(parenthetical aside)

Entries for August, 2005

August 1st, 2005

peripheral decisions.


I'm debating whether to spend about $100 on a scanner, or to take that same chunk of change and buy a Wacom tablet instead.

The "need" for this peripheral purchase is the same in either case, and in fact either one would negate my need for the other-- I'm just not sure which yet.

What I'm looking at doing is teaching myself to draw. I took the drafting courses in college (that was for major#4, I think) and I can do a decent set of floor plans, or design your deck, but that may be the upper limit of my fine architectural skills. However, what I'd like to do is teach myself to draw comics, in either the western or Japanese style.

Not for publication. I don't think. One of my little side projects (for which I am just now gathering notes) (and which may eventually be published, well, OK, web-published on an literature-and-arts-oriented site) is going to be a space-opera cartoon thing. Or at least the script for one.

I'd love to do the character designs myself, and at least fake a few storyboards (or, more feasibly, insert occasional storyboard panels into the script.) So I'm looking at learning to draw-- maybe badly, but better than I can currently-- and also looking at ways to get said scribble onto Le Grande Internets.

I don't know that my current readership can help me too much in deciding which way to go, but maybe one of my extremely random occasional visitors might also have some input--

So, class, getting line art onto your PC for digital manipulation:
Paper-and-scanner, or Direct-to-screen with the tablet? Anyone?

Posted by enchiridion at 12:08 PM in Administrative | your take on it?

August 2nd, 2005

hey, look, it's fiction

For the next week or so, or until I run out of lecture material, we'll be taking a break from our regularly scheduled crap to bring you semi-fiction presented in my own inimitable fashion.

Posted by enchiridion at 12:26 PM in Administrative | your take on it?

lecture series

Quote:
’Sir, you’re drunk’
‘Drunk I may be, madam, but in the morning I’ll be sober’
and insert the rest of the Churchill quote here. It’s a good one. You really should go look it up. No, really.

So, why am I putting on a drunk on a weekday afternoon, and a work day at that? Because I had a meeting with the Dean this morning, and even though it's only half over, this is one hell of a bad day at work.

"Drinking at work, sir?"
Hell yes. Thank god for tenure.
“Um, professor?”
Yes, Sally, go ahead.
“Isn’t every day a bad day at work?”
Yes. Your point?
“Well, if you’re going to use that as an excuse, it seems to me like you should either qualify the experience somehow—maybe by citing other extenuating circumstances—or you should...”
Yes, Sally? Go ahead and say it.
“You should maybe not drink so much, sir.”
Noted. And Sally...
“Yes, sir?”
bring this up again and I’ll dock your grade.

If there are no more questions from the class...
[cricket chirp]

Perhaps it was only a normal-sort-of-bad-day at work. Even so, I took advantage of some of the more enjoyable side effects of slow alcohol poisoning and vented quite a bit of the usual stress, along with some of the worries related to [insert: work, dames, money, life et. al.] and maybe managed to shut down some of those pesky higher brain functions for an hour or six.

Or not. My brain is a remarkably adaptive organ, and many years of alcohol abuse have merely toughened it. Hence the discussion...

“Professor?”
Yes, Jimmy?
“Um, is this going to be on the test?”
No, Jimmy.
“Then, um, why do I have to listen to you ramble on drunkenly for an hour?”
Look, son, it’s a condition of your plea agreement. You don’t want to be here, I don’t want you here, but you better try your best to pass this course or you’re going to have a pair of very interesting conversations with your parole officer and the judge.
“Yes, sir.”
[beat]
“um, prof?”
[beat]
[sigh]
Yes, Jimmy?
“So, if a term of my parole is taking your class...”
We have the same judge, Jimmy. And apparently, she has a sense of humor. I’m not going to cover this topic again, Jimbo.
“yes, sir”

before I was interrupted by a pair of jokers...
[stares down the class]
good. Like I said, before interruptions, I was going to expound a bit on the healthful psychological benefits of the more common weekday drunk. ‘Drunk’, in this case referring to the state of intoxication, rather than the proponents of same, though of course the usual usage of that noun would tend more toward the participants rather than the activity...
[beat]
Yes, Sally.
“Um, sir, I don’t know if this sort of lecture is appropriate for college...”
[interrupting]
Sally, half the people in this class started drinking before I did, speaking on a personal-chronological scale. Another significant fraction is bored to tears because they know this already, and of the remainder, most are frantically taking notes, hoping that I’ll get to fake ID’s and establishments with lax enforcement before the end of the hour.
[beat]
“Sir?”
[beat]
shut up, Sally. I’ll explain it to you later. Make an appointment with Miss Nisbet after class. And be thankful there’s still that restraining order...
“Sir?”
Nothing, Sally.

So I’ve spent the last five hours or so drinking fairly steadily, just because I can. No, really. You’d be surprised at the reasons I shouldn’t, but every now and then I manage to find a clear field and no pesky excuses not to.

It’s kind of like owning a rocket car and living just five miles or so from the nearest dry lake bed. Day in, day out, you putz about on the normal roads, but when you can get away, and manage to drag the car just a few miles out of town, you can light that sucker up and really burn.

‘better to burn out than to fade away’ or some crap like that. Most of the rockers I can think of—Morrison, for example—who lived by that motto ended up fat, wasted, and choking on their own vomit or some such
[interrupting]
[sigh]
Yes. Sally.
“Sir, the catalog description for this course...”
Yes, Sally?
“Um. Comparative Mythology and Modern Psychology?”
[beat]
[sigh]
Yes, Sally?
“Um. Professor, is this it?”

Darling, we have 30 lectures this year. I handed you a syllabus, and a reading list. If you find this boring, I have no idea of what you’ll make of the Masks of God or the Portable Jung. And in any event, all that scholarship will be meaningless unless you can find some way to tie it into life in general, and your own damned existence in particular. In any event it’s only the first week, and to be honest, you have another 4 weeks to give this a try before you can just drop the course, without penalty. Why are you being so questioning-slash-reluctant at the start of the semester?

“Sir, I just expected more. And don’t call me darling, sir. I’ve heard about the restraining order.”
[beat]
Shit. I should really ask Miss Nisbet to be more discreet.
[beat]
And I wasn’t hitting on you. Just for the record.
“Tell it to the Judge, sir”

[3 August '05, edit: Even though this started as a stream of consciousness bit, me debating with a couple of figments in (I'll admit) the odd venue of a college lecture, I have since decided to embrace the metaphor fully. So there are a few changes from what was originally posted; the Professor is a bit less me and a bit more of an independent character.]

-- next --

Posted by enchiridion at 12:28 PM in Fiction | your take on it?

August 3rd, 2005

(fiction: Lecture Series) lecture #1, continued


The Lecture Series
-- first -- previous -- next --


“Um, prof? Why the beer lecture? I thought this class was about mythology.”
To that I might be flip and reply, ‘We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams’
[beat]
“Um, Willy Wonka, sir?”
Gene Wilder, actually, though it may be hard to separate actor from character in this case. And I have a suspicion that he was quoting someone else, though I haven't felt compelled to find an original source yet.

You must seek to embody something of the mystic, at least for the run of this course, though obviously you’d be better served if you were able to take some part of that with you throughout your life.

Study the myths, the legends. Take a look at ritual uses of drugs of all sorts-- and then tell me that something basic & simple like a good drunk would have eluded priests and supplicants for six thousand years. According to the available evidence, we've been drinking beer and wine a lot longer than we've been following the laws of Moshe; don’t get all high and mighty on me just because of later societal connotations that alcohol has picked up over the intervening millennia. Alcohol has often been the best recourse—and rightly so, I believe—of ordinary men who have tried to reach for something beyond the ordinary, a small foggy window on the nature of the sublime.

My favorite example would have to be the case of medieval monks. They would regularly fast, often as long as 40 days in a row. During this period they relied on beer, euphemistically referred to as ‘liquid bread’, to keep them going while they voluntarily gave up more solid food. And what do you get when you combine silence, meditation, and about 1400 calories worth of beer on an empty stomach? The occasional sighting of Jesus or the Virgin would be just for starters, me thinks.
“Are you trying to tell me that the piety and faith of 13th century monks relied on them being drunk all the time?”
Hmm. That’s Miss Volsted, is it?
“Yes, professor”
Well, Daphne, I’d say that alcohol was not a chief cause. But these men—and women, the monastic life wasn’t restricted to monks—lived in a different world than we do now. Angels, saints, witches, demons, these we’re all real parts of their perceived existence. Who knows what form their pink elephants would have taken.

Fasting monks are just one example. In Central America, the Mayans and Aztecs, and for all we know the Olmecs before them, used a combination of strong tobacco and chocolate in their religious practices.
“Chocolate?” [giggle] “I knew it!”
Settle down there, Miss Habersham. Chocolate in combination with nicotine. And I might point out, refined sugar was an addition made by later Europeans. The chocolate of the indigenous peoples was a beverage, actually, and probably much more like coffee than the candy bars we’re used to. And cocoa beans are rich in a number of alkaline compounds...
[snort] “Magic beans, prof?”
Yes, Jake, Magic beans. And you could follow that ladder all the way to heaven. Jack’s beanstalk and Jacob’s ladder both are strong symbols, and can be said to be roughly equivalent. Given your name, I’d think you’d be familiar with at least one of those symbols.
“Fee Fi Fo Fum. Ha ha.”
‘and grind his bones to make my bread.’ The Giant was invoking the same communion ritual that thousands of Catholic priests re-enact everyday. Don’t laugh, Jake, the symbols are all over if you look for them. And you’d be surprised where they turn up.

Celtic, Nordic, Teutonic, Slavic and Jewish traditions have left their fingerprints on all sorts of ‘fairy’ tales. And that’s only considering the western tradition. There’s no need to stop there—we have a global literature to draw from.

“And the beer, sir?”
Yes, Sally, and the beer. The Egyptians and the Babylonians both had beer goddesses. That may be a vital clue, actually, that beer was associated with female powers, but I’m sure this is a detail that we can get back to when we cover the Earth Mother complex that accompanied the use of agriculture in stone-age societies. In fact, these same aspects of Goddess worship can be traced along the tropics all the way from Central America, skipping an ocean, through the Middle East, South Asia, Polynesia, and back again. While it’s hard to say exactly when and where this mythological complex started, it closely follows the adoption of crop cultivation and the domestication of...

[interrupting] “Yes professor, but the beer?”
Yes. Beer.
[beat]
Man got along on just what he could find lying on the ground for millions of years. Available evidence seems to point to a fairly happy existence, actually. You might think of hunter-gathers as leading fairly bleak, grubby lives, not really knowing where the next meal is coming from. And this is true, no doubt, especially in times when food was scarce. But remember, this is the society that gave us the fabulous cave paintings in the south of France, and throughout ice age Europe. These fur-clad cave men invented ceremony, art, religion, and likely are the first to think of burial practices and the afterlife. In their own way, they are very much like the monks who came along 10,000 years later—a simple life of what work was needed to take care of day-to-day needs, combined with a deep spiritual understanding and a mystical existence not well understood by modern man.

Of course, we only have circumstantial evidence of this kind of life—in those caves that have survived. But it isn’t too much of a stretch to imagine a rich spiritual life existing among tribes of all sorts, all over the world. This type of romantic view is of course open to criticism; the concept of the ‘noble savage’ was also held by some in the 19th century, particularly in regards to the Native American populations and other indigenous peoples. And while you might dispute the facts that are used to support this view, many still cling to it...

[interrupting] “Sir, I hate to...”
Yes, Sally, I know I’m not really on point. You’ll have to excuse me, these are fairly broad subjects we’re dealing with, and there is a lot of overlap from one topic to the next.

You were asking about beer. And why I started this lecture series with drink and drunkenness.

If we posit a happy, idyllic life free from care, what would ever compel our stone-age ancestor to give up his ideal life-style in favor of a hard, dirty, labor intensive struggle with the earth, to paraphrase, ‘earning his food by the sweat of his brow’? Well, while basic food needs might have been satisfied by merely collecting wild grain, the brewing of beer is a much more intensive process. You need a lot more grain to make beer than you do to make bread, particularly if you plan on drinking beer everyday.

Brewing itself was magic. You accidentally left a jar of old barley cakes out in the rain, and forgot about it for a week or three. It’d bubble and froth, and if you were brave (or hungry) enough to try it, you might notice that no only did it not kill you, but also that you felt a definite lift after trying this weird barley soup. Magic, mystical, and misunderstood—so of course this was the province of the gods.

My theory is that man only gave up his garden-of-eden-vacation to go to work full time on the farm because—with the discovery of beer—he suddenly found a need not just for a steady supply of grain, but rather, for a literal shit-ton of barley. And all the ancillary crap that has accrued since then: cooperatives, villages, cities, nations, not to put a too fine point on it but civilization itself, is just a side-effect of the brewing industry.

“Bullshit”
Jimmy, you’re welcome to your opinion, and I’m welcome to mine. In fact, my opinion is all that I’ve put forward. But in examining larger societal change, we need to always be cognizant of perhaps-unseen primary causes.

Class, I’d like you all to go home and think on this. Is religion a primary cause of societal development, or are other material factors more important? And if mystical practices and beliefs are having an effect on political and demographic shifts, to what extent do basic needs and wants in turn affect religion?

To over-simplify, and tie the assignment back into the discussion, is beer really a primary cause of both religious belief and our basic political constructs?


[editorial note: you know, I think I could come up with a syllabus for this. Like it was a real class or something. Getting a reading list together would be easy. one sticking point-- I'm not sure what my subject really is yet. ]

-- next --

Posted by enchiridion at 11:24 AM in Fiction | 2 opinions

August 5th, 2005

(fiction: Lecture Series) interlude #1

The Lecture Series
-- first -- previous -- next --

Miss Nisbet, please cancel all of my afternoon appointments, I believe that England is playing in a World Cup qualifier today and if I can get out of the office and down to the pub by noon
[interrupting] “Sir, one of your students is already here”
[beat]
Damn it. Which rat is it?
“Sally Fisher, sir”
Double Dammit. And I suppose she’s sitting in the chair behind me?
[beat]
“yes, sir.”

[turning, smiling]
Yes, Miss Fisher? There haven’t been any tests yet, and no assignments past the recommended reading. Is one of my textbooks out of print again?
“No, Professor. I just had a few questions...”
[interrupting] Sally, next class, I promise to have an outline for the rest of the semester, including all test days and when the research paper will be due. And while I’m going to stop short of posting Power Point slides of each lecture on the ‘net, that should be enough guidance to allow you to skip any topics that cover material you might find [beat] objectionable. Does that satisfy you for now?
“Please, sir, it’s just...”
Oh crap, she said please.
[beat]
[sigh]
Yes, Sally?
“Professor, do you really believe all that junk you’ve been spouting in class? Is there nothing in religion for you, other than interest as an academic subject?”
[beat]

[sitting, change of tone & voice]
First, let me say that the state of my soul has probably been decided for quite a few years now, and a last minute Band-Aid isn’t going to cover it.
“Professor, I”
Shush, Sally. hmm. [beat] How can I put this?

Let’s consider a metaphor, not quite a Koan, but Zen riddles are less then helpful, I’ve found. Each man [beat, looks over glasses] ...and woman, I caught that look, Miss Nesbit [returning] ...Each person is given a jar of water. This is our understanding. With this water, we can choose any vessel we like. A monk, a priest, a yogi; people like these may or may not have more water than the rest of us, but the vessel they’ve chosen is very narrow, and very deep. It extends from here, to the depths, to the heavens, and the water they have is just enough to fill it.

Their understanding is very deep, in their one subject. But the vessel is narrow. This is the nature of faith.

Others make due with what vessels they find, or are given. Most of us fall into this category. Some can’t quite fill the given cup from their jar of understanding; they find their faith lacking. Others overflow too small a cup—their religion seems to satisfy them, but they are also left seeking something more.

“Is that you sir? Was your cup too small?”

Hmm. Before I answer that, let me extend the metaphor just a bit. We all have a jug of water; the mystic, the prophet, the great lights of civilization have taken their understanding and cast it out into the ocean—instead of merely filling their cup, they have sought to share their understanding with the world. Sometimes though, it is only a drop in the ocean. The world can be a difficult thing to quench.

[Laughing] ”Please, Professor, comparing yourself to...”
Shush, Miss Nisbet. If it weren’t for that restraining order, I’d be able to talk with students in my private office, without you here as a chaperone.
“Sir, without that restraining order, I doubt you’d be *talking* with Miss Sally in your office right now”

[cough]
Miss Fisher...
[she blushes]
Sally, I’m not a priest or a prophet. The academic takes what water he has, and pours it into a broad shallow vessel. What understanding he has touches many different points, but in exchange he gives up the comfort and consolation that faith can provide. I know a lot, but I will never know what a deep and abiding faith feels like.
“Yes, Professor. I think I understand.”
And anything we cover in class is just to help you, or any of the other students, try and figure out what kind of cup you’ll use for your belief and understanding. Don’t take me seriously, particularly when I’m at my most blasphemous. It isn’t a hatred of religion that colors my perceptions, but an envy of the strength other people find in faith. But still, there is that trade off: Deep and narrow, or broad and empty. You can eat from the Tree of Knowledge, or the Tree of Life, but it is still forbidden to eat from both.



“I think... I... You’ve given me a lot to think about sir, I can’t really answer that now”
Then at this point you can drop my course and I’ll still feel I’ve taught you something. Thank you for stopping by, Miss Fisher.
“Um. Yes sir.”
[leaving]

Miss Nisbet, you heard that crap I was feeding Sally?
“What, about the value of belief? That wasn’t crap, sir.”
No, no, not that. The outline. Can you work up a schedule with the tests and papers, and figure out the lecture topics for me? The game is in [beat] damn, which time zone was it in again [beat] ...45 minutes and I need to
[interrupting]”Go, sir, I’ll take care of it”
You are a dream, a doll, [leaving, voice fading] a blessing, a veritable angel of administrative [unintelligible]... [louder:] You’re too good to me... [door slams]

“Don’t I know it, Sir”
[sigh]

-- next --

Posted by enchiridion at 03:20 PM in Fiction | your take on it?

August 14th, 2005

what, chicken again?


last night's dinner...

So they had chicken on sale at ye olde foode shoppe for a price that was hard to walk away from, 69¢ a pound. The catch, of course, is that you either had to go for a whole chicken (previously frozen) or chicken leg quarters. I’m sick of going psycho on a bird carcass just to cook the damn thing, so I bought a pack of the leg quarters for like $3.50

This ended up being five of the suckers (quick, try not to think of a mutant five legged chicken) (5 left? right? --all of the same handedness. um. footed... forget it) which took all of a minute to parse and bag into rough one-meal portions. I ended up with 4 legs (sitting in my freezer), a pack of two thighs (also freezing), another couple of thighs waiting patiently for the cook-top today, and the odd fifth quarter, which I’m leaving whole (probably destined for the grill at some point)

And since money is a little tight right now (oooh... new anime DVD series... [drool] actually, two series on order, parts at a time: Planetes and Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex) I’m trying to see just how cheap I can eat this week without resorting to ramen. That means, of course, another variation (or three) on Chicken and Rice. The grocery bill for all three dishes (I have spices and rice on hand) added up to $9.50

Chicken and Rice, three ways
Variation #1
(2 servings)

Hardware:
The old reliable electric skillet.
Something to cook rice.

Shop:
Chicken, two thighs, as stated above.
A little olive oil
One 14 oz. can chicken broth
Mushrooms: I used two 7 oz. cans mushroom stems & pieces. You should use fresh (see the sodium note)
Seasonings: taking a look in the cabinet, I pulled salt & pepper, garlic powder, some “Italian seasoning” (dried herbs: oregano, thyme, sage, etc), a bay leaf, and paprika.
A little sour cream (this I’ve already got in the fridge)
...and our other bookend: Rice

Procedures:

Heat the electric skillet (high, 350°) and add just enough olive oil. O.k., so call it a tablespoon. (I hate to measure). Brown the chicken on both sides for like the next ten minutes. (doing the math: yes, 5 minutes a side). No need to pre-season or marinade or crap like that. You may want to use the lid to your skillet, unless you like cleaning counter tops

Turn off the heat. In the same skillet add the seasonings. Yep, right in there, on and over anything. For now, hold the salt, but be as generous as you like with whatever else you’re using. Over the top of this pour the can of chicken broth, the mushrooms, and a cup or two of water (depending on the skillet; about halfway up the chicken). And bring your skillet back up to a simmer.

A note on sodium: read your labels. The chicken broth and canned mushrooms are packed with it. Now, on the plus side, this salt will work it’s way into the chicken. On the minus side, I added it up and ended up with like 1500 milligrams of sodium. You can drain the mushrooms if you like; that’ll help. Or you can drink more water: sodium only gets to be a problem when your body can’t flush it from the system. (but I’m not a doctor. Once more for the cheap seats: I am NOT a doctor). My OPINION is that you probably need some salt anyway. Mmmmm, sodi-yummy goodness. The best idea is to buy 16 oz. of fresh mushrooms (crimini a.k.a. baby portobello, which at Publix are available pre-sliced) instead of canned, which will cut the sodium content in half.

And now it’s a waiting game. If you’re like me, while this simmers along you pull the laptop over to the kitchen table and start typing up the recipe, however, you can spend your time however you like as long as you check up on the dish every ten minutes or so. (commercial breaks? So, what’s on TV...)

After about 40 minutes (a little longer won’t hurt) flip the chicken over so that the side that was sitting high and dry is now going to get cooked. And wait. And open another beer. (no, that’s not really part of the recipe but is good standing advice for any dish preparation)

Some reduction of the cooking liquid is inevitable. And actually a good thing. I’m making a sauce out of that. But you can always add a little water to keep the chicken half-covered during the process. I think ‘braising’ is the word my brain is reaching for but can’t quite find at the moment. And take out the bay leaf at some point before eating; to quote AB, “that’s not good eats”

Sauces:

Mushrooms and pan drippings (no matter what you just cooked, from bison to tofu) open themselves up to a number of—o.k., I can think of three—possibilities.

Option one: A German-style Jager sauce (...[shudder] no. not that Jager. The word itself means “hunter” in the mutter sprache, which means the liqueur’s name translates to “master of the hunt”. Sort of explains the 16 point buck on the label, now doesn’t it?) ...a Jager sauce could be easily made by adding a little rue (or flour, or just some butter) to this, with maybe a squeeze of lemon or a splash of good brown beer.

Option two: Take out the chicken, and add rice. This is a bit tough, because rice is a little picky about the amount of liquid it wants to cook in, so you’ll likely take twice as long to cook it (adding water as you go) or you’ll end up with something like a rice-based sauce. It’s good though, because all the flavour that’s in there ends up in the side dish. Actually, I do this quite a bit, with this type recipe and others. (added bonus: only one pot to clean!)

Tonight’s board of fare: call it a Stroganoff, or at least inspired by one. I took the chicken out (a good idea anyway; at this point, you could also nuke it in the microwave if you have a salmonella phobia) reduced the liquid even further (another 15-20 minutes) and then cut off the heat. To this I added a handful of ice cubes—o.k., so back a step. I’m about to add sour cream. Sour cream does not like extreme heat. So I bake down the sauce a bit past what I might otherwise, specifically so I can add ice to immediately cool it.

And then you add sour cream. And then you heat it gently. And then you serve: chicken, with a side of rice, and a mushroom cream sauce over everything in sight, just like the old school cafeteria. (sauce-wise, not taste-wise)

Tasting notes: (it’s handy having the laptop here in the kitchen)
It was a tad salty. My taster’s a little off anyway (sick, etc... what, don’t you read this blog?) so that was fine. And I’ve already told you how to fix that. Of course I added butter to the rice (3 tablespoons to 2 cups cooked rice, one cup for each serving) and sour cream isn’t exactly a health food, but all in all this shouldn’t cause a heart attack or anything. Additional sides are left to your discretion; steamed (prev. frozen) veggies were all I could muster tonight.

And we’ll get to C&R #2 later in the week, when I get around to cooking it.

Posted by enchiridion at 10:38 AM in Recipes | your take on it?

August 15th, 2005

on the clock


[sigh]

Today is my first day back at work in [calculating] 5 days. I can't say that it's the same sort of dull, vague disappointment that you feel after coming back from vacation, but I do feel a bit out-of-place. I would blame it on the medication, but unfortunately antibiotics don't have any of those fun side effects so often associated with pain-killers.

I am (not glad, but) a bit relieved to be back, because I think if I left them alone too long, my minions would not only forget everything I've taught them in the past six months, but might in fact come up with creative new ways to do things incorrectly. (Heck, it took me an hour just to clear off the counters this morning. Talk about something simple.)

It's not that I hate my job. In fact if I won the lottery, I'd be tempted to continue on at the bookstore. Part-time, of course (I'm not nuts) but a lot of the non-management parts of my job--recommending books & music, helping folks, talking with customers and co-workers on intellectual topics (and the usual crap) that just seems to come up when you're surrounded by books--all of that stuff could be described as fun. Or fulfilling/rewarding, anyway.

Management, particularly lower-lower-middle-management (or more specifically my short end of the stick) kind of sucks, though.

Posted by enchiridion at 11:48 AM in Field Reports | your take on it?

August 16th, 2005

getting a bit sick of chicken, actually


written during dinner, posted during lunch

Chicken & Rice, twice over

You can read the intro on the last one, but anyway, here’s more chicken:

Hardware:
The old reliable electric skillet.
Something to cook rice.

Shop:
2 chicken thighs
A little olive oil
One 14 oz. can diced tomatoes. (with seasonings, in this case: basil, garlic, & oregano)
One 8 oz. can tomato sauce
Seasonings: from the spice rack I pulled garlic powder & some “Italian seasoning” (dried herbs: oregano, thyme, sage, etc)
Plus: one more can of something, depending on how you want to finish this off. Options: a 26 oz. can of tomato sauce OR two 14 oz. cans of black beans OR a 14 oz. can of chicken broth
...and our other bookend: Rice

Procedures:

Brown the chicken on both sides.

Season with garlic, garlic, more garlic, and the dried herbs. You can be generous with the herbage, too. Give that a minute, then add the cans of tomatoes and tomato sauce and enough water to cover the chicken about halfway.

Braise (cook over a slow simmer) for the next hour and a half or so. Or whenever it seems done to you. (Some additional details on the process can be extrapolated from the last recipe, which is either an entry or two below this one, or linked above.)

This time, like last time, we have some options.

Option one: straight spaghetti sauce. Instead of adding any water and the dinky little can of sauce, just add a large can or jar of your favorite brand and cook the chicken in that. Obviously, this would be better with pasta, rather than rice, but both are cheap. No hardship.

Option two: southwestern. Skip the Italian herbs and substitute one packet of taco seasoning. The tomato sauce is fine, but for diced tomatoes, pick up the can with green chilis added. After braising, remove the chicken, add two cans of drained black beans, and cook to heat that through—extra red pepper, chili powder, or Tabasco I leave to your discretion. I don’t have a good recipe for Spanish rice, but I know how to cheat. Add a packet of taco seasoning to the water before cooking the rice. Cheap & Not At All Authentic (probably doesn’t even taste much like Spanish rice, but a neat trick all the same.)

Option three, and tonight’s board of fare: As noted last time, you can cook rice in the same pot and liquid you just finished cooking the chicken in. Remove the thighs, add a 14 oz. can of chicken broth, and one cup of rice. And cook for [insert whatever it says on the bag o’ rice]. You may end up adding more water at the end and cooking it just a bit more; taste a bit for texture and see if it’s done or maybe, still just a bit chewy. It’s easier to add a little water, harder to take it out.

And you know, this actually is the same recipe as last time, just subbing in tomato for chicken broth as our braising liquid. Using this one method, I’ve given you 6 recipes:

Chicken in a Jager mushroom sauce
Chicken and call-it-a-mushroom-pilaf
Chicken in mushroom cream sauce (a quick-and-dirty Stroganoff; as such, also good with egg noodles)
Chicken & spaghetti
Southwestern chicken, with sides of black beans & seasoned rice
And tonight’s Chicken and, um... o.k. so add some broccoli & squash to the rice for the last 5 minutes of cooking time and we’ll call it “garden rice”

Posted by enchiridion at 11:14 AM in Recipes | your take on it?

August 17th, 2005

no snappy title today.


in fact, no snappy entry either.

just a note on both recipes posted earlier this week: after eating leftovers for a while, it seems you could likely make chicken++ & rice, using the same shopping list but with twice as much chicken. Pick 4 pieces (whatever you like. dark meat, white meat, half chickens) instead of the 2 thighs as listed and go.

I ended up with some leftover rice each time, after going through the two servings, so I guess this could use a bit more protein. You don't need to add more liquid because it's the same size pot (at least for me) and Archimedes can fill in the rest. displacement, etc. Well, you might need another 1/2 cup to cup of water, but that's it.

And now I really am sick of chicken for a while.

Posted by enchiridion at 11:57 AM in Recipes | your take on it?

August 18th, 2005

active fantasy life


edit 8/24, from an entry originally posted last Thursday. this, I think was really two entries. So let’s see if I can de-tangle this mess and make it two entries.

A writer writes. I tend to write a lot, and the fact that a significant fraction of that is just for me (and I’m not talking about this journal) doesn’t change the fact that I tend--more often than not--to type in what I’m thinking, rather than say it. In fact, if I’m stuck without any means to write (laptop or Moleskine) then I often find myself in a sort of fugue-state, constantly trying to keep everything going, at least until I can write some of it down. It’s a juggling act, and occasionally I drop a ball. I hope those lost thoughts aren’t too important, but it can’t be helped.

Others writers may be outgoing, personable types. They may have dozens of friends and may spend more time socializing than not. I’m not wired that way. I tend to spend a lot of time inside my own head. It's odd; sometimes I treat my own social life as just another subplot. (not even the main plot, a lot of the time, just something that’s going on in the background.) I think about what I could do, rather than doing it. I can run through whole dialogs in my head, thinking about what to say in this case or that case. It’s only a problem when I talk myself out of trying something, because I ran it through in my own head and it didn’t seem to work. Yeah, that’s a bad idea. Even identifying the behavior as limiting and potentially damaging, I can’t always work past that and actually do something. I’m not a slave to my Doubt and Fear, but let’s just say that those two guys have an influence way out of proportion to the help they provide me. (If it helps at all to withdraw and refuse to interact.)

I'm an introvert by nature (I'll see if I can find what I wrote on introversion. Of course, I want to say that was an old old email to one of the XGFs, so I likely erased it at some point in an effort to expunge unwanted memories) (didn't work. never works.) So any progress toward not being a shy, retreating wall-flower will be slow and hard fought. And in fact, my writing (for this thing, or otherwise) is a part of that fight. Even when I stutter and withdraw and dream up my what-might-have-beens, I want to believe that writing is part of turning “might-haves” into actualities.

And not just the fantasy. Oh, it’s easy to fall into the escapist trap. (oh my yes) But I think it’s also a way for me to take something I do well, and turn at least one of my dreams into a reality.

The Damn Novel. I’ve referenced it here about a hundred times I’m sure. I'd love to be a published novelist... but it will require more time, a lot more work, and maybe just a smidge of luck (hmm. of course, with the way my current output has been going, I may end up with some sort of modern-lit thing as my first submittable manuscript, rather than the fantasy novel. But I love that Damn Novel, even when--especially when?--it drives me nuts. it's my own personal creative millstone around my brain's neck, if I can stretch and mix the metaphors that far.)

in a small way I'm already a published writer-- I write, you read: that’s publication. QED.

##

Now, as an introvert, I can find it hard to be around other people. Or at least, to interact with other people, since I often find myself 'alone in the crowd'. (come to think of it, I'm also a bit uncomfortable in large crowds. Not quite phobic, but it is the sort of situation I avoid)

o.k. enough with the parentheticals. Let me see if I can make my point without all this dithering.

- I'm shy, apparently.
- I spend a lot of time alone, thinking.
- thinking can be dangerous, if you never get past thinking to act.
- I've spent a good bit of time recently thinking about relationships.
- I need to find the courage to act. Sooner rather than later.

now, there are some difficulties:

- I don't really know who I would ask out on a date. There's no one at the moment that I know to be both available, and interested. So, I'll need to meet some new women.
- I'm not sure how to proceed. I've never been good at meeting people. I've never been good at "the scene", doing the sorts of things that young single people do to meet & interact with other young single people.
- even if I did go against type, contrary to character, and all out for the dating thing... I'm stuck at work more often than not on Friday and Saturday nights. While this isn't a major stumbling block, as I've noted before, it does limit the field of action

There is no easy solution. I didn't expect one. And while posting this crap here does open the issue up for your comments, I'm not sure that a solution will present itself through that channel either.

(I know. comment anyway. your support--tenuous, electronic, long-distance, largely anonymous--but still your moral and emotional support is of course and as always deeply appreciated.) (at least I know I'm not suffering alone.)

Right now, until I come up with something clever and creative, I guess I'm just playing the relationship lottery. Hoping against all hope that I'll just sort of run into somebody, and there will be an honest, entertaining, enjoyable conversation that leaves of both with a feeling that something potentially is there. If only... well, if I’m waiting for bolts from the blue, then “lottery” is the right term for it. I’ll reference point 5 (or 6?) above—I need to act. Sooner rather than later, me thinks.

Posted by enchiridion at 01:15 PM in Writing Process, Introspection | your take on it?

August 20th, 2005

tired, achy, bitchy


It seems like every part of me is broken and/or damaged and/or malfunctioning at the moment. Every part except for my liver. That thing is damn hard to kill, let me tell you.

I have a suspicion that my ankle was broken this past May, rather than merely sprained. Of course, it would probably heal a lot faster if I had a desk job or something, rather than the retail gig. It seems like I can't even stand in one place for long without hurting.

On top of that, and the lingering tonsil crap, my brain feels-- sludgy. (if that's a even a word).

Maybe I need more sleep. Or something. Maybe I just need a beer. I think I'm running about a quart under manufacturers specs at the moment, but unfortunately, I'll have to wait at least another 3 hours before I can top off the appropriate tanks. (work sucks.)

Posted by enchiridion at 12:51 PM in Field Reports | your take on it?

August 23rd, 2005

ibuprofen rocks


so I'm thinking that I may just need new boots, or new orthotics to slip in 'em, rather than a whole new set of joints. It occurred to me this morning, actually, while walking around my department doing the usual, that something along/around my foot just didn't fit right. (or not like it used to) In the past, new footware has often done wonders (for my back, in that case)

Maybe I need to go back to work boots. They're heavy, but they've got the foot & arch & ankle support.

well... the ankle, I'm not so sure about. But we'll try some of this and that before droping a dime on a set of xrays. after all, I can walk. And even though I complain, there isn't a crutch or cast in my future. Like I said, I'll try some of this and that.

the typical aches & pains I guess aren't going be a problem. At least, not a problem a couple handful ("now kids, follow the recommended dosage at all times...") of ibuprofen can't fix.

still tired and bitchy, though. and as to that, there may not be anything I can do or take to fix that, other than catch up on my sleep.

Posted by enchiridion at 11:25 AM in Field Reports | your take on it?

August 24th, 2005

and three


edit: this, I think was really two entries.
actually, now it'll be three.

Extended aside: fugue is a musical term, though it has been borrowed for use in psychology. I’ve studied both subjects, but since I’ve been a musician for a heck of a lot longer, I’m usually thinking of the musical bit. A fugue consists of musical phrase that can be repeated in parts, usually such that each repetition reinforces or complements the continuing line... well, if you want a precise definition, google it. Think “row, row, row your boat” or “friar Jack”—forgive me if I can’t be bothered to spell that in French at the moment, my French is awful. Psychologically speaking, a fugue state is something completely different from what I think I mean when I use the term, since of course my musical training comes to me much more readily than something like "identity dissociative disorder"-- which I think we can all agree to, doesn't roll off the tongue. My little fugues are not so much me feeling trapped; it's just me humming along with myself.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I tend to keep a number of balls in the air, mentally speaking, a lot of the time. I can’t say that I’m really multitasking, and in fact it is likely closer to ADD, or maybe the result of years spent (wasted) flipping through channels on the TV set. (all guys do that) In fact, at any given time I’m reading two to three novels at the same time, often without bookmarks (I just remember page numbers—I read ‘em off the shelf at work, and have to put them back after lunch) —and that’s exclusive of non-fiction books, of which I am nose deep in at least a half dozen at the moment.

That’s just a memory trick—the no bookmarks bit. Keeping plot lines straight from novel to novel isn’t really a trick of memory, at least not so much. It’s like knowing what’s going on in the life of your friends, or the plotlines to TV shows that you only get back to once a week. I may be different in that I treat books that same way, but it’s nothing unusual.

I brought up my reading habits only as an outward example of an interior process. Believe it or not, I’m thinking this way all the time. There’s always a subtext, an undercurrent, a harmony line that runs beneath my main thoughts. The best way I’ve found to convey that in the conversational written style I employ here on Tabulas is to occasionally throw in a parenthetical aside. (isn’t parenthetical fun to say? Other fun words: contemporaneous. polysyllabic. chthonic and empyrean and sidereal. That’s si-der-e-al, a four syllable word meaning "of, relating to, or concerned with the stars and constellations" c'mon, go ahead, give it a try. roll it over your tongue.)

Occasionally, I find myself following a train of thought until it becomes a train-wreck. The asides take over. The main point I was trying to get across (or thought I was going to write about) gets lost in a avalanche of parentheses. And that’s what happened with that journal entry from 8/18.

I didn’t have to, but I thought I’d take a minute (since I have about 200 of them to spare right now—more on that in a moment) to see if I could de-tangle that entry, since there was at least one good point there that I think no one could actually read for all the excess verbiage that I threw in. (uh oh. ending on a preposition. the ghosts of 88 high school english teachers are descenting for vengence as we speak.) Will it help? I guess only if you’re reading this in the archives. The confusing original was left here for a week or so, and the damage is already done.

And the 200 extra minutes? I got up at 7am, rushed through the usual morning ablutions, sat in some awful traffic and managed to show up for work about 20 minutes late, and (wait for it)
...forget all about the schedule change one of my staff had requested last week. I swapped shifts with her so she could participate in a protest this afternoon. So there we are. I’m up, I’m dressed, I’m caffeinated, and I won’t need to be at work for 3+ hours. I could have slept in this morning, if I had remembered, or thought to check the schedule yesterday. Yeah. It sucks.

Posted by enchiridion at 09:18 AM in Introspection | your take on it?

August 25th, 2005

you had to know that I'd link this...


Bender Casemod. (via Make Blog via Boing Boing)

not to nitpick... I mean, that is sooo freakin' cool it could keep beer cold

... o.k., I'll nitpick. honestly. The pc should be in the head alone. The body cavity should be used to store beer. Which would of course be cold (as cited above)

That's just awesome.

Posted by enchiridion at 09:27 AM in Web Trawls | your take on it?

August 30th, 2005

eye pokin' sticks


as an update to the Playlist:
well, if you want to break it down, I seem to have 5 1/2 hours just of the aforementioned Irish drinking songs, taken from a variety of sources, from the Clancy Brothers to the Pogues. (And for you gatech band geeks--well, just Bob, I guess-- who know what I'm talking about: I've finally discovered the original melody for the Baby Seal song: "Mountain Dew", as it's referenced on some old band song lists. But let me tell you, what they're singing now has had a chance to metamorphose over the decades, and it's impossible as things stand now to match the lyrics to the original.)

that's as it should be, if you ask me. Baby Seals is it's own animal, if you'll forgive the pun.

And for those of you who ain't Tech Band Geeks--


The Baby Seal Song:
(a jaunty up-tempo little ditty, more than a little tongue-in-cheek)

Way up north where it is cold, You know they ain't got much gold
They all make their living from the seal skins they've sold.
Me I like the killing, because it's so fulfilling
And I hate to see a baby seal grow old.

Chorus:
You don't bludgeon a seal 'cause you want a meal
[oh, no] You do it cause you want to hear those little suckers squeal.
You hit 'em on the head, and you do it just for kicks
And you poke out their eyes with your eye-pokin' sticks.
(Two - Three - Four)

My daddy was a little mean, my mama was a bit obscene,
Maybe that's the reason for the way that I feel.
You might not believe me, but my woman wants to leave me
So I guess I'll take it out on a baby seal.

[chorus]

The Liberals want to lock me up because I kill the seal pups
And tie their fur up into little bales. (tie, tie, tie)
But I know it won't be long 'til all the baby seals are gone
So I guess I'll just start wiping out the whales.

[chorus]

Slice 'em, dice 'em, roto-till 'em, chop 'em up or just plain kill 'em,
Their fur comes off with just one easy peel (RIP, RIP, RIP)
People, people don't you cry, 'cause I know that when I die
I'll be coming back as a baby seal....

[final chorus -- "and, shit"]

Posted by enchiridion at 09:48 PM in Non sequitur, Music | your take on it?

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