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The Tea I’m Not Drinking

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Department Of Thanking Them For Their Service

Here’s the vibe I’m getting from listening to/reading interviews with nurses, doctors, home health aides, and other health care workers: They do not want acclaim and platitudes, thank you very much. They want you stop voting for sociopathic ignoramuses who don’t want you to have viable public health care systems in the first place.

 

Sorry; this doesn’t cut it.

 

*   *   *

Department Of As If You Needed Another Reason…

… to transition to plant-based nutrition.  Not to go all PETA on y’all,  [1]  but other than the:

* benefits to your personal health   [2];
*  your concerns re the significant contribution of
animal agriculture and meat consumption to global warming;
* the cruel/abusive practices of intensive/industrial animal farming and your desire to *not,* directly or indirectly, support such practices;

…how about preventing a pandemic or two?

6 in 10 Infectious Diseases Come from Animals
The CDC Is Most Worried About These 8
(  Article in Livescience.com 5-17-19 )

MERS, SARS, many influenza viruses, and now COVID-19   [3] – over half of all infectious diseases are zoonotic; that is, they are spread from animals to humans.

If humans stopped animal food production it would break the major link in the disease chain, via what scientists call the “animal-human interface” – read: the keeping and raising of poultry and animals for human food (“animal husbandry”), which allows for and concentrates “…pathogen movement from confined poultry and swine operations resulting in environmental releases and interspecies transmission…”   [4]

If you didn’t know about the health/climate change/animal abuse aspects of meat production and consumption, or kinda-sorta knew but didn’t care to do some research on the issues…. Well, we’ve got plenty of time on our hands now, don’t we?

 

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Department Of Life Is Tough But It’s Even Tougher If You’re Stupid
Chapter 6 In A Series

I don’t UnFriend ® often.  I’ve done the -un thing, hmm, only one or two times that I can recall. One case was after I realized I’d accepted a friend request from someone moiself  didn’t fully recognize but figured was a high school acquaintance…then after some odd postings  [5]  on their part I did some sleuthing (the low-tech variety – I got out my high school yearbooks) and realized that, yep, we’d gone to the same high school, but I’d confused them with someone else, and…yikes.

 

Since when has “un-friend” been a thing?

 

Dateline: March 31. I get a FB message, don’t recognize the name, see a posting that consists of what appears to be photograph of a notice with the eye-catching titled:

“IN ISRAEL NO DEATH FROM COVID 19”

Golly gee, that would be good news…if it were true (which, of course, it isn’t).

This notice, in hilariously horrible, Nigerian-scam worthy English, describes the “super news”  of a “simple recipe” – a lemon bicarbonate tea –  which

immediately kills the virus completely (sic) eliminates it from the body….That is why the People of Israel is (sic) relaxed about this virus. Everyone in Israel drinks a cup of hot water with lemon and a little baking soda at night, as this is proven to kill the virus.”

 

Really.

I looked up the (supposed) sender’s FB profile.  Yep, went to my high school; is friends with several people I know; I can’t recall other FB postings or messages from her.  Poor thing; it’s likely her FB messenger has been hacked (and when she finds out she’ll be sending apology messages to everyone).  But, just to be safe, bye-bye for now.

*   *   *

Department Of Andrew Yang Was Right…But Sooner,
And For a Reason No One Predicted

“… we wind up automating millions of American livelihoods and then are left trying to figure out what the path forward is for those people, their families, those communities. What the pandemic has done is accelerate those circumstances in an incredibly compressed time frame where it has literally sent tens of millions of Americans home all at once.
I was talking about an evolving automated economy that would affect more and more of us home over time. And it’s become painfully obvious that putting money into our hands is the only commonsense solution to keep our families afloat.”
( “Republicans Adopt Andrew Yang’s Cause. He Isn’t Celebrating.”
Politico 3-17-20 )

 

* Over 15 million Americans work in tourism and hospitality—in hotels, amusement parks, art museums, and restaurants—making it the fifth largest industry in the country;
* Another 16 million Americans work in retail (which, 15 years ago, surpassed manufacturing as the country’s largest industry by employment);
* Over 20% of Americans work in retain/hospitality/entertainment industries, which were among the first to be shut down or drastically curtailed during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Lawyer, entrepreneur, philanthropist, and former Democratic Presidential candidate Andrew Yang, using statistics and economic models and forecasting, warned that in the coming years AI and automation would bring job losses for one third of American workers. This was a major part of the reasoning behind his proposed “Freedom Dividend,”  [6]  an economic stimulus and security plan widely misunderstood and knocked by people on all sides of the political and economic spectrums. And now….

“White House expresses support for immediate cash payments to Americans
as part of coronavirus stimulus package”
(Washington Post 3-17-20)

Check out Yang’s campaign website (which is still up), in particular his policy stands of The Freedom Dividend and Human-Centered Capitalism.

 

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Department of The Corona Virus Playlist
Girl Groups Edition

Girl Groups was a term applied to the American female pop music singing groups of the late 1950s – early 1960s.  “The Supremes,” “Martha and the Vandellas,” “The Ronettes” and “The Shangrilas” are examples of the GG genre.

Moiself  has listed some of those groups’ song titles which are IMHO, applicable to our social-isolating, transmission–paranoid, COVID-19 times, and which, in small groupings, imply a related story.

Heatwave
I Gotta Let You Go
Nowhere To Run
In My Lonely Room

Reach Out And Touch
Stop In The Name Of Love
The Beginning Of The End
Where Did Our Love Go?

A Breath-Taking Guy
It’s All Your Fault
You’ll Be Sorry
My World Is Empty Without You
Someday We’ll Be Together

A Change Is Gonna Come
Comin’ Out
Come See About Me
Back In My Arms Again

 

Girl Groups recommend Beehive hairdos for TP, Hand Sanitizer, and all coronavirus storage needs.

 

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Epicurean Expedition Evolution

The Epicurean Expedition was a recurring feature of this blog (from a year ago until last week), wherein I decided that moiself  would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook at least one recipe from one book for dinner.  It was fun and challenging, the latter via trying to adapt recipes from books I’ve had for decades and which were acquired before moiself became a picky plant-based eater.  Some recipes – in several cases, entire cookbooks – proved almost impossible to adapt while still being true to the spirit of the original (read: almost anything by Julia Child.  All that “buttah” – lawdy, Julia went well-lubricated to her grave).

 

 

In the spirit of been there/done that, aided by the COVID-19 virus-induced, Take On A Project ® mindset and social/physical isolation, I’ve started a new culinary adventure: differing dinner themes.

I’ve done dinner themes before, but never a different one for each day.  When son K and daughter Belle were younger, Friday was the theme day. For a few years it was Make Your Own Za Night, then Friday Fondue, each theme accompanied by what we called “Friday Bread.” (a homemade braided sweet bread with raisins – essentially, a raisin challah).  After our offspring fledged, Friday became just another day for MH and I.

The themes are listed below; I’ll start reporting on them next week, with a completely new, as-of-yet-unchosen rating system (I will miss the Hamster thumbs-up).

I’m giving moiself a lot of leeway in this new EE. Which day will I report on?  Depends on what recipe worked best or failed most epic-ly (let’s face it, epic fails are the most fun to write about).  The power to choose is all mine, mine, MINE, I TELL YOU.   [7]

 

 

Steelhead Sunday
Steelhead, the trout that thinks it’s a salmon, is my go-to fish (and plant-eater moiself still has fish once a week).
This day will be reserved for anything pescatarian .

Mushroom Miso Mustard Monday
Three alliterative ingredients, at least one of which will be featured.

Tofu/Tempeh Tuesday
Fairly straightforward.

  • Wednesday Wraps
    Crepes; tamales; pancakes; tortillas; tacos; spring rolls, dosas….

Thirsty Thursday
Soups gets a starring role on this day.

WTF Friday
Anything goes…including out to dinner (when we’re allowed to do that again)

Sushi / Spaghetti Saturday

Sushi: I hadn’t made it in years.  A couple of weeks ago, inspired by the isolate-at-home mandate (translation: moiself  had a captive audience, as MH and I would not be going out to eat) I decided to do some maki rolls, and had a lot of fun.
I’m going to offend sushi purists try different classes of fillings (all plant-based, save for the steelhead/salmon in the PNW varieties) inspired by different culinary tastes, from Pacific NW to Mexican to Chinese to Indian to Eastern European to ___?  The short grain, vinegar-ed rice (which is what makes it sushi ) will remain, although it will be brown rice and the type of vinegar will vary with the fillings.

Spaghetti: as in, pasta.  A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, moiself and a coworker with a Good Ole Midwestern Boy ®  background were talking about food during our lunchbreak. GOMB asked me what I would be making for dinner that night. I replied that I hadn’t exactly decided, probably pasta with a lemon basil…

“Spaghetti – you’re making spaghetti!
Why can’t you just say you’re making spaghetti?!
All pasta is spaghetti!”

The snideness of GOMB’s interruption indicated he thought moiself  was being pretentious when I was merely being accurate.  I knew I was going to make a pasta dish but didn’t know what kind of pasta it would be. As it turned out, I didn’t have any *spaghetti* in the house.  How do you say, “So, there!” in Italian? )

 

Who wouldn’t miss me? I’ll give two thumbs down if I’m not included in her new version of this project.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Yet Another New Feature:

Pun For the Day

This girl said she recognized me from the vegetarian club,
but I’d never met herbivore.

 

 

*   *   *

 

May you try not to “contribute” to the next (or current) pandemic;
May you remember that all spaghetti is pasta
but not all pasta is spaghetti;
ay you offend culinary purists whenever possible;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] I have mixed feelings about the organization – alternately admiring some of their work and viewpoints while deploring some of their rhetoric/tactics.

[2] “Healthy eating may be best achieved with a plant-based diet,” is the opinion of a bajillion studies and scientific/medical journals, including The Permanante Journal,

[3] Like SARS and MERS, COVID-19 was spread from animals to humans. Public health experts think COVID-19 originated at a “wet market” in China, where vendors sell both live and dead animals for human consumption.

[4] “The Animal-Human Interface and Infectious Disease in Industrial Food Animal Production,” Public Health Reports, National Institute of Medicine.

[5] Read: batshit crazy political and religious comments/rants.

[6] A $1,000/month stipend for every American adult over the age of 18.

[7] I used to have more footnotes in this blog.

The Face I’m Not Touching

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Department Of Reconsideration

“One of the reasons I do appreciate social media is that it allows us to connect with people we wouldn’t be able to normally…
And since right now that’s everyone, I am back!”
(3-25 announcement from a Facebook friend, who had announced
her hiatus from social media just last month)

Something moiself  is pondering these days: Amidst the warnings from psychologists about how social media is isolating us – a concern I have long shared – I’ve noticed that, in these times of self-imposed/government-encouraged physical distancing, social media usage is one of the tools keeping so many of us connected.

 

A fascinating dichotomy…and such deep thoughts, for a human.

 

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Department of The Corona Virus Playlist
Surf Groups Edition

A genre of music springing from and influenced by Southern California surf culture, Surf Music had its heyday in the early to mid-60’s, then had a revival in the punk era. The Beach Boys, Jan & Dean, The Ventures, and The Surfaris are examples of the first wave (sorry), and The Surf Punks of the latter.

Moiself  has listed some of those groups’ song titles which, IMHO are applicable to our social-isolating, transmission–paranoid, COVID-19 times, and which, in small groupings, imply a related story.

* All Alone
* All Summer Long
* At My Window

* In My Room
* Busy Doin’ Nothing
* Locals Only
* Point Panic
* Drag City
* Shut Down

* I Get Around
* Don’t Worry Baby

* Come Go With Me
* Cuddle Up
*Island Fever
* Heroes and Villains

* Do You Wanna Dance?
* Kiss Me Baby

* Caroline, No
* Help Me Rhonda
* Wipe Out*
* Dead Man’s Curve

Fun Factoid: Only one of the five original Beach Boys (Dennis Wilson) knew how to surf. The rest were…not quite hodads, but they didn’t surf.

 

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Department Of Calling All Nerds Geeks Application Designers:

Make me a phone-slap app, okay?  Here’s what moiself  is looking for: something to punish robocallers and/or telemarketers, who have this new technology which enables them to use someone’s else’s caller ID.

Have you ever answered your cellphone because the ID said it was your husband’s cell or your home phone number…but it turned out to be Rajni from Bangalore trying to approximate a Tennessee twang?  That annoys me to no end (the spam call; not the twang).  I want an app that, with a swipe of my finger, will send a shock to the call’s originating number – something that could be the equivalent of a slap across the face.

 

“And don’t ever interrupt ‘The Great British Baking Show’ again!”

 

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Department Of Keeping Busy Mature Contemplation And Self-Improvement

 

Before.

 

In these times of social distancing, many if not all of us are taking the opportunity to work on special projects around our homes or apartments, or take on more extensive plans for what might fall under the categories of Personal Growth and/or Self Improvement.

These are good times for looking deeper into one’s own psyche, and exploring the basic human needs and wants that change as we age and accumulate wisdom and experience.  Moiself, for one, has already begun

* Re-learning the basic French I studied in college;
(Translation: organizing my sock drawer)

* Redesigning future vacation plans to account for
the increased carbon footprint of overseas travel;
(and what about my t-shirt drawer?)

 

* Updating my IRA portfolio and retirement plans;
(should socks be arranged by pattern, or color?)

* Researching community volunteerism opportunities
for when the social distancing requirements are lifted;
(if organizing by pattern, do the tie-dyes go near the argyles or the polkadots?)

 

After.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Helpful Hints

The Experts ® say we are supposed to wash our hands for 20 seconds, and that singing “The Happy Birthday Song” is a good way to time yourself.  Not over my sink, it isn’t.

I really loathe that tune.  When it comes to expressing birthday greetings to someone, my ditty of choice is the Mary Tyler Moore Show theme. As long as y’all don’t get all gender specific on me, who wouldn’t want to be serenaded with an upbeat song that expresses such life-affirming sentiments:

♫  “Who can turn the world on with her smile?
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?
Well it’s you girl, and you should know it
With each glance and every little movement you show it
Love is all around, no need to waste it
You can never tell, why don’t you take it
You’re gonna make it after all….”  ♫

Once again, I digress.

So, to time myself at hand-washing instead of singing the insipid happy birthday song, I have been soaping my paws while warbling two rounds of my childhood summer camp favorite: Scab Sandwich.  If you don’t know the tune, you could improvise your own; in case you haven’t heard the lyrics – and in that case, what kind of rock did you grow up under? – moiself  has oh-so-thoughtfully provided them:

Scab Sandwich: pus on top
Turkey vomit; camel snot;
Crushed-up eyeballs; monkey doo –
scab sandwich good for you!

You’re welcome. This has been a public service announcement.

 

 

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Department Of Extreme Times Call For Extreme Measures

“… some face touching is almost automatic. For example, neuroscientifically, scratching an itch on your face (or anywhere else) is an automatic reflex, meaning you do it without thinking.
When you have an itch, it registers as a complex pain-like sensation. Scratching or touching an itch feels good because it temporarily interrupts the discomfort. When we’re in pain, our instinct is to withdraw, but when we itch, our reflex is to scratch, according to the American Academy of Asthma, Allergy and Immunology.

(“Why you can’t stop touching your face, according to science and psychology,”
cnbc, 3-21-20)

 

Officer, I’d like to make a citizen’s arrest….

 

Confession: moiself  can’t stop touching my face.

Like most people with seasonal allergies (aka, ”hay fever”), these  DON’T TOUCH YOUR FACE  admonitions are proving to be a bit of a challenge for me.  I think I’m doing it right/paying attention, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, it’s as if a stranger’s hand reaches out to scratch my nose or rub my eyes.  Perhaps I need to take out a restraining order on moiself?

 

 

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Department Of Hope For Humanity

Harold:
You sure have a way with people.

Maude:
Well, they’re my species!

 

 

I persistently battle my urge to give in to My Inner Curmudgeon, ® and generally if privately (well…until now) think the average American has an IQ equivalent to their inseam length and an EQ no bigger than a hamster’s hemorrhoid.

(For those of y’all with a low IQ, EQ refers to the ability to identify and manage one’s own emotions, as well as the emotions of others, by utilizing at least three skills: emotional awareness [the ability to identify and name one’s own emotions]; the ability to harness those emotions [and apply them to tasks like thinking and problem solving]; and the ability to manage emotions [ including regulating one’s own emotions when necessary and helping others to do the same].)   [1]

However, following video illustrates why, ultimately, I like my species.  No matter how bad/silly/frustrating/batshit crazy Things Get, some people will do some things like this: In a store in Los Angeles, professional musicians Bonnie von Duyke and Emer Kinsella donned lifejackets, went to the empty toilet paper aisle, and serenaded the ransacked shelves to the tune of Nearer, My God, To Thee.   [2]

 

 

 

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Department of Epicurean Excursion   [3]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:
World Vegetarian, by Madhur Jaffrey
Recipe: Chickpea Flour Pancakes with Crushed Green Peas and Cilantro

My rating: 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Recipe Rating Refresher  [4]

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Department Of Advanced Psychology Tip For The Day

It takes so little to say, “You’re right; that’s a good idea,” and it makes the recipient (the “you” in “you’re”) so happy.

 

 

*   *   *

May you always turn the world on with your smile;
May you be on the receiving end of a serenade (with, preferably, an upbeat song,
ala The Mary Tyler Moore theme, and not the soundtrack to a disaster movie);
May you be able to stop touching your &%$!?#*  face;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

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[1] “What is Emotional Intelligence,” Psychology Today.

[2]  the song the ship bandmaster plays as the Titanic sinks, in the 1997 movie.

[3] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) one recipe from one book.

[4] 

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up :  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up.
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

 

The Dinner I’m Not Hosting

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* Taking my car through the car wash;
*posting links to the Divinyl’s “I Touch Myself” and Joan Jett’s “Do You Wanna Touch Me,”
on Facebook,
and thinking of Way. Too. Many. other songs for the COVID-19 situation;
* hanging a bag of nut milk   [1]   to drain over the kitchen sink….

Someone has too much play time on her hands.  Girls and Boys, are you, too, practicing safe sex Social Isolation ® ?

 

Abby, my Emotional Support Avocado, who typically occupies the middle of the back seat (always safely buckled in – click it or ticket!), gets to play inside while I vacuum out my car.

 

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Department Of I Was Not Prepared For This

Dateline: Monday, March 16. Email from my yoga class studio (my emphases):

…effective immediately, we will be limiting class sizes to 9 students. With this class size, the “social distancing”
between students in our classroom can be up to 40% higher than the CDC recommended distance of 6 feet.
Our Older Student Population
Because you are in a higher risk group, we are recommending our students
who are 60 years and older to please stay home until conditions improve.

Moiself  immediately began thinking most unyoga-like thoughts:  Ahem, and WTF?  When did I get into a “higher risk group” when I can keep up with the Millennials in class and seriously kick some yoga ass  [2]  in pigeon pose….

Fine. I’ll be a Good Citizen. ®  It’s funny to me, how much that frosted moiself’s butt, to realize that I’d been placed in a Category.  The next day I was still a bit steamy.  [3]  Perhaps I’m overreacting…

 

Ya think?

 

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Department of The Corona Virus Playlist
British Invasion Edition

For those too young to wipe your own behinds remember, the British Invasion refers to

“… a cultural phenomenon of the mid-1960s, when rock and pop music acts from the United Kingdom and other aspects of British culture
became popular in the United States…. groups such as the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks…and the Animals
were at the forefront of the “invasion.”  [4]

Moiself  has listed some of those groups’ song titles which are, IMHO, are applicable to our self-isolating, transmission–paranoid, COVID-19 times. At first I thought to list them alphabetically, but had more fun arranging them in groupings:

* A Hard Day’s Night
* Don’t Bother Me
* Get Back
* Get Off of My Cloud
* Inside Looking Out
* Long Distance
* Run For Your Life
* You Better Move On
* You Won’t See Me
* You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away

* Getting Better
* We Gotta Out Of This Place
* Help!
* Doctor Robert

* From Me to You
* Gimme Shelter
* Hello Goodbye
* Helter Skelter
* Here, There, And Everywhere

* I Don’t Want To Spoil The Party
* I Feel Fine
* How Do I Get Close
* Worried About You
* I Want to Hold Your Hand
* You Can’t Always Get What You Want
* You Can’t Do That
* You Really Got A Hold On Me

* I Should Have Known Better
* I’ve Got a Feeling
* Misery
* I’m So Tired
* Ventilator Blues
* Wish I’d Never Met You
* Where Have All the Good Times Gone
* Who’ll Be the Next in Line
* It’s All Over Now
* The End

 

*   *   *

Department Of Another Way To Get A Good Laugh In Stressful Times…

…is to do something really stupid – something that makes you face palm yourself (which is one reason why moiself  is a Frequent Flyer when it comes to giggle mileage).

 

No question, that’s the most pathetic flying metaphor we’ve ever heard.

 

Dateline: earlier this week, after an at-home (of course) workout and before venturing to the grocery store. I change from my exercise t-shirt to a non- less-smelly t-shirt and glance in the mirror.  I reach for my toothbrush to use as an eyebrow brush: when I pull a snug shirt over my head, my eyebrows get a little unruly.

 

Not Andy Rooney unruly, but, still….

 

A second too late, as I have placed brush to brow, I realize that moiself had applied a small dab of toothpaste to the toothbrush a couple of hours earlier, got distracted, and set the toothbrush down on the sink edge without brushing my teeth. Thus, I now have very straight eyebrows with a dab of minty white toothpaste in them, giving me that certain je ne sais quoi (as well as a minty/fluoride scent wafting from my forehead).

The thing is, I did both brows before I realized what I was doing.  The second thing is, this is not the first time I’ve done this.  I’d say my average is once every two years.  Upside: my eyebrows have never had a cavity! So, yeah, I’m not absent-minded, I’m participating in an important research program involving the collection of dental hygiene data.

 

Stand back, she’s about to try SCIENCE.

 

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Department Of Rescheduling Fun

There were to be ten of us around my dining room table on Tuesday, March 17.  Even before our state’s governor (in line with CDC and other health organization guidelines) called for voluntary social distancing, my guests began to cancel.

Not to worry, moiself assured my would-be guests via email, we will not scratch our celebration. We’ll just postpone it until…until we know more about what’s going on.  Also, I’m assuming my guests cancelled due to their concern for public health safety, and not as a commentary on my planned dining table centerpiece:

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Silver Linings

If something is good coming out of this pandemic it might be the concept of social distancing, which may come in handy after Whatever Is Going To Happen ® has died down.  Playing it correctly and not overusing it, you could artfully excuse yourself from certain tedious personal and professional obligations.  Y’all know what I’m talking about: that feeling of, “I’d rather stick a Tabasco-coated tuning fork in my eyeball than attend…

* another of my nephew’s ukulele recitals;

* our Homeowner’s Association meeting on proper dog-walking and waste disposal protocol;

*my boss’s latest attempt to mitigate his blatant racism, sexism
and homophobia by holding a pronoun sensitivity training session;

* my neighbor’s latest pyramid scheme lure   Amway/Herbalife/Mary Kay bait setting-disguised-as-a-ladies’-cocktail-party….”

Repeat after moiself:

“Oh, gee, I’d love to, but for the sake of community health,
and as per the advice of my ____
(doctor/psychiatrist/pedicurist/Mar-a-Lago online Medical School and Virtual Putting Green website),
I’m practicing social distancing.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Problem Solved

“…1,135 people have needed intensive care in Lombardy, but the region has only 800 intensive care beds….
As the COVID-19 epidemic expands and the disease progresses, (ICU beds) are in increasing demand, especially because of the breathing problems the illness can bring. Every time a bed comes free, two anesthesiologists consult with a specialist in resuscitation and an internal medicine physician to decide who will occupy it.
“In Italy, Triage and Lies for Virus Patients,”
NY Times, 3-16-20 )

 

“Sometimes extraordinary problems require a supernatural response.  Fearless prayers is what is needed in this moment.
Let’s all pray for a swift end to the coronavirus.”
( Tweet by Jentezen Franklin, evangelical pastor, whose online service #45 claimed to have had joined for the National Day of Prayer to counter the coronavirus.)

 

 “…(Evangelist) Cindy Jacobs…said God told her to create a global day of prayer to stop the virus from spreading.
(  Mother Jones online )

 

 

When there is a shortage of vital medical equipment, Those In Charge Of Such Things ® face agonizing choices (and remember, every day in this country, people are placed on respirators due non-coronavirus related accidents/illnesses).  Should these triage situations arise in the United States, I’ve got a solution to easing the shortage.  Yes, I hereby volunteer to be Triage Czar.

 

I’m just in it for the hat.

 

Here’s how I’ll do it. Short of being able to talk to all ICU admit-tees and/or respirator candidates in person, I’ll design a simple questionnaire to be filled out by the patient or their designated medical representative, to determine the patient’s category.

Category 1:
Conservative Christians (and even the moderates and some liberals) and followers of any other religions (and the NRBS – “Not Religious But Spiritual” folks),
particularly those who claim to “believe” in the power and efficacy of prayer (or crystal energy patterns, homeopathy, reiki, etc.),
particularly those who pray for cures  (for any and all conditions, from cancer to “gay-ness”) for themselves or friends and family, and those who credit
supernatural intervention when they recover from illness.

Category 2:
Freethinkers, Brights, Atheists, Agnostics, Humanists: religion-free folk
who hold a naturalistic world view and follow the guidelines of medical science.

How does this work, you ask?

Category 1: Y’all who put your faith in the supernatural, when you are admitted to the hospital you will be assigned a bed in the chaplaincy ward,
where you and the chaplains/religious /spiritual counselors/fellow believers of your choice
can pray pray pray pray pray.

Category 2: Y’all get the doctors, the medicines, the ICU beds, and the respirators.

Surprisingly logical, for a human.

You’re welcome.

Should be a most revealing data gathering experiment, if my advice would be followed and someone kept statistics.   [5]

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Epicurean Excursion   [6]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:
Wildwood: Cooking From the Source in the Pacific Northwest, by Cory Schreiber

Recipe: Apple-Cider Raisin Bread

My rating:

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Recipe Rating Refresher  [7]

*   *   *

May you “put your money where your mouth is” when it comes to medical care;
May you always remember what is on your toothbrush;
May you have an epic playlist when you are in social isolation;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

[1] Don’t have a cow, dairy industry – I realize that almonds do not lactate.

[2] Actually, kicking some yoga ass is not a thing.

[3] The day after that, all classes were cancelled.

[4] Wikipedia; British Invasion.

[5] Of course, many people of all worldviews, including the supernatural, will have an immune system up to the task and recover on their own.

[6] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) once recipe from one book.

[7]

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up :  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up.
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

The Exhaustion I’m Not Getting Over

Comments Off on The Exhaustion I’m Not Getting Over

“I want my non-women friends to look at Elizabeth Warren’s trajectory and
understand how fucking exhausted I am, every woman is, today. Exhausted.
Climb every mountain, there’ll be a white man there already who
took the lift, and gets the prize.”

I feel this tweet in my gut this morning. I’d just insert “old” before the “white man”, because I’m ever hopeful this will change. One day .

I got this from a friend’s Facebook page last week and have seen it shared many times since.  It originated as a tweet; since I have yet to inflict moiself with that particular form of social disease media, I depend on the kindness of others to share the goodies.

Yeah, it’s been a couple of weeks…  [1]  and still I hate the fact that this nails how I feel.  Why does the glass in this particular ceiling seem like it’s made of titanium?

There has be a word for this phenomenon – most likely from the language that gives us terms like Schadenfreude and kummerspeck and treppenwitz. Maybe….

Screwdenfrauenpolitikscheisse

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Things I Forget Every Ten Years

Why do I get excited when the census questionnaire arrives…and then am disappointed, every time, to see how boring the questions are?

     

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Keep Calm And Curse The Pollen

Pollen, an allergy trigger for one in five Americans, is surging year after year…. A recent study in the journal Lancet Planetary Health found that airborne pollen counts have been increasing around the world as average temperatures climbed. The majority of the 17 sites studied showed an increase in the amount of pollen and longer pollen seasons over 20 years.
(“It’s not your imagination.
Allergy season gets worse every year.”
Vox, 5-21-19)

Dateline: earlier this week, at a grocery store.  One glance at the friendly checkout clerk and moiself can see that she shares something with moiself and one in five Americans:  seasonal allergies (aka, “hay fever.”)  Her friendly eyes are red, teary and itchy-looking; she is sniffling, and finally gives in to a sneeze, turning her head behind her and putting her face into her elbow.  The woman standing in line behind me sighs oh-so-loudly, which causes me to glance in her direction; thus, I see how she rolls her eyes in disgust and glares at the clerk as she conspicuously reaches for the bottle of hand sanitizer the store has placed by the checkout credit card scanner.

Although the clerk has finished bagging my groceries, I decide to linger and get chatty, in part to annoy enlighten Eye Rolling Woman.

Moiself, to checker: ”I feel for you…and I’m feeling it already.”
(I point to my own eyes and throat).
“Allergy season starts earlier every year, doesn’t it?”

Checker, nodding: “Yes, it does! And now, everyone is so paranoid…”

Moiself: “In the past few weeks, I bet every time you sneeze or cough you feel like you should have a neon sign on your forehead
which reads, “ ‘Hello – allergies!  They’re not contagious!’ ”

Checker: “Exactly!”  (she flashes me a grateful smile).
“I’m so tired of explaining it….”

 

 

Allergy season is here, America.
People, including moiself, are going to be sneezing and coughing.
Try not to lose your shit, and don’t assume every sniffle is an indicator of:

* influenza

* covid virus

* covert prius

* the heartbreak of psoriasis

* Ebola

* E. coli

* eHarmony

….and/or any other viral or parasitic infestation. Okay?

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Addendum/Apology re The Previous Department

I was thinking of the word/sound “flow,” from covid virus to covert prius to psoriasis, and meant no disrespect to people living with psoriasis (an autoimmune disease which, as Someone Who Knows pointed out, can be truly heartbreaking)!

I was thinking of that old commercial, wherein “…the heartbreak of psoriasis,” was used to promote an OTC medication (Tegrin), used for mild scaling of the scalp or skin, and which, like any over-the-counter medications, had no actual/beneficial effects in controlling actual psoriasis lesions.   But the alarmism of the commercial had the effect of getting people with just ordinary dry skin or dandruff to fear that they had psoriasis, and, as many doctors feared, it encouraged people who might actually have psoriasis to postpone seeking medical treatment and waste time and money on ineffective treatments….

Also, as MH pointed out to me: “There’s a whole lotta people out there who haven’t seen that commercial….”

Which I could take as a commentary on my age, but I’m not gonna go there.

*   *   *

 

 

Department Of Life Is Tough But It’s Even Tougher If You’re Stupid
Chapter 5 in a series

Advice is what we ask for when we already know the answer but wish we didn’t.
(Erica Jong, American author)

Not that I think people who request advice (in particular, from advice columnists) are stupid.  Far from it.

It’s just that, sometimes when I read a Dear Abby-type letter, I can’t help but think,

“No, really – we’re supposed to believe that you *don’t* know
what to do in this situation?”

I started reading advice columns when I started reading newspapers, which was…I can’t remember, but my father once told me it was when moiself  was in first grade.  From the nationally syndicated columns of yore such as Dear Abby and Ann Landers, and today’s Dear Prudence (slate.com), Ask Amy, and sometimes even Savage Love    [2]   and many more, I found (and still find) them to be one of the more entertaining (and sometimes educational) features of the paper.

Even the bad columns could be “good”  in some ways, as in the jaw-droppingly sexist, regressive (even for its time) admonitions of The Worry Clinic, by George Crane . The Worry Clinic (an advice column which appeared in my parent’s favorite newspaper,  The Orange County Register, and which I have previously trashed described here) had some excellent take away nuggets: mainly, that its consistently contemptible, anti-wife/anti-woman admonitions were a useful eye-opener for the budding feminist that was moiself.

 

 

So many of the issues presented in letters from advice-seekers – from dealing with the expectations of demanding friends, unreasonable workplace dilemmas, nosy neighbors, clueless extended family, partners disagreeing over sex-love-money-pets-careers-whatever – seem to me to have one thing in common.  What you’ve got is grown-ass people asking for permission from (supposedly) objective grown-ass strangers to make the grown-ass decision to tell people the truth.

Dear Moiself,
Blah blah blah blah blah blah something funny blah blah blah
something WTF blah blah blah blah,
and, I mean, really – blah blah, right?
I’d appreciate your perspective.
No real names, please, I live in a small town.
Just sign me,
She Hates It That Friends Are Calling Every Day

 

Dear SHITFACED,
First of all, thank you for the lovely acronym opportunity.
It seems seems like you already know what you want to do;
you just want a stranger (with credentials!)
to give you permission to do it.  Consider yourself permitted.
Moiself

 

And she wonders why her advice column career never made it out of space dock?

 

*   *   *

Department of Epicurean Excursion   [3]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:

The Way To Cook, By Julia Child

Recipe:  Steamed Eggplant With Parsley Sauce

My rating:

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

 

Recipe Rating Refresher  [4]

*   *   *

May you never be too emotionally exhausted to try and tear down the glass ceiling;
May you receive (and give) advice with good humor;
May you be patient with allergy sufferers (and grateful if you’re not one of us);
…and may the hijinks ensue.

 

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

 

*   *   *

 

[1] Since Warren and Klobuchar dropped out of the Presidential race.

[2] Although I admire Dan Savage as a writer (and activist), his advice column, Savage Love  (subject: sex, sex, and more sex)  is not for the squeamish. Many is the time I have quickly scrolled past questions and answers as I – who would likely be described in his column as a straight cis vanilla middle aged lady – see things I would just rather not read about, thank you very much…and, eewwwww….

[3] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) once recipe from one book.

[4]

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up :  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up.
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

 

The Senator I’m Not Speaking To

1 Comment

Since the Senate’s impeachment kangaroo court trial, moiself  has had a few weeks to ruminate on this…issue. I’m not speaking to this particular senator, because – well, for one thing, why would he listen to me?  If I had the slightest inkling that he would consider my opinion, I’d ask Mitt Romney to seek his party’s nomination for president.

I’d be upfront with him: Senator Romney, I’m not going to vote for you.  After the last three years’ clusterfuck of spineless weasels (the only Congressional mammal not on the endangered species list)…

 

“Hey!”

 

…and their internationally-recognized, shameless, ass-kissing and toadying mendacity, I shall never vote for a candidate who has joined (or has remained in) the Republican party – no matter at what level, from local to state to federal – unless s/he performed the most epic grovel in the history of groveling, explaining why they did not speak up and/or actively oppose #45 and his traitorous, Putin-sucking minions.

How your fellow Republican senators can still roam the halls of Congress – and do so without their aides having to haul them in slop-barrows specially designed to contain their festering, gelatinous excuses for vertebral columns – still baffles me. 

That said, moiself is not lacking sympathy for some members of your party who perhaps have been seriously intimidated and /or genuinely confused by #45 and his barbarian horde supporters. If these people are determined to vote Republican, they deserve a choice other than the traitor/huckster in chief.  So, why not you?

While you and I would likely disagree about so-many-if-not-every issue, especially those wherein politics and religion intersect, you were the sole Republican senator who seemed to take your duty and your oath seriously.

I realize that you are a politician, and likely value that power above all else –  even above the religious beliefs you credit for your political positions, as your stance changes in the past would indicate. Thus, I have no illusions to shatter should it turn out that your currant “courageous stance” was, at least in part, a set up for future political positioning.

How far to the right Romney has gone over the years has had a lot to do with where he was running for office and who he was hoping to reach. Romney’s less extreme side asserted itself in 1994, when he challenged…Ted Kennedy in Massachusetts and portrayed himself as a Rockefeller Republican.

Although Romney lost.…his Rockefeller Republican image served him well when he ran for governor in Massachusetts in 2002 and won.
As governor of Massachusetts, Romney was conservative-leaning but not extreme. He was pro-choice on abortion, and his program for universal health care in that state underscores the Republican influence on the Affordable Care Act of 2010….

But Romney moved way to the right when he ran for president in 2008 and 2012. Romney flip-flopped on abortion, pledged his allegiance to the Christian Right and the anti-choice movement and railed against universal health care…. It’s no coincidence that when Romney ran for the Senate in the 2018 midterms, he did so via Utah rather than Massachusetts….(as) Utah is much more conservative than Massachusetts…

( “Mitt Romney’s flip-flops: How the Utah senator has deceptively tap danced between being a reasonable conservative and a far-right ideologue,” alternet, 1-4-19

 

 

Still, you did what you did.  I thank you for it, even as moiself wonders why you did not publicly call out your fellow senators and try to sway more of them to do the right thing.

It’s ironic to me, that in a political body wherein the vast majority of the Republicans claim some Christian right wing and/or evangelical allegiance, and wherein each was required to take the following oath/affirmation, which referenced their deity –

I solemnly swear (or affirm, as the case may be) that in all things appertaining to the trial of the impeachment of Donald John Trump, President of the United States, now pending, I will do impartial justice according to the Constitution and laws: So help me God.
(“Opening Ceremonies: The Impeachment trial of  [#45],” Wikipedia)

…that of these self-proclaimed conservative Christians, who generally and historically have abhorred Mormon theology (and denounced as aberrant, untrue, and blasphemous), it was a Mormon who stood alone, doing the right thing.

 

 

*   *   *

Speaking of ruminations, can there ever be enough cow stories?

Department Of Life Is Tough But It’s Even Tougher If You’re Stupid
(Chapter 4 In A Series)
Sub Department Of You’re A Special Kind Of Stupid If You Think This Is A Good Idea.
Sub-Sub Department Of No.  Just, No.

There is a link I keep seeing on Facebook (unfortunately posted by a few FB friends), about what moiself fears may become the latest designer pet trend: mini-cows.

“No Joke: These Fluffy, Adorable Mini Cows Make Great Pets! “ reads the headline of the article accompanying the following picture.  “Woah…cows? How on Earth could a person be expected to keep a cow at their home? They’re big, loud, and pretty smelly too, right?
You would be correct about that if not for Lovable Little Ones, a specialty mini-cow breeder…. According to Lovable Little Ones, cows make “exceptional pets that demonstrate a great deal of affection, are very social, and are easy to take care of….” ”.

 

 

Look at those lil’ cows! About the picture: moiself has to admit, it is so cute it makes me want to squeal like a newborn piglet and slap that hog-faced MAGA hat-wearer I saw eating Twinkies ® at the farmer’s market.   [1]

It is *such* a cute picture, no denying it.  Now, can we look at the bigger picture?

As for the “no joke,” headline – I agree, this isn’t funny. If anyone out there is seriously considering this, please, even more seriously reconsider – to the point of consulting a therapist and having them do cow patty aroma therapy with you on a weekly basis –  should you even think about having a mini-cow as a pet.

FYI: I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned cows in this space before, and now, after last week’s  screed concise yet heartfelt presentation of the dairy cow dilemma, two weeks in a row of bovine blog bits? Trust moiself, this is coincidence and not conspiracy.

So, moooooving right along….

 

“What the….”

Sorry.

Mini-cows. I don’t get who comes up with these ideas. Someone has an interest in animals, a bit of time on their hands (and dollar $ign$ in their eye$?), and says to themselves,

“Selves, what can we do? Maybe we could work with existing animal welfare organizations to reduce animal suffering in, oh, say exposing the horrors of industrial farming, reversing habitat degradation which leads to species extinction….
Nope, that doesn’t interest us. We like pets. OK, let’s work for ways to reduce the surplus pet population (1.5 million shelter animals are euthanized each year in the USA  [2]  ), increase spay and neutering options and availability, and find responsible and loving homes for the animals that already exist….

 

 

MYOB and STFU, Martha; we’ve got a better idea.
Let’s take an ungulate mammal – which in 10,500 years of domestication has never been used as a companion animal – and use our knowledge of genetics and selective breeding to scale ‘em down and create a whole new market of “pets.”

The following is from the website of Lovable Little Ones, the farm business blamed credited with starting the trend. On the home page of the site there is a seven-point bullet list titled, Why Miniature Cows? Here are three of the bullet point list’s “answers” I found to be most notable and telling (and primarily aimed at potential mini-cow breeders?):

* Miniature Cows are great tax write-offs for the small acreage farmer.
* Miniature cattle can easily pay for themselves through the sale of calves and potential tax write-offs.
* Miniature Cows can be a great business opportunity. Demand for good quality miniature cows is very high. I currently have a waiting list that extends into 2021….

Yep. Gotcha.

 

 

Hey, it’s not all bad. You can size a cow down, but it will still be a ruminant with a four-chambered stomach whose nutritional requirements equal prodigious intake of fodder resulting in prodigious stool production. Translation: Mini-cow’s crap will not be so mini.

Petty little moiself adores the image that comes to mind:  the clueless/ arrogant (or even well-meaning) suburbanite with a big backyard who is the first in her neighborhood to have a mini-cow. There she is, taking her mini-cow out for a walk, nodding in greeting to dog owners, the latter tipping their metaphorical hats to her as they pass on the sidewalk, the dog owners each holding one bag of dung swinging from their grasp, she struggling to juggle eight bags of cow crap (plus her “mini” scooping shovel) ….

 

And don’t think you’ll get away with saying, “Not me – that was must have been someone else’s cow!” if your neighbors accuse you of being remiss in your scooping.

 

So, good luck with that, y’all. 

But I don’t need to wish *you* good luck, because *you* will have the good sense not to purchase one of these vanity symbols/playthings creatures, right?  As for the breeders, come on, Lovable Little Ones (and other mini-cow sellers, actual or potential) – consider the moniker you chose for your business; then pretend, if necessary, that you really do love those little ones, and don’t create them in the first place.  Put yourself out of this exploitative business.

If you really think it benefits humanity to have yet another designer animal variant, you need to talk with Wally Conron, creator of the Labradoodle:

The inventor of the labradoodle, the ubiquitous, mop-headed designer dog, said that creating the mixed breed was one of his life’s regrets.
Wally Conron, who has been credited with sparking a crossbreeding frenzy resulting in shih poos, puggles and more, said the labradoodle was originally intended as a guide dog….
“I bred the labradoodle for a blind lady whose husband was allergic to dog hair,” Mr. Conron said. “Why people are breeding them today, I haven’t got a clue….I find that the biggest majority (of the doddle-dogs) are either crazy or have a hereditary problem…I’ve done a lot of damage…I’ve created a lot of problems.”
(Conron) said that unscrupulous people setting up “horrific” puppy mills, and backyard breeders who were breeding for bucks, were to blame for producing a glut of unstable dogs that would eventually be euthanized.
In an interview with Psychology Today… Mr. Conron acknowledged that the “doodle” name was “a gimmick” that went global.
“People ask me, ‘Aren’t you proud of yourself?’ I tell them: ‘No! Not in the slightest.’ I’ve done so much harm to pure breeding and made many charlatans quite rich.  I wonder, in my retirement, whether we bred a designer dog — or a disaster!”

(Labradoodle Creator Says the Breed Is His Life’s Regret: “I opened a Pandora box and released a Frankenstein monster,” said Wally Conron,
who developed the mop-headed dog.  NY Times, 9-25-19 )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of We Are Lost, Hopelessly Lost

As the reality of the latest pandemic sets in, the world’s political leaders realize the need to consult with and empower the world’s greatest scientific/public health minds to coordinate strategy. Meanwhile, in the USA:

Donald Trump picks Mike Pence
to head government response to coronavirus.
( Headlines in newspapers across the nation, 2-26-20)

 

“Time for a quick reality check. Despite the hysteria from the political class and the media, smoking doesn’t kill.”
( [then] Congressman Mike Pence, in his op-ed “The Great American Smoke-Out,”  )

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of, I Guess It’s Enough That *We* Will Know It’s There…
But, Seriously?

Last week MH and I had our home’s upstairs carpeting replaced.  We (of course) chose the style/brand/color of the new new carpet, then just agreed with flooring store’s recommended carpet padding.  Come installation time, I’d no idea we would be getting a “woke” padding; i.e., one with a mission (or at least a message):

 

 

*   *   *

 

Department of Epicurean Excursion   [3]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:

Vegan Slow Cooking: For Two or Just For You, by Kathy Hester

Recipe:  Green Beans with Black Bean Sauce with Tofu

My rating:

 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Recipe Rating Refresher  [4]

*   *   *

May you massively reject mini-cows;
May you wonder what charitable causes *your* carpet pad is supporting;
May you continue to speak to leaders who may or may not listen;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] You have your illustrations of cuteness, and I have mine.

[2] As per ASPCA statistics.

[3] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) once recipe from one book.

[4]

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up:  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up.
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

 

The Cheese I’m Not Cutting

1 Comment

Department Of The Problem With Legalization

While I am oh-so-glad that smokers of the Stupid Sticks  [1]   no longer face criminal penalties, moiself is less-than-enthusiastic about the fact that so many of them feel free to share their rank-smelling exhalations in public.  Read: yet another beautiful stroll by the beach, tainted by an redolence that can only be described as festering skunk piss.

 

Just wait until *I* start inhaling.

 

*   *   *

Department Of If Only The Cows Could Talk

Dateline: a rainy Saturday afternoon; Tillamook Creamery.  MH and I are on the self-guided tour…  I’m not all that keen on it, but he says he hasn’t been in years… And I find moiself looking at one of the exhibits and thinking, It’s enough to turn a mostly plant-eating person like me into a full-fledged vegan (I can’t quite get moiself to give up Tillamook’s pepper jack cheese…yet).   I’m also somewhat surprised that animal rights activists haven’t defaced this audacious claim:

 

 

I know enough about the company and its history to respect Tillamook as a co-op business that strives to listen to both its customers and member farmers. But those “Good Start” fiction propaganda claims elide over the facts of what is done to dairy cows in order to get them to produce the massive amounts of milk (it takes ten pounds of milk to produce one pound of cheddar) needed for cheese production.  And it’s not as if cows sign up at the creamery due to the above minimum wage salary and awesome health benefits package. They are forced into an unnatural life;  cows evolved to make and suckle other little cows, not to provide humans with dairy and meat products.

This Good Start exhibit, the first stop on the self-guided tour, makes it sound like Man In His Infinite Wisdom® has improved upon Mother Nature – that heartless bitch who was stupid enough to evolve cows to live in groups, which is oh-so-risky for baby cows as they are in constant danger from “injuries from older, larger cows” which – what, suddenly topple over and crush the calves?  When has that ever been a thing?

Anyway, so they take un-weaned calves away from their mothers and bottle feed – y’all read that correctly, they BOTTLE FEED MILK TO A (non-orphaned) CALF, whose mother and her milk are like, right there? Somehow, in moiself’s mind, that doesn’t add up to making sure the calves are “well cared for.”

I find it sobering   [2]  to consider that those (admittedly delicious) cheeses they make come at quite a cost to the animals (humans included; we are animals, too) which provide the cheese base material.  Costs to human animals include the fact that cheese is loaded (saturated?) with saturated fat; also, consider the resources spent on raising and feeding these animals   [3]  and then trying to protect our remaining wildlands and water supply and atmosphere from the resulting methane and fertilizer and feces runoff pollution, and the dairy industry’s over-sized contribution to global warming: “In the U.S., every gallon of milk (produced) results in greenhouse gases equivalent to 17. 6 pounds of carbon dioxide emissions.…”  [4]

 

 

OK; off of my soapbox (milk crate?)…. For now.

Confession: the eleven-year-old in me loved looking through the creamery’s floor-to-ceiling windows and watching the cheese packaging assembly lines.   In my grade school, when the teachers had report card prep or whatever else arose (or maybe when they didn’t want to teach), they put us 5th and 6th graders in the school auditorium and showed us factory documentaries, wherein the wonders of the Wonder Bread (or other mass-produced and packaged) product assembly line were revealed.

Something about the assembly line process – all the machines doing one specialized thing (“I’m the bottle filler!” “I’m the bottle capper!”  “I’m the bottle label applier!”), and the factory employees in hairnets watching the machines, working together to assemble massive amounts of…stuff….  It was mesmerizing.

 

And much better than taking another boring spelling test.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Gratuitous Fart Jokes Can Be Found Anywhere

Particularly, in a cheese factory.

 

 

I hope they’ve invested in a heavy-duty ventilation system to protect their workers.

*   *   *

Department Of Privilege, Celebrity Edition

Diane Keaton is one of my favorite actors. She’s also a good writer. I enjoyed her two memoirs (“Then Again,” and “Let’s Just Say It Wasn’t Pretty”) for her life and acting observations in general, and also for her specific recollections of decades-ago So Cal life that only someone growing up in Santa Ana (as moiself and Keaton both did) can appreciate.

I just finished her latest book, Brother & Sister.  The book revolves around how her relationship with her brother devolved from childhood best buddies to somewhat estranged adults, with she and her sisters trying to be caretaker to their artistically-inclined, poetry-writing, alcoholic, mentally ill brother.  B & S has been…problematic, I’ll say.  Keaton writes with heartfelt simplicity, self-deprecating humor and candor, but this book is…missing something.  It’s lightweight in  ways that have nothing to do with its slim page count.  

Here’s my problem.  Keaton’s brother is alive today (although dying of dementia as I type this) because of a liver transplant he received 20+ years ago. It’s a problem I know about because Keaton is honest enough to include this detail in her book: she grapples (very briefly) with the fact that her name and credentials and connections (read: Hollywood movie $tar) – including a substantial financial donation to a foundation run by the hospital which did the surgery – enabled her brother to get the life-saving transplant he very likely would not otherwise have received.

 

 

Yep.  Her brother was/is a schizophrenic? /bipolar? (he received many mental health diagnoses over the years) and an alcoholic. His mental illness(es) meant he would be unable to follow the stringent, life-long, after-care routines of transplant patients (ability to do so is one of the primary factors used to calculate a patient’s position on the transplant waiting list).  He also was quite upfront about the fact that he did not intend to give up the prodigious alcohol consumption which caused his liver to fail in the first place.  And yet this man got a liver transplant, ahead of others who had been on the list before him.

David Crosby, déjà vu?  Musician Crosby’s drug and alcohol excesses were legendary, even among his hard-partying peers.   Moiself recalls being surprised when I read of his receiving a liver transplant (“He’s still alive?”), then disgusted to hear how other transplant hopefuls remained on the list while a druggie celebrity vaulted ahead of them.

Crosby’s transplant raised a number of questions including: (1) did he receive a donor liver so “quickly” because he was rich and famous, i.e. is the system fair? (2) should someone whose organ has failed because of a previous “abusive lifestyle” even be eligible to receive a transplant in light of the current donor shortage? (3) just how does the system work anyway?
(“David Crosby liver transplant sparks vigorous debate on fairness of allocation system,” Transplant News, 11-30-94)

Keaton was upfront in her book (but quickly moved on) about the fact that the preferential treatment allotted to her brother was unfair, but, after all, she was just a loving sister doing what she could for her brother.  Moiself, The Suspicious Writer Who’s Had Experience In Such Matters, ®  can’t help but think that Keaton’s brother getting an organ transplant due to Keaton’s connections is somewhat parallel to the fact that Brother & Sister, a slim rumination on family relations, would not have been published if it had been written by another (non-celebrity) author.

 

*   *   *

Department Of More Fun With Writers;
Sub-Department Of Yet Another Southern Border Crisis?

English novelist Anna Sewell, who was not a horse, wrote Black Beauty, a groundbreaking, “first person” narrative memoir of the titular stallion’s life as a London cab horse.  Beloved by millions over the years, BB was influential in inspiring nineteenth century England’s animal welfare movement.

John Steinbeck was an educated, financially comfortable, native Californian, not an illiterate, dirt-poor “Okie.”  Steinbeck penned Grapes of Wrath, arguably one of the masterpieces of American literature, his novel about desperate, impoverished Midwestern tenant farmers fleeing the Dust Bowl and economic hardship.

John Patrick Shanley is an Irish-American dramatist and husband and father. He wrote the screenplay for Moonstruck, creating Loretta Castorini, a childless, female, widowed Italian-American bookkeeper, as its memorable protagonist.

Ursula LeGuin was neither a dark-skinned androgynous denizen of an alien planet nor a Roman princess in Trojan war times, yet this American heterosexual white Earthling, managed to convincingly create the lives of these beings and more in books like The Left Hand Of Darkness, the Earthsea series, and Lavinia

Stephen King, who was not  [5]   a shy, bullied 16-year-old girl raised by a fanatical, hyper-religious single mother, somehow managed to authentically bring to life that character and more in his first published novel, Carrie.

Boys and girls, can you guess which of the latest writing-outside-your-tribe literary controversies I am not-so-obliquely referring to?

American Dirt, in case you haven’t heard, is a novel about a Mexican woman and her son, the only survivors of their family’s murder by a drug cartel, who flee for their lives and head for the USA-Mexico border.  AD was chosen as an Oprah’s Book Club selection (which almost guarantees a bajillion copies sold, plus movie options) and received glowing reviews, including from Latina authors and actors such as Sandra Cisneros and Julia Alvarez and Salma Hayek.…until someone pointed out that the novel about Mexican immigrants was written by a non-Mexican, and the cultural identity police dog-piled on.

The book’s author identifies as white and Latina and has a Puerto Rican grandmother, but that’s not Latina enough for some.  Seemingly overnight the book went being reviewed as a captivating story that could “change hearts and transform policies” (Alvarez) to being “racist” and “filled with stereotypes.”  Just as quickly, the author went from to literary prodigy to pariah…her publisher even cancelled book tour appearances because of “specific threats to the booksellers and the author.”

 

 

Education and history professor Jonathan Zimmerman wrote about how reaction to the book is emblematic of our cultural “shaming” and “mob mentality” phenomena. There are people attacking the book who don’t know anything about it except that it’s been declared “problematic” and that’s enough to get them to revile the author on social media platforms:

Mexican-American actress Salma Hayek admitted that she hadn’t read American Dirt before she hailed Oprah Winfrey for recommending it and for “giving voice to the voiceless.” But then Hayek heard a different voice — also known as a Twitter mob — and she changed her tune.

“I thank all of you who caught me in the act of not doing my research, and for setting me straight,” Hayek posted the following day, “and I apologize for shouting out something without experiencing it or doing research on it.”

Do you think Hayek read the book in the intervening 24 hours and came to a new judgment of it? Think again. Her “research” was of the social media variety, confirming that a lot of people were very offended by American Dirt. And that was all she needed to know.

A writer for the celebrity website Hola! congratulated Hayek for backtracking. “It takes guts to admit when you’re wrong,” wrote Robert Peterpaul, “but Salma Hayek is gutsy.” Really? How much courage is required to put your finger in the air, figure out which way the Instagram winds are blowing, and adjust your opinions accordingly?

( “ ‘American Dirt’ controversy scores another win for mob mentality,”
Philadelphia Inquirer 2-3-20)

 

 

Can a book be “good” or “bad” because of/in spite of what you think about the author’s personal characteristics, or their “qualifications” to write it in the first place?  I’m not talking about textbooks, instruction manuals, or nonfiction – not talking about how, yes, you’d want a rocket scientist and not a manicurist to write a rocket science manual. But the qualifications for a fiction writer to write on any subject are a bit more subjective, and include interest, imagination, and empathy.

There are legitimate beefs being brought up in the AD brouhaha, having to do with the historical marginalization of “non-mainstream” voices.  From talk show gag writing to movie directing, arts and literature are (still) fields rigged by and designed to favor white males.  Many of these men are sincere allies of female/non-white artists; nevertheless, it is sadly apparent that they don’t understand that the playing field is (still) not level, as indicated by comments such as, that when it comes to voting for awards they “…would never consider diversity in matters of art. Only quality.”   [6]

 

 

There are *so many* conversations to be had about the historic and ongoing dominance of the while/male perspective in the arts in general and literature in particular, including who gets to decide what is “quality” and who’s perspectives are publishable or award-worthy…and who gets a million dollar advance for their book.

Novelist Ann Patchett, pointing out that the AD author had received a seven-figure advance for her novel:

“I read the book and I loved it…There’s a level of viciousness that comes from a woman getting a big advance and a lot of attention….  If it had been a small advance with a small review in the back of the book section, I don’t think we’d be seeing the same level of outrage.”
( “Cultural appropriation, say critics. Sexism, defenders say of the criticism. How ‘American Dirt’ launched a publishing firestorm,” The Oregonian, 1-27-20)

The thing is, now that the caca has hit the fan, no one, from layperson reader to professional literary critic, will be able to read or review the book objectively without their reactions and opinions being viewed through the warped lens of identity politics.  As I have written before and will doubtless write again, my main concern in these literary skirmishes is my concern for censorship (and worse yet, IMHO, self-censorship), in that a writer’s personal characteristics are deemed more important than their capacity for imagination, research, and empathy.

One of the most dangerous but effective kinds of censorship for a writer is when “they” get you to do it to yourself. I’ve watched with lip-curling disdain and alarm while claims of authenticity and charges of appropriation have seeped into the literary and publishing world.

The stench of the well-intended, silent-but-deadly admonition to “write what you know” has become “write what you are,” and the cherished ideals of imagination, empathy and craft are in danger of becoming subservient to identity politics.

In this write-what-you-know/are, A & A (authenticity & appropriation) world, an author cannot – or rather, should not – create or even write about certain characters unless the author shares what the self-appointed A & A police deem as those characters’ primary representative markers (hint: “race,” ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, dis/ability….).

(“The Comments I’m Not Making,” 9-27-19)

 

 

Yep, I’m quoting moiself.  Because…I can.

“I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation.”
(George Bernard Shaw)

*   *   *

Department of Epicurean Excursion   [7]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:
Vegan Planet, by Robin Robertson

Recipes:
* Mahogany Eggplant
* Red Bean and Sweet Potato Curry

My rating for both recipes:

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Recipe Rating Refresher  [8] 

*   *   *

May you “play fair” in matters of life and death and organ transplants;
May you realize when the playing fields are and are not level;
May you eat less cheese (but tell more cutting-the-cheese jokes);
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] My old nickname for joints, because of the effect it had on those who, unlike Bill Clinton,* did* inhale.

[2] And it was the early afternoon and I was already sober.

[3] More farmland in the USA is devoted to raising meat-animal feed than food for human animals.

[4] “Cows vs. Nuts: Who Gets to Be Called Milk, and Are They Climate Friendly?”

[5] Although, with a Stephen King book, anything could happen….

[6] Author Stephen King made that Tweet, regarding the 2020 “Oscars-So-White-male” controversy. King, a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, gets to vote in certain Oscar award categories.

[7] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) once recipe from one book.

[8]

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up :  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up .
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

 

The Images I’m Not Unseeing

2 Comments

Department Of Just Wondering

Moiself recently heard an ad for a health supplement product which, according to the enthusiastic supplement hawker, contains “…both prebiotics and probiotics.” This made me wonder (but not enough that I Googled it, found out the answer, and destroyed the mystery) what that means; as in, I don’t exactly understand the terms.   Are prebiotics biotics before they turn pro?

 

*   *   *

Department Of I Can’t Unsee This,
And Now, Neither Can You

Dateline: Wednesday am. As usual at the breakfast table, the second section of the NY Times  [1]  I read is the Food section.  Imagine moiself’s surprise when my eyes are seared greeted, not by the customary page 1 depiction of a delectable dish, but by a photograph of hirsute, floppy torsos gathered around a kitchen island. The sickening spectacle picture accompanies an article titled, The Joy of Cooking Naked.

“Despite the occasional splatter burn, nudists say their relationship to eating, at home or in restaurants, is better and healthier without all the clothing.”

Well, of course they do.

I don’t know about y’all, but nothing takes moiself further from the concept of a “better” and “healthier” relationship to food that seeing man-boob hairs dangling precariously above the salad bowl.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of You May Notice An Ongoing Theme

Yet another rumination of mine related to my previous blog posts sparked by the story of Chanel Miller, the writer   [2]  who was raped by the Stanford student/athlete.  Miller’s profound query/accusation about social mores and attitudes about men and woman and rape and “consent” keeps coming back to mind…because the world we (as in, we women) live in keeps reminding me:

“When a woman is assaulted, one of the first questions people ask is, ‘Did you say no?’ This question assumes the answer was always yes, and that it is her job to revoke the agreement. To defuse the bomb she was given.
But why are they allowed to touch us until we physically fight them off?

Why is the door open until we have to slam it shut?

Yet another such reminder surfaced when I was in Tacoma, helping daughter Belle move to a new apartment.   Belle and I discussed the “reminder” (ah, the intimacies that can be traded while riding in a U-Haul cargo van) as well as how she, moiself, and other womenfolk we know have pledged, not to hector, but to remind menfolk at every opportunity how time- and resource-consuming it is to navigate as a female in this world. We’d like y’all to know that such reminders, when we share with you our stories of the latest “incident,” are not occasional occurrences. Rather, they happen All. The. Time.

The reminder of which I speak:

Dateline: two weeks ago Friday, in the early afternoon.  My car is parked around the corner from the entrance to the apartment building Belle is moving into.  We are each attired in clothing that could best be described as “moving friendly” (casual/exercise clothes).  Belle is on one side of the open rear door to my car; I am at the other side; both of us are about to pick up boxes packed with books, kitchen items, linens, etc.  

 

Is this enticing behavior, or what?

 

A man in his late 20s-early 30s swaggers by us on the sidewalk, reeking of attitude.  He is dressed inappropriately for the weather – no jacket, sweatshirt, or upper layers despite the temperature being in the low 40s, only a thin, tight tank top covers his muscled torso. When he is about fifteen feet past my car he turns around and calls out to Belle:

“I don’t mean to bother you, but you are ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS.”

Belle flashes a WTF look at me and mutters, “Uh…yeah…right.” I doubt he heard her.

I-don’t-mean-to-bother-you Man keeps walking, backward, as if (despite his claim that he didn’t want to bother her) waiting for Belle’s reaction.  And – I found this interesting – he makes direct eye contact with *moiself* while doing so, in a way that reminds me of a schoolyard bully issuing a challenge.  After three to four slow beats, he turns back around and struts down the street, on his original course to…wherever.

Belle and I heft boxes from my car to the apartment building’s entryway.  We return for more boxes; Belle gets there first.  As I approach the car I see Man #2 walk by, behind Belle, who has her back to him as she reaches for another box. This man remains silent, but cranes his neck, his eyes brazenly fixed in the proverbial glued-to-her-ass mode, as he slowly saunters past her.

As soon as Lech #2 passes out of earshot I tell Belle what I’ve seen.  In (only partially) mock outrage, I declare, “What is it with Tacoma men?!”

But before the comment fully escapes my mouth, I’ve already answered it, silently, to myself, with the exact rebuttal Belle says aloud:

“It’s not *Tacoma* men; it’s just…men.”

 

“If you hadn’t been dressed so provocatively….”

 

We talked “about it” later that afternoon, in the afore-mentioned U-Haul.   [3]   “About it” includes how a part of me wanted to say to I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man, when he made the comment to Belle and then looked at me, “Hey, I’m her MOTHER.” “About it” also includes how another part of me wanted to ask him, “Why do you do that? (something about his manner assured me that was not the first time he’d commented upon the looks of an unknown – to him – female, in public). “Dude, does that *work* for you? Is she supposed to say, ‘Oh gee, thanks so much, come back in 30 minutes for your blow job?’ ”

We talked about how often these things happen to Belle and her female friends.  Moiself recalled how it was the *exception* to the rule when I was her age and, say, out for a run, to *not* receive any commentary from a man or men (passing by, in cars or on foot), about my appearance.  [4]  We talked about reactions Belle has received from people when she shares such stories – how a few folks, mostly men but sometimes also women, get…not angry, but slightly irritated or confused, and say something ala, “Well, what’s wrong with it?  Maybe he (I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man) was just one of those people who’s made a vow to say something nice to someone every day.”

I haven’t that vow, but as my children and husband can vouch, I do something similar: I make “nice” comments to strangers (both men and women), at every opportunity.  But, I know the difference between what I do – offer innocuous, always positive remarks –  and what I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man did; I know why I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man’s remark bothers most women, even if we cannot always fully articulate *why* it bothers us (hint: because we know we’ll get slammed for doing so).

I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man made a very personal remark to a person
with whom he had no personal relationship.

For a variety of reasons (mostly having to do with an, oh-this-is-serious/life-is-short realization I had many years back), I tell people, acquaintances and strangers alike, something complimentary about them when it comes to my mind. I’m no fucking Pollyanna, it’s just when I see something that makes me smile, I want to share it.

“Excuse me, that’s a cool coat you’re wearing.”

“Dude, that is one serious backpack – what a color!”    [5]

“Those shoes are fantastic, and they look really comfortable.”

“Oh, that looks like the happiest puppy in the world.”

“That handbag is great – I love all the pockets….”

All of these commendations have something to do with what the person *did* (they chose the backpack or shoes), with choices they made. They actively chose to buy that coat or adopt that dog or use that purse today; they didn’t choose their gender, bone structure, or physique.  Those type of observations (“Chartreuse is a happy color for a grocery bag, isn’t it?!”) aren’t personal, not in the intrusive and suggestive way comments about your body or appearance – especially from a stranger – are.

 

All this intensity deserves a Baby Sloth In PJs break.

 

Department Of Getting To The Point

A simple yet intense reality:  the risks faced or taken by I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man, vis-à-vis those of any woman whom I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Man  is supposedly not bothering, are quite different, particularly when it comes to possible outcomes of their encounter.  He gambles with rejection; she chances assault and murder.

What does he risk, at most, in making “compliments” to a (female) stranger?  She might ignore him; she might do the embarrassed smile thing; she might take offense and tell him to shut up or FUCK OFF,”….    He risks having his feelings hurt.

She, however: if she responds or acknowledges him *in any way,* risks encouraging a man she does not know into thinking he can approach her.  Have you ever talked to a police officer or counselor or other professionals who specialize in dealing with sexual assault cases? They’ll tell you that an MO for some sexual predators is to “test” women and girls, by making comments to them and seeing if they can get a response.  Ask almost any woman who’s been in this situation and has had some man, seemingly just passing by, say something to her, and then turn around and approach (or even follow her) when they get a response (even a negative one).

It’s lose-lose for women when they encounter I-don’t-want-to-bother-you Men. If you turn a cold shoulder/give no response at all, or or respond negatively to the stranger(s) who make comments to you, you are a cold/unfriendly/unkind/humorless bitch who’s making the world a mean and suspicious place.  If you do respond positively in any way, and then the man (or some man after that) approaches, pursues, and harasses (or assaults, or….) you, “Well, what were you expecting?”  “Why were you talking to or accepting compliments from a stranger?” “Why did you “lead him on?”….

 

 

My daughter’s new apartment is similar to her previous one, in terms of the relative sketchiness of its downtown Tacoma neighborhood.  Although Belle will be mostly walking to and from work, she opted to pay an extra fee each month for access to a parking space in a secured garage in her apartment’s basement.   I’m glad she did, even as I rue that extra expense for her, as well as the other costs that she and her female peers weigh and take on, in matters of security and safety that don’t occur to their male friends.  We live in the kind of world where it is more expensive to just navigate your way as a female – you pay extra in a variety of ways, from financial to psychological, to have one more degree of safety. One more thing that a guy her age walking to and from work, or to and from his car parked on the street, might not even consider.

 

Men are afraid that women will laugh at them.
Women are afraid that men will kill them.
(Margaret Atwood, Canadian novelist)

 

*   *   *

Department of Epicurean Excursion   [6]

Featuring this week’s cookbook, author and recipe:
Vegan For Everybody, by America’s Test Kitchen

Recipe:  Potato Vindaloo

My rating: 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

 

Recipe Rating Refresher  [7]    

*   *   *

May you keep your torso (etcetera) covered in *my* kitchen;
May you enjoy satisfying revenge dreams about causing strangers
who leer at your daughter
to have their genitals acquire Necrotizing Soft Tissue Infections;
May you refrain from commenting on the bodies of strangers;   [8]
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] The first section is Arts, so I can do their KenKen puzzles.[2] Know My Name, a memoir of Miller’s assault and her life before and after her assailant’s trial and conviction.

[3] Which I’d rented for the heavy-duty, big ass items such, as bed, dresser, futon, etc., which would not fit into my Subaru Outback nor Belle’s Honda Fit.

[4] The intelligible comments were always related to that; sometimes where were just whistles, grunts, groans, and words that might be closely translated to, ”Hey baby….”

[5]  Actually, I rarely address guys as “dude” in real life. That’s what blogs are for.

[6] A recurring feature of this blog, since week 2 of April 2019, wherein moiself decided that moiself would go through my cookbooks alphabetically and, one day a week, cook (at least) once recipe from one book.

[7]

* Two Thumbs up:  Liked it
* Two Hamster Thumbs Up :  Loved it
* Thumbs Down – Not even Kevin, a character from The Office who’d eat anything, would like this.
* Twiddling Thumbs: I was, in due course, bored by this recipe.
* Thumbscrew: It was torture to make this recipe.
* All Thumbs: Good recipe, but I somehow mucked it up.
* Thumby McThumb Face: This recipe was fun to make.
* Thumbing my nose: Yeah, I made this recipe, but I did not respect it.

[8] Or acquaintances, for that matter.  Unless either seems at risk of shedding man-boob hairs in your Caesar salad.

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