I can't eat.
It's been days. I keep forcing myself to try. On Sunday, we went to our favorite breakfast joint for eggs benedict, which is pretty much my favorite food, and I got three bites in and couldn't eat anymore. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.... same deal. I get food, stare at it, pick, get a couple of bites down, and stop. It's reassuring on one side, that my body is telling me that I'm too heavy and need to quit, but on the other hand... slightly scary.
New beers:
The Livery Double Paw Imperial IPA
The Livery McGilligan's IPA
Three Floyds Gumballhead
Magic Hat Summer Wacko--AVOID THIS. Trust me. It's brewed with beets, which makes it a lovely pink color, but the taste and smell? BAD.
Going to try to eat again.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Josh Ritter
This song has been making me happy for a very, very long time. I rediscovered it this morning while working on a sunny-day playlist/CD and ended up just burning everything I have from him onto a disc, even the sadder stuff, because it's amazing, summery music and it makes me fucking happy.
Josh Ritter. Find. Love.
Josh Ritter. Find. Love.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Delicious steak...
Marinate your steak for however long (I used 4oz top sirloin cuts and marinated for about five hours at room temp, but it's up to you. I'd say at least overnight in the fridge or for more marbled cuts, but these were super super lean and took the marinade quickly) in the following mix:
2 parts soy sauce
1/2-1 part Worcestershire sauce
1/2 part olive oil
Lots and lots of red pepper flakes
Dried minced garlic
Cracked black pepper
Meanwhile, prepare a pasta sauce. I used shitty supermarket stuff and added the following to make it hella sweet:
2T full-fat ricotta (I do not do reduced fat ANYTHING, fyi)
1tsp dried oregano
2 dashes hot sauce
2 dashes Greek seasoning blend
2 shakes garlic powder
Heat your oven to 400--and listen, because this is crucial--heat your steak pan in the oven. I use a deep 12" cast-iron skillet for this, but any oven-safe pan will do. Cast-iron works extremely well for this application.
Once the oven is heated, and the skillet is hot too, pop your steaks in there. They should sizzle when they hit the pan and lots of delicious smells will start happening immediately. Change your oven over to broil, and don't forget about the steak once it's in the oven--they'll only take a couple of minutes per side. The pan's heat will help your steaks develop a nice brown crunch along the sides.
Cook up your pasta (linguine works well because of the weight of the sauce) and once the steaks are out of the oven and resting, pour the rest of the marinade into the steak pan. Reduce by half, then deglaze with red wine (I used Sangiovese tonight and it was incredible). Reduce by half again, then add the cooked marinade to the pasta sauce.
Toss the pasta and sauce, and serve up with your steaks and whatever veggie seems right to you. And the rest of the wine you used to deglaze? Drink it up!
(This "recipe" got high praise from Jak tonight. And all of it happened after midnight. Here's to late-night improvisation!)
2 parts soy sauce
1/2-1 part Worcestershire sauce
1/2 part olive oil
Lots and lots of red pepper flakes
Dried minced garlic
Cracked black pepper
Meanwhile, prepare a pasta sauce. I used shitty supermarket stuff and added the following to make it hella sweet:
2T full-fat ricotta (I do not do reduced fat ANYTHING, fyi)
1tsp dried oregano
2 dashes hot sauce
2 dashes Greek seasoning blend
2 shakes garlic powder
Heat your oven to 400--and listen, because this is crucial--heat your steak pan in the oven. I use a deep 12" cast-iron skillet for this, but any oven-safe pan will do. Cast-iron works extremely well for this application.
Once the oven is heated, and the skillet is hot too, pop your steaks in there. They should sizzle when they hit the pan and lots of delicious smells will start happening immediately. Change your oven over to broil, and don't forget about the steak once it's in the oven--they'll only take a couple of minutes per side. The pan's heat will help your steaks develop a nice brown crunch along the sides.
Cook up your pasta (linguine works well because of the weight of the sauce) and once the steaks are out of the oven and resting, pour the rest of the marinade into the steak pan. Reduce by half, then deglaze with red wine (I used Sangiovese tonight and it was incredible). Reduce by half again, then add the cooked marinade to the pasta sauce.
Toss the pasta and sauce, and serve up with your steaks and whatever veggie seems right to you. And the rest of the wine you used to deglaze? Drink it up!
(This "recipe" got high praise from Jak tonight. And all of it happened after midnight. Here's to late-night improvisation!)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I started
wearing mascara, almost daily, over the last week.
It's weird. M eyes look even bigger (do the math on that, eh?) but after two nights of scrubbing ot off with soap, my eyelashes were noticeably thinner than they'd been previously. So I got eye makeup remover, and that's been fine.
But every time I use it, my skin feels like it does after a good cry. And that really sucks, because my life is pretty great and there's no reason for crying right now.
My skin is telling me I've been crying; my brain tells me that's illogical; my emotional core tells me.... maybe?
I'm skipping it from now on. Hell, no makeup got me this far.
It's weird. M eyes look even bigger (do the math on that, eh?) but after two nights of scrubbing ot off with soap, my eyelashes were noticeably thinner than they'd been previously. So I got eye makeup remover, and that's been fine.
But every time I use it, my skin feels like it does after a good cry. And that really sucks, because my life is pretty great and there's no reason for crying right now.
My skin is telling me I've been crying; my brain tells me that's illogical; my emotional core tells me.... maybe?
I'm skipping it from now on. Hell, no makeup got me this far.
My awesome mix CD
In no particular order--songs that make me happy or introspective...
Rise--Flobots
46&2--tool
Three Libras--A Perfect Circle
Black Thumb--Kings of Leon
The Abusing of the Rib--Atmosphere
Pushit--tool
Don't Ever Fucking Question That--Atmosphere
None Shall Pass--Aesop Rock
Taper Jean Girl--Kings of Leon
Ruby Soho--Rancid
Ragoo-Kings of Leon
Fall Back Down--Rancid
Pigs--Aesop Rock
Time Bomb--Rancid
This doesn't include any classic rock or even classical or Motown or blues....
or, for that matter, 311.
Rise--Flobots
46&2--tool
Three Libras--A Perfect Circle
Black Thumb--Kings of Leon
The Abusing of the Rib--Atmosphere
Pushit--tool
Don't Ever Fucking Question That--Atmosphere
None Shall Pass--Aesop Rock
Taper Jean Girl--Kings of Leon
Ruby Soho--Rancid
Ragoo-Kings of Leon
Fall Back Down--Rancid
Pigs--Aesop Rock
Time Bomb--Rancid
This doesn't include any classic rock or even classical or Motown or blues....
or, for that matter, 311.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Ducks.
I started my new job today.
It's at a really great place, and the upshot is that I feel really comfortable there. Everyone's super cool, the beer is fantastic and the food is better than passable, and I'm already super comfortable and doing well. So things are really pretty great.
The trick about today was getting there. Not in the lots-of-traffic sense (it's all surface streets, 25mph, and six lights/two stop signs) or in the sense of running late (because I woke up at 7:30, made coffee, and that was that, for a shift at 10:45). No, it was actually one of those days where something extremely interesting happens that's completely out of the ordinary, and the day has to get adjusted around it.
It starts because I parked one parking lot south of the one I planned to. My depth perception sucks at times and I thought it was the right one. The parking people were dealing with the meter at the time, so I had to stop basically in traffic while they got the maintenance done. No big deal. I paid, parked, got out of my car, and tried to cross the street, but cars were just stopped in the middle of the intersection. Um....? Oh! Baby ducks in the road! And we are talking TINY. They were tiny enough that two or three could fit in my hand. The curbs dwarfed them. They were brand new--not wet, but maybe, maybe a couple of days old.
The family of Mama Mallard and eight (or so) teensy babies crossed the road without incident. They walked along the gutter until Mama found a likely shrubbery to hide her family in. At this point, I was only a few feet away.
See? TINY. The curb dwarfed them. And several of them appeared to have zero chance of climbing up. So, being the altruistic, kind soul that I am, I bent down to pick up the stragglers and lift them to safety in the bushes.*
All hell broke loose.
The mama duck attacked me. Full out. Squawking, flapping, screaming defensive mama IN MY FACE. And it really would have just been funny, without much aftereffect, if Mama Duck hadn't been projectile shitting at the same time.
Splatter. Splat. Funk. Holy. Fucking. God.
I still had a half block to walk to get to work.
By the time I got there, the shit had started to dry on my jeans. And stink past high heaven. This was worse than pig shit, worse than walking through a cow paddock, worse than a dirty horse stall, worse than driving past a landfill or a natural gas burnoff. This was horrid. It was on my hands and my jeans and I cannot make this up. I walked into work on my first day, ten minutes early (after having been told that if I was one minute late or forgot my training folder, I was fired, period), did my best to scrub off the increasingly-stinky duck shit on my legs, then looked at the manager, and told him to please note that I was ten minutes early, but I had to, had to go home and change unless he really wanted me to wait table smelling like a cesspool.
Half an hour later, my jeans were in the wash, and I started my day shaken, but still madly laughing. A duck? A duck. What is something that floats in water like a witch? Never more accurate.
*Yes, I know that picking up baby ducks, or any baby animal is a bad idea. And I did not actually touch even one of them befor Mama Mallard went crazy. They were so tiny and pathetic that I could not help my first instinct of help-the-babies. Who's got a biological clock?
It's at a really great place, and the upshot is that I feel really comfortable there. Everyone's super cool, the beer is fantastic and the food is better than passable, and I'm already super comfortable and doing well. So things are really pretty great.
The trick about today was getting there. Not in the lots-of-traffic sense (it's all surface streets, 25mph, and six lights/two stop signs) or in the sense of running late (because I woke up at 7:30, made coffee, and that was that, for a shift at 10:45). No, it was actually one of those days where something extremely interesting happens that's completely out of the ordinary, and the day has to get adjusted around it.
It starts because I parked one parking lot south of the one I planned to. My depth perception sucks at times and I thought it was the right one. The parking people were dealing with the meter at the time, so I had to stop basically in traffic while they got the maintenance done. No big deal. I paid, parked, got out of my car, and tried to cross the street, but cars were just stopped in the middle of the intersection. Um....? Oh! Baby ducks in the road! And we are talking TINY. They were tiny enough that two or three could fit in my hand. The curbs dwarfed them. They were brand new--not wet, but maybe, maybe a couple of days old.
The family of Mama Mallard and eight (or so) teensy babies crossed the road without incident. They walked along the gutter until Mama found a likely shrubbery to hide her family in. At this point, I was only a few feet away.
See? TINY. The curb dwarfed them. And several of them appeared to have zero chance of climbing up. So, being the altruistic, kind soul that I am, I bent down to pick up the stragglers and lift them to safety in the bushes.*
All hell broke loose.
The mama duck attacked me. Full out. Squawking, flapping, screaming defensive mama IN MY FACE. And it really would have just been funny, without much aftereffect, if Mama Duck hadn't been projectile shitting at the same time.
Splatter. Splat. Funk. Holy. Fucking. God.
I still had a half block to walk to get to work.
By the time I got there, the shit had started to dry on my jeans. And stink past high heaven. This was worse than pig shit, worse than walking through a cow paddock, worse than a dirty horse stall, worse than driving past a landfill or a natural gas burnoff. This was horrid. It was on my hands and my jeans and I cannot make this up. I walked into work on my first day, ten minutes early (after having been told that if I was one minute late or forgot my training folder, I was fired, period), did my best to scrub off the increasingly-stinky duck shit on my legs, then looked at the manager, and told him to please note that I was ten minutes early, but I had to, had to go home and change unless he really wanted me to wait table smelling like a cesspool.
Half an hour later, my jeans were in the wash, and I started my day shaken, but still madly laughing. A duck? A duck. What is something that floats in water like a witch? Never more accurate.
*Yes, I know that picking up baby ducks, or any baby animal is a bad idea. And I did not actually touch even one of them befor Mama Mallard went crazy. They were so tiny and pathetic that I could not help my first instinct of help-the-babies. Who's got a biological clock?
Not really a meme, per se
but I do like the idea of it--thanks, Britni!
Post a picture of yourself looking REALLY, deliriously happy.
I've come up with the following....
From last summer--shared birthday party for two of my friends (one of whom is the gorgeous lady on the left) at Ashley's. Great times, great friends, and great beer.
Next up... this must've been the summer of 2006. There's a great story but it's a little bit embarrassing, so, no. Suffice to say I was full of vodka... enough so that I got up on stage at Union Street and danced with the band.
I've just spent several minutes looking through all my FB albums. According to those pictures, I'm a really, deliriously happy person. I think that actually used to be true. These days, it's.... about half-true. It's no one's fault but my own. Growing up and getting real about life are pesky and cynicism-forming habits, but they're also pretty inevitable. Great pictures from the prior life though, including Halloween '05, Rocky Horror in '06, and several from my 2007 Chicago trip with the crew. I really miss them, and there are some absolutely fantastic shots from the Sox/Mariners game, fado afterwards, brunch the next day, and general hooligan-ness around downtown Chicago. 2008 was a really amazing year, but not well-recorded generally except for the Cubs Extravaganza. I picked this picture not because it's necessarily well-taken or anything, but because it really captures a lot of happiness--Jak, Cubs, weather, vacation, Chicago, probably four beers deep at that point, and about ten minutes from meeting Rich Harden.
Post a picture of yourself looking REALLY, deliriously happy.
I've come up with the following....
From last summer--shared birthday party for two of my friends (one of whom is the gorgeous lady on the left) at Ashley's. Great times, great friends, and great beer.
Next up... this must've been the summer of 2006. There's a great story but it's a little bit embarrassing, so, no. Suffice to say I was full of vodka... enough so that I got up on stage at Union Street and danced with the band.
I've just spent several minutes looking through all my FB albums. According to those pictures, I'm a really, deliriously happy person. I think that actually used to be true. These days, it's.... about half-true. It's no one's fault but my own. Growing up and getting real about life are pesky and cynicism-forming habits, but they're also pretty inevitable. Great pictures from the prior life though, including Halloween '05, Rocky Horror in '06, and several from my 2007 Chicago trip with the crew. I really miss them, and there are some absolutely fantastic shots from the Sox/Mariners game, fado afterwards, brunch the next day, and general hooligan-ness around downtown Chicago. 2008 was a really amazing year, but not well-recorded generally except for the Cubs Extravaganza. I picked this picture not because it's necessarily well-taken or anything, but because it really captures a lot of happiness--Jak, Cubs, weather, vacation, Chicago, probably four beers deep at that point, and about ten minutes from meeting Rich Harden.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Requisite Cubs post
I've been avoiding it because we've been sucking it up something fierce.
Today, though, the guy I consider the least powerful hitter (and second most error-prone) on the squad did something awesome.
The day went like this:
Didn't sleep. Bad.
Went to work. Not great.
Got home. Cubs DVR. Awesome...
Went outside.
Jak comes to get me with the following statement: "So what are the least likely two things to occur consecutively for the Cubs right now?"
My response: "Aaron Miles hits a grand slam while Heilman throws a shutout."
Jak's response: "Um.... close?"
What actually happened is far less improbable than Heilman throwing a shutout (thanks a LOT, Mets.... you fucks....) but is easily as improbable as, say, running into the girl you met gate-crashing a party who left with a guy who turned out to be a space alien with two heads--and the two-headed guy's cousin is your space-travel tour guide.
So, Alfonso Soriano, the first-pitch-hack hero of a leadoff hitter, took a walk to load the bases. (That's the girl leaving with the two-headed space alien, incidentally.)
Immediately following this, Ryan Theriot hit a grand slam. (This is the two-headed space alien's cousin being your tour guide.) Theriot hasn't hit a home run in over a year. The grand slam won the game. What. The. Fuck.
Today started out shitty. It's ending rather nicely--we had a great meal post-Cubs at San Chez, quick beer at Hopcat, and back home to finish out Arrested Development and eat popcorn.
Winding things up, this is why the Angels (despite their crazy name) are a class organization. Baseball fans, and maybe some others, might remember that Angels rookie starter Nick Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver after his very first start in the majors. It was truly a tragedy, not just for Nick, his family, and the Angels, but for the families and friends of three others who lost their lives in the crash. The Angels' manager released a statement today that gives equally to all of those lost in the crash. It's classy, it's real, and it's heartfelt.
That's what baseball is, at its core, and that's why it's the only sport I've been able to identify with in a decade.
Today, though, the guy I consider the least powerful hitter (and second most error-prone) on the squad did something awesome.
The day went like this:
Didn't sleep. Bad.
Went to work. Not great.
Got home. Cubs DVR. Awesome...
Went outside.
Jak comes to get me with the following statement: "So what are the least likely two things to occur consecutively for the Cubs right now?"
My response: "Aaron Miles hits a grand slam while Heilman throws a shutout."
Jak's response: "Um.... close?"
What actually happened is far less improbable than Heilman throwing a shutout (thanks a LOT, Mets.... you fucks....) but is easily as improbable as, say, running into the girl you met gate-crashing a party who left with a guy who turned out to be a space alien with two heads--and the two-headed guy's cousin is your space-travel tour guide.
So, Alfonso Soriano, the first-pitch-hack hero of a leadoff hitter, took a walk to load the bases. (That's the girl leaving with the two-headed space alien, incidentally.)
Immediately following this, Ryan Theriot hit a grand slam. (This is the two-headed space alien's cousin being your tour guide.) Theriot hasn't hit a home run in over a year. The grand slam won the game. What. The. Fuck.
Today started out shitty. It's ending rather nicely--we had a great meal post-Cubs at San Chez, quick beer at Hopcat, and back home to finish out Arrested Development and eat popcorn.
Winding things up, this is why the Angels (despite their crazy name) are a class organization. Baseball fans, and maybe some others, might remember that Angels rookie starter Nick Adenhart was killed by a drunk driver after his very first start in the majors. It was truly a tragedy, not just for Nick, his family, and the Angels, but for the families and friends of three others who lost their lives in the crash. The Angels' manager released a statement today that gives equally to all of those lost in the crash. It's classy, it's real, and it's heartfelt.
That's what baseball is, at its core, and that's why it's the only sport I've been able to identify with in a decade.
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