Friday, June 12, 2009

to quote Weird Al: White and Nerdy

And speaking of my nerdy tendencies:

You have no idea how jealous I am of this kid. He got hit by a meteorite. Lucky! I so, so want a scar from an interstellar impact with space rubble. In an obvious place so people are obligated to ask me about it. "What? Oh, that? Yeah, meteor crater. Got hit by a space rock." Boo ya! Top that, bitch. Hell, yeah.

Nerd Princess

Okay, so I'm on the train last night and this kid is totally staring at my chest. I say kid. He was probably early 20s. A kid. And he seems to realize he's staring at my chest. And forces himself to look away. [Just to give context, the train was very crowded and we were both strap hanging.] But he just keeps getting sucked back in.

What up? My chest is a lot like Kansas - flat and nothing much to see. And what is there is in a very sturdy brassiere, so there isn't a lot of movement, shall we say. So I'm going through things in the chestular area - blob of toothpaste? shadow in the shape of Jesus? forgot to shave the pits? I thought it might be 80s Madonna pits, but a quick check shows that I appear to have adequate coverage even if I'm a few days past tanktop smooth. But while my eyes drift to my pits, they pass - ah ha! - my t-shirt. It is a most awesome t-shirt.

Though you have to be either me or someone like me to truly appreciate it's eminent hilarity. Nerd. Mystery solved. And judging by the kid's nerd boy backpack, I'd say I have that one locked in. He just lusted after my shirt.

Geniusly entitled "It Came Out of Nowhere", the shirt is from An obsession that a colleague should have kept to her darned self. I've already bought 2 of their designs. It's like nerd princess heaven. I bought today's wickedly funny depiction of forbidden fruit as well. Couldn't resist, as they say. Ah, well. At least I'll be the envy of nerd boys everywhere.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

To Oz

So, last night, I check the weather before I leave work. A few showers. I decide to leave my galoshes at the office. Which was fine. I got to a friend's house to pick her up to go to the market before the rain started. The sky did not look good. I said, "Turn on the TV." Sure enough. From my leaving work to then, about 1 hour, it had gone from a few showers to "Head for the cellar, Auntie Em."

I told my friend she'd better secure her tomato plants (pure greed on my part - I've got at least 2 pounds of Cherokee purples with my name on them). She says, "Oh, it's nothing. They have these warnings all the time." Now, I'm looking at the map on TV. The big red box (and big red boxes are never good) is heading our way. Dead on. No veering. "Humor me." So we at least move the tomato box. 5 minutes later, the winds hit. They're telling us that it's 75 to 80 miles an hour with the danger of rotation. This does bad things to plants. So she's out in the first whip of rain, trying to tie down the other tomato plant that's in the ground.

I'm standing under the most secure part of the house. Tomatoes me damned. I'm from Texas. This cowgirl don't play when the sky turns green. And my eyes are glued to the TV. Believe me. By now, I don't need the play by play from the weather man. I need to be able to see the map. I know which marks are lightning strikes, which ones are rotation and which ones are screw-you-your-little-dog-too-I'm-getting-in-the-tub. They can laugh at me if they want to. I've seen what a tornado can do.

This morning (yes, everything was fine, no Munchkins when we looked out the door after the storm), the storms fired up again. It was raining so hard that I didn't hear my alarm clock go off. The train kept having electrical problems all the way downtown. And the wash that we pass over that is generally empty was full bank-to-bank. The lightning and thunder don't seem to want to settle down. The rumbles, the flashes and the threatening clouds. It's all just put me on edge.

Welcome to Tornado Alley.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

TV - Alert!

Top Chef Masters - Tonight on Bravo. I'm down like James Brown.

A slice of DEATH pie,1,3812684.story

Okay, so I'm reading this recipe. I'm kind of excited. It's a raw food "cheese"cake. I've got a friend who is gluten sensitive and doesn't really like sweets. Yeah, making desserts that don't make her do the yucky face is a bit of a "challenge". So I'm thinking this recipe is ideal. No wheat. No processed sugar. It's no-bake, so good for the summer. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Liking it.

Until I get down to the freaking nutrition breakdown. Holy cats. 530 calories, 43 grams of fat, 18 grams sat fat. You've gotta be kidding me. And that's for an 8-inch pie cut in 10-12 pieces. I know pie. That is not a big slice, people. Hand a guest a slice of pie that slivery and there will be trouble. And you'd have to say "No, I'm not holding out on you. I'm just trying not to kill you." Heart attack on a dessert plate. And this thing is vegan, too. Can you imagine feeding it to some poor skinny little vegan. They'd probably go into some sort of convulsions or something. Their little bodies can't handle that kind of calorie load.

Sometimes I think that raw food diet goes to peoples' brains. 530 calories my sweet ass.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

What up with that?

I saw it and thought it must be a gag. But no. There is is in all it's Amazon glory.

It's a real book. Has anyone heard why Melissa Gilbert named her memoir something that sounds like the softcore porn version of Little House on the Prairie?

Create your own caption

I stole the pic from How could I not? It practically has STEAL ME written all over it. Mea culpa, mea culpa. But come on. How great is that shot?
And how much do I love it that Brett Michaels got his nose broken at the Tony's? It's like cosmic karma for any theater kid whoever got pounded by a metalhead. Poison was on the Tony's. We can all just get along. Party on, Wayne.

Pass the sauce

I had thought that everybody hated vegetables. I’ve never really liked them. Fruit, yes. Veg, no. They taste bitter. They give you gas. They take an inordinate amount of chewing. Why would anyone like them? Oh, sure. We all fake it. The way people say they love jogging or War And Peace is their favorite book. Oh, yeah, right. Me too. But we all know it’s a lie. And we all eat them because they’re healthy, and it’s the “right” thing to do.

And I eat them. The thing is, that if I say “good vegetables”, what I really mean is “good condiments that mostly cover up the taste of the vegetables”. Crudite is really just an extremely efficient condiment delivery system. But really, eating a bowl of raw, plain vegetables would never be anything but an exercise in self-flagellating masochism. And anybody who does that with glee is just a sick bastard.

Or at least that’s what I thought. I’ve been reading the Flexitarian Diet. And apparently, I’m a strong PTC (phenylthiocarbamide) taster, and the bitter part of vegetables just bothers me more than some people. So those people cheerfully chomping on carrot stickers really aren’t just a bunch of lying liars. Surprise me.

Evidently, I’m not alone. Lots of people are tasters. It explains the rampant use of cheese sauce and ranch dressing in this country. We have enough residual Pilgrim guilt that we’ll eat our vegetables. But only with enough nacho cheese to nuke them into oblivion. Blame Mary Poppins and her spoonful of sugar.

So, if I’m going to go into a more healthy flexitarian mode, my main strategies are going to have to be adding fruit as much as possible, focusing on beans and whole grains, and when necessary condimenting the hell out of any vegetable that I can’t avoid. In a completely healthy manner, of course. Yeah, right. Fat, salt and sugar are the only things that make those nasty little beggars bearable. I’m just going to have to do my best to keep them under control.

But in the interest of NOT keeping things under control, here is my favorite coleslaw recipe. It’s got so much whackiness going on that you can hardly taste the cabbage. Plus, it’s a “dump” recipe – you can find all the elements in the grocery store pre-cut. All you have to do is throw it in a container and let it meld a little to get the flavors all whupped together. Goes great with just about anything you’d find at a picnic. If you insist, you could cut some of the badness with low fat sour cream and mayo. Martyr. But as it is, people who swear they hate coleslaw love this stuff. And it's vegetables. So it must be good for you.

“Hot” Slaw

¾ cup sliced green olives
¼ cup chopped pickled jalapeños
¼ cup mayo
¼ sour cream
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
1 teaspoon sugar
1 bag of prepared coleslaw mix

Drain the olives and jalapeños. In a large bowl, mix the olives, jalapeños, mayo, sour cream, vinegar and sugar. Toss in slaw. It’s best when allowed to sit at least an hour. Serve like you slaved on it all day.

Monday, June 8, 2009

AND it had Liza with a Z

I admit it’s a slightly weird form of revenge. But it tastes sweet nonetheless.

Usually, I have to listen to post game rehash at work. Especially for football or the golfing or “the final four” whatever sport that is. Bo-ring. But I’m tolerant. I sip my coffee and thank the powers that be that at least I don’t work with people who paint themselves colors, and that the fantasy whatchamacallit seems to have died down. Really though, I’d rather hear color commentary of a colonoscopy.

But now I have a colleague who enjoys the Tony’s as much as I do. This is my Super Bowl. Who were the game makers? What were the big plays? What was up with that girl who quoted John Kennedy? Dial it back, honey. And, most critical, how was the host? Wow. NPH, if you ever get even the tiniest bit bi-curious, call me. We’ll make out. Suave as hell, my friend. You should host every Tony show.

I know the Broadway Babies think it’s a night to celebrate the arts. But really, it’s a chance to see what touring company I want to check out when it hits my town. Tops on the list is Rock of Ages. Yes, it’s a music box show. But if you’re a child of the 80s who did even the tiniest bit of head banging (who didn’t?), and a musical fan, that’s some rockin’ music box.

And, speaking of rocking, if you missed it, and only have time for one replay, go find Frank Langella’s presenter spot on YouTube. Funniest bit of the night.

TIME: Quotes of the Day