|Wednesday's Random Thoughts, darting like White Cloud Minnows
||[Feb. 1st, 2012|10:43 am]
I miss my White Clouds! (Just ignore it; I am. If she starts clamoring for aquariums, remind her she spends half an hour a day cleaning up/tending to Geezercat. Luckily, the part that clamors for fish is the same part that could never bring itself to euthanize an animal unless it was truly suffering, so we're safe from THAT mess.)|
Just remember though, that when GeezerCat finally passes, you need to start chanting Dog, Dog, Dog or we'll wind up with fish AND a greyhound and little miss softserve won't be the one who's got to euthanize the damn fish. Because they don't make birth control for White Clouds. Okay, they do. It's called a Hungry Cichlid. But that's how we wound up with all of those tanks last time.
I’m not a big porter drinker…it’s beer dances with coffee and licorice tones a little too closely; and I get all Sister Mary Catherine and want to put a ruler in between them. Although from time to time, it seems just the thing and I do tend to cook with porter more than any other beer, so I picked up a six pack of Anchor Porter the other day. I couldn’t remember having their porter, but was suddenly overcome by a longing for Anchor Steam, but I had a full beer fridge and am trying to get better at staying on mission. Plus, I also had to replenish my supply of Broker’s Gin, and I only had so much cash on me, so it was either Anchor Steam or a bottle of Root and I know I can get Anchor Steam another time. Root, though…I’ve been hunting. But I did drink a Porter, while I was making the Porter cake. (Hey, I only needed 8 ounces for the recipe, but who the hell can only drink 4 ounces of beer?) And let me just say, Anchor Brewing has the sexiest beer bottle on the face of the earth. No, no, don’t look at me like that. Just pick one up, next time you’re in the store. It’s a bottle that just WANTS to be in your hand. And your hand LIKES that bottle. Brilliant. (edit: I wrote this a couple of days ago and then had occasion to be in the liquor store again and…yes, I picked up a bottle just to…yes. My hand loves that damn bottle. Don’t be surprised if you show up at my house in the future and I’ve repurposed Anchor Steam bottles into drinking vessels.)
Dear Mom, the point of facebook was NOT to give you yet another avenue to hound me about my weight and eating habits. Yes, I mostly write about food…because it’s damn near the only public non-controversial thing I can post about without causing some kind of ruckus or bad impression. Do not take that one thing away from me. Although thanks for strengthening my resolve to NOT ever point you to my blog efforts. Because that would give you some uncomfortable food for thought, if you’ll forgive me for bringing up FOOD one more time. Hey, YOU’RE the one who chose to bottle feed me, then wean me early…which is EXACTLY the kind of thing I’d be posting on Facebook, if I had my druthers and didn’t need to keep my job…and my family.
Further cementing my rep as the weird chick at work, today my Wild Boar Roast arrived. (Seriously, boar goes on sale, and I am powerless to resist it. I’m mostly afraid to die because then everyone would know I’ve got a freezer full of wild and domestic pigs…and a cat) The reception desk, apparently, is keeping a tally of what shipments I receive. “Other people get shoes…or boxes from Amazon…you’ve gotten a sword, an absinthe fountain, a case of soap, a giant chicken head, a case of toilet paper and now wild pig.” I actually resisted the urge to tell them about the fetal skeleton, the cougar skull, and the case of cheesecloth. See, personal discretion, I have it. In fits and starts, maybe.
And for the record, the toilet paper was a sample for work. I’m single now; I only buy my toilet paper in 24 packs. Okay, two at a time….I HATE buying staples as much as I love buying food. Mostly because I can go to the grocery store three dozen times and not remember to pick up trash bags or paper towels because I got all distracted by some fabulous vegetable or a sudden craving for Cheese-It’s. (The latter I would, of course, totally ignore, but apparently THAT process takes up a lot of RAM, so once we get there, I’m probably going to walk out of the store without getting laundry detergent.) Although, admittedly, I did inherit my father’s toilet-paper hoarding urge, because even living alone, if I’m down to half a dozen rolls, I get a little tense. Not because I anticipate a toilet paper emergency…it just seems like perhaps the dumbest thing in the world to run out of. And, when you grow up having a pallet at a time in the basement…well, half a dozen just seems like living on the edge.
Damn you Fountaingirl for introducing me to Bittercube Bitters! Every night, I’m pulling out the eyedroppers…hmm, would Bolivar Bitters go with Mango Ceylon Iced tea, or should I go for Jamaica #2? How about the Blackstrap with Tart Cherry juice? At least my brain is familiar enough with the concept of bitters that I’m not driven to have alcohol be part of the equation…ALL of the time.
A colleague was recently making fun of me for getting Netflix DVDs in the mail. Why don’t you stream them, he asked? Seriously, dude, I’ve got a television. There’s nothing hooked up to it but a DVD player. The thought of hooking up…ach, my damn stereo isn’t even hooked up because every time I think about pulling off the back of the entertainment unit, and parsing the four different sets of instructions, none of which use the same name or color for any given input/output…I find myself standing in front of the beer fridge pulling out a Strongbow. (I don’t just mentally shy away from a difficult task, I actually PHYSICALLY run away.)
So, use Redbox instead, he suggested. Oh, good heavens, the last thing I need is another goddamned errand, picking something up, dropping something off! Netflix DVDs so perfectly fit my Yankee sensibilities. I can only have so many at a time – and limited, sensible consumption has such an appeal. You have wasted enough time watching True Blood tonight, missy, get on with your life.
If I watch them too quickly, or fail to mail them on a timely basis, then I have to wait a day or two for the mail to bring me more. Consequences for bad behavior – oh, yes! The element of planning, managing your queue – first of all just the ability to have a thought, put it in the queue, and then not have to think about it again…eventually it will just show up. Plus, oh, you can be impulsive and bump something to the top of your queue, but you don’t have to. That appeals to a people who take down a tree by ringing its bark, which eventually starves the tree, which eventually falls down. When you plan your firewood over a several year span, your entertainment following the same pattern is comforting.
Streaming movies? Being able to have what you want, as soon as you want it? Seriously, we Yankees understand that the ills of today’s American society have nothing to do with lack of prayer in school, but everything to do with a lack of understanding that you have to EARN stuff. WAIT for it. THAT builds character. We get microwaves and then stand in front of them, muttering c’mon, c’mon, c’mon….and are now a nation of whinypants who don’t understand why they can’t have everything they want, when they want it.
And getting in the car to go drive someplace, burning gas to go stand in line with my fellow man in front of a big red box in the corner of the 7-11 parking lot and then at some later point, repeat the experience just to return it. I don’t THINK so. Seriously undignified. Have you SEEN what people will wear when they go to the 7-11? Pajamas are made for wearing at home, good people, and loungewear counts as pajamas. When I die of brain cancer, it’s not going to be because of the aspartame, it will be because of what my fellow man chooses to wear outside the home. Pull yourselves TOGETHER! Jeans and t-shirt are not THAT difficult to put on. So, regular confrontations with THAT, just to watch a movie? I think not. I have books I can read that won’t make my head hurt.
A very nice man brings me my movies on a regular basis. And then he takes them away. Or I can drop them in the mailbox at work, or even decide it’s a nice day and walk them to the postbox myself, enjoying the outside world and saying hello to my neighbors. THAT’S civilized entertainment, to a Yankee.