As If!

"I'm just sayin..."
This is the catch phrase of the year.

What does it MEAN, "I'm just sayin'..."?

As if words aren't the very things that give life to all ideas.

JUST sayin!

It seems to me there is no such degree as "just" in this equation.

If any of us believed our words were really this trite,

we wouldn't even bother to speak or blog, right?

Mixed Signals

Quote of the Day: Order is Power!?

The Universe needs to stop sending mixed signals.

Transverse Lines

It looks like it's time to dig into Constructing the Universe, a book that's been haunting my bedside reading stack for almost a year now. Here's the thing: This book was loaned to me by a woman who believes deeply in astrology and it's application to our artistic egos. She determined I should read the book when our conversation about astrology turned to the topic of math as an art form integral to the construction of the universe--and thus, an innate part of the human psyche--not a subject to be feared, in other words.

So, yesterday, I'm reading my horoscope in the City Weekly, and what does it say? It says exactly this:

In his book Signs of Success, astrologer Steven Weiss says "The question 'Do you believe in astrology?' is like asking someone if they believe in art." I agree. Picture a no-nonsense physicist gazing at a Kandinsky painting, with its teeming blobs of mad color and exuberant shapes, and declaring it to be a superstitious eruption of delusion that's not based on a logical understanding of the world. Like Kandinsky's perspective, astrology at its best roots us in the poetic language of the soul, and isn't kindly submissive to the values of the rational ego. It's here to liberate our imaginations and encourage us to think less literally and to visualize our lives as mythic quests. I bring this to your attention, Sagittarius, because right now it's crucial that you spend some quality time in modes of awareness akin to Kandinsky's and astrology's.

Then, as if to drive home the point even further, I open this month's issue of DWELL, and what's the focus? Bauhaus architecture! (Kandinsky lectured at the Bauhaus school; fellow blogger, The Mop, features the band Bauhaus on his blog tunes.)

The Universe, it seems, has determined that I am spending far too much time in the realms of literal thought. Funny. How does the Universe know anything about what I'm thinking? And why is the Universe always siding with my friends and family who are constantly urging me to push the boundaries of what I deem possible for myself? It's maddening really--all this random "order" in the Universe. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. An object in motion stays in motion--until acted upon by some outside force. I guess for me this force manifests itself in the form of "Free Will Astrology." I get it, I'll start reading the book! I'll actively pursue my life as a mythic quest; but I'm warning you, Universe: you started this! You underestimate my aptitude for abstraction!

Things to Remember

Here's the thing: I don't want to go another month before I post again, but I just can't settle on a topic.

Yesterday, while nearing the last mile of my run, I came up with two separate blogging ideas: a list of things I MUST remember, and a photo log of why I really didn't post anything in October. The problem is that ever since I saw Deenie Wimmer's enlightening report on the dangers I expose myself and my family to while blogging, well, I'm just so apprehensive...I mean, what if someone steals the photos from my blog post that I've stolen from somewhere else on the web??? What if a completely random person I don't know decides to remember MY list of things to remember...except alters the list to make it funny? I would feel so violated.

It's frightening, really. But with the new President coming to office in eleven short weeks, and this new era of hope hovering in the air, I'm going to break free from the reign of terror in which I've been living. I'm going to post that list AND the photos. Enjoy!

Things I MUST Remember

1. It's never as cold outside as I imagine it to be while looking out my front windows.
2. Running makes me feel good.
3. Oxygen is great for the brain.
4. Running feels good.
5. x equals negative b plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4 ac divided by 2a
   

The last thing I don't really think I must remember, but I decided that a list has to be either 3, 5, or 10 items. I'm a bit compulsive that way.

As for the photos, I promise I will post them soon...stay tuned.

I Ain't Afraid of No Ghost

October.  It's a long month.  31 days.  When I was a kid, the end of October meant we would dress in costumes, secretly steal the the pillow cases from our bedding, and head door to door on foot for as many hours as we could tolerate being out in the cold.  We didn't limit our stops for candy to just the houses of people we knew, we braved the unknown.  Sure, there might be cyanide, or razor blades hiding in the treats, but we didn't care.  

This October, oh so many years removed from that dangerous childhood, I stood in my yard moving pavers in the half-dark begging children passing by to take more than just one piece of candy.  Store-bought.  Obviously, very safe candy.  Nothing that could cause immediate death or bleeding.  Still, by the end of the evening I was left with a bowl more than half-full of Nerds, Take-5's, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.  Next year I'm going to splurge and actually buy full sized candy bars.  The only kids who will benefit are those brave enough to knock on the door of a house that doesn't have a pumpkin on fire outside...and of course those who listen to the crazies who were brave enough to try in the first place.  

So, it's a long month, October.  Yet, I didn't manage to post a single blog thought.  I've been in a funk.  I thought finishing a marathon would pull me out of it; but something about running 26.2 miles in rain and a minor head wind killed my finish line elation.  Then, a week later, there was the Ghostbusters episode.  I've been mulling that idea around for the past three weeks, but I just couldn't bring myself to give it voice.  Every time I thought about writing it, my thoughts quickly turned to the October my grandpa died and appeared to me in the form of a beautiful buck.     

Okay, so this is all really weird and maybe too personal.  Deenie Wimmer would probably say this is drawing the line on "staying safe". The internet is a dangerous place after all, and who knows how any of my 5 readers out there might use these random thoughts against me, but I'm going to live dangerously here.  I'm going out on a limb the trick-or-treating pansy children in my neighborhood were unwilling to straddle.  I'm going to hit "publish post".  I'm not going to look back (except to check spelling and spaces and what-not).

Laughter for Hard Times...and Grammatical Ramblings That Interrupt My Flow of Thought as I Try to Blog

These are not funny times, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't still find ways to chuckle.  Tonight, while looking for some random thing on the web, I came across CakeWrecks.  Check it out.  I laughed out loud. Of course, maybe this isn't any sort of recommendation given the fact that I'm given to laugh out loud at all sorts of things (usually at inappropriate times).

Other things:  Themes:  Fat.  Somehow I keep catching these documentaries on TLC of the fattest so and sos and their journeys to lipo or gastric bypass or some other such sort of surgery to rid them of such fat.  Amidst all this I came across this website (much more funny--or is it funnier...Single syllable adjectives form their comparitive and superlative by adding "er" or "est". ..funny is a double syllable...I'll have to look that one up...and, btw, it's perfectly okay to end a thought or sentence with a preposition, so stop sweating me for that last thought!)  Skinny Girls Who Have it Out for Fat People.  That, of course is not really the name of the site, but they really do seem to take the piss out of fatness.  

If this banking crisis continues on this same path, we may be able to cure this country's problem with obesity.  People may have to cut back in all sorts of ways.  Maybe we'll re-learn how to grow our own food.  Everyone of us will understand the joy and flavor of home-grown produce.  But if all this doesn't bring you warm fuzzies, rest assured we will always have satire--and if you can't handle hard core dry humor, DON'T click on the following link:  Highly Controversial Satire.

You Don't Know Jack, Dorothy!

Way back, when I was a young, ambitious, high school debate coach (as opposed to now--where I'm old and contentious), my star debate students introduced me to, "YOU DON'T KNOW JACK!"  Actually, I really DIDN'T know jack, which was made all the more evident because, try as I might, I couldn't get them to leave my classroom after school so I could be home at a decent hour to walk my dogs and maybe cook dinner and do other things not related to high school. Instead, I would grade papers and organize the room, put the desks back in line with the tape marks strategically placed on the floor (see why I couldn't stay in the public education system?), and listen to these four tragically intelligent teens roar and banter over the computer game that loves to talk smack when the players aren't speedy or witty enough for the game...

Fast forward 9 years to now:  

"You Don't Know Jaques":  The new shade of taupe polish in O.P.I's Paris collection.  

When I saw this in the nail salon in Portland last Friday, I had to have it--mostly because the grey so matches the sky in that city (it's a much cleaner grey than the smog in my own town, but it's grey nonetheless...let's not kid ourselves about that.)  Anyway, I opted for this shade because it's a really pretty glossy grey, and I thought the color would serve as a befitting reminder of my food trip to P Town (more on that in a later post).

As is turns out, it's the Polish's title that has really stuck with me--because of course the finish is already chipping, ay yai, yai!  Today for instance, I completely blanked out in COSTCO and couldn't provide the pin numbers for my bank cards; the worst of it was that the more I tried to conjure up the four magic digits, the deeper into the abyss of my memory the numbers would slide.  Worse still, I was holding up the line!  I hate being held up in line by people who have no business leaving the safety of their homes.  

Sometimes, we just don't know how good we have it until we leave home and wish to return with a mere click of our heels.  Ruby slippers are pretty...

I wore these red moccasins on the plane ride home.  I don't have the power to click heels for a speedy return.  

Should Have

I should have been out and back from my Monday morning run. Instead, I'm wasting time online...looking at recipes for possible side dishes for tonight's dinner, catching up on blogs (BTW, Andi needs to update), wondering how Ali has time for such a clean house AND cute nails, and now jotting down a blog detailing how I waste time in the morning. Stalling.

"What's Cooking Mother?"

I wish I could take credit for that title, but really it belongs to Kim Stafford--the son of the great poet William Stafford. And if I remember his story correctly, he got the line from a student who wasn't so good with punctuation. Stafford's point to the English teachers at his lecture was that a mere comma--or in this case the omission of one--can make all the difference. But what's got me thinking about this brilliant line over and over again all week is the incident inside my own very retro Kenmore stainless steel drop-in range.

It was like this: The oven was pre-heating in anticipation of roasting the beets which I had just scrubbed. Meanwhile, I was using my newly purchased mandoline to make pretty, uniformly-sliced to 1/8" thick sections of eggplant and zucchini. (Yes, I purchased this slicing tool with the express intent to use it on this recipe for Zucchini, Eggplant, and Tomato stacks from the Williams-Sonoma catalog.) I was having fun with my new toy when I smelled something metalic and very much unlike food burned onto the oven rack--which is what my olfactory senses are accustomed to observing when the oven is warming.

I opened the oven door to investigate and was immediately pleased to see that my husband had decided to clean the oven and surprise me! It was a brilliant hot-white. Absolutely glowing. So bright I had to shut the door before I blinded myself...

"Did you clean the oven?!" I queried.

"What...? No?...Why would I...What's that smell?"

What, indeed. The oven wasn't newly cleaned. The bright light calling to me through my oven wasn't heavenly, afterall. It was all too terrestrial; A Saggitarian knows fire when it dawns on her that her husband didn't clean the oven, and even if it were clean, it wouldn't glow like that! After turning the old nylon button to the off position, we opened the oven door to witness the baking element burning its last red ember.

Still unable to comprehend that an oven can burn itself out, I reasoned that the fire resulted from orange marmalade which had boiled out of the pear tart I baked a week earlier; there were suspicious black bubbling lines forming in several spots on the heating element. This must have seemed a reasonable explanation to my husband as well because he grabbed a spoon and began scraping at the black scar. At this point, the heating element snapped along with my motivation to make dinner.

Somehow, when the oven is on fire, everything else seems hopeless. What else is there to do at a time like that other than to feel sorry for yourself? So that's what I did. While I'm not so good at dealing with a sudden change in plans, I'm very good at sulking. So, I sulked, and sliced, and changed the menu to grilled veggies. While I sat across from the grill sulking still, I remembered Kim Stafford:

"What's cooking, Mother?" and I contemplated what happens when we take out that little unassuming comma and whether the result makes for a more interesting story:

"What's cooking mother?"

I think it does.

Food News From Nowhere

The votes are in, and it looks like my devoted readers are calling for a recipe.  As with most recipes I try, this one came from Sunset magazine (July 2007).  It took me over a year to gather the ingredients to actually produce this food--not that is was really so difficult to locate smoked paprika (I found it at the "Heist")--mostly I'm just a lazy grocery shopper.  In fact, I'm a lazy shopper all together; that makes two luxuries I would have if I ever won the lottery:  a driver and a personal shopper.  But enough of this...on to the food. 

Grilled Chicken Kebabs

With Romesco Sauce

Chicken

8 skewers

2 lbs. boned, skinned chicken breasts cut into cubes

1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

3 TBS olive oil

2 TBS fresh lime juice

2 tsp. minced garlic

1 tsp. each kosher salt and smoked paprika

Combine the above ingredients in a large bowl or plastic bag.  Toss to coat the chicken, then chill and marinate for at least 25 minutes. Meanwhile...

Romesco Sauce

1TBS minced garlic

1/2 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

3/4 cup peeled roasted red peppers

1/4 cup whole almonds or hazelnuts, toasted

1 slice crusty bread, toasted and cut into cubes

1/4 cup olive oil

1 TBS sherry vinegar

Put the above ingredients in a food processor and whirl them until pureed.  This sauce is thick.

Obviously, the chicken must be threaded onto the skewers and grilled before this meal can be served. So, do that, and enjoy!   

Food Notes:  One person in my house really doesn't enjoy chicken all that much, so I was a bit skeptical of even preparing this meal.  But, it was a big hit!  You can't even taste the bird in the chicken once it's marinated. And the romesco sauce...mmm.  If you like mole, you'll be smiling when you dip into this stuff. Also, if you are into impressing the neighbors with scents wafting off your grill, this recipe is sure to please; my neighbor actually popped her head over the fence to inquire as to what I was cooking.  

In other food news:  I have learned that preparing smooth (Mazza-like) hummus does not involve the labor intensive task of peeling the skins of each and every little garbanzo bean. This summer, I was stealing a read from Cook's Illustrated while I waited in line at the grocery store, and there was an article on getting this silky smooth hummus.  I catalogued the technique in the back of my mind where it remained until  yesterday when it popped into my conscious thought somewhere after mile 15 on the Jordan Parkway trail.  Long runs deserve whatever food the mind desires, so I obliged by making the hummus shortly after consuming a cheese danish (like I said, whatever the mind wants).  Magic!  Super smooth and creamy.  The trick, it turns out, is to leave the olive oil out until the very end, and then pour it into the mixture in a slow stream while it blends in the food processor.  Here's my recipe for simple hummus:

Hummus

One can garbanzo beans

2 TBS plain yogurt

2 TBS lemon juice

2 TBS tahini

Garlic (you be the judge on quantity)

Olive oil (use your best judgement)

Breaking the Silence

The blog has been silent nearly all month.  I'm torn up over it, really, I am.  Now, I don't know how to get started again mostly because there are so many topics to be covered here:  cake pans on loan from libraries nationwide, miles and miles of running woes, saffron and smoked paprika, school starting and the mystery of head lice, pesky thievery, poetry Friday lost, stupid names like Renesmee (...there's definitely a blog brewing over this one), man boys in pink panties, a much needed public service announcement directed towards women.  So many things.  I promise to cover at least one of these topics this week.  If any of you have a preference, drop me a comment and I'll do what I can to oblige.

Why Did the Boiled Chicken Breast Cross the Road?

Exhilarating. Inspirational. Empowering.  Often, a long run is all of these rolled into one magical ball.  Not so today.  At mile 13.75 I wanted to cry, and I probably would have if I wasn't so concerned with staying hydrated.  The mile and a quarter to home seemed impossibly far away. 

Adding insult to injury was the vanity check in the Seminary building's glass door--it's really not fair that this flat stomach thing is largely genetic (this according to some flat-bellied, defined-abbed writer for Oxygen magazine--yes, I tore out the article 3 years ago and am holding on to it in case I ever get motivated enough to live solely on 3 oz. of plain boiled chicken breast each day)....

  

It's also not fair that after burning 1200 calories and already feeling defeated, I have to look at my reflection in a glass door and have two love handles waving back at me.*  This problem could be easily and instantly solved, I suppose, by wearing a shirt that is loose at the bottom...I'll look into that.  Then there's the obvious solution:  stop looking in glass doors.  Or, when looking at my reflection in glass doors, focus only on my good points.  These are solutions I can live with as they don't require me to cut all the crappy food out of my diet.  Of course, they also only mask the real issue that will still be lurking there beneath my shirt and in my blind spot....

 

These were the distractions of thought that allowed me to get my rubbery legs home where I can sit at the computer and compose a cathartic blog post while sipping my favorite cappuccino-flavored recovery drink.  Ahhh...feeling better already.  And it's almost time for me to meet the girls for a birthday lunch!  Hurray.

*Disclaimer:  lest you all fear I have image problems, stop fretting.  I DON'T THINK I'M FAT. If any of you think otherwise, keep your thoughts to yourselves because I don't need your skewed vision in my life.   

 

Friday's Poem

I'm drained of poetry at the moment, but in honor of Poetry Friday, I'm sharing one from Pablo Neruda:  "The Well".   Think of this as an Ode to the blog--which often falls silent for reasons unbeknownst to me. 

The Well

At times you sink, you fall

into your hole of silence,
into your abyss of proud anger,
and you can scarcely
return, still bearing remnants
of what you found
in the depth of your existence.

My love, what do you find
in your closed well?
Seaweed, swamps, rocks?
What do you see with blind eyes,
bitter and wounded?

Darling, you will not find
in the well into which you fall
what I keep for you on the heights:
a bouquet of dewy jasmines,
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Do not fear me, do not fall
into your rancor again.
Shake off my word that came to wound you
and let it fly through the open window.
It will return to wound
without your guiding it
since it was laden with a harsh instant
and that instant will be disarmed in my breast.

~Pablo Neruda 

You've Gotta Wear Shades

It's been too hot recently.  The sun is bright.  Blindingly.  The heat makes it difficult to think clearly--clouds the judgement.  You know that's why Gatsby's story finally came to a climax, the oppressive heat of summer.  Heat makes us do crazy things--like delete our blogs. (And here I am writing in 2nd person like some Mitch Albom hack...I hate 2nd person.)  Since erasing all those old posts I've lost my momentum.  How do I get it back?  Here's how:  wait for my dark alter-ego to come out of hiding.....  

...And he finally did it!  We're back in business--the business of blogging, which isn't really a business at all because there's no money in it.  Of course, this would make it a great candidate for a business that white people like (see #105);  maybe I should get an intern for my blog.  

Anyway, my point is that once knownsideeffects started clacking away at the keyboard, a spark of inspiration twitched in my own fingertips.  And here I was thinking I am so independent and individual...no longer needing a springboard for blogging material.  Apparently, The Mop's assessment of us "... they keep acting.... well like one is an index finger and the other a thumb. Individual fingers, work well together. but different....and part of the same hand..." is truer than I gave him credit for.  Weird, too, how that anonymous blogger can pick up on this nuance.

So, now that the blogging game is back on, I'm going to stop worrying about all those posts I didn't think to save, don some dark glasses, and in the spirit of forward momentum, close this post with a genius quote from some guy on A&E's  Intervention : 

"Me living in the past has inhibited my future."  

No more.

...This is Just to Say

Yesterday, 

I was driving home from the reunion

and remembered that it was Friday...

...poetry day.  

I realize today is Saturday, 

but I'm hoping 

I can still turn this in for half credit?  

My Attempt at Imagism

So much hope 

hangs

in summer 

clouds

casting dark 

shadows 

on fields of 

alfalfa

growing along the 

interstate

Tomorrow a new quote will take the place of this one:  

"Whosoever desires constant success must change his conduct with the times."  

--Niccolo Machiavelli

The message seems an appropriate one with which to make a new start on the blog.  I'm already missing some of my old posts--I guess this is why the old technology of black and white composition notebooks never goes out of style.

  

On the other hand, I can't decide how I really feel about Machiavelli's assessment of how one must go about achieving success.  Sure, we need to change with the times to some degree, but on the other hand, we should stay true to our core values, right?  The balance between tradition and progress is tricky.  Oh that there were a tried and true formula.  My nature is to side with progress and question tradition.  Perhaps I need to examine my natural instincts more closely...question them, for a change?

Online Again

...I wanted to change up my playlist anyway.