We interrupt this holiday for no good reason

I am putting on an impressive layer of fat while visiting my parents for the holiday. There is a wheel of Brie in the house that we as a family of three have agreed to kill over the 8 days that I will be home.

We eat to excess and then fall asleep. Get up and do it again. I feel like a sea lion or a giant walrus lazing on a rock in the sun - minus the big rock to sun myself on, the strong sunshine, and the knowledge that there are hungry sharks and polar bears all around me looking for a fatty snack.

Beyond that it's been difficult to do much else. I came bearing my best intentions. I brought a physics textbook so that I could read ahead and do as many problems in as many chapters as there are waking hours. I brought "Middlesex" and a book of essays by Clive James, who I think I might end up liking almost as well as I like Chuck Klosterman and DFW (but in a different way.) And I brought my computer so that I could research to write the last of my assignments for my News Reporting class. A sports column.

No physics has been learned. I have been reading "Middlesex" in fits and starts and non-consecutive chapters. It's a pretty entertaining read. Though I suspect much more entertaining when read from start to finish. I have also been thumbing through "The Poisonwood Bible" in non-consecutive chapters. This also looks to be a pretty engaging read, with the same caveats. I forget how much I like Kingsolver. And then I pick up a book and am reminded again. (A young man recently said the same of my company when taking me out to dinner.) Clive James has stayed tucked in my bag and the internet has mostly been used to watch Netflix movies online.

I have been reading my parents subscription to the New Yorker. I never read it while in New York but am captivated when I am not. They have this article in the December 21, 2009 issue about stovemakers. There is a community of people who have been on a quest to design the perfect stove.

"How do you build cheap, durable, clean-burning stoves for three-billion people? About half the world’s population cooks with gas, oil, or electricity, while the other half burns wood, dung, coal, or other solid fuels. As global temperatures have risen, the smoke from Third World kitchens has been upgraded from a local to a universal threat. The average cooking fire produces about as much carbon dioxide as a car, and a great deal more soot, or black carbon. Cleaning up these emissions may be the fastest, cheapest way to cool the planet."
- Burkhard Bilger

If I were a reporter, that is the story I would want to tell. GAWD, it kinda kills me that I am not the person who covered it. Such a simple problem. One that is hardly recognizable as a problem, even. And the solution is nowhere near the neighborhood of the simplicity of the problem. Hell of a story.

'Tis been the season for season's greetings by text message. I have had a good number of texts wishing me a Merry Xmas. More texts than Xmas cards. Which is a switch for me. Is this a trend or have I finally join the present day?

I have also discovered that Men's Health carries recipes. They apparently have about 476 sandwich recipes. And now I really want to devote some time to the art of sandwich making.

Up to now my only New Year's resolution has been to set a timer whenever I put tatertots in the oven. Too often I have been forgetting the tots in the oven. I really must be more careful....

Perhaps 2010 should be devoted to getting in shape and making sandwiches.

The Marvelous Ms. Murphy

My girl, Brittany Murphy, died of a heart attack today at the age of 32.

She was in the movie "Uptown Girls." This was the movie that convinced me to move to New York. I was lost at the time. More than I am now. And after watching the movie, I wanted to move to the big city and start my life anew in an apartment so small that it had a Murphy bed and you could fry eggs while standing in the shower. Just like Brittany. The premise had a sense of adventure. I tell people this story when they ask me why I came to New York. I am here because I saw a movie in which Brittany Murphy picked up the pieces of her life and started again. And she did this in New York. They almost never believe me. I supposed sometimes the truth seems improbable.

In films she had an open, vulnerable, and sweet energy. She was a girl who had a lot of trouble growing up. She could be bad. She could be colossally irresponsible. She was funny. She was bratty. She was goofy. She was needy. She was ridiculous. She was a mess. She made bad choices. She found herself in humiliating and painful situations but emerged from them shining and triumphant. She learned things the hard way but she learned them well. She was resilient. She was strong. Stronger than even she could imagine. She was the girl who took a fall, got back up and rejoined the fray. And she came out of each struggle with a greater confidence, wisdom and dignity. She was the girl who knew when to tough it out and knew when to call it quits. Her characters were often lost, but when they found themselves, they found amazing determination and strength to go with that sweet cream puff demeanor. She could love. She could forgive. She could face her demons and take responsibility for her life. And in the end prevail.

I've been there. Sometimes it feels like I still live there.

Her process was worth watching. It gave me hope in my own life. In my own process of being and becoming. It gives me hope.

I don't know who she was in real life. But I will miss her onscreen.

So while you're here enjoy the view

Back in my formative years, I loved the show One Day at a Time. I have a great fondness for the TV show theme songs of my childhood. This one in particular, I find to be quite groovy.

The way a worthy goal reads

"These are the rewards promised you at the beginning of time: not just any old beauty, wisdom, goodness, love, freedom, and justice, but rather exhilarating beauty that incites you to be true to yourself; crazy wisdom that immunizes you against the temptation to believe your ideals are ultimate truths; outrageous goodness that inspires you to experiment with irrepressible empathy; generous freedom that keeps you alert for opportunities to share your wealth; insurrectionary love that endlessly transforms you; and a lust for justice that’s leavened with a knack for comedy, keeping you honest as you work humbly to liberate everyone in the world from ignorance and suffering."
-Rob Brezny

skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon

Last night I met up with SW. We had noodles and then went to see a Choral concert at Carnegie Hall. I was kind of all over the place. Sitting, sweating, itching, twitching, falling asleep. It was a lot of glory to God in Latin. But every once in a while the music would get me. The Cum Sancto Spiritu of Vivaldi's Gloria is a real rocker. There were also passages in the Handel and the Haydn that had me bobbing my head to the music and kinda rocking in my seat. Which I am sure was as appalling as me softly snoozing there. They closed with an adorable soulful rendition of the Hallelujah from Handel's Messiah. I mean literally a soulful/gospel arrangement of the work.

Which was fun and very cute but a little strange. It's hard to corral that large a group of people to sing the same vocal runs and stay together. This makes carrying off the arrangement challenging. I was kind of laughing about this (I meant in a friendly way. I did actually enjoy it.) to some people afterwards and SSl said something that I will paraphrase as - he listens to music and likes it but doesn't really dissect it.

I am that person. The skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon. It appears that my brain is too overly engaged in my life.

I was telling JP that I went over to DP's house to bake cookies and there was a bit of tension because I insisted that there was an order to how things should be mixed into cookie dough. Butter with sugar, then the egg and vanilla. The flour and salt and baking powder measured and mix separately and then everything combined together. DP lifted an eyebrow at me, a bit taken aback, but was gracious enough to humor me. I had fallen into baking mode. There is chemistry in baking, so why not follow protocol. JP thought that the point was to have fun and bake together, not to be a cookie tyrant. And that this was badly done on my part.

Skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon.

I find that when I read or see something that I think or know is scientifically inaccurate it really chaps my hide. I was reading this really delightful book about a guy who leaves New York for Italy to learn to make wine. And I was with him. Just riding along with him until he said that yeast are bacteria. (This was said in regard to the fermentation process.) And I had to put the book down for several days. Yeast are definitely not bacteria. It's called chromatin, it's called a nucleus. It's called years of evolution and different life strategies.

Skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon.

I saw a commercial in which a guy talked about moldy yeast in the cheese making process. Yeast and Mold are related but they are not the same. Yeast -> bread, beer. Mold -> penicillin, blue cheese.

Skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon.

I was listening to the Decemberists song, "Red Right Ankle," which I have always loved. But yesterday I actually listened to the lyrics.

"This is the story of your red right ankle
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle, bone, and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed
And how it whispered, "Oh, adhere to me
For we are bound by symmetry
And whatever differences our lives have been
We together make a limb"
This is the story of your red right ankle"
- The Decemberists

This may be the most romantic and passionate description of limb formation ever written, but it doesn't sound correct to me. The lyrics give one the impression that the leg and the ankle form separately and then fuse together. And I'm pretty sure that this is not how it goes. The passage is so beautiful. It is also, very suspicious and miraculous.

Skeptical killjoy crankypants curmudgeon.

So there is it. I take the fun out of everything. The beauty and mystery too. Spoiling my pleasure and that of those around me. A Bert in an Ernie world. Well, don't worry, I am likely to get mine in the end. Placebo effect? What placebo effect?

Be Merry this Christmas, Darlings. Be ever so very merry for whatever winter holiday you observe.

xo

Dressing for success? Or for yourself?

The first time JP met me, I was wearing denim overalls and a red blazer.

He has never gotten over this. Every time he sees me, he tells me that I am a tough cookie, that I am too tough a cookie. I was the girl in overalls and a blazer at the Symposium poster session. Back then, I was all about Epigenetics. And apparently, I didn't care what you thought of what I was wearing.

I wish I had a picture of that.

What was I thinking.

And what was I thinking when I didn't bring those overall with me.

Message brought to you by Pimm's Cup and Pinto Gris

I have probably said this before aloud and on this blog. (At least I hope that I have.) But I will say it again. After an evening spent with people I love and the people who love them, I learn again the following. In so many ways, the ones who we love teach us to be loving. To love each other and ourselves - through praise, through confrontation, by lesson, by challenging us, by example and simply by loving us and standing by us.

For the ones I love and the ones that love me, I am grateful beyond words.