life according to me

Category: Distractions

Bottled Fat Free Opinions and some Sand

I’ve been in food land. You, gentle reader, should know that by now when the end of each month comes around, I will not be here. Surely you must have come across at least one of the eight trillion loaves of Julia Child’s French bread that are flooding Bloggsville with carbs, haven’t you? Just for grins and giggles, I did a Google search to see where I fell in the mix and actually looked at each page…scanning…searching, and feel not too badly surfacing on page 25 connected to Foodbuzz. I guess I’m not quite famous. Yet. I stopped looking for any mention of my foodblog on page 45 or something. Clearly I either have time to burn, or don’t feel like cleaning my house.

I’ll keep working on it. Being famous — not cleaning my house.

But, being the pithy one that I pretend to be, I’ve decided to get that point across with my rendition of Message in a Bottle. The point being that I’m a hopeless foodie and that it does take time when one enjoys much more about food than simply eating. Call it my version of the Slow Food Movement. The incomparable Cooper of Wonderland or Not, Should Be Famous and Darfur, an Unforgiveable Hell on Earth graced me with the opportunity to put my virtual Message in a Bottle and I do have to say that I’m feeling fairly famous about that since she NEVER, EVER even bats an eye at memes or awards.

It’ll be rough trying to pulling on my jammie top tonight before bed, so fat is my head over this.

In all seriousness, Message in a Bottle began at Mimi Writes, and from my visit there, I discovered that Mimi also ~~instigated~~ the Band Meme of which I was also a ~~daft lemming~~ willing participant. I do have to say that it was one of the more inspired memes I’ve been ~~smacked with~~ intrigued by and any excuse to open Photoshop is ~~a complete afternoon sucker upper~~ absolutely fine.

Unfortunately, I just might be one of those mentioned who resides in her dungeon. Mayhaps I didn’t follow those directions either? *sigh*

The directions for Message in a Bottle are not quite as lengthy (see below) as Julia Child’s recipe for pain francais (17 pages…), but I can feel myself not wanting to attend to them since there isn’t food involved. A hamburger for engaging might be a good idea since I’m on election watch this evening which is on a semi- collision course with American Noodle (and OMG how could the Texting Tweeners not vote off the cool, but not so melodious biker female?). And if I’m not mistaken, New Amsterdam, that show Fox has been dangling in front of us since before the holidays is going to premiere this evening (the one with the hunky guy who lives forever and how awful would that be?)

Heavens to Betsy. How have I come to this?

Here is my message in a bottle…

My message can be taken literally; goodness knows that I live by this advice. But more importantly, it is a message reminding us that if we deny ourselves that which is special, we risk so much of what can make life truly amazing, relatively speaking, of course. If I must also explain — from an analytical angle, dark chocolate and red wine are a source of anitoxidants. The butter? Well, if you’ve been using “spread,” how are those triglyceride levels, hmmmm? It’s all about moderation. *bends over to drag soapbox from under the desk* You have noticed what happens when you really enjoy something and saturate yourself with it, it loses its sparkle, right?

Okay, so not sex or rock ‘n’ roll okay? Behave. But if you thought about it before you read it, consider yourself seriously tagged.

March 4, 2008
Wordless Wednesday Contrasts

If you haven’t been reading my blog for any length of time, then you need to know that my idea of Wordless Wednesday is to write less than four or five pages in a single post and add photos. That would be today, even though the orange glow of the setting sun on the houses across the street reminds me that this is easily categorized as better late than never.

Whatever.

I have a foodie blog friend who lives in Ohio who often mentions their weather in less than loving terms. Suffice it to say that her description of mornings finding her car door frozen shut have been quite colorful and completely hilarious.

I have been hounding her for photographs of her home town all winter, and yesterday I received them. Oh. My. Goodness. I had a clue because my mom recently moved to upstate New York and has sent me a few, but she isn’t out in her car. No sirree.

So… I ran outside and took a few of my own photos to warm her up. I figured since most of you live in places much more…um…FRIGID than I do, I’d warm you up also.

It has been in the mid-seventies for two days now. Even I like it which is semi-miraculous considering the grumpster I am about Paradise and sunshine.

We slept with our windows open last night, and today?

Today I put on my shorts, went for a walk, and sat down by the beach waiting for the RTR to finish up with his math tutor (news at eleven…) and watched the surfers.

Totally excellent. Dude.

February 27, 2008
Better than Bed: TED & Big Questions

Have you ever heard of TED? It’s a place I’d love to be a fly on the wall — especially this year considering they’ll be addressing “Big Questions.” But the $6,000 price tag is a bit steep.

If you’ve never taken a look at their talks, it’s worth it. There are some amazing topics addressed — that is if you consider avoiding aging amazing, or the idea that great cars are art.

And then there’s this guy — Jonathan Harris. His talk is fascinating. He explains how the software he’s designed essentially captures what we say each day in places like kellementology and attaches them to others who are saying similar things. Does Dubyah know he doesn’t have to spy on us now? It’s all there for the listening.
http://static.videoegg.com/ted/flash/loader.swf

I know. You knew about this already. Fine. Indulge me.

But have you checked out Universe yourself?It’s amazing. Especially if you watch all of Jonathan Harris’ talk first…

And what else am I supposed to do on a night when the MoH is still at work?

Sleep?

That would be quite the concept, wouldn’t it?

Maybe TED will tackle that as one of the Big Questions.

February 25, 2008
Is Monday over yet?

I’m at a loss for words today. What that really means is I don’t feel like making the effort to write. Tired, I guess.

I spent the weekend — yes, the entire weekend — engaged in my once monthly baking challenge completely flummoxed. I know. Savor the moment. Wallow in it. Mark it on your calendar, for gawdsakes, and then get over it.

Usually, after I’ve completed each challenge, I hurry to look at the photos, and then get busy on my write-up. Bear in mind this is usually at the last possible minute considering we all agree to post our results on the same day. The last possible minute for me is about midnight when I’ve just finished loading the photos and then can begin searching for others’ results.

Sounds exciting, huh?

(more…)

February 25, 2008
Friday, Rain in Paradise, and Awards…What could be more perfect?

I’m sitting here just like I so often used to each day, wondering where I should begin. No, not with my writing. That’s rarely an issue because I can just sit down and write most anything I feel like writing. Whether anyone wants to read it is a completely different issue, isn’t it? Sometimes, it’s more of a battle with respect to what tone I want to indulge in, or how many distractions there are on my screen that also vie for my attention. I look at the clock in the upper right corner of my toolbar and am always alarmed at where the time has gone.

Some of my diversions are quite relevant, as they relate to current events that occupy my mind like the debate between Hillary and Obama last night (and I’ll bet you just can’t wait for me to spew about the whole health care issue, right?) Or the outcome of the first round of eliminations on American Noodle (and wasn’t that cut throat the way the first kid went out?). But many of the distractions that delay my writing when I actually get to wallow in Bloggsville now, are anything but. They’re more like pleasant detours involving the people I’ve met along the way for nearly a year now that I’ve been writing at kellementology and in the land of foodies. Very pleasant detours, diversions, and distractions, all.

I’ve been trying to get organized, finding that I don’t use my blogroll in either of my blogs. I know. You’re thinking that a blogroll isn’t for me — it’s more to let everyone else know whom I enjoy reading, and to share a link which helps them in the land of Google and Technorati, and all things virtually searchable or something like that.

So in an attempt to keep in better touch with others, I’ve begun to collect feeds in the reader I chose — Netvibes. I know everyone else seems to use Google Reader, but my affiliation with Google is only through my membership in the Daring Bakers, the ever expanding group (I think there are well over 500 members now…) of loveable foodies with whom I bake once a month. My food blog is hosted by TypePad (which is a network I almost never wander around in for some reason), and this one is my very own, of course. Without my connections to MyBlogLog, Blog Catalog, and more recently, EntreCard (which I haven’t developed a strong opinion about one way or the other), I wouldn’t be very good at keeping up with people. Feh, like I have actually been doing that successfully anyway.

So I’ve changed the settings on my Mac to open to my Netvibes home page and am racking up the feeds. I know you’re snickering right now thinking that I’ve been under some rock and that having recently freed myself, have discovered something that has been around since Al Gore discovered the Internet.

Go ahead an laugh. I can take it.

But the big question is — are YOU in my reader?

(more…)

February 22, 2008
Teddy Bears and Food Chains

Could someone out there tell me what is wrong with people who have their heads so wrapped up in their religious identities that they can’t behave in a civilized fashion? It would certainly help me at least begin to try to understand them. Or pretend to try and understand them. Okay, so maybe not.

I’m not one to judge what people believe and why. Really. I notice and move on. I may question it, think about it, maybe even worry about it or roll my eyes a few times. But that’s all. I completely understand that my purpose on this earth is to be a constructive human, and to raise productive humans. I don’t point fingers, or get too caught up in others’ day-to-day drama. Blogging doesn’t count.

But once in a while, I wonder why there are people who are so consumed with their beliefs they aren’t satisfied until those beliefs are plastered everywhere forcing everyone else to see and know what they stand for — religiously. I’m not talking about tree huggers here, okay?

I have trouble understanding when said people consumed with their religious beliefs (read men in Sudan and other places, but especially Sudan for this particular point) that they take to the streets calling for the execution of a woman who allowed her child to name a toy.

Surely this warrants an eye for an eye. (I’m trying to understand here, okay?)

Surely, they have absolutely nothing better to do with their time after they’ve just finished worshiping than to crowd together acting like complete barbarians for the sake of a man who, if alive, would most likely be horrified to know that what he stood for has been so completely distorted.

When events such as this happen, I try to put myself in the position of the one so rudely offended. I try to find a similar situation where I (or another as noble and understanding as myself, of course) might be equally offended. Now the first example that comes to mind is the fact that many families from Spain (or countries that were invaded by Spain when it was obsessed with its religious beliefs and killing those who didn’t agree…) traditionally name their male offspring “Jesus.” Say “Hay-soos” and you’ve got it. I have heard someone question whether this is “okay” since fair-skinned individuals who are avid believers in Christianity would never name their male children Jesus. Never. But that’s a weak example, isn’t it? Hmmmm…? Okay, everyone…to the streets! Such heinous disrespect!

Do they TRULY believe the British teacher should have to face imprisonment, 40 lashes, deportation, or as the learned masses demand — execution? Really? Why might the children not understand that this isn’t appropriate? Might the families be falling down on their religious responsibilities to educate their children about all the truly important dogma they must adhere to in order to become crazed zealots by the time they’re old enough to join a crowd in the streets to call for revenge by violent means?

You know.

To even the score.

Sure. That should take care of it.

I know somewhere, there’s a connection to the food chain. Everything has a place on it. I’m wondering what religious zealots’ place on the chain is. What their purpose in life is. Why entire countries and their governments have gotten it all so horribly wrong.

They must not have enough to read. Not enough to stimulate their intellectual capacity. Enough to encourage individuality and creativity. Constructive inspiration. Freedom.

It’s challenging for me to not acknowledge my intense reaction when I read about events such as this, or watch segments on the news. My distaste is extreme, and familiar ability to tolerate missing.

I don’t want to understand their reaction.

I don’t feel like I should have to try.

I’m not comfortable with their actions…

…or them.

They’re dangerous.

November 30, 2007
Personality, seeds, and perception

I’ve looked at, drooled over, inhaled, and yes, eaten enough cinnamon rolls and sticky buns to last about a week or so forever. My self-indulgence in the foodblog world this past weekend was well worth it. Food makes my world go ’round, which means I’m ready to go on this first Monday in October. No, I’m not going to talk about the US Supreme Court or what they have on their docket. At least, not today. But I have been waiting to talk about James Watson who just may be a new hero of mine. You don’t know who James Watson is? Or is it that perhaps you just aren’t interested in who my heroes are? No matter, because it’s inevitable that I’ll explain it all anyway.

DNA Fractal courtesy of Sven Geier

Dr. Watson (no relation to Sherlock) was interviewed by a staff member of our local paper recently, and as much as interviews are something I don’t relish reading unless I’m extremely interested in the person being interviewed, Dr. Watson caught my attention to the extent that I may need to consider purchasing his new book, Avoid Boring People: Lessons From a Life in Science. I do know that part of the credit for his responses, which have had me thinking about them days later, goes to the writer. If you don’t ask a good question, you won’t get a good answer, right?

The reason Dr. Watson’s responses appeal to me is because he just “lays it on the table:” it’s brevity at its best and something that I’m a complete stranger to. His obvious knowledge about DNA provides for interesting opinions about genome sequencing, such as, “if you know somebody’s behavior is linked to their genes, you’re less likely to get angry, and more likely to help.” I’ve had some time to think about that — especially when I consider all the children with whom I’ve worked — including my own.

But how much do I know about whether an adult who is less than tolerable in public is simply rude, enjoys drawing negative attention to him or herself, is under the influence of alcohol or narcotics, or has a personality disorder? I may have less than pleasant thoughts about the person, but unless I’m being confronted, or feel threatened, I’ll observe, not engage. Life is just too unpredictable now. And if confronted, my reaction would be one more of embarrassment over attention being drawn to myself. Or fear. Understanding wouldn’t come close to factoring into my reaction in that scenario. Fight or flight? Yes.

With respect to the question of nature or nurture, Dr. Watson believes that our “personality is [our] genes. And [our]personality is key.” But…(and you know what point I’m going to make, don’t you?) …in much the same way that a seed is nurtured by a series of factors that influence its growth and viability, humans and animals can also thrive, or suffer from factors in their environment.

Yes, the personality is the seed, but we are so heavily influenced by those around us. By their ideas, opinions, attitudes, mannerisms, passions…or the lack. It seems to me that influence can be like unwanted hurricane force winds, relentlessly pushing and at times, violent. At other times, like a day without even the hint of a breeze. The response to either of those situations will depend on the one who is affected.

That is what is key. We are often treated as being the same: women, men, children, students, workers — not individuals. We are too often packaged to make it easier for someone else to deal with us. That’s where all the problems begin, because people forget that it isn’t always about themselves: their anger, their frustration, their disappointment, their preference. What about the person on the other end of it all? If you’re a parent, it’s about your children. If you’re a teacher, it’s about your students. And if you’re a worker, it’s about your work, or your customers. It’s. Not. About. You.

Well, unless you have a personal blog. Then it’s always about you. It’s your information — often synthesized from myriad sources — about what you’re interested in, about what matters. To. You. Yours. Does that mean it is or isn’t a reflection of your personality?

I recently had an acquaintance tell me that she doesn’t read my blog because it isn’t “really me.” Perception is an odd thing, isn’t it?

Sorry. Odd flow of thoughts today. Welcome to my personality. The one I have to put up with.

So if you’re completely bored now, and want to understand more than you already may what a big nerd I am, then play the game at Nobel Prize. It says I “managed to get 281 points out of 1150.” Whatever. If you’re really bored, you can try out some of the other games they list. I think I fed Pavlov’s dog to death, unfortunately. Overfeeding is my solution to everything in life. Poor dog.

I guess there aren’t any scientists amongst my ancestors or more recent relatives.

Dreamers, yes. And swingers of birches.

Well, except short hair scientists.

That would be me.

October 2, 2007
I’m lovin’ my foodblog…

Well, hello!

Since all I seem to be getting these days is spam visitors, I hereby decree this the shortest post I’ve ever written and I’m going to drown my sorrows in foodblog land.

Not too many worries there, which is nice for a change. Not too complicated. Just pleasant. Lots of food porn (no, not nekkid people with food spread on them), great recipes, and well, foodies.

Toots!

September 30, 2007
Macro Views: Avoidance

I have no energy today. No “get up and go.” It all got up and went. I’m not sure what has sucked it out of me, but I’m non-existent. Evaporated.

When I’m like this, I struggle to find humor in anything. I’m flat. Everything feels heavy and in need of microanalysis. Things that shouldn’t matter, matter. I don’t dare read the newspaper or I will find myself sobbing at my inability to help some poor soul in a country whose name I can’t pronounce. When I realize a funk is upon me, it’s too late. I can’t do anything to correct it. I meander. I drift from one task to another, my heart not rising to any worthwhile occasion. I clean up my email in box, filing and deleting. I give a weak effort at collecting a few things from the RT’s room while he’s away for the week, knowing I should thoroughly clean the entire place, but rationalize not doing it because it’s his room. Not mine.

The patio and sunlight are a magnet, and I want to be outside so the soft breeze can soothe me–or distract me from constructive activity. I take hold of my pruners and move from plant to plant, dead heading, snipping the spent blooms to encourage another round. They fall to the flagstones as I cut and scatter around the base of each pot. It’s quiet, contemplative work.

As my eyes focus on minute characteristics of my small garden and its population of tiny insects, my mind works to hone in on what is troubling me, because I know something is.

It’s a game of sorts to decide how easily to acknowledge that I know what it is. Do I admit it to myself? Or do I immerse myself in the possibilities, all the while chastising myself for having anything at all worthwhile to be preoccupied with.

My camera usually comes out because it’s a good excuse to play with the macro setting which often finds objects I can’t see — even with my glasses on.

Some of what I find is lovely, even though few would admit to thinking a bug is beautiful. What I see in the images sparks a bit of wonder, curiosity, and effectively deters me from thinking about myself and whatever was on my mind.

I could use this time to sort through what’s troubling me, but I don’t have to. There isn’t a deadline, no one is waiting, and nothing will happen if I fail to pinpoint the annoyance. If I acknowledge what’s bothering me, I may have to rise to the occasion and take care of it. I don’t want to take care of it. My “Take Care of It” window is closed. I’m only now realizing that it may not ever open again and that I’ll just crouch behind the counter in the dark, waiting quietly for whomever knocks to go away.

Because I have to immediately see what I’ve aimed my tiny Canon at, I end up back at my monitor loading and examining the images. I turn up the volume on one of my play lists and begin my writing, thinking…and avoidance. Fiona Apple or Liz Story’s Night Sky Essays and “Valse d’Amelie” are perfect accompaniments to my thoughts, but today, they’re only encouraging my dreary mood. As is Elton John’s “Belfast.”

I’m a laborious writer. I don’t have difficulty deciding what to write, or being motivated to write. I edit as I write, then review paragraphs and the entire text many, many times. I rarely write in a free thinking manner. Every comma, sentence fragment, run on, ellipsis or series of dashed phrases are thought about. Mulled over. Ridiculously.

The editing works wonders today because time passes, the songs on the play list change, and my sadness has shifted into an edgy kind of irritability. I’m annoyed. At least I’ll get something done now.

Hell, even the insects on the patio are being productive.

I’m lower on the food chain than a bug, not getting anything done.

But I’ll be out in that ocean today at 5PM, burning calories, and working my sore muscles, pretending like I want to have a different body than I do. One that I didn’t want when I had it. One that I didn’t want anyone to notice. Ever.

We’re supposed to want that, right?

Thinness.

Is that one of the rules?

July 19, 2007
Summertime Plate-twirling and Writing

My weekend started yesterday. We went to the county fair. So what, you say? Well, I haven’t been in probably ten years. Think about it: Universal Studios last weekend; the county fair this weekend. All that food, and all those people. Yet I survived both experiences—in tact and smiling. I actually had fun. Go figure. It had to be the food. I should have paid more attention to the whale on the side of the building, letting me know that I’d be as big as he, once the day was over.

I am not one to endure crowds. It’s strange when you consider that’s exactly what I did for a living for many, many years. Maybe it’s because I have finally calmed down. I’m alone much of the time, get to choose when I’m around people, and so don’t mind an occasional crush now and then. I guess that being around nearly 1,000 people daily meant that on weekends and vacations, being part of a herd of humans wasn’t something that sounded like fun. So I’m cured. Voila. I am going to have to stop eating the food that accompanies these excursions, however. Have you ever had a deep fried Twinkie? No, neither have I, but the my husband tried one. I only eyed it, sitting in all its greasy splendor while I savored my chocolate-vanilla soft serve cone. Of course, that was only a while after I helped demolish the pile of fresh fried potato chips and onion rings smothered with bacon-cheddar sauce and jalapenos. And that green-chilie burger. With mustard.

I can’t tell you the last time I saw pigs race for Oreo cookies, or souped up beach cars speed over a small dirt course in an arena. Or monster trucks. Well, I haven’t seen any of that before, now that I think of it. But it was fun. It was also fun watching people whirl and twirl on the rides, wondering whether they’d had food before their ride, and whether they had an inclination to hurl in the course of all that spinning. No, no whirling for me. The ferris wheel was more in order for the beautiful day, and the scene spread out below full of raucous color and brilliant motion on one side, the vast Pacific and cloud speckled sky on the other. Warm breezes. Beauty.

The rest of the weekend? The Resident Teen’s 15th birthday has finally arrived. Family is coming over to eat. What else? I like to cook, remember? Plus my mother is getting ready to head for VA, so we’re sort of combining the birthday with a launching. We’re going to launch her into her new life. It’s a story that has hovered near saga length that I’ve avoided writing about at this point. I’ll get around to it later, because there’s much to ponder on with respect to the whole process of her thinking about, wanting to, threatening not to, and deciding to go. To leave Paradise where she’s lived since 1968. To leave for good. I’ll get back to you on that one.

And then my husband is taking some time off. A day here, and a day there. Just enough to break up my routine of sitting in front of the computer all day every day. Just enough to make me wonder where I’m going to find the time to write, and begin to feel a bit of anguish about not writing. But it’s definitely not his fault. He’s just one of those people who has a bit of “get up and go.” Or maybe wanderlust.

How can I not write? I have to write. It’s a habit now. A great habit. One I’m quite fond of and would like to insist on time for. Don’t get me wrong, because my husband isn’t the type of person who would ever expect that I stop doing something I enjoy. Out of respect for one another, we never would do that. It’s more my problem to solve.

Writing comes very easily to me. The way I write may not appeal to all, and the topics—if you can call them that—may not be something for everyone, but that isn’t the point. I usually know what I’m going to write well in advance of sitting here and getting it down. Once I sit down and begin, the rest flows. There is little time for organization or planning in a concrete fashion. That usually happens as I mull over the idea once I’ve thought about it the day before. I no longer write in a notebook like I used to. Instead I keep stickies. They’re everywhere. It’s a bit annoying, because I don’t often look at them. It seems that once I’ve committed an idea to a stickie, it stays in my memory until used. Unfortunately, the stickies stay on my desk and in other places in the house. It’s ridiculous.

In other news, this blog is messed up again. Evidently, much of the difficulty lies for those of you who are still using Internet Explorer. Those who use Firefox have a better view. I know this for certain now, because I downloaded Firefox onto my husband’s computer. The old blog looks the way it’s supposed to. No fat, blob like font squeezed together in the center. No blank middle with the text 20 clicks down the page. Perfect. Thanks again to Phil at Thought Sparks who lends a hand when it’s most needed. He’s truly a kind soul.

But I’ve been shopping for a new theme again, and it’s fairly tedious and time consuming. Taking care of the blog takes writing time away. I still have difficulty mediating that. I do enjoy the idea of planning what it all may eventually look like, and want to learn to do the designing myself. For those of you who know what this involves—don’t tell me. I usually get where I want to go in life by the seat of my stubbornly tenacious pants. I enjoy learning, but I am not always completely efficient in the process, so as long as you’re willing to stick by my side as I figure this all out, I’ll be pleased. Of course, you do know you’re welcome to complain that you’re sick of the changes, and to stop the audience abuse. There are other aspects of life far more painful.

And then, there is my food blog, Sass & Veracity. Although I have the cooking down most of the time, I’m still struggling with my writing voice there. I speak to a completely different kind of community, so that affects the way I write. I’m working on it, though. In fact, I have to complete a huge post today to conclude a food blog event I co-sponsored with a food blogger who’s got more experience than I do. It should be up on Sunday. Make sure you take a peek.

When you wonder where I am and why things don’t happen daily here like they used to, it’s because I’m plate twirling. It’s free plate twirling, mind you.

And I’m doing it gleefully, of course. It’s summertime.

You should be plate twirling, too.

July 1, 2007