There are some things I know I shall never master. For example, though I entertain ideas of becoming a kung fu master (this includes flying across rooftops, running across water, etc.), that will never happen. Likewise, I will never be facile with all the variations of knot-tying. I am able to juggle three objects, but I do not anticipate acquiring the skills to juggle more objects or three potentially damaging objects (e.g. one flaming stick, one bowling ball, one chainsaw).
Then there are the things that I feel like I should have already mastered, and yet have not. This includes consistently removing muffins from muffin tins (and loaves from bread pans) without dropping or denting the baked product.
This activity should not be that difficult.
Even when using one of those flexible, silicone muffin “tins”, I sacrificed one muffin this morning to the ravenous gods of the Kitchen Floor. A cry of distress left my lips. I do not subscribe to the Five-Second Rule and thus, it was with great disappointment that I picked up the then misshapen confection before depositing it onto a nearby plate.
I’d like to forever escape this baking taxation. One muffin out of six is unjust.
(Though, admittedly, I ate the portion of the Tainted Muffin that wasn’t contaminated. It was tasty. Unmindfulness has its benefits.)
23 Dec 2007 | 4 comments.
A Mannequin, Restaurants, and Christmas Music.
There was a mannequin poised outside of the store. Her unnaturally tan body was clad in bright red panties with furry white trim and a lacy red and black bustier. Black fishnet stockings hugged her shapely, plastic legs and a Santa hat sat upon head. A few strands of stringy blonde hair hung in her face.
The bustier strap on her left shoulder was slipping off of the smooth curve of her arm.
A family—father, mother, maybe twelve year-old daughter, and young college co-ed—strolled together upon the sidewalk. Each was bundled in a puffy jacket and a scarf. Their hands were pushed deeply into the pockets of their jackets and when they exhaled mid-sentence, plumes of white condensation floated from their lips.
The family passed the scantily-clad mannequin. The father’s eyes passed over her hollow body as he walked by. The college co-ed did not acknowledge her. The mother walked past the mannequin, casting a wry glance at it—
—and then she turned around and faced the Santa seductress.
The twelve-year old watched her mother, an amused, toothy grin on her face. She saw her mother pick up the loose bustier strap and push it back onto the mannequin’s shoulder. The mother then gently pulled down on the strap to ensure that it would stay in place.
As she resumed walking, the mother simply remarked, “Don’t want her to get cold.”
Lots of good eating in Seattle! Frequently engaging in good eating isn’t necessarily a desirable thing, but in the service of spending time with friends, it’s wonderful… and provides yet another reason to run regularly.
Le Pichet. Cute French restaurant in downtown Seattle with a simple, rustic ambiance. Pretty waitresses. The dishes are nicely balanced in flavor and I was particularly struck with the complement of food flavors with food textures (that sounds a lot more pretentious than I intend). I liked the frites. The desserts were wonderful: the chocolate cake was full and dense and the persimmon sorbet (!) was light and smooth. The palate leaves happy.
Saley. It’s a small space with brightly colored walls, an open kitchen, and a compact boombox against the far wall. Though the store offers sandwiches, people go for the crepes. They offer about eight varieties of “salty” crepes and about five varieties of “sweet” crepes… and they’re freshly made and delicious. The prices are beyond reasonable and the service is absolutely wonderful. Yum.
Chiang’s Gourmet. This restaurant specializes in Shanghai-style dishes. The pan fried noodles are the house specialty and are worth the visit alone. The foods burst with flavor and a a reliable source informs me that the dishes are well-replicated from those in Shanghai. That most of the patrons are geriatric Asians supports this assertion, too.
B&O Espresso. What a darling cafe—lots of small, corner tables and flickering candles everywhere. They apparently serve “real food” there, though it is probably better known for its desserts. The German chocolate cake and chocolate raspberry torte are the house specialties. While the outer decor does not suggest that it’s a romantic venue (especially with a name like “B & O”, which, incidentally, stands for the cross streets: Belmont and Olive), it is not a bad choice for a date. Think “cozy”.
Monsoon. The best Vietnamese food is probably still in the International District, though this restaurant does well. The menu boasts a variety of dishes (to the point of distraction), many of which are more Vietnamese-inspired. For example, I had the Louisiana catfish claypot. It was delicious, though not exactly authentic to either Southern or Vietnamese cooking.
Machiavelli Ristorante. It’s an Italian restaurant with great real estate. The tables overlook the bustle of Pine Street and one can catch glimpses of the hipsters poring over their books and laptops at Bauhaus Coffee across the way. The food… well, it’s alright. I thought the pasta sauces were a bit heavy, both in texture and flavor. The tiramisu was also heavy. And buried under an avalanche of whipped cream.
El Greco. I’ve only been there for brunch. It’s tasty. They do a good job balancing the sweet and salty in their breakfast dishes. I’m not sure that they actually delivered the dish that I ordered, but nonetheless, it was good. For whatever that is worth.
Coastal Kitchen. I’ve raved about Coastal Kitchen in the past. It is still probably my favorite place to go for brunch. I’ve still never ordered the gingerbread waffle… though I intend to do so before I leave Seattle.
The cool thing about Christmas music is that it adapts easily to jazz and electronica rhythms. SomaFM currently has a “Christmas Lounge” station that has featured swinging renditions of Christmas songs by Lionel Hampton and croony carols by Frank Sinatra… as well as cool ambient arrangements by many artists that I have never heard of (I’m still trying to build my electronica library…). This also means that the dancing never stops, whether I’m baking cookies, wrapping gifts, or typing blog entries.
22 Dec 2007 | 2 comments.
Some December Pleasures.
- Mint truffle Hershey kisses.
- Correspondences of all sorts from far-flung friends.
- Men in long winter coats. Woo woo!
- Garish displays of Christmas lights, nativity scenes, inflatable Santas, etc.
- Observing inflatable Santas that have face-planted into the sidewalk due to strong winds.
- Colorful scarves and mittens.
- Peppermint hot chocolate.
- Wearing long winter coats.
- Walking into a warm, dry building from the cold rain.
- Baking cookies.
- Carol of the Bells (by far my favorite Christmas song).
- Optimism about and hope for the upcoming year.
Though 2008 has yet to arrive, it promises to be a year of taking risks, playfulness, and adventure. I’ve already started the list of resolutions and, in the spirit of vanquishing procrastination (and, apparently, of using dramatic verbs), I have already begun to shift some of my behavior. (Not all of it, because change is scary.)
Let’s hope it lasts.
20 Dec 2007 | 1 comment.
Nativity.
Though several psychotic people have informed me that they are Jesus, I have yet to encounter anyone who has asserted that they are Santa Claus.
I toyed with the idea of writing a story related to the shared delusion of Santa Claus:
- Santa falls off of his sled, is taken to the trauma center, is admitted to the hospital with multiple fractures and maybe a liver laceration or two, and demands to leave because of his holiday duties. The primary team asks for a psychiatric consultation; the psychiatrists deem him psychotic, maybe delirious. He remains in the hospital to recover. Mysteriously, two-thirds of the Santa-believing world do not find presents underneath their trees on Christmas morning. Even the parents can’t find the gifts that they had hidden in the closet, etc.
- The psychiatric literature reports a disturbing phenomenon where children do not sleep well for about a week starting December 18th or so. On December 24th, there is an epidemic of children who stay up all night, exhibiting excess energy and entertaining a shared fantastic delusion about a height-weight disproportionate man who shall leave them all the gifts that they desire. The parents of these children are concerned about this outlandish behavior—their kids are unruly, they are not paying attention during school, etc.—and this bizarre belief. Some parents and psychiatrists strongly suggest that these children receive pharmacological treatment or intense therapy to address this problem. Debate ensues.
… but fear that people will take offense. Readers cannot see the tongue in my cheek.
The following was originally posted on December 23rd, 2004. Long-time readers should note that I still have many more questions than answers about religious faith.
Around this time of year, everyone returned to their respective hometowns. The government minions wanted to make sure they had an accurate headcount for taxing purposes, although they publicly stated they just wanted “census data”.
Thus, Joe had to leave the quiet suburbs and return to the urban metropolitan sprawl. Accompanying him to the city was his girlfriend Mary. She got knocked up somehow—and he certainly wasn’t the one who had the pleasure of doing so. She adamantly insisted, however, that she wasn’t creeping around with some other guy. Joe was skeptical, of course—maybe she had gone out clubbing with some of her girlfriends, like that Martha chick, and maybe some guy had slipped some GHB into her drink and you know, had his way with her.
Strangely enough, though, Joe had a dream about her pregnancy. He had actually planned to terminate the relationship. For the love of God, the woman was pregnant with some other guy’s kid! He had rehearsed his delivery so many times in his head: “It’s not you, Mary; it’s me.” He really meant, of course, “It’s not me, Mary; it’s SO totally you, you worthless whore.” But something about this dream was truly compelling: An Adonis with wings clearly instructed him to marry this woman and name the kid Immanuel.
Joe could already hear the kids on the playground taunting this poor illegitimate bastard. “Immanuel”? “Ewwww-manuel!” “E mano e mano!” “I”m a manual!” Terrible.
Adonis said something, however, about this kid saving the world. Whatever. It was just a dream, right?
Joe really did care for Mary, though—she was a great girl and worth forgiving. And he figured that if they got married, maybe she’d stop her cheating ways. And so he gave her a Ring Pop (Joe didn’t have much money) and proposed over a shared cup of ice cream at Dairy Queen. She particularly liked Blizzards.
Her belly was huge and right when they got into the city, her labor began in earnest. They didn’t have great health insurance, so even though they had hoped to receive obstetric services at the top-rated Labor and Delivery hospital on the West Side, they ended up rushing to the run-down county hospital. She almost popped out the kid by the Emergency Room entrance, where the local heroin and cocaine dealers were huddled nearby at the bus stop, waiting for their next customers.
Joe was obviously displeased.
But they were now parents of a baby boy! No fresh linens were available at that hour, so Mary and Joe ended up wrapping up their lil’ infant with tattered pillow cases. But how darling he looked!
Especially compared to the haggard and sweaty Mary.
The security guards were working their graveyard shifts, guarding the fancy cars in the parking structures throughout downtown. They were doing what they usually did: chew gum, mindlessly flip through Maxim Magazine, and listen to NPR.
A mysterious figure appeared at these parking garages and started yelling through a bullhorn, “The Guy who is going to SAVE THE WORLD was born tonight! Yes! Tonight! In this VERY CITY! Go to the county hospital—you”ll see him there, all wrapped up in pillow cases, near the drug dealers, yo!”
The security guards didn’t know what to make of this—was this some sort of a prank? The night was quiet, though, and the issue of Maxim wasn’t very good, so they decided to go to the county hospital—maybe the Bullhorn Guy was crazy, but maybe there was something to see. And maybe they could even score a few free lines of coke?
So they ambled up the hill to the county hospital and they couldn’t believe it: There was indeed a kid wrapped up in pillow cases outside of the ER, laying on a broken gurney, near a gaggle of drug dealers by the bus stop! They also saw three men there, dressed in full academic regalia, even with the silly mortarboard caps—each with a different colored tassel hanging from the corner.
“Who are they?” the security guards asked. “What kind of get-up is that, anyway?”
Apparently, these three learned men participated in Geocaching when they weren’t working. For whatever strange reason, their GPS devices led them to the county hospital. They didn’t know what to expect (their last Geocaching adventure led them to the waterfront and rewarded them with a Dr. Seuss book and a package of condoms), but they seemed delighted to be there.
They leaned over the broken gurney and made silly faces at the baby, their tassels tickling the infant’s nose. Mary and Joe sat against the concrete pillars nearby, watching the three capped-and-gowned men play with their son. Would you believe that those men had given them gold, a handful of free debit cards, and an unbelievable amount of stock options? Mary and Joe just didn’t know what to make of this. It was kinda weird, really, but then again, they really needed the money.
It was getting late, though, so the Three Academics packed up their things, gave their best regards to the baby and his parents, piled into a Honda Accord, and drove away. The security guards were excited—this would make for a great story, wouldn’t it? This little kid getting all that gold and money at the county hospital! And maybe he would save the world—or maybe just do a better job than the current leadership in office. And, if for nothing else, at least they had stories to tell at the bar next weekend: “Yeah, this really weird guy was yelling into a bullhorn at the parking garage about this kid at the hospital, and we went, and you know, it was true and stuff! And the kid is LOADED! It was pretty cool!”
Mary and Joe smiled down at Immanuel as the sky began to lighten. They would always celebrate December 25th.
They just didn’t realize that everyone else would, too.
18 Dec 2007 | 4 comments.
Distractions.
>> My entire apartment smells like almond cookies. The holiday baking has begun and I estimate that I’ll be making cookies for the next three days. Though I have already received requests for my famous chocolate chip cookies, I elected to go the almond cookie route to expand my baking repertoire. Food preparation is an enlightening activity; I often don’t realize how one ingredient or how the quantity of one ingredient can greatly impact the end result. Consider almond extract. I imagined that, like vanilla extract, it would be brown in color. Not so. (It is clear.) Furthermore, I would have never guessed that one teaspoon could permeate so strongly throughout nearly three cups of flour. This reminds me of Jesus’s parable about a small amount of yeast that leavens the entire batch of dough. The making of bread arguably sounds more holy than the making of cookies.
>> The Lamy Safari fountain pen provides an excellent writing experience. Shortly after ogling fountain pens, I acquired a yellow Lamy Safari pen along with an ink converter (through the wonder that is eBay). Pilot G-2 gel ink pens are still my writing instruments of choice when at work, but the Lamy, in addition to providing a different mechanical sensation when in use, does help transform writing into a sacred activity. (Yes, my romantic notions are flaring up again. And, to further indulge my proclivities for office supplies, the Marvy Le Pen is also a nice pen. The color diversity adds to its appeal. Lastly, Pen & Ink now produces a Moleskine notebook knockoff that includes the archival paper, the bookmark, and the inside pocket… for half the price of a Moleskine. The cover is thicker, the paper is not as smooth, and I believe the lined version is lined wider than a Moleskine, but the size and structural integrity are the same.)
>> Yang Liu makes great art. She produced a series of poster art that compares Chinese (Asian) culture with German (Western) culture that succinctly and humorously captures some societal differences. I was particularly struck with how much the Chinese/Asian representations (which reflect Confucian values) resonate with me—though born and raised in the United States, my immigrant parents had successfully inculcated these ideals in me, despite the forces of cultural assimilation.
>> The CoolRunning running logs are no more. The Active Trainer log (which has overtaken CoolRunning) is not as user-friendly; I find it more difficult to navigate through both the site and through my own training (read: slogging) statistics. I have thus followed the suggestion of Mister Bean misterbeans (Brock’s wife… despite the moniker) and am now using RunningAhead. (I actually fell off the running wagon (?) for a couple of weeks due to good intentions to run after work. Good intentions, however, do not translate into desired behavior. A early morning runner I remain… because, that way, I actually run.)
>> I eagerly await the arrival of December 23rd. The sun rose today in Seattle at 7:51am and will set at 4:18pm! Once the winter solstice passes, we can all look forward to longer days. (Like many other citizens of beautiful Seattle, I feel more distress with the winter darkness than with the rain.)
16 Dec 2007 | 3 comments.