels I've read. The title building shows up three-fourths of the way into the book, after chapter upon chapter of Catherine Morland wandering around Bath going to parties and crushing on Henry Tilney. You know that silly, indecisive tertiary character Harriet in Emma? It's like Austen plucked her out of Emma and made her the heroine of her own book. She doesn't do anything! She wanders around, moons over Henry, moons over her friends and family, gets the willies for two seconds in a creepy old house, decides she doesn't like her boyfriend's father, gets kicked out by said father for mysterious reasons that stay mysterious for about four seconds, and which turn out to be stupid, and lives happily ever after. Whuh? I've got two more Austen novels to go, and I'm hoping they're more in line with Sense and Sensibility or Emma than Northanger Abbey. I'd hate for my last impression of Austen to be that she's capable of so much more.

How Buildings Learn - Stewart Brand

This had been bouncing around my "to-read" list for a while. I was under the impression that it was a chronicle of how buildings evolve and adapt in our ever-changing society, and how certain types of architecture remain prized many years later. What it turned out to be was a dense, coffee-table tome that I couldn't get through a single chapter of without glazing over. Bleh.

Ms. Hempel Chronicles - Sarah Shun-lien Bynum

I had the same problem with this book as I had with The Brambles: Though it was an interesting look into a character and her thought processes (in this case, a middle-school teacher), nothing much actually happens. I really need some plot to be drawn in - simple prose or poetry doesn't do it for me.

The Pig Did It - Joseph Caldwell

There something to be said for picking up a book for which you have no preconceived notions. Of course, there are all sorts of risks involved, too. I spotted this one on the library shelf, and was intrigued by its title. Unhappily, the title is the most interesting thing about it. Ostensibly, it's the story of a mysterious death in Ireland, the secrets of a small village, and the mischievous pig that roots everything up. In reality, it's a creative writing exercise to see how much descriptive prose you can wedge into a book without having to develop any real plot. This prose is so purple, it's bleeding grape juice. There are only so many descriptions of rolling hillsides and windswept landscapes I can take before I'd like for something to just happen already. It never comes. This is apparently one of a series, but there's no way I'll be reading any of the others.

The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins
Catching Fire - Suzanne Collins

Yeek. This book was awfully graphic for the Young Adult section. After reading a few positive reviews and seeing it on Veruca's counter, I thought I'd give this book a whirl, and am really glad I did. This is the book Stephen King wishes he could write. It takes place in a grim futuristic America (though it's not called America anymore). The Capitol is ringed by twelve districts who once-upon-a-time rebelled against the Capitol, and were crushed. As punishment, each district is required to send a boy and a girl to a large arena, where they remain until one of them has hunted all the rest of them down and killed them. The story is told from the point of view of the girl from District 12, a self-sufficient young woman who offers herself to the games when her little sister's name is drawn. Her tactics for staying alive, as well as her developing relationships with other competitors are fascinating, and every person feels like a distinct character; even if we're only with them for a few paragraphs. I won't ruin the ending, but I will say there's a sequel coming out later this year, which I'm happily anticipating.

As with any second book in a trilogy, Catching Fire kind of begins nowhere and ends nowhere. However, it certainly propels the story forward, and nicely sets up the last book. Katniss, the protagonist from the first book, is trying to figure out her post-game life. She may have won the games, but she really pissed off the people who run them, and her performance has been fostering resentment and winds of rebellion. The Capitol wants her to help subdue this feeling, which she cannot do, even if she wanted to. In retribution, she is forced back into the arena, even as the world outside of it begins to crumble. It was a good book, and though it was nowhere near as compelling as the first one, I guess I shouldn't expect it to be. It does its job, which is to make me nervously anticipate what will go down in the finale.

The Poet - Michael Connelly
The Scarecrow - Michael Connelly

Michael Connelly is a prolific author, as many crime/thriller novelists are. The only books of his I've read are these two, which comprise the Jack McEvoy series to date. McEvoy is a crime reporter who finds himself trying to disprove that his twin brother committed suicide (The Poet) and having to crack a major crime spree to save his job (The Scarecrow). Both books were good for what I call "summer reading". That is, they're the equivalent of the loud, dime-a-dozen summer blockbuster movies. That's what you're in the mood for once in a while, and although you won't find anything new or deep in the story, they can be a fun way to pass the time.

Welcome to Higby: A Novel - Mark Dunn

After enjoying Ella Minnow Pea and Ibid so much, I felt I had to check out Mark Dunn's remaining book. It's always kind of a letdown to read an author's weakest book last, although the upside is that I may not have discovered the other two if I'd started with this. It's a perfectly pleasant book of interweaving story lines, all of which take place in a few days in the fictional town of Higby, Mississippi. The characters are folksy, and the scrapes they get into are aw-gosh-isn't-that-adorable, but there's just not much there there.

Secrets to Happiness: A Novel - Sarah Dunn

This was a fairly good book, about the intricate web of love and friendship we all have to navigate as we search for happiness. Sometimes, it can go a little off the rails (the book, that is), but as far as Chicklit goes, it's a lot better than most.

Split: A Memoir of Divorce - Suzanne Finnamore

I can't remember where I heard about this book, or why I was moved to pick it up and read it. I guess because I like to read about a variety of topics, and I've never seen the lifespan of a divorce described before. Finnamore splays it out by comparing the events to the five stages of grief. I guess it's tough to judge a book about someone's feelings on their divorce, because they're not my feelings, and it's not my divorce. It was an interesting read, though I'm left with the desire to hear her ex-husband's side of things. She does refrain from being impossibly bitter through the entire recounting, which I appreciated, and though I'm glad I read it, I'm not anxious to dive back into the subject anytime soon.

Rock, Paper, Scissors: Game Theory in Everyday Life - Len Fisher

I'm interested in game theory, so I was intrigued by the promise that this book would delve more deeply in how it governs people's everyday choices. Unfortunately, it doesn't do much more than scratch the surface. It gives nice descriptions of the various benefit/cost traps we put ourselves into, and proposes general ideas of how cooperation can help bust us out of those traps, but it never delved deep enough for me. It'd be like trying to learn the particulars of DNA sequencing from an episode of Mr. Wizard. So, it was a little frustrating, and not as good as I'd hoped, but would probably be an excellent start for someone interested in the basics of game theory.

The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman

I like the majority of Neil Gaiman's work, and though I wasn't overly excited about this one at the time I read it, I appreciate it more now that I look back at it. A boy whose family is killed manages to escape the assassin, and makes his way to a graveyard, where he is raised by ghosts. He enjoys his life there, but things get sticky when he begins to wonder about the people outside his small world, and naturally, there's still the matter of the people who want to finish him off. This book didn't get me as charged up as Neverwhere, American Gods, or even Coraline, but it was still an excellent story.

Prize and Prejudice and Zombies - Seth Grahame-Smith (and Jane Austen)

It took a long time for me to get my hands on this wildly popular book, so I'm afraid my expectations were ratcheted up too high. I was nonplussed at the time, but now that I've thought about it, I can see why everyone likes it. It is such a weird, fresh, cool idea to take an English classic and infuse it with zombie mayhem. The Bennet sisters are trained in the deadly Asian arts. Balls and propriety are now not the only problems plaguing upper class society. Now they have to contend with the living dead breaking in and eating all the servants. You not only have to marry your daughters off to eligible bachelors, they have to survive to marrying age. It's quite a zany book, and I'm glad now that I read it, though I'm not sure I need to continue with Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters.

The Magicians - Lev Grossman

Nobody can write a book about magic without it being compared to Harry Potter, so here you go: This book is what it would be like if Harry Potter lived in a world with actual adult emotions. Even at its darkest, the world of Harry Potter didn't have raw jealousy or wild lust. This book does. A group of disaffected teenage magicians think it would be a lark to test out their powers in a new way, and find that it's not so simple as waving a wand around and spouting fake Latin. It was a fairly good book, but is let down by an unsatisfying ending.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon

The general layout of mystery novels can get a bit trite after a while, so authors like to toss in a twist if they can. If it doesn't work, the book comes off as stupid or pretentious. If it does work, you get a fantastically clever novel like this one. The protagonist is a British teenage boy who has autism. One night, he looks out of the window, and spies the neighbor's dog lying dead on the ground, impaled by a garden fork. He sets out to solve the mystery, and in doing so, must confront his own social issues. It was a really intriguing story, and unquestionably worth the read.

Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea - Chelsea Handler
My Horizontal Life - Chelsea Handler

I've really gotten into Chelsea Handler's late night talk show lately, and upon learning that her recent book was ruling the bestseller list, I knew I had to add my name to the long wait list at the library [not that being on the bestseller list is a guarantee of quality - Christopher fucking Ciccone was on it for a while]. This retelling of past events in Handler's life is very funny, and I found myself laughing out loud more than once. I prefer her in television form, but the book was certainly good enough for me to seek out her other one.

Which was just as funny. My Horizontal Life was a collection of essays about her one-night stands, and had me giggling inappropriately as I read it on the train. Highly recommended, though you may want to save it for the living room or bedside table, lest you be caught cackling your head off in public.

Eat, Memory: Great Writers at the Table: A Collection of Essays from the New York Times - Edited by Amanda Hesser

It seems to be required by law that all food books are reviewed in food terms. I have no wish to break that law, so... This book is the equivalent of stopping for a quick bite at McDonald's on a road trip. It's not necessarily where you want to be, but it's there, it serves its purpose, and once it's over, you can hardly remember it.

Admission - Jean Hanff Korelitz

One of the bright spots in an otherwise unremarkable year. Admission is about the job and life of a woman who works in the admissions office at Princeton. It's naturally a stressful job, and separating out the worthy students from the just-as-worthy students plays hell with the conscience. Putting aside the fascinating exploration of the admissions world, and you have the story of Portia Nathan, who spends her time judging other people, and is starting to turn that focus inwards. When she does, she has to make some tough decisions about what truly makes someone worthy.

The Late, Lamented Molly Marx - Sally Koslow

It seems to be in vogue to write from the point-of-view of the dead. Good stuff first. The story of Molly Marx, who looks down from the Beyond and watches her family try to sort through her murder, is a good one. None of the characters are entirely good or entirely bad (including Molly), which makes the story a lot more realistic than just having a collection of archetypes, like the Pious One and The Cheating One and The Bitch. The one problem I had with the book is that it's equal parts story and Look At My Fabulous Manhattan Lifestyle. I get it, Sex and the City was awesome. What isn't so awesome is that it spawned this hideous attitude that I must care where some Upper East Side lady bought her shoes, her corned beef, and her jewelry. I don't. Stick to the plot, please. Leave the Blahniks out of it.

Playing For Keeps - Mur Lafferty

This is an unusual case, as it's the first book I've ever "read" via podcast. The entire thing was read by the author, and while it was good, it would have benefitted from some professional production. I'd probably have liked it a bit more if I had read the print version. As to the story, it's a good one. It's all about a group of people who live in a city filled with superheroes. These people have powers, but they're not considered powerful enough to be true heroes. Rather than the usual black and white of good and evil, this book cleverly makes the heroes huge jerks, and the villains have a sympathetic edge. The group of underpowered citizens, lead by "Keepsie" Branson, is caught in the middle, and desperately tries a find a way to help the city without being killed or arrested. There were a few plot issues here and there, but it's an incredibly clever premise, and very well-written.

The Family Man - Elinor Lipman

Where Ms. Hempel Chronicles was a character study that left me a bit cold, this one was much better. It's about a newly-retired gay lawyer who reconnects with the step-daughter cut out of his life when his vain wife left him years ago. He forges new relationships with not only the daughter, but the ex-wife and a new man as well. It was a very charming story.

The Spellman Files - Lisa Lutz
Curse of the Spellmans - Lisa Lutz

The book cover describes this as Harriet the Spy for grown-ups, and that's not far wrong. It's about a family of private investigators, all of whom spy on others for a living. Taking that a step further, they all spy on each other as well, looking for any opportunity to manipulate and cajole. The middle daughter finds it impossible to have any sort of normal relationship, and attempts to free herself from her family's web of intrigue, which sets off a chain of events including an old missing persons case she's desperate to solve. It was a good book, and I'm looking forward to continuing the series.

The second book was almost as good. In this one, our protagonist finds herself obsessively trying to discover the secrets of her next door neighbor, despite all the evidence that he's a nice, normal guy. In addition to that, the family is still sneaking around behind each other's backs, and the police detective "friend" of the family finds himself drawn into their issues far more than he'd like.

Nose Down, Eyes Up - Merrill Markoe

I really liked Merrill Markoe's essay books, so I thought I'd give her fiction a try. This one is a fun story of a guy trying to make sense of his love life and living situation, all the while having elucidating conversations with his dogs. Anyone who can clearly tell what every head tilt means will get a kick out of it.

American Lion: Andrew Jackson in the White House - Jon Meacham

Writing a presidential biography is a tricky project. As a reader, it can be a bit difficult to tease real facts out of how the author feels about the president up for discussion. I loved John Adams, but he wasn't a very controversial president. Andrew Jackson, on the other hand, was kind of a badass. That badassery was sometimes admirable (facing South Carolina down, and letting them know that no, they can't pick and choose which federal laws they'd like to adhere to) and sometimes abominable (hey, ever hear of the Trail of Tears?), but always interesting. The intrigue of Jackson and the people who surrounded him makes for good reading, even if Meacham's writing style is a bit unfocused and a little scatterbrained at times. He still manages to relay information in an entertaining way, while never overly praising nor condemning Jackson. It was certainly worth the read.

Fool - Christopher Moore

One of the highlights of my year. This is a vulgar, comedic retelling of King Lear from the jester's point of view, and was highly enjoyable. If you haven't read it, and love to see classics turned on their ears, seek it out.

Unseen Academicals - Terry Pratchett

This is hard for me: I think it's time for the Discworld series to come to a graceful close. It's a fantastic series, and I heartily love the majority of it, but as time goes on, they're getting worse and worse. Even if a Discworld novel isn't all it could be, it's generally better than a lot of other books out there, and I've never had to stamp a "Bad" label on one. Until now. Is this unfocused novel a satire of soccer? Of the fashion industry? Is it a tale of orc acceptance (which was ably covered in other books when it was a story of vampire acceptance or werewolf acceptance)? It's all of these things, and none of them. It's wildly scatterbrained, and I'm sorry to say, not very interesting or amusing. As with The Simpsons, I think it may be time to bury my head, ignore any new offerings, and start reliving the golden years.

Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys

Even when I find myself in the midst of a terrible book, it's rare that I don't finish it. I've invested the time in hearing the set-up; I may as well see how it ends. This horrible book is a rare exception, and I gave up on it midway through. It's supposed to be about the mad wife of Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre, and how she came to be such a loon. I wish I could answer that question now, but there was no point of this book that wasn't boring, depressing, a gross mischaracterization of Mr. Rochester, or all three. Avoid, avoid, avoid.

Crossworld - Marc Romano

I love crossword puzzles, so I was looking forward to this exploration of the craze and the world of competitive crossword solving. Instead, it was a disappointing book that read more like one guy's journal of how nifty he finds that world. Nothing new or interesting is described. Nothing exciting is conveyed. It's just a bunch of pages that boil down to: "Aren't crosswords great?" Well, yes they are, but I didn't need someone to tell me that.

Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants - Jill Soloway

I'm not sure there's anything more annoying than someone who thinks they're funny when they're not, but if I were to pick an impressive runner-up, it's someone who thinks they're adorable and witty when they're not. Surgically remove the lion's share of hilarity and self-awareness from Chelsea Handler's book up there, replace it with smarm, and you'll have this book. I can't believe someone who did such good work on Six Feet Under and The Oblongs would be such a chore in real life. I also can't believe she had the nerve to thank her copyeditors in the acknowledgements, since the entire book begs to be attacked by a red pen, but that's a separate battle.

The Cheese Chronicles: A Journey Through the Making and Selling of Cheese in America, From Field to Farm to Table - Liz Thorpe

As I write this entry, I discover two things about the reading list for this year. One is that the word of the year appears to be "disappointing". That is, I've read a slew of books that are either just plain bad, or ones that had a lot of potential, and failed to live up to it. The second discovery is that the longer it takes a book to spit out its title, the worse it's going to be. Both of those discoveries come into sharp focus in this book, which I was really looking forward to. I heard Liz Thorpe on the radio, discussing various artisans that give new meaning to "American cheese", well beyond the processed slabs of orange goo we tend to think of when we hear that phrase. Unfortunately, she's much better suited to radio than to print. This should have been an encyclopedia or almanac; not a book. Rote facts about cheeses, people who make cheeses, people who sell cheeses, and people who cook with cheese are thrown out without any sort of connective tissue. It's disorganized and uninteresting. I love food, and love to hear knowledgeable people talk about it. This book should have had me salivating, and running for the nearest cheese counter. Instead, it bored me to tears.

The Wordy Shipmates - Sarah Vowell
The Partly Cloudy Patriot - Sarah Vowell
Take the Cannoli - Sarah Vowell

Sarah Vowell is one of those authors I wish I liked more than I do. She's smart and funny, and Assassination Vacation was a very entertaining read. But after a disappointing essay in State by State and this rather dry treatment of early American puritans, I'm not sure I want to seek out her other work. I will say that Vowell has a real talent for making the people of yore sound like actual people. So many writings about historical figures make them sound as two-dimensional as their portraits on our currency, and it's refreshing to experience how people actually lived back then. This wasn't a bad book; it just wasn't as intriguing as I wanted it to be. Perhaps that's just because it's about puritans -- they weren't exactly known as a fun-loving bunch.

OK, I think I've figured Sarah Vowell out. The earlier she wrote her book, the more I like it. It's almost a perfect line graph. The Partly Cloudy Patriot is a series of essays on American life and on her own, and it may be my favorite of her writings I've tackled so far. That must mean Take the Cannoli will rock my socks off.

And, I was right. Take the Cannoli was an excellent book, but unfortunately, lends more evidence to my line graph argument that with each book, Sarah Vowell becomes less and less entertaining.

State by State: A Panoramic Portrait of America - edited by Matt Weiland and Sean Wilsey

This was a thick book, but definitely worth it. All of the states get a chance to shine, each under the auspice of a different writer. Alexander Payne wrote the essay on Nebraska, John Hodgman on Massachusetts, Sarah Vowell on Montana, and so forth. Not every story was told from a place of authority; some of the authors were visiting their chosen state for the first time. Some were impressions of the state's natural beauty. Some focused on a specific city or people within the state. Some were memoirs. Some were told via graphic novel panels. As with any book with fifty authors, the chapters vary wildly in quality. Dull memories of a house made the Georgia chapter a complete waste of time, while a bumper sticker war in Arkansas had me laughing all the way through. All in all, it was worth the read, and really fired me up to get traveling again.

Other

That is, books I've read before, but have had occasion to revisit.

-The Murder at the Murder at the Mimosa Inn (Joan Hess) - I used to love the Claire Malloy series of mysteries, but lost my taste for them after a big slide in quality. This one is the best of the series, and I like re-reading it every once in a while as a reminder of how good these books once were.
-Hero (Perry Moore) - So good I bought it, so I can read it again and again.

**current as of December 29, 2009**

Cookie Party - Volume 5

2009-12-07T20:24:00.003-06:00

Holy crap, is winter upon us already? I'm wearing four layers today, so I'm guessing so. The approach of the holiday season meant that I had to get cracking on coming up with something for this year's cookie exchange party. First on my list was deciding on a recipe. I wanted something impressive, but that wouldn't take hours and hours of preparation like last year. An idea struck when I remembered something that Panny made for a party once. They're little pecan pies in phyllo cups, and their pure deliciousness has made me forget every other detail of the evening. Was it an Oscar party or New Year's Eve? Who else was there? I have no earthly idea, because those pies turned me into a drooling idiot. When I asked her for the recipe, she said it was the pecan pie recipe from The Joy of Cooking. That sounded straightforward enough.

Second on the list was pulling things together for a test batch. This would be a test not only of the pies themselves, but of the kitchen. I really love the new apartment's kitchen. There's a back door onto a deck, lots of natural light, counter space, a dishwasher, a disposal... Basically everything the old apartment was lacking. I'd be thrilled with just the dishwasher; the view from the above-sink window of the St. Louis skyline -- complete with Arch -- is pure bonus. I've naturally cooked a fair amount of dinner since we moved in, but this would be the first time I took on a big project in this kitchen. Getting photos of the process was yet more new territory. My camera met its end during the New York trip, so the only thing I have to take pictures with is the hand-me-down cell phone I'm still getting used to. The picture quality isn't the best, but at least it's portable, which means that I can capture opportune moments, such as weird things I might happen to see on my walk home from work:

So, filled with a pioneering spirit of adventure and the comfort of knowing it wouldn't take me an hour to clean up afterward, I dove into:

Mini Pecan Pies
The non-cookie cookie

As I said, I wanted to do a test batch to run by coworkers and resident sweet-tooth LabRat before the party itself. The ingredients are easy enough: Eggs, vanilla, butter, salt, sugar, corn syrup, and naturally, pecans. Instead of putting the batter into a pie plate, you fill store-bought phyllo cups, then bake. Tah dah! Oh, if only it were that simple. You see, the phyllo cups have baking directions that are vastly different from the recipe's baking directions. If the cups are too full, they tend to overflow and scorch, then gloriously self-destruct.

The pies burned easily if I didn't keep a fairly close eye on them, but I managed to turn out a serviceable batch. The tribunal at work gave positive reviews, but they're happy to stroke my ego for free baked goods. I knew I could count on the discerning dessert palate of LabRat for some honest feedback. "Hmm. There's kind of a lot of batter. They're a bit chewy. Could you put more nuts in?" I agreed with his assessment, and made some adjustments for the big push on Saturday. Instead of a cup of pecan halves, I threw in a cup of chopped pecans, then topped each cup with one full pecan half.

I popped the first cookie sheet in at 450 degrees, set the timer for a modest fifteen minutes, and left them alone. Mistake. The new kitchen's oven runs a lot hotter than my old one, and with less batter to cook in each cup, they got burned. Not so much that they were ruined, but they were definitely more well-done than they should have been. More adjustments were made; I turned the oven down a full 75 degrees, and baked for ten minutes, babysitting them towards the end. That hit the sweet spot, and I was soon cranking out perfect pies. I had bought five boxes of fifteen-cup phyllo, figuring I'd easily use up one pie's worth of batter. As I filled the last cups, I saw that I had more than enough batter for more pies. The new place is literally behind a grocery store, so I popped the last cups in, told LabRat to keep an eye on them, and dashed out the door.

I made it a little game to see if I could jog to the store, buy a couple boxes of phyllo cups, and get home in ten minutes. I would have made it, too, if it weren't for the dill-holes at the ghetto Shop 'n Save in my neighborhood. Three people in front of me in the express line was Senile Sally, who couldn't remember the PIN for her debit card. After three attempts (with another customer's help), it locked her out, and the cashier had to pull all her groceries to the side so she could go home and look up the number. Tell me again how much faster debit cards are than cash, Visa. Sigh. The next lady was only buying cat food and wine, but managed to waste yet more time by sending the cashier to fetch some cigarettes. The guy behind her was getting margarita mix, turkey slices, and Hershey's bars. Man, there were some interesting evenings ahead for these folks. I finally got checked out and went home, where the pies were long since done. Boo! Still, I was happy with how they had come out, and with the fact that it took about a fifth of the time that last year's almond-jelly sandwich cookies took.

It was a snap to pack them up, bundle the dishes into the dishwasher, and settle in with LabRat for the evening to watch a Lifetime movie starring Kristin Chenowith and a bunch of shirtless guys, then the World's Ugliest Dog competition. Sunday morning, I went over to my Dad's house for brunch and an early Hanukkah gift exchange, then straight to the cookie party. It turns out that I wasn't the only male invited this time. Granted, the only other dude was three years old, but still. Progress! I headed straight for the mimosas. A few of those, and I wandered around with a dopey grin, earnestly pestering the woman who made carrot cookies about precisely how carroty they were. She was rescued by the arrival of Tiffany and Gnat, who distracted me with sugar cookies and caramel-covered marshmallows.

Last year, we drew numbers to see who would get first crack at the cookie spread, but the hostess didn't feel like messing with it this year. A few other mischievous souls and I waited until nobody was looking, then snuck downstairs and began filling our Tupperware containers from the platters, rearranging them afterwards to make it look like they hadn't been touched.

We stashed our ill-gotten gains, then walked back upstairs, lying through our teeth to a curious woman who asked us what we were up to. "Just looking at what people have brought!" I said brightly. "Hey, have you tried the cheddar soup up here? It's amazing!" Having gotten away with my crime spree, I chatted with a woman who told me that the pumpkin maple cookies she made this year were quite time-consuming, just like the recipe she had made last year. My brain, which cannot retain what I did six minutes ago, but files away other minutiae for decades, and cross-references everything it hears, raised a red flag. "Wait a minute," I said to this lady I've exchanged a grand total of twenty sentences with. "You said last year that your cookies had three ingredients, and took, like, half an hour." She grinned. "Okay, you caught me. I was totally lying about the time these took." Heh. There's all sorts of nefarious goings-on at this ostensibly innocent cookie party.

After everyone else had gone down to the basement, I went back down for another round of scavenging and squirreled away what I could, including several varieties of chocolate chip cookies, which I knew would make LabRat happy. I don't care what he says, though -- chocolate chip isn't a holiday cookie! The pecan pies were well-received, and I'm happy to add something relatively simple to my dessert arsenal. I'm also pleased with the variety I brought home. Sweets are LabRat's catnip, and with enough cookies to last us to Christmas, I've earned all sorts of brownie points, ironically without a single brownie.

Limecrete's Mini Movie Review - 2012

2009-11-13T20:31:00.005-06:00

WARNING! HERE BE SPOILERS!

-2:55 PM
Limecrete has the day off, and LabRat has come up with a plan to skip out on his lab so that we can catch an early showing of 2012. Traffic on the way to LabRat's building sucks so hard, Limecrete almost finds himself wishing for global apocalypse.

-4:00 PM
Previews. Ah, apartheid and soccer. There are two things I'm burning with desire to see in the same movie. The only thing it's missing is Claire Danes.

-4:12 PM
An acquaintance of one of the main characters is murdered. The entire news media is full of nothing but stories of the death, even though nobody knows it's murder, the guy wasn't terribly important, and there are nascent hints of... Oh, I don't know... GLOBAL DESTRUCTION. But hey, I can see how "Car Crash Kills One" would capture the world's attention.

-4:21 PM
The president of the United States dismisses everyone from the room except heads of state. One wants to keep a translator present, but President Danny Glover assures him his English will be good enough for this announcement. He then launches into a speech that includes the words "concerted" and "validity", because those are totally words that every non-native speaker learns the on the first day of English class.

-4:35 PM
Take that, old people who drive!

-4:44 PM
Unexpectedly harsh sight: I know it's been eight years, but I'm not ready to see people hanging from office buildings by their fingertips as entertainment just yet.

-4:47 PM
California and wide swaths of Nevada are gone.

-4:49 PM
Various politicians and scientists argue about whether to inform the public of what's going on. Um, guys? Hundreds of millions of people are dead, and we're already down to about 45 states. I think people may be on to you.

-4:52 PM
An enormous volcanic explosion erupts twenty feet from the main character and his seven-year-old daughter. Seven-year-old daughter: "What was that?!?" Wow, I know you're a kid and everything, but try to keep up.

-5:22 PM
A plane gets enveloped in a huge cloud of dust and ash, then vrooms right out with no apparent ill effects. LabRat grumbles in his seat. We can suspend a buttload of disbelief, but movie characters still need to be bound by some semblance of scientific law.

-5:32 PM
Crabby air traffic controllers whine at the escaping main characters until they are consumed by fiery death. There's a time to be dedicated to your job, and there's a time to say "Fuck it". It's not like you'll be getting your paycheck in the mail at the end of the month.

-5:39 PM
The movie asserts that taking time in the middle of imminent death to pray is both a noble action, and the direct cause of your imminent death. Weird.

-5:47 PM
Unexpectedly tender sight: It's refreshing to see a character in a disaster movie realize that all hope is lost, then spend some precious time telling family members how much they are loved, rather than running out the clock with wisecracks and attempts to outrun tidal waves.

-5:55:30 PM
"No matter what, we're going to stick together! Whatever comes, we'll face it as one!"

-5:55:36 PM
"Oh, you need me elsewhere? No problem!"

-5:59 PM
LabRat develops a crush on the Russian pilot. Limecrete curiously finds himself rooting for the fake-titted trophy Russian girlfriend.

-6:02 PM
Jerk character semi-redeems himself by saving his bratty son, while the kid's twin watches from safety.
LabRat: "That guy should have saved himself at that point. They're twins; you only need one."

-6:06 PM
Fake-titted trophy Russian girlfriend buys it. Damn.

-6:15 PM
Apparently the world ending wasn't enough disaster, and they spend the last half hour of the film putting the survivors in some more imminent danger.

-6:16 PM
But not the yappy little dog of course.

-6:27 PM
The characters learn that much of Africa was spared the devastation, and head there to start their new lives.
LabRat: "So we'll go there and force out all the African people who are already there."

Overall Grade: B

Well, We're Movin' On Up...And Down, And Up, And Down

2009-11-09T15:38:00.003-06:00

When I graduated college, I moved back home with my mother for a time. That time was approximately .05 milliseconds, which was the maximum amount possible to elaspe before we were ready to strangle one another. I quickly scouted out a roommate (a friend from my college class), and we rented an apartment out in West County. It was a great apartment, and he was a great roommate, but the daily commute was killing me. I hate driving, and the congestion and hideous behavior of other drivers put me into a sort of perma-bad mood. Plus, all my friends lived in or near the city, and none of them would come hang out with me in my neighborhood, a fact I bitterly scolded them for.

After a while, I decided that I needed to live closer to my job and friends, and sought out a new apartment. This was actually the first time I was to live alone, which naturally came with pros and cons. I was able to find a reasonably-priced apartment in a good location. I immediately realized why my friends never wanted to schlep out to West County to see me, and I joined the ranks of people who only reluctantly went further west than the Interbelt. My new apartment was managed by a no-nonsense lesbian who kept a tight rein on the tenants. Then, three years ago, I met LabRat. He was stuck in an unhappy living situation of his own, and once we became closer, he decided to ditch his place and take one of the open units in my building. Let me just tell you how wonderfully convenient that situation was. Your significant other lives twenty feet away, but you each have your own space. Plus, you've got access to two bathrooms, two ovens, two refrigerators, etc.

Time passed. The lesbian moved on to greener pastures, and the building was taken over by a really, really, really, really, really lazy dude. Just getting him on the phone was like pulling teeth, and God help you if you actually needed something from him, like say...fixing the roof, because water has been dripping from your ceiling for a month. Not only was he lazy about taking care of the building, he was lazy about who he rented to. The lesbian knew how to pick a tenant. Sure, there were little problems here and there, but most people seemed to get how living in an apartment building should work. Lazy Guy would rent to anyone who flashed him two nickels. As each quality tenant moved out, their apartment would be taken over by a trashy replacement. The quiet hippie was now the jobless thug. The couple that spent their evenings peacefully cooking great-smelling meals was now the woman who spent every night gleefully cackling at the top of her lungs. These trashy neighbors would steal our parking spots, block the driveway, and prop the building's doors open so that any stranger could wander in. My hibachi got stolen. The final straw came when the unit across from mine went from Single Guy to Monkey Sex Girl (a nice woman, but for her marathon orgasm sessions that reverberated throughout the building) to Meth-Addicted Prostitute. Neither LabRat nor I could take this place anymore.

So, we hopped on Craigslist and began looking around for a new place. A place to move into...TOGHETHER. Now, this was a first. I've lived with people, but I've never lived with anyone. I had a very strange reaction to this decision. Normally, Big Life Decisions fill me with anxiety, and I spend a few weeks freaking out. In this case, my biggest worry was about the move itself; I was quite calm and content about living with LabRat. I guess it was because we spend most of our time together anyway, and I figured it wouldn't be that much different an experience. We scouted out a few places, but none of them seemed just right. They were too small or had the same shitty neighbors we were hoping to escape. In one case, a lady saw us hanging out in front of a For Rent sign, and called out from across the street, "You can do better!" She was right, too. That place was disgusting. We did eventually strike gold. We found an affordable two-bedroom in the same neighborhood as we were already living, so the move wouldn't be too arduous. It had all sorts of things our current apartments didn't: dishwasher, disposal, basement storage, dining room, deck, etc. It even has a nice view of the downtown skyline, Arch included. We put in our offer, and after a little wrangling, the place was ours.

Over the past couple of weeks, we've moved everything. Utilities have been transferred. Essentials have been unpacked. We left second-floor apartments to move to a second-floor apartment, so this entry's title should make some sense. Now that everything is in, we've arrived at the more challenging task of figuring out where everything should go. We don't have a lot of stuff, but what we do have is often in sets of two. We don't need two toasters, for example, so what's to be done with the extra one? On the flip side, there's also the challenge of buying things we do need. We ditched my sofa, which was literally coming apart at the seams, so yesterday was spent buying furniture for the living room. The previous apartment's decor could best be described as Hand-Me-Down Eclectic. Now, LabRat and I are actually trying to build a real home, which is terribly adult and exciting. Lots of mature discussions about how to handle money took place.

There are still mountains of work to be done, but it's slowly starting to come together. We're both really looking forward to a time when we can actually have people over. For a meal! And we could fit more than one person in! And they could eat at a table, instead of on the sofa! This is perhaps the first time my home has the potential to be an actual home, instead of just a waystation to eat, sleep, pee, and watch television in. It's a little scary, but I'm very optimistic.

New Hack City

2009-10-23T17:04:00.002-05:00

Since LabRat and I had such a great time last year, we decided to take another autumnal jaunt to New York this year. We again had a lot of fun, but for two problems, albeit rather large ones.

The first was weather. Last year, we were greeted each day by bright, sunny skies with cool breezes gently stirring the colorful foliage. Aaaaaaah. This year, a series of what the jolly local newscaster insisted on folksily calling Nor'easters dumped a bunch of rain on us, and it was colder than mid-October has any right to be. On top of that, the cold that I've been successfully fighting for a couple of weeks saw that I would be trapped in an enclosed bubble of germs (aka an airplane), and took the opportune to strike. I would spend the rest of the weekend hacking up my lungs with a nasty dry cough, which the aforementioned weather did little to soothe.

We were determined to triumph over these things and get out on the town, though. After we had landed, eaten, and taken a nap on Thursday, we went out for a few drinks with Grouchbutt. It's always great to catch up with him, and I wish we could have had more time to hang out. He had places to be, though, so LabRat and I walked up to the Ocean Grill for dinner. I noticed that they had a similar dessert to the one that put me in raptures last year, so it says a lot about the rest of the meal that I couldn't even save room for dessert at all. How was I to resist the lobster bisque? The sushi? The best piece of hamachi I've ever had? I couldn't, so dessert had to be sacrificed.

Friday, we went to Chinatown to meet LabRat's friend from Boston. She took us to a restaurant and chose all the food for us, since she was familiar with their specialties. I'm glad she did, because everything was great, and the grease of the duck skin did me a world of good. Afterwards, we walked down to the TKTS booth to see if we could get a deal on tickets for a show that evening, then took the subway to Fifth Avenue, so we could window shop. It was tough to pick something at the TKTS booth, but a play called Perfect Crime caught my eye, as I'm always a fan of mysteries. The fact that we were able to get front row seats for $30 a piece should have told us something. We got there, got seated, and I sucked down enough cough drops to keep me quiet for the duration of the performance. Once we were settled, we learned from the program that the lead actress in this play has been performing it since it opened in 1987, and has played in every single performance, save four. That's pretty incredible, but I have to wonder if the resulting spectacle was because she's done it so many times, the words have ceased to mean anything, or if she's been this frenetic for 22 years. I don't even know how to describe this woman. She had a million tics, blinking and cringing and gesturing all over the stage. Her voice was like a foghorn and WENT uuuuUPPPP? At the END of evERY seeeeeeeNNNTEEEENCE? It was inCREDIBLY oooooooDDDDDDDDD? She was hammier than the pork party we went to last month. Plus, she didn't have a lot to work with. The play itself is kind of stupid. If it had been tediously bad, we would have felt like we'd wasted our money. As it was, it was hilariously bad, so we wound up having a great time.

Saturday, we went to the Guggenheim, which we skipped last year because so much of it was closed. It was open this time, and after wending our way through the line, we worked our way up the rotunda. I'm glad we went, because it's such an iconic museum. That said, the entire rotunda was nothing but works by Kandinsky, and while I like some of his stuff, it was a bit like having a meal of nothing but potatoes. No matter how much you like potatoes, ten minutes in, and you're ready for something different. Later in the day, we headed over to the Museum of Natural History, because LabRat really wanted to see the show at the Hayden Planetarium. There was another long line there, and LabRat got into it with a lady who was trying to cut in line. I didn't realize it was happening until it was over, and I doubt I could have been much help, anyway. I often lack the gumption to take people to task for those sorts of things, so I love that he's able to do battle. After she was dispensed with, we got our tickets, and went up to the planetarium show, which rocked. I could have sat and watched it four more times if they'd have let me. Afterwards, we explored as much of the museum as we could until it closed, which wasn't much. I look forward to going back and seeing more of it, because it was really nifty.

That evening, we were supposed to meet David for dinner and drinks, but I had taken a turn for the worse, health-wise. We were able to drag ourselves out for dinner at the diner, but I couldn't summon the fortitude to go out after that. I felt a bit guilty that I had sent him all sorts of e-mails and Facebook messages all "We're coming to New York, and will be ready for all sorts of adventure!" only to turn around and say "Well, it was great to see you for half an hour. Catch you next year?"

After brunch on Sunday, we went to the Whitney museum, which was a far more rewarding experience than the Guggenheim, art-wise. They had a Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit, along with works by other great American artists, like Warhol and Hopper. Unfortunately, a bunch of the floors were closed, which seems to be an epidemic in New York museums. After some downtime at the apartment where we were staying, we headed out to a steakhouse for dinner. It was a meal at which I'd generally want a nice glass of wine, but I was so desperate for cold-fighting substances of any kind, I ordered a glass of orange juice, instead. Then it was home to stretch out and watch The Next Iron Chef. I'm kind of pulling for that bitchy woman.

Monday, as it was the day we left, there naturally wasn't a cloud in the sky. Damn it! We woke up and had brunch at the Barking Dog, a little place that I really like. LabRat even gave me one of their mugs for Christmas last year, and I treasure it. I had a spinach/dill/poached egg/salmon roe/pancake concoction that may as well have been called Limecrete's Ideal Breakfast, so it was a nice way to wrap up the weekend, culinarily. We cleaned up the apartment and came back to St. Louis, where I have spent the past few days still battling the cough, which has now morphed into a head cold. That wasn't quite the souvenir I had in mind.

Internet Video Gem #4 - You Can't Stop the Beat

2009-10-02T09:22:00.001-05:00

Human beings sure do love to do things in perfect synchronicity, don't we? Hell, we made it part of the Olympic games. There's just something inherently fascinating about a bunch of people doing the same thing at the same time. So how about a couple of fun examples; one adorable, one amazing.

You may be big, tough Marines, but you cannot defeat the power of the rhythm!

And while we in America can't be beat in our individualism, if you mix traditional Asian culture with more casual modern attitudes, and add a healthy dash of sports enthusiasm, that collective mind cannot be topped.

Incredible.

You Can Be A Winner at the Game of Life!

2009-09-18T16:20:00.004-05:00

You: "Geez, Limecrete! Where have you been? You treat your blog like you're out looking for a new place to live and both jobs are inundated with work and your car broke down and you're working on an herb garden!"

Me: "Don't be ridiculous! Like I really have the space for an herb garden."

So, yeah. I'm getting slammed from all sides. LabRat and I are both fed up with our apartment building. We like the rent and we like the convenience of what's available in the neighborhood, but that's about it. Normally, if I were to complain about having to live in a building with thugs and thieves and whores, it'd just be slightly irritating people as seen through the lens of my well-documented love of exaggeration. Thing is, these people really ARE thugs and thieves and whores. Literally. Much as it'll be a fun story to tell the grandkids someday about the prostitute across the hall whose pimp keeps stealing my parking space, it's not a barrel of chuckles right now, so LabRat and I have hit the internet and the pavement looking for a new building. Oddly, my fear of change is as well-documented as my love of exaggeration, and yet, I'm more anxious about the minutiae of moving than about sharing a home with a boyfriend for the first time ever. I'd like to think that means it'll go really well.

Naturally, the moment we started the search, the restaurant decided to schedule me for back-to-back wedding receptions, and a flood of new projects burst into the lab. That had me plenty frazzled, so my car battery dying last Friday did not greatly improve my mood. Fortunately, I'm not dependent on my car to get to the lab, so I was able to ditch it at the repair shop without losing a lot of time. Even though it's fixed now, the onslaught of work has no end in sight (for which I suppose I should be grateful), and there are more apartments to look at, so I'm afraid the House of Lime might continue to collect a cobweb or two. I'll do my best to keep up with it, though I think the interwebs may be able to live without entries that are basically: Got up, went to work, worked, came home, ate, watched TV with LabRat, went to bed. However, if I save the world from mutant radishes, you'll be the first to know.

Cookie Party - Volume 4

2009-09-02T16:32:00.003-05:00

Hey, you may not have heard, but we're in a recession. Put down that lobster thermidor, yuppie! Frugality is in fashion, which is fine with me; I've always been adept at saving a buck or two. Well, except in one area of life. I spend money freely when it comes to food. The happiness that I derive from the burst of salmon roe on my tongue or from the soft pink of a perfect, medium-rare steak makes them more than worth their hefty price tags. I rarely regret expensive food, unless it doesn't live up to expectations. If you're going to charge me ten bucks for a sandwich, it had better be a corker. All that aside, I wanted to see if America's newfound love of penny-pinching could be applied to my baking experiment. Is it possible to make a serviceable cookie without gourmet buttercreams and Chilean dark chocolate?

In order to test this out, I reached back into the past. Here's where you can help me out by making those wavy arm movements and "DOODELEE-OOP! DOODELEE-OOP!" sound effects that everyone uses to signify time travel. Fortunately, one of my friends is descended from a line of Rombauers, and keeps a print of every edition of The Joy of Cooking ever published. Fascinated, I paged through the older ones, and happened upon a recipe from the 1936 edition entitled "Plain Cookies. Very economical." If there's one thing people living through the Great Depression were looking for to lighten their spirits, it was a recipe like this. It's got the instant happiness that a dessert brings without the sorrow of an already-stretched budget reaching its breaking point. So, as a minor act of contrition for my gastronomical indulgences:

Great Depression Cookies
Brother, can you spare an inflation-adjusted dime?

Now, the whole point of these cookies is that they're extremely simple. No bells and whistles here. Do you have any idea how much bells and whistles cost? So, there's not much of story to spin about the cookies themselves. They're just a basic sugar cookie. I can say that they took an amazing amount of flour, to the point that I was worried the dough wouldn't coalesce, and would crumble into little, gravel-like balls.

Luckily, the butter was sufficient to pull it all back together as it warmed up, and I had no trouble rolling it all out. The only cookie cutters I have are letters of the alphabet. I noticed with some dismay that E was among the letters I'm missing. Crap. I managed to cobble one together with the F and the I, but only did it once. The stiffness that the flour gave the dough made the cutouts simple to lift and transfer onto cookie sheets, so there were no Lace Cookie disasters this time around. Of course, you don't have to roll Lace Cookie dough out a gazillion times.

Like I said, sugar cookies are basically the white bread of the cookie world, so what I was really interested in this time around is how cheaply they could be made. I went to a local store that keeps prices low by having customers bag their own groceries. Once there, I prowled the aisles, and wrote down the absolute lowest price offered on each of the ingredients I'd need. I'll admit right now that I didn't actually buy any of these items. If it's a waste of money to buy overpriced cookie ingredients, it's even more of a waste to buy cheap ingredients that I don't need because I've already got all of it sitting in my cabinets at home. The batch I made actually had some very nice vanilla in it - the discounted imitation vanilla is merely a hypothetical thrown in to see how inexpensive this recipe could be. Recording the prices was the easy part. The tough part was calculating the amount of ingredients I was using. It's all well and good to know that I'm using three tablespoons of milk, but that doesn't do me much good when the volume is given in gallons and liters. Fortunately, I've got something the Great Depression cooks didn't have: Internet conversion tables. Ready for some math, you nerds?

Sugar: $1.88 for 4 pounds - Using 1 cup for dough and 1 cup for topping = 24 cents.
Flour: $1.53 for 2 pounds - Using 3 cups = 61 cents.
Baking powder: $1.77 for 10 ounces - Using 1 teaspoon = 3 cents.
Egg: 87 cents for 8 eggs - Using 1 egg = 11 cents.
Milk: $1.77 for 1/2 gallon - Using 3 tablespoons = 4 cents.
Butter: $1.78 for 8 ounces - Using 4 tablespoons = 47 cents.
Vanilla: $3.17 for 2 fluid ounces - Using 1 teaspoon = 26 cents.

Even using the cheap, imitation stuff, there's no getting around vanilla as the most expensive ingredient. That said, since you're only using 1 teaspoon, the 3 cups of flour winds up being the most expensive component. Still, check out that list. If you had none of these things on your shelves, the grocery bill would come out to $12.77 before taxes. Not bad. And considering that most home kitchens have most, if not all of these things already on hand, the bill drops even lower. I didn't have to buy a single thing to turn these cookies out, so I expended only the amounts needed to make one batch, which comes out to about $1.76. That's $1.76 in 2009 dollars. I don't have the resources to correctly deflate this back to 1936 prices, but it must be pretty damn low. I managed to get 42 cookies out of this batch, which was more than enough to fashion LabRat's name, feed the Top Chef viewing party, and still have enough left over to satisfy the vultures at work. 42 cookies into $1.76 is just over 4 cents per cookie. Impressive! I've never seen a four-cent cookie, even at the shabbiest of bake sales. Hell, by this standard, the Girl Scouts are a veritable cookie Mafia.

Clearly, no-frills sugar cookies will likely elicit the least excitement of any recipe that gets made for the Cookie Party. They're tasty, but not much to write home about. Even so, when December rolls around, and I'm elbow-deep in holiday baking, I'll take a moment to look down at whatever intricate concoction I'm attempting to whip together and think to myself, "There's no fucking way I could ever get this for a nickel."

Some Enchanted Evening

2009-08-26T14:23:00.005-05:00

There's no getting around it. Thirty-two is a boring age. It's not a landmark. It's not a milestone. Hell, it's even a boring number. No fun squares or primes or anything symbolic. On the plus side, my birthday did fall on a Friday this year, which is handy. I took the day off from work without having any grandiose plans to fill the time; getting to sleep late was reason enough.

I spent most of the day lazing around and playing computer games. I didn't even bother to shower until late afternoon. I had to get cleaned up for the one concrete thing I had planned for the day. LabRat had asked me where I'd like to go for my birthday dinner, and I responded with the name of our favorite sushi place, almost before he'd gotten the question out of his mouth.

It rained a little bit during the day, but by the time we went out to dinner, the weather had cleared up, and the evening was cool and breezy. That is to say...perfect. We headed over to the Central West End for dinner, which we enjoyed as always. The tang of unagi and the wonderful bursts of salmon roe were enough to make my evening, but we decided to stroll around the neighborhood afterwards. The weather had brought everyone out, so instead of fleeing to air-conditioned buildings, people relaxing at the end of the work week were taking it easy at all of the outdoor restaurants and cafes. The gourmet cupcake place was hopping. Street musicians set up on the corners. A lady twirling fire batons drew an amazed crowd. It was a wonderful, laid-back scene, almost straight out of a things-are-going-great movie montage.

The rest of the weekend went well, too. Saturday, LabRat and I went to the Chinese Farmers' Market. It was my first visit there, and since I'm an adventurous eater, seeing all the exotic meats and fish turned me into Augustus Gloop (although thankfully, there were no pipes to get sucked into). We picked up some scallion pancakes, as well as some barbecue pork buns from the dim sum place down the road. Later, once the food haze had worn off, we went out for dinner, then drinks at a gay bar, where we befriended a lonely guy who'd been ditched by his straight friends. He was nice, though I hope he didn't think we were trying to get him to come home with us.

Sunday, I had brunch with my dad and stepmother, then came home to attempt my most complicated cooking experiment to date. I recently subscribed to Cook's Illustrated, and in my first issue, the recipe that really grabbed me was for Spanish Tortilla. Far beyond the usual chop-mix-cook recipes I tend to favor, this involved far more peeling and prodding and careful flipping. Visually, it didn't come out as I'd hoped. The flipping went all right, but when I tried to tuck it back into the pan, some of the potatoes got bottom-heavy and separated. So it may have been closer to a potato hash than a Spanish tortilla, but at least it tasted good. Though it requires a lot of ingredients and a lot of prep time, I'm looking forward to attempting it again. If nothing else, I can try it when I turn thirty-three. That's just as boring an age.

Wednesday's Child is Full of Whoa

2009-08-13T15:51:00.005-05:00

I don't want to bitch about my job. Most days, I like my job. And hey, in this economy, I can count myself lucky that I even have one. Well, two. The restaurant has been just as busy as ever; it seems that the one thing people aren't even attempting to cut back on is the breadth of their wedding receptions. The guest list at these things just gets bigger and bigger.

So, in addition to these gigantic parties at which I'm kept hopping for eight or nine hours at a stretch, there's my full-time job at the lab. Some personnel shifts have left me with seniority in my lab, so extra duties and special problems will fall on my shoulders. That was fine, until both my bosses went on vacation at the same time, and we had five priority projects to do, and nothing was working, and I was in charge of scheduling everyone's work for a week. I'm pretty competent under work pressure, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't come close to cracking. The pinnacle of work stress came when some important samples failed to work on the third attempt, and someone was going to have to stick around and work on them until they were done. That someone was me, and I spent the better part of fifteen hours at the lab. I was so far beyond the end of my rope, it was just a speckle of twine in the distance. As I wrapped up my work around midnight on Tuesday, I sent an e-mail to the bosses (who were to return the next day), confirming that I wasn't going to be coming in on Wednesday.

As fortune would have it, LabRat also worked a long day on Tuesday, and also didn't go in Wednesday, so it was a great opportunity for us to have a rare concurrent day off. We started it in my favorite way, which is sleeping and sleeping and sleeping. Actually, one of the ways I can tell I'm aging is that I don't sleep as late as I used to; time was when I simply wouldn't wake up unless woken by an outside influence like an alarm or an earthquake. Now, I find myself waking naturally, which is still a weird feeling. Still, I was exhausted from Tuesday, and slept until about noon.

By the time I was awake, showered, and dressed, it was time to start thinking about lunch. LabRat and I both enjoy Dewey's pizza, but they're usually so crowded, it's almost not worth going. We figured that at 2:00 on a Wednesday, we could probably squeeze in without much of a wait. "Without much of a wait" was understating it; there was only one table taken when we showed up. I know it wasn't the peak lunch rush, but daaaaaaamn. We had a leisurely lunch of salad and pizza, with no need to rush off anywhere or to give up the table. After lunch, we came home to find an early birthday present in the mail for me. Veruca sent me a T-shirt (in my beloved chocolate brown) that has this printed on the front:

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator

I will be wearing the shit out of this shirt.

We hung out at the apartment for a while, then headed to a late afternoon showing of Julie & Julia. Let's see... How to characterize the rest of the crowd? That the next youngest person in the theater used to party with Bess Truman? That it looked like Julius Caesar's class reunion? That the touring company of Cocoon was in town? That there were more wrinkles represented than a library full of Madeleine L'Engle? I think you may get the gist, except I should mention that there were more walkers than at a charity 5K. The movie itself was pretty good. Meryl Streep was amazing, of course. I like Amy Adams, but there was too much focus on her character at the expense of the Julia Child story. Plus, I've read the book that this movie is based on, and the woman Adams plays isn't as charming as she's portrayed, though they do at least allude to the fact that she's pretty narcissistic. Thumbs up overall, though.

After the movie, we headed home and passed some time before it was time to head over to Timiffany's for the weekly Top Chef Masters viewing party. I slipped into my new T-shirt, which got approving comments from all present, and as with many successful Top Chef viewing parties, we hardly paid any attention to the episode, in favor of talking and eating cheese and sipping wine. After the episode, LabRat dropped me at the Deluxe, where I met Chrisngnat and Lex Webb for the Three Bad Jacks show. More approving comments on the awesome new shirt, although it may have gotten some attention because the rest of the crowd was all decked out in their standard rockabilly black. Unfortunately, it was getting kind of late, and I couldn't stay for the whole show. As I started the walk home, I called LabRat to let him know that I should be home in about twenty minutes.

LabRat: "Um...how far have you walked?"
Limecrete: "I'm almost to Manchester."
LabRat: "How would you feel about getting a drive-through shake?"
Limecrete: "I would support it."
LabRat: "Wait in front of Monarch. I'm on my way."

What better way to cap a wonderful day off than chicken fingers and milkshakes? After such a stressful week, I desperately needed to recharge my battery, and though I don't know how long said recharge will last, I'm back to my normal self and raring to go. At least until next week when I officially age up.

Leather

2009-08-05T14:20:00.003-05:00

No, I haven't picked up a new, kinky habit. Leather is the traditional three-year anniversary gift, and although it opens up all sorts of wonderfully naughty and tacky gift ideas, LabRat and I simply don't have room in our tiny apartments for assless chaps and other such accouterments. The closest we got to leather was the steak at Sidney Street Cafe, our restaurant of choice for a special dinner. I like menus that allow me to do some culinary branching out, so I included the confit of sweetbreads in our appetizer choices (veal thymus gland on grilled eggplant) and had the sushi-grade seared marlin for dinner. Both were terrific, and though LabRat's steak was somewhat disappointing, we enjoyed the meal overall. The wine we brought in probably contributed to that.

The three-year mark in our relationship actually feels a lot different than the two-year one, which surprises me. I'm about to have a birthday, and don't anticipate viewing the world differently at 32 than I have at 31. The third year of dating LabRat has brought all sorts of new experiences that the second year didn't. Juggling our families on special occasions (mostly my family, since they're in town) has become more of a delicate balancing act. He accompanied me to a college reunion, meeting friends I had from long before I came out. We've reached the phase that certain components of dinner plates get automatically passed to the other person. Disagreements are generally aired out and resolved in short order; not at all the stew-on-it-for-six-days-then-enter-low-grade-depression method I used to embrace.

There are hurdles, as there would be in any relationship, but I still consider myself fantastically lucky. LabRat is kind and witty. He's sexy and charming. He's never boring. If money gets tight, we can still find ways to have fun together. If I want an ice cream sundae at two in the morning, he'd more likely join me than raise an eyebrow at my expanding waistline. I can't even describe how much I'm looking forward with anticipation to year four.

Meet Me in St. Louis - #2

2009-07-23T15:08:00.010-05:00

St. Louis politics is an odd creature. As anyone who lives here can tell you, it operates more as a collection of neighborhoods than as a single cohesive city. That's part of the reason our standard opening get-to-know-you question is "What high school did you go to?" It's not because we're infused with decades-old school spirit; it's because the neighborhood in which someone came of age can tell you a lot about their background. Not only is every neighborhood like a city unto itself, but St. Louis is actually a city unto itself. The city and the surrounding county are politically separated. I live within spitting distance of the city limits, but am not allowed to vote for mayor.

Now, what do you get when you have an urban area that gets absolutely no tax support from the surrounding affluent suburbs? If you entered "A clusterfuck" on your test paper, go to the head of the class. This clusterfuck manifests itself in many ways, but a big one is public transportation. In my view, there is no great city that does not have great public transportation. The Metro company here has a very checkered past. When the light rail system was to expand into the county region, it was financed with a bond issue. Before long, the company and contractor couldn't get enough of suing each other over changes, delays, and overspending. The county extension was finally finished (and I'm thrilled that it was, as that's what I take to work every day), but the process was a giant headache.

Fast forward to November, 2008. Everyone was giddy over the prospect of Obama becoming president, but that wasn't the only thing on county residents' ballots. I'm not sure why our representatives are so timid about representing us, but we always have a lot of minor issues to vote on. I don't mind; I doubt my representative would really reflect my wishes, anyway. One of the issues last November was a half-cent tax increase to fund Metro. And what happened? The well-to-do residents of the county swatted it down like a spider on the kitchen counter. What did they care? They remembered the hell of the last fiscal nightmare. They were still riding high on their insane property values, unaware the housing bubble was about to burst. Besides, public transportation is for hippies and poor, black people. Most county residents wouldn't be caught dead on a local bus. So, the measure failed miserably, while a tax increase that vaguely alluded to helping children passed by a huge margin. I challenge anyone who voted for that proposition to tell me any specifics about how it helps children. I'll wager a tidy sum of money that 90% of them don't have a clue.

Fast forward some more. The economy went into a tailspin, and without the extra tax revenue, we've now been reduced to this:

These signs are now all over the metro area. Like I said before, St. Louis isn't so much a single entity as it is a bunch of fiefdoms all stuck together. The soccer moms in their Ford Escapes don't give a shit that people ten miles away can no longer commute to what little work there is. Why should they? It's not like it's happening in their city.

Scenes From A Blog Hiatus

2009-07-13T17:05:00.005-05:00

Oh, hey there, House of Lime! How ya been? Guess what's happened since I've been shamefully neglecting you? Actually, not much. If something exciting had happened, don't you think I'd have come home and updated you? Still, life rolls on, and I suppose there have been a few minorly noteworthy events in the past few weeks.

Scene 1

Limecrete sits at a computer screen. The consumer website he reads often lists online deals, and he spots one for a set of good kitchen knives. This sparks his interest, and he figures out that the catering job he alternately treasures and despises has netted him more than enough to splurge. He orders the knives.

Several days later, a package is delivered to his door.

Limecrete: "Oh, my knives! Finally, it won't take twenty minutes to dice a tomato!"

Exeunt.

Scene 2

LabRat has gone to Georgia for two weeks. Most of Limecrete's time is spent doing bachelor things, albeit gay bachelor things, like queueing up Golden Girls marathons or playing endless amounts of Wedding Dash 2: Rings Around the World.

Limecrete: "OK. I'll play one more level, but then I have to go do laundry."

The laundry continues to go undone for several more days.

Exeunt.

Scene 3

Fourth of July weekend is spent with family. Friday evening, Limecrete meets Veruca and Monkey over at Dad's house, where the aunt and uncle only ever seen at funerals have come into town for Limecrete's stepmother's birthday brunch. Aussie Nat has kindly given Limecrete her old phone, which is still a huge upgrade for him, and he pages through the instruction manual.

Limecrete: "If I'm not going to use the internet on this thing, how will I create and download ringtones?"

As of this writing, he still has not figured it out. Saturday, he meets Veruca and Monkey at Mom's house for dinner, after which everyone goes to the Chesterfield mall parking lot for fireworks. It is Monkey's first show.

Veruca: "Ready for the show?"
Monkey: "I have to potty."
Veruca: "Now?!?"

She leads him off, and returns a few minutes later.

Veruca: "Well, the only place to go was a bush over there. He just had to haul it out and pee with a bunch of people sitting five feet away. I'm the classiest mom ever."

The show is quite good for not being a park or the official one down at the river. Monkey seems more interested in finding a fruit snack in Veruca's purse than the exploding bursts of light.

Limecrete: "Commie."

Exeunt.

Sunday is the aforementioned birthday brunch. Limecrete is surrounded by relatives and step-relatives.

Limecrete's Dad: "There's plenty of orange juice, but is anyone going to finish off this champagne?"
Limecrete: "Right here."

Exeunt.

Scene 4

Limecrete is at the grocery store. He only needs a few things, and heads for the express lane. The lady in front of him is approximately 112 years old, and can't figure out how to pay with her debit card. [Editor -- please insert ironic scene of one of those moronic cards-are-faster-than-cash commercials. -- Limecrete] The lady behind him used to live in his building. She begins unloading can after can, along with several other items onto the conveyor belt. The cashier raises her eyebrow, and her four-inch fake eyelashes flutter in frustration.

Cashier: "Ma'am this is the express line."
Lady who used to live in building and who has severe Smoker's Voice: "I ain't got fifteen items."

After a few moments of yet more unloading, the 112-year-old finally manages to purchase her groceries. The cashier's attention is now free enough to focus on the clearly-more-than-thirty items on the conveyor belt.

Cashier: "Ma'am, I have to check each of those cans individually."
LWUTLIBAWHSSV: "You think I have fifteen items here?"
Cashier: "I can't check you out in this lane."
LWUTLIBAWHSSV: "You expect me to load all this back into my cart?!?"
Cashier: "MMMM-hmmm."

Limecrete is unabashedly impressed. His consternation that nobody ever gets called on things like this is happily dissipated for the time being.

Exeunt.

Scene 5

Veruca has come back to St. Louis for the wedding of a friend from junior high. She has left Monkey and Sparkletooth back in Kansas City, so Limecrete will be the Plus One.

Limecrete: "Is this going to be a full Catholic wedding?"

Veruca hands over the program, and the telltale "Homily" and "Communion" lines are spotted.

Limecrete: "Damn."

Limecrete finds it a strange sensation to be at a wedding where he doesn't know a single one of the participants. Later, at the reception, someone points out that Jenna Fischer is sitting at the next table, making the sensation even stranger. Veruca spends the rest of the evening waffling over whether or not she should get a picture.

Veruca: "If I don't do it, the guys at my office will kill me, but I don't want to be that lady who bothers her at a reception. I'm going to hate myself either way."
Limecrete: "Mmm-hmm."
Veruca: "I'll give you twenty bucks to take the picture for me."
Limecrete: "Fifty."
Veruca: "Forget it."

She eventually goes and gets the picture. The world fails to crack open. Limecrete gets a text message:

LabRat: "Bring me some cake!"

Exeunt.

This Little Piggy Went To Market

2009-06-25T10:54:00.002-05:00

One good thing about the country's recent economic woes is the explosion of local markets and ingredients. It always makes me happy to eat veggies that were grown down the road.

One bad thing about the country's recent economic woes is the explosion of local markets and ingredients. Now the Farmer's Market is crowded as fuck.

Still, I wanted to stock up on some produce, and while there are some deals to be found at Schnucks, $1.50 for a single bell pepper is patently ridiculous. So, I glommed onto Timiffany, and we took a Saturday morning jaunt down to the Soulard Farmer's Market. I'm not a big fan of navigating huge crowds during a heatwave, but it was still pretty fun. I still have to check out the Tower Grove market, and the Maplewood one, though within walking distance of the apartment, has the fatal flaw of not selling produce. I know. Don't ask. I hadn't been down to the Soulard market since I was a kid on a field trip, and was surprised anew at how much they had available. Not just produce, but meat, fish, flowers, live animals, tacky tchotchkes, pastries... The list goes on and on. I also managed to nab myself a nice bag o' stuff. For twelve bucks, I wound up with:

- Two dozen cloves of fresh garlic
- A pound of strawberries
- Two heads of broccoli
- A pound of peas (Still in their pods - I don't like peas, but my stepmother knew I was going to the market, and had asked for them)
- Three fat, yellow peppers
- A dozen roses (We were going to a friend's combination birthday/get-well-soon-after-falling-down-a-flight-of-stairs party that night, and I figured flowers would cover both occasions well).

Not bad, eh? The flowers opened up nicely once we got them into some water, the peas were appreciated, and whisked away to where I thankfully never had to see them again, and the garlic set about taking over my apartment. Seriously, I think its name is now on the lease. I'm so used to buying pre-minced garlic in those glass jars that I forgot how pungent it can be. I actually don't mind very much; I love the smell of garlic. Still, when you're poking around in the fridge for yogurt, you don't necessarily want to be punched in the face by a garlic fist. Hang on, I've got to go add Garlic Fist to the Awesome Band Names list...

OK, done. I busted the garlic out of its loose plastic container and sealed it in a plastic bag, hoping that it could be contained. No go.

LabRat: "You need to put a box of baking soda in the fridge."
Limecrete: "There is a box of baking soda in the fridge."

Time seems to have weakened the sheer force of it, or perhaps I'm just getting used to it. Good news, either way. There was still the matter of what to do with all of this lovely produce before it goes bad, so I winged it, and threw together a vast convocation of veggies, spices, and sauces to cook and put on some pasta. Perhaps that doesn't sound momentous, but that may be because you don't know that I don't wing it when it comes to cooking. I am all about The Recipe. Straying from a dictated list of ingredients and directions sends jolts of agony through the anal-retentive section of my brain. I've been working on breaking out of that mold, and have been making some progress, almond freak-outs notwithstanding.

So, I chopped some of that meddlesome garlic, along with some of the peppers, broccoli, and a zucchini I had on hand. By happenstance, LabRat had some chicken in his fridge he wanted to get rid of before his trip to Georgia, so I cubed and sauteed it with the garlic in some olive oil and spicy stir-fry sauce. Once it was browned, I set it aside and threw the veggies into the pan. Then came the mad and somewhat random spice addition. Let's see, what would taste good together? Oregano, obviously. That goes with everything. A tiny bit of garlic salt in case the actual garlic isn't strong enough. Black pepper. Thyme. Once that was cooked and smelling seriously good, the chicken went back in with a little more stir-fry sauce. It all turned out very well, and has given me a much needed boost of confidence in free-form cooking. Now I won't feel like I'm breaking a law as immutable as gravity every time I substitute green pepper for celery or whatever. That's a big step forward. I guess the next one will be figuring out how to work through twenty-two cloves of garlic in the next couple of weeks.

Viva Las...

2009-06-09T21:17:00.002-05:00

Vegas!

I was going to write a blow-by-blow description of our trip to Las Vegas this past weekend, but it's all become somewhat of a delicious blur. What I can say is that it was ten people, three members of which are old friends all turning forty this year, and who decided to celebrate by jetting off to Sin City. LabRat and I hitched our wagon to the train, and tagged along. There was gambling. There was imbibing. There was eating. There was lying by the pool, listening to the Irish Soccer convention get drunker and drunker. Repeat as needed.

Not that there weren't a couple of standout activities. Ben suggested a Russian restaurant off the beaten path that was very enjoyable, despite (or perhaps even because of) the staff member singing synth-pop Russian karaoke at the front. LabRat and I dashed for a cab back to the strip, but needn't have rushed, as our driver had to sit and wait a few minutes to receive his kickback from the massage parlor he had just dropped a bunch of fratty tools off at. That may sound like a joke or exaggeration. It's not.

The other big activity was Tim's idea for a tour of the Neon Graveyard, where the historical signs of yore spend their waning years. It was a fascinating place, as you can see from a couple of the photos up there.

So, we had a great time, and though my dream of paying for the trip with a few spins of the roulette wheel were quickly shattered, I didn't lose the entire chunk of money I'd set aside for gambling. Still, I think the bulk of any upcoming entertainment will be on the cheap side. Who's up for cloud watching?

Fun on a Bun

2009-06-01T20:44:00.006-05:00

Well, what a nice few weeks this has been. I love to spend my weekends doing things that are relaxing or fun, but more often than not lately, they've been invaded by restaurant shifts or other responsibilities. Somehow, I was able to spend what could very well have been the last of the beautiful Spring weather this year doing some very cool things. Also, lots of food and alcohol has been involved. That always helps.

This Spring Fling kicked off with a weekend trip to Kansas City the week after Mother's Day. We managed to pack a lot into a couple of days, from a sculpture exhibit at the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art to a matinee of Sunshine Cleaning (thumbs up, by the way), to swimming with Monkey at the YMCA.

"Sculpture, schmulpture! Let's race!"

We also managed a side-trip to Pryde's, which is the store of my dreams. It's like a house, but every corridor just leads to another corridor or room, all of which are crammed with neato stuff. And there's been an addition since I was last there. In the basement... A pie shop, straight out of Pushing Daisies! Eeeeee!

Veruca, caught red-handed with a wedge of pecan.

I even got one of their T-shirts (in my beloved dark brown, of course), with "Cake is for sissies" splashed across the back. Nice.

The next weekend was Memorial Day weekend. Actually, before that was Practice Craps night at Timiffany's house. We're gearing up for a trip to Las Vegas, and wanted to learn the basics of craps. Timiffany, naturally, has a board, or whatever it's called, and laid it out on their dining room table. Timiffany, Kenedict, LabRat, and I spent a pleasant evening with wine, giant dice, and stacks of fake money. I fake came out ahead! I'd be happy to take you out for a really nice fake dinner. On the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, LabRat, a friend of ours whose boyfriend had gone out of town, and I drove down to the Crown Valley Winery in Ste. Genevieve. We got there early, and were able to snag a table with a good view of the vineyards. We sipped our way through a bunch of the wines, and snacked on various cheeses, meats, fruits, and sweets. Hey, that rhymes. I'm a poet, and was not cognizant of the fact!

We even capped the evening with sushi, which is how all evenings should be capped.

Then, a few days ago, Tim called to let me know that he had a couple of spare tickets to the Los Straitjackets/Southern Culture on the Skids show at the Pageant. I had never heard the former, but have one of the SCOTS albums, and love it. It was a really good show. During "8 Piece Box", when audience members are invited on-stage to dance, and fried chicken is traditionally flung at the rest of us, I managed to snag a piece out of the air. I have the reflexes of a ninja. I horrified LabRat by taking a big bite out of it, then did my duty as a gentleman, and handed it over to the girl standing next to me, so she could fling it back on-stage to nail one of the dancing girls right in the rack.

The next day, I went out to dinner with my dad and stepmother as a late Mother's Day celebration, after which my dad and I went to the 3D showing of Up (more thumbs up, by the way). Then it was Saturday, and time for Tiffany's birthday party. I...may have polished off one of the bottles of wine I bought at the winery, before moving on to the wonderful lemonade/Sprite/blueberry/blueberry vodka mixture Tiffany makes. Aussie Nat's mom is in town from Melbourne for a while, and I love when she visits. She's an awesome lady, and I'm not just saying that because this blog is one of the few links she has to what the St. Louis gang is up to. It's also because she's got freaky gambling luck, and I needed to rub her before we go to Vegas. The party also featured acres of food, row upon row of drinks, an outside screening of The Princess Bride, Mentos/Diet Coke explosions, and an intense round of Rock Band in the living room. I'd never played before, and yet suddenly found myself shoved in front of the television, a game microphone in my hand, and the B-52s' "Roam" starting to play. I don't think I acquitted myself too badly. Must have been wine courage.

We leave for Vegas in a few days, and I'm hoping my streak of luck continues at the craps table. If not, don't forget our date. I'll see you at the fake restaurant. Feel free to order fake dessert.

Kender: "Can you believe this shit?"
Aussie Nat: "It was this big."
Limecrete: "Tee-hee! I love everybody! Have I mentioned the bottle of wine?"

Internet Video Gem #3 - Animal Planet

2009-05-20T02:29:00.001-05:00

Though people can be cute at times, animals seem to have a real corner on the market. There's no mood so bad that can't be at least minimally improved by watching another species be adorable.

It can be thanks to bored shepherds:

Or bored college students:

Or a banker helping out some ducks in need.

Or anything having to do with the aforementioned Time Warp:

Or perhaps the critters are just hanging out together:

Or it's bath time (whether Marco likes it or not):

Even something as ridiculously simple as a sneeze can make me laugh:

It doesn't even have to be a "good" animal. Maybe someone just doesn't like cats encroaching on his territory. Or perhaps "good" is a relative term, since this adorably naughty Boston Terrier is really doing his owners a favor by taking out the lime green couch.

Supper Club

2009-05-14T14:14:00.002-05:00

If television and books are important enough to keep organizational tallies on, so is the thing that's more important than both of them combined: eating. Specifically, eating out. The gutter-snipes in Oliver! had the right idea: food, glorious food. Jews mark every event from womb to tomb by eating and eating and eating and eating, and I'm only too happy to uphold this tradition.

Several months ago, I was reading through a St. Louis restaurant guide, and realized I wasn't taking enough advantage of what my fair city has to offer. So, being an inquisitive sort, I roped Gnat, LabRat, and anyone else who was interested at the time into a sort of Adventure Dining setup. At least once a month, we were to try a local restaurant we'd never tried before. There are pretty few restrictions; most everything's fair game. They can be swank or a complete hole-in-the-wall. Any food is welcome, be it standard American grub or exotic ethnic cuisine. The waiters may wear tuxes and describe specials for twenty minutes, or a cranky woman named Flodeen with six teeth could throw dinner rolls at our heads. It's all good, as long as we try to avoid chain joints.

Places I already know and love (or hate) aren't on the list, of course, because this exercise is all about trying new places. Additionally, I judge not only on food and service, but on things that may not be important to other people, such as driving distance from home (the closer, the better), and what type of clientele the restaurant seems to attract. The best food in the city doesn't make up for having to sit next to annoying idiots all evening.

1860's Hard Shell Cafe

I don't remember where Gnat and I were actually aiming to eat on this night, but it was closed, so we wound up at this place in Soulard. Good seafood is something I'm always on the lookout for, as it can be a challenge to track down when you're smack dab in the middle of the continent. I liked the restaurant itself (I'm a sucker for fireplaces), and was pleased that it wasn't crowded, but aside from that, there really wasn't anything distinguished or memorable about the place. The food was fine, but nothing to write home about. It's certainly not a place to avoid, but I don't see myself ever pining to go back.

After
This is the twenty-four-hour "retro" diner that they opened on Manchester where the old Novak's used to be. LabRat and I were curious about it, so we stopped by on what I think was late morning/early afternoon on a Sunday. They had pretty standard diner fare; I got lunch food, and LabRat got breakfast. It wasn't very crowded, though there was a large family near us that was celebrating some sort of birthday or anniversary. Why they'd want to celebrate in a tiny diner is beyond me. Anyway, the service was patchy and the food was blah. It was like a less-satisfying Courtesy, if you can even imagine such a thing. Courtesy may be low-rent, but nothing can match it when you're blasted. Maybe that's the problem, and if I drunkenly stumbled into After at 1:30 in the morning, it'd be a lot more fun. I doubt I'll ever find out.

*Update* - Nor will anyone else. It's dead and gone.

Barrister's

LabRat and I went out for Sunday brunch one day, and the restaurant we tried first was way too crowded. We walked up the block a short distance, and found this bar with a sign advertising their own brunch menu. We decided to give it a whirl, and it turned out to be surprisingly good. You'd think a bar would be like "Here's some scrambled eggs and toast. Go nuts," but I got some eggs Florentine that were really very impressive. It wasn't over-crowded (I guess because it's nestled into the Clayton business district), and I'm looking forward to trying it again.

Bristol Seafood Grill

Ah, finally. An upscale seafood place. Since Tiffany doesn't like seafood (I know, I know -- talk to her, not me), I thought taking Tim out for a seafood dinner would be a good birthday present. I asked around for a nice one, and my mother suggested this place. It worked out perfectly. I had so much trouble deciding what I wanted, we just went whole hog: crabcakes, lobster bisque, crab risotto, and fish entree (sea bass for me -- seriously tasty). We even got dessert, which is rare for me in a restaurant. My key lime pie wasn't good, but Tim's creme brulee was great. I liked the place so much, I decided this would be the place for Valentine's Day dinner. That only left one problem. LabRat and I got so full, all our romantic aspirations were thrown out the window.

Cafe Natasha's Kabob International

Persian food. Gnat and I met up with a mutual friend for dinner, even as we were all still in various stages of the horrible cold/flu that everyone in the city seems to have gotten. We split some baba ganouj and falafel for appetizers, and although the apricot stew caught my eye, I decided to go for the kabob combination platter for dinner. Good choice. It was a bed of saffron rice topped with spiced beef, chicken, and koubideh, all of which were terrific. Koubideh? I'm actually still not sure, but I think it's a mixture of ground beef and lamb. The place is a little pricey for being in the South Grand area, but it was worth it. You need strong flavors when you're sick; a dash of rosemary ain't gonna cut it.

Carl's Deli

Why is this place popular? Delicatessens are about my favorite thing on the planet, and it's so disappointing when one... Well, sucks. The food was greasy and overpriced. The place itself was dirty and cramped. Everyone working there seemed about fifteen, which is fine, unless they have that stereotypical teenager fuck-you-I-don't-even-like-this-job work ethic, which this crew had in spades. And you know, I could almost accept all of that, but this place even broke the cardinal rule. The first commandment of delis: Thou Shalt Have Quality Pickles. It's one thing for the lab cafeteria to hand out bad pickles. A professional deli serving those cheapass crap pickles is unforgivable.

CooperElla

Let me let this cafe's menu give the gist: "A community based, family friendly coffeehouse and cafe offering breakfast, lunch and dinner fare nestled just off the beaten path of Manchester Road in Maplewood". This is a place LabRat and I stumbled upon when we decided to explore a part of our neighborhood we'd never walked through before. The next time the rare confluence of free time and pleasant weather met, we decided to see what it was all about. It's a very charming little cafe, though that "family friendly" phrase initially sent shivers through my spine. I mean, if restaurants that don't specify that they're family-friendly are crammed with screaming children, how awful would a restaurant that welcomes them be? Fortunately, what they meant by this is that there's a separate room off the main one where children can be...ah...more comfortable (read: away from people that want to enjoy their coffee in peace). As with several small coffeehouses and cafes, it runs kind of pricey, but the food was good and the atmosphere pleasant. Hopefully, next time we can wake up early enough to sample the breakfast menu. In the meantime, I'm happy to support a neighborhood business that doesn't actively rub me the wrong way.

De Palm Tree

I knew when I began this enterprise that not all of the restaurants would be winners. Some places aren't hidden gems; they actually are worth avoiding. Despite the glowing newspaper review that the De Palm Tree displays on its wall, it was an extremely disappointing meal. On the way there, Gnat was telling me that the last time she was there, they had run out of whatever she had ordered. I shrugged it off, knowing that though it's irritating when that happens, it happens. Presumably they'd learned how to supply themselves better. Bzzt. They didn't have the appetizer we ordered. They didn't have enough DIET COKE to serve. The soup I ordered never came to the table, but after waiting a good forty minutes to get the food that did make it, I wasn't about to tack on another forty for soup. "But Limecrete," I hear you say, "Surely they were in the middle of a busy lunch rush." Sure, if by "busy lunch rush" you mean two tables of people. The food was fine - not great, not terrible. Still, the overall experience was so exasperating, I won't be going back.

El Scorcho

One of the places that popped up during Maplewood's ongoing gentrification. In what seems to be becoming a theme, Gnat and I actually wound up at this place when another one nearby didn't work out. As to the bar itself, it's a little too Coyote Ugly. I'm here for dinner, so watching drunk chicks who aren't as cute as they think they are climbing onto the bar to whoop it up with the cowboy hats that hang above has limited appeal. That said, the food is really, really, really good, and reasonably priced to boot.

*Update* - Sadly, it's gone. It's been taken over by a Mexican place called Las Palmas, which is perfectly good. It's just that there are plenty of Mexican restaurants in the area, and I liked having a more Tex-Mex place in walking distance. Sigh.

Everest Cafe & Bar

An odd-sounding mix of Nepalese, Indian, and Korean food. It actually worked out really well in practice. I went to this place long ago, when it was a gross little hole in the wall. Since then, they've moved and spruced, and the changes are incredibly welcome. I really enjoyed my meal. For appetizers, we got steamed meat mo-mos (pork dumplings and Nepalese spices), eggplant and zucchini fritters (possibly the best thing I tasted all night), veggie samosas, and garlic naan. It had been a while since I'd had lamb, so I got the lamb tarkari, which is lamb cooked in Nepalese spices with grilled onions, bell peppers, lemons and tomatoes, and which came with a nice bowl of lentil soup on the side. The whole evening was really enjoyable, though that may be in part due to Gnat getting a phone call that someone had finally found her lost cat. I'm looking forward to see if my second visit goes as well as the first.

Fritanga

A tiny, little Nicaraguan place that I managed to get a good group of people to go to with me. They had no less than four kinds of plantains, all of which were delicious. I had an interesting drink that combined milk and spices that had a pleasant flavor, somewhat like a much less overpowering eggnog. The carne asada was great, especially when I combined it with a chimichurri sauce. It would be a great place to have an intimate meal, especially if you love plantains.

Fu Manchu

Another addition to the up-and-coming Maplewood strip, and another place to add to the growing list of restaurants that have good food, but are too pricey to make a regular destination. It was a strange mix of upscale Asian food and a sports bar. I ate there solo, and took the opportunity to sample some of the menu items that would be tough to share, like the barbecued eel roll. There was an extensive appetizer list, a noodle bowl that I'm looking foward to sampling, and some intriguing desserts. I can't see it becoming a regular hangout of mine, but I like having sushi in walking distance.

Actually, check that. I went back there with LabRat to satisfy a late night Asian-food-craving, which we get a lot. It's still overpriced, only now, the food's not good enough to even sort of justify it. I'm crossing it off the list.

*Update* - Seems a lot of people crossed it off of their list. It's gone.

Grbic

Gnat and I still can't decide if this place is Bosnian, German, or a mix of the two. Once adventure dining began, this was the first place we tried. We both enjoyed it, although the menu is a confusing blend of heritage. Schnitzel or goulash? Baklava or palacinke? Everything was good, and while this wouldn't be my destination for an everyday, routine meal, it's perfect for trying something new.

Herbie's

LabRat and I had been wanting to try this restaurant, which replaced Cafe Balaban in the Central West End, but we never had a good opportunity. That is, until we went to a friend's retirement happy hour, and were looking for some dinner afterward. We went to the new Pi location, but upon learning that there was more than an hour wait just to get seated to order pizza that would have taken another forty, we strolled across Euclid to Herbie's instead. I wanted to be a bit adventurous, so we got the horseradish trout salad on a corn pancake for an appetizer, which I followed up with rabbit and pasta for the entree. The trout was good, but I found the ratio of rabbit to pasta underwhelming. LabRat and I have a running contest to see who selects the best entree, and he easily beat me in this round; his short rib was fantastic. Fortunately for both of us, we wrapped up with the best, lightest cheesecake we've had in a long while. It's a bit too pricey to make a regular destination, but I'm sure we'll find our way back there before too long.

Iron Barley

I'd been hearing a lot about this place, but had somehow never had occasion to go. I finally rectified that by going for dinner with Gnat, Huda, and Timiffany. It was hella crowded for a rainy Monday night, and I should have spent the time perusing the menu, because as it turned out, there are about a million things I'd like to try, including... Oh, why don't I just let this guy tell you:

Forget having a "special" of the evening; there were at least seven. Two in particular called to me - the duck salad and the barley gazpacho. The duck salad came with thick sliced of duck, grilled apples, and lettuce with a balsamic dressing. I'm not a big fan of the wedge salad fad (easy as it may be, I'd like my lettuce torn for me), but the flavor was wonderful. The gazpacho came with the aforementioned barley, mussels, clams, shrimp, chicken, pork, sausage, and vegetables. The meek little voice that told me to save some for the following day's lunch was drowned out, and I downed the whole thing. My clothes still smell like smoke. Not cigarette smoke; food smoke. Everything is prepared in genuine, heavy-as-hell, cast-iron skillets. It was a memorable meal, and I'm actively looking forward to the next one there.

Kayak's Cafe

I always thought this cafe was somewhat improbably situated. It's smack dab on the corner of Skinker and Forest Park Parkway, which doesn't scream relaxed atmosphere. I don't even know where I'd begin to park. When a friend from my book club suggested we meet there for lunch, I discovered that a train stop I sit through every day pops out right across the street. Comforted by the fact that I wouldn't have to drive in endless loops to access the place, I agreed. As with other neighborhood coffee houses/cafes, it's somewhat expensive (see CooperElla, above). I had a sandwich and iced tea, and it was more than ten bucks. Generally, I don't mind paying a bit extra to support local business, and this was no exception. The sandwich may have been expensive, but it was very tasty (any place that serves real rye gets extra points as a matter of course). The half-sized salad my friend got was bigger than most full-sized ones I see, and full of all sorts of goodies (I always like to see nice, fat artichoke hearts in my salads). It's not a place I'd be able to frequent every day, but for those times I'm able and willing to treat myself to something nicer than cafeteria food or brown-bagged bologna, it's handy.

Kreis' Restaurant & Bar

I didn't even make any plans to go to this steakhouse, but was swept along on a whim of my father's. I'm never one to turn down a free steak dinner, so I was happy to go along with him and my stepmother. We sat downstairs in a nautical-themed room, and I spent much of the evening staring at the plaque on the wall with various knots displayed, from square to noose. I like my steak medium, and restaurants tend to err on both sides of that. Some assume I just want them to pass a candle under a cow. Overly cautious places cook meat to charcoal. This place got it just right; fully cooked, but plenty of pink. Everything was good, but as with many steakhouses, it's too pricey to make a regular destination.

*Update* - I went back for Valentine's Day with LabRat, and they did not cover themselves in glory. My food was fine, but LabRat's had multiple problems. His "medium-well" steak came rarer than my "medium". The dinner rolls didn't come with any butter, which isn't upsetting, but kind of strange. LabRat ordered wine that never came, and dessert that took its sweet time, no pun intended. There isn't a dearth of steak places in the Metro area, so while it wasn't a terrible meal, there just isn't a reason to give them another shot.

Los Catrachos

When it comes to ethnic food, you know a place will have good food when the natives hang out there. Los Catrachos does this for Honduran food, and while the restaurant itself is a bit dingy and not in the best neighborhood, the lunch I had there was great. The lunch I had alone, because when Gnat and I drove by for dinner on a previous evening, she didn't want to leave her car unattended. The only English spoken while I was there was me giving my order. Everyone else chatted away in Spanish, and I enjoyed working on their awesome corn cakes while sitting back and watching a telenovela. Damn, that chick just slapped the shit out of her sister!

Mango

A Peruvian restaurant where Chrisngnat and I took Chris' mother for her birthday. I vaguely remember getting some sort of fish, and remember that everything was quite good, but unfortunately, it was so long ago that the details have faded. I guess we'll have to arrange a do-over.

***

Do-over accomplished! I'm so glad we went back; dinner was excellent, and the starter bowl of fried plantain chips was a nice touch. Peruvian food sure does incorporate a lot of potatoes. Each was prepared a different way or served with a different sauce. I also got some tilapia topped with olives, egg, onion, and a host of other ingredients. Tilapia's not my favorite fish, but I'm glad I got it in this case. All in all, a very good summer meal.

Meskerem Ethiopian Restaurant

I've never had Ethiopian food before, so this was even more of a new experience than many of these other restaurants. We split sambosas for appetizers, some beef and some lentil. Dinner was a large crepe-like substance called injera that we dipped into lots of things I couldn't even identify. There were certainly a lot of lentils. 95% of it was terrific, and our poor waitress was very patient with us. "What was this red stuff?" we'd say, gesturing at a portion of the plate where said red stuff was long gone. I won't even attempt to name everything we ate, but I will say that I got full really quickly, and an hour and a half later, was hungry again. I think the old cliche is applied to the wrong culture.

Mihalis Chop House

I wanted to take LabRat somewhere fairly schmancy for his birthday dinner, and settled on this chop house that's right up the street from the apartment. If you subtract food entirely out of the equation, there's a lot to be said for the place. Live music at the bar, attractive decor, and best of all, the backs of the booth seats go all the way up to the ceiling, creating a very private space. Not being crammed in next to other people is a big plus. Now, let's add the food back in. It was good. In fact, the lobster risotto we got as an appetizer was pretty damn fantastic. That said, the rest of the meal was satisfactory, but nothing to write home about, which is kind of what I'm looking for when being asked to fork over a lot of money. The French onion soup wasn't bad, but had an unusual sweetness to it that was distracting. I got one of the specials, a veal chop, for my entree. Again, not bad, but not especially exciting either. I'd probably go back again, but if I get another merely satisfactory meal, I'll write the place off as not worth the cost.

Miso

Though I'd never go there when it's clogged with hipsters, this Clayton sushi restaurant/lounge was a good place for LabRat and I to meet some friends for dinner on a Sunday evening. They managed to score some couches, which were comfortable to sit on, but made eating the sushi somewhat of a challenge. The food was good, and if you're crafty, you can order in such a way that you can save some money. I particularly enjoyed dessert, which was fried bananas in caramel ice cream with Macadamia nuts. Thumbs up.

O'Connell's Pub

As a bar, it's fine. As a restaurant, it's meh.

Pi

A popular pizza place in the U. City loop that I had somehow never heard of. LabRat and I met some friends there for dinner, and were pleasantly surprised. Their crust is made of cornmeal, and is super-tasty. Plus, I was so anxious for Thanksgiving food, I jumped the gun and got some pumpkin pie and cinnamon ice cream for dessert, both of which were good. The pizza takes a while and the service was a bit lackadaisical, so I wouldn't go if I were in a hurry to get anyplace afterwards, but I'd happily go back if I had a free evening.

Pumpernickel's Real Deli

Heh, I like that "real" in the title, as if to say "Don't worry, Limecrete! We won't pull a Carl's Deli on you!" This place caught LabRat's eye after my plaintive wail about the lack of pumpernickel bagels in the area, so we went out there for lunch one Saturday. We went with absolutely no expectations; it's in one of those ugly strip malls along Olive, so we braced ourselves for fatty, processed roast beef. We were relieved and delighted to discover that it's really good. Not only was the deli meat sandwich tasty (and accompanied by an acceptable pickle), but they have loads of Jewish bonuses like knish, latkes, and a host of those salty, smelly fish that I love so.

Saleem's Lebanese Cuisine

This place claims to be "Where Garlic is King", but I call bullshit on that. If you want garlic, go to Olympia. This place's baba ganouj was so-so, but I liked the lamb I got for dinner. Gnat was underwhelmed, and since it's in the Delmar loop, it costs more than it should. We won't be falling over ourselves to go back.

Sam's Steakhouse

LabRat and I went mini-golfing one sweaty, summer day. We went all the way to South County, and after I was through kicking his ass (and fine, we bowled a game or two after the putt-putt, and he kicked my ass at that), we decided to look around the area for someplace to eat. We stumbled across this steakhouse, and though we were self-conscious at being severely under-dressed, the staff didn't seem to mind that we were in T-shirts and shorts. Steakhouses can be pricey, and this place was no exception, but wow, was it worth it. Everything was terrific, and I even allowed myself to be talked into dessert. I've found that although key lime pie is not difficult to make, a lot of restaurants find a way to ruin it. Not Sam's; we left so full, our insides threatened to burst all over the parking lot. It's too far away to go to regularly, but the next time we find ourselves jonesing for steak, we'll have a much more appetizing option than those lackluster chain places.

NEW YORK CITY EDITION

While spending a long weekend in New York in free lodging, most of the spare money is naturally going to flow towards eating. At least, that's the most natural outlet if you're LabRat or me. So here's a brief synopsis of Big Apple eateries we frequented, in case you ever stumble across both this entry and this particular clump of restaurants in such a culinary jungle:

The Green Kitchen

A twenty-four-hour diner across from the apartment. We went twice; once for lunch when we first arrived (grilled salmon on a Caesar salad with a bowl of matzo ball soup), and once for a late night dessert (lemon meringue pie and an egg cream). The portions were certainly generous, but they were both what I call a "general" meal. There was nothing wrong with it, but nothing distinguished or outstanding, either.

Iron Sushi

Though it took a while for the food to land on the table, it was worth the wait. We tried out some new rolls which had a wonderfully spicy kick. In fact, the only disappointment was the California roll, which is arguably the most basic. Weird.

Hot and Crusty

It's often been my experience that the dumber the name of a restaurant, the better the food. We didn't have a meal to speak of here; just picked up some pastries to go. No complaints about the almond/cheese danish from me, and LabRat seemed to enjoy his muffins and cookies.

The Barking Dog

We went here for a late breakfast one day. It would have been a lot more enjoyable had the place not been packed with children. It's rare that I cannot finish my meal, but the banana pancakes (with eggs and bacon on the side) was too much for one sitting. Everything was good, and the decor was very cute.

Breeze

This place in Hell's Kitchen claims to be Thai-French fusion, but I didn't see anything French about it. This, like the Green Kitchen, was a general meal. The drinks were more noteworthy than the food. LabRat became entranced with the Golden Dragon, so if you're ever mixing drinks for him, that one's a safe bet.

Dim Sum Go-Go

A dim sum place in Chinatown. Everything was great. I had to physically stop myself from eating, as I could have gone on taking a bite of this and a bite of that all day.

La Masseria

An Italian place near the Broadway theaters. The menu looked promising. I wanted to stay true to my goal of eating things I wouldn't/couldn't normally get at home, so I went with the calf liver in onion/blueberry sauce, which was very good. The wine (a Pinot Grigio, I think) was terrific; it was a lot smoother than a lot of similar wines I've tried.

Essex

A small place where we got Sunday brunch. My meal came with salmon caviar on it, which was the tastiest thing I've had in a while. It took me a while to eat, as I savored each little globule bursting on my tongue. The brunch also came with a choice of mimosa, bloody mary, or screwdriver, and once noon struck, LabRat and I were clinking mimosa glasses.

Atlantic Grill

I liked the look of this seafood eatery a lot. My entree, a horseradish-crusted salmon on a bed of spinach, was very good, though the celery root puree was a bit odd. It's a good thing I saved room for dessert, as it was the best I've had in a long time. Listen to this genius: A shell of hazelnut bark formed into a column, stuffed with ice cream and bananas, on a bed of toasted marshmallow. Phenomenal.

Le Pain Quotidien

All of the places above were fair to excellent. I wondered where the pretentious, overpriced restaurants I expected were hiding. We finally found one in this ostentatious bakery, which is like a St. Louis Bread Company with an inflated ego.

La Mia Pizza

No trip to New York would be complete without a slice of greased-up pizza. My slice was pepperoni, red pepper, and onion, and was a perfect way to wrap up the trip. Perfect in that it didn't cause any unexpected intestinal distress on the way home. I can't ask for more from a cheap, street-side pizzaria.

**current as of March 10, 2010**

Cookie Party - Volume 3

2009-05-10T19:30:00.003-05:00

Other people get to have relatively stress-free Mother's Days. They take their mom out to brunch. Maybe they'll go see a movie. Some just make do with a card and a phone call.

That namby-pamby bullshit doesn't work on my mom, though. Bless her sweet heart, if there's one thing my mother loves, it's free labor. So, in addition to her actual gift, she also got her furniture dusted and her garden weeded and her deck swept. I was able to negotiate something out of the deal, though. When Veruca and I were young, my mom would often make a delicious cookie that we loved. We loved them so much that we would fight tooth and nail over who got them. One day, my mother snapped, and vowed she would never make them again. Sticking to angry vows is something my family has always excelled at, so I haven't tasted this cookie for more than fifteen years. I figured that with the passage of time and with Veruca safely in Kansas City, it was safe to break out the old recipe and make a batch together on Mother's Day. Lo and behold, she agreed. So, back by popular demand, I bring you:

Lace Cookies
From the Limecrete Family Vault

Mom didn't actually come up with the recipe. It's from a cookbook published in 1973 by the "Women's Committee" of a Baltimore art gallery. Mom used to work for the Baltimore Symphony, and must have been hooked up with all sorts of people within the arts community. As for preparation of the cookies, nothing could be simpler. Mix together melted butter (Limecrete's Mom Chime-In: "I use sweet, unsalted butter. I never bake with salted butter; it's unnecessary."), light brown sugar ("[Limecrete], don't just pour. Spoon it out of the bag."), oats ("[Limecrete], pour those out over the mixing bowl, not the counter."), vanilla, and a beaten egg. Stir together.

Drop half-teaspoon globs of the mixture onto cookie sheets. The recipe says to use ungreased cookie sheets. This is boldly stricken-through with purple marker, and a note is written to the side: "Use teflon-coated cookie sheets lightly sprayed with Pam." Take that, cookbook! The globs of dough should be very spaced out - about three inches apart. This gives them room to spread when they bake.

Pull them out of the oven ("Watch your ass, dear. I don't want to hit it with the cookie sheet."), let them cool slightly, then transfer to a cooling rack. There's just one more thing you should know before you make these cookies.

You can't make these cookies.

Well, that's not entirely true. You can make the cookies just fine. You just won't be able to serve them as cookies. You see, these are called "Lace Cookies" for a very good reason. They are more delicate than porcelain. If they cook for even a minute too long, the butter will over-caramelize and shatter. When you try to lift them from the cookie sheet with the spatula, they'll shatter. When you place them on the cooling rack, they'll shatter. While they're sitting on the cooling rack, the oats in the center may become too bottom-heavy, and they'll shatter. When you transfer them from the cooling rack to a storage container, they'll shatter. When they touch another cookie in the storage container, they'll shatter. Look at them cross-eyed, and they'll shatter.

Limecrete: "I don't think you stopped making these because Veruca and I were fighting. They're just too difficult."
Limecrete's Mom: "No, I liked making them. They were a challenge."

She left me to finish the last ones by myself, and at one point, I was actually able to transfer one or two intact.

Proudly, I hefted it off the rack to show her. It shattered. ("Practice makes perfect, sweetheart.") By the end of the process, I had a container full of lace... Well, let's call them lace crumbles. They still taste good. Maybe I can take another whack at the recipe in a week or two. It'll be tough, though. There's something about Mom Food that imbues it with magical properties. Her matzoh ball soup always has the right seasoning and consistency. Her Thanksgiving turkey always comes out juicy. And her Lace Cookies always stay intact. She totally deserves the day off.

Just So You Know...

2009-05-03T23:14:00.000-05:00

Matters of Life and Death...and Cake

2009-04-26T21:14:00.003-05:00

Ah, Spring. The season of renewal. Of putting your house in order. Of wildly fluctuating weather that necessitates the need for stern lectures. Above all, it's a season of transition, and this weekend was a perfect representation of that. You know, plus cake.

Sometimes, it doesn't matter how old someone is; their death still comes as a complete shock. That was the case when I was web-surfing, and came across the news that Bea Arthur had passed away. Celebrities, along with we common folk, die every week. Usually, their deaths have minimal effect on me, beyond a momentary pang of "Aw, that's a shame." Only one celebrity death has ever really shaken me up, and that was Madeline Kahn. I adored her with unabashed enthusiasm, and couldn't believe that she was gone. And improbably, I feel the same way about Bea Arthur.

She was hilarious. She was fearless. She was ground-breaking. She was one of the few actresses who was able to do good work in bad projects. I'm really going to miss her.

In happier news, this weekend was also Guernica's baby shower. All the guests came decked out in their spring finery, and Brother Rob's apartment was bursting with fresh flowers and tasty victuals. It was a grand time.

The radiant mama-to-be.

Bluebell mans the cupcake tower.

Unfortunately, I couldn't dawdle at the shower, as LabRat and I had a cake-tasting to go to, and when cake-tasting calls, you'd damned better well answer. One of the retired rollergirls is looking to expand her artistic work beyond tattoos, and what better way than through baked goods? She certainly knows her way around them.

The cover charge went to support a worthy local charity, and we were soon indulging in Lemon Lush, Triple Chocolate Truffle, and Peanut Butter 'n' Chocolate goodness. Danger was there too, so we got to spend some quality time with her where nobody's drunk off their ass. Rare! LabRat's sweet tooth is a ravenous beast that must be appeased, so it's always nice to find a venue that can accomplish that.

This weekend certainly turned out to be full of emotion. And sugar. While the death of a beloved television legend saddens me greatly, this weekend was also a reminder of some of life's more positive changes. Plus, I don't have to offer any excuse or apology for indulging in a Golden Girls DVD marathon. That's always something to be thankful for.

Schlock and Awe

2009-04-20T19:35:00.001-05:00

Bad news, everyone. The bubbles aren't done bursting. With the collapse of the housing market, the banking system, and the auto industry, it might have seemed like there was nobody left to fail. Unfortunately, I just read through the Entertainment Weekly summer movie preview, and it's become obvious that Hollywood is also imploding. All of the talented writers must be too expensive, so only the cheap crap-peddlers are getting traction.

All right, maybe I'm exaggerating a smidge. There is a bright spot here and there. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince will be good (if we can score those leather recliners at the Moolah like we did for Order of the Phoenix), Julie & Julia teams two actresses I love, and LabRat is already bursting at the seams to see Star Trek. Bless his geeky, sci-fi lovin' heart. A few movies, such as The Hangover (Bradley Cooper and Ed Helms - Yay!) and Cold Souls (Paul Giamatti - Yay!), look pretty good, but are clearly more Netflix queue material than theater movies. The list is littered with uninteresting, but inoffensive fare like '70s remakes, another John Krasinski attempt (Away We Go) and Michelle Pfeiffer's period piece, Cheri. One may even be so bad as to loop around to being good. That would be G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. The rest, though? You can practically see green, wavy smell lines emanating from the magazine. Here are some actual descriptions, lovingly annotated by your earnest blogger:

Drag Me to Hell - "Alison Lohman plays an ambitious bank exec given a tough choice: Offer a desperate old crone yet another extension on her home loan or foreclose and put her on the street. She opts for the latter, pleasing her boss--but earning a curse that sics a brutal demon upon her." Uh, huh. I can't be the only one who read the description of this and wondered why Lindsay Lohan didn't sign on to further her ongoing quest to destroy her career. And which bargain-basement writer and director did they get for this crap nugget? Sam Raimi. Could he really have burned through all of that Spider-Man money already? Why would someone with such a good track record involve himself in this? Nepotism. He co-wrote it with his brother Ivan, and though he's been trying to get it made for more than a decade, nobody was interested until he offered to direct. Shocking. I imagine Thanksgiving will be awkward this year. "Would you please pass the sweet potatoes?" "You can take your sweet potatoes and DRAG THEM TO HELL!"

Ghosts of Girlfriends Past - "This latest guy-won't-grow-up comedy follows a terminal bachelor (Matthew McConaughey) who realizes he let his soul mate (Jennifer Garner) slip away only after he's visited by phantom paramours--A Christmas Carol-style--from his past, present, and future." I'm literally offended by this. There are terrific writers and actors out there -- people with amazing talent and creativity -- desperate to get the tiniest bit of attention. Meanwhile, yet another obnoxious paint-by-numbers movie starring a human piece of Wonder Bread that may as well be called Matthew McBlahblahblah's Steaming Pile - Take Five sails into our theaters. Ugh.

Next Day Air: "[Donald Faison] plays Leo, a slacker-stoner who works with his buddy (Mos Def) at a FedEx-like outfit called Next Day Air. Leo unwittingly delivers a package filled with 10 kilos of cocaine to the wrong people, leading to a manic battle among some pretty unforgiving tough guys." Oh, so it's Friday mixed with Rush Hour, only a lot suckier than either. You don't even need me to point out how bad this is going to be. "When Star Trek is sold out," Faison suggests, "hopefully moviegoers will check [our film] out." Awesome. "Please make us your sloppy-seconds" is such a portent of quality cinema.

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen: Thank you. That's all I needed to hear.

My Sister's Keeper: "[Cameron] Diaz plays Sara, a mother driven to save her cancer-stricken daughter, even if it means jeopardizing the health and sanity of her younger daughter." Fun! Depressing subject matter aside, I invite you to please name the last dramatic role that Cameron Diaz handled successfully. Being John Malkovich doesn't count, by the way - that was not a dramatic role. I'll wait.

...

OK, I'm tired of waiting now. Shall we move on?

The Hurt Locker: "Director Kathryn Bigelow wants to make one thing clear: 'There have been no Iraq-war movies'". Well, yes there have, but one can't blame Bigelow for not remembering. Iraq war movies come out, journalists talk about the stark realities portrayed in them, bad-news-weary audiences ignore them, and they sink into obscurity forever. Guess what's going to happen to yours, Kathy?

They Came From Upstairs: "Nothing ruins a nice family vacation to Maine quite like an alien invasion." Oh, I don't know. What if a member of your family is a loan officer who brings a demon's rage down upon you all, and you're then DRAGGED TO HELL? "[Ashley] Tisdale, the High School Musical grad who plays the main character's bratty older sister, says her character quickly changes gears from vexing to vulnerable: 'When she encounters the aliens, it's like her whole world is spinning out of control.'" Wow, that takes some Method Acting. I'm being a little harsh on what is clearly supposed to be a harmless, family-friendly movie, all of which are inherently a bit dumb. It's just that in this Twilight-Montana-Jonas-saturated era, I'd like a little more attention paid to adults. And not the ones who like Matthew McBlahblahblah movies.

Taking Woodstock: Ang Lee is a hit-and-miss director, and despite the fact that this has Imelda Staunton, who knocks my socks off, I'm ready to plop this squarely in the "Miss" column. Perhaps it's because I don't have an iota of interest in Woodstock as subject matter. More likely it's because it "stars" Demetri Martin, a stand-up comedian who has this to say about the challenges of the performance he'd like you to spend your hard-earned money to watch: "I cry on camera. I have a love scene. I kiss a guy." Wow! Really? You had to put your lips on another man's lips?!? How you suffer for your art! Douche.

District 9: This is the movie that had to wait for the adaptation of a video game to tank before it could get made. Strike one. "Shot docu-style with a cast of South African unknowns, the film follows extraterrestrials who land in Johannesburg in the 1980s". Swing-and-a-miss. "The story has noticeable parallels to apartheid..." Bye, now!

Spread: "[Anne Heche] plays a successful older woman who falls for a charming hustler (Ashton Kutcher)." I'm looking for something appealing about that sentence. I'm not finding it.

The Goods: Live Hard, Sell Hard: "Jeremy Piven plays egocentric Don Ready, a 'slasher' car salesman hired by dealerships to liquidate inventory." Hmm, do you think Piven can handle playing someone egocentric? He'll really have to stretch those acting muscles! Can someone please shove some unagi in his mouth so he can come down with another case of fake mercury poisoning and go away? Perhaps a loan officer can stop by the dealership and summon a demon to DRAG HIM TO HELL.

Lest it sound like I'm complaining, I'm actually glad the theaters will be overrun with cinematic sludge this summer. I can whittle down my book list, play video games to my heart's content, and even work through an ever-growing Netflix queue that threatens to consume the entire internet. Thanks, Hollywood!

The Penny Jar - Part 13

2009-04-13T20:33:00.000-05:00

-Double oof. Just like in the last Penny Jar entry, I feel like I've been neglecting my blogging duties. Curse my two jobs, and those annoying friends, family, and boyfriend who insist on filling up my time with life stuff! Of course, the fact that I've gotten back into online gaming hasn't helped the time crunch, but let's overlook that supremely nerdy facet of my life for now, shall we?

-Speaking of blogging, you may notice a few changes around the place. Spring cleaning isn't just for apartments, you know. I've picked up the first non-reality show for What'ere, Jane Eyre, Harper's Island. It may as well be a reality show; it's like The Bachelor with a body count. Here on the House of Lime, I've renamed links and trimmed links of friends who seem to have given up on their blogs (but kept them in my RSS feed in case they ever re-emerge). Also, to brighten up the sidebar, I've added photo links to ongoing projects like the Cookie Party, the St. Louis photos, and these very Penny Jars. Please let me know if they look cluttered or cause confusion - I like to keep things simple.

-Speaking of friends and trimming, I've reached an etiquette crisis as far as Facebook goes. When I first joined, I was happy to accept any and all people I've actually known in my life as Facebook friends. Now that I've settled into exactly how I'd like to use the site to keep up with people, I want to -- not to put too fine a point on it -- trim the fat. With all the worrisome news about gay rights lately, I have to admit that my first target is the churchies. Not that I disapprove of anyone being happy and content in their faith. It's just that my day is too short to have to sift through a bunch of posts about Christ's love, even as evangelicals actively try to classify me as a second-class citizen. Don't celebrate too much, non-churchies. If I ever work up the gonads to go through with this, people who don't post about anything but their children are second. Chronic quiz-takers are third. I don't mean to sound like I think I'm so popular, and said popularity is such a burden. I'm just not interested in prayer groups, diaper duty, or what color your aura is.

-Speaking of disinterest, I dearly love the "This American Life" podcast, and realize that Ira Glass is the God of Broadcasting and everything, but does he have to sound so damn bored and dismissive when he's introducing segments? Maybe it's just his particular cadence, but every introduction sounds like:

"*Sigh* It's 'This American Life'. Today on our show [as he checks email], people on the wrong side of history. *Scoff* Act one: The Man Who Would Be Mayor. Here's producer Dick Hertz."

-And speaking of prayer, it's been a pretty fun holy week. LabRat was invited to join my family for Passover seder, which went well. He even politely ate his gefilte fish, and drank the ultra-sweet Manishevitz wine without complaint. Aw, who's a thoughtful gentile? Then, both of us went to a friend's house for Easter dinner. My transformation into my father is proceeding nicely, as I instantly fell asleep on her couch five minutes later. I perked up in time to play a rousing game of Quelf, which should be played at everyone's Easter dinner.

-Speaking of eating, it's no surprise that it's one of my great joys in life, and a big bonding activity for LabRat and me. That said, we've been trying to cut back lately. Normally, I'd buy us a metric ton of candy to guzzle on Easter, but this year, I just made his favorite dinner and capped it with some fat-free Jello and a brisk walk around the neighborhood afterwards. Soon, we'll be one of those disgustingly ripped couples who go to Pride weekend simply to show off our cheese-grater abs. Yeah, I couldn't even type that with a straight face.

-Speaking of food, I've been wandering around yelling "Chicken tetrazzini!" at every opportunity. And yes, Panny, I think of you every time I say it.

-Speaking of...yeah, I can't find a way to carry that theme any further. I just have to crow about the completion of my state quarter collection. I've got them all! Even D.C. and Puerto Rico! Hooray for meaningless milestones!

Meet Me in St. Louis - #1

2009-04-04T14:53:00.001-05:00

He does it for New York. He does it for Chicago. After spending the better part of my life living, working, socializing, or just plain walking around St. Louis' neighborhoods (most of which are like little cities unto themselves), I thought it might be a neat idea to feature some of the highlights and lowlights of my hometown. There is much to love and much to rue in my fair city; I've never seen a place where the haves and have-nots are so intermingled.

Naturally, you can't have any type of photo-essay about St. Louis that doesn't start with the obvious:

Taken as I exited the church after a friend's wedding.

Would that I had the timing to get this one. A friend of a friend with a much better camera managed to capture this on the Fourth of July.

While the Gateway Arch is beautiful, makes a terrific compass, and always gives me a warming glow when I see it loom in the skyline as I drive back home after a road trip, I don't want to focus on it too much. It's handy as a symbol of the city, but everyone already knows about it. There's so much else to see, both good and bad, which makes this place so weird and lovely and sad and interesting.

Let's kick it off with something fun and simple. This past winter was pretty cold, but we didn't get a lot of snow. Snow is fun when I don't have to drive anywhere in it, so when we got our first big accumulation, I opted to walk to the train station instead of digging out my car. My walk takes me by the park up the street, recently renamed after the fireman killed in that crazy attack. The first day after the snow, I noticed a bunch of kids (teens, really) piling it up in a big mound. Over the next few days, I noticed the mound growing, and taking on more of a tower shape. Later that week, they were up on stepladders, adding more to the top. How tall was this tower going to get? It turns out they weren't building a tower at all. They were just building the internal support structure for what eventually became:

That doesn't look that big, does it? Let me get a little closer.

Still not getting a sense of its size? OK, let me stand next to it.

Awesome! As you can see, it stayed cold enough for the snowman to hang out long after the snow had gone. Even when it warmed up, it took a good week for him to disintegrate. Really, I'm impressed with the organization and work that went into building him so efficiently, and I'm pleased that once he was up, everyone in the neighborhood (plus a news van or two) stopped by to admire it without anyone messing with it. It gave me a little shot of civic pride.

Taxing My Patience

2009-03-30T23:47:00.002-05:00

Every year, I tell myself that I'm going to be diligent, and wrap up my taxes by March. And every year, I look at the pile of forms and run away screaming, only to slink back when I realize that April is upon us. Taxes used to be easy. No spouse, no kids, no interest-bearing investments. I could knock out both the federal and state forms in twenty minutes.

When I took on a part-time job, taxes got a little harder. Hey, why do I suddenly owe Missouri so much money? I eventually worked it out, and could contend with the minimal increase in complexity. When my grandfather died, part of his mutual funds transfered to me. This was the bomb that drove me to TurboTax to file federally. I simply couldn't work out all those attached schedules myself. Compared to other people (like my dad, whose taxes require an entire think tank), my taxes were nothing for that computer program to whip through, so again I managed to get a handle on everything. I had every confidence that this year, my taxes would be over and done with by Valentine's Day, and I'd be kicking back on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a self-satisfied grin. How naive.

I had been unhappy with the way the mutual funds my grandfather left were handled, and when the market started tanking, I cashed out. That one act introduced about five new layers of forms/schedules/attachments. That number is a guess, since the investment firm never saw fit to send me any 1099s, and I was forced to dig around their website for some way to download my information. Finally, I was able to import the information into TurboTax. I dearly hope everything is correct, because I don't see a way to double check any of it.

Once all the mutual funds and CDs were dipensed with, I didn't forsee any future issues. After all, what's left but to fill in the information from my W-2s? It's then that I noticed my social security number printed on the W-2 from the restaurant was incorrect. Awesome. So I called one of my five bosses, and the message bounced around until it found the woman responsible for keeping track of such issues. She gave me a call back, and helpfully guided me through the process of getting a corrected one, making sure to apologize profusely for her initial error.

I'm kidding, of course. She opened with "Well, when I walked around at the beginning of the year and handed out paychecks, I made sure to include a sticky note that told people to contact me if there was any incorrect information, so you should have done it then." Seriously, opened with that. I was then forced to inform her that:

1a: "I work perhaps twice or three times a month."
1b: "On weekends."
1c: "At night."
1d: "And thus, I've never met you in person."

2: "And in case never meeting you face-to-face wasn't enough of a defense, I have direct deposit, so you've never 'handed' me anything."

3: "And since the intial screw-up was your fault (given that I've been able to competently recite my Social Security number for about, oh, twenty years), perhaps you could begin this, our first conversation, with an apology instead of trying to find some way of absolving yourself of responsibility."

4: "And then fix the problem."

5: "Snatch."

That last one was just intimated. OK, so. New W-2s were printed (and hopefully filed). The next time I worked a shift at the restaurant, I picked them up, and had a delightful conversation with one of my bosses about how that office manager loves to lord other people's clerical errors over them, and mightily enjoys watching her get taken down a peg. Glad I could help.

All that dealt with, I finally slogged through my federal filing. TurboTax offered to get started on my state filing, but I wasn't about to pay extra for that, given that I just needed to transfer some numbers from the federal form to the Missouri one. Missouri didn't mail me any forms this year, but no big deal, I could always pick some up at the library. Or, at least I thought I could. While returning a book, I ambled over to the tax form table, to be greeted by a sign that read "Missouri is no longer providing the library with 1040 forms." Awesome. The woman at the desk told me they had a master set that I could make copies from if I wanted, though of course I'd have to pay for the copies. Oh, boy! Can I? It's like Hanukkah's come early! So I dug up what coins I had, made copies of everything I thought I'd need, and jotted down as much auxillary information as I could (like my school district number).

I just finished up my state taxes tonight. I guess I shouldn't exhale until everything's in the mail, because who knows what else is going to be thrown at me. I'll keep my fingers crossed. Hopefully, my tax dollars will be accounted for and in the hands of incompetent, wealthy businessmen in no time!

Irish I Weren't So Responsible

2009-03-19T20:20:00.002-05:00

Last year, St. Patrick's Day was mired in rain (though it thankfully held off during the parade). The year before that, it was so cold, my nipples tore holes in my shirt. The year before that, snow. Apparently, global warming has been doing its stuff, because this year, I wish I'd worn shorts. It was the first sunny, warm St. Patrick's Day that I can remember in a long time. That may be because my memories of St. Patrick's Days aren't entirely...complete. I can't imagine why.

Normally, I get over to Timiffany's in plenty of time to score a good parking spot, but this year, the good weather had the entire city crawling out of the woodwork. I did see a fairly close spot, but it required some pretty fancy parallel parking. So I did what any manly, self-sufficient stud would do: I switched places with Gnat so she could park the damn thing. Once inside the house, I dove into the deviled eggs and the Jello shots. There's a combination I don't recommend. After that, I started sipping the Strongbow, but noticed that I was going at a much slower pace than I usually do. I think the horrors of stomach fluid revisited were still on my mind from last year.

We made our way down to the party house, which is still on the parade route. Wait, no it's not, because the organizers wanted to reroute the parade a block short of the house this year. Wait, yes it is, because the floats and people marching (and drinking) didn't feel like diverting. Wait, some of them did. So, we got a mishmash of people wandering in two different directions, half of which ended the parade right in front of where we were standing. The drinks flowed freely, many of which popped up like magic.

Danger: "Where did you get that test tube shot?"
Limecrete: "I don't know! People just keep putting things in my hands!"

Oddly, for the first time ever, I had a camel's bladder and didn't make use of the FREE bathroom once. Seriously, that's a super-weird situation. Rod Serling would be all over it. Even though I had a steady stream of drinks and and even though the little devil named Judy (a friend's friend's mother) was there again and loves to encourage as much imbibing as possible, I could feel myself holding back. Oh, I was plenty tipsy, but nowhere near as blasted as last year. Not that it stopped me from a favorite drinkin' activity: Snapping pictures of friends' boobies.

Once back at the house for the party proper, I entered the traditional exhaustion phase. In answer to my prayers, the heavenly visages of Beebers and Pro-Agonist appeared before me.

Beebers: "We're stealing the cookies and going upstairs to take a nap. Want to come eat cookies and nap with us?"
Chorus of Angels: "Aaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!"

After munching on some chocolate-chip goodness, we settled into a nice three-way spoon and took a relaxing nap, broken only by Tim's outraged cries floating in the window as he pursued and captured some drunk lady who had stolen the Obama sign out of his front yard. I awoke refreshed and sober, and headed downstairs to find a fresh pot of Milton's Guinness stew on the stove. Yes, please!

By early evening, I was back to exhaustion, and headed home. I finally thought ahead this year, and took Wednesday off work as well, so I had a pleasant free day with no hangover whatsoever. Maybe there's something to this idea of not drinking myself stupid every year.

...

Nah.

Trained Monkey

2009-03-12T19:09:00.004-05:00

3Up

In case you needed another reminder that time is flying by at an alarming rate, last month heralded Monkey's third birthday. Unfortunately, as he was the star of a party, I found it impossible to land an interview. Drat. Guess I can kiss that staff position at the New Yorker goodbye.

The party was held in St. Louis, which was nice and convenient for both Veruca and me. I didn't have to drive cross-state, and Veruca didn't have to clean up after a gaggle of kids on a frosting high. It was at a train hobby store that had a big wooden toy train set in the lobby. Kids were going apeshit all over it, while their watchful parents stood on the sidelines. Sticking out like a sore thumb was an elderly woman with wild, unkempt hair who stared at the proceedings with grim, pursed lips. She didn't seem to be with any of the kids. She didn't talk to anybody or look around. She just sat there.

LabRat: "She's wondering why her train hasn't arrived yet."

The party was upstairs, where the walls were covered with an array of colorful, paint handprints. Monkey and Sparkletooth got to put their prints on the wall for posterity (you can see the evidence of past guests in the background up there). After cake, candy, presents, and fun with trains, what is left to do except eat your uncle's face?

Fun for all! Next year I'll definitely have to snag an interview. I'll have my people call his people.

So They Really Do Come in Threes

2009-02-02T12:02:00.003-06:00

Apparently, my family hasn't been plagued enough lately, so one of my mom's beloved dogs suddenly passed away this weekend. I was told as I was walking into the restaurant to work a shift, which is where I was when my grandmother died, too. That place is cursed. Poor Mom was in Kansas City visiting Monkey when this all happened, and wasn't able to be there when her dog died. She's beside herself with grief, and once again, I must sit by and be as comforting as I can as one of my parents sits beside me in a mess of wrenching sobs. Being unable to soothe your crying parent is always one of the hardest things to endure, and lucky me, I've gotten to attempt it three times this month. I'm really, really ready for some good things to happen for them, and for me. Thank heavens every store's shelves are flooded with Valentine's Day chocolate. I could use it. You can have the coconut.

Boob Tube

2009-01-28T22:38:00.031-06:00

I need a place to stash some organizational stuff, and since I don't have an all-encompassing webpage like Jeff, it's all going to be tossed onto the blog. Some, like the iTunes wishlist, are probably going to remain in draft form, lest they reveal embarrassing tastes or come off as "Buy me stuff, random reader!". But others are simply handier to deal with by publishing. If you stumble across a post with the "Lime" label, chances are good that its contents will be wholly uninteresting to everyone but me, and you should feel free to completely ignore them.

I'm tired of having to search through the archives of my old journal to work with the list of television shows I've watched, so I'm dragging it over here. The rules remain the same. I have to have seen at least five episodes of the show, and derived some entertainment out of it. With few exceptions, only scripted television and "reality" shows are considered (which leaves out talk shows, how-to/educational shows, pop culture shows, and game shows).

227
3-2-1 Contact
30 Rock
Absolutely Fabulous
Adventures of Jimmy Neutron, Boy Genius, The
Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, The
Alias
All in the Family
Alphas
Alvin and the Chipmunks
Amazing Race, The
Amen
America's Next Top Model
Animaniacs!
Apprentice, The
Archer
Arrested Development
Arthur
Beakman's World
Being Human (US)
Benson
Beverly Hills, 90210
Bewitched
Big Bang Theory, The
Big Love
Bill Nye, the Science Guy
Bleak House
Blossom
Bob's Burgers
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Castle
Celebrity Deathmatch
Charles in Charge
Cheers
Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers
Chopped
Chuck
Clarissa Explains It All
Clatterford
Comeback, The
Community
Cosby Show, The
Creature Comforts (US)
Critic, The
CSI
Cyberchase
DangerMouse
Daria
Dead Like Me
Dead Zone, The
Dennis the Menace
Designing Women
Desperate Housewives
Dexter's Laboratory
Diff'rent Strokes
Dirty Jobs
Dirty Sexy Money
Doogie Howser, M.D.
Doug
Downton Abbey
Dr. Katz: Professional Therapist
Drawn Together
Drew Carey Show, The
DuckTales
Electric Company, The
Facts of Life, The
Family Guy
Family Ties
Fillmore!
Flintstones, The
Fraggle Rock
Frasier
Freaks and Geeks
Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, The
Friends
Full House
Futurama
Ghostwriter
Gimme A Break
Girls on Top
Glee
Golden Girls, The
Grey's Anatomy
Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy, The
Growing Pains
Harper's Island
Harvey Birdman, Attorney At Law
Head of the Class
Hell's Kitchen
Herman's Head
Heroes
Hoarders
Home Movies
Hot in Cleveland
How I Met Your Mother
I, Claudius
Inspector Gadget
Iron Chef
Iron Chef America
Jeeves and Wooster
Jeffersons, The
Jetsons, The
Joe Millionaire
Keeping Up Appearances
Kids in the Hall, The
Kim Possible
King of Queens, The
Kitchen Confidential
LA Law
Lambchop's Play Along
Law and Order
League, The
Letter People, The
Leverage
Living Single
Louie
Mad Men
Magic School Bus, The
Mama's Family
Manhunt: The Search for America's Most Gorgeous Male Model
Maude
Melrose Place
Miss Guided
Mission Hill
Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
Models, Inc.
Monk
Monkees, The
Moonlighting
Most Extreme Elimination Challenge
Mother Love
Mr. Wizard
Muppet Babies
Murder, She Wrote
Murphy Brown
My Boys
Mystery!
Mystery Science Theater 3000
Nanny, The
New Adventures of Old Christine, The
NewsRadio
Next Iron Chef, The
Night Court
Numb3rs
Oblongs, The
Office, The (US)
Parks and Recreation
Party Down
Pee-Wee's Playhouse
Penn & Teller: Bullshit!
Pinwheel
Planet Earth
Poirot
Powerpuff Girls, The
Project Runway
Project Runway Canada
Psych
Punky Brewster
Pushing Daisies
Quantum Leap
Queer As Folk (US)
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
Raising Hope
Reading Rainbow
Reaper
Recess
Rick and Steve
Robot Chicken
Roots
Roseanne
Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In
RuPaul's Drag Race
Saturday Night Live
Saved by the Bell
Schoolhouse Rock
Science Court
Scooby-Doo
Scrubs
Sealab 2021
Seinfeld
Sesame Street
Sex and the City
Shear Genius
Silver Spoons
Simpsons, The
Sister Wendy
Six Feet Under
Smurfs, The
Soap
Sopranos, The
South Park
Space Ghost, Coast to Coast
Square One TV
Strangers With Candy
Tales of the City
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
That 70s Show
That's So Raven
Three's Company
Tiny Toon Adventures
Today's Special
Tom and Jerry
Top Chef
Trading Spaces
Twilight Zone, The
Twin Peaks
Two Fat Ladies
Ugly Betty
Up Series, The
Venture Brothers, The
Veronica Mars
Webster
Weeds
Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego? (cartoon)
Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? (game show)
Who's The Boss?
Will and Grace
Wings
Wishbone
Women's Murder Club
Wonderfalls
Wonder Years, The
X-Men
Xena: Warrior Princess
You Can't Do That On Television

**current as of November 15, 2011**

Meet Me at the Crossroads

2009-01-27T21:08:00.004-06:00

So, Limecrete... How's that resolution to work on your blog a bit more often coming? Hey, leave me alone, Nagging Inner Voice. I've had a lot going on. I've had to wear a lot of formal clothes lately, and most of it for decidedly unfestive occasions. My new year was humming along nicely, and I was filled to the brim with hopeful optimism.

Then someone called in sick on a Friday, and I got stuck with all of their work...after which I went straight to my mother's house to help her with housework for the weekend, as she was going through some minor convalescence from hand surgery...which I paused from to drive back into the city for a long catering shift...during which my grandmother died...after which I drove back out into the county to get a few hours' sleep...after which I had to continue with work at my mother's house...during which I was fielding a series of phone calls about available flights to Baltimore for the funeral...after which I came home and packed a suitcase, called my boss, and booked flights...after which I caught a few more hours' sleep...after which LabRat drove me to the airport...after which I spent a few days in Baltimore for my grandmother's funeral...after which I flew to Cincinnati with Veruca and had to run like merry hell to catch my connection to St. Louis...after which I returned to a crammed work schedule which I still haven't reacclimated to.

So, how has your January been? My grandmother's passing was sad, of course, but there are times that death brings a certain release, and this was one of those times. She had been declining for a long time, especially since my grandfather died, and in a way it was comforting that she was able to die peacefully and surrounded by loved ones before she got much worse. Still, between her death, my stepmother's mother's death, and the yartzeit service for my maternal grandmother, watching my parents cry has become a depressingly familiar scene these past few weeks.

Even setting aside that seemingly endless string of stressful events, I've been feeling pulled in several directions lately. It's hard to describe, but it's as if I'm able to see the big picture of my life, and sense several forks up ahead. It feels like I'm taking the Life Test, and am approaching the dreaded third-of-your-grade essay questions. It's not difficult to peg a couple of the big reasons. After all, it can't get much bigger than Where You Live and Where You Work. It's nice living in a neighborhood that's on its way up rather than down, but I'm starting to get tired of my apartment. There aren't any gigantic problems with it, just a pile of little ones. In some ways, that's more aggravating. Big problems must be dealt with; little ones are often easier/wiser to be endured. Suffice it to say that I'm tired of the requisite Building Asshole always living directly beneath me. Always. Five years. High resident turnover. Twenty-odd units. Twenty-odd lovely people. One asshole, guaranteed to be beneath my feet. My apartment is affordable, though, and in the current economic climate, I don't think I can afford to be picky about living spaces, so I feel trapped.

About six months ago, I jumped duties at the lab for some job security. Judging from the amount of work piled onto my shoulders, I've got it. I'm always busy, and the protocol I'm working with is interesting, but very mentally taxing. Thing is, I'd have no problem tackling my daily workload if I didn't work in such ghetto science. Publicly-funded projects are all about stretching a buck, so I have to fight for every piece of equipment, and I'm not just talking about expensive things like mini-centrifuges. I've had to take to hiding my VWR marker at the end of every shift. Seriously - a marker. I have no dedicated space to myself. Every single day, I have to cobble together equipment and bench space out of spare parts, having to outfox my poor coworkers, who have to do the same to me. It's like trying to work in Mad Max's Thunderdome. There are good and bad days at every job, of course, but this is the first time in nine years I've ever felt a general sense of unhappiness at my lab. But again, in this economic climate, I can't sneeze at any paycheck, so again, I feel trapped.

Complaining about such minor issues makes me feel guilty. If my downstairs neighbor is such a twat, shouldn't I just man up and try to talk to her? Or at least walk the incredibly-convenient twenty feet to LabRat's apartment to escape for a while? Who am I to whine about annoying aspects of my job, when no fewer than three of my close friends have been laid off in the past few months? It's just that I need some space to myself - an area that isn't filled with screeching witch cackles or grabby hands yoinking the last of the isopropanol. Right now, there's nowhere I feel at peace, and it's exhausting and miserable.

Out With the Old

2009-01-03T18:01:00.003-06:00

Happy New Year, internet denizens! I usually approach the end of an old year with a certain amount of anxiety over what I've made of myself, and pensive thoughts about what lies ahead. This year, though, I find myself looking ahead with no small amount of optimism. 2008 wasn't a good year for many people, and it's much more pleasant to consider 2009 with hope than to look back at 2008 in depression. Part of what is making the new year so exciting is my recent joining of Facebook. Catching up with friends I haven't seen for more than a decade, while still being able to mix with current chums holds all sorts of promise.

LabRat and I went to the Bat House (aka Panny's place) for a small New Year's Eve party, which is my favorite way to celebrate. I hate going out in public for New Year's. It's too crowded, too expensive, and never enough fun to compensate for those first two things. Hanging out with a small group of friends is vastly better. Even more so when one's boyfriend says he doesn't feel like drinking much, and volunteers to drive. Even after participating in a game of Shots & Ladders, I didn't have a hangover the next day, which is a small miracle.

I spent New Year's Day doing one of my favorite things, which I freely admit is colossally nerdy. I broke out my brand new 2009 day planner and filled in people's birthdays, along with any plans I've already committed to. I'm pleased as punch to see that the upcoming month looks like a good one for spending time with those that make me happy. A casual BBBQ tonight. An inauguration party (Ah, Obama - another source of optimistic hope for the new year). A roller derby trivia contest. Euchre night with the card crew.

Everyone likes to make a list of to-do and will-not-do-anymore at the end of the year, and I'm no exception. My resolutions aren't much different than in years past, but I do have a proclamation. You know that university that "bans" overused words in the upcoming year? I have an addendum: Tired internet phrases that need to be put to sleep. They had a good run, but it's time to move on to new linguistic pastures.

1) "Wow. Just wow." Use: To intimate that one is so shocked by something, they've been rendered speechless. Please replace with: "Hearing that just blew the socks off my feet and into the kitchen."

2) "I just threw up in my mouth a little." Use: To register disgust. Please replace with: "I'd rather chew a jumbo roll of tin foil than see/hear that again."

3) "I'm looking at you, [target]." Use: To chastise someone's bad behavior. Example: "I'm so sick of celebutards flashing their boxes all over the tabloids. I'm looking at you, Lohan." Please replace with: Anything else.

If anyone has phrases to add to this, feel free to contribute. We need to keep on top of outdated slang, lest it pile up like so much dirty laundry. New Year's Day has always been a helpful point to box up the old year and put it on the shelf, and it's time to take these phrases, roll them up in a horrible presidency, tie an economic meltdown around it, and shove the whole mess to the back of the closet. Then, let's focus on making 2009 a good year. Let's live within our means. Let's look for inexpensive ways to enjoy life. Let's explore ways to work with the environment instead of against it. Let's stop excusing and rescuing people from bad business planning. Let's allow people to do as they please with their bodies, and give consensual adults equal legal rights. Let's stop giving Claire Danes movie roles. There was a time I'd think we couldn't do any of this; now I have faith. If you're reading this, chances are I think you're awesome, and I luuuuuurve you. Have a fantastic 2009; I'm off to improve my chances of doing so by having a few beers.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out!

2008-12-29T21:48:00.005-06:00

Having multiple families to please can play merry hell with the holiday season, especially when one parent has her birthday in mid-December, and the other has his in early January. I think I managed things quite neatly this year. Thanksgiving with Dad. Hanukkah and birthday weekend with Mom in Kansas City. And for Christmas, it was down to Georgia to celebrate with LabRat's family. LabRat went down early, and I was left with several days to myself. That means I was free to indulge in all the bad bachelor habits I wanted, from all-day gaming sessions with Chrisngnat to a marathon of Golden Girls episodes on DVD.

There was one scary moment, though. I was walking home from that late night gaming session, and trying to stay alert for any danger. Suddenly, there it was. Crouched in the shadows of a nearby church, I saw a human figure. Scratch that, it was multiple figures, both human and animal. They seemed to be waiting for me, holding as still as they could until I was near enough to attack. After considering them warily for a few moments, I realized that there was no way such a mob could hold so still, and cautiously approached. Oh. Well, I guess the staves could be considered weapons if the folks in that nativity scene could move. Those wise men can fuck you up.

I flew down to Atlanta on Christmas Eve, and somehow managed to avoid all of the End of Days weather and airport technical problems that were happening all around me. LabRat picked me up at the airport, where a dedicated group of people was giving every arriving member of the military a round of applause. It was an easy drive up to the mountains, and we spent the next four days doing nothing but eating, sleeping, exchanging gifts, eating, playing with NieceRat, reading, and eating. Wait, that's not entirely true. LabRat and BroRat did set up a nice activity. I had told them a long time ago that aside from paintball and video games, I had never fired a gun in my life. Well, I can't say that anymore. BroRat drew some targets and even a gamer-friendly zombie on some cardboard, and we took turns blasting away at them. I didn't do too badly for a first-timer. Hunter: The Reckoning pays off!

Armed and fabulous.

"You voted how on Prop 8?"

MomRat put together a massive and delicious Christmas dinner with ham and turkey and the works. Actually, there were two turkeys. One roasted inside. One deep-fried outside. Whoever came up with deep-fried turkey is a genius. In the evening, I introduced NieceRat to the menorah, though she's a little young to get what it is. She kept trying to blow out the candles and make a wish. LabRat continued his reign of giving incredibly awesome gifts, which makes getting things for him increasingly difficult. One thing I got him didn't cost a penny, though it did take several confusing phone calls. He's been talking about that Golden Dragon since we got back from New York, and I called the restaurant to get the recipe. It took a long time to make them understand that I couldn't come in and get one, as I live halfway across the country. After multiple attempts, I finally was able to get a list of ingredients, and after another attempt or two, the proportions. Now he's all excited to experiment until we get it right. Yay, drunk LabRat!

The drive back to St. Louis was easy, except for a slight hiccup in... Come on, you know where. Take a guess. Did I hear someone say Chattanooga? Ding, ding, ding! Suck it, Chattanooga. I finally had the presence of mind to take the day after we returned off of work, so we went to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and got some Thai food at a hidden gem of a restaurant. Oh, and after badgering from Veruca and a few other people, I relented and signed up for Facebook. Cripes. I had no idea so many ghosts from the past would pop up so quickly! I'm looking forward to catching up with everyone, though it's a lot of information to take in at once. It's back to work today, though everyone's still in holiday mode. Hopefully, I'll be able to get away early on a day or two and check out Chrisngnat's Playstation 3 (or at least get further in Assassin's Creed on the Xbox 360). I'll have to walk past the nativity scene again, but no worries. Now that I've had that expert firearms training, I can take any of those punks. Bring it, Mary!

Cookie Party - Volume 2

2008-12-15T16:28:00.002-06:00

You know those people who play one round of putt-putt and suddenly fancy themselves Tiger Woods? Or get complimented on a doodle they drew and decide they're the next Georgia O'Keeffe? Those people suck, and yet I was forced to become one. My cookie experiment had gotten no further than one simple-ass batch of chocolate chip, when suddenly, I got an invite to the cookie event of the season: The Holiday Cookie Party. Yes, an actual cookie party - the blog entry name becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy! This is a party thrown by a friend I met through Tiffany. She invites a bunch of people over to her house, and they all bring enough cookies for the other guests to get a few. It generally adds up to about ten dozen cookies, but which turned out to be about double that for me, because I have the foresight of a starfish.

As to the backdrop of making this recipe, I can't give a description of what went on that day, because it took me four. That's right. I can, however give a backdrop of what's going on in general. The historic election of Obama. An economic meltdown. Finally getting Grandma's hutch moved into the apartment to replace that oh-so-attractive piece of furniture, a large cardboard box. There, you're caught up. On to the cookies.

First, I needed to select a cookie impressive enough to warrant my invitation, given that I would be the sole guest to possess a Y chromosome. I settled on a recipe from a cookbook in LabRat's mother's kitchen. I had e-mailed it to myself during my last stay there as a good representative sample from my time-capsule idea; a Farm Journal recipe from 1971. This was no mere mix-five-ingredients-and-drop cookie. This one required work. And so I give you:

Almond/Jelly
After-School Snack All Grown Up

I owed two people apologies for picking this recipe. My friend Tom, who specifically requested in the last entry that no nuts be used, and LabRat, who likes neither almonds nor jelly. LabRat was easily placated when I mentioned that I would be leaving with a bunch of almond/jelly cookies...and coming home with thirty other kinds. As to Tom, what can I say? Oops! I promise the next selection will be nutless.

Since I had never made this cookie before, I decided a test run was in order. If a cookie sucks, I'd like to know before I make ten dozen of them. The ingredients are fairly simple: butter, sugar, vanilla, flour, salt, and chopped almonds. Those are made into cookies, which are then sandwiched together with currant jelly. The math-adept among you will now realize how I stupidly trapped myself into making twenty dozen cookies instead of ten.

You'd think the purchase of the ingredients would be just as simple. It's not like I needed to look for Oaxacan juniper berries or anything. I like to follow recipes to the letter, and the ingredient list specified unblanched almonds. I bought a likely pack at Trader Joe's, brought them home, and only then noticed the ingredient list on the side of the bag. Ingredients: Blanched Almonds. Fuck. That was unacceptable, and I asked LabRat about a hundred-thousand times where he thought I could find unblanched, and if a bag didn't mention it was one way or the other, what was to be assumed? LabRat, convinced that using the damn almonds I had already bought would be just fine, understandably got fed up after the fifty-thousandth time and washed his hands of the whole affair. That left me standing in the aisles at Schnucks, pulling aside random ladies with "Do you do much baking? I've got a question for you." Finally, I got a bag of the correct almonds, and ditched the other bag on the free-to-good-home shelf in the apartment building's laundry room.

Unfortunately, my almond travails were not over. The recipe called for grated almonds, and mentioned that if one did not possess a hand-grater, one could bash the almonds with a rolling pin. All right, then. I settled in front of the television with a tupperware container full of the almonds in one hand, and the rolling pin in the other. The little bastards were harder to bash than I thought they'd be. Oh, they broke easily enough, but then the bits of small almond would remain on top, leaving the large chunks trapped annoyingly at the bottom. I eventually got a rhythm going, but it took me a good two hours to get them to the consistency I wanted.

Once that was behind me, I set to making the dough, which was simple enough. I creamed some sugar and an ungodly amount of butter together, added some vanilla, then flour and salt through the sifter, put in the almonds, formed the whole mess into a ball, and left it in the fridge overnight. Done! The next day was the complicated part. The recipe said to roll out the dough between two sheets of wax paper, and when it was thin enough, to cut out 2" circles with a cookie cutter, then transfer them to the cookie sheet. Trouble is, when you roll dough out so thinly, it becomes impossible to lift the circle without destroying it. Throwing decorum out the window, I went for the only shortcut I could think of: Squash the dough with my hand, and when it seemed flat enough, cut one circle.

Use a finger to clear the dough away from the cutter while it was still pressed down, then lift the dough with a spatula, hoping it had enough structural integrity to make it to the cookie sheet. Repeat a million times. It worked out pretty well, and soon I had about 36 cookies, which then got sandwiched to 18. I took them to work to get a sampling of opinions, which seemed to be pretty favorable. I felt ready to take on the Cookie Party proper.

Day #1 was shopping for ingredients. If I got 18 cookies out of one batch, I'd need to make seven batches to hit the ten-dozen mark. Seven batches is fourteen sticks of butter. Yikes. The cashier raised an eyebrow as box after box crossed the laser, not to mention the fact that I completely bought them out of sliced almonds.

Day #2 was chopping. There was no way I was going to hand-bash all these nuts, but I have no idea why using the food processor didn't occur to me the first time. What the hell was I doing spending two hours crushing almonds by hand?!? Vroom, vroom, vroom. Four bags of almonds became neatly grated almond bits in five minutes.

Day #3 was dough-making. I cleared out a shelf in my fridge, and set to creaming that mountain of butter. I suppose I could have made one super-duper-mega-ball of dough, but to make sure everything got spread evenly (plus, my poor mixing bowl can only hold so much), I decided to make each of the seven batches individually. Whip butter. Add sugar and vanilla. Put flour and salt through sifter. Add appropriate amount of almonds. Wrap dough ball in Saran wrap and refrigerate. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. By the seventh time, I was tearing through those fuckers.

Day #4: Bake. LabRat has a nifty kitchen island that he kindly cleared off for me before wisely fleeing to his lab. I put some wax paper down to roll out the dough a bit before hand-squashing it. That, and it makes cleaning up a hell of a lot easier.

I set both his and my oven to preheat, and got started. It was pretty fun at first. It was a bright, sunny Saturday and I was baking up some nice smells. It was very soothing. Somewhere around the third ball of dough, it became less fun. I was tired of running back and forth between the two apartments, trying to remember which cookie sheet was supposed to come out next. My hands were smeared with butter grease, which I left all over both our doors. The jelly jar was full of crumbs. Vivian was going apeshit every time I came near his bowl. No, you're not getting any cookies!

I want to say it took me about five or six hours to get through all of it, not including the dishes that needed to be washed and the fingerprints I needed to scrub off of everything. I was proud of the way they had turned out, though they were larger than I expected. Packing up ten dozen of them took pretty much all the tupperware I had, plus a large pizza tray of LabRat's that I stacked them on, pyramid style.

The next day, Gnat and I went to the Cookie Party. We started off with a bunch of wonderful soups and appetizers (Well, really we started off with mimosas, but whatever), and the hostess had made three cakes from scratch, but my trigger finger was itching to fill up my sole remaining container with everyone else's cookies. I was a bit nonplussed to hear the ladies discussing what they had made. "My cookies? Oh, they're the simplest things in the world! Just throw together three ingredients and you're done!" "Mine, too! I made mine last night in about half an hour!" I indulged myself in a brief fantasy in which all these women were shamed by the sheer awesomeness of my cookies. That was not to be, however. There was a nice moment when I overheard two other guests talking about my cookies in positive terms, though they were far from effusive. God damn it, be more effusive! I loaded up on everyone's cookies, socialized for a while, then snuck back downstairs to filch some more.

There weren't as many guests as in years past, so I was forced to take a number of my own cookies home. By this point, I never wanted to see them again. My cookies, that is. Not the guests. Mom and I went to visit Veruca and Monkey this past weekend, so I took the remainder of the cookies along, where they were met with cautious sniffs and disdain. "Jelly?" Veruca said with a grimace. "No, thanks." I left them there anyway, and have since heard that Veruca's office polished them off. Finally, they're gone, and LabRat and I were feasting on a cornucopia of other people's work.

LabRat: "Why aren't there any chocolate chip?"
Limecrete: "It was a holiday Cookie Party. Chocolate chip isn't a holiday cookie."
LabRat: "If you make it during the holidays, it's a holiday cookie!"

Tasty as the almond/jelly cookies turned out to be, they were a real grind. On the other hand, it was something of a baptism by fire. Now, I can handle any cookie emergency that comes my way. Last night, upon getting back into St. Louis, I headed down to the Sunday Spin, where Chris got on the microphone and announced that next week, everyone's invited to bring in some cookies for a holiday cookie bake-off. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!

Quack Friday

2008-11-28T23:19:00.002-06:00

I was a little nervous about Thanksgiving; LabRat has met my father and stepmother, but had yet to meet any of my stepsiblings or their kids. I needn't have worried. Everyone was very nice, and my stepmother always makes terrific food. Odd highlights included Dad rocking out on the ukulele, and an epic Wii tennis match between LabRat and my eight-year-old stepniece.

Today is Friday, and we've done lots of stuff. We've also...not done lots of stuff. To wit:

Today, we did: Sleep late, waking only when our bodies said "Hey, you've had enough rest. But guess what! Take your time getting up, because you don't have to go to work."

Today, we did not: Wake up at an ungodly hour to wait in a mass of humanity for a crack at saving a few measly bucks on pointless crap.

Today, we did: Have a lazy breakfast of French toast, made from one of the delicious loaves my stepmother baked last night for Thanksgiving.

Today, we did not: Get trampled to death at WalMart by a mob of greedy shoppers. I can't think of a more tedious way to shuffle off the mortal coil.

Today, we did: Lounge around the apartment watching TV, playing computer games, grazing, reading, and napping.

Today, we did not: Get shot at a toy store.

Today, we did: Get reasonably-priced Christmas gifts delivered right to the apartment door. Thanks, mailman!

Today, we did not: Spend a single penny on gifts, food, or anything else.

Today, we did: Whip up family favorites -- A butternut pound cake recipe from LabRat's grandmother, a sweet-and-sour-meatball recipe from mine.

Today, we did not: Have to deal with traffic, parking spots, or an avaricious throng of bargain-hunters.

Today, we did: Kick back with a Netflix movie that we could pause for snack and bathroom breaks.

Today, we did not: Change out of the clothes we slept in, or set a foot beyond the downstairs mailbox.

Today, we did: Enjoy some rare, concurrent time off.

Today, we did not: Participate in America's most moronic tradition.

Internet Video Gem #2 - Let's Do the Time Warp Again

2008-11-17T00:29:00.003-06:00

With all the new technology that seems to arrive daily, it can be difficult to decide how it should be used. What can be applied to medical research? What can sort and process information intelligently? What can make existing tools more efficient? And perhaps most importantly, how can this new technology be used to create super cool games and videos?

LabRat and I were channel-surfing the other night, and stumbled upon a show called Time Warp on the Discovery Channel. It's got a very simple concept: Film stuff using an extremely high-speed camera, then show it back at slow motion. In the olden days, slow motion was helpful, but not that impressive. But with the ability to wedge in thousands of frames per second, even the most mundane events, from water balloons popping to a dog drinking water, look amazing. I'm now hopelessly addicted.

Almostwinter Nights

2008-11-10T18:17:00.004-06:00

The biggest reason I had for jumping labs a few months back was job security. I knew my position would soon be obsolete, so I got a position in emerging technologies. There is no end of work to be done in my new lab, and as you can imagine, endless work can lead to endless stress. I suppose I had this coming after all those days of not having more than three hours' work. Now, I often have trouble wedging it all into eight. We got some particularly difficult samples towards the end of last week, and by the end of Friday, I was on the verge of nervous collapse. It's cool to think that I'm doing the groundwork for what may become a viable way to treat/avoid cancer (I'm working on ovarian DNA, both normal and tumor tissue), but it's easy to get bogged down by the daily grind.

What I needed was a weekend crammed with awesome stuff, and luckily, I got it in spades. LabRat has his own job stress issues right now, so after work on Friday, we walked over to El Scorcho for dinner and margaritas. The margarita was not their best, but the burger certainly hit the spot. Hooray for fried pickles! Dinner and drinks helped us unwind, and we were able to spend the rest of the evening vegging in relative serenity. Saturday, I was able to sleep as late as I needed to, which turned out to be 1PM. No, really. I was tired, yo. Once I finally got up, I headed out to get a haircut, as the Jewfro was starting to get unruly again. I also went ahead and filled JJ's tank, gambling that gas isn't going to get much lower. Once back at the apartment, I had enough time to make some progress in Neverwinter Nights. The key is to let your pets and henchmen get the monsters pissed off at them, so you can stand on the sidelines and help pick them off in relative safety.

I couldn't spend all day battling zombies and thugs, though. I had to get cleaned up for K-Squared's wedding. They had actually already gotten married in Vegas, so this was more of a re-enactment. To give you an idea of how formal this wedding was, when I left, I exited via slide. Wheeee! Seriously, it was a blast. From sipping beer as the couple exchanged vows in a room filled with opera posters, to stealing a smooch with LabRat in the Hall of Mirrors, to motorboating Danger's boobs as we said our good-byes, it had all the fun of a wedding, without any of the stiffness.

Sunday, LabRat and I went to a birthday party. Granted, it was a birthday party for a one-year-old, but a party nonetheless. It was held at a local culinary school, so I picked up a brochure on the way out. Taking a cooking class or two would be all sorts of fun, and a big percentage of the enrollment fee goes straight to charity. LabRat had to get his science on that evening, so I strolled down to the Bottleworks for the Sunday Spin. I love being a regular there. I'd love being a regular anywhere, but there's an added perk to being known and welcomed at the local brewery. This year's Christmas Ale is out, and I'm happy to risk being a bad Jew by declaring it's one of my favorite brews of the year. So, I sipped a couple of pints down, while enjoying Chris' tunes (Theme of the Evening: Post-Election Wrap-Up and "Change") and the almost orgasmically good mac and cheese.

If only all of my weekends could be so rejuvenating. It's time to dive back into the pressure of the work week, and it's hard to see the light at the end of the stress tunnel. But wait! I've got a video game date with Chris and Beebers' birthday party this weekend! Score!

Poll Dancing

2008-11-04T23:37:00.001-06:00

Though I knew the lines would be longest in that gray area known as Just Before Work, there was no way in hell I was going to wake up early to go vote, nor was I willing to go in the evening. Our polling place is a small church that's only a couple of blocks away from the apartment, so LabRat and I walked down there at about 8:30 this morning. Though a chunk of my friends and acquaintances report that they zoomed in and out of their polling sites, there was a line outside the building at ours. That's a good sign, as was the... Um... Well, I don't want to make sweeping generalizations nor assumptions about how strangers vote, but let's just say that at first blush, I'm fairly certain that a large majority of the people there voted the same way I did.

The line was long, but it moved at a good pace. I passed the time chatting with LabRat and boning up on the numerous ballot measures we're voting on from a cheat sheet a lady was handing out. The only issue we had waiting was that the mentally-disabled woman behind us kept nudging our asses. It wasn't intolerable, and I suppose I should be glad her votes went the same way mine did (she announced her intentions to the line), but being felt up by a stranger before I've had my morning coffee isn't laughs aplenty. We had a choice between paper scantron ballots and the touch-screens. One dimbulb couldn't believe that the paper ballot she completed wouldn't be accepted by the machine -- because she punched holes out of the scantron ballot instead of filling in the bubbles. Hey, idiots get to vote, too. People seemed to be avoiding the touch-screens like the plague, but I like them. It prints a paper version of your votes as you cast them, so you can ensure that it's recording the right choices.

The ballot was ten "pages" long. Yeah, we had a lot of business to vote on. President and congressional offices were easily dealt with, but I was still waffling on one or two of the state issues. In fact, there was only one that I was certain I'd vote for, and only one I was certain I'd vote against. LabRat and I finished at about the same time, and snagged "I VOTED!" stickers. Since we hadn't waited as long as we'd feared, we decided to keep "voting", and headed to Einstein Bros. for a bagel and coffee before going to work.

After work, I came home to find CNN already fired up. The news and political channels are obligated to keep up a steady stream of chatter, even when there's nothing to report. They also remember the disastrous let's-call-every-state-prematurely election. So, what's to be done? I know, why don't you babble endlessly about your high-tech toys, most of which freeze and crash ten seconds into use? Sounds good! I mean, the hologram thing is a neat idea in theory. In practice, watching a loop of "Look how cool this is! Oh, the election? Um...we're pretty sure McCain's got Utah!" got tedious in a hurry. LabRat and I ate a quick dinner, then packed up the color-your-own electoral map, some wine, and the patriotic double jello layer I whipped up on a whim.

We headed over to Timiffany's to watch the results, as did Danger, Magnum P.I.M.P., Beebers, Aussie Nat, Panny, and BrentMJ. Wine bottles were opened in rapid succession. Though I did a bit of nervous pacing, the overall aura of the party was pretty relaxed. I think the general feeling was that Obama had it in the bag. We toasted each state as it came through, shrugging off the ones that were foregone conclusions. There was plenty of fun, nasty vitriol to spew at the screen. One unfortunate-looking anchor was dismissed by Danger as "What happens when Skeletor and Twiggy have a baby." I enjoyed calling Elizabeth Dole a cunt every time her name appeared on-screen. I hope that now you're done beating her ass in the election, Ms. Hagan, you go on to beat her ass in court. When the California polls closed and Obama clinched the election .000002 seconds later, there was a great cheer. Champagne was uncorked (Man, work's going to suck tomorrow. *urrrrrrrrp*).

It wasn't all grins. Missouri is a nail-biter, and still isn't called as of the time I write this. Though I'm thrilled that Obama has won the nation, I'm sick of being embarrassed at the way my state leans, bellwether or not. Some of the ballot initiatives I was counting on to pass are flailing (or those that I voted against are soaring to victory). Sigh. I guess there's nothing I can do about it now; I've done my part. Still, I'm extremely pleased overall. I try to leave political speeches to those who are far more articulate and eloquent about them. But, I'll give it the college try, as they say.

There was such a different tone in McCain's concession and Obama's acceptance speech. I know, it's easy to nitpick from the winner's circle, but it was still noteworthy. The demographic of the crowd, for one thing. McCain, with his small concentrated group of whites, and Obama, who overflowed Chicago with every color of the rainbow. McCain, who did all but openly say "Obama won because black people felt obligated to vote for him" and Obama, who gave credit to McCain's deservedly revered military service. McCain, whose supporters interrupted him to bitterly boo Obama, and Obama, whose supporters gave McCain tepid applause. McCain, whose ads relied heavily on "Don't vote for Obama because he's a weakling/terrorist/socialist/other scary noun, and Obama, who stuck to criticizing McCain on policy. Both candidates stumped for unity among Americans, but it seemed pretty clear that only one group was listening. Republicans leaders pandered to religious wingnuts to beef up their votes, and now they're reaping the rewards of that. Religious wingnuts aren't interested in American unity. They don't care about improving America's reputation in the world. They don't care about women's rights. They don't care about equal rights for LGBT citizens. They don't even really care about the economy. All they care about is keeping fags down, stomping abortions out, and retaining the white power structure. Sane Americans saw this, and said "No, thanks." If the Republican party has an ounce of sense, they'll abandon these people and go back to being the party that values fiscal conservatism and less intrusive federal government. As long as they're the Party of Bigots, they'll never be effective leaders.

Obama's speech was quite stirring. Literally. It actually stirred some patriotism within me that I thought was long since dead. As he made sure to clarify, there's a lot of work ahead. George W. Bush is the worst president in American history, and there's an Augean stableworthy level of shit to dig through. I deeply hope that Obama can at least begin to put this country back on track, and proves that the faith and trust I have placed in him was well-earned. It's a historic night, America. Get out there and celebrate!

The Penny Jar - Part 12

2008-10-24T21:28:00.004-05:00

-Oof. I feel like I've been ignoring my poor little blog. I don't mean to. It's just that my new job duties are much more demanding, not only time-wise, but mentally. Then, when I come home, I lack the energy and/or imagination to write anything of substance. I'll try to reallocate some time from playing those addictive Yahoo games (Seriously -- "The Great Chocolate Chase"? Awesome.) to over here.

-Missouri has new license plates. That means the number that I've had for forever has changed, and I'm vicariously having a bit of an identity crisis for JJ. I couldn't tell you my license number right now if you paid me.

-The train station advertisements are getting worse by the day. First, there was that one urging people to get medical attention with: "Schizophrenic? Ready for a change?" That's some unfortunate phrasing. Now, I've been forced for months on end to see a plea for money to help children with cleft palates. Worthy as the cause may be, I do not need to see a foot-wide harelip before I've had my morning coffee.

-Did everyone celebrate National Punctuation Day? Perhaps some people took the opportunity to learn how to use apostrophes? Please?

-From the Sadly Ironic to the Point of Hilarity Files: There's a health and wellness center near my apartment, and as I drove by it the other day, I caught a glimpse of two women standing in front of it and chatting. Two women who were:

--Morbidly obese
--Smoking...AND
--Carrying infants

What, no room for a couple of fifths of Jack Daniels?

-During my summer trip to Georgia, I found myself entering into a bet with LabRat. I thought that it would be easy to go an entire week without using any words with the letter Q in them. Surely I'd be able to think my way around obvious mistakes like "quiet" and "quickly", and could anticipate sneaky ones in the middle of words like "antique" or "liquid". Know how long I lasted before I lost the bet? About twelve hours. Know how long I lasted when I "learned from my mistakes" and went double-or-nothing? About twenty-four more (including several spent sleeping). It's harder than it sounds! Now I owe him two giant favors to be named later. Damn.

-Speaking of letters, sometimes I'll set my iPod at the first song of a certain letter, and just let it go alphabetically. Now, we all know that even though you put all the music on your iPod yourself, not all the songs are winners. You'll download an album because you like three songs, and the rest of the tracks just kind of hang out like barnacles. It's pretty likely that it won't take long for you to run across a lackluster track, or perhaps one you're just not in the mood for. Imagine my shock and delight when I set it to start at the beginning of U, and was able to let it go the entire way through without the slightest urge to skip ahead. My U rocks.

-I like to think I've developed a healthy dose of cynicism, and sadly, I'm no longer surprised by a lot of abominable behavior. It takes a lot of gall to drop my jaw, but a local radio station has accomplished it. They've begun playing Christmas music. Not periodically. All day and night. In early October. If I still bothered to listen to radio, I'd be pissed.

-Google searches:

a) A Yahoo group devoted to knitting. I don't have access to any of its content, so I don't know who is getting here from there, or if it's a relative stranger or dear friend, or why they link through a knitting page. Hey, it's fine with me. I'm a big fan of those who knit. The group is welcome to send some afghan blankets this way.

b) Lots of searches for both Carl's Deli and Pumpernickel's. As I said in the last Penny Jar, the former is crap, and the latter is great. If I can increase the enjoyment of deli food in St. Louis by an atom, I'll consider it a life well-spent.

c) "baby vomit montage 1812 overture". Sure, if you say so.

d) "jane eyre dress patterns". Something plain, no doubt.

e) "what's wrong with thornfield". The big fire, for one. The crazy lady in the attic doesn't help real estate value, either.

f) "tied cock tube". Ouch!

g) "Labrat ruining it for everyone". Hahahaha!

h) "Jane Eyre pee chain". I...beg your pardon?

i) Specific searches for What'ere, Jane Eyre and even a search for "ptimewasting with ptom". I'm so pleased (and really very surprised) that a silly side-project in which I slag on reality shows is of interest to anyone but myself. It makes me wish I had more time to devote to it.

Hello! I Have a Horn!

2008-10-08T17:13:00.006-05:00

Things have been hectic lately, so when a chance to spend a long, leisurely, affordable weekend in New York City presented itself, LabRat and I jumped. Some old family friends of my mother's live in New Jersey, but keep an apartment in Manhattan. They loan it out occasionally, so we got to stay in the heart of the Upper East Side completely free. Sweet!

Thursday

I'd say we woke up at the crack of dawn, but it was even earlier. After leaving LabRat's car at one of those park-and-ride garages, we made our way through baggage checking and security with a minimum of fuss. I slept most of the way to New York, and as we landed, I mentally steeled myself for the mass chaos of the JFK airport. Except...there was no chaos. Our bags were practically the first on the carousel, and had we not paused to buy a local map, we would have been out of the airport within five minutes. The potential for more disaster loomed when in our exhausted state, we accepted a ride with a "taxi driver". He was nice, but LabRat and I exchanged worried glances when his ride had no taxi markings, nor any meter. Visions of our bullet-riddled bodies showing up in an abandoned lot danced through my head, but fortunately, it turned out fine. He got us to the apartment building without either overcharging us or murdering us, so I was happy.

The apartment is amazing. I knew that closet space is one of the biggest premiums of New York apartments, and this place has four, which I'm told is astounding. After grabbing a quick lunch, we walked towards Museum Mile on the edge of Central Park. It was on this walk that we found that the constant horn-honking of New York traffic is essentially pointless. Here, honking means "Look out!" or "Go, already!" or "You suck!" or "Hey, there! I know you!" or "I'm here to pick you up!". In New York, we witnessed several vehicles honk for seemingly no reason whatsoever. In the end, we decided they were just proving to each other that their equipment was fully functional. We discovered the Guggenheim is closed on Thursdays, but I still managed to take some good shots of it.

We decided to take the long way back towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art by wending through the park. We did a quick circle of the reservoir, and I confess to a bit of disappointment. I've seen so many movies and television shows highlighting the beauty of Central Park, and the path around the reservoir was just a muddy circle along a bank of weeds. I shrugged it off, assuming I've just been spoiled by Forest Park.

The Met offered several surprises. First, the size of their Egyptian collection. It was never-ending. Room after room of scarabs, hieroglyphics, tombs, sarcophagi, jewelry, busts, statues, and so on. It was impressive, but almost too much, and I was relieved when we stumbled upon the early American wing. It was there that we found that the upper floors were apparently closed for renovations, which kind of sucked. But as we rounded a corner elsewhere, I spotted a staircase that wasn't roped. We decided to explore, and found that they were only partially closed. If we hadn't stumbled across that particular staircase, we'd probably have missed half the museum. After drawings, Asian art, and Roman/Greek sculpture, we were a little museumed-out, and walked back to the apartment to rest up before dinner. We asked the doorman for advice about some good sushi, and he didn't steer us wrong. We soon found ourselves settled with several delightfully spicy rolls, with some damn fine unagi on the side for me. After that, we walked back and crashed, vowing to get up for breakfast the next day.

Friday

Which we did, if eating at 12:15 PM can still be classified as breakfast. We must have needed that twelve hours of sleep. We walked to a nearby restaurant that was curiously packed with kids. It was the middle of a Friday! Why weren't they in school? That little hiccup aside, we had a satisfying breakfast. My banana pancakes were great, but so big I couldn't finish them. They certainly didn't skimp on portions there or anywhere else we went. Back at the apartment, we studied the subway map, and decided to head down to the action at Rockefeller Center. The subway system wasn't half as complicated as I feared, and LabRat has a good head for things like that anyway, so we never had much of an issue getting around. Once downtown, my reluctance to appear too touristy thawed a bit, as there clearly wasn't a native to be seen, so I went ahead a took a couple of gawp-eyed shots.

While we were down there, we decided to get a ticket to the observatory floors of Rockefeller Center, and got some good bird's-eye views.

After wandering down 5th Avenue and poking our heads into a couple of stores, we went back to the apartment to spruce up. Ever since I've gotten back, the second question everyone's asked me after "How was your trip?" is "Did you see any celebrities?" And yes, by gum, I did. It was my great good fortune to meet up with famed New York bloggers David and Grouchbutt for dinner and drinks. I've been fans of theirs for a while now, and was quite giddy about actually getting to hang out with them. We had a lovely dinner, and after stopping by a fairly-dead gay bar, settled at another one for drinks. I wish I could have had more time to talk with them; most of our conversation had to be repeated twice to be heard over the music. Still, it was great fun to meet them.

Saturday

I'm not the only one with New York connections. One of LabRat's friends who now lives in Boston used to live in Chinatown, and rode up to meet us (and visit her family). She suggested a dim-sum place near the subway, which turned out to be terrific in more ways than one. It was convenient, it was delicious, and just by chance, it happened to be within a short walk of the TKTS booth at the South Street Seaport for buying discount tickets to Broadway shows. The line took no more than five minutes, and I scored half-price tickets to that evening's performance of The 39 Steps.

After we parted ways with LabRat's friend, we walked down the water to Battery Park to catch a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty in the distance. From there, we attempted to take a certain subway back to the Upper East Side, but discovered that the line was closed down for the day. That took us on a walk past things I wasn't expecting to visit, such as the Wall Street bull (swarmed with tourists, presumably trying to get a shot before it's inevitably melted down to make cuff links for some CEO) and the Noguchi red cube.

That night, we got dressed up for the play. We left early, knowing that traffic in Times Square would be a nightmare. It actually wasn't that bad, all things considered. We got there in time to wander around a bit and take in all the lights. After getting seated at the theater, it didn't take long to realize that our concerns about being underdressed were unfounded. Unless low-rise, buttcrack-revealing jeans are de rigueur at the theater these days, lady in front of us. The play was great. It's a small, four-person cast in a comedic interpretation of the original Hitchcock film. I enjoyed it a great deal, but have to admit that just being able to say I've been to a Broadway play is satisfaction enough. It almost didn't even matter what we saw. We knew we'd be ravenously hungry after the play, and spotted a nearby restaurant in the Playbill that looked promising. After searching for a bit, we found it; it's a relatively small Italian place that attracted a lot of post-play eaters. We had a fantastic wine, and I heartily enjoyed my meal (I would have never thought to pair calf liver with onions and blueberry, but it really worked).

Sunday

Having eaten right before bed on Saturday, we weren't fantastically hungry on Sunday, but I had already made brunch reservations, so we followed through. I'm glad we did. Brunch was in a shadier neighborhood than we had been seeing so far, but that just seemed to indicate that it was trendy. Brunch was good, and although we were unaware that New York law prohibits serving alcohol before noon on Sundays, we were able to dawdle over our food long enough to get the mimosas the menu promised. After brunch, we took the subway back up to the Museum Mile area to give the Guggenheim another shot. This time, it was open, but the entire spiral was closed for renevations. This disgusted LabRat, and since I'd had my fill of museums for the weekend, we decided to take another walk through Central Park, instead.

After choosing a number of random paths, we soon found ourselves directionless in the center. In a way, this was good. Though our feet were sore by the time we found our way back to the right side, we did find some of those beautiful views I'd been expecting.

As we were consulting a map mid-park, an older lady called out to us, confident that she could guide us in the right direction. Her directions weren't terrifically helpful; she was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to about her recent surgery, her job, and the latest neighborhood gossip. After politely listening for a while, we shook ourselves loose and trudged back to the apartment, only venturing out for a late dinner at a seafood restaurant. We amused ourselves by eavesdropping on the couple behind us, or rather one-half of it, which was one of those impossible-to-please Jewish matrons. The poor guy she was with didn't even seem to be her husband, so sitting through a meal full of her relentless tirades was very heroic.

Monday

We had the one disappointing meal of the trip at a place that fancied itself a jewel of French breakfasts, but had little to offer beyond dry muffins and bitter coffee. The rest of the afternoon was spent cleaning up the apartment and packing our stuff. We grabbed a quick slice of pizza, and then it was off to the airport. Once again, I steeled myself, and once again, I needn't have bothered. The JFK employees were friendly and helpful. Getting through to the gate was quick and efficient. It's not fair. I always knew our airport sucked, but figured it was due to the sheer number of people that pass through daily. But after seeing an airport that handles far more people do so much better, I can only conclude that our airport is just that bad. It wasn't on this occasion, though. Our bags showed up quickly again, and it was simple to catch a shuttle back to LabRat's car.

For a trip where so many things could have gone wrong, it's nothing short of amazing that it was just about flawless. We had a great time, met some wonderful people, and did it all without breaking the bank. I'm already looking forward to going back.

Entertainment Weakly

2008-09-15T23:51:00.004-05:00

Despite the fact that TiVo may as well be called "The Way Limecrete Would Design Television Watching", I am still reluctant to get it. I'm not really sure why that is; possibly because I'm slow to accept anything that requires a monthly fee. Even my beloved Netflix took a while to capture my heart. Until I cave in and get a DVR, my poor VCR will have to go on struggling to keep up. I'm stuck working a late shift at the lab right now, so with the impending fall TV season, who knows how much longer the old gal will hold out. I'm going to push it. With this current economic situation, it's important to pinch some pennies where I can. Speaking of economics, we can dispense with several TV shows right off the bat:

Gossip Girl: Hey, want to watch this show about the scandals and hijinx of irritating, rich children? No, thanks.
Privileged: Hey, want to watch this show about the scandals and hijinx of irritating, rich children? No, thanks.
90210: Hey, want to watch this show about the scandals and hijinx of irritating, rich children? No, thanks.
The Hills: Hey, want to watch this show about the scandals and hijinx of irritating, rich children? No, thanks.

There, that was easy. As to the rest of the schedule, it seems like there isn't a lot to entice me this season. Weren't we supposed to get a deluge of quality shows after the strike? On channels I actually get? Those that hold the most interest for me are returning shows; a couple of the new ones look interesting, but in general, the incumbents are carrying this race.

Sunday

Also known as the Night of Shows I Used To Watch Religiously And Now Don't Bother. The Simpsons and Family Guy will probably put out some good episodes, but nothing I can't wait to see until later. Desperate Housewives has long since fallen off my radar. There are two new shows on Sundays, both on the CW. The description of Easy Money (CW/8-9PM (all times Central)/September 21) in my television preview magazine reads: "The middle son of a family who runs a high-interest 'payday loan' firm realizes why he never quite felt like he belonged." Er... That sounds terrible. It's not on against anything I watch, so maybe I'll give it one episode. The other new show is Valentine (CW/7-8PM/September 21), an updated take on the Greek gods, who mess with the mortals around them. I'm a sucker for mythology, so I'm willing to give it a shot. Unfortunately for Valentine, they put it on against one of the few shows I won't miss. The Amazing Race (CBS/7-8PM/September 28) premieres a week later, so unless the race sucks horribly, Valentine doesn't have a prayer (*rimshot*) of becoming one of my regular shows.

Monday

Oh, NBC. Won't you make me your bitch on Mondays? You will? Swell. First, there's Chuck (NBC/7-8/September 29), which had a great first season. That's followed up by Heroes (NBC/8-9/September 22), which had a shitty second. I'm more than willing to forgive and forget if they can get their act together. Things are a little dicier with My Own Worst Enemy (NBC/9-10/October 13), which stars Christian Slater as a man with a split personality, one of which is a spy. That's a good match with Chuck and Heroes, but that premise requires a delicate balance. I don't see any reason not to try it out, as I have no interest in Boston Legal or CSI: Miami. CBS did its level best by offering The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother, both of which are great shows from what I can gather, but they're more DVD shows than first-run. CBS' new comedy, Worst Week, is being touted as a less-stupid Meet the Parents. There's still plenty of stupid going around, as CBS decided to plunk it directly opposite Heroes. Way to ensure I'll never watch.

Tuesday

Crap, crap, and crap. OK, there's House, which I keep meaning to catch up on, but never have. And there's Fringe, which everyone except me is excited for. I liked Alias, but don't worship at the altar of J.J. Abrams like others. I'm curious about The Mentalist (CBS/8-9PM/September 23), which is like a more dramatic version of Psych. I'm not a big Simon Baker fan, but with nothing else to watch on Tuesdays, it's worth an episode or two.

Wednesday

Cue Hallelujah chorus: Pushing Daisies is back (ABC/7-8PM/October 1)! It was easily the best new show last season, and I can't wait for its return. Shove off, Tyra. I've got new appointment television on Wednesdays. Speaking of the endearing, megalomaniacal fivehead, America's Next Top Model (CW/7-8PM/currently airing) has had a good first couple of episodes, but it looks like they read my mind, and arranged to replay episodes later in the week so I could enjoy Pushing Daisies worry-free. Speaking of good ABC shows, I enjoyed the first season of Dirty Sexy Money (ABC/9-10PM/October 1), but I was one of few. It didn't get good ratings. Hopefully, it can spring back. You'll note that all of the shows mentioned are returning ones. That's because all the new Wednesday shows look wretched. They're actually trying to sell a knockoff reality show about working for Project Runway's worst guest judge ever. Yeah, pass.

Thursday

Once again, a network takes a fledgling new show and puts it on against a popular, returning favorite. I had every intention of watching Kath & Kim (NBC/7:30-8PM/October 9), which looks like it may be fun. So what does NBC do? Put it on against the drain-spinning Grey's Anatomy? Nope. They put it on against Survivor (which I don't watch, but plenty of others do), and Ugly Betty (ABC/7-8PM/October 25). Dinks. The rest of the new shows are fairly formulaic, and I have no interest in low-budget, YouTube-ripping-off game shows or time-traveling cops. Rufus Sewell is still riding on a wave of residual respect from Cold Comfort Farm, so I may give Eleventh Hour (CBS/9-10PM/October 9) a shot, though it looks at first glance like they took CSI and House, and threw them in a blender.

Friday

Welcome back, Tyra! Assuming Pushing Daisies holds me enraptured on Wednesdays, America's Next Top Model re-airs on Fridays. Great! I need to see how far that charming transexual gets. Friday night is generally where television entertainment goes to die. The casts and crews of America's Toughest Jobs, The Ex List, and Crusoe may not want to put their names on their lockers just yet. Not that I'll notice when they go. They all look awful, which is a relief. My VCR can only take so much punishment.

Time Keeps On Slippin', Slippin', Slippin'

2008-09-06T13:25:00.001-05:00

After all the folderol and hubbub (two words I don't get to use nearly often enough) of last year's milestone birthday, this year was a much more subdued affair. Except in the sheer volume of food consumed; that's a constant. A big one. People bought me cake. Tapas. Tex-Mex. All-you-can-eat crab legs. Gifts varied wildly from Futurama to the Arizona state quarter I've been hunting for. It was a nice lull before my days suddenly became a lot busier.

I've started my new job duties in the lab, and they are a lot more extensive than my old job. I'm back in the lab proper, so no more laid-back days at the computer, sneaking to another desktop to catch up on the latest blog post or celebrity gossip. Now I can barely carve out time for lunch. Hopefully, when I become more adept at the work, I can find some shortcuts. But for now, there's no spare downtime, which means there's no sneaking out early to do any errands, which means they all have to be done in the evening, which is why I haven't been able to touch this blog since mid-August. My weekends are being snatched away, too. I'm at the restaurant every Saturday in September, and impending autumn begins the annual tradition of chore requests from the parental quarter. LabRat and I haven't time to do more than grab a quick dinner or watch a little TV.

I've always hoarded free time like dragon's gold, so when I don't have a lot, I get stressed and crabby. Time-wasting things that would normally get a shrug now make me actively upset. If I'm somewhere I don't feel like being, even if it's a social occasion, all I can think about is freeing myself, as if I'm in a bear trap or something. I'm just going to have to look for ways to save myself some mental strain. Want to come over and do my laundry? That'd be a big help.

Cookie Party - Volume 1

2008-08-15T17:41:00.003-05:00

Sometimes, my brain will take a bunch of lonely little ideas and merge them into one SuperDuperMega idea. A month or two ago, I thought to myself that I've fallen out of the habit of trying to cook more, which is an activity I find very soothing. I wasn't overly concerned; I've been swamped with training for my new job (new duties at the same lab), and my body clock is totally screwed up. Hopefully, that will settle soon, and I'll be able to keep a more regular schedule. Big meals may be out of the picture for a while, but at least I can do a little baking here and there. And that's when the little ideas started to coalesce. I want to do some baking. LabRat has a serious sweet-tooth. Making lists brings me joy. I thought it might be fun to devise a sort of cookie experiment. It had to be cookies. After all, there's only so many changes you can make to key lime pie. No matter what you do, it's going to taste like key lime pie. But cookies! The possibilities are endless. So I came up with the idea to try several different kinds of cookies. And it wouldn't just be the recipes that differ. My idea is to make cookies from wildly different sources. From the oldest cookbook I can find to a recipe written yesterday. From decadent to health-conscious. From simple to complicated. From everyday to holiday. I'm seeking out favorite cookies from friends, family, and maybe even the occasional stranger.

So, I jumped right in. I named this entry Cookie Party after the fictional game show on Sarah Silverman's show. I haven't seen more than one episode, but there's something intriguing about a game show in which people do nothing but bake cookies, and is hosted by a stubbly drag queen. I think I'd actually watch that. Naturally, I had to start with something easy and simple. Something relatable. The cookie to which all other cookies aspire. The Alpha and Omega of cookies.

Chocolate Chip
The End-All, Be-All Cookie

The Scene:

Several positions were filled in the lab I'm moving to, and I was the last person to get trained. When the previous guys finished their training, they brought in donuts. Wasn't that a sweet gesture? So of course, my first thought was how I was going to pound those punks into the ground in the sweet gesture arena by bringing in something homemade. That'll teach 'em to do something nice! Making chocolate chip cookies has a very American feel to it, so it's only appropriate that the Summer Olympics are on in the background as I mix. I haven't felt very patriotic of late, but watching an American make Olympic history while I make the quintessential American cookie does more for my patriotism than any act of government has in a long time. Say...eight years? After LabRat extracts a promise that I'll set aside some cookies for him, he stretches out on my couch and snoozes the evening away. Although the bag of chocolate chips has a recipe printed on the back, I use the one out of my trusty spiral notebook from high school Food and Nutrition. Oh, yeah. I took a Home Economics course and Typing as my practical arts. And if that's not gay enough, toss in a couple of school plays for good measure.

The Ingredients:

Nothing surprising or exotic, as befits the All-American cookie. Flour. Chocolate chips. Baking soda. Vanilla. Salt. Butter. Eggs. Sugar. Brown sugar. It is not recommended that you bake the newt or the picture of Danger's boobs into the cookies, unless you're some kind of Macbethian witch. In keeping with the All-American theme, my particular blend of ingredients is very melting pot. The baking soda and half the butter was the lowest-priced generic I could get from the ghetto supermarket up the street. The other half of the butter, the salt, eggs, sugar, chocolate, and flour were all name brands. The brown sugar is organic. And the vanilla is some high-end stuff. I think the beans were picked by Peruvian virgins or something.

The Preparation:

Thankfully, I won't be needing a rolling pin, wax paper, cookie cutters, or any other equipment tonight. My kitchen is not terribly extensive. In fact, I only have one mixing bowl, so when the recipe calls for me to mix the dry ingredients and wet ingredients separately, I take to using a large skillet.

There are other wrinkles as well. The butter should be softened, but I don't have time to leave it out at room temperature, so I pop it into the microwave. I'm sure "melted" will substitute for "softened" nicely. Some flour foofs onto my shirt, making it look like I've been freebasing cocaine. When I measure out the salt, a little spills onto the counter, so I'm forced to take a pinch and throw it over my left shoulder onto the floor. The brown sugar is not the freshest thing in the apartment, and has hardened into tough little boulders. I set the bag in the sink and pound at it loudly to break up the clumps. A grumpy protest emanates from my couch, and LabRat pads through to go snooze on my bed. I manage to get the brown sugar into more of a powder, but still deem it wise to measure it out over the sink, which turns out to be a good idea, as it flies out irregularly, covering the sink in little sugar pebbles. Once everything is mixed, it's a simple matter to drop rounded teaspoons onto cookie sheets. There is still a little dough left when the cookie sheets are filled and popped into the oven. Is anyone looking? No? Then raw egg be damned! I happily chow on the remainder of the dough, and since I've shown no signs of salmonella since, I think I'm in the clear.

I make sure that the cookies don't burn, and I'm very pleased with the results. The aftermath isn't too terrible, either. I get peeved at recipes that pride themselves on being simple, yet require every dish in the kitchen. I don't have a behind-the-scenes staff to clean up after me. My dishwasher is two hands, some detergent, and a sponge. But all these cookies take is a couple of cookie sheets, a couple of bowls, and some measuring utensils. The final product was well worth it.

The Reception:

After packing up half a dozen cookies for LabRat, I put the rest in a Tupperware container and took it to work the next day, getting lascivious looks from the other passengers on the train. Back off, vultures! As for the cookies themselves... Mission accomplished! My new coworkers all enjoyed them heartily. So much so that I only got one. And here I was, worried I'd have to lug a bunch back home. They didn't last through lunch. I haven't even started work proper, and I'm now the baker of the group. If they're this impressed with plain old chocolate chip cookies, wait until I get to the more complicated ones. I'll be king of the lab.

Cotton

2008-08-08T12:09:00.000-05:00

Another year, another traditional material given on the anniversary. I don't believe I actually adhered to the paper guideline last year, which makes me angry at myself. Oh, well. That's easily remedied.

LabRat and I have made it to two years, and it amazes me how much has changed within the past year. Any idea that we'd have settled into a pattern has gone straight out the window. I guess that's because the first year was spent figuring each other out. The second year was a year of bigger steps. We exchanged apartment keys. We met each other's family. We traveled together. Though we spent a great deal of time together during the first year, we approached the second year with more of a "What are we doing this weekend?" attitude, rather than "I'm going to so-and-so's birthday happy hour, and you're welcome to come if you'd like."

As the relationship has grown, it seems like the highs have gotten higher, and the lows lower. I guess that's to be expected. Just as last year, I'm somewhat amazed that someone is willing to put up with me for such extended periods of time. I'm not a bad sort, but I'm anal-retentive and anxious and physically sensitive and prone to fits of mood. I count myself exceedingly lucky that such a great guy is willing to look past all that (or at least can endure it).

On the flip side, the strength of the relationship forces me to examine my priorities in a way I'd rather not. The job market is jumpy right now. LabRat is looking for a new position, and isn't limiting his search to St. Louis. If he lands a job in another state, would I be willing to give up the one that contains my job, my family, and 90% of my friends? I love LabRat, but I love my life here, too. I don't think I'm ready to make such a huge choice, but I can't bury my head in the sand for much longer.

For now, I can move onto happier topics. We had dinner at Sidney Street Cafe, which is a great place to have an anniversary dinner. The one pitfall is that we ate so much, the most romantic thing we did afterwards was doze off on the same couch. For the "cotton" year, I gave LabRat a T-shirt with "LABRAT" imprinted in a Superman symbol. He looks mighty good in it. I also gave him some gourmet cupcakes, and some butternut flavoring he's long been searching for, which has the nice side-effect of there being a cake in my future. He trumped me by filling in my collection of Golden Girls DVDs, which is awwwwwwwwesome. I've got to be careful, though. If I start quoting episodes every fifteen minutes, there's no way we'll make it to year three.

Gun/Play

2008-07-24T21:11:00.002-05:00

I guess I'll start with the "Play", though it somewhat offends my left brain, who likes things to be well-ordered and sequential. As an added bonus to the Georgia vacation, LabRat and I took Friday off and drove over to Kansas City to visit Veruca, Sparkletooth, and Monkey. LabRat was a little nervous over staying with a family member he doesn't know well, so I gave him the exact amount of assurance he gave me over meeting his extended family over the Fourth of July holiday; that is, none. He needn't have worried. It was a great weekend, full of swimming (giving us sunburns on our shoulders to match the ones on our legs), pool, movies, and chess, which I hadn't played in forever. Saturday, we went to see The Dark Knight, which I enjoyed, though it was too long, and is one of those movies that ends about four times. Still, I'm happy they kept it to a PG-13, so that I could actually watch it instead of having to hide behind my hands the whole time. The rest of the weekend was spent eating and playing with Monkey, who went to his first theater movie with Sparkletooth on Sunday (and I'm told sat through it with nary a peep).

Back in St. Louis, I crashed fairly early for me, turning off my phone at about midnight. When I woke up for work and switched it back on, there were three messages waiting for me. That...is just never a good sign. The messages were from my parents, each worried about my safety. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, it took me a while to register what had happened. I live on a short street, only about four blocks long. My parents had turned on the news, and heard that someone on my street had been shot, and that there was still a fire raging. I switched on the news, and it was even more grim than I thought. Some recluse of an old man had gone cuckoo-pants and set his car on fire. He let it roll down his driveway and across the street, and when the firemen came to put it out, he started shooting at them. He hit and killed a fireman who was only twenty-two years old, and once the cops showed up, wounded a couple of them, too. By this point, his house was also on fire, and it burned to a shell around him, presumably killing him.

I could say all the usual things people do in this situation. Things about how tragic it is, and how senseless, and how my heart goes out to the people involved, and all of that would be true. But nobody ever talks about the leftover feelings. A sense of morbidity as I pass by the blackened husk on my way to work. Annoyance at the lookie-loos who are still driving down my street. Some inexplicable guilt, as if there was something I could have done, just because I live three blocks down. Gratitude, as I got calls throughout the day along the lines of "Hey, are you all right?". Increased wariness of strangers. I jumped about a mile when a lady said good morning to me today. Mostly, there's an overwhelming sense of embarrassment. When St. Louis was declared America's most dangerous city a while back, a lot of us laughed, because the study only counted a small percentage of the metropolitan area. Aside from the general blanket level of crime, avoiding violence was no more difficult than knowing which neighborhoods to steer clear of. Now it's not just those neighborhoods. Now it's my neighborhood. Now it's my street. Even though it seems to be a totally random event, I feel tainted.

This is one of those things you think of as happening to Other People. And even in this case, it's Other People. But the stain of it is all around me. The burned house I must pass every day. The signs expressing grief and support. The flowers stacked in front of City Hall. The memorial service LabRat and I drove past this evening. Groups of men in uniform somberly marched to their cars, a gigantic American flag fluttering from a crane in front of the funeral home. The deaths of strangers rarely affect me, but the motiveless murder of a fireman (who wasn't even born when Back to the Future came out) at a house I walk by almost daily has shaken me pretty badly.

Southern Comfort

2008-07-14T14:32:00.012-05:00

What's that you say? I haven't returned your call yet? Still waiting on that e-mail reply? Sorry, sucka! I was on vacation, and though others may like to stay connected to facets of their daily routine, I desperately needed to unplug for a while. LabRat and I spent a week down at his parents' house in Georgia for the 4th of July holiday, and I spent a great deal of that time doing exactly what I wanted: A whole lot of not working.

We left St. Louis on a rainy Wednesday night; or a very early Thursday morning if you want to get technical. LabRat likes to take a rental car when he goes to the homestead to avoid putting miles on his own and to make sure that any road mishaps are (theoretically) covered. It's always somewhat of a gamble as to what make and model he gets, and this time, it was a Ford Fusion. Let me just say that if you're in the market for a new automobile, take a good, long look at the Ford Fusion. And then turn away and find something that doesn't suck quite so hard. The Fusion gets two thumbs down. Actually, four thumbs down if you count both of us.

We initially hoped to make the drive overnight to avoid traffic, but LabRat was too tired to go straight through, so we took a power nap in the car in a PetSmart parking lot in Paducah, Kentucky. There's a sentence I'll never need again. Another first came with a quick bite at Chick Fil-A, in which I'd never set foot before. They sure do have a lot of chicken. Once again, the only traffic headache was Chattanooga, which is rapidly climbing my list of Least Favorite Cities. I spent most of the rest of the trip sleeping, so it seemed like no time before we were winding our way up the long driveway, surrounded by the forest that LabRat's family insists is filled with animals. It's starting to become quite the little joke that the animals apparently dance around everyone else a la Cinderella, but when I show up, they all go into hiding. The rest of the day was just spent unwinding and playing with LabRat's precocious niece.

Friday was Independence Day proper, and LabRat's parents had their traditional BBBQ. There was row upon row of food, from the ribs smothered in the seven-sauce blend to various corn, potato, or pasta salads, to the dining room table groaning under the weight of eight kinds of dessert. People flooded the house. Not all of them were invited or friends of LabRat's parents, so I kept my wine glass by me at all times, trying to prepare myself for the eventuality of a "Oh, so you're a gay, Jewish, scientist -- let me tell you what's wrong with all three of those things" kind of conversation. Fortunately, it never came. Unfortunately, the combination of wine and over-eating knocked me out, and I had to go crash for a while. When I came to, most everyone was gone, so LabRat and I busted out the fireworks we had bought on our way down. They're illegal to shoot off in St. Louis, so I was jazzed to buy one of those kits that has a bunch of big, impressive explosives, plus some sparklers for the kids. The one called "Junior Redneck" called to me, but turned out to have some duds. Boo! We managed to keep ourselves entertained until the professional ones were set off some five miles away. Being on the side of a mountain, we could see them clearly, but they were so far away that we couldn't hear them. Silent fireworks are a very eerie phenomenon.

Saturday, LabRat, his dad, and I took a drive up to Brasstown Bald, the highest point in Georgia. It's said that on a clear day, you can see Atlanta from the tower on the peak. Our day was somewhat hazy, but that certainly didn't seem to impede the view much.

We strolled around for a while, then went back home to enjoy some frosty margaritas, which soon became a continuing theme for the week. There were plenty of BBBQ leftovers to enjoy, and cleanup is a breeze when rib bones are simply tossed over the balcony for the phantom animals to come claim. LabRat's Brother: "They're out there! You are not going home until you spot a deer."

Sunday, we had to have church. Yes, church was mandatory. Happily, "church" at the LabRat homestead dispenses with the whole dress-up-go-out-and-worship ritual, and simply means homemade biscuits, sausage, eggs, and fruit. Then, you hang around in your pajamas for as long as you want. Now that's a religion I can get behind. I was happy to be present for the founding of a sub-sect of Church -- Shrimp Night. Although LabRat would be happy with shrimp as the appetizer, main course, side dish, drink, and dessert, the rest of the family and I thought some actual vegetables would be nice, and we stopped by a produce stand for some corn. Corn's not in season right now, and the meager selection they had looked quite pitiful. It wasn't a total loss, as the stand itself was arranged so nicely, I had to take a picture.

A second produce stand gave us no better results, and LabRat's dad decided we were going to drive to Murphy, North Carolina on the hope that the third time would be the charm. Now, I have a yen to visit all fifty states at some point, and although I've made good progress, there are large chunks of the country I have yet to get to. North Carolina was one of those states, and I'm nerdily thrilled that I'm able to check it off the list now. True, the entirety of my North Carolina experience was: Drive in. Buy corn. Drive out. I guess it doesn't sound very impressive, but I was happy with it, and hey... We found some good corn, which we took home, lined up, husked, and competed to see who could throw the empty husks the furthest. Oh, yeah. I totally won. The line to pay homage to my studliness forms at my left.

LabRat's mom got busy boiling and frying the shrimp, and his sister-in-law went to town on the salad vegetables. I envied her chopping frenzy; it takes me forever to dice tomatoes. Once we were suitably stuffed with shrimp, LabRat and I attempted the day's crossword puzzles, and managed to complete one of them with no mistakes. In pen! On a Sunday! Come on, that's awesome.

Monday, LabRat's aunt took us on a float trip down the Toccoa river. Although the bugs feasted on me so much I'm still scratching, it was a grand time. LabRat's aunt is family in more ways than one, and we chatted about Pride and various other exploits as we floated. The mega bonus is that we were the only three people on that section of the river. Float trips suck when you're surrounded by other people, and it was terrific having the entire river to ourselves. Plus, the recent rains had raised the water level, and we only had to stand up a couple of times. After the float, we stopped by a local haunt for a fatty cheeseburger and fries, which in no way dissuaded me from tearing into my steak and potatoes later that night. Not eating potato skins must run in LabRat's family, as I'm the only one who ate mine. The other skins went over the balcony for the phantom animals, one of which actually had the good grace to show himself. A cute little possum came out to leisurely munch on the skins, and while it wasn't as exciting as the bear that I'm told roams around, it was at least something.

Tuesday, LabRat's dad hooked up his boat to his truck, and took us down to Blue Ridge Lake for some boating and fishing. It being a Tuesday after a holiday weekend meant that again, we didn't have much company, which is all good by me.

This was only the second time I've ever been fishing, so of course I didn't get anything. In fact, there was only one bite all day, and it was so small, LabRat's dad threw it back. Eh, that's OK. We sped around the lake for a bit, LabRat spinning dreams of buying one of the million-dollar cabins on the shore. Then it was back to the house to get cleaned up for our one dinner out. A Japanese steakhouse opened in the nearby town of Ellijay, so LabRat, his mother, father, aunt, brother, sister-in-law, niece, and I headed down there. After that, LabRat and I met his aunt at her gorgeous cabin and sat out on the balcony, looking out at the view and nursing some wine.

Since we'd kept ourselves so busy out in Nature, we took Wednesday as a layabout day. Much television was watched. Library books were dispatched with. Nieces were played with. Dora the Explorer featured heavily. LabRat's mom made brisket for dinner, showing me the recipe that she had gotten from the one Jewish couple ever to live in the county. Heh.

And then Thursday rolled back around, and it was time to come home. Did driving through Tennessee suck yet again? And how! Chattanooga is really good at tearing roads down. If you ever need traffic cones scattered across the interstate, they're your guys. Actually repairing and reopening the roads is still a bit beyond them. Going through Nashville at rush hour was a breeze compared to Chattanooga. The setting sun gave Kentucky a beautiful glow, and as always with Illinois, anything that isn't Chicago is boring as shit. Finally, we crossed the river, and the Arch welcomed us back home. It's cheesy, but it's always heartening to see it on the way back from a trip.

Now, it's a week of work before it's off for another family visit, this time a weekend in Kansas City to see Veruca and Monkey. Man, I needed that time off, and it worked out really well. It was a wonderful, rejuvenating trip -- sunburn, insect bites, and all. Sure, I feel like I've gained ten pounds, but hey... Now I can return your phone call without secretly wanting to throw myself out the window.

It's Raining [On] Men

2008-06-30T16:27:00.007-05:00

As I mentioned in the last post, after a long period of status quo, I got hit with several Big Deals in a row. Aside from The Conversation, I also interviewed for and got offered a new job, gave LabRat a key to my apartment, and plunged into a depressing financial situation tinged with psychological pitfalls. That's a lot to process in a week.

Thankfully, I was able to shelve most of it in time to cram as much social life as possible into the following week. Card night BBBQ! Friend's birthday BBBQ! Beers on the Bottleworks patio! Dinner with Mom! Lunch out with a new friend! Lunch out with a book club friend! Lunch out with the labmates! Dinner at the Sunday Spin! Dinner with the Adventure Dining girls! Hmm...I'm sensing a theme. Well, the last thing aptly diverges from the group: St. Louis Pridefest.

A lot has been tossed back and forth about Pride. There are debates about how representative it is, how necessary it is, and how appropriate it is. I prefer to leave the intellectual dissections to people far more articulate than I, and just try to enjoy it. LabRat and I wanted to get there before all the parking spots were gone, so he nudged me out of bed early Sunday morning. After going through my usual morning grouse, I reluctantly agreed to go get ready. I briefly flirted with the idea of wearing one of my saucy T-shirts, but opted for a more versatile outfit. I didn't know where we'd wind up, and though "Ask Me About My Penis" would fit right in at Pride, I have to think people outside the event wouldn't exactly be doing cartwheels over it. Besides, most of my saucy T-shirts are black, which is a horrendous color on me. Tiffany wanted to join us for the parade, so we caravaned with her over to Tower Grove Park, easily scoring some rock star parking. LabRat is always able to find a good spot; it's one of his mysterious gifts. We walked down the street to the parade route on Grand, passing a surprisingly cheerful utility worker trying to finish up his work before the inundation of people, and a couple of enterprising kids, who had set up a lemonade and cookie stand that severely undercut the prices of the lesbian coffee shop next door.

We took up position behind the parade barrier and people-watched to pass the time until it got started. As we waited, three requisite protesters wandered down the street, mad as wet hens that they were doing their best to offend the crowd, and getting only laughs and jeers in return. The man in front had a sign about Hell or flames or whatever. Boring! The lady in the middle tried to get our goats with a "Got AIDS Yet?" sign, which sounds horrible at first blush. But when you think about it, AIDS is such a widespread problem now, affecting men, women, children, gays, straights, and people from almost every country on Earth. So when you think about it, a sign with "Got Chicken Pox Yet?" would have conveyed the same message. That made me giggle. The lady on the end didn't have a sign. She was carrying some papers, and was just wandering behind her compatriots, her jaw set so tightly, I thought she might hurt herself. I called out to her that she seemed to lack the commitment of the others, but she either didn't hear or didn't want to. It turned out not to matter, as our point of the parade route had a bunch of cops standing around, waiting to divert traffic. Hate protesters, meet the police. They'll be asking you to leave now. Better luck next year! Are we realizing that the three of you aren't terribly successful at shaming the tens of thousands of us? We are? Aw, what a pity. Perhaps you can buy one of those reasonably priced cookies on your way out.

Also at our spot was a church group giving out free water. LabRat was immediately on the defensive, even after they explained that what they were doing was apologizing for the way the Christian religion has treated the gay community. LabRat wasn't buying. "They've got an agenda. They've always got an agenda. They're giving out water, aren't they? Because we thirst for God?" The parade started at noon. First came the wave of politicians. It was fairly heartening to see the mayor and other public figures show some support, even if it was the minimal lip service kind. After them came the businesses and groups, flinging beads and frisbees and candy at the crowd. We caught a fair amount of treasure, including packets of condoms and lube. Just what we need in this struggling economy! The roller girls were also in the parade, so Danger and Panny skated over to us for a quick hug. Naturally, the lesbians standing next to us wanted hugs from them, too. Whee! It started to rain off and on, but nothing harder than a light shower. Still, it was plenty wet enough to make the dykes on bikes think twice about popping wheelies in their ATVs. At least, it should have been. Sure enough... SPLAT. Ever see a thousand people wince at the same time? She was OK, and picked herself up, hopefully a little wiser for the wear.

After the parade, Tiffany took off, and LabRat and I walked to Tower Grove Park to wend our way through the booths. Naturally, we gravitated to the food booths, and got in line for meat on a stick. Yay, phallic lunch! LabRat wanted some funnel cake for dessert, still somewhat unwilling to believe that I am, in fact, the one person on Earth who detests them. Even the smell makes me want to hurl. He was more than happy to have the plate to himself. After we ate, we went to the stage to await Martha Wash's show. The crowd was being warmed up by one of those tiresome drag queens who rasp out what they think are naughty bon mots. Finally, Martha took the stage, and the rain came again. It was bad enough that her back-track skipped, but she took it in stride, and it was fixed pretty quickly. There was something incredibly fun about dancing in a summer shower while she sang "It's Raining Men". Especially with a crowd of people going apeshit all around us.

After that, we were both wiped out, and headed home for a nap. I have to say, even with all the intolerance and hatred in the world, I'm seeing some nice progress in the gay rights movement. Ten years ago, someone telling his lab softball team that he spent Sunday afternoon getting hit in the head with flying packets of lube would be a huge mistake. Now, it gets good-natured laughs. Both my parents told me to have a good time. Straight people bemoaned the fact that they couldn't make it out for the festivities. I know the news isn't all good for us these days. But we're getting there. One step at a time.

Out Tonight

2008-06-16T15:05:00.003-05:00

Well, this was quite a busy weekend, capped by another Big Deal. Big Deals seem to be coming fast and furious lately, which I'm not entirely thrilled about. Not all of them are bad news; it's just that once I think I'm done devoting a bunch of brain power to something, another Big Deal lurks behind it, and I haven't had sufficient recovery time.

Friday, I attended a coworker's wife's birthday party. Even though I knew and am friendly with most of the guests, I had one of those unfortunate alone-in-a-crowd feelings. Sometimes, it's easy to pinpoint where those come from, but this one was strange. It was a disconcerting mood, and I left fairly early.

I spent Saturday afternoon running errands. In a very odd turn of events, every place I went was strangely devoid of people. The streets ran heavy with traffic, but every building I entered, from the barbershop to Target to World Market barely had any other customers. I'm certainly not complaining about not having to contend with crowds. It just gave the day a slightly unsettling feel. On the plus side, the idiots at Metro Lighting have fixed their sign. Bout damn time.

When I got back home, I got a call from Dallas, home from Blahsville for the weekend. He asked what the plan was for the evening, and hit upon the idea to call Danger to see if we could pull her into our web. I gave her a call, and she was like "Hey, you know that thing where I strap on skates and beat the shit out of other girls? The bout you've known about for a month? Yeah, that." Oops. So we glommed onto Timiffany and Aussie Nat, and rode down to South Bubblefuck for the fun-but-not-air-conditioned-yikes bout, catching up with Kenedict, Kender's brother, Beebers, Nastyboots, Panny, and Redstarla while we were there. Poor LabRat has been inundated with work this past week, so he couldn't make it. He's always either been busy or out of town when Dallas comes back to St. Louis, so Dallas is convinced I have an imaginary relationship. I certainly hope LabRat isn't a figment of my imagination, though that would be some impressive mental illness. Once the bout was over, Timiffany, Aussie Nat, Dallas, a couple of friends of his, and I went to Atomic Cowboy. That means Strongbow. Jeez, I certainly didn't intend to be out until 2 AM.

Sunday was Father's Day, and I spent the morning sleeping off Saturday and wrapping presents. In the early evening, I headed over to my Dad's place to take him to dinner. He showed me a ton of pictures from his recent trip to China, after which he said he wanted to have a talk with me. Rut roh. I suspected I knew what he was about to say. My father and I have never openly discussed my being gay. It's not that I was hiding it, exactly. We both knew that we both knew, but I never volunteered anything, and he never asked. I was in the closet, but the door was wide open, and he could clearly see me behind all those coats. That's why I've never really understood the question "When did you come out?", as if it's an all-or-nothing action. I've told different people at different stages of my life. I never thought my dad would be angry or judgmental. But he is a lot more conservative than I am, and used to drop hints about finding a good woman or carrying on the family name. That put him at the end of the to-tell list. Dancing around the obvious started to become tedious, though, and being in an actual relationship redefines priorities. I'd been looking for the right opportunity to clear the air with my dad, but figured that doing it on Father's Day would be kind of cruel.

Well, Dad took care of that for me. The combination of hanging out with a gay couple on his Chinese tour group and hearing about Tim Russert's sudden death made him think, and he said he wanted to be part of all aspects of my life. He's a very emotional person, but he handled himself really well. He out-and-out (so to speak) asked me if I was gay, and honestly, my initial feeling was one of immense relief. I said yes, and willingly answered all the follow-up questions, like how long I've known, and who else knows, and so on. Bringing up LabRat introduced another battery of questions. It couldn't have gone more smoothly. He assured me that our relationship wouldn't suffer because of this, and is anxious for me to bring LabRat over for dinner soon. Accepting or no, that'll be an intense evening. Maybe they'll bond over their love of horrible puns.

From there, we went to dinner, where I got some more questions from my stepmother. She did me the favor of backing me up when I asked that my dad not spread the word a la wedding announcement to the entire extended and step-family. They'll figure it out when I start dragging LabRat to family events. Heh. Poor bastard doesn't know what he's in for. He thinks this is a positive step, but let's see how he feels when my Dad pulls a quarter out of his ear, or engages him in a discussion about how great Fox News is.

And That...Is The State of the Art

2008-06-03T16:19:00.000-05:00

Since I'm insanely left-brained, I tend to view art in a much different way than someone who's more naturally "artistic". I like art that gives my mind a twist; works that play with perspective or suggests an interesting story. I like art to be concrete. Recognizable. Explicable. That's why I detest most modern art, and think Jackson Pollack is vastly overrated. So when I discovered the BBC series "The Private Life of a Masterpiece", which takes several works of art and explains the ever-loving crap out of them, I was thrilled. First on my list was "Impressionism and Post Impressionists", which took on Renoir's "Dance at the Moulin de la Galette", Van Gogh's "Sunflowers", and one of my favorite paintings of all time, Seurat's "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte".

Each work got almost an hour of attention, from the drinking habits of the model at left-center in "Dance at the Moulin de la Galette" to how "Sunflowers" precipitated both the formation and dissolution of Van Gogh's relationship with Gauguin, to the debate over whether or not the woman at the left of "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte" is fishing for more than dinner, if you get my drift. It's a fascinating series, and I'm looking forward to watching the rest of it.

Speaking of "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte", I've also been immersing myself in another kind of art world lately: Broadway. Pandora is a nifty online radio, but when I was directed to another one called AccuRadio, which has a Broadway channel, I was hooked. I've now been indulging in show tunes at work all day, every day. As you can imagine, this has effects both beneficial and detrimental. It's great to hear songs from shows I haven't seen, as it can at least narrow down shows I may eventually want to drop some money on. Perhaps I'm missing something from the music that the shows fill in, but I now know that Jersey Boys, Grey Gardens, and Billy Elliot are probably not up my alley. The Sweeney Todd movie is too gory to see, but I enjoy the music. Shows I didn't embrace the first time around, like Sunday in the Park with George (See? I brought it around, there) and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee have bright spots. I can easily put the kibosh on shows I don't like, so good-bye, Curtains. If I get sick of a number that randomly rolls around too often (OK, "Johanna", I GET IT), I can skip on by.

The major problem with having this new resource is that I'm now constantly a tiny step away from bursting into song. It's bad enough to get caught singing popular music as I walk to and from the train station. It would be exponentially worse to be busted as I break into "Yes, everyooooooone is beautiful at the baaaaaaallet, hey. I was preeeeeeeetty! At the ballet!" Working Miss Saigon references into regular conversation makes me even gayer than usual. Random people on the street refuse to suddenly coalesce into choreographed harmony behind me. Annoying.

I Am Unworthy Of Your Love, but why don't you Run And Tell That, America? I Guess This Is Goodbye to being Popular. I suppose I'll have to Put On A Happy Face, and accept that nobody will ask me Out Tonight at Suppertime. Maybe Tomorrow. How Could I Ever Know that this affliction isn't Special, and that this Tradition won't be for One Night Only? I guess When You've Got It, Flaunt It. I'm All Alone, but I Can't Do It Alone, so Think Of Me. There Are Worse Things I Could Do. I'm On My Own with this, but Consider Yourself. After Getting To Know You, I'll bet that some of you, Day By Day, will become infected with the music, too.

Awesome Band Names #81-100

2008-05-20T13:35:00.002-05:00

An artful arrangement of cheese, constructed in an attempt to keep a delicious apple concoction from spreading too far, has led to Awesome Band Name #100. It must be that time again! Thank you to all who served as inspiration. Though they're fictional and have yet to play a single note, Kabuki Hooker's music is already better than anything Ashlee Simpson ever did.

81) Therapeutic Soda
82) Wrinkled Cleavage
83) The Blithering Ninnyhammers
84) Inferior Ketchup
85) The Fuck Gradient
86) Jewish Leprechaun
87) Pretentious Twats
88) Your Bastard Boyfriend
89) The Meat Crazies
90) Kabuki Hooker
91) Diamond Shithead
92) Elemeno
93) One Cunt Per Mile
94) The Greedy Koi
95) Cardiac Tattoo
96) The Omnipresent Munchies
97) Skunkhole
98) Deus Kink
99) Fleshkey
100) Chutney Wall

The Tipping Point

2008-05-19T14:59:00.005-05:00

I've been in a very odd sort of mood lately. It was a mood in which I...couldn't really decide what kind of a mood I was in. This is not to be confused with the Blahmino Effect. Those horrible periods are marked by an inability to bring myself to care about anything. This was different. This was indecision. I like to pretend I keep a fairly even emotional keel; that I'm not a creature of moods. Lately, though, I've noticed that how I respond to things can heavily depend on what kind of a mood I'm in. If I'm crabby, the slightest annoyance can ruin my day. If I'm content, the same annoyance is shrugged off. Usually, I'll be in one camp on the other. But for the past few weeks, it's as if I was perched on the exact fulcrum between the two, waiting for something to push me in one direction or the other.

Fortunately, an extremely nice weekend after a tiring week of rain has pushed me into the jollier frame of mind. Friday, I agreed to meet LabRat at his lab for a post-work happy hour out on their patio. It didn't start with much promise, as I took an unfathomable wrong turn that sent me into a road spiral it took me a while to get out of. I was pissed at myself for that. I've lived in this city for twenty years! What the hell am I doing? When I finally got there, a political debate broke out, which I tend not to enjoy. Things improved when a knot of people agreed to go out for Mexican food. I didn't even think I was that hungry, but I wound up inhaling my dinner, so a public service announcement is in order: Mi Ranchito is really good.

Saturday, LabRat and I went to a graduation picnic one of my friend's in-laws was throwing him at Shaw Park. The weather couldn't have been nicer, and after eating way too much pulled pork, we set up our captains' chairs in the shade and sipped beer while watching a pick-up game of volleyball. After getting home, we took it easy for a few hours, then went out to see Prince Caspian. I wanted to avoid the always-interactive experience of seeing a movie at the Esquire, so we went to the Chase. The managers asked some movie trivia questions before the show, but unfortunately, we were never called on. The theater filled up right before the previews started. During the movie, the lady behind us couldn't wait to explain the differences between film and book, and the guy next to me added his own "witty" commentary. I'm going to go home and kiss my Netflix discs. Soon, every theater will be like the Esquire. This is a good example of something that would make me apoplectic if I were in a bad mood, but didn't really bug me too much in this case, as I was still floating on a cloud of content from the picnic.

Sunday, we slept late, and when we finally awoke, tried to figure out where to grab some lunch. It was another day of perfect weather, so I suggested walking to the little cafe down the street we had seen on a jaunt around the neighborhood, but never gone into. I like having a neighborhood place to go to, and this one seems nice (CooperElla, for you Maplewoodians). After lunch, we walked around the neighborhood a bit, looking at the nicer houses and discussing real estate. When we strolled back towards the apartment, we saw some event going on in the parking lot behind the Manchester strip. We walked over to check it out, and it turned out to be a dog adoption event. There were plenty of adorable dogs to snuggle up to. I was immediately drawn to an enormous mastiff that would never fit into my apartment, but it was impossible to resist petting him. The weird thing is, when he pressed himself against me in a friendly way to get patted, a lady in the mastiff adoption tent got weirdly possessive, and passive-aggressively told the volunteer I was talking to that she was going to put him in his crate (the dog, that is -- I doubt the volunteer gets crated). That seemed oddly counter-productive. "Adopt these dogs! But don't touch them!" Whatever, psycho lady; the Airedale tent isn't so snooty.

After getting our puppy fix, we went back to the apartment until it was time to head down to the Bottleworks for Chris' Sunday Spin. The theme of the night was soul music, so I enjoyed the selection a lot more than Whiny Alternative Music of the '90s night. As a pleasant breeze wafted in the open doors, I sipped my beer and told LabRat that this had been such a nice weekend, I felt compelled to blog about the details. "We still have four hours to get into a massive fight," he said. Heh. No such luck. Instead, we went back to my apartment, where I started a game of Civilization IV and he channel-surfed. At 11:59 PM, we got into a massive fight, and started flinging dishes at one another. I kid. We watched game shows and yelled at stupid contestants.

It's amazing how once the scale tips towards good or bad, things tend to continue in that vein for a bit. The laundry and apartment mess that seemed insurmountable has been beaten back. The string of catering shifts that wore me down will now be paying up. The weather promises to behave for a week. Even this morning's commute, which was interrupted by an accident further down the track, forcing us all onto a bus, was resolved quickly and forgotten by the time a delightful lunch with a book club friend rolled around. No doubt this wave of good feeling will break at some point, and a disaster or at least a minor calamity will bring me down. But even then, at least I'll know what side of the mood scale I'll be on.

Activation Energy

2008-05-08T13:09:00.002-05:00

As I've said before, I'm not much of a risk taker. Once I find a comfortable plateau, it's enormously difficult for me to leave it. That can split two ways. On the one hand, being content in a rut can be quite satisfying. With no distant goal to shoot for, I can sit back and just expend the minimal amount of energy needed to maintain the status quo. On the other hand, when I actually do want to improve an aspect of my life, I find I don't possess the necessary willpower to pull it off.

The lab is still in a state of turmoil, and nobody's sure how many positions will still be around come December. It's the perfect time to poke my head up and do some research. Perhaps even to find a job that wouldn't require that I wait tables on the side. What have I done so far? Jot some notes on my resume, which hasn't been updated since 2000. Why can't I put more concentration into this? I like my job and coworkers, but I've essentially learned what I'm going to learn and advanced as far as I'm going to advance. Why am I so reluctant to even find a possible new situation, let alone step into it?

The current housing market has set my brain into a constant state of frazzle. I have no debt, my credit score is good, and nobody can deny that it's a buyers' market right now. Every day, I'm seized with equal parts terror that I'm letting a golden opportunity slip by, and terror that buying just to buy will drain what money I've been able to put away. Every time I say to myself "That's it. I'm sick of apartment living," someone at work is bound to come in with a story about how their basement is underwater, and now they have to sell a kidney to get a plumber, a foundation repairman, and an alligator wrangler to come deal with it. I feel like if I move, I'm screwed, and if I stay put, I'm screwed.

As I got undressed for bed the other night, I looked with customary disgust down at my stomach. In that rare blend of blessing and curse, that's where all my weight goes. It's handy to have all the unsightly fat migrate to a location that can be artfully hidden by the right shirt. It'd be like having all the dust in your house settle in one corner. Trouble is, no matter how many times you sweep out that corner, it's still dusty. I've taken up walking to the train station, which is a good two miles a day, and that has minimally helped out. But why can't I force myself to do more? Why can't I do what LabRat and Dallas did, and just decide one day that I'm going to start working out? Why do I angrily thump my belly, then shrug my shoulders as if to say "Boy, that sucks. Oh, well. Nothing I can do about it. Where'd I put that ice cream?"

And speaking of LabRat, my inertia has a detrimental effect on him, too. I'm a homebody. I make no secret of it. He loves the nightlife. He's got to boogie. You'd think I'd be a decent enough person to plan a night on the town once in a while, but I rarely do. After a nice, margarita-soaked Cinco de Mayo dinner at Maya Cafe, he was charged to go out and do something, and I, like always, shrugged my way into another night of couch-riding. I saw almost immediately that I'd just been a colossal ass, but by then it was too late. In some respects, I must be the most boring companion on the planet, and if I don't do something about it, I may just wind up the most boring single person on the planet.

It's not that I believe that this reluctance to face change is insurmountable. The problem is that I need to be pushed. If I were suddenly forced to seek a new job... If someone made me work out... If I were told that I either learn what the hell's going on in the mutual funds my grandfather left or they'd be taken away... I bet I could do it. But I'm an adult, and I have no right to expect someone else to pick up my slack like that. So how do I find that happy medium? How can I acquire an ability to push myself...if I can't push myself to acquire it? It's a puzzling problem, and one that needs some serious thought. Maybe I'll get around to it tomorrow.

Hair Apparent

2008-04-30T15:51:00.004-05:00

I'm generally a fan of progress, but when it comes to some facets of society, there's no denying that the folks of yesteryear did know a thing or two. Old furniture is sturdier. Old sports legends excelled by having natural talent. And local businesses gave each city, and really each neighborhood, its own cultural stamp. I'm sure some people love being able to stumble across a McDonald's in every corner of the world, but in my ongoing metamorphosis into a tree-hugging, dirty hippie, I find the hegemony of American chain businesses very depressing.

It was with a heavy heart that I walked out of my local barber's shop yesterday, having had my Jewfro razed for the last time. My barber is retiring after almost thirty years in the same location, and there is no-one to take his place. With him gone, the difficulty of finding a reasonably-priced place to get a simple haircut sharply increases. Why have barber shops gone the way of independent drugstores? Though I don't like the way Walgreens multiply like spores, I can understand why it happens. But surely there are thousands upon thousands of men who don't require the services of an overpriced "salon". Men who don't care about volume or shine or body or gel or mousse or spray, and just want to sit down, get a quick buzz or trim, and walk out. Crap shacks like Great Clips and Fantastic Sams would be happy to fill that barber niche... At twice the price and twice the wait time. I shudder to think I'll be trapped into that. Various friends have suggested buying clippers to use at home, but I don't think I'd be able to handle the few areas that actually need some specialized attention.

My barber is a real throwback. He's a grizzled old man, and walking into his shop is like stepping into 1956. Pictures of Elvis, old photographs of friends and patrons, and Rockwell-ish drawings of combs in jars lined the walls. National Geographic magazines older than I am were stacked on the shelves. A cardboard box sat by the door, full of golf balls on sale for a quarter that nobody ever bought. After my barber gave my hair a buzz, he'd always finish up by shaving around my ears and neck with hot foam and a straight razor. No feeling on Earth compares to that, and I doubt I'll ever find it again. One time, I was horrified to discover that I had no money on me, and without batting an eye, he told me not to worry about it; that I could just pay him the next time I was in. In a way, I feel like I'm not just losing a convenient, affordable place to get a haircut. I feel like I've just climbed another rung on the ladder towards a nation whose businesses don't give two shits about its consumers.

Every transaction has to be a complicated ordeal. Every attempt to get what you pay for has to become a battle. You can't just buy a DVD; that DVD comes with a magazine subscription and credit card you must opt out of. Getting a throw pillow opens your mailbox to five years of unwanted catalogs. By purchasing a T-shirt from such-and-such a website, you have now authorized the company to drain your plasma. It's ridiculous and exhausting, and I just wish more things could be as simple and stress-free as a neighborhood barber.

Internet Video Gem #1 - Discrimination is Fun!

2008-04-22T14:38:00.005-05:00

Though it's on my Netflix queue, I have yet to see a single episode of 30 Rock. Still, after watching and hysterically laughing at a clip Grouchbutt provided, I thought I'd toss out a video that gives me the giggles every time. Maybe I'll make it part of an "Internet Gem" series, or maybe I'll just hang onto it for when I need a smile.

Take this, breeders!

We're Gonna Rumble!

2008-04-18T10:11:00.001-05:00

Daaaaaaamn, Midwest. Did you feel that shit?

Now, I'm a deep sleeper. Some mornings, LabRat will say something like "I hope I didn't disturb you too much when I tripped over the pots and pans and landed on the air horn," and I'll be, like, "You did what, now?" But when a 5.2 earthquake hit all the way over near the Illinois/Indiana border early this morning, even I was shaken awake. In my sleep stupor, it felt like my ribcage was shaking, rather than the building. It's not only difficult to get me awake, it's twice as difficult to keep me awake, so after LabRat confirmed it was an earthquake, my response was along the lines of "An earthquake! Yeah, I felt it in...zzzzzzzzz," and I was off to dreamland again.

Once we properly woke up and switched on the TV, it became apparent that the local news teams could use some training in dealing with these kinds of situations. The funniest thing was that since the quake hit before 5 AM, the only people who were awake to truly appreciate it were the news teams themselves. So they just sat around, and essentially interviewed each other. "Did you feel it, Tim?" "I sure did! I was eating breakfast! How about you, Cindy?" "Yup, it woke up one of my kids, but not the other!" Fascinating. What I was looking for was any sort of effect the quake had on the area. Anyone hurt? Any roads closed? Can I still take the train to work? These issues were mostly ignored in favor of saying things like "The pull of the moon's gravity may have an effect on things like these!" Figuring that meant things are mostly fine, I went ahead and took the train with no problem. Not that it's stopped some people from jumping the gun. Local news outlets are asking people to send in their quake photos. I guess I could take a shot of me looking less well-rested than I should be. Posterity has already been apprised of the situation. Ooh, what a disaster! I can't wait to get my "I survived Quake '08" T-shirt.

OK, maybe I'd better can the sarcastic talk until this is well and truly behind us. An aftershock just rattled the lab building as I was typing this. I think I'll try and avoid pissing Fate off any more than I already have. In the meantime, be careful out there, my Midwestern friends and family. May your house foundations be solid, and your china be unrattled.

The Penny Jar - Part 11

2008-04-13T16:21:00.003-05:00

-Now that I'm back to full health, I'm also back to my customary unsympathetic state regarding my hypochondriac coworkers. Lady, you don't have a migraine. If you had a migraine, you wouldn't be at work chatting about it. You'd be in the fetal position in a dark room, begging for someone to put a bullet in your brain.

-I was dog/house sitting for my mother recently, and she got a phone call from someone conducting a political survey. They didn't seem to care that I wasn't the homeowner, and I didn't have shit to do, so why not? After several questions regarding my stance on Hillary, Obama, McCain, Iraq, and the economy...

Lady: "Would you say that George W. Bush has done a good job as president? 1 - Strongly Agree, 2 - Somewhat Agree, 3 - Neither Agree Nor Disagree, 4 - Somewhat Disagree, 5 - Strongly Disagree."
Limecrete: "Is hysterical laughter an acceptable response?"
Lady: "It's a common one."

-Of all the weird places to become a hangout for smoking marijuana, I never thought it'd be the short walkway between the Metro station and bus station near the lab. Jeez, no wonder I can't lose weight. Walking through Pot Alley ten times a week gives me the omnipresent munchies. And...Omnipresent Munchies may just need to go on the Awesome Band Name list now.

-I love Netflix, but I can't fathom how their recommendation software works. "Because you enjoyed Helvetica, we think you'd enjoy Mythbusters - Season 1". Huh? And don't even get me started on the times it thinks I'd like Claire Danes movies. We've had a relationship for more than two years, and you have the nerve to suggest that black hole of talent? It's like you don't even know me!

-I know I ragged on White Castle in the last entry, but they're not entirely useless. While walking home from the train station the other day, I discovered it would be utterly impossible to keep my exploding bladder in check long enough to reach the apartment. Never let it be said my heart can't be softened. White Castle is good for at least one thing: Being a urine depository.

-Oh, and speaking of urine... I know, this blog is all class. Anyway, speaking of urine, I've noticed that I've become less pee-shy over the past couple of years. I have no idea what's sparked this change.

-Now that that's out of the way, let's get to the annoyances and irritations that have built up lately:

--Signs and train announcements that apologize for "any" inconvenience. Trust me, nobody's going to be delighted to discover that an entire track is shut down, the elevator isn't working, you're out of sugar, or whatever. Please apologize for "the" inconvenience.
--I've never liked call-waiting, with its policy of last-come-first-served. If other people want to use it, that's fine, but please heed my one request. If I call, and you're on the other line with someone else, don't click over to me to tell me that you can't talk right now. A busy signal or voice-mail conveys that message quite handily.
--Dear cafeteria lady: I've already got a mother, plus a stepmother. Trust me when I tell you that I don't need advice and/or criticism about what I'm having for lunch.
--Current grammar peeve (aside from the constants such as rampant apostrophe misuse and sentence construction such as "These dishes need cleaned"): Addicting and deceiving are verbs, not adjectives. The words you're looking for are addictive and deceptive. Please don't tell me you can't stop eating Lion's Choice roast beef sandwiches because they're so addicting, as I die a little inside. I agree with you on substance, though. Damn, those things are good.

-Finally, some fun Google searches that brought people to my corner of the internet:

a) "chicken koubideh calories". I have no idea. Let me know, though.
b) "What is uniboob". Oh, you've seen it. When women wear those ill-fitting shirts or dresses that completely erase their cleavage, leaving behind a homogeneous shelf of tit.
c) "Ed Harris forceps". I'm sorry, what?
d) "Carl's Deli St. Louis". Don't do it!
e) "Pumpernickel's Real Deli St. Louis". Much better.
f) "she fucks him because he can cook". Well, I've heard of worse reasons.
g) "jerk off for me". Dude, I don't even know you! Buy me dinner first.

You're A Loser, Baby - So Why Don't You Buy Me?

2008-03-31T14:06:00.003-05:00

Hey, remember back when I decried those abominable Visa check card ads that pretend using a debit card is faster than using cash? They're still going strong! But aside from that, I also mentioned that there's a class of advertisement that's so dumb, it deserves its own post. I've let it go until now, I guess because I was still clinging to a sliver of hope that they'd go away. How naive of me.

Most ads try to butter us up. "You're a wise, discerning consumer," they seem to say. "Since you're so smart, you'll want to use our product. It's the choice of all such fine, upstanding citizens such as yourself." After a while, some companies decided to sink a little, and show the dire consequences of using the Dreaded Competitor product. Forget buying a product because it's good. You should buy it to make your friends jealous, and to take strangers and neighbors down a peg. You wise, discerning consumer, you. Now you'll be able to put those idiots in their places. I don't enjoy that type of commercial, but at least I can see where they're coming from.

Lately, though, commercials have sunk into a realm I cannot fathom. For lack of a better category, I just tend to call them "Our Customers Are Losers". Fast food joints are by far the worst offenders, with Hardee's leading the charge. The commercials portray arrogant jerks who cheat on their girlfriends, brain-dead slobs who cannot master the complicated task of opening a box of cereal, and schlubby weirdos who heat a bottle of milk because they can't prepare any other kind of meal. Are we supposed to pity these losers? Are we supposed to have a good chuckle at their expense? No, we're supposed to identify with them. We're supposed to see ourselves in them, and then take great pride in being a tool. Never have I seen an ad campaign come so close to just saying outright, "We're not even going to pretend to have respect for you, so reward our forthright honesty by giving us money." I'm not even going to get into the disgusting squish noises and dripping sauces these ads also "tempt" us with.

Other second-tier fast food joints employ this tactic, too. The public is starting to realize that Dairy Queen is an extraneous business now, as a majority of people are opting for higher quality frozen treats (and nobody ever goes there for actual food...bleh). And how does DQ hope to rebuild some consumer loyalty? Well, there was the commercial with the guy pretending to sympathize with his weepy girlfriend over her dead cat so he could get at her milkshake. Or the lady who was connected to electrodes, and willingly went into multiple seizures so she could get a whatever-they-were-selling. There were others my brain has long since flushed out, but the take-home message was the same. Are you an idiot? Then you'll love our stuff!

White Castle is another participant in this moronic race, opting for the Obsessed Weirdo contingent. Their customers spend their time sniffing empty boxes, doing art projects based on the spatula White Castle uses, storing bits of wood in old boxes, and just generally acting like those people you cross the street to avoid.

There's even one on the air right now where Death commends a White Castle customer for buying a sackload of burgers, implying that thanks to those little grease bombs, they'll be meeting again soon enough. Um...yay?

Fast food isn't the only business sphere where this phenomenon takes place. I don't even know the name of the company that offers insurance to people who don't belong on the road, but there's almost no faster way to make me see red than one of those ads. One can almost forgive the bimbo who can't get insurance after fourteen gazillion fender-benders, but the one with the guy who shrugs off being "the uninsured driver everyone's scared of" makes me want to put my foot through the screen. We're not supposed to be angry with him for breaking the law. We're not supposed to wonder why he can't get insurance. We're not supposed to think he should carpool or heaven forbid, take public transportation until he's insured. We're not supposed to consider that he's a thoughtless ass who exposes people who actually do their duty to financial problems. No, we're supposed to reach out to him in sympathy. Yeah, no thanks.

I never thought I'd pine for the days of insincere ass-kissing, yet here we are. Please stop encouraging losers to aspire to nothing better, and go back to stroking my ego, Madison Avenue. Although on the other hand, maybe this is an opportunity to jump-start a successful business. I'd be perfectly willing to insult people, then take their money. Hey, you with the shirt. You're ugly and smell bad. Wanna buy a chewed-up pen?

Straight Flush

2008-03-19T15:27:00.001-05:00

Despite my insistence that holidays be split into "Family Holidays" and "Drinking Holidays", I've never been much of a party-hard kind of guy. Even on my most wine-soaked evening, I've never passed out mid-sentence, thrown up anywhere but in a toilet, or lost blocks of memory (except on my twenty-first birthday, which so doesn't count). Sure, I've been known to imbibe plenty on previous St. Patrick's Days, but never so much that I couldn't drag myself into work the next day.

Sober!

Until this year. Ye gods, what did I do to myself? The day started off rainy and miserable, and I was convinced that the parade would be a total washout, pun intended. I wasn't taking any chances, though, and drove over to Timiffany's in a mad panic, convinced as always that there would be no parking in Dogtown. I shouldn't have worried. Monday Holiday + Crap Weather + Early Start = Rock Star Parking. I dove right into the Strongbow I had stashed on Top Chef night, and it wasn't long before Gnat and her friend Jen showed up with breakfast casserole and Jello shots. Then it was a Banshee, which I simply cannot turn down. I was buzzed before we even left for the parade, which is never a good sign. The police were trying to ban outside alcohol from the parade this year, but getting ours in was no more complicated than handing over a couple of decoy beers.

Somewhat...less sober!

The rain politely stopped for the entire duration of the parade. The best part about it was that Tim knows someone on the parade route, so we hung out in his front yard. It was close enough to the parade to catch (or...um...dive for) plenty of beads, but since it was private property, we could drink with impunity, and even more importantly, had access to a free bathroom. I'm sorry, I didn't give that proper emphasis. A FREE BATHROOM ON ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!! Ah, that's better. Not having to do the pee-pee dance in a port-a-potty line or pay a stranger five bucks to rush into their house was immeasurably comforting. However, that comfort freed up more time for drinking. Cider after cider. A short detour to make an embarrassing drunk-dial to LabRat. Beer poured into my shotglass necklace, followed by whiskey.

Don't ask.

By the time we got back to Timiffany's for the party, the rain recommenced, and I was in that ravenously-hungry phase of drunkenness. After putting away a wad of corned beef, and having another cider or two, I realized that I wasn't feeling so well. It's an impolite guest that makes a nuisance of himself, so I retired to the upstairs bathroom to hork my guts out, leaving the downstairs one free for others. I love how that's what was going through my head just before corned beef shot out of my nose: Don't inconvenience the hosts. Gnat must have heard me, because she suddenly appeared at my side to offer sympathy. After that, I stumbled to the guest room, where I nudged aside a snoozing Danger to take a nap. I intended to lie down for just a few minutes, but when I woke up, there was no trace of daylight left. My contacts were killing me, but at least I felt better. The party was still swirling around downstairs, and Tim immediately slipped me some pills that I assume were Tylenol or something similar, but may as well have been roofies for all I knew or cared. I knocked them back, observed the social niceties for at least three full minutes, and left to go home. No tongue-clicks necessary; I may have felt wretched, but I was sober as a judge.

Once there, LabRat very kindly did some water-fetching, cool-cloth-applying, temple-rubbing nursing, despite a few grumbles that I deserved everything I had coming to me. Once I was tucked in, he took off for the night, which is good, because I had to get up and puke again. Food in reverse is something best experienced privately, in my opinion. Tuesday, I woke up to a torrential downpour. My mouth tasted like fried ass. I felt like a sadistic orchestra had slipped into my head, and spent the entire night playing "The 1812 Overture" on an endless loop. I got up long enough to feed Viv and call in sick, then dragged myself back to bed for a good, long while. It turned out well. The weather never improved, and when I finally emerged from the bedroom, I managed to get a lot of things done around the apartment. Still, I think I'll lay off the liquor for a while. A long while. Call me if you need a designated driver.

Gym, Schmym

2008-03-10T13:28:00.003-05:00

Who needs to join some expensive workout club? You want to whip yourself into shape? Simply send me $50 a month, and you can get fit with the Patented Limecrete Workout!

Middle of the night - Have a thrashing night terror.

8:21 AM - Strap on hiking shoes that aren't terrifically comfortable, nor provide much arch support.

8:25-8:50 AM - Trudge a mile through what's left of the seven inches of snow and ice.

9:30 AM - Walk from the train station to the lab.

9:40 AM - Ascend four flights of stairs.

11:25 AM - Walk back and forth between desk and main office multiple times, hoping to catch a few minutes to finally get your tax forms copied.

1:07 PM - Get a frantic call from the catering company, begging you to cover a shift in the evening.

3:30 PM - Leave the lab early so you can go from work to...work.

3:35 PM - Walk from the lab to the train station.

4:19 PM - Trudge a mile through sludge.

4:40 PM - Take the world's fastest shower, grab your ill-fitting catering clothes, hop in your car, and fight rush hour traffic downtown.

5:00-8:22 PM - Wait tables. Dash back and forth, carrying as many dirty dishes on your tray as possible. Make sure you get the tables with women who want to special-order their water.

5:30 PM - "[Limecrete], could you carry these full, industrial-sized coffee urns downstairs for the party down there?"

5:32 PM - "No, we've already got coffee down here. You can take those back up."

8:25-9:00 PM - Set up room for the next party by transporting twelve full-sized tables from the basement to the second floor. Take four, full industrial-sized linen bags down to the outside receptacle one by one. Make sure you dance around the ice slicks each time. Drag forty chairs from one room to another.

9:05 PM - As soon as the boss says things look pretty good, leave a Limecrete-shaped puff of smoke behind as you dash for your car.

9:06-9:22 PM - Burn rubber to get to Timiffany's for the Project Runway finale.

9:46 PM - LabRat: "How come you look so tired? You didn't work a long shift."

9:47 PM - Fight urge to smack boyfriend.

10:33 PM - Drive to the ATM, as you only have two dollars in your wallet. Since you're short, contort your body into odd and somewhat lewd positions to reach the buttons.

10:42 PM - Do all the household chores you didn't have time to do earlier.

10:45 PM - LabRat: "I brought you some ice cream, and if your feet aren't too ripe, I'll rub them for you."

10:46 PM - Fight urge to sexually assault boyfriend.

10:50 PM - Enjoy the ice cream. You've earned those calories.

Old Man Winter

2008-03-05T12:14:00.008-06:00

OK, I get to bitch about the current season once per cycle, and today, it's winter.

I'm sick of winter.

Hmm, that was kind of a short rant. OK, I'll expand a bit by saying I don't mind cold weather, and I don't mind snow, as long as I don't have to drive around in it. This year, though, Winter seems to be experimenting with as many combinations as he can. There'll be an ice storm, followed by rain, followed by snow and ice, followed by ice and snow, followed by snow, followed by an unseasonably warm day, followed by a blizzard. The strangest occurrence was the morning it was clear skies that changed into a whiteout sheet of snow within literally two minutes. So everything's cold and slushy, and if I had a cellar packed with provisions and unlimited vacation time, it'd be sort of nice. But I don't, and the wildly fluctuating temperature is not helping my cough, which I still haven't shaken. Winter is certainly doing his best to keep us all miserable.

Despite my season fatigue, I did manage to pack in a fun day yesterday. Yesterday was:

1) National Grammar Day -- A wonderful idea (though every day should be National Grammar Day). For those who don't believe we need one, swing by the Metro Lighting in Brentwood, which has a new sign, proudly proclaiming that they're now "Open Sunday's".

2) Snow Day -- I've taken too many of these this year, but was in good company yesterday. Most everyone in the apartment building called in as well, including LabRat. We rarely have the same days off, so it was nice to sit around in our sleep clothes and mussed, flyaway hair, watching game shows. After a while, he left to do some cleaning, so I just sat around and enjoyed the rest of a lazy afternoon, playing Chocolatier and City of Heroes.

3) Experimental Cooking Day -- Hey, I can't go to work, I've got two overripe bananas, and an internet full of recipes! Several messy dishes later, I was snacking on a plateful of banana pancakes, while watching the fat flakes of snow fall. In the evening, I sliced up some pork tenderloin for a lemon-caper-pork concoction I got out of the cooking magazine Veruca signed me up for. It turned out well, even as my apartment filled up with more smoke than the back room at a strip club.

4) The Day LabRat Was Right -- He'll hurt me if I don't mention it. The only thing in the world I get competitive over is trivia. We were watching Family Feud, and the question was: "Name something a mother would put into a care package for a child away at college" or something similar. We got the big ones easily (food, money), but there was an answer left, and LabRat shouted "Condoms!" I had a nice laugh at his expense, because no way. He kept up the chant through three strikes, and naturally, just as I was finished telling him how totally wrong he was... Ding! Condoms! Fuck. Now he says he's just going to yell "Condoms!" in my face at random intervals.

So yesterday did a good job of relieving a lot of the stress I've built up lately, as did finally finishing my most complicated taxes to date (thanks to my father) and getting a spice shelf for the kitchen (thanks to LabRat). Now I can see what I have, and can avoid buying yet another jar of peppercorns to add to the current three! Things are looking up! Suck it, Winter!

Sunrise, Sunset

2008-02-27T15:23:00.004-06:00

2Up

Limecrete: "So tell me, Monkey, how does it feel to be two years old?"
Monkey: "Yeyoh book."
Limecrete: "I'll read to you from the yellow book in a minute. In the meantime, I've noticed that you've become quite the jumper. Are Olympic hurdles in your future?"
Monkey: "Go-Go!" [this signifies that the subject would like to watch the movie Cars, which has been on an almost constant loop]
Limecrete: "I see. Would you say you've become more or less religious over the past year? How do you view the opposite sex? If forced to choose between financial success or true love, which would you take?"
Monkey: "GO-GO!"
Limecrete: "All right. But before I leave you alone, can you share with me something you've learned since I last interviewed you?"
Monkey: "A, B, D, F, G, K, I, Q, S, T, R, B, C, D."
Limecrete: "Well done."

Golden Boy

2008-02-25T10:36:00.006-06:00

With the writers' strike behind us, awards season roared back into full swing, and Hollywood got right down to the business of self-congratulatory verbal blowjobs. Yay! That means that Panny was able to throw her annual Oscar shindig, with its attendant gaggle of cute animals, yummy snackums, and judgmental friends. Double yay! The show itself was fine, though there was unfortunately no "Daaaaaaaaaaaamn!" moment, like a streaker or a political tirade or a woman taking a header off stage in a full-length gown. Nevertheless, I am happy to report the winners and losers of the evening. No, not the actual winners and losers, dummy. You're already on the internet. Look it up, lazy!

WINNERS

Red: By far the most popular color choice of the evening, I half expected a girl to skip through the auditorium with a basket of goodies for her granny. Nastyboots pointed out that this may have been due to the Cause of the Day: awareness of heart disease. So... Don't get heart disease, you guys.

Psychopaths: In the mood to watch evil people shooting and stabbing and bludgeoning each other? Good, so is the Academy. This has been a tough few years for us gore pusses. Apparently, intricate stories, well-crafted scripts, and thoughtful characterizations have nothing to do with making a good movie. Nope, truly fine cinema must include a straight razor being plunged into someone's throat.

Jack Nicholson fans: It doesn't matter if he's nominated, not nominated, or even in one of the past year's movies. Jack will always be front and center with his sunglasses, and the host/presenters will refer to him at least four times.

Non-Americans: Damn, we Yanks must suck! Best Actor: British/Irish. Best Actress: French. Best Supporting Actor: Spanish. Best Supporting Actress: British. Best Song: Irish. And a merde-load of the minor awards also went to other parts of the globe. Clearly, Americans need to focus on making better movies. Quick, let's get one going where someone bashes nuns' heads in with a baseball bat! The Academy won't be able to resist.

Mean People: Want to rip on celebrities' poor fashion choices? Want the host to openly state that certain awards are really boring and pointless? Want to listen to a barely audible applause-o-meter as the procession of hardworking, yet unbuzzworthy dead celebrities is shown? Then this is your year.

Netflix: We're entering the calendar's dumping ground for shitty movies. Scripted television hasn't gotten to its feet yet. People want to see what the fuss over several of the Oscar winners was about. Start organizing that queue!

Limecrete: OK, so technically, Panny beat me in the number of categories predicted correctly. But after decreeing that she couldn't take her own prize, the theater gift certificate passed to me. Woot! It feels good to (sort of) reclaim my crown. Maybe next year I'll actually be able to watch all of the Best Picture nominees, and stand a better chance of winning free and clear. Wait, what am I saying? After this year, I'd be surprised if even Pixar passes up the chance to gut their characters with rusty hooks.

LOSERS

Boobs: I know I can't speak from experience, but is it really that difficult to find a dress that fits your mommybags? Don't celebrities have a few bucks to spare? I lost count of the Uniboobs and Tilt-o-Tits, not to mention the ladies who hoped we wouldn't notice that they didn't have enough jug to fill the cups. Ladies? We noticed.

The Razor Industry: The executives at Gillette are crying themselves to sleep. Never have I seen a year with so much schlubby stubble. And the horror didn't stop on the face, as this was also a terrible year for...

Men's Fashion: Ill-fitting tuxes. Polka dot blazers. Open shirts with no tie. Zip-up shirts? Was that seriously a zip-up shirt? I can't have seen that right.

Kevin O'Connell: Up for his twentieth Academy Award, he was considered a lock to break his losing streak and finally win a sound award for Transformers, whose sound was the only tolerable component. Unfortunately for him, it seems the Bourne Ultimatum producers sent Matt Damon out to provide Academy members with hot oil massages, so O'Connell has now out-Susan-Luccied Susan Lucci. Sad.

Women's Hair: Tons of lovely ladies passed the always-difficult dress test, yet presented us with ponytails and rumpled bed-head. Could someone please introduce Cameron Diaz to a comb?

People Who Like Good Music: No offense to Once. The song was fine, and the way Jon Stewart let that lady come back and actually accept her damn award was very sweet. That said, what a pathetic year for music. The scores all sounded similar. All three (!?!) nominated Enchanted songs may have been cute in the movie, but fell flat as solos. Even the rousing chorus number was dull.

Brad Renfro: Did you know he died? Well, that gives you a leg up on the "In Memoriam" people.

And so we put Oscar to bed for another year. Tune in next year, when the nominees will be The Decapitation of Little Susie Sunshine, I Eat Your Pancreas, The Potato Peeler Massacre, There Will Be Viscera, and High School Musical 3.

Soup-er Tuesday

2008-02-05T19:46:00.000-06:00

Damn it, I knew turning thirty would push me over that invisible line between alluring youth and decrepit age. I just didn't know the symptoms would show up so soon. My entertainment-encyclopedic brain failed to put a name to a well-known actress' face. Teenagers are becoming more annoying. I care more about the subprime meltdown than Britney Spears' latest freakout. And my immune system, once able to fend off all but the worst afflictions, is starting to let stupid, common ailments beat it down.

LabRat had a cold a few weeks ago, and just as it was waning, it jumped into me. I've been sick as a dog for what seems like forever, and it didn't hit at the best time. There's a lot of reorganization going on at the lab, and even assuming I still have a job at the end of the year, my duties, boss, and coworkers will probably be completely different. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's put me into a constant state of low-grade anxiety, and missing a bunch of work days to stay home and hack up my lungs didn't help.

When I finally felt human enough to drag myself into work, my windshield wiper snapped off. Not the blade; the entire wiper. So I had to take even more time off to go and hunt down a replacement, which I imagine wouldn't be fun on my best day, and certainly not when phlegm was shooting out of every orifice on my head. The Saturn dealership didn't have a suitable wiper in stock, which is understandable. Why would a SATURN dealership have SATURN parts for a SATURN? That would be ridiculous. The tech offered to have an expensive one shipped in, and after a few hours of fruitlessly searching for a cheaper alternative, I had to give in. By the time LabRat was able to pick it up and bring it back to the apartment building, installing it was a moot point, as we were all soon buried under seven inches of snow. Which necessitated taking even more time off work. I sure do look like a superstar down at the lab, eh?

I've thrown all sorts of medicine at the cold, but none of it worked half as well as hours of sleep and a trough of comfort food. The nasal decongestants were about as effective as Skittles, but vast quantities of tea and soup has made me feel worlds better. I felt good enough to go vote this morning, and even have a prideful sticker declaring that I did so. Jealous? Thankfully, the dizziness, headache, fatigue, and congestion are gone. I'm about ready to rejoin the world, but still have a lingering cough. Guess it's off to the medicine cabinet. Or better yet, the kitchen. There's a can of Campbell's tomato in there that no prescription can top.