Monday, December 18, 2006

There but for the --

For the what? Bloody goddamn fucking hell. There is no such thing as grace, and there sure as hell is no justice. You can't tell me there is. I want to puke and cry and I feel a little ashamed to be so grateful for my happy lucky little life, but also there's this plain old blinding rage.

I love this woman for documenting it all so honestly and speaking for all those who can't or who don't or who haven't yet, and for making the rest of us so goddamn uncomfortable. She's a wonderful writer, gloriously articulate, hilarious, and her blog As the Tumor Turns is indeed not for the squeamish or faint of heart. Now writing as lymphopo, the blogger formerly known as grannyvibe is:

"A single woman in my fifties, in debt, no income, no health insurance, and then that grapefruit-sized tumor wedged between my lungs turns out to be a malignant high-grade highly aggressive stage IV lymphoma. How much worse can it get? Bwahahaha! Stay tuned and find out."
Her son's blog, the highly excellent finnegan's wake-up call has a donation link, if you're so inclined.

This shit happens all too often. To too many people. And I'm not talking about just the serious illness part of the picture. "Will anyone ever believe me if I tell them that the cancer is ofthen the least of my worries?" lymphopo asks here. And answers: "In all honesty, I feel more debilitating anxiety over my financial disaster; deeper heartache over my foundering relationship; greater terror over the state of the world."

Yeah.

Thanks, belledame, for the link.

Friday, December 15, 2006

In which the universe demands latkes

image swiped from epicurious.com - click here to get real latke recipesI'm having a party next week to celebrate the December Solstice, and I'm a little stressed out about it. I'm a bit of a recluse, especially lately, but I would like my friends to meet my new love interest. And I like parties OK.

Normally the food I serve at a party is the least of my worries. I'm a pretty good cook, and I used to do it for a living, so cooking for a crowd is not that big a deal. But I'm out of practice. I don't want any last-minute failures or surprises, so I've been testing recipes, even the easy ones. Well, maybe not the sour cream-plus-french-onion-soup-mix dip recipe; that one's pretty much idiot-proof, as long as you mix it up ahead of time so that the soup mix dissolves properly in the sour cream. And make a lot. I don't know why everyone loves that stuff, but they do.

So I was cruising through the fridge to see what I had on hand and found, rather bizarrely, that I have nearly ten pounds of potatoes. Why? I don't know. I live alone. I must have purchased them. OK. Potatoes. Potato salad? Nah, I don't really like potato salad all that much, and there's always so much left over. Yuck. Latkes? No way. Total pain in the ass. Huge mess, smell of frying all over the house, and I'll be standing in the kitchen all night instead of actually enjoying my guests. Or, more to the point, instead of wandering about fretting about all the other details and making sure everyone has enough to drink and the dog doesn't eat the misteltoe and stuff.

So I'm thinking that there's this appetizer at this one restaurant I go to occasionally that's sort of similar to latkes only it's just grated potatoes, made into a loose, lacy (yes, fried) croquette-type thing topped with sour cream & caviar. Sort of like a latke, but simpler. And you could grate the potatoes in a food processor instead of by hand. Could I make these in the oven? Are they any good if they're sort of cold from sitting around on the table waiting for people to pick one up? Could I make them ahead of time and heat them up at the last minute?

No, no, and no. Cooked in the oven they totally fell apart; it was like a pile of teeny tiny french fries. Fried on the stove and left to cool off a while they tasted like those canned shoestring potatoes. Reheating them did not help; it made them taste like warmed-up canned shoestring potatoes, and all the sour cream in the world wouldn't have helped.

OK, so I'll mix in a little bit of egg and milk, embed them in sort of a matrix to hold them together. Better, but they need a little something extra, so I grated an onion and that was a little better. Some salt & pepper helped too. And a few snipped chives. I'd given up on the oven idea by then, so I was frying them in a mixture of half butter and half mild-tasting olive oil. The egg & milk mixture was a little too runny, so I added some matzoh meal and let it stand for a while.

The result? Delicious. Perfect vehicle for sour cream and chopped kalamata olives. I didn't happen to have caviar on hand, but I think I might like olives better anyway. I let some stand until they were cool and they were still yummy and crisp around the edges. So far, so good. Worth the pain in the ass factor, in my opinion.

But can they be reheated? Julie, bless her heart, said that she would be willing to stand outside with an electric frying pan and fry them up during the party if they can't. But I'd like for her to enjoy the party too, so I put half of them in the freezer and half in the fridge, and then I called my mother, told her what I'd done, and asked did she think I could reheat them. She's a caterer, after all, and if something can be done ahead of time she'll know how to do it right.

"No," she said. And then, "Well, maybe." She suggested spreading them out on a cookie sheet and putting them in a warm oven (maybe 250°F or so) for a pretty long time, like 45 minutes, but turning the heat up briefly at the end. And flip them every ten minutes or so. And make sure that your oven is heating evenly and one end of the pan isn't getting overcooked or burnt. Turn the cookie sheet around a couple times just in case.

So I got up the next morning and did as she said, although I did it in the toaster oven rather than the big oven because there were only like nine of them and they were tiny, a little bigger than bite-sized. It worked! Although I did have to sort of blot a little of the excess oil off of them with a paper towel. And after work I tried it with the ones that I'd frozen. That worked even better! Except I left them in a little too long and failed to turn the baking sheet and while the crispyness factor improved, the ones on the end were a bit overdone. But they were still pretty yummy, even when they'd cooled off.

And I'd eaten the last of the olives and there was no sour cream, so I put a bit of yogurt and some horseradish on one, and that was really good. Also some chow-chow, which is good on pretty much everything.

I was talking last night to my sister the mailman while they were in the oven and asked for her opinion on reheating them and we got into a long discussion about the JoJo Potatoes from Ted Cook's 19th Hole Barbecue and how to reheat those, should you have any left over. A bout of homesickness for Minneapolis ensued, but then she that suggested a sheet of parchment on the cookie sheet might help with the oiliness, and/or to layer them with paper towels when putting them in the fridge. Both good ideas, and I'm going to test them tonight. Also, I'm going to try undercooking them slightly, to see if that helps. And I'm going to add some grated apples too, because there's a five-pound bag of apples in the fridge.

I said I wasn't going to make latkes, but you know what? These are really just plain old latkes. Happy Hanukkah, yall.

Friday, December 8, 2006

Friday alternative health diagnostic quiz

Can't afford a trip to the doctor? Believe they're lying to you/ripping you off/in bed with big pharma/ignorant of the new quantum unified theory of self-healing anyway? Well, don't waste your time going from one alternative practitioner to another, free colon-cleansing herbs or not. Go over to the Woo World Self Treater and answer a few questions and concentrate on the vibrational level of your illness to get a FREE analysis of your auric field. Here's my reading:

"Quantum-consciousness analysis of your auric field shows you are suffering the symptoms of women's health issues, which is commonly seen among multigender entities born under the sign of Taurus. This may also be due to alien implants. Spiritually Guided Surgery has been shown to be effective* in relieving the symptoms of women's health issues and allowing the body to heal itself. You can also boost your immune levels by remembering to live a divine life, and commence colonic irrigations to remove toxins.

Since you are vaccinated you are also strongly urged to contact a naturopath or kinesiologist to test whether you have autism.

*Based on user testimonials."
via Orac at Respectful Insolence

Thursday, December 7, 2006

Happy Birthday, Mr. Waits

I always like to play "I don't want to grow up" on my birthday even though I mostly like being a grownup just fine. Here he is:



And here's some more:

I couldn't pick a favorite, though. Here's the whole list. The interviews are highly entertaining as well.

"Just remember that the large print giveth and the small print taketh away"

Monday, December 4, 2006

The things we do for love.

Yes, it's true. I'm in love. Madly, truly, deeply, etc. It's never been like this before. I don't think I've ever been in love before now.

I never wanted to be one of those shallow girls who ignored all her friends when she fell in love. But here I am, staying in every night and neglecting my blog so that I can spend every minute with my new love. I still haven't even gotten an internet connection at home; I just don't want the distraction. And yeah, maybe the phone is off. Just leave a message, eh? I'm busy.

And that's not even the worst of it. I've found myself willingly doing things -- no, it's way more than that; I've found myself wanting to perform certain acts -- degrading acts that I have never performed, voluntarily or otherwise, for any other love.

Not even if they begged for it.

I'm talking about things that, for me, have always been the very hallmark of women's oppression. Things that my mother tried very gently and obliquely to suggest that every woman ought to learn how to do competently in order to keep her husband happy. I'm talking about the very symbols of submission to the patriarchal order.

But every past lover -- male or female (and trust me, they all want it at some point) -- who has ever asked me to do these things has just been shit outta luck. You want that so damn bad, I'd say, you need to hire a professional, or get those so-called 'needs' of yours met some other way. As in, 'DIY, pal.'

So why now? Why am I doing these things without even being asked? Have I given up? Just gotten tired of fighting the patriarchy? Am I now complicit in my own oppression? And: so what if I am? I mean, who knew it would be so darn fun?

To be perfectly honest, I feel kind of silly now for having objected so strenuously all these years. But now I'm doing it for myself, really I am. My new love has not even asked for it; I've offered it freely. There's nothing inherently oppressive about it if I'm the one choosing to do it, right? I'm an adult, and I have given my consent.

No, I'm not talking about blowjobs, nor even anal sex. You people think everything is about sex, what is up with that? Do you think sex is the only weapon the patriarchy has?

Here's what's happening, my friends: I am so deeply in love with my new house that I have been actually cleaning it. On purpose. For no reason at all. Take dusting, for example. I was at the grocery store and I got one of those fluffy duster thingys on a stick, and thought: wow, this could be kind of fun! And it is! I walk through the house waving it around like I'm some kind of magic fairy banishing all the dust. I mean, I don't even wait until someone writes "Dust Me" on an endtable, or until I notice that the dust bunnies have become wooly dust mammoths and that they appear to be organizing a revolution. Or at least some kind of a union and are preparing to make demands.

I just dust because I feel like it. And I sweep the floors. And put things away when I'm done with them; it's so easy now that there is a place to put everything. And I put dishes in the dishwasher and then put them away when they are done.

I am one happy woman, people.