End of Boredom. Day 4: World Coloring-In Day

Day 4's task was to take a map of the world, and color it in according to my desire to visit a particular country. Green was to indicate a place I've been, Blue is a place I intend to go this year, Yellow for those places that I want to visit before I die, and Red for places I'd be happy to never set foot in.

At the start of this task, I anticipated coloring in most everything as yellow. For one, I haven't been to too many places. For two, I can't afford to go very many places during this year. That meant I expected to color in most of the map as Yellow. As I started looking at the countries, though, I realized that there were a lot of places that I'd be happy never visiting. Don't get me wrong, if someone offered me a free trip to travel, I'd happily take it. I'd love to see the whole world. But as far as whether or not it would make me happy to not go somewhere... the world is too ridden with war to make some places less than desirable to visit. Here's a rather bad pic of the map I colored:

As you can see, much of the world is red. I'd love to visit some places in South America, Europe, a few in Africa, and Australia. I wouldn't mind visiting Asia, not at all, but I'd be just as happy not visiting those places. I have no doubts that they are beautiful and would enrich my life. However, I'm under no illusions that I'll be able to see the whole world, and so I needed to pare down the countries I'd really like to see. If I manage to visit all of my yellows, then I will definitely visit some of the reds. 

Changes: Made me realize three things: 1. While I love traveling, I'd be content not seeing the whole world. This was a surprising thing to learn about myself. 2. I need to travel again soon. I miss it. It's been too long. 3. I need to refresh myself on world geography. More than once I had to google a map to see which countries were where prior to coloring.

End of Boredom. Day 3: Throw Something Away that you Like

Day three's challenge/activity/whatever was to throw something away that you like. This task ended up taking me much, much longer than I expected. Immediately after typing the second day's review, I read Day 3 and thought, "This will take two seconds. I'll do this tomorrow." Weeks later, I finally do it.

So what was the problem? Basically it boils down to my inherent need to attach a HUGE amount of significance to intangible objects. That, and being broke. Being broke means that I do not have items in my house that I don't, at a bare minimum, "like." On top of that, I have a wonderful family who loves showing affection by giving gifts. That means that even little, seemingly stupid "junk" that I have, it now attached to that family member and object. I also have an uncanny memory for remembering where each and every object has come from AND when, and sometimes even what I was doing, wearing, and what the weather was like, even if I received it years and years ago! So the thought of throwing something like that away was a major obstacle.

A separate issue that come up was that the instructions were to throw the item away. Not give it to someone who could use it. Not donate it to charity. But throw it away. Like it was trash and unusable.

Accepting this book as my challenge, I knew I had to go threw with it. And that's when I realized another issue... one of semantics. What counts as something I "like" but not "love?" And if I picked something that seemed a bit too easy to throw away, does that mean I didn't actually like it enough to count? Is the challenge here to become more minimalist and less attached to objects?

At any rate, after many days fretting over this, I have finally decided. I threw away one of my stuffed animals. It's Dilbert's dog, from the Dilbert comic strip. This dog was given to me by an ex, while I was in my master's program in North Carolina, as a motivator. I've kept him in my office forever, as a reminder that school, or any job, that I do not want to end up in a cubicle, and that people in my life are rooting for me no matter what. There are no lingering feelings of love for that person (outside of friendship) and also no animosity, so I've retained my like of it without any additional emotions being projected onto it. But I suppose it's time to let it go.

Day 4: Success
Changes: None... but I really do need a healthier, lesser attachment to objects...

End of Boredom. Day 2: Love of Your Life

"Day" 2 has been completed. The day's task was to gaze at everyone wondering whether there were my one true love, and act in consequence. I did this task on Saturday, purposely chosen so that I would have to go to work (I didn't want my co-workers to think me any stranger than they already do by gazing at them). The day was spent at home, a little bit of shopping, and travelling to Knoxville to play a show at a gay bar.

I have to say that the overall experience was interesting, and not nearly as entertaining as I thought it might be. As I thought about my task, I expected to have people pay more attention to me (in the same way I paid attention to them) as well as have them perhaps feel uncomfortable as I fixated them in my gaze and pondered their qualities. This was not the case. Most of the problem, I think, is that I'm already incredibly self-aware and have an excellent idea of the type of character my "true love" is. The other problem is that I've already met the person I intend to spend the rest of my life with. For the sake of this exercise, I was more than willing to gaze at people to see what I'd think if they, also, could be a "one" for me, but I found it to be work. It was near impossible to not compare them to my known "one", and every time these new people fell short.

The other hiccup was that I was surrounded by homosexuals for much of the duration of this task. That knowledge in advance, and knowing that I personally don't swing that way, put up an additional barrier for my gazing. Really, the end result was that I merely glanced at people, gave a smile and attempted to consider their potential as a life partner for myself. I estimated that that activity would take at least a minute for each person, but in reality it only lasted a few seconds.

I also disliked how it changed my perspective of these individuals. As I don't normally meet people with the intention of sizing them up to see if they're my long lost true love, I almost always immediately like everyone I meet. This exercise, however, caused me to view new people slightly more negatively, as I was immediately finding them to not be "the one" for me.

Day 2: Success
Changes: I have a greater appreciation for my normal way of being. I'm glad that I don't gaze at everyone I meet to see if they're "the one."

End of Boredom. Day 1: Warm-Up

Boredom has struck again. Despite how busy my days seem to be, I constantly find myself dissatisfied, unchallenged, and flat-out bored. A few friends of mine have taken to doing monthly or daily "things" to take a picture of, or post about, or simply experience on a regular basis. I don't fancy myself an artist, but I do like the idea of being given ideas for things to do, especially things I've not done before.

So that's how I arrived here today, on this blog, with a book called This Book Will Change Your Life. Epic sounding, I know. When I first glanced at the title, I assumed it would be a common-sense, self-help-esque pile of boring things that wouldn't change my life at all. And besides, I'm not out to change my life. Just looking for things to do to cure my boredom. Curiosity took over, though, and I began flipping through it. And I must admit that I'm intrigued. The book is essentially 365 tasks for you to do and then write about your experience. But they're not just any old simple task, or tasks that seem to be couched in psycho-babble. In fact, it's rather humorous, and I immediately decided to buy the book and give it a try.

The ground rules: The book is laid out in such a way as to do a different task each day and write about it. The idea is that by the end of a calendar year, you'll have changed, and in the process documented those changes. I'll not be following the "every day" requirement. If I were to do that, then I'd be more likely to cut corners or simply not accomplish a task. And not doing tasks defeats the entire purpose. The deadline will also add stress to this activity, when all I want it for is my personal amusement. So my rule will be that I will do these 365 tasks to the best of my ability, as close to in order as possible, when I have the time. I'll read step one, and then do step one at my earliest convenience. I will then write about it on here, thus documenting and reflecting on the experience.

This is the beginning. Day 1. The Warm-up.

Today a list was given of a variety of things to choose to do that are considered "easy." They are. And, in fact, I've already done most of the options given, so I chose: Decide which one of your toes is the prettiest.

Deciding which toe was prettiest was difficult!! At first I thought it would be the big toe on my right foot, but the more I looked, I began to find beauty in all of them. I've never been a huge fan of feet, and at present, my toenails aren't trimmed and are looking rough, but the more I looked at them, the more I liked them. In the end, I've decided that the middle toe on my left foot is the prettiest. It doesn't have a weird angle to it like some of the others, it's not too big, it's not too small, and it also looks the happiest. If that's a thing. 

If I could figure out how to put an arrow to the middle toe, I would. But you can still see it here in all its glory.

Day 1: Success.
Changes: A greater appreciation of my toes

Writing.

     I've picked up writing as a hobby. Mostly fiction, and mostly short or flash fiction. I may try to write a novel someday, but there's something satisfying about writing a story and finishing it in the same day. Ever since I "snapped," dropped out of school, and abandoned my very well planned out future, having deadlines, or even things on a "back burner" to finish/edit later drive me absolutely bonkers. I now need things to be done and off my plate. Period. But the writing process... it's such a relief for me! It amazes me how much better I feel after allowing myself to enter the strange worlds in my head. As a reader, I crave fiction that takes me to a world outside of reality, yet filled with characters that could be my best friends. And I prefer that they have a quest; a great, epic adventure that takes them traveling. The stories I write don't really offer that, at least nothing that lasting, but in my head... those little snippets that I type out feel like I've just purged myself of creativity that's been hidden away and dying to get out. What's even better, is that while it gets purged, it leaves a seed behind allowing me to create again and again. 

     I make no claims that anything fictional I write is good. I will say it's better than the writing in this blog, but that's as far as I'll go. I don't really do it for praise or money, though. I do it for the way it makes me feel while writing, and how great I feel afterwards. This is especially the case on days I feel like a lazy, useless human being who can't even keep the dishes clean. Writing completes none of those chores, obviously, but for some unknown reason I feel like I've been just as productive as if I'd spent the day cleaning. This makes less sense when you consider the fact that most people never even read what I write, preventing me from using the "it's productive because I'm providing entertainment for others" rationale. This line of thinking works really well when I practice my bass... as people eventually do hear me. But writing? Most of it is just on my computer, that will disappear when the computer dies. But this doesn't sadden me. It's about the process. The journey my head takes while I write. The absolute best part though, is the moment when the story takes over my thoughts and I feel like I have lost all control. It's as if the story is writing itself. There are even times when it seems as if the story already exists, and I just happen to be able to hone in on the signal and put it into text. Silly, I know, but that's how it feels experientially. Is that a word? Spell-check is telling me that it isn't, but I don't care. I like it and so am leaving it. Take that spell-check. I am the master of my own vocabulary. 

     At any rate, I'm starting to send my stuff out to see if it'll get accepted. I could use the extra money on the off chance people like what I write. And really, the worst that can happen is that my work gets rejected. A small shot to the ego, sure, but that's really it. And the benefits are the exuberant feelings that come with an acceptance letter, and hopefully one day, money. In the meantime, though, I'm going to keep plugging away at it. Even if I suck now, it's bound to improve. One of the few consistent pieces of advice I've been given about writing is that you improve with frequency. Here's hopin'. 

More libraries for all!

I came across this article today while stumbling on the internet. While I realize the reason this building is free is because Wal*Mart upgraded, I can't help but smile and have the smallest feeling of hope in knowing the old building was turned into a library. If we always use resources and abandoned buildings to further intelligence and creativity, the world would be a better place.

Poop

I never considered myself a fan of the Beat Poets. When I am in the mood for poetry, I usually turn to Yeats. I've recently discovered, however, that despite my dislike of most beat poetry, I love a number of Charles Bukowski's poems. My favorite of all time from him is a poem entitled "Poop." It's amazing. I even find myself craving to read it from time to time. The problem here is that I can't seem to find it anywhere online! Many poems by many many poets can be found somewhere in the interwebs, including most of Bukowski's catalog. Poop, however, cannot. I imagine that part of the reason is because it went unpublished for quite some time. As to why it's never made it online since being published, I have no idea. I finally found the book that contains it, and so for my future enjoyment, and for any others who love this poem and can't find it, I'm going to list it here. It can be found in his book called The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems, 1951-1993 published by HarperCollins in 2007, pages 189-193.

Poop by Charles Bukowski

I remember, he told me, that when I was 6 or

7 years old my mother was always taking me 

to the doctor and saying, "he hasn't pooped."

she was always asking me, "have you

pooped?"

it seemed to be her favorite question.

and, of course, I couldn't lie, I had real problems

pooping.

I was all knotted up inside.

my parents did that to me.

I looked at those huge beings, my father,

my mother, and they seemed really stupid.

sometimes I thought they were just pretending

to be stupid because nobody could really be that

stupid.

but they weren't pretending.

they had me all knotted up inside like a pretzel.

I mean, I had to live with them, they told

me what to do and how to do it and when.

they fed, housed and clothed me.

and worst of all, there was no other place for

me to go, no other choice:

I had to stay with them.

I mean, I didn't know much at that age

but I could sense that they were lumps

of flesh and little else.

dinnertime was the worst, a nightmare

of slurps, spittle and idiotic conversation.

I looked straight down at my plate and tried

to swallow my food but

it all turned to glue inside.

I couldn't digest my parents or the food.

that must have been it, for it was hell for me

to poop.

"have you pooped?"

and there I'd be in the doctor's office once again.

he had a little more sense than my parents but

not much.

"well, well, my little man, so you haven't pooped?"

he was fat with bad breath and body odor and

had a pocket watch with a large gold chain

that dangled across his gut.

I thought, I bet he poops a load.

and I looked at my mother.

she had large buttocks,

I could picture her on the toilet,

sitting there a little cross-eyed, pooping.

she was so placid, so

like a pigeon.

poopers both, I knew it in my heart.

disgusting people.

"well, little man, you just can't poop,

huh?"

he made a little joke of it: he could,

she could, the world could.

I couldn't.

"well, now, we're going to give you

these pills.

and if they don't work, then guess

what?"

I didn't answer.

"come on, little man, tell me."

all right, I decided to say it.

I wanted to get out of there:

"an enema."

"an enema," he smiled.

then he turned to my mother.

"and are you all right, dear?"

"oh, I'm fine, doctor!"

sure she was.

she pooped whenever she wanted.

then we would leave the office.

"isn't the doctor a nice man?"

no answer from me.

"isn't he?"

"yes."

but in my mind I changed it to, yes,

he can poop.

he looked like a poop.

the whole world pooped while I

was knotted up inside like a pretzel.

then we would walk out on the street

and I would look at the people passing

and all the people had behinds.

"that's all I ever noticed," he told me,

"it was horrible."

"we must have had similar

childhoods," I said.

"somehow, that doesn't help at all,"

he said.

"we've both got to get over this

thing," I said.

"I'm trying," he answered.

Spangles is my Star Banner

I think I may have finally found it. The best fast food fries in America. And they're at a place called Spangles in Wichita, KS. I found them while doing a show out there, and believe me when I say that I was impressed with all of their food, but especially their french fries. I can't even explain in words what it was that made them so perfect. They were golden, slightly crispy, fried in good grease that gave it the best greasy flavor without actually tasting greasy. Absolutely amazing. My only wish now is that they open up a franchise in Nashville. Or perhaps that's what I should do with my future?

Today's wit: How do you make an R&B duck? Put it in the oven until its bill withers.

No key to Gnocchi

I am no wizard in the kitchen. Far from it. In fact, the number of things that I can make successfully can be counted on one hand. Despite this obvious hindrance in my character, I continually try to cook. When I'm not too tired from work, it's something that I love to do. There's just something about it that makes me happy. I'm quite the jolly cook. I sing, dance, make my food sing and dance, etc. while I work away. But I'm terrible at it. I have a red thumb when it comes to food. At any rate, most times I cook I either catch something on fire, break a dish, hurt myself, or leave the oven on. Thankfully I have safe guards in place to prevent my actually burning down my apartment, but still. Cooking is not my strong suit. So what do I do? I try to make a notoriously difficult dish: good, Italian gnocchi. Gnocchi, for those who are unfamiliar, are little potato pastas. The problem with most gnocchi is the amount of flour used. Too little means the potato won't hold together to create the pasta, but too much makes it incredibly, incredibly mushy and dense. In fact, according to one site, gnocchi's name is an Italian joke of sorts, as "Gnocco" is slang to describe a very dense person. When done well, however, they are soft, delicious potato pillows that literally melt in your mouth. Most gnocchi that I've had does not, but at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant outside of Pittsburgh, I was able to taste what I believe to be perfect gnocchi. I'm bound and determined to re-create something close to that amazing flavor and texture.

I have now tried to cook gnocchi twice. The first time was about 2 years ago. The result: completely inedible. And not just inedible by me, but inedible by all those who tried it, including two people who eat everything. I chalked the disaster up to the humidity in the house, as it was summer time and I couldn't really afford to keep the air conditioning running all day. I decided to try it again a few days ago. I re-read the recipe. I bought the ingredients. I made sure to try it in the middle of winter, when I can't really afford heat, hoping that the cold house would fix the problems of my first attempt. Unfortunately, I failed again. This is extremely annoying to me. There are two ingredients in the recipe I use for traditional gnocchi. TWO!!! Potatoes (which I love, for they become french fries) and flour. And I still screw it up. Part of the problem this time, I think, was that I didn't follow the recipe to the letter, which left my potatoes too watery, which in turn caused me to add too much flour to the dough.  But it should be easy. I'm continually baffled by my inability to cook. I'm really good at following directions, and what is cooking but merely following the recipe?  Difficulty shouldn't exist. Just follow the recipe. But I'm also a klutz. I'm now beginning to think that it's my clumsiness that takes away any other asset I have in the kitchen. On the bright side, my second attempt was at least edible. Not edible enough to save the leftovers, but enough to eat the full serving. I'm hoping that the third time will be the charm, but I may just need to add gnocchi to the list of things I can't make, along with Tollhouse cookies.


Today's Wit: Overweight is something that just sort of snacks up on you. 

New Fry Alert: Brown's Diner

There have been very few times in my life that I have been disappointed by a restaurant with the name "diner" in the title. A couple of weeks ago, however, was one of them. Brown's Diner, which I was told had some of the best fries in Nashville, doesn't really look like a diner. It does, however, appear to be a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. While I wasn't immediately impressed with the atmosphere once I stepped inside, I still sat down ready to try out their food. The menu seemed to have a good selection, and rather reasonable prices for this town. When it came time to order drinks, however, the diner earned its first serious mark: they do not sell sweet tea. Now, I'm not really a sweet tea drinker myself (I actually can't stand the stuff) but I've lived in the south long enough now to require its presence at any dining establishment... especially a local, non-franchised one. Even bad sweet tea seems slightly more forgivable than NO sweet tea.

Still, I was already there, and so decided to try it out. I ordered my usual burger and fries, while my buddy ordered chili. The burger and fries were okay. Not great, but not terrible. Unfortunately, however, they were still a far cry from the best fries in town. The chili, I was told, was awful, and that it tasted like bleach. This makes a pretty heavy strike two. Inedible food is inexcusable, especially with something as simple as chili. Strike three came in the wait service. It wasn't bad by any means, but it was the kind of experience where you felt like you were being waited on by an older version of a Stepford wife. She was sweet, but too sweet. The kind of sweet that seemed so fake that you would almost rather the person cursed at you than say anything else nice. All in all, it was not a successful dining experience. Made even more painful by the fact that I felt I wasted what little disposable income I have on a negative meal. Needless to say, I will not be heading back to that place in the future.

Today's Wit: What kind of ship does Dracula use? A blood vessel!

Broke, Bored, but Entertained

It's been awhile since I've updated. This is largely because I'm so broke. Not the kind of broke where you say you're broke, even though you're not. Where what you really mean is, "I know this is unwise spending. I shouldn't do it, but I'm going to anyway." I mean the kind of broke where I literally have $10 to spend on food a week. total. That's it. And that needs to include things like toiletries, dish soap, and the like. This also means that I no longer have cable, or the ability to go hang out in bars, coffee shops, or shows of any form.

I'm still rather happy. More so than I've been in years. And in all honesty, I don't miss television as much as I thought I would. My current financial predicament does occasionally lead to large bouts of boredom, though, especially when most everything these days costs a pretty penny.

So tonight, my amazing roommate/best friend and I decided to find a way to entertain ourselves. We hopped online and found creative writing exercises to not only feel creative (we're nerdy), but to also get to know one another better, and have a new experience to share (did I mention we're nerdy?). What follows is my response to one of the exercises that we did. I share this with you not because I think it is good (it's not), but because I had such a blast doing it, and I want you to do it, too. It was free entertainment that allowed us to be creative, and to also share our creations with one another. The exercise comes from here. We did the random stimulation exercise. In ten minutes, and two random words (mine were "tire" and "type-setting"), this is what I wrote (complete with spelling errors and all):

Ugh. Here I am again. Stuck  in this stupid, thankless copy-editing job. No matter what I do, the type-setting is never correct. Too much margin space. Too many spaces between paragraphs. Do not, under any circustances, use Comic Sans as a font. Make sure the page is the correct color. Did you remember to check the grammar? Like I have nothing better to do than deal with nit-picky formatting issues. Granted, this is what I’m getting paid for, but I swear, nobody is reading these piece of shit bulletins for the Society for Emotionally Distraught Animals anyway. At least not enough to care what font I use. People like Comic Sans. I’m not sure why my boss is so against it. He claims it’s “unprofessional.” Yet, somehow, spending thousands of dollars on an organization devoted to a cause that neither saves lives in any form (human or not), nor pays its employees hire than minimum way, is completely okay. If I didn’t need this job so desperately, I’d quit. It’s such a shame that this is the only job I can get. I have a Master of Fine Arts degree in dramatic writing, and this is the only employment I can find. The only joy, the only solace I have during my days, are doing the petty, passive-aggressive antics to annoy my boss. Is this immature? Yes. Does it prevent me from suicide? Also yes. This, incidentally, means that what I do during the day actually saves a human life. More than I can say for SEDA. My favorite “prank”, if you can even call it that, was the bulletin I designed for last-years Traffic and Safety Awareness campaign. The whole ordeal, apparently, is to make people aware that driving too close to the edge of the road when an animal, such as a squirrel, is nearby, causes the squirrel undue stress. So, despite the fact that no laws are being broken, the task of the day was to ask drivers to drive closer to the center line if they happened to see an animal on the edge, to prevent animal stress. Due to a lapse in judgment by my boss, I was put in charge of the first draft of the bulletin. I decided to create an image of a giant tire. The kind of tire found on monster trucks. And place it near the edge of the road near the cutest bunny I could find. And I had the bunny’s eyes bugging out of its head, with a tagline that read “Driving to close to the edge can cause strain, even if it doesn’t cause a stain” with another pic, of the exact same bunny, only smashed with the tire stained red. Priceless.

I can honestly say that trading stories with my friend is some of the most fun I've had in a while. So if you're bored and broke like me, but have some nerdy friends and some time, I'd recommend doing silly things like this. I'm gonna keep posting my own responses to various exercises that I do, and I would love for you to do them as well and post your responses in the comments. 

New Fry Alert: Hot Diggity Dog

I love it when serendipity turns a potentially boring day into an amazing one. Especially when it ends in delicious fries.

Last week, I tagged along with one of my favorite people to run some bureaucratic errands. Through the various points of waiting for things to happen (waiting in line, waiting for a phone call, etc. etc.), we picked up a local paper to browse through to pass the time. While there really wasn't anything particularly interesting to read in it, it at least allowed us to kill a few minutes. Once we finished perusing the pages, and realizing we had at least another 2 hours before we could take care of the next step in the bureaucratic process, we decided to find some food.

Having been craving a hot dog for about a week, we decided to head over to our favorite hot dog place on East Side, I Dream of Weenie, that exists inside a VW bus. Upon arriving, however, we discovered that the establishment changed owners and was moving a few blocks away, and would not re-open for quite some time. It seemed as if my hot dog craving would not be satisfied. But then my friend remembered seeing an ad in the paper we randomly picked up about a hot dog place nearby. Not having anywhere else to be, and now making finding a hot dog my mission, we took off for this new place.

The name of the place is Hot Diggity Dog, and believe me when I tell you that I was immediately excited when we arrived. This place had character. It's in a cute-looking house, very near to downtown, and smelled amazingly. When we walked in, I felt my excitement for what I knew would be an amazing hot dog grow. The menu claimed that they served Chicago-style hot dogs, and the best part, they also served fries. Hot dog and fries, in a place new to me, discovered on a beautiful day serendipitously with one of my favorite people, makes for an extremely awesome day. We placed our order and sat down at some stools to wait. On the wall there is a map of Chicago, that has a sign asking patrons from the Chicago area to put a pin on their area of town. Many places in the city were represented, and it claimed it was a way for all previous Chicago dwellers to connect. The individuals that came in before and after us spoke easily with the workers as well, and some even seemed to know the people personally. It was the kind of place that makes you feel that you will be remembered for having visited, and a way to develop a relationship with those providing the service.

Once our food was ready, we grabbed it and went to sit out at a picnic table in a pavillion attached to the establishment. We were joined by a bumble bee as we ate our meal and felt the cool breeze on our faces. And then we dug in. The hot dog and fries were absolutely delicious. It reminded me of the fries you can find at really good diners. They were crisp, not too greasy, and oh so tasty. I highly recommend this place to anyone that's in the mood for a quality hot dog joint that comes with amazing french fries. I personally cannot wait until I can get back there.

Today's Wit: A Zen Master walks up to a hot-dog seller and says: "Make me one with everything."

Female Playoff Beard?

Hockey is one of the great loves of my life. Tomorrow marks the start of this season's playoffs, and as always, I'm stoked for it to begin. I've been a Pittsburgh Penguins fan for as long as I can remember. Over the years I graduated from being a Pens fan, to being a hockey fan, meaning I know more players than just the Pens, and I also learned the rules of the game and the hand signals that the refs use for penalties. I even started paying attention to the overall standings, the plight of the sport as a whole, etc. etc. 

During all this time, I have participated in many fun, traditional hockey activities. I grew up with two older brothers who also loved hockey; one who threw shoes at me if I wasn't in the room for the start of the game. I've also been to numerous Pens games, both home and away, as well as during the good times and the bad.  I've also played the various video games, starting with the amazing Blades of Steel, with my all-time favorite game being NHL Hits. I even played a little hockey when my brothers would literally duct tape me into hockey goalie pads that were too big for me so that they could play a pick-up game down at the park. 

As we all got older, they began to participate in the playoff beard tradition. I, being a non-hairy, fair-skinned female, cannot grow a beard, and therefore cannot participate in this tradition. Every year I feel left out in that I can only live vicariously through my male friends as they grow their beards. And every year I ask for suggestions on what I can do to participate. I always get the same one: don't shave my legs. But, seriously? Gross. Nobody wants to see that. A Google search provided a few options from other folks, such as the Wangs fans who wear bracelets. Wikipedia says that there is a movement for female fans to not shave their arm pits, but again, gross. The writers over at Chicks Who Give a Puck recommend dying strands of hair, or painting finger nails. I am dissatisfied with all of these options. The jewelry option does not seem to have the level of permanence that the essence of the beard has. I refuse to have hairy legs or pits, as it is uncomfortable and would make me feel gross. And while I agree with the chicks who give who puck that the female version should be something natural, dying hair or painting nails does add an expense that the beard does not. However, with the playoffs starting tomorrow, and having no better idea of what to do myself, I think I will do both the hair (if I can find cheap dye) as well as bracelets, as that would show wins and losses. And perhaps by next year, I'll have found the perfect solution. 

Go Pens!

Today's Wit: "McGrath: Good crowd out there tonight, boys, let's really try to win this one.

Ned Braden: You have to hand it to the old bastard, he's highly original.

Jim Ahern: That man traveled 15 hours by bus to sat that?!" - Slap Shot

Dove Off the Deep End

There comes a time in life when you need to ask yourself "what do I want?" Up to this point, I have not really asked myself that question, nor spent any time reflecting on what an answer to that question might be. I have always had inklings though; hints as to what would NOT make me happy, even if I didn't know what would. After a series of unfortunate events in the recent weeks, I finally snapped and started asking myself what I want. Unfortunately, I don't feel very far into my answer. And the one thing I know I want, I can't have.

I have been learning about things I don't want, though. For instance, I don't want to be in a job that sucks the life out of me. I want to seize the day, live each moment to the fullest, and be happy in whatever way I can. And if I can't be in a job that I love, then I at least want that job to allow me the time and resources to spend my free time enjoying life. But not just enjoying it, breathing it into others as well. This task is difficult, though. In the movies, they always make it seem so easy; just give everything up and go for what you want. A cool job is right around the corner, along with the man of your dreams, and everything falls magically into place. In reality, the picture is rather different.

For starters, I quit my job without any savings to tide me over or another job waiting for me. I am unemployed and have about 3 weeks to come up with next month's rent. And the future is terrifying. On my old path, the one laid out for me by everyone that wasn't me, I knew where I was going next. I also never needed to ask myself where I wanted to go, because I would just go where the next job was. Now, however, I feel as if I'm facing a large abyss of possibilities. It's the paradox of choice: I have the entire world now open to me, and I cannot decide where I want to go. Of course, the picture isn't so black and white, as there are other mitigating factors influencing my decision, such as friends and family. Essentially, though, I can go anywhere. And despite the terror that I feel with the unknown, there is also something freeing in it. And even if I spend my mornings depressed and searching for jobs, I refuse to not live out my new philosophy of sucking the life out of everything, instead of everything sucking the life out of me. So I spend my afternoons doing things I've been dreaming of doing for quite some time now. I practice my bass, I spend some time practicing/learning French, I draw/sketch, and I spend time outside. I've also been watching a ton of amazing movies, and enjoying quality time with my friends. Yes, I am broke, and there are lots of other facets to life that I need to sort out, but at the end of the day, I feel freer now then ever before. And it is only now that I can really, truly explore the question of "what do I want?"

Today's Wit: "They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? -- Carpe -- hear it? -- Carpe, carpe diem, sieze the day boys, make your lives extraordinary." Keating, from Dead Poets Society

St. Pat's Day

Many people around town have begun their preparations for the second greatest holiday of the year, St. Patrick's Day (the best holiday being 4th of July). Bar owners are advertising their specials (like the ever-popular kegs and eggs), shamrocks and other decorations are being placed in windows and work places, and even Angry Birds has come out with a St. Patrick's version for their Seasons app. Today, I came across this report on CNN Travel on quirky places to be on this lovely holiday. And while I will not be able to travel to any of them this year, I think a trip to New Dublin is in my near future.

Today's Wit: Only Irish coffee provides all main essential food groups: alcohol, caffeine, sugar, and fat.

Aioli Have Eyes for You

Aioli. The classy diner's cure to the otherwise "low brow" french fries. I must say, I've never been a fan of the idea of aioli on french fries. Suitable sauces, to me, include ketchup, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. Aioli always seemed to take away the rustic feeling I get when I eat fries. It always made me feel too fancy. Despite these feelings, however, I do occasionally crave a different taste than what I'm used to, and dipping fries in aioli fulfills such a need. So, for my french fry dinner at home, I decided to make my own aioli to dip the fries in.

Like most things about the kitchen and cooking, I was oblivious as to what aioli actually was. A quick google search brought up a lovely site on Wikipedia that explains things a bit. Traditional aioli is mainly comprised of garlic and oil. Most recipes, however, add egg in order to ease in the mixing. For my own cooking, I chose a recipe that included egg. If I try it again, I'll likely eliminate the egg to see if I can still master the mixture, but as a first attempt, I decided to play it safe. 

There are a lot of recipes for aioli on the web, with a variety of variations. I decided upon this one. The only real reason is because it didn't include mustard or mayonnaise (two things I hate), like many of the others I came across did. I want to mention, though, that there are recipes out there that suggest substitutes for the egg yolk for those who don't like the idea of eating raw yolks. 

My first (and only) snag in the recipe was with lack of equipment. The recipe indicates that you need to crush the garlic in a mortar and pestle. Since I don't own a mortar and pestle, I made do with a cup and a bowl. 

My mortar and pestle

(and yes, that is a bowl shaped like an ice cream cone)

After that, it was simply a matter of following the recipe. I added the oil a drop at a time, constantly whisking. This process took a long time, but in the end results were worth it! By the time I added the last of the oil, I had a bowl of aioli sauce! 

I didn't try any variations or extra seasonings, but I may in the future. With this batch, I just made it as is, and began dipping my fries in it. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised with how well it turned out. This recipe has given me a new outlook on aioli, and has provided me with one more way of enjoying my favorite food.

Today's Wit: Old colanders never die, they just can't take the strain anymore. 

Hard Core Potato

While perusing the internet the other day, I came across this video.

On the one hand, the video is awesome because it essentially animates the images I see in my head every time I cook. Well, minus the epic send-off. Cooking should be joyous. There's no need to have such a sacrificial death. I like to pretend that the food I'm making is happy to be at my service, and that they're excited to be cooked. They even compliment me on my non-existent cooking skills. And instead of being afraid to be thrown in the pot or pan, they thank me for helping them to reach their full potential.

On the other hand, however, it made me think about blind faith and total institutions, and the dangers that can result from such devotion. I feel like there are many circumstances in life where we willingly harm ourselves for the use of others; where our destruction leads to another's creation. This is an extreme depiction of what the consequences can be: peeling off the skin and jumping into a pot of hot liquid. Even more disturbing is the attitude of honor and pride the potato seems to exhibit by his sacrificial leap. Erving Goffman described such processes on his piece about total institutions. In such places our sense of self (raw potato) is destroyed (peeled away) so that we can become (be cooked) what the institution (chef) deems to be the proper behavior (the meal). I'm aware that I am severely bastardizing and simplifying Goffman's theory here, but it is still what I thought about as I watched the video. Well, that, and about how if this potato were real he may be more hard core than Chuck Norris.

Today's Wit: Land mines cost an arm and a leg.

New Fry Alert: Blackstone Brewery

Well, I've done it. I've finally made it out to a new place in Nashville! I feel like it has been ages since I've gone anywhere new, but this week I had lunch at Blackstone Brewery. In general, I enjoy breweries. I tend to like the atmosphere of them, and I also enjoy trying local items. Their food, however, is usually not as good as a hole-in-the-wall pub, and they are usually much more expensive. The dinner menu for Blackstone fits that bill (no pun intended). Their lunch menu, however, was fairly reasonably priced. I ordered a burger and fries (my typical choice) and was anxious to finally try out some new pommes frites. They were, in a word, DELICIOUS. What's frustrating, though, is that I can't even explain why they were so good. They looked like any other french fry that comes frozen in a large bag and thrown in a fryer (see pic below).

The taste, however, was above average. There was no visible seasoning to account for the added goodness, and all I could discern for sure was salt, but there was something else. Something wonderful. The burger was less than stellar, but those fries were praiseworthy. I doubt they will be the best fries in Nashville, but they are certainly the best fries I've had in a long time.

As it was also a brewery (and I am trying to acquire an appreciation for beer), I decided to buy some of the local brew. Since I couldn't afford to drink any during lunch, as I had to return to work shortly after, I bought a growler to have some later. Up until that point, I had no idea what a growler was. Clicking on the link will take you to a fun article that explains the growler as well as some theories regarding its origin. At any rate, I bought myself one, had it filled with their Nut Brown Ale, and brought it home. The benefit of this is that I can now take it to any brewery in the future and carry out beer! What a great invention! Although, I must say, I feel a little silly about the thought of carrying around a growler, especially considering how infrequently I drink. Now if only I could find some company to drink the newly purchased 1/2 gallon of beer with...

Today's Wit: A piece of string walked into a bar and said "Gimme a beer!" but the bartender said "Get outta here! We don't serve your kind here!" So the string left, but he was thirsty, and he really wanted a beer, so he messed up his hair real badly and looped himself around until he had tied himself into a knot. When the string went back into the bar, the bartender looked at him suspiciously and said "Aren't you that worthless piece of string I just threw outta here?" No, the string replied, "I'm a frayed knot!"

Cooking Curly

I have recently reached a conclusion: I know nothing about curly fries.

This revelation, while causing me to hang my head in shame, has also sent me on a mission to uncover their secrets. But first I want to clarify what I mean by curly fry. I find that there are generally two kinds out there. Those that are seasoned in such a way as to give the fries their orange-ish appearance and those that taste like regular fries, but are simply curly. When I say curly fry, I mean the orange-looking version.

But what is it that gives them their color? What makes them curly? And why do all curly fries essentially taste the same?

I decided that the best way to learn these answers (other than a Google search), would be to learn how to make them myself. So, in spite of my being a complete klutz in the kitchen, that's what I did. I got a recipe from ehow.com, (which you can access here), went grocery shopping for the tools and ingredients needed, and got to work.

I immediately noticed three problems:

Problem #1: I couldn't find the tool that makes the fries curly at either Wal-Mart or Target, and therefore had to make non-curly curly fries.

Problem #2: The recipe calls for boiling water, but never mentions it again. Having no idea what it should be used for, I ignored that step.

Problem #3: The fries will be baked, not fried. While this is probably better for me (the last time I fried something I caught the stove on fire), fries are usually better fried. Still, I stuck to the recipe and decided to bake them.

Despite these issues, I set about making the fries. The process went fairly well. I competently peeled and cut the potatoes, mixed up the batter (added black pepper to the mixture), and baked the fries. Here is the less-than-perfect result:

They're edible, but not nearly as tasty as those found in restaurants. All is not lost, however, as I learned some valuable things: 1. The paprika and cayenne seasonings are what give the curly fry its distinctive color. 2. This recipe calls for more cayenne than I would like (my tongue is still burning a little). 3. Cooking with cayenne makes me sneeze. A lot.

Today's Wit: Many people think that Edgar Allan Poe was a raven madman.

Nashville has flooded

A few weeks ago, Nashville flooded. I was fortunate to not have any personal damage to my home, but there are many in this city who have. I still have not yet found the words to describe my own thoughts, but I feel the need to share those of others. One of my best friends, for example, had this to say about what it was like during those days.

In the wake of the flood, many people have pulled together to help one another out. It has been amazing to be a part of this community, helping out my neighbors as I watch others doing the same in their neighborhoods. But I, like many others, are a little concerned about the narratives surrounding the flooding and the comparisons that are being made between Nashville and New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina (thanks to Jenn Lena for bringing this to my attention). So in the space left from the lack of my own thoughts, I leave you with theirs.