questioning my sanity much?

Yesterday, after a stunning breakfast of perfectly scrambled eggs and French apple cake, we went for a drive. There was no specific destination in mind, but seeing the lake and heading south seemed like a fine idea on what was the first sunny day in west Michigan for quite some time. We listened to a great This American Life (The theme was “Contents Unknown” and in addition to the intro which discussed the Letters of Last Resort-a conundrum of epic proportions for my wee brain-there was this incredibly intense story about a guy who got a Fulbright and went to India and had a terrifying reaction to his anti-malaria pills which resulted in him losing his memory and ending up in a mental institution. Check it out.) and drove along the lakeshore. We hit South Haven and headed back north for some nosh with the destination being Salt of the Earth.

This is where things get epic.

As we’re driving down M-89 we see what appear to be two animals in the road. They look like they’re on the move, but we can’t even tell what kind of animals they might be. Peter mentions turkeys. I say something about coyotes. We get closer and Peter, in alarm, asks “Is that coming TOWARDS us?!” Because it really did look like this rather large still unidentifiable animal was barreling right for the Honda. But as we approach we realize they are two HUGE Rottweiler-type dogs, on the correct side of the road, GALLOPING down the middle of M-89 at full speed. Peter slows down and honks. No response. He veers off into the other lane and continues to honk and slow down, but those dogs just keep going. As we pull up alongside the one in the lead, I turn to look at the dog and I swear that dog looked right back at me. Real determined and mean like. It’s like it looked right through me. Gave me the shivers.

It was so completely bizarre for the rest of the evening I kept asking Peter “We really did see those two dogs, right? And they looked mean, right? And that one in the front looked at us, right?”

It felt like a sign.

I’m just not sure what it was trying to say.

a day off not an off day

Finish "How Proust can change your life" Check

Start "As always, Julia" Check

Watch Amelie Check

To do:

Listen to Serge Gainsbourg

Make Dorie Greenspan's French Apple Cake

Make Thomas Keller's split pea soup

Make Erin's roasted beet salad

Start Swann's Way

Stitch

Write YIPR

vacuum

i have a ham hock. i have split peas. i will have soup.

So it must be January because I feel like I'm in the process of having a nervous breakdown. Which means I'm probably not having a nervous breakdown.

It's just January.

On the radar:

I'm thinking of deleting my facebook profile. I'm starting to hate it. I hate how much I check it. I hate that it feels like my $#%@!! status updates define me. I hate how self-obsessed it makes me feel. I hate that it's not really free because facebook is data mining the shit out of me to market to me.

Which brings me to how much I'm hating all things capitalism. I hate commericials. I hate google ads. I hate this stupid American culture that's obsessed with more. I hate thoughtless unnecessary consumption. I hate economic growth. I hate that I participate in any of it.

See?

January.

the internets! at your fingertips!

I am wearing a United Federation of Planets Delegate Klingon Delegation pin. I feel like a king.

More importantly:

Journalism will never die. Anyone can report the news. The Sunday New York Times in print is an institution. Honestly.

Phosphorescent is more yippie than Animal Collective. And therefore worth checking out.

Founders has the best beer ever. But if distribution demands will compromise quality...what..I mean...where...

Founders. Be cool.

Shorts. I think you're awfully cute.

Grand Rapids? I have some questions for you...

this is what my life is supposed to be like all the time

Last day of Erin's impromptu three day staycation. Here's what has happened:

1. I cooked. Alot. I roasted squash and garlic for soup. I made up some sort of stew involving potatoes, goose stock, garlic kielbasa, onions, and mushrooms. I made my most successful hummus to date though the texture still needs work. I baked chocolate chip cookies Joy Jenkins-style which means they're the perfect chocolate chip cookie. I threw together a roasted beet, black olive, caper salad with goat cheese.

2. I officially abandoned the Joyce. I have a copy of "Swann's Way" translated by Lydia Davis. I'm currently reading "How Proust can change your life" which might be in the process of changing my life.

3. I am attracted to all things French right now hence the Proust obsession. But it's gone beyond that. That stew I made? French inspired. Serge Gainsbourg has taken up permanent residence in my daily music listening rotation. French decorating. French textiles. J'aime toutes le choses francais!

4. I watched the Packers/Bears game with Travistina and Xander. Fantastic pizza, fantastic cookies, fantastic time. It had been too long.

5. Joel came over for supper and ate said stew, beet salad, and Joy Jenkins cookies. We listened to records. We talked about whatever popped into our heads. We drank wine. It was a good Sunday supper.

Today: read the Sunday NYT, make breakfast of leftover stew with a perfectly cooked egg on top, head to the Grandest of Rapids to see Black Swan or The King's Speech, have supper at Founders.

It's gonna be a Devil Dancer for me. I ain't afraid of no heat.

on books. and life. in general.

My friend Erica is writing a paper for a class she's taking and asked my opinion on whether digital media will spell the end for books. Never. Never ever. I say that not as someone who is against technological progress, mind you (though honestly, people, aren't smartphones just a way to make ourselves feel more important than we are?), but rather as someone who has a deep and abiding love for physical books. And I'm fairly certain the original design cannot be improved upon. From the new book smell to the variety of typefaces to paper quality, cover designs and bindery options books really are more than just the words on a page. And though I can see the appeal of having the ability to carry around hundreds of books on one teeny device, I know the tactile experience of reading a physical copy of a book cannot be replicated digitally.

Convenience just isn't enough for me.

Says the woman who is currently looking for someone to teach her how to butcher a pig.

Yeesh.

why yes! yes i would like a martini!

I'm not gonna talk about my day yesterday. Just so you know. If you were interested in all the dirty details? Too bad. It's A. not that interesting for anyone outside my professional world and B. my momma done taught me if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

What's important is the rest of my life anyway.

I'm completely lost in Ulysses and not in the romantic "I'm lost in a book!" sort of way, but rather more of a "WTF, Joyce?!" sort of way. I'm plowing through. Because I said I would plow through. I'm not going to lie. It's not fun.

I started sorting buttons for a piece I have in my head. I'm now obsessed with buttons. So if you're a person who, say, goes to second hand stores or antique stores and you see a whole mess of sweet buttons for mere pennies feel free to buy them for me.

We're watching Parks and Recreation. Peter described it perfectly when he said it was like Lisa Simpson grew up and became the deputy parks person of a small midwest town. I do like it. I really do. I can relate to the human stupidity they so accurately portray. But I just procured a copy of Top Chef DC and I miss Tom Colicchio. And Gail. I love me some Gail and her creamy decolletage.

Tonight: run, Butch's with Joyce, Butch's with the bff, Butch's with Peter.

Yup. It's martini night in Erinworld.

bad scene

This has been a wretched day. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. A day when my integrity was questioned. A day when I got so angry I literally started shaking. I have been feeling powerless professionally. Today, I was essentially made irrelevant.

Awesome. Truly effing awesome.

Things that don’t suck:

Watching a 2 year old play the harmonica
The Sandbar on a Sunday night


Yeah. That’s all I got.

Truly awful day.

ask me about gun control. i dare you.

Odd week.

I’m reading Ulysses. And I like it.
I started trying to be more consistent with running. And I like it.
I’m trying to be more mindful about my eating. And I like it.
I’m working on not being so angry at work. And I like it.

There’s something weird happening in the universe.

Maybe it has something to do with some recent conversations regarding the State of One’s Life and How to Make it Better By Doing What You Love Regardless of What Anyone Else May Think that has allowed me to see a light at the end of the former impenetrably dark tunnel.

That’s all I’m going to say about that right now.

Except that July marks 10 years at my job.

Which would make me vested.

burrito tuft

I succumbed to antibiotics. I feel like a human being.

I also succumbed to hours of Gossip Girl. For therapeutic reasons of course.

Last night we celebrated our annual we-are-sick-of-snow-so-let’s-eat-like-it’s-summer meal with the traditional burgers and fries. A little early in the winter season maybe, but it was amazing, if I do so say myself. I tend to have some trouble with the whole burger on top of the stove thing, but this time I did something right. Maybe it was the indent in the middle of the patty that made them perfect. I read that on chowhound. I think it had something to do with proteins and fats. Science. Yeah. Maybe it was the pre-heating of the pan for 5 minutes that did it. Maybe I finally didn’t overwork the meat. Maybe it was the butter I used so they wouldn’t stick. Maybe I left them alone instead of fussing with them constantly.

Who am I trying to kid here?

It was probably the butter.

I am currently working on a knitting project that absolutely positively must be done by next Sunday, but after that is finished I have this picture in my head I’m excited about putting into thread and muslin. I’ve thought about getting a sketch book, but I suck at drawing. Odd that I can pick up a needle and thread and do it, but not with a pencil and paper. There’s something permanent about paper. I end up freezing and second guessing myself. With fabric and thread I figure I can always just take stitches out and start over if something doesn’t look right. I recently checked out a bunch of books on artists’ journals and I found it really inspiring. What I should do is just go for the sketch book. Put some basic ideas down. Get over yourself, Davison.

I am reading Ulysses. And I’m only just about through the first section, but I can’t quite figure out why I made such a big deal about reading it.

Get over yourself, Davison indeed.

things to think about

1. "How to live safely in a science fictional universe" by Charles Yu

2. Goose fat and it's magical powers over the potato

3. Mark Bittman's Sunday NYT piece in the Week in Review section.

4. Most of the Sunday NYT Week in Review section.

5. The cover story of the Sunday NYT Magazine. I can't read it. Someone should. And then tell me about it.

6. I can cook. Potatoes and turnips cooked risotto-style with goose stock, veggie stock, bacon and parmesan. With awesome leftovers.

7. Ariel Pink.

epic fail

I am a pretty good cook. I have a decent palate. I research ingredients. I can understand how to build flavors and what goes with what. But the main thing I can do is read and if one can read, one can cook. Which leaves me a bit flummoxed regarding my epic goose roasting fail. I sort of mostly followed a recipe on epicurious with minor substitutions, but the main thing I was looking for was prepping the bird and the final internal temp/length of time it needed to cook. I pricked the skin all over paying special attention to the lower breast and thigh area. It was seasoned with salt and pepper. I pre-heated the oven to 425-put it in for 30 minutes, dropped the temp to 325, poured a cup of boiling water over the thing and basted every 20 minutes for 2 hours (estimated length of time given the size of the bird) checking the temp in the thigh for the last 40 minutes. I actually took it out a little early because it seemed I had hit my mark and let it rest for 30 minutes. When I went to carve it was nearly impossible. It took major arm wrestling to get the legs detached. When I tried to carve the breast I realized just how bad it was.

The entire thing was dumped into the stockpot and is currently simmering on the stove. May it produce some wonderful stock.

Moving on. The braised cabbage was delicious. As was the roasted squash and sweet potato soup. And the applesauce. And the surprising raw beet salad with grapefruit and lemon juice.

I am still sick. I took some advice from a good sleeper and stayed in bed all day long. I thought I was feeling better, but I'm back to mouthbreathing. Which makes my throat hurt. And my lips get chapped.

I finally finished reading "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" which was one of those chubby paperbacks that are 1000 pages long and though you feel a little trashy while you're reading it you can't help yourself because it's that fun. I'm currently reading "How to live safely in a science fictional universe" by Charles Yu. It's good. Kind of painfully good. I can see myself having a hard time finding a next book because this is just so unique and ridiculously well-written.

So I think I'll just read Ulysses. Get it over with. Get that literary monkey off my back once and for all.