| Someone Always Needs A Policeman |
[May. 20th, 2009|12:37 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | wtf | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | laughing | ] |
My friend Katherine is a kindergarten teacher. She called me, laughing her ass off, after reading this book to her kids the other day.
Okay, seems reasonable enough so far, I suppose.
( Or SOMETIMES... ) |
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| Bacondoodles!!! |
[Apr. 18th, 2009|02:25 pm] |
So there's this other boy, see. Once again, all my best cooking stories involve feeding boys.
Dan came up to visit me yesterday from San Francisco. I'm on a baking kick, and he was excited about the bacon peanut butter cookie stories. I'd saved him some, but he deserved his very own batch of tasty goodness.
After the peanut butter experiment, there were a few things I wanted to differently with the next batch. The peanut butter was pretty overpowering; the next try needed more bacon and a less strong base cookie dough for an earthier-tasting cookie.
I spent the afternoon looking at snickerdoodle recipes and finally settled on this one, specifically because it called for a good amount of both shortening and butter. I replaced the shortening with bacon fat so that the bacon flavor would carry through the whole cookie and give it a nice earthy flavor, while the butter gave it that rich snickerdoodle trademark.
( Bacondoodles: Death Seduction Cookies, Round II! ) |
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| Bacon Peanut Butter Death Cookies (AKA seduction cookies) |
[Apr. 16th, 2009|10:41 am] |
There's this boy, see. Isn't that how all the best cooking stories start?
Anyway, he's terribly nice and I'm moving away in two weeks. I knew we wouldn't have another date for awhile, so I decided last night's date should include a special treat. And really, what better way to say 'please give me six hundred kisses this evening' than peanut butter cookies chock full of bacon?
While on the phone with my mom yesterday morning, I mentioned the cookies. "Wait... you're making these... things... for a boy you actually like? And want to see again?"
"Yes, mom. I actually like him and want to see him again."
Her advice: "Perhaps you should just bake him a nice chicken instead. Those cookies sound revolting. At least make sure you brush up on your CPR before you give them to him."
We moved on to other topics, but at the end of the call, she said, "Okay honey, I love you, talk to you soon. I hope he likes your DEATH COOKIES."
( Death cookies, a saga in pictures ) |
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| Whole Foods predatory business tactics |
[Dec. 2nd, 2008|06:38 pm] |
I posted this to the damnportlanders community yesterday, but nonlocals should be aware as well. Whole Foods has subpoenaed New Seasons, a Portland natural foods grocery chain of just nine stores, for highly detailed financials, market plans, and other business data that should never be released to a competitor.
It's being done in the name of supporting Whole Foods' defense against the FTC antitrust investigation with a promise not to misuse the data, but as the New Seasons CEO points out, this is a bit like trusting the fox with the henhouse.
Please do read the blog post and review the subpoena at the link above, and please consider whether Whole Foods merits your business while engaging in predatory business practices.
To help increase awareness, you can Digg the original article or upvote it on Reddit. There's also a lot of activity about the topic on Twitter, and retweets seem to be getting some attention. Whole Foods does have a fairly well-monitored Twitter account and seems to be paying attention to the noise; in fact, Paige, the marketing person responsible for their Twitter feed, has already responded with a well-written (if insubstantial) comment on the New Seasons blog.
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 8th, 2008|12:07 pm] |
“The startling case of an AIDS patient who underwent a bone marrow transplant to treat leukemia is stirring new hope that gene-therapy strategies on the far edges of AIDS research might someday cure the disease.
The patient, a 42-year-old American living in Berlin, is still recovering from his leukemia therapy, but he appears to have won his battle with AIDS. Doctors have not been able to detect the virus in his blood for more than 600 days, despite his having ceased all conventional AIDS medication.”
WSJ Online - Doctor, a Mutation and a Potential Cure for AIDS. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 16th, 2008|11:17 am] |
Who, me? Would I really try to push your laptop off the desk while you're in the bathroom?
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| Walking today |
[Jun. 2nd, 2008|09:49 pm] |
Twice Sold Tales has moved, and they have a rockin' new sign.
Nice sidewalk chalk a block or two east:
Pretty day today. Lots of wandering time. |
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| Procrastinating |
[Apr. 19th, 2008|11:08 am] |
I've got piles of performance evaluations to write, a presentation to build, raises to calculate, and all before Monday. A soon as it stops sleeting, I'm going to take my laptop over to the Canterbury and work via their wireless. At least then I can have a good breakfast, gobs of coffee and maybe a slow mimosa to dull the pain of working all weekend. Times like this, their woefully slow service is a plus.
The other morning, I poured a glass of ice water into my favorite 1950's-style glass. I picked the glass up and suddenly WHOOSH, water everywhere! The glass was still in my hand, but the base remained on the countertop.
That evening, I spotted this graffiti while stopped at a light:
Coincidence? I think not. |
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| NSFW - innovative way to sell? |
[Apr. 13th, 2008|11:12 am] |
I can't decide if this is brilliant marketing or idiotic marketing. It's an interactive video by some clothing company, featuring two hot women having sex, in which you can roll over the video and see (and presumably order) the clothes they're wearing. Or, a tiny bit into the video, the clothes that are now heaped all over the sexy round bed.
On the one hand, they get lots of buzz for using porn to sell their product line. On the other hand, I can't remember who the hell they are because hi, sex.
But be warned before you click, it is indeed NSFW and is straight-up porn. Fairly classy porn, but porn nonetheless.
(Via Reddit.com.)
EDIT: I also can't decide who their target audience is. The music instead inane porn chatter and the general vibe tells me it's more geared toward women, and yet (maybe I'm stereotyping) I tend to think women would be less susceptible to porn begetting clothing purchases than men would be. |
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| Weekend weekend weekend. |
[Apr. 12th, 2008|11:04 am] |
Fun sexy date last night.
Lazy morning.
Dalai Lama (!) with Daniel this afternoon.
Dinner at Rick's.
Tomorrow, sleep late.
Look at a house.
Taxes and laundry.
Wine.
Sleep early.
It is a crazy gorgeous day. Spring's here and I love you. Yes, you. :) |
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| Tuesday morning as the fog burns off |
[Apr. 1st, 2008|07:36 am] |
Apparently, a brightly blooming orange kalanchoe on my kitchen table and some new incandescent bulbs are all it takes to make me just want to hang out and sip tea all morning.
My kitchen is pleasing me today. I came down after my shower, wrapped in a towel, to mix up a glass of Emergen-C. It was so cozy that I'm still here half an hour later, toasting an english muffin, sipping tea and catching up on Livejournal. I need to get to work, but that doesn't seem to be influencing me to actually get dressed. Too bad the heat's running, otherwise I might get cold and be forced to at least replace my towel with something a bit more substantial.
I can't stop listening to Bon Iver this week. I feel like a teenager, rewinding my cassette over and over and over in my dual tape player covered in stickers and black sharpie drawings. Only way it could be more emo is if I start mooning over a boy and scribbling in my diary while I listen. |
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| Scrub a dub |
[Mar. 30th, 2008|11:06 pm] |
My kitchen is powerless against my sponge, broom, mop and toothbrush. I moved all the furniture out, started at the top and worked my way down and out to the weird little corners where cabinets weren't ever quite finished.
I've learned that the tile really isn't uncleanable, it's just that the stupid grout wasn't wiped way properly when it was installed and left brown residue in every little crevice of the earthy, textured tiles. I've learned that every time I mopped, but this was the first time I really got down there with a toothbrush and bleach to prove it to myself.
Only three loads of laundry done, but it's a start. The dishwasher is running and the house smells like oranges.
Bathroom next and at least a once-over with the broom and dustrag in the living room before I call it a night.
Oh yes, the thrilling life I lead. At least I'm not posting about my cramps. Gotta save SOMETHING for tomorrow, yes? |
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| Vaguely kind of a little tiny bit human |
[Mar. 11th, 2008|11:51 pm] |
Today started even worse than yesterday, with toooooo much coughing of blood, gasping and dizziness. A call to the advice nurse netted "get your ass to the ER, dehydrated girl, and do it now please."
Me and my ass trotted on down to Swedish hospital (okay, we slowly and ill-advisedly drove there, but trotting sounds so much nicer), where I was given another mask and my own personal box of tissues. After glaring balefully at the nasty woman eating greasy, stinky BBQ in the ER waiting room (hi, because we all know people in the ER are just dying to smell pungent food and listen to you slurp on chicken bones) for an hour or so, I went back to my own personal curtained room with the loveliest nurse ever.
I'm serious. This woman was so sweet and kind. So was the doctor, actually. They were all pretty lovely.
Bottom line is they plopped me into a bed with a big ol' IV and a couple of magazines and left me alone until I was hydrated. I have never, EVER experienced such a freakishly fast and dramatic improvement in my whole body as I did once that thing got pumping. It was stunning, really. After it was done, the nurse put a face shield on for the pertussis (whooping cough) test. Apparently people quite frequently spew the contents of their brain with that test, and I can see why. Two sharp poky gizmos up the nose and, I'm pretty sure, straight to the cerebral cortex. I squeaked the most pitiful little injured mouse sound ever, but nothing requiring the face shield, to both of our relief.
And on Friday, if I'm participating in spreading an epidemic, the health department will call and tell me. Meanwhile, I get to wear a mask if I want to go to work. I think I'll just opt to telecommute, even though today's mask was WAY cuter than this weekend's, and I got a snazzy gown to go with it:
So. Antibiotics, the mildest one in the family of drugs that ALWAYS make me puke violently but are the only ones that can help with this cough, and a strong antinausea drug to help keep the antibiotics from killing me. And instructions to do a better job with the hydration now that I'm not puking anymore.
Daniel came over tonight and nurtured the living daylights out of me. (We've been hanging out over the past few weeks, so if I do indeed have the modern form of the plague, he's already been exposed.) He gave me new music, massaged all of my coughing muscles, went grocery shopping and made me a healthy dinner that I was actually able to eat, and fussed at me when I tried to get too energetic and do chores. I got all the cuddling I've needed so badly this week and I finally don't feel like crying from being too sick and alone.
Now, I'm dopey from the nausea stuff, ready for the antibiotic and sleep. I'm planning on taking tomorrow off, and then, assuming I feel well, working remotely the rest of the week.
I think I just might survive the flu that's turned me into the biggest baby EVER. |
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| Funeral fun |
[Feb. 27th, 2008|09:06 pm] |
My Nana... she makes me a little crazy, but I hope I'm that spunky at 84.
She forbade crying at the wake today, and at tomorrow's funeral. "You can shed a tear for Ireland, but none for Papa. He's resting now. Besides, it's tacky." Those of us caught crying got a swift whack on the leg with her crystal cane. "NO CATERWAULING!"
Her priest said, "Therese, you and Tom were such a holy couple."
"Boy, Father, did we ever have you fooled. I say 'shit' at least ten times a day."
"Watch, Father: Shit shit shit shit shit. That's five. I'm saving the other five because I'll probably need them later."
There were more than 500 people at the wake today. My grandparents were old school, and it was formal as all get out. A seven hour wake, with an hour's break for snacks, and we stood in a formal receiving line the whole time. All seven of their kids were lined up to the left of the coffin and all thirteen grandkids were to the right. In order of age, please, and no you don't need to go to the bathroom.
Papa was an OB/GYN in a time where doctors were confidantes, and his patients were mostly Irish Catholic women who had babies every ten to twelve months. Dozens and dozens of his patients came, introducing the babies he'd delivered. Most of them were older than I am. He also was the physician for a convent (I forget which order), and nuns galore showed up. Nun gynecology -- now there's an odd practice.
The weirdest thing about the wake was how unrecognizable my grandfather was. When my paternal grandmother died, she looked nothing like herself but I could at least tell it was her body. Today, when I walked into the viewing parlor, I stopped in my tracks and walked back out to check the sign. I had no idea who the man in the casket was. The name matched, so I walked up. NO recognition. He'd lost more than 70 pounds in the last year, 25 of which were in the last three weeks. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his features didn't look like him. I stood there for a good ten minutes, trying to find something familiar, and the best I could do was vaguely recognize his beaky nose from one particular angle. If it weren't for all the (clandestinely - that cane hurts!) crying relatives, I really would question whether it was truly his body.
My mom's holding up amazingly well. She's kind of in her element, though - she's all about appearances and ceremony. The real test will be when she gets back home. So far, however, she's looking pretty good.
Hokay. Tomorrow's the big ol' mass and a bunch of god knows what events. To bed with me. |
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| Papa |
[Feb. 25th, 2008|06:11 am] |
Dad called a little while ago to tell me that my Papa died during the night. My grandmother called mom yesterday to tell her it was very close, and she got there with a few hours to spare. They had a little time together before mom and my Nana went home, and one of my aunts was with him when he died.
I don't feel sad yet. I'm relieved - he's been sick for awhile and the chemo was causing as much as it helped - but I think I'm just processing right now. Figuring out the logistics of flying to Cleveland in the middle of the week as soon as I get word of whether it's wake Thursday and funeral Friday, or wake Wednesday and funeral Thursday.
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Ten minute pause in which I had a shower but had forgotten to hit post. Heh.
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Oh hey, there it is. The sad part, that is. Right.
Well, in the meantime, I found the picture of him I was going nuts trying to remember what I'd done with it. Nana and Papa, St. Patrick's Day 2006. This was shortly after he started chemo and so was the first time in probably 50 years he hadn't marched in the parade. But they always got a hotel suite downtown above the parade and had a big bash while everyone watched out the window.
I also found an old LJ post quoting sweet Christmas card from my grandmother in 2004, saying this about him:
Papa and I are doing very well. We do enjoy our life together. We have a one in a trillion marriage!!! He is still the love of my life!
Awwww. :) |
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