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Monday, September 30, 2013

you should have specified

Sometimes being a parent is frustrating.  Because you try so hard to indoctrinate your children with your values (which are superior to anyone else's, that's why you have those values), and then they go out into the world and well-meaning idiots tell them that our duty to treat one another with respect is contingent upon people behaving according to a given set of social customs.  Not in those exact words, obviously, but with their actions.  We heard a choice anecdote yesterday about a boy who was driven, DRIVEN I say, to a pornography addiction when he went to the city pool and saw some young women who were dressed in bikinis, and then another story that basically amounted to, "Welp, the boys don't say naughty things about girls who are dressed modestly."  Ugh, because of course it has nothing to do with the fetishization of women's bodies, or social conditioning that teaches boys they have a claim upon women, or the immense shame associated with moral failings that drive them into secret places to fester and rot, or the refusal to take responsibility for one's own faults and shortcomings. . . none of that is going on, I'm sure.  Anyhoodle, I spend a lot of time detoxifying my children of all the harmful folk doctrine they encounter here and there, and it's exhausting.  Like it's not hard enough doing my job as it is.


Kind of excited about the government shutdown that is or is not happening, according to which source you consult.  Will we lose power?  Will we have to eat our food storage?  Will it be like a nationwide campout?  I'll bring the s'mores as long as you guys are cool with dark chocolate.  Have you had those huge marshmallows, the muy grande ones?  Too big.  Too much of a good thing; it throws the proportions all off.

I have just seen a thing called a walking taco?  What is this?  Have you had it?  It looks horrifying but you better believe I would eat it.

By the way, the mini-pies turned out nice.  The fluted paper pans were wrong for it, because there's no rim and you can't make a crimped edge.  But for the second batch I got some little aluminum ones from Orson Gygi that were better.  I just don't want to sell pies in aluminum pans; it seems so declasse.  King Arthur Flour has some paper ones with an edge that I think would work marvelously.  I came up with a better way to make a peach pie as well, one that won't get me disparaging remarks written on my evaluation paper by the pie judge.  Basically with a peach pie you need to put in the right amount of sugar and get out of the way.  Have I ever asked for your opinion on peach meringue?  Because I think that might be a good one.  

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

see the tree how big it's grown but friends it hasn't been too long

All right, if you guys refuse to talk about how amazing Buffy is then I guess that's your choice.  But someday you will understand.

In related supernatural television news, I watched the "Sleepy Hollow" pilot, and so far I like it.  It's sort of a dog's breakfast, concept-wise--not sure why we're mixing Ichabod Crane and the book of Revelations--but there were some fun moments.  That demon thing is way scary.

I just mashed a fly on an inside corner, which I think you'll agree is a moderate-to-high kill difficulty level, so . . . feeling pretty good.

These new "Equestria Girls" doll things, that are like Dr. Moreau started making horse people, are way gross.  I wonder, does their more humanoid appearance make them more or less attractive to bronys?  What attracts a brony to a My Little Pony, anyway?  Is it cartoon bestiality,  or are they drawn to the humanity inside the horse?  Tough questions to answer.

For a long time I have wanted to have gray hair, like Heloise-gray.  Maybe the naysayers in my life would be more okay with gray, because they are all lamewads who for some reason are okay with white-blonde that is not typically found in nature except on Nordic infants, but start defensive panic pooping as soon as you start talking about marshmallow chick pink or vibrant teal.  Look, history is on my side, people.  Hair coloring is getting more and more mainstream, and one of these days, when it won't cause my in-laws to have a stroke, I am going to do something Defcon Level 1 to my hair.

I am going to attempt some mini pies in those little paper pans now.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Friday, September 20, 2013

no one knows what it's like to be the bad man

I trimmed Hazel's and Sally's and Minerva's hooves this morning.  I had decided to keep Minerva because she's so much friendlier than Templette, but when I went into the pen after the hoof trimming to groom the rest of them Templette actually approached me and allowed me to pet her a little bit, and now I'm torn.  Minerva is the roan, but Templette has better conformation.  Bleh, goat husbandry is hard.  I guess I should work with both of them and give them an equal shot at staying.

Do you wish that smokers would switch to chewing?  Yes or no, defend in the comments.

I am probably getting goat hair all over the couch right now, but there's something important I want to discuss with you.  Since I just got done rewatching Buffy (I think this is my third time through?), I has some little questions.  For starters:
1.  Spike vs. Angel, in general, and for Buffy, specifically.  Discuss.
     a. Is Spike a better being than Angel, because he sought a soul rather than being cursed with one?
     b.  Are their differences in character due to the differences in their human characters?  Spike/William was a gentle, bookish softy as a human, and wasn't Angel/Liam basically a grody drunken poonhound with an unconvincing Irish accent?
     c.  Which of them, if indeed either, has a chance for a successful life--and I'm talking the rest of their lives, not a couple of years--with Buffy?
2.  With which character (regular or recurring) do you most identify?
3.  The acting . . . inconsistent, am I right?
4.  Does or does not Xander have it the roughest?  Discuss.
5.  Do you want Giles to be your dad?

That will do to be going on with.  And if you can guess the connection of today's post title to its contents, I tip my hat to you.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

mowgli seems kind of bossy

I spoke disparagingly about our new alfalfa being lazy and letting the volunteer wheat take over, but now I see that it has been doing its job after all.  There is nice little meadow of alfalfa sprouts out there.  Good thing, because buying all our hay is really cramping our financial style.  I look forward to next year having a little looser purse strings.

Last night before we saw my sister off at the airport we ate at an Ethiopian restaurant.  Would you ever have imagined that we could take Emmett to a place like that and he wouldn't have a total comeapart?  He got something called tibs, and raved about it.  He ate the injera for a while until he figured out that it was sour, but at least he tried it.  He has gotten so much better.  He even eats salsa.  Tonight I'm going to push my luck by making stroganoff--he is not into saucy noodles.  Anyway, the waiter at the restaurant was a Rasta, and until right now when I googled it I was confused about what Rastafarianism and Ethiopia had to do with each other, because I am ignorant.  He was a nice guy who gave us a quick history lesson about Ethiopia, told us he didn't have a TV and he just reads books all the time, and encouraged our children to read lots of books and find their path, but he also said that women should just know how to cook well; that's just how it should be.  So it is possible for someone who reads a lot to still have sexist ideas, is what we learn.  He contains multitudes!

Monday, September 16, 2013

on my body on my body like a tattoo

I'm going to make some salsa today.  It's a messy, time-consuming project, but since it's not really possible to buy a decent canned salsa, I have no choice.  The recipe is from my sister-in-law, who got it from a friend of hers.  I like when people aren't stingy and possessive with their good recipes.  It's their right, sure, if they have something that sets their recipe apart from the madding crowds, but it's still rude.  I've already shared this recipe with my sister and my stepmom, so I figure I'll share it with you guys as well, in case any of you are looking for a project. I can't bring myself to type it all out in the right format to be read, so here are pictures.  Let me know if you can't figure out what it says.

Plus you get the skin-softening benefit of all the steam from the tomatoes.  Like being in a sweat lodge! Enjoy.






Thursday, September 12, 2013

but not a real fur coat that's cruel

Consider this a warning shot fired across the bow:  any clothing label that is still using itchy, sewn-in tags is asking, nay, begging to be boycotted.  What a bunch of malarkey.  It is 2013, sweatshops, you don't think those six-year-olds can learn to stamp a tag instead of sew it in?  It's a way easier skill, you can probably have the four-year-olds do it.  Speaking of which, how soon can we expect to start 3-D printing our cheap t-shirts instead of having child slaves do it?  Because I feel pretty guilty about my complicity in their hell life, but because it is a remote problem, I still refuse to pay more than $10 for a t-shirt, $15 for a nice one or one with long sleeves.  I don't see a better solution than printing our clothes, is what I'm saying.

The call from that weird water/kefir lady reminded me that I needed to check my kefir, and so I changed the milk and rinsed the grains, and now my hands smell like I live in an abandoned cheese factory, which would be the coolest children's book series.  Can you imagine what a group of plucky orphaned children who want to keep the family together could get up to in an abandoned cheese factory?  What if . . . what if they started the factory back up, and started selling cheese, and it started winning awards, and then the media would want to know who was behind this new cheese sensation, and they'd have to figure out how to elude the prowling reporters, and there would be some tension when they were found out, because an evil person would pretend to be their distant relative to try to cash in on their success, but then they would realize that the kindly middle-aged man they'd brought in off the street to be their pretend dad could actually be declared their legal guardian because he was a good-hearted war veteran who had lost track of his family in the dark years since Vietnam, and it turns out that he really was their dad's long-lost brother, and the evil Ms. Hannigan/Count Olaf figure would gnash her/his teeth in defeat, and then Uncle Russ would fall in love with the lady detective who had discovered the orphans' secret, and they would get married because I'm old-fashioned, and Uncle Russ would stay home with the kids while Hannah Storm or whatever would solve crimes during the day because I'm modern too, and the kids would make cheese except when they were at school, public school, because they know that if we all don't invest in the system it's not going to get any better.  BOOM, million-dollar idea right there.  I call rights on the story, but might have somebody ghostwrite it for me.  Haven't decided yet.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

the moon had disappeared and so had christopher mcgill

I know that talking about 9/11 is tricky for a lot of people.  It was a hard day, but some of the public grieving on such forums as Twitter and Facebook seems so . . . weirdly exhibitionist?  There was a comment on a Gawker post in which someone squirmed about the people who tweet something like #neverforget and nothing else, like "oh, I almost forgot about 9/11 until I saw my aunt Mabel's picture of a crying eagle."  And brothers and sisters, I did laugh.  Because that is exactly how I feel.  And I know I shouldn't throw shade at the way other people choose to (tackily) grieve, publicly or privately, and if a Precious Moments figurine dressed as a firefighter gives somebody comfort, who am I to judge?  I guess that's just one more sin keeping me out of heaven.  It seems like people try to attach themselves or exaggerate their connection to a traumatic event, be it a death or a Hep C diagnosis, because it makes them feel important.  Am I imagining this?

Some weird lady called me the other day--she had gotten my number from the place we buy our hippie stuff--and she wanted water crystals, which I am not sure what those are?  At first she was asking for kefir, and I had some of that, and then she said, "Now, these are water crystals, right?"  And I was like, "Huh?  I thought you said kefir grains?"  But no, she wanted water crystals, which are, according to her, "crystals formed from water."  So . . . ice, then?  Not sure if serious.  Maybe it was a scam and they were wiretapping us or something and now the government is spying on me because they know of my secret ambition to be Maleficent the Great, Demon Queen of America.  Cat's out of the bag now, I guess I better look for a campaign manager for 2016.

Thursday, September 5, 2013

I will do the dishes while you go have a beer

I am so offended by the line of portable toilets called "Honey Bucket."  Apparently it is also a generic term, whose etymology eludes me.  How repellent.  What person would want those two concepts associated?  A septic tank pump truck painted bright yellow and called "The Stool Bus," that I can support.  But I reject this tarnishing of honey's image and, should I ever have occasion to rent portable toilets, WILL NOT patronize this company.  This is my vow.

I've made most of our mayonnaise for the last few years, because I like meaningless busywork, especially on school mornings, and like a total lamewad I've been dragging out the blender and assembling the ingredients one by one, adding the oil in a slow steady stream . . . pfft.  What a waste of time.  Last week I remembered an infomercial I saw as a child, when immersion blenders were a new magic, and I remembered the shill making mayonnaise by dumping all the ingredients into a plastic cup and blending it right there.  So I, being a smartypants, decided to do that, and then today, just now, I thought, why not make it in the storage cup itself?  Do you see how sometimes people are intimidated by my prodigious intellect?  And it is a way big process improvement, if anyone was curious.

Groceries has been asleep on the chair in the living room since before the children got on the bus.  He is lazy.   He probably weighs about eighteen pounds.  He's also the one who barfs and poops in the house.  But look at him!  How could I stay mad at him?

You can poop on my bath mat anytime, little buddy.

This is a lie.  Don't really do that.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

guess we have to use the hobbles now

Sally was so bad on the milking stand today.  Here is a picture I made about it.