Tuesday, November 22, 2005

acculturation : perspicacity : the monkey box : slate mag makes me think

Noo... No. Not. Despite what the MSN.com teaserline would have us believe, everyone does not love Larry the Cable Guy.

This writer just doesn't get it. While he exposes the roots of this brand of comedy, he seems to take for granted that just because things are marginally better, these personas are now "anachronistic," when they are still surely just as relevant. The crux of David Cross's criticism are not the descriptors; it's the goddamned noun itself: "pride." That is what separates the bigots from the meta-bigots. It's one thing to play up a caricature to the point of absurdity in order to expose the true idiocy at its heart; it's quite another to make it a banner under which to celebrate and fortify the divisiveness.

I only have to walk into any given gas station/convenience mart/cigarette store to see that is what Larry is. I doubt that all of the 'Git-R-Done' paraphernalia is actually a codified hearkening to Not Be Stupid.



On a... different appendage, nobody does irreverance better than Sarah Silverman. I used to inexplicably hate her but now... I think I'm in love.

Friday, November 18, 2005

IRL : the living sitch : circumstances : wishin' & hopin'

Winter (or the threat thereof) hits, and my desire for a personal Jiminy Cricket reasserts itself with a fury.

Presently:

I wish that it did not get dark until, at the very least, 7 p.m.

I wish that there was a corner market
and/or a bar
within walking distance of my apartment.

I wish that I had a space. A working space. Somewhere removed from my apartment and my workplace, even if only slightly, where I can shut the door, play music at a decent volume, and concentrate on all of my little projects. Ideally, there would be a computer and a film scanner, a drafting table, a big work table, a lightbox, and a comfortable chair that isn't so comfortable as to make me drowsy. Maybe even a photo printer. No phone. Very few, if any, people in the vicinity. Definitely a window. Even if I'd only be there in the evenings, I need, nay, require, some suggestion of the outside.

I wish that I had a bigger kitchen, with lots of working surfaces.

I wish that I made enough money to afford my apartment all by myself, no roommate. This has nothing to do with The Roomie's glower becoming nascently Single White Female-ified. Although the presence of that certainly encourages me to... wish a lot harder.

I wish that it weren't so goddamned cold.

That is all.

For now.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

baking : pancakes : winter squash : wheat, squash, & cornmeal pancakes

Somewhat my own creation, somewhat based on several different squash and basic pancake recipes.

1/2 C whole wheat flour
1/2 C yellow cornmeal
1/4 C wheat germ
1/4 C brown rice flour*
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1 egg
2 TB extremely softened butter or oil or 6 TB ground flaxseed§
1-2 C sweet dumpling squash puree
1/2-1 C fat-free evaporated milk
1 TB honey or maple syrup or 1-2 TB sugar (brown, maple, or sucanat)
vanilla extract, dash to taste

Heat griddle or skillet to medium heat, using your preferred non-sticking agent (butter, Pam, oil, etc.). These pancakes will brown quickly, and unlike regular ol' cakes, they do not bubble, so it's best to keep the heat relatively lower.
Sift together the dry ingredients (which do not include the flaxseed if chosen as the butter substitute, nor any sugar option) in a bowl and set aside.
In a second bowl, slightly beat egg. Whip in butter and honey. Blend in squash puree, and vanilla. Blend in 1/2 C of the milk.
Mix in the dry ingredients, stirring only as much as it takes to absorb everything. If necessary, add more milk until batter is desired consistency.
Test that the griddle is ready with a drop of batter, which will also give you an idea of how quickly the cakes will brown. Spoon ~1/4 C dollops of batter onto griddle; it does not spread much on its own so you might need to nudge it so as to evenly distribute the cake's thickness. Again, these pancakes will not bubble so keep a close watch on their edges and test frequently if they are cooked enough to be flipped.
A few suggestions for with what to serve 'em: butter, maple syrup, powdered sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, yogurt, fresh fruit, glazed fruit, wet walnuts, preserves, etc.
Makes about 20-24 small pancakes.


*The two flours, cornmeal, and wheat germ together substitute for 1 C of all-purpose flour; any one (or several) of these ingredient(s) can be switched out for an equivalent measure of it.
§Will cause the pancakes to brown more quickly and the finished product to be more dense. In that case, you might want to add 4 1/2 TB of another or additional liquid, be it more squash puree, milk, orange juice, etc. I would not recommend water as it also has the tendency to render baked goods more coarse. You may also choose to only substitute some of the butter -- general rule of thumb is 3 parts flaxseed to every 1 part of fat replaced plus an increase in liquid by 75% of the amount of flaxseed added.

Depends upon the amount of squash puree; the more puree there is, the less additional milk one will need. Start with 1/2 C, mix batter, and then add more in 1/4 C increments until batter is desired consistency. I ended up using 3/4 C for 1 C of squash puree, but I came to wish that I had added a full cup so as to make the pancakes slightly more fluffy.

I'd had a wee sweet dumpling squash sitting in my veggie basket for the last month; I was afeared that it was going to go bad before I could use it. I really shouldn't have worried though because that little bugger's skin and flesh was so hard that I considered asking the neighbors if I could borrow their jig saw. I'm still prayerfully thankful that I didn't slice off a finger or knick an artery whilst wrestling with getting the thing halved.

I decided to do the roasting the night before, this being my first experience with this variety of squash. It made my kitchen smell like a confectionary... heady, velvety tones of sweetness, not cloying in the least.

The next morning, Sunday, I threw everything together and first griddled up a small batch of two for testing purposes, lest I keep on plopping and flipping something that was ultimately going to taste disgusting. I doused them with maple syrup (standard for pancake consumption), took a bite, and... UHH.

That, dear readers, is the sound of pleasure.

Make no mistake, however, these are very hearty and that is evident in the taste, but that speaks more to the complexity of the flavors therein. There is a nascent sweetness, the kind that one usually finds in natural granola or twelve-grain bread, most likely due to the cornmeal. The texture is mildly grainy, a good grainy, and at the same time, chewy, evidence of both the honey and brown rice flour's inclusion. They are decidedly not light or fluffy but nor are they dense, tough, or coarse. Merely a different kind of soft.

I had completed a couple more batches when The Roomie emerged, and I promptly ordered her to consume. She started with three. Then she had two more. Then one more. Then another. Then another. And, no, she is not usually a big eater; in fact, she's not much of an eater at all.

Unlike traditional pancakes, these babies will leave you with a pleasantly full feeling sans sugar headache or that balloony engorged discomfort that always follows my Sunday brunch blueberry pancake indulgences.

Yet, for as good as they were, I had hoped for a slightly different outcome: a pancake that practically oozed with squashy love. One factor that prevented such from happening was due to a miscalculation on my part; I banked on having 2 C of squash puree, but the diminutive sweet dumpling barely yielded one. The other reason is a procedural one. Next time, I'll set the squash puree aside until the cakes are spooned onto the griddle, at which time I'll add a little bit of the puree to each cake as it's cooking.

Num num num num num.

Friday, November 11, 2005

the new hotness : je le veux : accessorizing : alwaysinbloom's hats

Often, I like to put things on my head. Especially when it is chilly outside.

It has been, is presently, and most likely will continue to be chilly outside. Accordingly, I would very much like to put one of this lady's bee-yoo-tea-full hand-crocheted and oh-so-vintage creations on my head.

She posts new ones every week. I'm just waiting for The Perfect One to present itself.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

blogging : little known facts : the u.s.m.c. : a pink room (of one's own)

One of my favorite people on this planet is my boy cousin, christened here forthwith as, um, Futago. We are the same age, grew up together, and have remained close through college and into our adult lives. His place and stature in my life is no small thing and a story unto itself, but I will report, and am overjoyed to be doing so, that he is back in the states and home with family, on leave from the Marine Corps, after serving in Iraq for the last seven months.

He surprised me with a phone call last night. True to form, he had several entertaining stories to share concerning military bureacracy, the language barrier, R&R visits to Saddam's palaces, powdered eggs, etc. But my favorite? He introduced by saying, "So, you'd think that a bunch of Marines would want to be watching Full Metal Jacket all the time, right?"

Why, yes. I would. I read Jarhead; I know the score. My Former-Marine-Ex considered it "motivating."

"Well, these guys would watch things like... Mulan."

Whaaaa'?!? No way. I thought FMJ was canon for Marines. That and Apocalypse Now. And Platoon. Etc.

"Yeah. I'd find Madagascar on a local channel, and they'd grouse because they had Bring It On and Bring It On Again lined up for the evening."

Futago threw out several other select titles that he had come across while flipping through his fellow Marines' DVD collections. We're talking, like, all of the Hilary Duff movies. Mean Girls. The Princess Diaries.

Shall I go on?

Speaking further of the Marines, today is their 230th 'birthday.' Here's to hoping that the occasion provides this writer a sighting of some of the boys in their dress blues. It would be a bright, drool-worthy spot in what otherwise has been a mostly lackluster, unarousing week.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

blogging : la culte du populaire : irony lost : m.m. in the v.v.

It was just the other night that I was commenting to The Roomie, re: Paris Hilton, All Those Other Dumb Rich Bitches, And Why We Care, "I just don't get it."

But I realized that it's not that I don't get it, it's that I can't. Or I won't. Either way, I don't have to, because Michael Musto has fervidly enunciated it for me:

"With the communications explosion bringing savvy to every household, you can't necessarily feel smarter than the person next to you, but you can enjoy intellectual superiority to a bevy of bimbos and himbos with dark roots instead of gray matter... Watching these entertaining dull tools act out in relation to their low self-esteem has become a sadistic feel-good experience that has us cheering on the golden-chunked desperation while gleefully handing out more Clairol."

Village Voice. "The Death of the Dumb Blonde." http://villagevoice.com/nyclife/0545,musto,69773,15.html (November 8, 2005)

Relatedly, speaking of the merciful providence of witty observation and resigned disgust both, Cintra Wilson's A Massive Swelling: Celebrity Re-examined as a Grotesque Crippling Disease and Other Cultural Revelations is a very, very, very good read.

vainglory : viscera & spit : circadian rhythms : it's that time again

There comes a point every month at which I am so anemic, so sleep-deprived and anorexic and neurotransmitter-starved, that I have to cosmically and physically simmer down. Or I'll croak. And not with a whimper, but, really, with a croaking gasp, a sudden cartoonish flip from the vertical to mid-air horizontal, arms and legs thrown distally heavenward with instantaneous rigor mortis, tongue lolling, eyes as little x's. A resounding thud, naturally, once gravity wrestles preeminence back from the Dramatic Pause.

In any case, so as to prevent such a spectacular farce of my life's flame out, I have to stop everything/start other things for a few days. I go off all of my meds; I sleep no less than 8 hours a night, if not at any given moment when I can sneak it in, which can be and has been for entire days; I indulge in whatever munching fodder comes my way, order out for my personal idea of comfort food (thai/vietnamese cuisine tops that list). I start up my daily course of vitamins again. I don't bathe.

I rinsed off the bod 4 days ago; I haven't washed my hair in 5 days. I'm wearing my comfy jeans and cotton-candy pink polar-fleece hoodie, and a scarf/babushka that makes me look like a chemo patient.

I'm so very thankful that the weather is unwelcoming; sunshine or warm temperatures would just make me feel guilty for coasting through the day a walking case of hibernation.

Thankfully, these spells typically only last for a few days, a business week at most, and almost invariably correspond with that monthly Girl thang... which is just about at an end. By the weekend, I'll be craving martinis and Canyon Pizza again.

Boo-yah.

Now, it is time for powdered sweetened english-toffee-flavored fake cappuccino and glazed donuts.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

IRL : random moments from a day seemingly without end

i.

Earlier today, my co-worker, SevenFeet, handed me The Zombie Survival Guide: Complete Protection from the Living Dead. *gives devil horns*

Oh. Yes. Rock, indeed.

ii.

"Brown took over FEMA in 2003 with little experience in emergency management. He joined the agency in 2001 as legal counsel to his college friend, then-FEMA director Joe Allbaugh, who was Bush's 2000 campaign manager. When Allbaugh left FEMA in 2003 Brown assumed the top job.

Before joining the Bush administration, Brown spent a decade as the stewards and judges commissioner of the International Arabian Horse Association."

CNN. “’Can I quit now?’ FEMA chief wrote as Katrina raged.” http://www.cnn.com/2005/US/11/03/brown.fema.emails/index.html (November 3, 2005) Emphasis mine.
One cannot help
but be reminded of an SNL skit
featuring Will Ferrell as GWB
wherein he is giving an Oval Office broadcast
after what would appear to be a nuclear holocaust
and while he ducks the ostriches,
marvels, “This is hard!”

But, boy-howdy, “Brownie, you’re doing a heck of a job.”

iii.

Every single day (every single day), I receive the same piece of spam courtesy of my company’s listserv. The sender’s moniker rotates through 5 or 6 nonsensical nom de plumes, but the subject line is always the same.

Penis Launcher.

iv. - addendum to iii.

My mind conjures all manner of fantastical devices when turned to the question of what the Penis Launcher may look like and of how it may function. I shared this with Co-worker SevenFeet. He logically volunteered that it is most likely a pump of some kind, a contraption that promises to increase size, perhaps even stamina.

But every application of free association, for me, produces images of a 45 degree angled missile launcher armed with what else but a disembodied phallus.

SevenFeet agreed, and noted that this launcher's payload should, preferably, hit its target slightly off-sides to the hollow of the cheek, with a square plop.

I was so relieved that somebody else understood.