Booth's grilling post has sparked a few questions here.
Why is is that girls (generally) do not grill? Any interior grilling does not count here--I'm talking the charcoal, lighter fluid, smoke-infused kind of grilling. This is a skill I would really love to master, as some of the best recipes call for it--however, I have found that there are very few grillers willing to divulge any secrets.
I also have this extremely old grill that was left on my deck sometime back in the 50's. It's seriously the kind you'd expect to find hamburgers cooking on in an episode of The Wonder Years. I'm kinda scared to light any sort of fire in it, what with it being so old and also with my tendancy to set things ablaze. Any advice folks?
(TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC)
Also, does it bother anyone else when complete total strangers start entering comments on your blog (and referring to you as "dude") like they know you or something?
(TO ELLEN AND ERIN)
Does is seem weird to you guys that we're basically having exactly the same level of internet communication as before--only now, everyone can read it?
I have to admit, I like American Idol.
I find it hard to believe that the television-viewing public (including myself) gets its kicks from watching 2 hours of lousy vocal auditions. In real life, being present at a lengthy bad audition is slightly more pleasant than major dental surgery. But on TV, it's fascinating. I'm interested to see who will win this year's competition--because the singers with the best voices are also the ones with "image issues". Personally, I'm rooting for the tall nerdy guy who sings Broadway.
And speaking of Broadway...
One of the perks of the cable modem at the office is that we have access to "Radio at AOL." I am not allowed to listen to the Broadway station when Chandler is here, as it makes him ill. (In reciprocation, he may not listen to any a.m. country stations or Dave Ramsey). So when everyone is out of the office, naturally that is the time to crank up the showtunes and belt them out along with the actors. And if you feel compelled to use the stapler as a microphone, so be it.
I was in this position earlier this week--facing the windows, stapler in hand, eyes closed, head thrown back as I hit the high note during the climax of a Les Mis song. I finished my performance, bowed to the crowd, turned around--and there was Miss Judi (the boss's wife) staring at me. So this is what the secretary does all day long. I felt really bad, especially because that was the second time I'd been caught that morning. (The first time it was a complete stranger--but he at least had the decency to applaud).
La Vita e Bella (Life Is Beautiful) was the best movie made during the 1990's. No contest.
The film was nominated for about 5 Oscars (if you care about that sort of thing; personally, I'm still miffed at the Academy for snubbing Moulin Rouge last year). Benigni won best actor, the movie won best foreign film, and it was up for best picture.
Do not ever attempt to watch this movie with dubbing. Roberto Benigni's overwhelming enthusiasm must not be squelched by an American voice. After 5 or 10 minutes, the subtitles won't bother you anymore.
I love how, after completing the unorthodox wooing of Dora (who is Benigni's real life wife, by the way), Guido teaches his son to carry on the tradition--helping him to make everything a beautiful, surprising game for the mom (i.e. the "took a bath on Friday" scene). I'm also partial to the Nazi commander telling the prisoners that there will be no lollipops at the concentration camp.
Did anyone see the new Pinnocchio Benigni released over Christmas? I'm waiting for video (it came to the theatres dubbed), but I'm curious as to how it was received.
So much for there being nothing to write about.
My car, which is about 10 years old now, has just died. I think it's the clutch--there is no resistance anymore when I push down the pedal, and I cannot get the stick shift out of neutral. I just discovered this when I popped out of the office for all of 5 minutes to run and get some lunch; I could have been in the Indy 500 in first gear. I made it to the house, called dad, and that was when I discovered that the stick shift was stuck. So I have the Wilkin Wagon on loan until 5.
Things like this utterly mystify my intense girlishness. I would rather do almost anything in the world than deal with automotive repairs (as well as medical problems, as long as we're making a list). It's always unexpected, it's extremely expensive, it's inconvenient, and I have no idea whatsoever if I'm getting a good deal or getting ripped off. And furthermore, you have to bother everyone you know for days on end to help you take your car in, go pick your car up, take you to work, etc. (Fortunately, work and church are in walking distance).
So here's the plea for help, guys. Is is possible to somehow kick the car into gear long enough to get it to a repair shop, or do I need to have it (gulp) towed there?
HOW TO ESCAPE FROM A BEAR
1. If you see a bear but it does not see you, make your presence known and back away.
Talk loudly, clap, sing, or call out. There is no guaranteed minimal safe distance from a bear: the further, the better. If you are in a car, remain in your vehicle. Do not get out, even for a quick photo. Keep your windows up. Do not impede the bear from crossing the road.
2. If the bear looks as if it is about to attack, do not run--remain still.
Remember, bears can run much faster than humans, and bears can climb trees. However, documented attacks show that an attack by a mother black bear often ends when the person stops fighting.
3. If you are lying still and the bear attacks, strike back with anything you can.
Go for the bear's eyes or its snout.
I burned a rice sock the other day.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the above term, a rice sock is a modern day hot water bottle. You get a very large 100% cotton sock (think sock monkey socks--the kind your dad wears) and fill it almost to the top with rice, then tie it off with twine. When the sock is placed in the microwave for 2 minutes (and ONLY 2 minutes), the rice holds the heat for a surprisingly long time, thus warming up cold toes at the foot of the bed for a couple of hours. I'm told that rice socks are also very useful for sore necks, etc. The only drawback is that they do emit a pervading cooked rice odor, which is really not that bad compared with the smell produced when you burn one.
This marks a new low point in my culinary career--the incenerating of non-food objects in the microwave. In the past, I have started the occasional kitchen fire...the most memorable being the Flaming Sticky Bun episode of 1999. There were several details that made that fire the worst: the burning food was supposed to be consumed in less than an hour at Mr. Lonn's Sunday School, it wasn't my kitchen that was ablaze, and the 3 female witnesses to the fire have told the story to everyone I know. (The anecdote to all of this was that the fire occurred when we were all 4 upstairs getting ready for church...the smoke caused our hostess to jump out of the shower, race down the stairs, grab the fire extinguisher, and hose down the oven, all in the buff). The sticky buns were actually not that bad, just a little crispy.
I'll just leave it at that, as I'm sure Erin's comments to this post will elaborate further.
Tonight is Burns night.
The story goes something like this. Robert Burns, the 18th century poet lauriet of Scotland (who wrote such classics as "My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose", "Sweet Afton", and "Auld Lang Syne") was such a marvelous wordsmith and lusty Scot that admirers through the years have set aside this night (his birthday) to honor the bard with meat and ale. Afterwards, it is customary to recline in the comfy chair, one's pint in one's hand, and recite or sing prose or poems written by or in the spirit of Robert Burns. Each recitation is followed by a toast--and if the evening gets long, several folks can end up under the table (though since the pastor hosts this occasion, we try to keep that sort of thing to a minimum).
Music plays a large part in our festivities--we guitarists have spent every evening this week writing, planning, practicing, harmonizing, and preparing to wow the revelers with song. Jo and Puddy worked late last night adding parts for soprano recorder and percussion. The opening songs will all be authored by Burns; as the night progresses, the music will probably lapse into James Taylor and John Denver (our specialties)--but after enough ale, everything sounds Scottish.
Meanwhile, a highlands feast is planned. In the past, the dinner has been endured rather than enjoyed (with absolutely no offense to the cook--it is very difficult to find Scottish food that's appetizing), but the fare gets a bit better every year. And after a certain amount of Scotch, it all tastes good.
In conclusion, I have posted 2 poems honoring Burns. The first is his own work, and the second was written for this celebration a few years ago by Remy Wilkins. Enjoy.
"Of a' the airts"
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best:
There's wild-woods grow, and rivers row,
And mony a hill between:
But day and night my fancys' flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
There's not a bonie flower that springs,
By fountain, shaw, or green;
There's not a bonie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
"The Drinking Poet"
Let me be a Robert Burns, glad to tip a drink and sing.
Happy, brave, and full of love, not one for words in whispering,
Nor one to pass a flower and not praise Spring.
Snickering at florid types, who drip our ears with honey flow
And lick them clean with lazy tongue, which falsify his poet show.
Lacking laughs and wits, he quits and spits the status quo.
Let me dance like Robert Burns, elbows and claps to tipping hats,
And walk the muddy paths with measured stomp.
Let me heat the ladies’ collars and ruffle the mind of scholars,
Then kick the shins with outs and ins and twist the nose of poetic pomp.
Splashed in earth I fling new life onto the men whom Beauty spurns,
And take their hearts, which have no heart, and fill it with a heart that yearns
To be united now as three with me, and Robert Burns.
Let me be a Robert Burns, glad to tip a drink and sing.
Happy, brave, and full of love, not one for words in whispering,
Nor one to pass a star without a swing.
My feelings about extreme cold weather (as we are in the throes of down here) are these:
1. Extreme cold weather (teens) should, at some point, lead to snow, in order to offer some consolation for those poor souls who have to endure it.
2. Southern cities such as mine should receive one (and only one) decent snow per year, decent snow being defined as 4 inches or so. That way, everyone gets to ooh and ahh and make rather short snowmen, and the snow melts before it gets ugly or boring.
3. In years when snow does not occur, or does not reach the desired height, a good ice storm will suffice, as long as it knocks out power for a day or two. (In a very pioneeristic way, I rather enjoy being without electricity for a few days--building fires, using candlelight, etc. Plus the office closes, so no one has to go to work).
Thus far, we are about to be 2 years overdue for snow OR an ice storm. Someone up there needs to shape up.
A lizard has taken up residence in my stairwell.
My humble abode is about 350 square feet in a second-story garage apartment (much like Sabrina's--I however, am not the chauffer's daughter). In the past, I have had various disputes with the former animal tenants, trying to persuade them that I was indeed the one paying the rent now, and that it was time to pack their bags and move on down the road. The insect population took the news rather well, and we have parted amiably. The rodents, however, required more drastic convincing, and sadly, some perished in the exodus.
And now I have this lizard. He started out in my bedroom (of all places--HOW did a lizard get in there???), and after being discovered and relocated to the great outdoors in the middle of the night, he made himself a home in the mail slot of my front door. With the Louisiana winter finally descending on us, he has taken to the warmer climate of the 5th stair, where he suns himself during the day (and turns green), then retreats into the corner of the step at night to sleep (and turns brown). He is welcome to stay, as he eats every bug that dares cross my threshold, but I am concerned that one day, carrying groceries up the steps, or flying down them in a rush to work, I am going to skoosh him.
I stole this from Mr. Garner (our company's fax guy).
1. What time do you wake up in the morning? Oooh...8, though it should be 6
2. If you could have lunch with someone famous, who would it be? Garrison Keillor
3. Gold or Silver? I have neither
4. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Two Towers
5. Favorite TV Shows? ER, Seinfeld reruns, Friends (but don't tell Pastor Steve)
6. What do you have for breakfast? Diet Rite and 2 pieces of Dove chocolate
7. What would you hate to be left in a room with? Eminem
8. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? No
9. Who/What inspires you? David Wilcox and Roberto Benigni (makes me want to learn Italian)
10. What's your middle name? Lynn
11. Beach or City? City (fewer sharks)
12. Summer or winter? Summer
13. Favorite Ice Cream? Cheesecake
14. Buttered, plain or salted Popcorn? Buttered
15. Favorite Color? Green (which is also God's favorite color)
16. Favorite Car? one with extremely good gas mileage
17. Favorite Sandwich filling/s? Chicken Salad
18. Deleted for personal reasons.
19. What characteristics do you despise? Bad manners, disrespect to parents, failure to accept responsibility
20. Favorite flower? Poppy
21. If you had a big win on the lottery, what would you do with it? Give the majority to fund a college and printing press; buy a house and take a trip to New York
22. Fizzy or Still Water as a drink? Fizzy
23. How many keys on your key ring? 4
24. Where would you retire to? One of the Carolinas
25. Can you juggle, if yes how many? No
26. Favorite Day of the week. Sunday
27. Red or white wine? Pink and fizzy with a screw top
28. What did you do for your last birthday? Had the mother of all surprise parties!
29. Do you carry a donor card? No
Last night, in a fit of insomnia for which I am paying dearly this morning, I fixed my stereo. It had begun to have several signs of electrical alzheimers--for example, it forgot that the CD player is supposed to play CDs when you insert them into the magazine. It also forgot that it is not supposed to chew up and then spit out tapes (and especially not Harry Potter books on tape that belong to the library). And then the speakers were also beginning to crack and pop as if I had blown one of them, which is preposterous, because I don't think I even own the kind of music that can blow a speaker.
That stereo is the first (basically the only) item that I own that I saved and saved and saved and saved for years on end to be able to buy. I was quite young at the time, so pretty much all of the funds from past Christmases and birthdays and report cards had been hoarded until finally, on my 14th birthday, the purchase could be made. I agonized over that decision for an entire day (figuring that, as much money as I was spending on this thing, it was gonna last me my entire life), hauling my longsuffering parents into every single electronics store in Jackson, taking extensive notes, and comparing prices. At the end of the day the Sony won out, due to the interior magazine design and the incredible quality of its speakers (but coming in a close second was the model with the built in karaoke machine).
And last night I was able to save my 8 year old stereo from certain death. Now I get to add this to the list of items that I have successfully fixed in my lifetime. This makes 1.
So I watched the latest installation in the Hugh Grant collection this weekend (admittedly for the second time). Although it was certainly not one of my favorite Grant movies, I feel that About a Boy should be evoking a positive response from the male population, or at least those three or 4 guys who I discussed it with afterwards, which it is not. After all, the charming, spineless, floppy-haired British fop, loathed by all of the masculine reformed community under 30, was nowhere to be seen. The archetypal heartthrob was replaced by a bum in an unattractive stylish haircut who was, for all intents and purposes, a jerk throughout the entire movie. I would think that this change of character would be a welcome relief to all guys watching chick flicks against their will.
Obviously, this change of character for Grant was what made About a Boy so disappointing, initially, for me. (That and the fact that the freakishly dressed kid was so disturbing to watch---what's with his eyebrows???) However, the film was redeemed at the very end by Grant's enthused (though not particularly talented) rendition of "Killing Me Softly" during which, I must point out, he was really playing the guitar. Nice save.