More Bitching about Family and Cookies

Well, I've been writing posts in my head, anyway, even if they haven't made it here.

I made peanut butter cookies yesterday, from the Cooks Illustrated baking book, which you would expect to be good, given the yammering they do about The! Best! Recipe! Evah!!! And, yes, I did change the recipe a little (reduced the butter; added a little applesauce to make up for that; subbed honey for the white sugar and reduced the amount, but left the brown sugar as is; didn't have a cup of peanuts, so just used two cups of peanut butter, though the peanut butter was made from just peanuts, so should have affected texture more than taste; and added chopped chocolate), but I was still completely underwhelmed by these cookies. They were still WAY too sweet, for one thing, and not nearly peanuty enough, for another, so they were kind of a fail. They're edible, and still cookie-ishy, so people will consume them, but I really rather hated them. I know, I know; y'all are looking at that list of changes and thinking, well, of COURSE they didn't taste the way the recipe promised they would! But the two biggest problems with the flavor--the sweetness and the peanut flavor--should not have been affected by those changes--should have been unaffected, or even improved by it, perhaps.

So I'll keep working on that recipe, too, because I want some peanut butter cookies, damn it. In rummaging around on epicurious, however, you'll note that there are many recipes, but none that everyone seems to like, even the ones from Bon Appetit and Gourmet and such. The other thing about the recipes is that they all have a ton of butter, on top of the peanut butter, and a couple even have oil AND butter, which, I don't know, sounds wrong on so many levels.

Meanwhile, my mother continues with her but-you'll-be-aloooooone-on-CHRISTMAS lament, which is getting on my nerves. I've been trying to be patient with her about it, but it's starting to bug me. I explained that I have to work on Friday, which doesn't stop the lamentations--what's Friend doing? why didn't I "come home"? but you're going to be aloooooone--and I really don't know what to say. I have pointed out that I really do not give a good goddamn. I've noted that I have to work on Friday, and thus couldn't travel anywhere anyway. All to no avail. She persists in complaining/whining about how I'm going to be alone, which is a state that does not disturb me in the least. If she said that she missed me and she wished I could be there, I'd actually be more okay with that, because that's an expression of her feelings about the situation and about me, but she can't or won't come right out and say that, so she instead expresses dismay at a situation that does not dismay the person who is actually experiencing, i.e., me. (Expressing her actual feelings is not something at which my mother excels.)

The other thing that bugs me about it, but that I do not have the heart to mention, given her and my father's current health situations, is that not once in the past 30 years has anyone visited me for the holidays. Never. Not when I lived an hour and a half away; not in the 22 years I've been living in this city. Never. Chuck and I traveled there for Christmas more than once, including once with his son, and I have gone to them many, many times. But there has been no reciprocity, number one, and, number two, it was legitimate for me to be here when I had a husband or husband-to-be, but not when I am (wait for it!) alone. I will not even begin to try to explain this to her, because critiques of patriarchy are not something she has ever understood, but also, and more importantly, because she cannot visit me for the holidays now. They have talked about visiting next summer, and may actually do so--dialysis is certainly available in this city--but she hates cold weather and would be nothing but miserable if she were here now (did you notice the -20-something wind chills yesterday?), and managing dialysis in a different city and bitterly cold weather and not being around her only grandchildren is a bit much to ask of her. Still, I do wish she'd quit nagging about what I'm doing (or, rather, not doing).

I've been busy at work, and I still have several things I must accomplish before the end of the year, but I must also admit that I have not been terribly motivated some days (like today). Some of it is that I really do want (a) some time off and (b) a substantial raise, but I don't see either of those things coming my way any time soon. Other days I do manage to get some stuff done, but, really, did I mention some time off? I will get some this week and next--we get off for the eve and the day, for both Christmas and New Year's--so I can get some chores (like laundry) done, and also just kinda do nothing much. I have some side work to do, too, which means a couple of nice checks after the beginning of the year. The editing has been slow since July--only two jobs, including the current one--but I'm assuming it's merely a question of timing rather than a sudden decision that I suck. And, really, much as I enjoy the extra bucks, it's been nice to have a break from it, and after paying off the student loan. It'd be nice to get some work after the first of the year, admittedly, but my situation is so much improved from last year at this time. Tomorrow will feature some actual work--or it had better, anyway--as well as some meetings and such. Plus? Warmer! And, if I get it together, tomorrow I will bitch about Top Chef for your entertainment.

p.s. Get well, Brazen Tart!!

Trading Places

Of the things I should have done tonight--work out, or edit, or, preferably, both--I have done none, opting instead for sitting on my butt and eating cookies. This is not a useful state of affairs, of course, but is the one with which I find myself faced. Because I am a slug.

I spent a fair amount of time today in meetings, or on phone conferences, all of which was tiring and some of which was tedious, and some time on the phone trying to figure out whether my dad should go into a clinical trial. I found the trial, and I think it might actually be a good fit for him, as his bladder cancer keeps recurring and there isn't anything else out there for him, except removing the bladder, which, really, isn't an option that I think he would enjoy. So I've talked my mother through the clinical trials process, and talked to a study coordinator (although not the one with whom they would deal), and I think they're going to go check it out. I emphasized that he doesn't have to agree to anything, that he doesn't have to sign anything, and that they can ask any questions they want, and I pointed out that the drug they've been waiting for (a) still hasn't cleared the FDA, even though their last info suggests the manufacturing difficulties should have been cleared up 9 months ago and (b) only works 20% of the time. Thus, this clinical trial may be the only other thing my dad can try. We'll see what happens.

It is definitely nice to have experience that's useful, not least because I've been feeling rather useless lately. Yes, I know I do Good Works and all, but when push comes to shove, I'm doing almost exactly the same work I was doing in 1986 when I quit my job to go to graduate school. I'm probably making a little more money, but not a lot, and I'm certainly not doing anything now that I couldn't have done then. Yes, the intervening years have provided enough other experience so I'm doing it better, but almost any experience will do that, if you're paying attention. Certainly cheers ME right up to think how I've spent my time and what I have to show for it.

On the other hand, at least I didn't try to sell a Senate seat for whatever I could get for it. I waded through some of the transcript from the press conference that Fitzgerald held this morning, and various other news bits, and it's truly amazing; the guy seems to be a seriously delusional psychopath. Now, it's true that the kind of money he wanted is peanuts compared to what the Wall Street guys take home, but, in my mind, that just shows even more how incompetent Blago really is. (That is, if he were smarter, he could BE one of the Wall Street crooks, but he's only a two-bit political hack.) The other thing, though, is that the Daley machine has learned not just how to keep its own hands clean but also how to pass the patronage around to racial and ethnic groups that once were excluded from city largesse, while Blago is in it for his own profit rather than for patronage or a machine, per se.

Is the Daley patronage machine the best way to run a government? Nope; not by a long shot. I work with city workers on some contracts, and some are competent and some not so much. I did a stop-smoking group with city workers a few weeks ago, and the tales they told in the 10 minutes before we started the group made me annoyed, because it's such a waste of money (and, ultimately, talent, if the cushy jobs are going to incompetent hacks).

But I don't see things changing in this city any time soon, so my desire is that the patronage be distributed reasonably fairly; that competence is a necessity in the places where that matters the most; and that the city provide the basic services (water; firefighting; policing; trash removal; school system; other public services) equitably and competently. If there's a layer of cost on top for patronage jobs, well, okay, just make sure they don't do too much damage or cost too much money, or get in the way of the people who are actually doing the work.

Anyway, the Governor does appear psychopathic: he knew there were wiretaps, fer chrissakes, and he continued to negotiate! He seemed to think he could get away with all of this, which, to my mind, is where the delusion comes in. The transcript of the press conference is interesting (and it makes me lurve Patrick Fitzgerald all the more): Fitzgerald seems truly taken aback by the whole thing, and appalled, not in that Inspector Renault "shocked, shocked" kind of way, but genuinely gaping in wonderment at the chutzpah of the guy.

I don't care how squeaky clean your political arrangements are, we all tend to look more favorably on people who come with a recommendation from someone we know, and on people who have something to offer (though I do mean that broadly, not just in the mutual backscratching kind of way). We do favors for people--hire their sons or daughters, perhaps, or spouses--and expect favors in return. I've never personally been in a position to be on either end of that, but I'm neither surprised nor appalled to know it exists; it's the way of the world, and, like anything else, it can be used for, and can work for, either good or evil. But this shit? This is a whole other level of WTF, so I do hope the guy goes to jail for a long fucking time. If he's guilty, of course.

Another Post About Food

Jesuschristonapogostick.

Yet another outbreak of the What You Eat Is Wrong Wars, over at Twisty's site. Here's the latest comment, as of now:

a deep respect for the animals they hunt and eat

So murder is A-OK as long as you “respect” the person you murder? Care to try that in a court of law? Oh no, of course not, we’re talking about killing “animals” here. Othering is a tried and true foundation for all manner of discrimination. Bravo.

If you go to the original post and the comments, you'll find a few comments by Yours Truly (though, I guarantee, I'm done with that particular thread). The point, though, is that I am damnsickandtired of hearing how whatever the fuck I eat is Wrong, Immoral, and Not Feminist, Plus Other Species Are The Same As Humans and You Are A Murderer If You Don't Agree.

There are multiple paths, people. I understand the vegetarian argument, and the vegan argument. I do not happen to agree that they are the only moral arguments, but I recognize the spirit behind those arguments and I respect them. Hell, I will even cook by them, if you have dinner at my house. In return, please acknowledge that I have thought about what I eat, and how, and respect my choices as well, and stop regarding my conclusions as the choices of one who is insufficiently evolved. kthnxbye.

Meanwhile, today I edited for awhile, then embarked on a cookie-baking marathon. I redid the almond cookies, except this time I toasted the almonds first. I also reduced the amount of egg whites, because I didn't have quite enough eggs to do everything I wanted to do, but the cookies still came out okay; toasting was a Good Thing. Another white or two would have improved things somewhat, but not enough such that anyone other than me and the Tart and other graduates would have noticed. I reduced the sugar, too, and tried to remember to add some lemon extract but forgot until it was really too late.

I remade the chocolate cookies, and I was less unhappy with them this time. I cooled the chocolate a bit more, and I chopped the toasted hazelnuts a bit more (the original recipe does not include hazelnuts, but I think they make an otherwise very boring cookie much much better), and paid more attention to the shaping, and, all in all, they're much better than the last batch. (Again, mostly to me; everyone else seemed to like the first batch just fine.)

The ginger cookies (a.k.a. Ginger Bites), well, they're still a work in progress, but I'm closer. I left out the chocolate this time, and increased the ginger dramatically (i.e., more than doubled it), and added both orange peel and orange juice, as well as some cinnamon and molasses, and a little more butter. I like the flavor, but the texture still needs a little work.

Finally, I adapted the Cooks Illustrated Black & White Cookie recipe--reduced the butter; replaced the sugar with honey--and added rosemary, lemon peel, and dried cherries. These were a nearly complete success. The shaping needs some work, but I was extremely pleased with the flavor. The flavorings really work well together, and I will make these again.

I had some meditations on whether/how my pastry school and bakery experience has affected my actual baking, but I'm tired and want to sleep, so they'll have to wait.

Tonight's Dinner

For tonight's cooking adventure, you'll need a bunch of kale (about 3/4 pound, before cleaning), a can of beans (Great Northern, in my case), a large can of tomatos (Muir Glen organic peeled chopped; fire-roasted would have been fine, too), an onion, some garlic, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. Wash the kale and spin it dry. Heat some oil in a big-ass pan (I use a mondo stove-top stainless steel wok) and throw in the chopped onion. Set another pan of water on another burner at whatever temp you need it to be so it starts to boil in 15-20 minutes. Smash and throw in the garlic with the onions. If you're using fresh herbs, throw them in now, too. (Sage would have been nice, but I didn't have any.) Cook that for awhile, until the onions are soft and starting to brown a little. Chop the kale and throw it in; cook it for 10 minutes or so (kale takes awhile, so you have some time here; it's not like spinach). Throw in the can of tomatos and the can of drained beans, some salt and pepper, and whatever spices you want (I had oregano and parsley) and a splash of vinegar. Let it cook for awhile, basically for the time it takes to cook the pasta, stirring occasionally. Your water should be boiling by now; throw in the pasta. Cut and grate a hunk of cheese (this will go on top of the final product, not in the mix). I also threw in a half a bag of frozen spinach at this point, just because. That batch of vegetables made enough for four sizable servings for me (I portioned and froze the leftovers); you could probably get 5 or 6 out of it, depending on your taste for these things.

But you probably knew all of this already.

As you all know, I have pretty wide-ranging tastes. Nevertheless, I have become enamored of kale, which I probably hadn't had until a couple of years ago, and last night I had beet greens for the very first time. I've also come to like beets way more than I did as a kid, probably because roasted fresh beets are a different thing than canned pickled beets. As for new grains, I had tried quinoa years ago (and liked it, though I don't cook with it much), but hadn't tried to cook farro until I finally found it in the store last winter. (Loved it--can't wait to cook it again.) And I've done more with barley, too.

I don't have a point here, really; I'm just kind of musing on the stuff I eat. What do you eat that is a departure from what you grew up eating or what you used to eat? How did you add this or that to your diet?

Beet Red

I read, in several of my cookbooks, that one can eat the beet greens as well as the beets. After today's trip to Whole Paycheck, I decided to test that statement, and discovered that, yes, one can, and they're tasty. What I did: Roast beets, which will take a half hour to 45 minutes; after they cool, slice thin and julienne; rinse greens thoroughly and spin; remove the rib, then chop the greens; heat some olive oil, toss in some garlic, then the greens, then the roasted beets; saute for awhile, with a splash of balsamic vinegar and sea salt and and a little bit of butter (I'd've added pignoli, as well, if I'd had any) dump over whole wheat pasta, with some cheese. I would substitute farro or rice, except that I love pasta so very much.

Now I just have to remember that I had beets for dinner, else I will be surprised when I arise tomorrow and perform the morning ablutions. I also bought some kale, with which I'm going to make a soup that involves beans and tomato paste and sage and I don't know what-all; I don't have any sage, so it'll have to wait until tomorrow.

I had hoped to do more baking today, but, alas, that did not happen. Neither did rowing or showering, both of which were also on the list. I tell myself that it is good for my skin/hair to not shower all the time, but by the time I end up showering, I am less convinced this is true. In short, i start feeling seriously skeevy, even if I do nothing more strenuous than sitting around on the couch or buying groceries or having dinner with a friend (the last of which I did do last night, and it was good to see her).

Can you tell that I'm enjoying cooking again? I'm really glad to have that pleasure back in my life; I forgot how much I missed it. Or, more likely, I was just blocking it out, from exhaustion. As I did Tuesday, today I went to the WP near the bakery, and I was a little surprised at how visceral and negative my reaction was; I could practically feel the bile rising in my throat. I probably should think about this a bit, because it's not entirely clear to me just what is causing that reaction. Fear, is my guess--the fear that I felt at the time, about what was going to happen, about what my options really were, about what I was going to be able to do next, about what was going to happen with Chuck. I ended up just trying to swallow all of that, or put it aside, or something, because there was absolutely nothing else to be done about it; it felt as though none of it was in my hands at all. Eh; no need to dwell on it.

This weekend feels like it has been much longer than four days. Speaking of plans, it'll be nice to shower regularly and have regular conversations with actual people (other than my mother).

Righteousness

Incidentally, this continues to crack me up. Someone in a Pandagon comment referred to it the other day (and I don't remember the thread, or I'd cite it), and it is just priceless. It's worth reading all of the comments, at least until you get to the one that describes how the Pistol Boob came about.

Marathon Woman

I spent a good part of yesterday with the television on--and, not just that, but tuned in to "What Not to Wear." They were having a marathon, and I actually knew someone on one of the episodes (she was one of the coworkers who has left), though I didn't see her yesterday, and it's completely mindless and i was puttering around baking and thus didn't have to pay close attention. Whatever. It was interesting, in a sort-of-train-wreck kind of way.

On one hand, let's assume that everyone wants to present himself or herself in a good light; we all want to be "attractive," in some sense of that word. I'll even grant that many of us, probably most of us, choose at least the occasional piece of clothing or style of dressing that does not present us in a particularly flattering manner. The single biggest mistake I saw people making is wearing clothes that do not fit properly. Most of the women profiled on the show--and it is always women--are normal-sized, some even tending to be significantly larger than what we see in the media, but there's not a lot of fashion or style advice out there for normal people. (Not that I would really know, in that I don't shop in stores or read the publications that sell clothes. I get a lot of catalogues, so I see what's being sold in that way.) The women were an interesting mix, as well: a firefighter from California; a single mom from Virginia who wants to sell real estate; a campaign lawyer from Chicago; a court reporter from Florida.

A lot of the suggestions were helpful, although, perhaps because of the similarities in body type among many of the women, there was a striking similarity to the suggestions. In most cases, you could even see how the women could translate at least some of what they were learning back in to their normal lives: wear this type of fabric, or this type of cut, rather than that one; emphasize this feature by wearing this type of garment; draw attention to this part by doing that thing.

But.

(You knew that was coming.)

If I never hear the word "feminine" again, it will be too fucking soon. I do not regard "feminine" (or "masculine") as a desirable state, nor as something to which one should aspire or devote any effort. Seriously, people--the world will be a better place if we dump that word and all of its brethren (or sisteren, as the case may be). The show with the firefighter was the most severe offender, not surprisingly, as it was all about how she could get rid of her superhero t-shirts and she could stop buying her clothes in the junior department (both of which are true statements, actually) and Be More Feminine when she's not on duty. Several of the dresses they picked out WERE flattering on her, and she might well want to wear them, but it is not about "femininity" per se. Although, of course, for the patriarchy, it is always precisely about the femininity.

The other thing that was getting on my last nerve--and, of course, it was not unrelated--was their insistence on putting everyone in heels. Not necessarily high ones, but heels. I categorically refuse to wear them--and I cannot imagine men agreeing to wear some article of clothing that caused similar pain and inhibited mobility in similar ways. And that's the essential point here: Yes, fine, those strappy little heels may make the line of her leg look longer, but they also prevent her from walking quickly--or running, if need be--and they are bad for her feet, legs, and back. They are a FAIL.

I think that's the difference between heels and makeup. I could easily argue that makeup is a waste of time and money, that it sucks money out of women's wallets that they could spend on their retirement funds, etc., and there's some truth to that. For better or worse, in addition to being a way to play with one's appearance and with decoration, it's also a nod in the direction of patriarchally approved looks (and all women have to make some of those choices, give some indicators that they are Compliant or suffer the consequences), though, as those things go, it doesn't cost that much time or money. More to the point, makeup may be wasteful or pointless, but it does not cause physical harm. It does not keep the wearer from walking or running; it does not cause bunions; it does not cause backaches or foot pain. Makeup could be compared to shaving facial hair. Most men spend some time shaving or grooming their facial hair; some men look good with beards or mustaches, and other men not so much. Either requires some effort, on a nearly daily basis.

Another thing on the show was the hair. Every single woman who had long hair ended up with her hair chopped off. Of course the stylist made them look good; that's not the point. The question is, what does it take to maintain that hair? How much time each day? How much time at the hairdresser? How much money? The answer to all those questions is: a lot.

The thing with clothes is that we have to wear them. It doesn't take any more effort to buy or wear flattering clothing than it does to buy or wear unflattering clothing. With hair, though, some styles require way more effort and expense and upkeep. The firefighter was a good example. She has really beautiful hair (she had it long), and I really didn't think the cut they gave her did any more for her than the way she had been wearing it, and it will require more upkeep, what with the trimming and shit, and it will be more difficult to get it out of her way when she's working, because the shorter bits are too short to be put into a braid or ponytail. Show her ways to arrange it when she wants to dress for something other than fighting fires--fine, no problem. But why give her a cut that is going to be a complete pain to maintain? Personally, I'd want a style that can look acceptable with minimal effort all the time, rather than one that either looks great (with much effort and expense) or ragged and unattractive.

And, really, that's what was at the heart of the whole thing that eventually started to bug me. We all want to wear things that make us look good, and we don't always have the best ideas about what those things are. Fine; I'll accept that. But there are considerations other than how things look, and the thing to do is to take those considerations into account, not dismiss them as fear of expanding one's horizons or whateverthefuck. The Gendertest comes in handy here, too: can you imagine asking a member of the opposite sex to do whatever it is you're suggesting, at the frequency and expense you're suggesting, and having that person comply happily and willingly?

Comb one's hair? Sure. Get it cut occasionally, so it's not too ragged? No problem. Spend some time grooming the face, either with makeup or shaving? Okay. Wear clothes that are of a color and cut that are flattering? Also okay. Wear footwear that hobbles you and causes pain? Not so much. Institute grooming routines that require a lot of extra time or money or both? Also not so much. I'm willing to devote about a half an hour a day to this stuff--including the shower. Winter takes a little longer, because I have to grease my whole body or it flakes away to nothing and because I have to wear more clothes so I don't freeze my ass off. But that seems to be a reasonable amount of time, and my (relatively limited) experience suggests that it's about what men spend, too.

Anyway. My ranting is fading here. I've decided I have to actually leave the building today. (My friend has a cold, so we're theoretically getting together tonight instead of last night.) I did laundry this morning, which was the first I left my apartment since Wednesday night; baby steps, people.

Bzzzzz

Must eat something not made of sugar!!

Better yet, must work out and not eat anything for awhile (2-3 days, perhaps?).

The ginger cookies are better after having sat for a day; more orange is my prescription, and they're not as nicely shaped as I might like, but they're pretty good. The chocolate cookies are okay; I'm glad I threw in the chopped toasted hazelnuts or I would have found them rather bland in that overwhelmingly chocolate kind of way. The almond cookies are the stars so far: it's basically egg whites, almonds, and sugar, with a little vanilla and salt (and, in my case, a touch of orange extract). I will totally make them again, any time I have leftover egg whites. I will make them a bit smaller, and will put citrus extract in them every time, perhaps even a little teeny bit more than this time. I have not made the rosemary cherry things yet, not least because I need milk and cake flour to make them, and I have none of the former and only v. v. (v.) old of the latter.

I tasted things as I went along, because I have never made the almond or chocolate cookies before, and, as long as I'm overdosing on sugar, I figured I might as well retaste the ginger as well. Thus, I have had, as noted, way, way too much sugar today, and it's not even noon yet. Also? Haven't showered in a few days.

Thus, the working out thing must occur next--will burn off some of the cookies, and can be followed by a shower.

I do hope my friend from the old company calls today, as promised. I had dinner with Chuck and CK Wednesday night, and have spoken with my mother and, briefly, with a friend in California, but otherwise have mostly heard my own voice inside my brain. Which, really, not all that interesting.

Speaking (a day late) of things for which to be thankful, it occurs to me that this is the first time in, oh, four years, perhaps? where I am employed full-time AND getting paid, with a comma in every paycheck. The past two years were at the bakery; the year before that was when I was in pastry school and working part-time and rarely getting paid (I think I had applied for unemployment already), and the year before that I had probably missed a few paychecks, so it has been quite awhile. No wonder, despite the turmoil of the past three or four years, I'm somewhat less tense.

Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

Here's my profound thought for the day: While we definitely learn from our parents, we don't necessarily learn what they think they're teaching.

I talked to my mom this morning, and we exchanged our typical Thanksgiving greeting (and I quote: "Gobble gobble") and discussed their meal. She's doing much of the cooking, and apparently did a lot of it yesterday, alternating cooking and baking with resting, as she had dialysis in the morning. She made her pumpkin pie yesterday (in the background, I could hear my father complaining good-naturedly that There Is No Mince Pie, his annual lament since my maternal grandmother died 15 years ago), the turkey was in the oven, my sister-in-law was bringing something (I forget what), and mom is doing some investigating with the nephews w/r/t christmas presents.

Of course mom also had to ask what I'm doing, to which I said, nothing, which happens to be true. (I did work out this morning (while watching Top Chef, more on which later), and I made one of the cookies on the list.) In response, she kind of . . . whimpered? Made a pitying noise? I don't know; hard to characterize it precisely. I laughingly said, I wish you wouldn't do that--has it it occurred to you that I might actually like this? And, of course, she cannot comprehend that in the least.

This gets to what I have learned. My mother of course wants me to be happy--what parent does not want that for his or her child? My mother, though, wants me to be happy in the ways she thinks I should be happy, not necessarily in the ways that actually make me happy. Of course those categories overlap in places, but so much of what I want is not what she wants for me, and, even after all these years, that disturbs her. I can articulate this now, obviously, but when I was 15, I knew it to be true but could not put words to it, which merely added a whole other layer of angst to the usual teenage thing. (The way I put it at the time was that my mother did not understand me--and, I added then, there is no way a 15-year-old can say that and be taken at all seriously. I knew it to be true, in a deeper way than is true for nearly every 15-year-old, and the subsequent 35 years have borne me out on this, but, as noted, 15-year-olds in general cannot expect that statement to be taken as anything other than Rebellion & Angst.)

What I learned, then, was to figure out what I want, and, as an extension, what the people around me want, as best I can. Not what I think is best for them (although I may well have opinions on that matter), but on what they want. It's true that good friends can help us figure out (a) what we want, or (b) whether the path we are taking is one that is likely to lead to a place we want to go. Very good friends can even help us see when what we truly want is at odds with what we are saying or acting as though we want. When push comes to shove, though, people want what they want, and what they want is not necessarily going to be the same as what you want. That is the essential bit my mother has never entirely understood, not least because so many of the people around her want pretty much the same things that she wants. The things I have wanted are so far removed from her world that she really cannot understand why I would want them or how I could be happy with what I have. On the other hand, she loves me deeply, and wants me to be happy, and that is enough for me.

As for the cookies, well, i tried the slightly revised ginger ones first, and--despite have bought oranges expressly for the purpose of putting orange peel in the cookies, forgot to put the orange peel in. I realized this after one tray had gone into the oven, so I grated peel into the rest of the batter, and it helped, but I am still not entirely satisfied with them. They do not suck, but they still need work. I also toasted the hazelnuts and skinned them, and I made some dinner, but I didn't do anything else much today. I have three more days to bake more cookies, do some laundry, and see a friend from the old company who is in town this weekend. There also will be lounging.

As for the christmas presents for the nephews, I am going to send some DVDs ("Whale Rider" will be one of them, as will at least one of the Blue Man Group DVDs) and possibly some books; I'm open to other suggestions. (I refuse to send gift cards to them.) I hope to have everything within a week or two. Because I am a pain in the ass, I am going to mail everything in such a way that a signature is required. Why would I do this? Because I did not get so much as a telephone call from either of my nephews for their birthday presents this year, and had to inquire of my mother whether they received the gifts. Yes, I could have called my brother, I suppose, but I was too annoyed to do that. (My brother and I exchanged birthday phone calls in July but otherwise have not spoken to each other this year.) Thus, someone will have to either be home or make a special trip to pick up the packages, in order that I can be sure they received the gifts without having to involve my mother in this transaction.

I am torn about all of this. I have realized that I am holding on to resentment about my brother and sister-in-law not bringing my nephews to our wedding. Well, that's not exactly it: it's more that my brother has never brought my nephews to see me. The older one is nearly 12, the younger one is 9, and they have never been here. They have been to Florida, and North Carolina, and Florida to see my SIL's family, but they have never been here. Indeed, my brother has been to visit me exactly twice in the 22 years I have lived here: when I got my Ph.D. and when I got married.

The thing is, I have gone to some lengths: I have visited my family maybe 30 or 35 times since I moved out here (seriously; that's not an exaggeration); I designed and made the birth announcements for both of my nephews; I have sent them gifts for birthdays and christmas; and Chuck and I visited multiple times, including at least twice, possibly three times, with CK, including a christmas trip one year. In return, I get . . . nothing. No phone calls, no thank yous, and certainly no visits. It is not clear to me why I should continue to expend a lot of effort on a relationship that apparently is of no importance to my only remaining sibling and his children.

This causes me great pain, of course, as I love them all dearly. I should add that I actually don't expect them to visit right now, because my brother is suffering greatly at work; the auto repair business is not one that is exactly booming. And I don't share much of it with my mother, either, because it pains her as well. I do ask about my nephews, and she tells me all about them.

I don't really know quite what to do. I get tired of making all the effort, and I certainly don't do that in any of the other relationships in my life. Ah, well, I'll think about it. I'll perhaps try to visit my parents at some point, and we'll see what happens then.

Meanwhile, I hope you all had lots of good food and no drama, and that you have off tomorrow, and that you're surrounded by love.

Lackamotivation Lament

I braved Whole Paycheck tonight (and a visit to (another) Peet's for more loose tea--where I also found that I can bring back the opened can of the one I hated and they'll exchange it for me! yay Peet's!), and of course ended up buying things that were not on my list: extra butter (on sale, and it freezes, so why not); confectioner's sugar (organic & on sale, and I know I am completely out of it); a bottle of wine; a square of fig and almond pate-like stuff; lemons (because I haven't yet figured out the entire recipe for the rosemary cherry cookies and lemon might be handy, or else for the almond cookies); and some malted barley syrup. That last one is because I am vaguely thinking of trying to make some kind of malted chocolate flavored thing; I even found a cookie recipe pretty quickly when I got home.

This all started because my boss, who always has a bunch of candy in his office, had Whoppers last week and I was reminded how interesting that malted flavor is (and then I asked the google about malted milk, which was also interesting). I always liked Ovaltine, for example, and I realize now that it was the malted flavor. Plus, malted barley is part of the beer-brewing process, and the beer tastings I've been attending have helped me recognize the toasty malty flavor in a different setting. So I set myself the challenge of baking something with it; we'll see what I come up with. I do like experimenting with different sugars--honey, of course, is my favorite, but maple syrup and molasses also have made appearances.

Not that I know many people who will be interested in tasting my creations, at least not at work. There may be a few adventurous palates there, but I haven't seen much evidence of it, at least not by looking at what people eat for lunch. That may be an inaccurate barometer, of course, but when I see a lot of frozen meals, a lot of fried crap from the local lunch joints, and a lot of boring sandwiches, well, call me a food snob, but I don't think there will be much enthusiasm for cookies made with crystallized ginger and chunks of chocolate, or fresh rosemary and dried cherries, or barley malt syrup and whatever the hell else I toss in. I could be wrong, though.

Speaking of molasses, one of my favorite things is shoo-fly pie. If you haven't been in parts of the country where Amish or Pennsylvania Dutch immigrants settled, you probably have not tasted it: it's basically a molasses pie with a crumb topping. If you make it the way I like it, the bottom of the pie is gooey, and the flavor is dense and rich. Much as I love the stuff, I'm not entirely happy with the crust (which is just a basic pie crust), and I've been wondering if there's a way to improve on it. I don't want to just make a cake out of it, because part of the wonderfulness of the pie is the gooey part, and that'll just stick to whatever it's baked in if there's no bottom crust to it. That project will have to wait, however, because I don't really have any ideas about what to do with it, and I don't have any molasses, for that matter. But I'll tuck it away in the recipe-generating part of my brain and figure out something.

I have had no other motivation tonight; didn't even row (though I did lug groceries from hither to yon). I didn't have much motivation at work, either; I hacked through one of the budgets I needed to submit, but otherwise could. not. do. anything. I have piles of things to do, mind you; if I hadn't been such a slug, I might have eased my burden considerably. But it all felt like Big Projects, and all I wanted was to not be at work. I could spin a story about how starting anything means I'll forget where I am after four days off blah blah blah, but it would be all bullshit; I just didn't feel like doing the things that needed doing.

Mostly, I need a couple days off, but that's coming up, so yay. One thing that was a little strange tonight was the grocery trip, because I went to the WP near the bakery, i.e., I took the train trip I used to take to work, and it was surprisingly shudder-inducing.

Anyway, I need to go to sleep. Remind me to rant about how fucking tired I am of hearing executives and republicans demonize unions. It is getting on my last fucking goddamned nerve.

Cookie Project

Yesterday my mom was musing on what kinds of cookies to make for the cookie party they have at their housing development association (or whatever you want to call it--it's like condos, except they're houses, but not all connected townhomes or something) party. In a fit of madness, I offered to make some for her and send them along (I know; what was I thinking, exactly?). She's sufficiently adventurous such that she requested that there be no chocolate chip cookies, no nut cups, no oatmeal cookies--i.e., she doesn't want the same things that everyone else makes.

The list (which, me being me, could change) so far is: the ginger cookies with chunks of chocolate on which I've been working (I'm going to add some orange peel this time around); double chocolate cookies with hazelnuts; almond cookies from Marcella Hazan's cookbook; and some kind of rosemary-dried cherry cookie, either biscotti or a not-too-sweet sugar cookie. (I'm thinking about using the black-and-white-cookie recipe from Cook's Illustrated's baking book.) That last one might have some lime or orange in it as well. The fun thing is that I know she'll like most of them (unlike my boss, who (a) doesn't like ginger and (b) doesn't like rosemary in desserts).

I did manage to get my stuff yesterday (and saved 20% on the whole bill, thanks to an online deal from the Container Store--if you're considering some reorganization projects, go to the website and get the coupon); I may even start the Kitchen Reorganization Project today. I am not, however, enamored of the loose teas I got from Peet's. The assam is okay; I think I need to brew it a little weaker. But the Russian thing? Ew. It's got a very smoky flavor, and I'm not liking it much, so I'd be happy to send it along to any of you who like smoky flavors. I know that I brewed that too strong, too, but I tried watering down some leftovers today with more hot water, and still kinda ew.

Anyway. Enough dithering; I want to do at least a little something productive today.

That was Weird

Okay, so, this morning, I wake up around 6:40 to an incredible sunrise. As I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, watching the show, I vaguely remember a few dreams, one of which includes a professor I knew in grad school but whom I have not seen for, oh, 6 years? I rarely remember ANY dreams, so that's kinda unusual, but whatever; let's move on here. I putter around, and decide to go to Peet's, have a cup of tea, and then go to the Container Store, so I have the bits I need for the Kitchen Reorganization Project.

I'm sitting at Peet's when I see the above-mentioned professor drive through the parking lot, park, and come in to Peet's.

I'm sorry, but that's just weird. I don't remember my dreams, as noted, and I haven't seen or heard from or thought of this person in YEARS, and then I dream about him and he shows up. Turns out he was in the grocery store near where I used to live yesterday, with his partner, and she wondered if I was still living in the neighborhood.

Yes, I know, it's all coincidental, but it's still pretty fucking weird. I do not attribute any specific meaning to any of this, I should add, but it's still . . . weird.

The Lamentation of the Mother

My mother has begun one of her Holiday Laments, the subject of which is How Terrible It Is That I Am Spending the Holiday Alone. The Lament annoys me greatly, because I enjoy spending holidays alone and don't particularly find it lamentable. I enjoy good company, too, when the opportunity for that arises--full-on family gatherings, such as I had with Chuck's family, or, years ago, with my family, or smaller gatherings, with only one or a few other person(s). The nice thing about the alone thing is that I can set my own schedule and do what I please. Next week, for example, I am going to reorganize my kitchen, a task that desperately needs doing (and first I have to get to the Container Store or BB&B to get some organizing bits, but I should be able to do that tomorrow or Saturday or Sunday). I may go out to dinner on Thursday; there's a restaurant practically across the street that changed owners and such and is open on Thanksgiving. Or I may not; we'll see what I feel like doing.

I've also enjoyed big crowds, on occasion: one year I made dinner for all of Chuck's family, which involved several special-diet variations. I enjoyed it tremendously, and I appreciated their willingness to come to our house. (This is a sore point for me, as my family has never--and I do mean never--come to my home for a holiday meal of any kind. Not that I'm bitter about this at all.) The point is, it feels to me as though I have managed to find a way to be happy with where I am. Yes, it's true that I worry about being alone all the time when I'm 85 or something--or even 65--but there isn't anything I can do now to keep that from happening, if it happens, in the future. Thus, the Lamenting irritates me.

I am looking forward to getting my kitchen in better order. My efforts to clean the bits and pieces of food from my cabinets has been successful, despite the tomatos and beets and batch of chicken stock I've added to the freezer. I have some canned beans and tomatos, some scraps of cooking and baking ingredients (pectin, gelatin, assorted types of chocolate), coffee beans (which I don't use; I go to Starbucks most mornings, but I don't believe I've ever made coffee in this apartment), and a few other odds and ends, but that's about it. I DO have a ton of equipment, though--pans, pots, lids, gadgets, tools; all that stuff. That is what's most disorganized right now, and that's what I most want to put into some kind of order that makes it available and accessible; I don't want to have to engage in a major excavation in order to find or use a particular pan.

Once I get through the rest of it, I'll talk someone into taking me on a major grocery shopping expedition. Or not. I I like having a few things around--pasta, cans of beans and tomatos, frozen veggies--so I can whip up something quickly, but I don't want to get back to a situation where I have a container of some item purchased in bulk that then sits on top of my refrigerator or in my cabinet for months (or years).

On the other hand, winter is basically here, which means having some kind of stew or soup to take to work is a good thing, especially if I get it together to start baking bread. Or maybe I'll try some new recipes; I'm usually up for that.

I do notice that I'm cooking again. When I was in grad school, and both before and after that, I did a lot of cooking, especially of things that could be portioned and used as lunches. It was cheaper, obviously, and the experimentation was useful; one of the huge advantages of living alone is that you can try wacky experiments and no one else has to know if they fail. With Chuck, things varied a little, but we really didn't cook dinner together all that often, except when CK was with us, and the foods he was willing to eat were limited and there wasn't huge experimentation going on. But we were both using the things kept on hand, and we'd go through periods where we tried to bring our lunch more.

When I was working at the bakery, the idea of trying to cook or bake something other than the simplest thing I already knew how to make just made me very very tired. Seriously; just thinking about it made me tired. I'd get it together to cook at Friend's house, a little, but usually only a part of the meal. Yeah, there was the occasional exception, but on an everyday basis, forget it.

Now, though, I find that I want to bring lunch, and I even want to start trying new recipes again. Not to mention there's no longer an endless supply of baked goods available, which is probably a good thing. (Certainly the endless supply had something to do with the weight I regained; here's hoping the rowing machine and bringing my lunches can have something to do with losing it again.)

First, though, I need to organize my tools and equipment so I can get to what I need. Now that I think about it, that's probably part of what has changed: I added significantly to my store of stuff when we got married and when I was in pastry school, so I have more of it around than I did when I last lived alone, and I have less space available than when we lived together. More stuff plus less space equals need for organization.

Boddhi Tree Musings, Part 6

I realized Saturday morning that my apartment had, once again, turned into a godawful pit, and, by the way, the rowing machine, though reassembled, had not been filled with water. I set about cleaning things up, filled the machine, puttered around. Somehow I managed to stay up until midnight last night, but I couldn't tell you what I was doing; a lot of nothing, I believe. I don't even wander the 'tubes much at home, because my connection has become tediously slow.

So I got all of that crap done, even made some lunch for the next two weeks. As part of my continuing project to clean out the cabinets, I used an old pilaf mix, threw in a bunch of extra brown rice, and then threw in a can of garbanzos--on which Chuck had written a September '05 date, which should tell you how old those things were. (I used to stock up on beans and tomatos when they were on sale, and we got in the habit of writing the date we purchased them on the can, so we could rotate our stock.) That was a little weird, I must say, because I couldn't help but be reminded--as if I need reminders--how different my life was then.

I was expecting to see Chuck today, and CK; they went to visit Chuck's family and he was supposed to call when they were coming back, and see me on the way home, but he never called and didn't answer his cell when I called him; same thing happened two weeks ago. Two weeks before that, I wasn't available on the night they were free (I originally thought I was and then had to cancel, so I was treated to a snide remark about how disappointed CK would be). Thus, it's been at least two months since I've seen CK, and I miss him. I'm losing hope that I'm going to be able to maintain any kind of relationship with him, and that makes me very sad.

Anyway. I don't want to go there tonight.

Remember I told you about the group I did the other night? Afterwards, my friend and I were going to grab some dinner and then she had another group to run. We had about a 2.5-hour gap, which should have given us plenty of time. Except we went south instead of north, so we ended up being rushed. We did manage dinner, but the trip was an object lesson of sorts.

You need to know that this friend is an insane driver--extremely impatient; always drifting into the lane to the left or the right to see if there's a place to zoom ahead; speeding whenever possible; railing about the stupidity of other drivers and complaining about how they DON'T GO AS SOON AS THE LIGHT TURNS GREEN; zipping into bus lanes and passing on the right. She had gotten somewhat better about this, largely because she started leaving earlier and allowing more time, and was therefore running late much less often, but our escapade the other night put her over the edge. I would say that we took the wrong turn in part because she was doing her usual trying-to-get-ahead thing, and then neither of us noticed that we were headed in the wrong direction (and both of us should have).

Basically, she threw a tantrum. I always found this unattractive in children, but it's particularly unattractive in adults. I just sat back--because what could I do, really--and tried to gently point out that she was making herself miserable, i.e., it wasn't the traffic or the other drivers, it was her reaction to them, and that we were still getting to spend time together, even if it was in the car rather than in front of a beverage and some food. But she could not hear any of that, at least not for more than 30 seconds at a time. She'd try to stop, and then she'd start in again, weaving and . . . tantruming. (Entertainingly, I just got an email from her, asking me to do a group Wednesday if I'm available--"if I'll ever get in a car with [her] again!" That is, she is not entirely unaware of her own behavior.) Once we got to the restaurant, we had to eat quickly, but the food was very good and it worked out fine, and she didn't bring the tantrum with her.

It was very interesting. Parts of it were completely unpleasant, of course; I really, really hate when people are driving like that (Chuck had his moments like that, but he has gotten MUCH better). It's not safe--I don't care how good a driver you are. And, really, how terrible other drivers are is a very boring conversation. But the other thing that was interesting to me is that it really was a buddhist object lesson: you cannot change the traffic, and you cannot change your mistake of going the wrong way, you can only change your reaction to those things.

Now if only I could use this knowledge at work a little more often . . . I'm working on it, though. It's not that I throw tantrums, but I have been pointing out when my boss wants me to be doing two Very Important Things simultaneously. Pick one, I tell him. And there are definitely times when I am impatient. The organization has no infrastructure, and, Boss's Boss's desires notwithstanding, one is not going to magically appear overnight; the Keebler elves do not work in our building. But it's exactly the kind of work that I like, and I have, once again, lucked into having an extremely good boss, and still with the commas, and still no sacks of flour, so it's nearly all good.

Fights with Demon Nicotine

This week is galloping along. In addition to the salary allocation task (which is nearly complete) and the analysis of the financial reports task (to which tomorrow will be devoted), I have disrupted my work schedule the past two days to do guest speaker appearances at stop-smoking groups. The person who ran the group I was in 20 years ago became a friend and has her own business running these groups these days. (I was in group number 11; she's now up around 280 groups.) She does eight sessions with each group, and session seven features people who have quit; she usually tries to include at least one recent quitter as well as someone who has quit for a year or more. When I can, I fill in whenever she needs someone; that used to happen more often, but, now that she has run so many groups, she has much less trouble finding people to speak, and I'll often go several months between appearances. When I was at the bakery, I did very few, because taking off during the day cost me money and my schedule was obviously less flexible.

For some reason, she didn't have anyone for Tuesday or yesterday, and I'm running the session for a group next week. (I've done that multiple times, as well.) I'm happy to do it whenever she needs me and I'm available, so she uses me as her backup; I consider it my 12th step. ("Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.") When I worked with the junkies and alcoholics, I came to believe that there is an aspect of this step that is really quite important, and I am quite serious when I tell her this. I don't know that I would characterize my experience as a "spiritual awakening," but I don't need to quibble with that; I do think the willingness to carry the message to other people is important. I do not proselytize--the people in these groups chose to attend, and usually paid money to do so, so it's not as though I'm grabbing people off the street. That is, they have decided, more or less, to quit smoking, and they're trying to figure out how to do that.

Anyway, Tuesday's meeting was pretty nondescript. It was six people, I think; I said my usual pieces, more or less, answered questions, tried to respond to any concerns I sensed, but everyone seemed to be doing pretty well. (Nearly all of them were using chantix, or whatever it's called, which, despite its occasional side effects, is apparently nearly a miracle drug when it comes to smoking cessation. I quit cold turkey--from 2.5 to 3 packs/day--so I can't speak as much to that aspect of the experience.) I connected a bit, and they were perfectly nice people, but they were not struggling with quitting, particularly. I regard it as important to reinforce what they're doing, and I was happy to do that, but it didn't seem like I was doing much more, or other, than reinforcing. (Which, hey, whatever--the important thing is that they're not smoking and aren't going to go back.)

Wednesday's group, though, was much larger, maybe 16 people, and much more varied. It was a very, very blue collar small manufacturing concern. The company is going smoke free as of January 1, and they offered the group to employees who smoke to help with that transition. About a third of the group was hispanic; another 25% was black; one person was slavic or russian or polish, I think; everyone else was working-class white, so far as I could tell.

For the guest-speaker session, my friend starts the group as always: she goes around the table and each person talks about how he or she is doing. Are you still quit? If you haven't quit, how are you doing? Are you struggling in some way? What challenges or difficulties are you dealing with? (For example, many people really, really miss smoking when they drink alcohol or coffee.)

As she was doing that part today, I could sense that she had really lost the group today, though I wasn't sure why. (She knew it, too--and she's been doing this long enough to know that that just happens sometimes.) Then she introduced me, and I did my thing. I have a mental list of, oh, 20 to 30 tidbits, mini-stories, some of which I always tell and a few of which I pull out in response to a question or issue someone raises. It's a quasi-improvisational riff, really, and my years of doing this has helped me figure out which stories are likely to resonate with a particular person or group. So I started talking, doing some of my usual spiel, and it slowly became apparent that I had completely drawn the group in. Not everyone spoke--most didn't, actually--but . . . I had them.

It was quite powerful, and even kind of moving. Several people came up to me afterwards (which rarely happens, even when I know I've connected with a group), and I hope that some of what I said will enable the few people who are still clinging to a few cigarettes find a way to let go of them. It's also interesting to me that I am able to connect with people across a huge spectrum of socio-cultural experience. (One of the more entertaining experiences was at an all-black church on the south side of the city--and not the rich part of the south side--and I did that gig alone. When I walked in to the building, someone immediately saw me and said, oh, you must be here for the stop smoking group. Not surprisingly, they assumed that some middle-class white girl didn't just happen to wander in.) I think it's probably my own background, in combination with the rather substantial variety of work experiences I've had. It's definitely fun, though.

My rowing machine is still not completely reassembled, however. I started in on it Monday night, and actually got the difficult parts done, I think (I'm still not entirely sure I've reconnected the belts and pulleys correctly), but I still need to reattach the footboard. No, it won't take that long, and no, I haven't really gotten any exercise (I've been too busy to walk to or from work, as well), so it really must become a priority. Tonight, perhaps, even though today will likely be another long slog through the organization's financial reports.

Bad Citizenryness

There is a short list of things I Should Be Doing, at the top of which is "finish reassembling the rowing machine," but, obviously, I am not doing those things. I left work at 6 today, and must go in early tomorrow (so I can finish this heinous salary allocation task and then leave early to do a smoking-cessation-group guest appearance), so I am vegetating tonight.

Speaking of vegetables, for dinner I had some of the beets that I roasted & froze a few weeks ago, combined with some chopped spinach and thrown over pasta. It was extremely tasty--and the beets turned everything, including the pasta, an incredible ruby color. I could have taken a picture of it, but I still have not obtained the accessories for my camera. Oh, wait--I don't believe I mentioned that I found a camera. It's a purplish-pink color, and Friend's friend was trying to give me crap about that--to which I said, "You know what color my camera is? The color of my camera is 'free.'" Which he had to agree was a good color.

Anyway, I don't have either the charger or the wire-to-dump-the-pix-onto-my-computer piece, and I have yet to track them down. I printed the manual--found online--but it's not entirely clear where I can find the pieces. Until I get the latter, I am hesitant to use the camera, because I don't want to drain the battery, and until I get the former, I can't actually do anything with the photos.

I don't have much to add. If I were more ambitious, I could link you to a bunch of posts I've enjoyed recently, but I am WAY too lazy for that exercise at the moment. If I were more thoughtfulnessy, I could muse about this or that, but, again, too much effort. And the thinking! Do not want. At least not until I'm back at work tomorrow morning. I do wish I could gin up the effort to fix the rowing machine and then get on it--I did most of the hard part last night--but, again, motivational deficiency disorder has struck.

I also remain unenthused about the Thanksgiving pot luck at work, and now plan to skip the whole event. We have to produce a report by Friday for Boss's Boss, for one thing, and I do not have the time or inclination to cook or bake tomorrow night, for another thing, not least because tomorrow is going to be another long day. I feel a little bad-citizeny about my avoidance, but fuck it. I can't imagine that my presence or absence is going to affect staff morale by a jot or a tittle. Also, and I realize this sounds snooty and I don't care, my coworkers eat a lot of highly processed crap--which means I don't particularly trust them to tell the difference between something that I made (and into which I put a fair amount of time and effort and so on) and some random pile of sugary shit. If I weren't so busy I might go ahead and make something anyway (little carrot-cake bites, for example), but eh.

No Chocolate for You!

Apparently the deities do not want me to put chocolate in my beverage (I've been getting a little chocolate syrup in my coffee): I have spilled or splashed it on myself TWICE today--and this morning I dropped off, at the dry cleaner, a sweater that suffered this treatment a few weeks ago. (Yes, I know I should have taken it in right away. I am neglectful about taking things to the dry cleaner, not least because today's trip will cost me $40 and that seems like a lot of money to get four things clean.)

Random Thoughts, Part 75

It is time for my periodic (har-har) bitching about the fact that apparently this menopause thing is taking forfuckingever to actually happen. Yes, I know it's a process rather than an event; yes, I know that it's normal for there to be a lot of irregularity; yes, I know that it will eventually cease--but this has been going on for more than two years, and I am well and truly sick of it. I do not want any more menstrual bleeding. Ever. At all. Among the most annoying things, for me--possible TMI alert--is that I used to be, as I've mentioned, pretty regular, which meant that I could predict when I was going to need to carry menstrual supplies around with me, and I had some idea for how long I would need them. Now, though? Must carry at least minimal supplies with me at all times, because I have no real idea when I'm going to need them, or for how long, or in what quantities/"strengths." Will it be a full-fledged period? Or just spotting? Will it last a week? Or two weeks? Will there be a gap of two months between bleeding/spotting episodes? Or two weeks? Or two days? No way to tell.

It's very tiresome, as you perhaps can imagine. The only real solution is hormones, in the form of oral contraceptives, but that seems to me to be excessive. The spotting/bleeding is annoying, obviously, but it's not threatening anything other than my underwear. I suppose I could try acupuncture and herbs, but that's not cheap.

The thing is, I know it will resolve over time--eventually I'll stop bleeding and spotting and whatever. The intermediate time is annoying, yes, extremely, but not hazardous, which makes me unwilling to completely alter my body chemistry with hormones. I'm not having other symptoms--no hot flashes, for example; sometimes I think I might maybe possibly be having a little one, but it could be that it's the change of seasons and I just have too many blankets on me at the moment. So, yes, it will resolve over time, but I am v. v. tired of it, and NOW would be a good time for it to stop.

I had the beginnings of a political rant, but I'm tired and I don't feel like it; my eyes can't take any more rolling tonight. I did get my rowing machine part back today, but I have not put it back together yet. Over the weekend, though!

And I made some progress today on the budget crap through which I'm wading. What's becoming even more obvious is that Annoying Person 1--the one who was in charge of the money--is an even more dreadful person than I thought. She left these little landmines behind, and she never explained a single fucking thing that needed explanation. Why? Because she thought we'd all be wandering around, whimpering, and we'd look bad, and then everyone would realize just how incredibly wonderful she really is, and how much everyone really needed her, and how the rest of us are clearly incompetent, compared to her. Or something.

What she didn't count on, though, is that I can (a) figure out what I need to figure out from what she left, (b) figure out the rest from other resources, and (c) put it all together in a way that actually empowers other people and shares the knowledge, rather than relying on it all being in one person's hands. I know she must have had an inkling that I'd be able to go toe to toe with her, and that I would be able to figure shit out without her, because I have found out that she tried to convince my boss to get rid of me. No--really; her replacement told me that. (Her replacement and I like each other very much, and we are determined to figure things out and make them work.)

Here's the other thing she didn't take into account: everyone else at the organization truly loathes her. Everyone. My boss is, or at least was, her friend, but even he has seen just how she fucked things up for him and around him, at least at work. What that means is that both I and her replacement are getting way more help and goodwill from people, simply because we are Not Her. It also means that I get some leeway with my boss, some pushback, if you will, simply because I recognize and try to frame issues in terms of (1) how does this help the team, (2) how can the organization better achieve its goals, and (3) how can his management team best help him make his boss happy. Yes, I rant; yes, I complain. The other day I even said, look, dude, I cannot do everything simultaneously. I cannot. I do not care what your boss wants, I cannot produce that in the time frame that YOU agreed to, without consulting me. But I did not say no directly to his boss, and I mused that one of our team's goals has to be making it easier for him to manage his boss, because I recognize that he still has to assuage his boss.

I just wish I could get enthused about making something for the Thanksgiving pot luck.

Random Thoughts, Part 73

Two election tidbits:

1. Obama will be the first President who is . . . younger than I am.

2. I've read that the turnout for this election was greater than for any election since 1908, i.e., a greater percentage of the population exercised their franchise. Except that, in 1908, most blacks couldn't vote, and no women could vote. Thus, if you count women and blacks in the "eligible" pool for 1908, a MUCH larger percentage of the adult population voted in this election than in any other U.S. election.

Work is wearing me down. Some people (especially my boss's boss) seem to think we have a contingent of elves and fairies who will get the work down as quickly as this person wants. BB also doesn't seem to realize that a lot of this mess was created on BB's watch. And, finally, constant criticism and demands do NOT energize me; the opposite, actually. It's not as though I'm going to leave or stop putting forth any effort, but if I know all I'm going to get is crap? I am not motivated.

I think I should get the part to my rowing machine back today . . .

Baking Extravaganza

I made up for yesterday's lack of motivation with a whirlwind of activity today: three loads of laundry; breakfast muffins; ginger chocolate cookies; roasted beets (also sliced, portioned, and frozen); and apple cake. I still need to cook up the kale, or whatever the greens were that I bought last Saturday for a buck, but that's not happening today. Which means I'm running the risk of them turning into a science project, but I wasn't up for dealing with them for dinner.

Yet another change to the breakfast muffins: this time, I substituted some ground flax seed meal for some of the butter, in part because flax seed is supposed to be one of those super foods with lots of omega fatty acids blahblahblah. In general, I like the flavor of the muffins, but now I need to add some leavening. They're a little dense. Also, the best thing ever: powdered buttermilk. I found some at the grocery store a few weeks ago and bought it on impulse, and I've used nearly half the can already. I'm not entirely convinced that I couldn't do without it--substitute applesauce instead, for example, in many things--but it theoretically tenderizes cakes, and the powdered stuff is way more convenient (and less likely to become another science project), so why not.

The cookies are also a work in progress. I had a recipe from epicurious, but I reduced the butter, added some flour, replaced some of the sugar with honey (the recipe called for both, but I increased the honey and decreased the sugar), and added some dark chocolate chunks (70% cacao, no less). I was quite pleased with the result--next time I'll add a little more chocolate, and perhaps some orange peel or lemon peel to brighten the flavor a little.

Yes, I do get mocked for never following the recipe, even though it's not quite true--I tend to follow the recipes from school pretty closely. But some of the other things, well, I know what I'm trying to get, so I try to get right to it. As you can tell from the tidbits I post, in most of my baking I've been trying to reduce the butter and increase the fiber, and I've been experimenting with replacing some or all of the sugar with honey. I've also been reducing the sweetness of things, in some ways, in part to let other flavors come out. I like honey: I like the depth of flavor, and I've been experimenting with what it does for texture, and, in general, I think it's got a few more healthful properties than does refined sugar. Yes, it's still sugar, no doubt about it, but it's very different from cane (or beet) sugar, not least because it's an invert (i.e., liquid) sugar. And did you know it has antibacterial properties? Seriously; I've read some abstracts from medical journals that show that honey, applied topically, helps heal wounds that aren't otherwise healing.

In the case of the breakfast muffins, I'd say I've nearly succeeded: the muffins are about 165 calories apiece, with 4 grams of fat and 3 grams of fiber. I'd up the fiber even more if I could figure out how to do it, and, as noted, they do need some leavening at this point, but I'm pleased with the flavor. I use dried apricots, dates (which also add sweetness), blueberries (about $73 per berry . . .), and cranberries, as well as some applesauce. You could put nearly any dried fruit in them, of course; I usually use more apricots and less blueberries than I did today, but I was trying to divvy up the fruit I had left so I had even batches left. I have enough fruit for two more batches, so I'll have an opportunity to add leavening next time around and keep everything else more or less the same.

The ironic thing is that I'm not eating the breakfast muffins, for breakfast or for any other meal: I've been foisting them off on Friend, and I've been eating Bob's Red Mill hot cereals (oatmeal, oat bran, 10-grain, and high-fiber-with-flax-seed are the four kinds I've had so far, and I like them all). I had been splitting the batches with him, but I've really been getting into the cereals lately, and he's been too busy to make his banana bread, so everybody wins: He gets breakfast muffins, and I get to work on my recipe.

Meanwhile, cross your fingers that my mom's friend Barry--you know; the one who's running for President?--picks her to win tickets to My Fair City. Apparently he's giving away a trip (or trips?) to here to supporters or volunteers or donors (I'm not clear on how one qualified, other than entering a drawing). Mom sent another donation with her entry, and it sure would be entertaining to see her. I warned her about the likely size of the crowd, but she's willing to deal with that, or, at least, figure out how to work around it. (Mom is claustrophobic, and large crowds are Not Her Thing; she has been known to get physically ill.) A hotel room overlooking the party in the park would be ideal--and she'd get to see me, in any case, which is what she wants. Even if I'm not running for President.

p.s. Lift a beer in memory of Studs Turkel . . .

BlahdeBlah

Did you all enjoy watching my team win the World Series this week? Because I didn't.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I would have enjoyed it tremendously, IF I HAD BEEN ABLE TO WATCH IT.

But nooooooo. I was stuck on late-running trains, to AND from our state capital, both Monday night and Wednesday night, and I did not see a single fucking pitch of the whole fucking game.

Not that I'm upset about this; nope; not at all!

Yeah.

The good news: the WaterRower people called today and left a message that my water tank is fixed and they just need me to pay them and they'll ship it back to me. The entire adventure, including my shipping costs, is going to run about $90 to $100; with the cost of the machine, then, about $625, which is still half the price of a new machine and less than a year's membership at a gym.

Other news, from the nephew front: Younger Nephew's school has been testing him the past few weeks, because everyone else is figuring out what I noticed, oh, two-and-a-half years ago, that he is v. v. v. smart. Not surprisingly, all the testing they've done confirms this, so he'll get 45 minutes twice a week in a group of gifted kids, most of whom are older than he is, I believe. I think the plan is that they'll do some kind of project together or whatever, but, as I said to mom, the important thing, in some ways, is that he'll get to hang with other really smart kids. Smart can be lonely, and lack of people to commune with is limiting.

It's been kind of entertaining discussing this with my mother (I wanted to start a family betting pool on his IQ, but couldn't get any takers--and they ended up not giving a number, per se, anyway). I reminded her just how long ago I had pointed this out, and she had to concede that I totally called this one. Because, hey, as I said at the time (that would have been in May 2006), it is not particularly normal for 6-year-old kids to be designing scientific experiments, with well-thought-out rationales and an experimental design.

The other thing that will help him, perhaps, is that he is also a gifted athlete, or he seems to be, anyway. All of this is going to be hard on my older nephew, because he, too is smart--but not AS smart--and he, too, is athletically talented--but perhaps not AS talented. And he runs more to insecurity as it is, so this could be a challenge to have a younger brother who can do so many things better than he can.

My sister and I had some of this worked out between us, because, even though I was smarter, and we had some other talents as well, her talents and mine were assuredly not the same. She was a gymnast, for example (while I have my father's joint flexibility, which is in the category of "able to bend joints enough to walk and climb stairs"), and a dancer (also not me), and socially adept (definitely not me, at least not in grade school and high school). I was the better writer, and more interested in reading, and more artistically talented. I still remember a conversation she and I had on the subject, back when we were both in high school and working on the school play (she as a featured dancer and I as the stage manager and helping with set construction), where we basically said we were glad our talents were different. I'm sure that we sort of focused on or emphasized some of the personality differences we already had, as well; it made it easier.

And, of course, one of the things I always wonder about is what she would have been doing if she'd lived, how the differences we had 25 years ago would have played out over time. I truly cannot think about that very much, or for very long, because it leads to paths of unutterable longing and loss, and there's nothing to be gained by heading that way. What if. Might have been. Maybe. Possibly. It's too hard, too painful, to think like that, and I have to let go of it, as best I can.

Okay, I must turn away from this--from the previous paragraph, but also from the four or five paragraphs that I have written and deleted. I have promised various things to various people--recipes, dissertation chapters--and I have not been delivering. Perhaps this weekend: I am going to have some stretches of free time, it appears, some of which I will use to bake more things.

It occurred to me the other day--and I am not making this up--that, instead of fussing in my head about how I can get to the bakery, and which day, and what it would entail, I could bake my own bread. Yes! I know! What a concept!

Of course, me being me, I then immediately started thinking about getting some sourdough starter from the bakery. Which adds the travel-to-the-bakery complication right back into the equation.

Given how complicated my work life is becoming, it is not entirely clear to me whether I am complicating simple things (like baking bread) because I do not have enough to do and my brain is whirring out of boredom, or whether it's my own Special form of meditation-by-distraction, or whatthefuck.

Anyway. Baking will occur this weekend, most likely.

And You?

Remember that part about how I was cleaning out everything?

Yeah, well, right now my fridge has so much in it that I'd need a crowbar to wedge anything else in there. This is partly because I have the stockpot in there . . . and beets, kale (I think that's what it is; it's in that neighborhood, and a big bunch was only a buck), more beets, a dozen eggs for the baking, herbs (rosemary and oregano; no basil to be had) for the tomato-roasting, and the veggies (carrots, celery, onions) from the stock, which I've decided I'm going to puree and freeze, because I don't see why it wouldn't be useful for thickening purposes. There're also multiple wads of cheese, because I stocked up at the market (stravecchio, asiago, and Midnight Moon aged goat cheese), and apples from last week's expedition that will be turned into cake tomorrow. I also bought about 22 pounds of tomatos. (No; really; it was more than 20 pounds total.)

I went to the market early this morning, and came back with a full load. While I was there, I also stopped in to the Fedex place to see what size boxes they had and stopped at the bank on the way home. When I came back here, I finished packing up the water tank and measured it, and realized it would, in fact, fit in their largest box, and why not take it down there today. All of the Fedex places required shlepping on some form of public transportation (with a very heavy, awkward, large bundle--more upper-body workout!), and I knew the one near the market actually had the box I needed, plus it's close to the el, so I just went back there, even though it's pretty far (in terms of miles) from my apartment. But? Success! And that's when I got the second batch of tomatos.

I came home and started the chicken stock, then cleaned up a bit and started gathering crap for my trip next week and sorted laundry but made an executive decision to actually do the laundry when I return.

So Sunday will be Oven Day: the tomatos and the apple cake and the beets, and, if I'm sufficiently ambitious, maybe some breakfast muffins or ginger cookies. I'm tired right now and would like to go to sleep, it being midnight and all, but my Phillies are not doing well, in part because an ump missed a major call, which led to runs that would not otherwise have scored. It's after 1:00 am in Philadelphia, and cold, I'm sure, and damp, because it was raining earlier, and the score is tied in the middle of the 8th. Oh--and I want to finish packing and maybe do some needlepoint (!) tomorrow.

Unglued

Unfortunately, that's what's happened to my rowing machine: the seam of the water tank came unglued, which means it leaks. I was going to try to caulk it, but I wasn't sure what kind of caulk might work. So, I called the nice people at the WaterRower company and they told me that (a) my machine is 10 years old (I'd given them the serial number), (b) they've changed the way they glue the tanks, and (c) if I send it back to them in Rhode Island, they'll reglue it and ship it back to me. The total cost will probably be less than $100 (whereas a new tank will run about $250). I've managed to disassemble the whole thing, but I'm going to need a bigger box to pack it all in than I have available. I thought I was going to be able to cobble something together here, but now, upon viewing the whole thing, I think a bigger box would be the best idea. The subsequent problem will be trying to reassemble it with no parts left over, but I'll worry about that later. Despite the hassle, it's still going to be cheaper than a year's membership at a gym. Also, for the two weeks I was able to use it, I really liked it--and it cured my back issues, presumably by increasing my core strength, so yay. (Srsly: a back problem that plagued me for 10 months pretty much went away. I haven't been able to row for about a week, and today I had a twinge again.)

This weekend is going to be an exercise in choredom: I went to Whole Paycheck tonight and lugged 40 pounds of groceries home on the bus and el. I calculated that the whole trip, from work to the store to home, took approximately 2.5 hours, and that that was approximately twice as long as the whole thing would have taken if I'd had a vehicle. On the other hand: upper-body workout. Still, I have this vision of me as an 85-year-old, lugging groceries on the bus, and it depresses me. I know, I know, I could have taken a taxi; it's not even that I couldn't have afforded the $25 for the taxi, it's more that I'd rather spend it on beer, or organic veggies, or good cheese. More to the point, I have a difficult time spending money on a taxi when I have an unlimited-rides public transit pass, i.e., the ride on the bus is already paid for. I am, as you all know, quite capable of spending a handful of cash on all kinds of things, but paying more for transportation that is, in some sense, already paid for is difficult for me. (A side note: not one but TWO people asked me for directions tonight. It's a little eerie just how often I get picked out of a sizable crowd of people for directional questions.)

So: tonight I went grocery shopping and took apart the rowing machine, and the small free-standing freezer is defrosting as I type. I had hoped to mail the water tank tomorrow morning--there's a FedEx/Kinko's in the middle of the farmers' market--but I think that won't happen. I will go to the market, for more tomatos for roasting; cheese; herbs; maybe some more beets (even though I haven't used the other ones yet); maybe some more apples (even though I have a bunch in the fridge); maybe some butternut squash if I want some more upper-body workout; and some greens (like kale or swiss chard); with a possible detour to the other market so I can get some bread from the bakery's stand. I need to make a detour somewhere for a big box, and I might stop at the hardware store for lightbulbs and a humidifier filter, though those last two can wait if need be. Once I get home, I'll start the chicken stock.

The other chores that need to be accomplished some time between Saturday and Sunday: cleaning the bathroom; packing for next week's trip to the state capital for a training session (I leave Monday afternoon and won't get back until late Wednesday night); baking an apple cake for Monday's meeting; laundry; baking some breakfast muffins; trying a ginger cookie recipe, and possibly adding some chocolate chunks to it; roasting whatever tomatos I buy, along with whatever herbs I buy; roasting the beets and freezing them; packaging the water tank; and straining the chicken stock, putting it into one-cup yogurt containers, and freezing it. (I make my stock, then cool it in the sink with cold water and, if I'm feeling ambitious, a bag of ice, then cool it overnight in the fridge so the fat rises and hardens and is easy to skim off. Thus, the broth I eventually get is quite low in fat.) If I'm REALLY ambitious, I could even go back out tomorrow afternoon and drop off the water tank at some kind of mailing location; we'll see how that goes. And, of course, there will be baseball. And an IRL race Saturday night, from Australia, if I manage to stay awake.

Monday my boss and the finance person and my boss's counterpart from the other organization and I are all going to get together at the last person's apartment building (in a conference room) to wade through the budgets. The previous budget person put together this massive workbook with all of the budget information crammed into it. It's a big ball of spaghetti, with formulae, and cross references, and hidden assumptions, and things that aren't connected but should be. The finance person kind of freaked out, because her predecessor didn't want to actually explain anything, and my boss doesn't know the details of any of it (in part because the predecessor LIKED being the only one who knew things), so I realized that I was going to have to be the person to figure it all out. The counterpart already had to pick through his organization's version of this, so I wanted to pick his brain, and we all realized that it would be useful for the four of us to do it together, knowing ahead of time that I'd be the one doing the major picking and rebuilding, but also knowing that the effort would mean that all of us would know at least a little and would be able to build on what we learned. (Enabling can be a good thing.)

Anyway.

I wanted to write about bodily information, but I'm starting to fade. And I have a few things to do this weekend.

Real Ization

Okay, enough.

If you haven't seen The Daily Show from Monday night, then hunt it down on the web and watch it, particularly the opening segment and the closing lines. Basically, TDS goes to Wasilla to interview so-called "real" Americans--you know: those people who live in small towns, because those of us who live in cities, even though we are the majority of the fucking country, aren't REALLY real. And the people being interviewed prattle on about how small towns are where the values really are (because the rest of us eat children for lunch and unwary rural tourists for dinner). When asked how all this realness came about, one interviewee cites 9-11. Well, the interviewer points out, that happened in New York City, to New Yorkers. For which the interviewee doesn't really have any response at all. It's like the politicians who wrap themselves in 9-11, perhaps even going to ground zero, and then leave the city and start warbling about how eeeeevil New Yorkers and all city folk really are, because small towns are where you find, you know, actual values.

And I'm really fucking sick of it. I grew up in a small town: about 18,000 people. It was the largest town in the county, and, at the time, it was surrounded by what was still farmland. There was a Future Farmers of America (all hail blue courderoy!) at my high school, and a county farmers' fair every summer. There was also industry--Ingersoll Rand had a division in town, and there was a big-pipe (like sewer-pipe-size) manufacturer. Since I lived there, the former has removed all the actual manufacturing, although the land isn't being used for anything--too much toxic waste, apparently--and the latter was bought up by a company that was featured in the NY Times a few years ago for its OSHA violations at its plants, including that one. The town is more than hundred years old, and it's tired, and there's not much work, and it's kind of down and out. The farmland has been chewed up by developments: once one farmer sells, everyone else's property values go up, even though the property and the business haven't changed, and suddenly a business that is marginal and hard work but a living becomes an impossibility, all to make way for McMansions. Because, now that a highway is in place, some people who live within 10 or 15 minutes of my hometown commute to New York and back every day.

Yes, New York and Philadelphia were within a two-hour drive, but we never went there, except for the once-a-year outing to see the Phillies and the occasional visit to the Philadelphia Zoo. We also went to the American Museum of Natural History once, I think, when my brother was little, so I must have been 11 or so.

But we didn't go to big cities; not just because some of the highways weren't there yet, but because it just wasn't part of our repertoire, and I don't think we were unusual in that. So I understand those origins, and the prejudices that breed there, as well as both the good and bad parts of a small size. When I first moved to a city, I had spent less than a month in cities ever in my life--i.e., fewer than 30 days total.

I've lived in cities, however, since 1981--i.e., for 28 years, give or take. And you know what? "Real" people live in cities, too. We live and breathe and vote and pay taxes and die here. We pay more taxes than people who live outside of cities, because cities have infrastructures, and suburbanites and rural people who visit or work in the cities use those infrastructures but don't contribute much to their upkeep. And, yes, we tend to vote Democratic, especially in this state: have you ever thought about why that would be?

Well the Republican right-wing has, and what they've concluded, apparently, is that we vote Democratic because we're unamerican.

Now, of course, for a little detour, let me point out that the right wing isn't one group of people; it's several groups:

1. There's the children of privilege--Kristol, Podheretz, Jonah Goldberg, and I'm sure there are a bunch more--whose mommies and/or daddies are right wingers, and the children are following in the footsteps. Most of them, so far as I can tell, have never worked a shit job, or anything other than a wingnut-welfare job, and they are the people I have in mind when I rant about 50-pound sacks of flour, not least because they are also the people who promulgate memes about "real" Americans. If Bill Kristol is more "real" than I am, then I am Marie of Romania.

2. There's the Rovian rat-fuckers who learned their trade at the knee of the Nixonian rat-fuckers (that was their term of art). They are the people in charge of smearing and sliming and insinuating, of developing and utilizing as many dirty tricks as they can invent or recycle. They've never met a Democratic vote they don't want to suppress or invalidate in some way. It's not entirely clear to me what they get out of it, because they typically don't start out or end up as rich or powerful; they do the dirty work, and it's a good-paying job, but they're not going to get really big bucks, and I think they tend to be held at arms' length by much of the rest of the party.

3. And there are the ideologues, though they seem to fall into a couple of camps: the religious nutjobs who want everyone to live under their version of X-treme fundamentalist patriarchal christianity; the architects of the disaster in the middle east; and the Norquistians and libertarians, who want to destroy government. If that isn't an unholy alliance, I don't know what the fuck is.

4. And there are the profiteers--the Enrons, and the AIGs, and the Halliburtons, and all the rest. Have you ever wondered why those people tend to vote Republican? Do the math.

But here's the thing. They like to prattle about "values" and small towns and plumbers, but which values, exactly, do they want to tout? The insular, racist values? (Well, yes, some of them like to incite those.) Oh, no, wait, they claim they want to tout the values of helping one's neighbor, and so on; those things that big-city folk don't do, because we're all evil unamerican evil people. And we probably have dark skin or are illegal immigrants. Which would explain the lines of people waiting to donate blood after 9-11. Which would explain the cops and firefighters, too. Oh, wait; they were city residents? Hmmm . . .

And they like to prattle about taxes, or, more recently, socialism. Fine; let's NOT bail out the banks. Let's fine the Wall Street executives--every last fucking one of them--and throw them in Riker's Island. Oh, wait, you think regulation might have helped? You think government oversight might have been a good thing? Not if you're a Republican or a libertarian.

And they like to go on about "real" Americans--like the governor who shleps her kids around and bills the government for it while wanting rape victims to pay for the collection of evidence and who likes to give speeches to secessionist groups of which her husband is a member, or the plumber who isn't licensed and can't do math but who thinks he's going to be making more than a quarter-million dollars a year, or the fundamentalists who want to come after you if you don't believe the way they believe, and they sure as hell don't want any women to have any kind of control over their own reproductive capacities.

Fuck that. Or, as Jon Stewart said, fuck all y'all, all the people making those accusations. I vote. I pay taxes. I work every day to help people who are worse off than I am (and worse off than any of the people doing the prattling), and the government pays my salary, and I am fine with having my taxes go to those ends. If that makes me unamerican, then I shudder to think what your definition of American is.

Communique

I've been neglecting you. A couple of weeks ago, Chuck discovered this blog. He said that he wasn't going to comment on or read it to preserve his sanity, and I believe that he wants that to be true, but I don't know if his curiosity will get the better of him, and I've been trying to decide what to do. I still don't know--but send me your email addresses, and if I decide to make the blog private, I'll send you invites.

Quickie

I may be one of the few people in the vicinity who is happy about how My Team(s) performed this weekend. All of Friend's teams lost in the past two days, which will not make him happy. Although DaBears won, which will make Chuck happy (and the Packers lost, which will also please him, as Packers fans and Bears fans are required to loathe the Other Team--seriously, it's like a law or something), and the White Sox managed to avoid being swept, the Cubs, as I'm sure you know, collapsed. Completely. Despite having The Best Record in the League, they lost their series in three straight games. Their offensive effort was pitiful (which is a generous estimation), and the Dodgers lit up the Cubs' pitchers like it was fucking Christmas.

However.

The Phillies won, which is the only thing about which I care. Hard to say how they will do against the Dodgers, who have been surging since July, so I make no predictions.

The American League continues to dick around. (The American League annoys me, not least because the designated hitter should be outlawed by means of a Constitutional amendment.) The White Sox are not out of it yet. The Angels & BoSox are tied in the 9th, as I type, and I'm not even sure where that series stands; I'm torn between those teams, because, although I like the BoSox in principle, if I have to pick an AL team, they have J.D. Drew on the team, and, as a Phillies fan, I am required to dislike Drew. Which I do. Along with fans in EVERY CITY IN WHICH HE HAS PLAYED.

In my world, I have spent the weekend rearranging my stuff, and even getting some new stuff. I threw out a bunch of crap, and I bagged a bunch of clothes to give away, and I switched crap between closets, and I did laundry, and I switched out summer & winter clothes, and I put flannel sheets on the bed. Much of this was motivated by the fact that I bought a rowing machine (!). Seriously: I'd been watching Craigslist off and on, looking for a used one, and I found a top-end machine for $525 (this thing normally retails for $1200). The best part is that the guy who was looking to get rid of it (a) lives on the FAR southwest side, i.e., about 40 miles from my house, and (b) it didn't fit into K's car, and (c) Friend was out of town all weekend, but (d) the guy had to go to his sons' cross-country meet 7 MILES FROM MY HOUSE, in his only visit to the north side of the city all year, so he dropped it off for me.

So I spent lots of time rearranging my crap, and cleaning (except vacuuming my bedroom, because it has a carpet but my vacuum cleaner is Dead, Jim), and a little time editing. And did I mention I have a new rowing machine, which means I don't have to walk to and from work every day? (I put in more than 20 miles this week, and I'm here to tell you that it wears a little thin, plus doesn't really get the heartrate up, plus doesn't work the upper body.) Also: cheaper than a year's membership at the gym, and I don't have to go anywhere to use it.

There's probably more. Okay, there's lots more, but I'm tired and must sleep now.

Did I mention I got a rowing machine? for my apartment?