I'm glad my family's taken to celebrating certain holidays the day before. Our Memorial Day picnic was yesterday, and now I have the whole day to drink leftover sangria, eat leftover birthday cake, and watch TRUE BLOOD.
Dionysus smiled on me, and the sangria was great. I'm not boasting because it certainly wasn't anything I did on purpose and I won't take credit for serendipity.
The concoction tasted like a wine punch and went down smoothly- one of those drinks that taste too good to be alcoholic until you stand up and wonder why the room tilted. Which is what I was going for.
My nephew asked for a green man suit for his birthday, and my mom and I went halfsies. I'm kind of relieved this isn't some funky cosplay; apparently it comes from IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY. The actual suit is insane. He opened it and immediately put it on and started dancing around the deck. I just about fell out from the sight of him. In everyday life, he looks and acts like a normal teen, but he's got a quirkiness to him that makes him Gemini to the core.
My family's fortunate to have everyone who is/was in the military and in the war back at home. I count my blessings on that, at the same time I'm thinking about those who are still over there and the families who are doing the wait at home.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Sangria is an undertaking
The reason I wanted to make Sangria was that my brother gave me a case of wine for Christmas that I hadn't used.
I'm not really a red wine drinker (I'm a whiskey girl through and through), but I was feeling guilty for not using it.
Sangria is one huge pain in the ass. The recipe I'm using (given to me by my sister Emma) calls for Bicardi Limon, brandy, a cab, OJ, cran-grape, Sprite, and assorted fruits (the grapes are in the freezer this moment).
Because of a wicked bad mood, I freaked out when I couldn't find the wine-opener (the eff word was employed with a mighty enthusiasm) and I fudged the ratio of ingredients.
It's going to be a I-Don't-Give-a-Rat's-Ass concoction.
The color at the end of mixing was kind of dubious. It looked a little pukey because of the OJ and I know it's going to be unpalatable...close to toxic. Plus I made a shitload of it, just in case my family's really in the mood to poison themselves.
My SIL (the eldritch horror) made sangria a couple years ago. But she made a tiny pitcher and proceeded to down it with my other SIL (who isn't as cool as my wicked cool SIL, but isn't so bad either). I figured if she could do it, I could. After all, I mastered her holiday potatoes recipe.
I hope I don't end up poisoning my family. And I hope they don't feel they have to drink the shit and smile to protect my fragile ego.
At least the frozen grapes should be tasty.
I'm not really a red wine drinker (I'm a whiskey girl through and through), but I was feeling guilty for not using it.
Sangria is one huge pain in the ass. The recipe I'm using (given to me by my sister Emma) calls for Bicardi Limon, brandy, a cab, OJ, cran-grape, Sprite, and assorted fruits (the grapes are in the freezer this moment).
Because of a wicked bad mood, I freaked out when I couldn't find the wine-opener (the eff word was employed with a mighty enthusiasm) and I fudged the ratio of ingredients.
It's going to be a I-Don't-Give-a-Rat's-Ass concoction.
The color at the end of mixing was kind of dubious. It looked a little pukey because of the OJ and I know it's going to be unpalatable...close to toxic. Plus I made a shitload of it, just in case my family's really in the mood to poison themselves.
My SIL (the eldritch horror) made sangria a couple years ago. But she made a tiny pitcher and proceeded to down it with my other SIL (who isn't as cool as my wicked cool SIL, but isn't so bad either). I figured if she could do it, I could. After all, I mastered her holiday potatoes recipe.
I hope I don't end up poisoning my family. And I hope they don't feel they have to drink the shit and smile to protect my fragile ego.
At least the frozen grapes should be tasty.
LOST finale- my interpretation (spoilerage)
My sister wasn't displeased, but she knew I would be.
She wasn't wrong.
I've been reading up online to understand the finale because every time I have it straight in my head, some loose end pops up and I burn. I burn like a lover scorned.
Here's my take: the creators were wicked pissed that the internets figured out the twist (Purgatory), so they tried to deviate and outright stated that the island wasn't purgatory.
Well, if we're playing semantics, the island wasn't. The sideways world was purgatoryish, so I guess they weren't outright-
I can't even finish the sentence. They lied and dicked their fans around. I don't believe authors or creators should cave into fan demand, but if you're going to shove it in the naughty hole, at least give good warning and use some lube.
You know what kills me? I was actually thinking that despite the drawbacks of the ending, it was cool that they brought it full circle to Jack's eye and the fucking dog. You know what I think now? MANIPULATIVE BULLSHIT. They knew that people like circular and completeness comforts them. In the moment I was willing to cut them slack, but upon reflection, I recognize the scene for what it was: a pathetic attempt at salvage.
I guess what they taught the fans was that you can invest your heart, loyalty, and time into something, and in the end, you'll end up clutching the sheet to your chest wondering if it was your fault.
Thanks. Except I've learned that lesson repeatedly in real life. I don't need no show to underscore the theme.
I feel bad for the next good show that comes along. I'm not going to be investing too soon.
I imagine LOST's creators are slapping themselves on the back, congratulating everyone on the fuck-over they pulled. Kind of like in DIE HARD 2.
And we all know how that turned out. Yippee Kay Yay...
She wasn't wrong.
I've been reading up online to understand the finale because every time I have it straight in my head, some loose end pops up and I burn. I burn like a lover scorned.
Here's my take: the creators were wicked pissed that the internets figured out the twist (Purgatory), so they tried to deviate and outright stated that the island wasn't purgatory.
Well, if we're playing semantics, the island wasn't. The sideways world was purgatoryish, so I guess they weren't outright-
I can't even finish the sentence. They lied and dicked their fans around. I don't believe authors or creators should cave into fan demand, but if you're going to shove it in the naughty hole, at least give good warning and use some lube.
You know what kills me? I was actually thinking that despite the drawbacks of the ending, it was cool that they brought it full circle to Jack's eye and the fucking dog. You know what I think now? MANIPULATIVE BULLSHIT. They knew that people like circular and completeness comforts them. In the moment I was willing to cut them slack, but upon reflection, I recognize the scene for what it was: a pathetic attempt at salvage.
I guess what they taught the fans was that you can invest your heart, loyalty, and time into something, and in the end, you'll end up clutching the sheet to your chest wondering if it was your fault.
Thanks. Except I've learned that lesson repeatedly in real life. I don't need no show to underscore the theme.
I feel bad for the next good show that comes along. I'm not going to be investing too soon.
I imagine LOST's creators are slapping themselves on the back, congratulating everyone on the fuck-over they pulled. Kind of like in DIE HARD 2.
And we all know how that turned out. Yippee Kay Yay...
What got me outta the house
Today's my birthday.
Two things that make me sad:
1. No one at school knows my birthday. For some reason, I decided I wouldn't tell anyone unless they asked- because the little baby Jesus knows you always end up talking about when you were born when at work. It always comes up. Either people ask your sign or actually ask for the date. In the many years I've worked at school, no one has ever asked me. I know their birthdays. I've brought in many a cake and brownies to celebrate, but no one has ever returned the favor. I know it sounds all passive aggressive and long-term martyrish; however, I'm not nursing a butt hurt here. It'll be interesting to see if the question ever comes up.
2. For some reason, I keep adding a year to my age. I'm 42, but if I answered off the cuff, I'd say I was 43. I don't know the reason.
I woke up in a grumpy mood. I don't know if it was the grind of the week or some subconscious mind fuck about my age, but I was all sorts of out of sorts this morning. Which is ridiculous. I'm going with my sisters and good SIL to see Dave Matthews tonight; I should've sprung out of bed with a song on my lips and cartoon bluebirds twittering around my head.
Instead I scowled at the clock and growled at the fact that I had so much to do.
What I had to do: buy the ingredients for sangria (there's a bug in my ear telling me to make it for the Memorial Day picnic tomorrow), throw together said ingredients (keeping out the fruit so it doesn't turn all mushy), and grade papers.
I had my weekly talk with Tattoo Queen and was a very dull interlocuter indeed.
Then the mail came. Tattoo Queen sent me TRUE BLOOD seasons 1 and 2, LEGEND OF THE SEEKER (she and her workers are mad over it), and the TRUE BLOOD soundtrack.
I told my lazy self that I couldn't listen to the CD unless it was in my car. That was enough to get me showered and on the road.
The bridge was up when I drove into town (a 15-minute wait), I fucked up my thumb when I pulled my 12 of Corona out of the cooler (I administered some ice and Jameson on it; it's working quite nicely), and some bitch on the phone cut me off in the parking lot- but I didn't care. I was carseat dancing to "Do Bad Things with You" and the day couldn't be brighter.
Now there's only three-quarters of an hour until we leave for the concert. We're gonna get our drink on and listen to DMB like there's nothing but good and sex in the world.
Suffice to say, my mood has dramatically improved.
Two things that make me sad:
1. No one at school knows my birthday. For some reason, I decided I wouldn't tell anyone unless they asked- because the little baby Jesus knows you always end up talking about when you were born when at work. It always comes up. Either people ask your sign or actually ask for the date. In the many years I've worked at school, no one has ever asked me. I know their birthdays. I've brought in many a cake and brownies to celebrate, but no one has ever returned the favor. I know it sounds all passive aggressive and long-term martyrish; however, I'm not nursing a butt hurt here. It'll be interesting to see if the question ever comes up.
2. For some reason, I keep adding a year to my age. I'm 42, but if I answered off the cuff, I'd say I was 43. I don't know the reason.
I woke up in a grumpy mood. I don't know if it was the grind of the week or some subconscious mind fuck about my age, but I was all sorts of out of sorts this morning. Which is ridiculous. I'm going with my sisters and good SIL to see Dave Matthews tonight; I should've sprung out of bed with a song on my lips and cartoon bluebirds twittering around my head.
Instead I scowled at the clock and growled at the fact that I had so much to do.
What I had to do: buy the ingredients for sangria (there's a bug in my ear telling me to make it for the Memorial Day picnic tomorrow), throw together said ingredients (keeping out the fruit so it doesn't turn all mushy), and grade papers.
I had my weekly talk with Tattoo Queen and was a very dull interlocuter indeed.
Then the mail came. Tattoo Queen sent me TRUE BLOOD seasons 1 and 2, LEGEND OF THE SEEKER (she and her workers are mad over it), and the TRUE BLOOD soundtrack.
I told my lazy self that I couldn't listen to the CD unless it was in my car. That was enough to get me showered and on the road.
The bridge was up when I drove into town (a 15-minute wait), I fucked up my thumb when I pulled my 12 of Corona out of the cooler (I administered some ice and Jameson on it; it's working quite nicely), and some bitch on the phone cut me off in the parking lot- but I didn't care. I was carseat dancing to "Do Bad Things with You" and the day couldn't be brighter.
Now there's only three-quarters of an hour until we leave for the concert. We're gonna get our drink on and listen to DMB like there's nothing but good and sex in the world.
Suffice to say, my mood has dramatically improved.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Instead of writerly whinging, A SEQUEL
Scott Turow wrote a sequel to PRESUMED INNOCENT.
The only reason I like the movie is that I looooooved the book. So many layers. So many tangents. Even if I disagree with the premise- the Other Woman is not to blame for adultery and doesn't deserve the sentence she receives- damn if he didn't make a sweet read.
INNOCENT is on the end table next to me. I bought it last night at the grocery store (of all places!) while I was buying treats for the kiddies in my class. It didn't come to school with me because I needed to get shit done, but its siren call could be heard from 20 miles away.
The last we heard about Rusty was in PLEADING GUILTY, a throwaway sentence referring to Judge Sabich. Now the story continues.
I'm drawing out the exquisite anticipation by dicking around on the computer. I imagine the night's going to be spent with the book, bedtime on a school night be damned.
I can't wait.
The only reason I like the movie is that I looooooved the book. So many layers. So many tangents. Even if I disagree with the premise- the Other Woman is not to blame for adultery and doesn't deserve the sentence she receives- damn if he didn't make a sweet read.
INNOCENT is on the end table next to me. I bought it last night at the grocery store (of all places!) while I was buying treats for the kiddies in my class. It didn't come to school with me because I needed to get shit done, but its siren call could be heard from 20 miles away.
The last we heard about Rusty was in PLEADING GUILTY, a throwaway sentence referring to Judge Sabich. Now the story continues.
I'm drawing out the exquisite anticipation by dicking around on the computer. I imagine the night's going to be spent with the book, bedtime on a school night be damned.
I can't wait.
The crapfest that is LOST
One of the few points of disagreement between my sister Emma and me is the quality of LOST. She has an unwavering devotion to the show; I don't. I waver like a noodle in a hurricane.
This season has done nothing to ease the tension.
WTF with Allison Janney? Did we need this? Did I need to see CJ and be reminded of a far better show? Emma, of course, chalks it up to the fact that I can't and won't be satisfied.
Which is wrong. A lot of things satisfy me. Full out wankery, however, will never cease to irk.
She fully expects the finale to leave her sated. I fully expect a royal reaming and plan to stock plenty of lube.
But I'll stick with it to the very end. I was there in the beginning and want to see it through.
Until then, this vid sums up my feelings quite nicely:
This season has done nothing to ease the tension.
WTF with Allison Janney? Did we need this? Did I need to see CJ and be reminded of a far better show? Emma, of course, chalks it up to the fact that I can't and won't be satisfied.
Which is wrong. A lot of things satisfy me. Full out wankery, however, will never cease to irk.
She fully expects the finale to leave her sated. I fully expect a royal reaming and plan to stock plenty of lube.
But I'll stick with it to the very end. I was there in the beginning and want to see it through.
Until then, this vid sums up my feelings quite nicely:
Still Wick
While peace and harmony can't move me to blog, my dickhead department head can.
I used to think I was the type of person who didn't need petting or compliments. I preferred to fly under radar, doing my job and getting satisfaction from that.
Ah, those self-deceptions.
He is the worst boss I ever had. Worse than the boss with the heroin addiction who used to steal my tips (I liked her, so I'd look the other way) and the asswipe who used to make the servers cry and cop a feel in the linen closet.
The department head doesn't feel that he has to model behavior or keep us abreast of new developments. Loves causing dissension and feels that a dismissive attitude is the same as having a sac.
God, I can't wait until he leaves for an administrative job.
What hurts is that he strokes off the two weakest members of the department during these meetings. Hell, I can reconcile myself to no strokes, but really? Do I have to be subject to a circle jerk of the undeserving? Can't they rent a room at the quality Red Roof Inn up the street?
I would like an attagirl. I would like a modicum of recognition. But it's a no go.
Because he is one of the worst bosses in the world. I hope he gets his thumb caught in a door somewhere.
I used to think I was the type of person who didn't need petting or compliments. I preferred to fly under radar, doing my job and getting satisfaction from that.
Ah, those self-deceptions.
He is the worst boss I ever had. Worse than the boss with the heroin addiction who used to steal my tips (I liked her, so I'd look the other way) and the asswipe who used to make the servers cry and cop a feel in the linen closet.
The department head doesn't feel that he has to model behavior or keep us abreast of new developments. Loves causing dissension and feels that a dismissive attitude is the same as having a sac.
God, I can't wait until he leaves for an administrative job.
What hurts is that he strokes off the two weakest members of the department during these meetings. Hell, I can reconcile myself to no strokes, but really? Do I have to be subject to a circle jerk of the undeserving? Can't they rent a room at the quality Red Roof Inn up the street?
I would like an attagirl. I would like a modicum of recognition. But it's a no go.
Because he is one of the worst bosses in the world. I hope he gets his thumb caught in a door somewhere.
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