kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Celebrities

  • Brain Malarkey Cooked for Us

    Screw the memes I have to do. (I really WILL do them. I promise. And my fingers are NOT crossed behind my back.)

    But the MoH and I had the perfect recipe for a Monday. We went to our local cook’s haven, Great News in Pacific Beach and spent the evening with Brian Malarkey.

    What?

    You don’t know who Brian Malarkey is? Feh. Where have you been? He was one of the finalists on Top Chef this year, and the recipient of Chef of the Year from the San Diego Restaurant Association. Of course he should have won Top Chef, but that’s beside the point. WE got to enjoy his magnetic personality, sense of humor, and great cuisine tonight. Here. In Paradise. It was so worth it. IMG_5180.JPG

    The sky was clear, the air clean, and the Pacific stretched as far as the eye could see. That orange glow was shimmering just above the deep blue horizon. Gorgeous. But a tad cool. Okay, so about 50 degrees F.

    But I forgot my camera. So how convenient that we were an HOUR early and I could whiz home to get it and then slide into my seat and look forward to a couple of glasses (well…three if you count the one the MoH didn’t quite finish) of Two Buck Chuck. And the MoH says after the class, “That was pretty good…what was it?” “Koolaide,” I replied, “and you’ll be sorry in the morning.”  The MoH does not imbibe.

    IMG_5172.JPG The menu for this cooking class was “Asian Inspired Malarkey.” Brian is the executive chef at The Oceanaire here in San Diego. Of course, we seemed to be the only people in the audience who hadn’t eaten there, but that’s because we’re busy paying taxes. We love to eat out, but only do so on special occasions during the year. Actually, we thought we’d enjoy The Oceanaire before this Monday’s class, but time has gotten away from us lately. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to improve our record in that department, getting out to try local food more than we do. I know. Quite the novel concept. Where would San Francisco be without all those Food Bloggers sampling local faire? S.O.L.

    Ahem.

    The menu Brian and his right hand man prepared for the 50+ group this evening was lovely:

    Kumamoto Oysters on the Half Shell with an Asian Inspired Mignonette Kumamoto Oysters on the Half Shell with an Asian Inspired Mignonette

    Sesame Crusted Big Eye Tuna with Ocean Salad and Micro Wasabi Sesame Crusted Big Eye Tuna with Ocean Salad and Micro Wasabi

    Shiitake Mushroom and Ginger Soup with Bean Sprouts and Cilantro Shiitake Mushroom and Ginger Soup with Bean Sprouts and Cilantro

    Japanese 7 Spice Petite Filet Mignon with Ginger Butter Japanese 7 Spice Petite Filet Mignon with Ginger Butter

    Green Tea Ice Cream (from a local vendor whose name I regrettably did not get)

    Y.U.M. Truly. We’d never had oysters before. Clams, yes. Mussels, yes. But oysters? Um. Nope. So this was big. And I appreciated what Brian had to say about them because the information helps when you slurp something live into your mouth and do notice the slightly briny “Mermaid’s Kiss” with a hint of cilantro as you swallow the creature and smile.

    I did not get a stripe on my arm for this accomplishment, but I FEEL good. DAH-duh-DAH-duh-DAH-duh-DAH.

    The Ahi Tuna? Oh. My. Sesame seeds all ’round and seared and then sliced and served with a compound butter. Goodness. I love Ahi this way. But what really made it was the “ocean” salad we waited for while Brain took questions (mostly from the MoH) about his Top Chef experience. The seaweed, thinly sliced and plated under the ahi was perfect. Fresh . Crunchy. Amazing. Totally. I have seared ahi with sesame seeds, but would never have thought to have the seaweed. Who knew? Delicious. It has to be THE reason why I’m a morsel and not a lithe waif. *Make a note to strike the Barefoot Contessa like I didn’t already know this.* Just kidding, Ina. Could you send me a pound of buttah, please?

    IMG_5174.JPG And Brian’s Top Chef experience details were interesting, too: He didn’t get to speak to his wife for FIVE weeks. They take away your wallet, your keys, your cell — everything. And then, if I’m getting this correctly, they send frequent letters reminding you of your obligation to remain silent on the outcome of the show. With respect to the filming, each day, there’s either a quick challenge, or a main preparation. In Brian’s opinion, the only quick challenge that mattered was the one that took place at the French Culinary Academy (I’m sure I’ve gotten this incorrect). And speaking of culinary academies in general, in his opinion, those interested in his line of work would be better served volunteering for a few hard days with a chef, then signing on to work in that kitchen (if you passed the chef’s scrutiny) and learning from the ground up. You’d earn money as you were learning, as opposed to paying nearly 50K going to an academy. Sounds good to me. Maybe in my next life since I’ve essentially learned by trial and error, reading, by example, and anything else that counts for the last 40 years or so.

    Other points of interest in the evening: Brian recommended many local places to find great ingredients, and fresh food. I did know of a few, but a couple I can’t wait to schlep to are San Diego Coffee, Tea, and Spice which concocts the spice mixtures Brian used, and Specialty Produce which is where the chefs in San Diego get their goods. Now how could I have NOT known about this? Unbelievable. I’m there this coming Saturday.

    News at Eleven.

    Anyway…it was a lovely evening. The worst part about it was the ending, and finding out that it was still Monday, instead of Friday, which would have been perfect.

    An early birthday present for the MoH with more to come later in the week.

    What’s up with these December babies, anyway?

    Gluttons.
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  • What to do on a Friday. Or not.

    Since I officially have a J.O.B. now, I get to brag that I get Fridays off. And since I only work four hours a day the other four weekdays, clearly I’m not taxed here. Actually, I knew that it would be just enough time to throw off my blogging responsibilities. So thanks for your patience as I figure it out. Some of you are gifted in that area and manage to work and blog quite effectively. Show-offs. Or is it that you use that company computer? Only on breaks, right?

    So what to do with this Friday and the weekend?

    Grousse a bit about DubYah and the ridiculous “bail out” of the home mortgage catastrophe.

    • How nice that yet again, people who KNOWINGLY got themselves into a mess they can’t get out of get to keep their mess, but have someone else pay for it. Can I get in line for that, please? How can anyone not know that they can’t afford something? No. Way. And the lenders and agents who instigated the whole thing to pad their own wallets and then bail when things began to get soft need to be thrown in the slammer. Losers. They threw Martha in the slammer for something miniscule in comparison, and since this mortgage business is affecting the economy, uh, I’m thinking they need to round the crooks up. The whole “bail out” is a scam, anyway. Sort of along the lines of “Tastes Great! Less Filling.” Tastes great!  Less filling! Serve it up anyway, George. You go right ahead. What. Ever.

    B*tch about a hike in our medical insurance because I had another birthday; its high cost must not have been quite high enough.

    • Mind you, we’ve only had the insurance since this past spring. If Blue Cross would give up sending stoopid statements on high quality shiny paper printed in lots of purdy colors (that just confirm we’re getting hosed monthly because there are only zeros on the statement), they could probably save a zillion dollars. Then they wouldn’t have to charge me the extra money that is just going out the window because we don’t use it. You can’t exactly USE medical insurance with a deductible that rivals the national debt. Welcome to the land of opportunity. The place where you purchase medical insurance just to prevent the loss of a home in the event of a serious medical condition. Wait. I could maybe swing a deal with the banking and mortgage crooks, then not have to pay. Sure.

    Clearly, others understand this is the land of opportunity and the home of the brave.

    • After you rip everyone off, enjoying their hard-earned cash and credit (sans taxes, of course), why not ask for leniency because you want to turn your life around after you’ve had all this fun? *Can I borrow your spoon so I can stick it in my throat and gag?* If the judge believes these two free-loading ass*oles, I have a terrific chunk of land in Paradise that is a veritable rain forest with unlimited water and city politicians who aren’t liars.

    Lest this all depress you, we can look forward to the colors the fashion industry has in store for us all next Spring. Um. I can’t wait. Spring ‘08 Colors The MoH just may be interested in a nice trouser in Snorkel Blue and a shirt with French Cuffs in Spring Crocus. Wait. On second thought, maybe one of Buckler’s designer swim suits. The gold lame.

    http://www.chic.tv/swf/chic_tv_affiliate_player_medium.swf?h=274508D4
    And last but not least — I saw this standing in the grocery line a couple of days ago.

    • A suggestion or two? Tubal Ligation. Condoms. Birth control pills. Strategically positioned stitches. Lobotomy.

    But it’s Friday. So I’m going to spruce up my casita and get ready for the weekend. There’s holiday shopping to be done, a tree to be chosen and to decorate, and maybe…just maybe…another performance of yours truly on ustream.tv this Sunday. Don’t hold your breath for it, though.

    My follow through sucks right now.

    But we’re healthy, damnit.

  • Letters do get answered, and my gratitude runneth over…

    You have to appreciate those who seem to have a grasp of where they fit into this whole NaBloPoMo thing. Me? I’m just a lemming. And today, I’m a late one. TOTALLY. It’s 11:09 am and I was supposed to be at the grocery store already, and cooking. I’m making tons of stuff this weekend, and none of it is in preparation for Thanksgiving. So, these posts are doomed to impending sketchiness. I know. When pigs fly.

    November 16, 2007

    Dear My Most Esteemed Colleagues in Bloggsville,

    Today I find myself humbled by so many recent gestures of kindness, I have to take time to state my appreciation here, blowing kisses all the while, and blushing on cue. But before I get started, please know that I am so completely FREAKING late getting my day started, I’m going to be TOTALLY screwed if I don’t slam my thanks out with far fewer words than I normally use. For those of you who just wiped your brows, I saw you and I know where you live.

    So, first up: If you missed my letter a couple of days ago to Desiree Bartlett, snooze you lose. BECAUSE SHE COMMENTED ON MY POST AND SHE IS SERIOUSLY COOL FOR DOING THAT! She made my day, and I’m already rallying the troops for a fan club so I can be the president. Line forms to the left for those of you who want to get your sedentary butts kicked by a lovely and professional stealth butt kicker. Redeem yourself now, and read the post. Thanks, Desiree. I heart you!

    Smile Award

    Second: Dah-link Olga, The Traveling Bra has bestowed upon me the “You Make Me Smile” award which means quite a bit. I know how it feels when I’m reading someone’s blog, and I realize I’m grinning ear to ear. It makes my day, and continues to leave me marveling over the unique community that is Bloggsville. *sigh* Thanks, Olga. When are you coming to visit me? I will pay this forward. But not today. I PROMISE!

    And while I’m on the subject of awards, Dawn, blogger extraordinaire, of Twisted Sister has dubbed me true to myself and that I AM my blog, and therefore deserving of “Be the Blog” recognition. This deserves an entire post, too, because I have much to say (as you all know) about this passion for blogging I’ve developed. So thank you, Dawn. Letter coming…

    Be.The.Blog Award

    Third: Marie of A Year at Oak Cottage, a fellow Daring Baker, hosted a cooking event in which I won a prize for my SoCal Sarnie. She was gracious enough to actually send me a lovely present for my success, which was so nice! She has the most amazing job in a beautiful place. I am currently living vicariously through her and loving every single minute of it. Thank you so much, Marie, for the inspiration you provide me. Oh, that I could spend a year in England.

    IMG_4725.JPG

    Fourth: I have many friends who are still actively involved in the position I left a year ago. I made lunch for one friend and took it to share with her at her office the other day. Not only did we get to gossip wildly about what has changed since I left visit and plan a dinner party for tomorrow night at her knock down gorgeous home, she gave me a belated birthday present which is quite lovely. Does she know that she could have skipped the cologne and just given me the cute bag and box? I’m a complete and total sucker for simple, elegant design in creme and black. So chic…But the cologne is simply divine. I’ll be the best smelling jammy hound around.

    IMG_4721.JPG

    And not least: My VBF gave me a gift certificate to my favorite nursery perched in a habanero plant (whose peppers I’ve now used in one luscious marinated steak recipe and have dried the rest for later use), and I finally went shopping. Nothing like celebrating my birthday a couple of months later, right? So VBF, I now have a lovely grapevine wreath for my front door that I wrapped with holiday ribbon, some new bedding plants (including a chocolate smelling plant!), a new ceramic pot for my kitchen, now graced with a kalanchoe,  a nice bag of potting moss for my orchids (two are blooming WOOT!), and 8 paper white bulbs to force.

    .IMG_4724.JPG

    I had so much fun choosing my gifts, and thank you very much. It was misting outside that day, making the experience so pleasant.

    I do hope you know how special you all are. My time with you is well spent, and always enjoyable. Thank you so much for what you bring to my life.

    Fondly,

    Me

    p.s. So now it’s like 12:04 and I am way late on my list of To Do’s for the day. But stay tuned, because I’m going to try and broadcast a cooking thing on ustream.tv on Sunday. I’ll let you know tomorrow if I get it up and running…

  • Dear Peter Walsh, Organizational Guru…

    I’m making progress here, although today, if it wasn’t for NaBloPoMo, I’d probably take the blogging day off. I’m in high gear on this house organizing frenzy, liking it, and noticing some interesting things about what exactly is organized and what isn’t in this house…and why. Like, the answer is Earth shattering, and everyone’s been waiting for it. For world peace. And stuff.

    November 15, 2007

    Dear Peter Walsh,

    The other day, I actually sat down to watch Oprah. That may not seem to be anything special, but I’ve been a sort of lazy good for nothing but blogging domestic engineer for about a year now, and spend no time watching daytime television. I don’t even think about it. You’re wondering what in hell all this has to do with the price of tea in China, right? So anyway, I actually remembered Oprah, clicked on the television, and there was Celine Dion. I’m a closet Celine aficionado — well, not quite an expert, but still. So I grinned, turned up the volume and sang the entire hour. I just love “I Drove All Night,” don’t you? The Roy Orbison version the best, I mean, he’s incredible, but Celine is great, too. Did you see her show in Vegas? It was completely amazing. I know, I know. You’re thinking I’m less than balanced and I can see that wild look in your eye that lets me know you’re planning your escape route. But stay with me here.

    So there was a commercial during the show that advertised another show coming later in the week. I think it’s airing today. It was about hoarders. I’ve been wondering about the idea of hoarding, and have been thinking of it while I’ve been going through my house. Sorry it takes me so long to get to what I’m talking about. My mind is full of clutter. Things go in and never come out, all up there waiting to be used. It’s a genetic problem. You just never know when someone may need to know what the botanical name for a Bird of Paradise is at the San Diego Zoo when you’re really there to see lions and tigers and bears. Fortunately, the problem isn’t so horrendous that I never get to my point, though, so that’s some relief. Isn’t it?

    But good news! I’m only in the mild to minimal category on the Hoarding Severity Scale. And according to my Clutter Assessment Results, I am a clutter victim, who can blame a “busy life” (um…car pool four times a week and two blogs? No.), “disposable income” (he’s kidding, right? What? You didn’t know money grows on a tree on our patio? Feh.), “and a steady influx of purchases” (well, okay, but they’re mostly food related, so they don’t stay around long…), and “junk mail” (erm, no one’s going to complain if the post office outlaws that crap. Maybe they could get on that?) Like I was saying…

    Here’s my progress to date. I have a handle on:

    • where all the bills go now (cool folders with LABELS *Woo Hoo!*) Okay so the folders aren’t cool; the labels are. And I will be getting cool folders. Some day after I get organized.
    • the office shelves are great, the closet isn’t too bad, and the stacks are down to a low roar. Of course every time I get my desk organized, someone leaves a tank on it. Sheesh.

    It’s hard to get good help any more, yanno?

      • magazines are now sorted, organized by date, and either recycled or marked and stored (but I’m really lying on this one, because going through the saved issues will take time…and I do have time)

    • the cheese drawer in the fridge (I’m still working on the science experiment that is our veggie bin, but at least it’s not mushy any more)
    • the RT’s bedroom which is much, much cleaner and organized (almost minty fresh and clean) I said almost, okay?

    IMG_0936.JPG IMG_4589.JPG

    Before and After. Not bad, huh? Now to get rid of the bunk bed. Okay, where was I?

    • the laundry room upper cabinets (so I still have to dig into that stoopid lower cabinet that all those plastic grocery bags are stuffed in but it’s scary in there. Really.)

    But I should get credit for some things never, ever being disorganized.

    IMG_4707.JPG

    They’re always perfect. Except when the MoH empties the dishwasher and just puts the wooden spoons on top of the steel utensils, or the measuring cups in this drawer instead of the one next to it. And the wire whips? You have to put them in a particular way. Because.

    The rack below it is also organized by color: greens, reds, blues. So probably a little touch of OCD to add to the mild hoarding tendencies and clutter victim state.

    You could come and help me out since Martha hasn’t accepted my offer yet. You know, maybe hook me up with a nice set of shelves for this lame coat closet that builders still insist on including around here, which is truly ridiculous considering we never have to wear coats. Ever. Shelves would be great. Could you get right on that, please? I need the space for my kitchen overflow.

    And these built in cabinets? What are they for other than hiding things? My cats love to sleep in them, but that’s not the best idea considering everything in the cabinet gets hair all over it and then has to be washed. What would you use them for? Suggestions when you have time, please?

    Well, after you’ve helped that lady who has 75 tons of trash in her house. Which is just plain weird.

    Thanks for your time today. Maybe we can do lunch and discuss the possibilities. Yes?

    Have your people call my people.

    Sincerely,

    Me.

    p.s. Do you know anyone who does windows?

  • No Palm Trees — Just Reality TV

    I know you are sick and tired of hearing about how seriously no whoop-tee-doo great it is to live in Paradise: endless days of grey blue skies and overcast sunny weather; squawking birds and lawn mowers waking me up and the crack of dawn palm trees rustling gently in the dank air warm breeze; and the cold and murky glistening blue Pacific at my doorstep whenever my friends drag me kicking and screaming I wish to go for a dip, or sit on the beach to completely wreck my skin relax.

    But isn’t it better than having me blather about Search Engine Optimization? Or monetizing my blog? (Yes, I know it says that at the end of my posts, but I didn’t put it there, and I’m seriously not going to try and take it off now that my blog is working fairly well) Or how to increase traffic to my blog? Who cares? W-H-O?

    It reminds me of someone who has heard that they can make great money if they open a restaurant. They don’t know how to cook, they aren’t especially great at creating ambience, they may not even enjoy food that much. But hell, they’re going to get people to think they want to eat there anyway. They’ll do absolutely anything to get people to think they need to eat there — even if there’s nothing to eat. Even if there isn’t a menu. At least with Hell’s Kitchen you get a show.

    Chef Gordon Ramsay

    Speaking of Hell’s Kitchen, we’ve been rotting our brains with quite a few summer TV shows I’ve been meaning to bring it up from time to time, but my self-indulgence always gets in the way. Although I’ve got my opinions on whether the shows are actually worth watching, one can get quite the education on the various ways the f-word can be used syntactically. That’s fairly entertaining coming from Gordon Ramsay. I like the way his mouth is scratched out when he’s ripping someone a new sphincter. Why bother watching? Because I don’t like the shopping channel? Or re-runs. Because we watch them together — en famille. *sigh* What a concept, huh? The RT isn’t tied to the sofa or anything, so occasionally he drifts upstairs with his iP-OD. Or the MoH will grab his laptop so he can look at Arctic Basket Weaving stats, or Hungarian Handball updates. Numbers, remember? He’s gotta see those numbers or he gets pretty cranky.

    I get the shows we watch mixed up. Not just the nights they’re on, but the people who are in the shows. Somehow, I thought Adrian who was recently booted off The Next Food Network Star was the chef from San Diego who’s really on Top Chef — Brian. And don’t get me started on the issue of why I am challenged to know exactly WHICH episode of Top Chef I should record from the 89 that are shown in one day. Gimmeabreak. Of the three cooking shows, at least it seems some of the individuals on Top Chef can actually cook — the real reason I like the shows. I keep hoping they’ll really show cooking. Stupid me. And I can tolerate most of the contestants — well except Hung who is completely and arrogantly obnoxious, reminding my of the less than tolerable Marcel, the runner up of last year’s competition. They have got to tell the contestants to act like this, right? They can’t possibly be that insufferable all on their own. And can he cook without putting foam on something? It truly looks like the remnants of my dog’s yack, and who would want that on their plate? Blech. What I’m not good at tolerating are this guy and this woman. They’re so wishy-washy with their comments. So…sanctimonious. But I love the fact that Anthony Bourdain did a guest blogger spot and agreed with me about Hung and Marcel. Smart man. Okay, so maybe he isn’t quite agreeing with me, but I wrote it before I read that he thought it, so, close. He also had some interesting advice that I found quite useful…A little humility; a willingness to accommodate what people are likely to enjoy and appreciate, instead of pursuing that which honors only his own perceived genius, would be a good adjustment.

    A man after my own heart. Ahem…revisit paragraph two above.

    Speaking of “perceived genius,” I’ve had some trouble with The Next Food Network Star show from the beginning. So why am I still watching it? Amy’s from San Diego, and I guess I’m rooting for the home team. Plus, she actually knows how to cook. What completely pisses me off is that it seems they’re not really interested in that. She uses vocabulary that it too challenging, or uses correct terminology for her equipment, or isn’t baring an ubsurd grin and dropping food down her cleavage. She refers to herself as “The Gourmet Next Door,” and I guess that won’t go over well with Wall Mart shoppers. As for the show, there’s too much drama, and we are continuously reminded that The Food Network is about food. Oh, okay. I forgot.

    Can TV execs get a serious clue that not everyone in the TV audience is stupid? Those of you who completely avoid TV — yes, I know you think the rest of us are stupid, and I was like you one upon a time — but you need to get over it, okay? I’m glad you think television is mindless drivel and I agree with you about 95% of the time. Now, what was I saying? Nothing important, I know…

    I know the execs conduct their perfunctory market analysis crap and that drives everything, but a TV show where a grin is worth more than knowledge or experience? Really? Oh. I forgot about news anchor folks. Yah. Shit then. Sign me right up. I’m there. I want to be one of those people on CNBC in the morning who talk about stocks, trading, and the economy. They look like they have fun arguing about all of it. I love it. And I could do a fairly great job of faking it. I’d just need to occasionally mention things like “leading market indicator,” “hedge fund,” European Market,” and “Consumer Index” or something like that. At least someone would fix my hair for me every day and pat makeup on my face. Okay. That rant is over. Back to reality TV. Are you still there?

    The show I actually enjoy is So You Think You Can Dance. Season One

    It takes skill to move your body like that. And your face. They have to learn their routines in five hours. Five. Okay, you might be able to convince me that making something edible from vending machine items is also very difficult, but save it, okay? Because I can make meals with crap I find in my refrigerator. But that’s a post for my food blog. When I watch this show, I think about how much our society does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to encourage or support the arts in public school. If someone learns to paint, or dance, or sing, it usually isn’t because of the public school system. You’ll occasionally hear someone who has managed to gain some attention or a bit of fame thank a particular teacher for their support and influence, but that isn’t because of the public school system. No. It’s because of the passion and dedication of that particular teacher. That one person who spots a kid and just knows there’s something special about her — before someone else gets their claws on her and tells her success is all about getting into the corporate world — whether she wants to or not. Whether she’s good at it or not. Whether that world wants a kid who isn’t interested in, nor particularly inclined toward Technology, Science, or Math. I’m not going to say those areas of study aren’t important — they just aren’t important to everyone. Shoving a kid into a program full of Science and Math when he just wants to dance is like cramming a square peg in a round hole. It’s painful, and it doesn’t work. If you can actually pull it off, the individual suffers forever. Our schools do it every single day. Unfortunately, so do parents. Ah…rant number two?

    Fred Astaire & Ginger Rodgers

    I love to watch people dance. It makes me want to dance. To sway and move with the music. To have dancer’s legs and muscles — but maybe not their aches and pains. To leap and spin and wonder how it would feel to be tossed from another’s arms and land exactly as I should. Except the guy would need a hydraulic lift for me. And the strains of Tschaikowsky’s “Swan Lake” wouldn’t exactly work as I landed on the stage in a lump. I love the costumes, those high-heeled dancing shoes, and all that heaving and sweating they do. It’s so much more difficult than getting on a stage to sing.

    And it’s definitely more difficult than sitting at home on the couch watching people who can’t sing…well, not singing.

    But maybe not quite a difficult as reading to the bottom of this page today, right? I do appreciate you and promise to work on my humility.

  • Dooce to the Rescue

    I’m holding the baby. I’m holding the baby and there’s a rather large spider — a hairy tarantula ambling clumsily over the uneven terrain of the blanket I seem to be tangled in. Trying not to show my alarm with any recognizable display of emotion, I tell my mom to take the baby, my eyes not quite leaving the arachnid, wondering whether it will reach me before I can ease away from its path.

    Wait. Baby? What baby? Mom? What the hell is she doing here?

    The spider — where did it go? There. I can feel it inching over my hair…my heart is pounding, and I know I won’t be able to contain my scream, already imagining my flight from bed and into the center of the room where I’ll have to thrash and flap, slap and wave to get the ugly thing from my head…

    But there’s no spider either. There’s only the chill of the night air on my face and the film of moisture covering it. My scalp tingles, and my breathing settles as I orient myself to the now familiar surroundings. No spider, no baby, no mom. Just another hot flash. It’s only 3 am, so I lay very still, listening to the night sounds from outside, thinking about going back to sleep. Thinking about disconnected aspects of yesterday. Thinking about today. Thinking about closing my eyes.

    But no. I think instead about my banner. About photoshop. About why the hell I can’t figure out how to do what I am trying to do. And then an hour into my thinking and wondering, and never quite cooling down after what feels like an eternity, I remember. Dooce has a tutorial I read some time ago on how she does her mastheads.

    Eureka! I can’t lay around in bed now, waiting for sleep that will never come. It’s too hot, I’m drenched, and it’s only a matter of minutes before I begin to freeze. I don’t have to drive to my VBF’s house until 5:30 to walk, so I sneak out of bed, careful not to step on the Big who is snoring on her sad and stinky excuse for a pad, head downstairs to make coffee, and back up to the office to check out her — Dooce, not the Big — archives.  It’s 4:35.

    In less than a minute, I’m there. It’s in the Friday, March 2nd post of this year. Her tutorial. Yes! But before I reread what I know will help me through my photoshop agony, I catch up on her latest posts while slugging down my first cup of coffee — which isn’t doing anything to cool the raging inferno that used to be my body.

    So much for the crappy theory that exercise and alcohol deprivation helps reduce the intensity of hot flashes. Oh. I forgot. I’m supposed to give up coffee, too.

    Uh…when pigs fly.