12.10.2009
ugh this is beautiful and she is adorable. i find myself adoring her.
"youre the reason why ill move to the city youre the reason why ill leave."
Sweet and Spicy Toasted Pecans
even if it has to happen at midnight, which im guessing it will based on my nutty schedule this week, im going to make these sweet n spicy little buggers and im going to put them in the pretty orange tin i have been waiting to use for dad and sandra who im visiting this weekend out in the way west of mass. even if it lays me LOW so help me i will make these and i will gift them.
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/2 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste (use less if butter is salted)
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, to taste
4 cups pecan halves
Makes 4 cups
preheat the oven to 300°F.
Melt butter with brown sugar and maple syrup in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat and stir in salt and spices. Pour over pecans, toss them well, and lay out on a cookie sheet that has been covered with parchment paper. Bake for 30 to 45 minutes depending on how crispy you like them. Stir once during baking. Remove from oven and allow pecans to cool on the cookie sheet. Store pecans in an airtight container.
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/2 teaspoon sea salt, or to taste (use less if butter is salted)
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper, to taste
4 cups pecan halves
Makes 4 cups
preheat the oven to 300°F.
Melt butter with brown sugar and maple syrup in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat and stir in salt and spices. Pour over pecans, toss them well, and lay out on a cookie sheet that has been covered with parchment paper. Bake for 30 to 45 minutes depending on how crispy you like them. Stir once during baking. Remove from oven and allow pecans to cool on the cookie sheet. Store pecans in an airtight container.
12.09.2009
12.08.2009
Aimless Love
This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
-Billy Collins
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door –
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor –
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
-Billy Collins
Starlings in Winter
Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
-Mary Oliver
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.
-Mary Oliver
12.03.2009
just pasting a convo up here that i dont want to forget. this goes back to the hope issue.
A: i believe people are inherently good. and if they are not its b/c the world has been unfair to them along the way. even the people who fuck me over, i end up defending in some regard
me: i believe people are inherintly selfish and if they arent its because they had a fantastic parent. and if there is no such thing as unfair, just the cards were dealt and how were either wired or taught to deal with them.
A: wow. those are two differing perspectives
me: were hardwired to look out for ourselves. thats what i mean by selfish. we do defend ourselves, we are defensive by nature, we are out for our own protection.
A: i believe people care for others and try to do the right thing. right by themselves and right by their brothers. work really hard to not screw people over intentionally and to be honest when it counts
me: nope. dont agree. i think thats religion and peer pressure that keeps us doing right by our brother. have you ever watched people walk by a homeless person lying sprawled on the ground in manhattan? no one stops to see if hes dead. i think people would rather not screw other people over because religion and our parents and society impose whats right and wrong and that honesty is correct but ultimately our instincts are to do what is best for us. and i dont think people will go that much out of hteir way to help someone else out. particularly not a stranger
A: i believe that everyone wants to do right by others but that we live in fear and that social strata and functioning institutions of order have been organized around stratification, fear, and denial of need. after all how else could the market run?
me: fear, yes i can see that being a factor
A: i see what your saying, but i don't know if its instinctual
me: peopel are afraid of the homeless man.
A: they are. they have learned to be. this is what i learn from watching children
me: they help another kid who has fallen down?
A: no, but they don't run away from a kid who has fallen down. these things are learned
me: i dont know. i think people are good to themselves first, and to the people who they know and love intimately, namely their families, second. its a survival tactic, a species couldnt survive if they were universally compassionate.
A: yes. but thats why we form social groups. and kinship ties
god i can't wait until i've been in school longer and i actually know how to talk about this stuff instead of pulling it out from dusty corners of supposition. so i'm sorry if my argument seems weak. in comparison to what you are saying
me: dont be sorry. and i dont think theres a way in the world that you could convince me that people are not inherently selfish and will only go out of their way to do good if it is easy or if they are feeling pressure from society. this is what my experience has been. it doesnt mean i dont love love love people, i love studying them i love seeing what makes people go out of their way, how we balance our self protective instincts with our inherent loneliness, the other major weight on the scale... we are lazy and selfish yes but we are also lonely. and that leaves us vulnerable and it lets us love and that makes us do all kinds of things that are difficult, not lazy, and selfless in a way... i love people. but thats what i believe is operating at their core.
me: i believe people are inherintly selfish and if they arent its because they had a fantastic parent. and if there is no such thing as unfair, just the cards were dealt and how were either wired or taught to deal with them.
A: wow. those are two differing perspectives
me: were hardwired to look out for ourselves. thats what i mean by selfish. we do defend ourselves, we are defensive by nature, we are out for our own protection.
A: i believe people care for others and try to do the right thing. right by themselves and right by their brothers. work really hard to not screw people over intentionally and to be honest when it counts
me: nope. dont agree. i think thats religion and peer pressure that keeps us doing right by our brother. have you ever watched people walk by a homeless person lying sprawled on the ground in manhattan? no one stops to see if hes dead. i think people would rather not screw other people over because religion and our parents and society impose whats right and wrong and that honesty is correct but ultimately our instincts are to do what is best for us. and i dont think people will go that much out of hteir way to help someone else out. particularly not a stranger
A: i believe that everyone wants to do right by others but that we live in fear and that social strata and functioning institutions of order have been organized around stratification, fear, and denial of need. after all how else could the market run?
me: fear, yes i can see that being a factor
A: i see what your saying, but i don't know if its instinctual
me: peopel are afraid of the homeless man.
A: they are. they have learned to be. this is what i learn from watching children
me: they help another kid who has fallen down?
A: no, but they don't run away from a kid who has fallen down. these things are learned
me: i dont know. i think people are good to themselves first, and to the people who they know and love intimately, namely their families, second. its a survival tactic, a species couldnt survive if they were universally compassionate.
A: yes. but thats why we form social groups. and kinship ties
god i can't wait until i've been in school longer and i actually know how to talk about this stuff instead of pulling it out from dusty corners of supposition. so i'm sorry if my argument seems weak. in comparison to what you are saying
me: dont be sorry. and i dont think theres a way in the world that you could convince me that people are not inherently selfish and will only go out of their way to do good if it is easy or if they are feeling pressure from society. this is what my experience has been. it doesnt mean i dont love love love people, i love studying them i love seeing what makes people go out of their way, how we balance our self protective instincts with our inherent loneliness, the other major weight on the scale... we are lazy and selfish yes but we are also lonely. and that leaves us vulnerable and it lets us love and that makes us do all kinds of things that are difficult, not lazy, and selfless in a way... i love people. but thats what i believe is operating at their core.
Dunn gone and summed up the entire human experience in a poem. again.
(sorry i couldnt help it)
Desire
I remember how it used to be
at noon, springtime, the city streets
full of office workers like myself
let loose from the cold
glass buildings on Park and Lex,
the dull swaddling of winter cast off,
almost everyone wanting
everyone else. It was amazing
how most of us contained ourselves,
bringing desire back up
to the office where it existed anyway,
quiet, like a good engine.
I'd linger a bit
with the receptionist,
knock on someone else's open door,
ease myself, by increments,
into the seriousness they paid me for.
Desire was everywhere those years,
so enormous it couldn't be reduced
one person at a time.
I don't remember when it was,
though closer to now than then,
I walked the streets desireless,
my eyes fixed on destination alone.
The beautiful person across from me
on the bus or train
looked like effort, work.
I translated her into pain.
For months I had the clarity
the cynical survive with,
their world so safely small.
Today, walking 57th toward 3rd,
it's all come back,
the interesting, the various,
the conjured life suggested by a glance.
I praise how the body heals itself.
I praise how, finally, it never learns.
Stephan Dunn
Desire
I remember how it used to be
at noon, springtime, the city streets
full of office workers like myself
let loose from the cold
glass buildings on Park and Lex,
the dull swaddling of winter cast off,
almost everyone wanting
everyone else. It was amazing
how most of us contained ourselves,
bringing desire back up
to the office where it existed anyway,
quiet, like a good engine.
I'd linger a bit
with the receptionist,
knock on someone else's open door,
ease myself, by increments,
into the seriousness they paid me for.
Desire was everywhere those years,
so enormous it couldn't be reduced
one person at a time.
I don't remember when it was,
though closer to now than then,
I walked the streets desireless,
my eyes fixed on destination alone.
The beautiful person across from me
on the bus or train
looked like effort, work.
I translated her into pain.
For months I had the clarity
the cynical survive with,
their world so safely small.
Today, walking 57th toward 3rd,
it's all come back,
the interesting, the various,
the conjured life suggested by a glance.
I praise how the body heals itself.
I praise how, finally, it never learns.
Stephan Dunn
beginings of a grilled cheese menu for my cafe-in-the-sky
some invented some found on the web, this list will be an ongoing project and i hope to name each one i try and love. feel free to offer names! and other suggestions!! im going to try all of these and let you know. ill take pictures if possible. last night i made number 7, the prosciutto and fig jam deal but we didnt use arugala and it needed it. so when i make it again ill take a pic.
tonight, number 1...
1. apple and aged cheddar on walnut bread
2. pear and smoked gouda and arugala on white
3. grape and taleggio soaked in grappa (read about this on a great site) on whole wheat bread.
4. roasted chevre and beets and sweet balsamic on french bread
5. sundried tomato pesto and mozz
6. sweet hot mustard and jarlsberg on pretzel roll (also on the web, have yet to try but UGH)
7. mozzarella prosciutto fig jam and arugal on ciabatta
8. black forest ham carmalized onions and cambozola
9. blue cheese bacon tomato and egg (like a cobb salad!)
tonight, number 1...
1. apple and aged cheddar on walnut bread
2. pear and smoked gouda and arugala on white
3. grape and taleggio soaked in grappa (read about this on a great site) on whole wheat bread.
4. roasted chevre and beets and sweet balsamic on french bread
5. sundried tomato pesto and mozz
6. sweet hot mustard and jarlsberg on pretzel roll (also on the web, have yet to try but UGH)
7. mozzarella prosciutto fig jam and arugal on ciabatta
8. black forest ham carmalized onions and cambozola
9. blue cheese bacon tomato and egg (like a cobb salad!)
12.02.2009
break the wishbone. and a heart while youre at it. fascinating how predictable we humans are.
Want To Break Up? 'Tis The Season, So Better Hurry
November 28, 2009 - NPR
It's not just turkeys that get nervous this time of year. Chances are high that a failing relationship will also meet its end during the holidays. That's because it's not just turkey season — it's turkey drop season.
"The turkey drop is that holiday breakup season where all the college students return home for their first major vacation, and everyone breaks up," Washington University junior Carly MacLeod tells guest host Robert Smith. She writes the romance column for the student newspaper.
It's often freshmen who do the majority of the turkey dropping, MacLeod says. After three months living apart and making new friends, high school sweethearts reunite to find their long-distance relationship is more burden than they want. Upcoming finals add to the emotional stress. "Go home, hook up and break up is pretty much the pattern," MacLeod says.
You're not safe from the turkey drop if you're out of college, either, according to relationship and sex advice guru Dan Savage. "For grown-ups," he says, "it's the anticipation of being stuck for three or four more months.
"You're a cad if you break up around Christmas. And then there's New Year's — and you can't dump somebody right around New Year's. After that, if you don't jump on it, is Valentine's Day," Savage says. "God forbid if their birthday should fall somewhere between November and February — then you're really stuck.
"Thanksgiving is really when you have to pull the trigger if you're not willing to tough it out through February."
Both Savage and MacLeod speak from experience. MacLeod was turkey dropped her first year in college, by a boyfriend who told her the distance was too hard to handle. "He was still a senior in high school," she says. "That one hurt even a little bit more than, I think, a regular breakup."
Savage doesn't have any advice to share from his breakup. "I'm actually bad at the turkey drop," he says. "I had a turkey drop that was coming, and I fled the state."
November 28, 2009 - NPR
It's not just turkeys that get nervous this time of year. Chances are high that a failing relationship will also meet its end during the holidays. That's because it's not just turkey season — it's turkey drop season.
"The turkey drop is that holiday breakup season where all the college students return home for their first major vacation, and everyone breaks up," Washington University junior Carly MacLeod tells guest host Robert Smith. She writes the romance column for the student newspaper.
It's often freshmen who do the majority of the turkey dropping, MacLeod says. After three months living apart and making new friends, high school sweethearts reunite to find their long-distance relationship is more burden than they want. Upcoming finals add to the emotional stress. "Go home, hook up and break up is pretty much the pattern," MacLeod says.
You're not safe from the turkey drop if you're out of college, either, according to relationship and sex advice guru Dan Savage. "For grown-ups," he says, "it's the anticipation of being stuck for three or four more months.
"You're a cad if you break up around Christmas. And then there's New Year's — and you can't dump somebody right around New Year's. After that, if you don't jump on it, is Valentine's Day," Savage says. "God forbid if their birthday should fall somewhere between November and February — then you're really stuck.
"Thanksgiving is really when you have to pull the trigger if you're not willing to tough it out through February."
Both Savage and MacLeod speak from experience. MacLeod was turkey dropped her first year in college, by a boyfriend who told her the distance was too hard to handle. "He was still a senior in high school," she says. "That one hurt even a little bit more than, I think, a regular breakup."
Savage doesn't have any advice to share from his breakup. "I'm actually bad at the turkey drop," he says. "I had a turkey drop that was coming, and I fled the state."
12.01.2009
to do/gift list, maybe if i make it public i'll make it happen?
- set up boarding situation for kitty over holiday
- write to eli to apply for internship
- investigate cooking, farming, teaching riding in geneva/switzerland in general
- get appt to get treadless tires changed
- get windshield wiper fluid, oil, water, everything fluid in the car because shes dry as a bone
- pass car inspection
- figure out why comcast sent me a bill for negative 80 dollars
- create poetry collections for dad, mom, grandmother, sandra, liz, steph, others
- make fortune cookies for sandra and dad
- bauhaus book for mom or book on how to draw for fashion, Fashion Design Drawing Course or Essential Fashion Illustration
- donate to EMA on behalf of friends, family and coworkers for holidays, send acknowledgements
this poem is the opposite of what im writing these days, but exactly what I wish to write
it also discusses a kind of person i am not, but exactly who i wish to be
I Foresee the Breaking of All That Is Breakable
Perhaps, after all, it is merely a desire
to use the word thanatopsical—
but if you can wash or handle
artifacts like this blue
tea mug, carried from Crete as a gift
from a friend, or this nacreous
orange bowl,
a honeymoon souvenir
bought in a now-defunct artists'
shop in Colorado, or
this antique Chinese mudman
carrying his sponges
and fish from a day at the pier,
without a pathological
fixation on the day you will stumble
and drop it, or smack it
against the sink divider or brush
it with a hand reaching
for the letter opener, you are junzi:
a superior person, as Confucius had it.
You probably make love
to your spouse without imagining
betrayal and pay taxes
without complaint
because you think nothing
in truth belongs to you.
They invented the earth for people
like you, and then salted it.
by john estes
I Foresee the Breaking of All That Is Breakable
Perhaps, after all, it is merely a desire
to use the word thanatopsical—
but if you can wash or handle
artifacts like this blue
tea mug, carried from Crete as a gift
from a friend, or this nacreous
orange bowl,
a honeymoon souvenir
bought in a now-defunct artists'
shop in Colorado, or
this antique Chinese mudman
carrying his sponges
and fish from a day at the pier,
without a pathological
fixation on the day you will stumble
and drop it, or smack it
against the sink divider or brush
it with a hand reaching
for the letter opener, you are junzi:
a superior person, as Confucius had it.
You probably make love
to your spouse without imagining
betrayal and pay taxes
without complaint
because you think nothing
in truth belongs to you.
They invented the earth for people
like you, and then salted it.
by john estes
when it rains it pours
today i feel like stars are aligning my poppers!
maybe tomorrow i will feel like stars are falling out of the sky and hitting me on the head burning my face into an unrecognizable pulp of scar tissue
but today, i feel quite positively positive about my prospects!
this poem breaks me a little
the planned child
I hated the fact that they had planned me, she had taken
a cardboard out of his shirt from the laundry
as if sliding the backbone up out of his body,
and made a chart of the month and put
her temperature on it, rising and falling,
to know the day to make me - I would have
liked to have been conceived in heat,
in haste, by mistake, in love, in sex,
not on cardboard, the little x on the
rising line that did not fall again.
But when a friend was pouring wine
and said that I seem to have been a child who had been wanted,
I took the wine against my lips
as if my mouth were moving along
that valved wall in my mother's body, she was
bearing down, and then breathing from the mask, and then
bearing down, pressing me out into
the world that was not enough for her without me in it,
not the moon, the sun, Orion
cartwheeling across the dark, not
the earth, the sea - none of it
was enough, for her, without me.
by sharon olds
I hated the fact that they had planned me, she had taken
a cardboard out of his shirt from the laundry
as if sliding the backbone up out of his body,
and made a chart of the month and put
her temperature on it, rising and falling,
to know the day to make me - I would have
liked to have been conceived in heat,
in haste, by mistake, in love, in sex,
not on cardboard, the little x on the
rising line that did not fall again.
But when a friend was pouring wine
and said that I seem to have been a child who had been wanted,
I took the wine against my lips
as if my mouth were moving along
that valved wall in my mother's body, she was
bearing down, and then breathing from the mask, and then
bearing down, pressing me out into
the world that was not enough for her without me in it,
not the moon, the sun, Orion
cartwheeling across the dark, not
the earth, the sea - none of it
was enough, for her, without me.
by sharon olds
11.25.2009
oh for christsake
im going to admit something: im a compete failure in the kitchen.
i love food
i love cooking it serving it learning about it comparing it savoring it playing with it sharing it
and yet
every damn time i go in the kitchen with the best of intensions, SOMETHING goes wrong
sometimes that leads to greatness, glory, the stuff of legends
but just as often it leads to chaos mayhem and inedible food that gets thrown out still encrusted to the container in which it met its doom
case in point:
tonight i spent two hours making double butter triple almond extract fortune cookies stuffed with a stubbs postcard cut into strips on which id hand written a favorite poem by jack gilbert.
the cookies were 200% improved from my first fortune cookie venture.
they were wafer thin, buttery, crispy as crackers and beautifully browned.
i folded in the fortunes, found a beautiful tin, layered them into the tin and was just lifting it up to put it gingerly in my room to bring to my godmothers for thanksgiving tomorrow when the evil sprite that seems to follow me everywhere threw down the banana peel.
i slipped, grabbed, thrashed, flailed and finally hurled the tin across the room smashing every single cookie to smithereens.
steph, roommate, saw and gaped, trying not to laugh but there was really nothing left to do except howl with laughter and hten sit down and eat the whole entire batch. i mean really.
anyway in their honor im passing on the winning recipe and the poem that was held in that sweet far too fragile shell
Ingredients
2 egg whites, room temperature
6 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour, sifted
1/4 teaspoons vanilla extract
Directions
Whip the egg whites until stiff and chill. In a mixer, cream the butter, then add the sugar and continue mixing. Add the flour and blend in, then add the vanilla and blend again. Add the chilled egg whites and mix on low until well incorporated and the batter is smooth. With a small offset spatula, spread batter in a circle about 3 per cookie sheet. Bake in a preheated 330-degree oven until light golden brown, 7 to 8 minutes. Quickly remove the pan from the oven and one at time place a fortune across the center with a bit hanging out. Fold cookie circle in thirds over fortune with flaps only slightly overlapping each other. Turn over and bring opposing sides together and pinch.
The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.
--Jack GIlbert
i love food
i love cooking it serving it learning about it comparing it savoring it playing with it sharing it
and yet
every damn time i go in the kitchen with the best of intensions, SOMETHING goes wrong
sometimes that leads to greatness, glory, the stuff of legends
but just as often it leads to chaos mayhem and inedible food that gets thrown out still encrusted to the container in which it met its doom
case in point:
tonight i spent two hours making double butter triple almond extract fortune cookies stuffed with a stubbs postcard cut into strips on which id hand written a favorite poem by jack gilbert.
the cookies were 200% improved from my first fortune cookie venture.
they were wafer thin, buttery, crispy as crackers and beautifully browned.
i folded in the fortunes, found a beautiful tin, layered them into the tin and was just lifting it up to put it gingerly in my room to bring to my godmothers for thanksgiving tomorrow when the evil sprite that seems to follow me everywhere threw down the banana peel.
i slipped, grabbed, thrashed, flailed and finally hurled the tin across the room smashing every single cookie to smithereens.
steph, roommate, saw and gaped, trying not to laugh but there was really nothing left to do except howl with laughter and hten sit down and eat the whole entire batch. i mean really.
anyway in their honor im passing on the winning recipe and the poem that was held in that sweet far too fragile shell
Ingredients
2 egg whites, room temperature
6 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup flour, sifted
1/4 teaspoons vanilla extract
Directions
Whip the egg whites until stiff and chill. In a mixer, cream the butter, then add the sugar and continue mixing. Add the flour and blend in, then add the vanilla and blend again. Add the chilled egg whites and mix on low until well incorporated and the batter is smooth. With a small offset spatula, spread batter in a circle about 3 per cookie sheet. Bake in a preheated 330-degree oven until light golden brown, 7 to 8 minutes. Quickly remove the pan from the oven and one at time place a fortune across the center with a bit hanging out. Fold cookie circle in thirds over fortune with flaps only slightly overlapping each other. Turn over and bring opposing sides together and pinch.
The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.
--Jack GIlbert
11.16.2009
i feel high im laughing so hard
have we all heard of FU Penguin? because i hadnt and now, an hour later having gone shamelessly through all the posts laughing til i peed a little all the way, i am a happier person.
its like dane cook ala "punch every bee in the face" crossed with cuteoverload. the combo is LETHAL.
example posts:
subject: I think you may have sat on your own face, clown monkey
Mandrill, I'd like to introduce you to a concept called restraint. Here's how it works: I don't make fun of the fact that you think chewing on a twig is cool, and you refrain from looking like your mom had sex with a box of Fruit Loops and made you. Honestly, of all the ridiculously insane monkeys out there, you have to be the craziest one of all. You're a primate, Mandrill, not a fucking Care Bear.
And as if it wasn't enough that you have a Van Gogh painting on your ass, you just had to get like an all-time amazing shampoo/blow out at the local salon. HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE IN THE WILD. It's so silky and planned, you are way too entirely ready for a night on the town in your rockin' unbuttoned shirt and puka shell necklace. Please stop your misguided search for a mate, wipe that shit off your face, and start eating a banana or something so other monkeys won't talk about you behind your back so much.
subject: Stay away from my family, Gerenuk
What is it about weird antelopes? Gerenuk, you are so adorable, yet so terrifying, like a Disney character that ends up torturing Bambi's mother while Bambi watches. You have a normal torso, but other than that I am creeped out by literally everything else about you.
It's the head that really gets me, though. You could have weirdly long legs, a bushy mohawk tail, a weirdly thin, long neck, and ears with pitchfork marks inside of them, and if you had a normal-sized head, I would be like, "Touché." But your head basically makes me want to write my congressman about starting a government agency to monitor your movements and make sure you haven't started any international money laundering networks to pay for your secret takeover of my brain. So just keep eating from that tree, hold your hooves where I can see them, and don't appear in any movies where you can talk in a funny voice, Gerenuk. I wouldn't want to have to do anything we'd both regret.
Subject: Never work with an alpaca
How come every time alpacas feel like the energy is low at work they have to do the worm from Labyrinth? Listen, Alapaca, obscure references to 80s cult movies are no excuse for your fuzzy hair, your bushy tail, your fucking face. And why are you always smiling? Are you purposefully trying to make me love you?
Well you and your whole species have tried to avoid the truth for a long time. You have poor dental hygiene, you look goofy when you get your hair cut, and your small talk is possibly the worst I have ever heard. NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR COMMUTE, ALPACA. You are a poor man's llama. So stop pretending you don't have legs and get back to work.
Go to the site. laugh your ass off. thank me later.
its like dane cook ala "punch every bee in the face" crossed with cuteoverload. the combo is LETHAL.
example posts:
subject: I think you may have sat on your own face, clown monkey
Mandrill, I'd like to introduce you to a concept called restraint. Here's how it works: I don't make fun of the fact that you think chewing on a twig is cool, and you refrain from looking like your mom had sex with a box of Fruit Loops and made you. Honestly, of all the ridiculously insane monkeys out there, you have to be the craziest one of all. You're a primate, Mandrill, not a fucking Care Bear.
And as if it wasn't enough that you have a Van Gogh painting on your ass, you just had to get like an all-time amazing shampoo/blow out at the local salon. HOW IS THIS EVEN POSSIBLE IN THE WILD. It's so silky and planned, you are way too entirely ready for a night on the town in your rockin' unbuttoned shirt and puka shell necklace. Please stop your misguided search for a mate, wipe that shit off your face, and start eating a banana or something so other monkeys won't talk about you behind your back so much.
subject: Stay away from my family, Gerenuk
What is it about weird antelopes? Gerenuk, you are so adorable, yet so terrifying, like a Disney character that ends up torturing Bambi's mother while Bambi watches. You have a normal torso, but other than that I am creeped out by literally everything else about you.
It's the head that really gets me, though. You could have weirdly long legs, a bushy mohawk tail, a weirdly thin, long neck, and ears with pitchfork marks inside of them, and if you had a normal-sized head, I would be like, "Touché." But your head basically makes me want to write my congressman about starting a government agency to monitor your movements and make sure you haven't started any international money laundering networks to pay for your secret takeover of my brain. So just keep eating from that tree, hold your hooves where I can see them, and don't appear in any movies where you can talk in a funny voice, Gerenuk. I wouldn't want to have to do anything we'd both regret.
Subject: Never work with an alpaca
How come every time alpacas feel like the energy is low at work they have to do the worm from Labyrinth? Listen, Alapaca, obscure references to 80s cult movies are no excuse for your fuzzy hair, your bushy tail, your fucking face. And why are you always smiling? Are you purposefully trying to make me love you?
Well you and your whole species have tried to avoid the truth for a long time. You have poor dental hygiene, you look goofy when you get your hair cut, and your small talk is possibly the worst I have ever heard. NO ONE GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR COMMUTE, ALPACA. You are a poor man's llama. So stop pretending you don't have legs and get back to work.
Go to the site. laugh your ass off. thank me later.
11.14.2009
"we are the city that blots out the light of the stars"
today i made fortune cookies, i love them- not as much as J who has had a life-long fascination- but theyre one of the only ways that food and words come together and im a fan of anything that brings two of my favorite thing closer... i started thinking about what i could put in a fortune and i decided to try to make them and fill them with lines of poetry.
and then i found L's old Skinner catalogs and began using images of old dutch paintings as my fortune paper, hands of madonnas with ripe fruit and pink clouds as backdrops for nearly arbitrary slices of contemporary poetry. they made for strange little creatures but beautiful in their own way.
im going to admit, im bored with my life right now. im working on why and what i can do about it, but im currently bored and i hate to think that way or even admit it but nothing i do, create, drive towards, is holding my interest. i feel like im missing something, possibly right under my nose, but missing it nonetheless and just hope this isn't a window that will open and close if im too dense to see through it.
11.11.2009
great new food blog and brussel sprout mania.
as soon as i start denying myself food its all i can think of. and then i found an entire page of delicious brussel sprout recipes. HEAVEN. click around the blog for great ideas.
One Pan Sage & Savory Baby Brussels with Figs, Pecans + Sharp Cheddar
Serves 2
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1.5 cups baby brussels sprouts
3-4 thin-skinned figs
1/4 cup pecans, coarsely chopped
3-4 sprigs or leaves of fresh sage
shredded sharp cheddar
salt & pepper to taste
balsamic
Heat olive oil and butter until browned but not smoking.
Clean brussels sprouts then cut stems and remove outer leaves. Toss in pan to coat.
After 2-3 minutes, add torn sage and pecans.
Wash then cut the figs into 1/8 pieces. Once the sprouts start to crisp (6-8 minutes), place figs flesh side down to caramelize.
Stir ingredients occasionally for another minute then place in large bowl. Season with salt and pepper and top with sharp cheddar cheese.
Drizzle with balsamic
One Pan Sage & Savory Baby Brussels with Figs, Pecans + Sharp Cheddar
Serves 2
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1.5 cups baby brussels sprouts
3-4 thin-skinned figs
1/4 cup pecans, coarsely chopped
3-4 sprigs or leaves of fresh sage
shredded sharp cheddar
salt & pepper to taste
balsamic
Heat olive oil and butter until browned but not smoking.
Clean brussels sprouts then cut stems and remove outer leaves. Toss in pan to coat.
After 2-3 minutes, add torn sage and pecans.
Wash then cut the figs into 1/8 pieces. Once the sprouts start to crisp (6-8 minutes), place figs flesh side down to caramelize.
Stir ingredients occasionally for another minute then place in large bowl. Season with salt and pepper and top with sharp cheddar cheese.
Drizzle with balsamic
i could eat a bushel a barrel and a peck of quinoa.
great place for getting simple healthy recipes:
NYT Recipes for Health
NYT Recipes for Health
One i'm making when i can eat real food again:
1 6-ounce bag baby spinach
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 plump garlic cloves, minced
4 cups cooked quinoa, (1 cup uncooked)
2 large eggs
3 ounces Gruyère cheese, grated (3/4 cup)
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped fresh sage
1 ounce Parmesan, grated (1/4 cup)
1. Preheat the oven to 400ºF. Oil a 2-quart gratin or baking dish.
2. Heat a medium frying pan or a wide saucepan over medium-high heat. Wash the spinach and without spinning dry, add to the pan and wilt in the liquid left on the leaves after washing. You may have to do this in 2 batches. As soon as the spinach wilts, remove from the heat and rinse with cold water. Squeeze dry and chop. Set aside.
3. Wipe the pan dry and heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil in it over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring often, until tender, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and stir with the onion until fragrant, about 1 minute. Stir in the spinach and season with salt and pepper. Remove from the heat.
4. Beat the eggs in a large bowl and add 1/2 teaspoon salt. Stir in the quinoa, the onion and spinach mixture, the Gruyère, and the sage. Add freshly ground pepper and stir the mixture together. Scrape into the gratin dish. Sprinkle the Parmesan over the top and drizzle on the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. Place in the oven and bake until nicely browned on top, about 25 minutes. Remove from the heat, allow to sit for about 5 minutes, and serve.
Serves 4 to 6
eyeoftheday is BANNED
from china.
ive heard from the front that my blogaroni isnt available in china! AWESOME!! im so flattered. really.
i took my first sick day yesterday because i had a ten year old dweeby style bloody nose. taking a sick day was surprisingly easy to do, i happen to be in a bit of a lull for once, work-wise.
got nothing accomplished at home. but did drink delicious hot chocolate with chile powder in it thanks to my roommate.
things i want to perfect and then personalize:
grilled cheese
mac n cheese
hot chocolate
coffee
muffins
but not right now. becuase i did manage to feel gross enough that i realized ive been treating my bod like shit and im going on a bit of a controlled juice fast.
well see how this makes me feel. i still have a headache but that might just be because i come back to the office only to receive this:
heals (10:52:03 AM): silly q
daisy (10:52:07 AM): yessss
heals (10:52:10 AM): but you know in a sports stadium?
heals (10:52:20 AM): i cant think of what the board is called
heals (10:52:28 AM): the one that displays the score
heals (10:52:34 AM): OH
heals (10:52:36 AM): score board?
ive heard from the front that my blogaroni isnt available in china! AWESOME!! im so flattered. really.
i took my first sick day yesterday because i had a ten year old dweeby style bloody nose. taking a sick day was surprisingly easy to do, i happen to be in a bit of a lull for once, work-wise.
got nothing accomplished at home. but did drink delicious hot chocolate with chile powder in it thanks to my roommate.
things i want to perfect and then personalize:
grilled cheese
mac n cheese
hot chocolate
coffee
muffins
but not right now. becuase i did manage to feel gross enough that i realized ive been treating my bod like shit and im going on a bit of a controlled juice fast.
well see how this makes me feel. i still have a headache but that might just be because i come back to the office only to receive this:
heals (10:52:03 AM): silly q
daisy (10:52:07 AM): yessss
heals (10:52:10 AM): but you know in a sports stadium?
heals (10:52:20 AM): i cant think of what the board is called
heals (10:52:28 AM): the one that displays the score
heals (10:52:34 AM): OH
heals (10:52:36 AM): score board?
11.09.2009
SM strategy BS for HP DPNE FS
just got an email that said that.
and i understood it perfectly.
its official i am a robot.
and i understood it perfectly.
its official i am a robot.
11.08.2009
11.03.2009
eye colors
the colors of my blog (as it stands in the moment i make no promise it will remain thsi way for long) are the colors im really attracted to these days, and, if i think about it, always. my room in brookline is all sea foam and sand and dune grass colors. and recently i brought a grey blue tapestry into my office and draped it over my extra chair. it was the first attempt i really made at decorating, only a year after arriving... something like the devil wears prada where stanley tucci recommends that anne hathaway stop "deigning" to work at mode... im finally admitting that i'll be here for at least another three months, hopefully not much more but either way i should make this awful space my own. i'm not sure if this is a terrible sign that i am resigned to my fate or a sign that i'm learning to make myself happy and not live in denial. anyway now my blog, my virtual room if you will, is reflecting those colors that make me take a deep breath. and thats good because i forget to breathe a lot.
the artist responsible for these images and the one thats up top now is Alicia Bock. Her polaroids are beautiful. i want to live in them. in them.
11.02.2009
ARE WE ALL AWARE OF THIS?
this site, "gnod" thats actually well stocked and easy to interface and maps your music preferences and can give you endless suggestions based on your top three music loves. in this case i typed in william fitzsimmons and look what i got! it's this bouncy amorphous map and its beautiful and im so excited to go investigate Ryan Montbleau, the duhks, nizlopi and others. AND IT DOES IT FOR BOOKS AND MOVIES!
click on it and it'll be readable:
click on it and it'll be readable:
11.01.2009
i want a howling hurt
Not Here
There's courage involved if you want
to become truth. There is a broken-
open place in a lover. Where are
those qualities of bravery and sharp
compassion in this group? What's the
use of old and frozen thought? I want
a howling hurt. This is not a treasury
where gold is stored; this is for copper.
We alchemists look for that which
can heat up and change. Lukewarm
won't do. Halfhearted holding back,
well-enough to get by? Not here.
by rumi
There's courage involved if you want
to become truth. There is a broken-
open place in a lover. Where are
those qualities of bravery and sharp
compassion in this group? What's the
use of old and frozen thought? I want
a howling hurt. This is not a treasury
where gold is stored; this is for copper.
We alchemists look for that which
can heat up and change. Lukewarm
won't do. Halfhearted holding back,
well-enough to get by? Not here.
by rumi
10.29.2009
It's the first day of spring
And my life is starting over again
The trees grow, the river flows
And its water will wash away my sins
For I do believe that everyone has one chance
To fuck up their lives
But like a cut down tree, I will rise again
And I'll be bigger and stronger than ever before
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
There's a hope in every new seed
And every flower that grows upon the earth
And though I love you, and you know that
Well I no longer know what that's worth
But I'll come back to you in a year or so
And I'll rebuild, be ready to become
Oh the person, you believed in
Oh the person, that you used to love
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
For I'm still here hoping that one day you may come back
revisited one of my most cherished childhood movies.... about dragqueens
wesley snipes, patrick swayze, and the tremendous john leguizamo in "to wong foo, thanks for everything, julie newmar"
Amy: havent you seen high fidelity
me: no...i have not
Amy: WHAHAATHTHTHATHT
me: oh get over it
Amy: wow
me: i mean ill watch it if someone puts it in my hands but i havent come across it and everyones seen it so i have no opportunity.
Amy: i see. i could quote from it. not too many movies like that for me
me: there are a few for me....birdcage
Amy: haha
me: to wong foo thanks for everything julie newmar...wait why are all the movies i love with dragqueens?
Amy: you like the faggy movies eh
me: i saw each one when they first came out, as a CHILD my parents brought me to these movies because they wanted to see them... hard to believe. and i loved them then as i do now.
Amy: birdcage is my earliest understanding of homosexuality, i saw that in theatres
me: hah mine too see there you go. well not my eeeearliest understanding
Amy: in the burbs those were the only gay people i had seen
i think my parents regretted that :)
me: my/my mothers trainer when i was five or six was gay. when he died of AIDS my mother explained everything then. in her own way.
Amy: oh wow
me: there was a period there where the riding world was decimated. so i learned a lot then. but i think i knew -before i knew what gay was- that the people in my life were gay. horse people and art people... i dont remember what my first lesbian understanding was though, they were two different things completely. i remember when i was taught the word lesbian, it was whispered in my ear in second grade.
brought that one home and had it slapped out of me by my irish nanny :)
Amy: hah she didnt get it all out i guess
me: yeah, left a little.
10.28.2009
sweet squiggley sausage baked cheddar orgy
on a deadly boring call dreaming about making dinner tonight. I have a guest coming by who will have been in class all day so im hoping to make her something stick-to-your-ribs...slash brain?
anyway i definitely have mac n cheese on the brain so i've been reading some trusted blogs and combining their recipes based on what I have in the fridge/what i want in my mouth.
I'm sure i'll go off and screw with it in additional ways.
(serves 2)
*two small sweet sausage links, i think i have turkey/chicken/apple in the freezer
*1 big clove garlic, roasted in the oven whole or just mince it
*1/4 white or yellow onion, diced
*1/2 lb. pasta, i have the squiggly kind currently in my cupboard, hence the name. not to be confused with rotini
*some dried sage, thyme, nutmeg, whatever youve got thats tasty
*1 big tbsp. butter
*1 heaping tbsp. flour
*3/4 cup whole milk, or more if its not whole...but man up and make it whole
*1/2 cup white wine
*1 cup grated sharp cheddar
*breadcrumbs & grated parmesan, for topping
preheat oven to 375.
roast the garlic
boil the pasta, al dente. set aside
cut sausage into 1/4 inch pieces, sautee with olive oil until slightly crispy
while thats happening melt butter in a pot
add roasted garlic (mash or mince)
and onion, sauteeing until translucent
add flour and let cook for 2-3 minutes, stirring constantly
add spices and 1/2 cup of white wine, stirring
add milk slowly, whisking constantly to create a bechamel
remove from heat and stir in grated cheese
toss pasta with sauce and the sausage pieces
pour everything into a buttered dish
top with breadcrumbs and parmesan
dot with butter if you feel like you havent quite acheived a heart attack yet
bake in oven for 20 minutes or until bubbly and browned
i'll post a picture later if it comes out!
if it doesnt come out youll never bring it up with me again. understood.
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