Today's nugget of wisdom...

Today is beautiful. Tomorrow will be beauty-fuller. The day after more beautiful, still, and so on for one more day. The day after that, though, is Monday, and it’s gonna SUCK!!!

Hacking up a lung...

Terra Firma was sick yesterday. Not even just sick, but mega-sick. She stayed home from work, and comprised little more than a sullen, slightly odorous lump on the couch when I walked through the door after a rather punishing day, yesterday. To made matters worse, she wanted half the music off my computer (she’s not a Mac-head, and so had a very hard time figuring out how to get it for herself), and after I showed her how to use the directories and transfer stuff onto her jump drive, hacked her way through several gigs of music transfer by USB… In my bedroom… The place where my asthmatic ass sleeps. I just know I’m gonna come down with Pneumonia. To add icing to the cake, she hacked SO LOUDLY last night, all night long, that my cat Maggie was afraid, and kept hiding behind my head with each Terra-shaking cough. Normally, one has to be at a fever-pitch of sexual excitement to be heard through the walls between our bedrooms. Just lets you know how sick she is, and, by extension, how screwed I am to be.

(Mis)State of the Union

Alright, so, I’ve had a little more time to think about it, and I’m still pretty pissed off by the things that came out of the mouth of our pathetic, Reganite fruitcake of a President last night. My anger, which in retrospective should’ve been simmering for the last year, as none of the things he said are new in the least, is directed in a few very specific directions (which, really, include all sub-categories of possible rant, anyway).

1) Blurring the separation between Church and State.
2) Announcing policies equivalent to administrative autocracy.
3) War-machine overuse without adequate support.
4) Transparency, transparency, transparency!!!

Point one is the true multi-faceted, scary aspect of the reign of GB the Second. In addition to furthering his plan of full privatization of public services, this blurring pushes the idea of moral right in government, and hopelessly entwines the principals of evangelical Christianity with the ideals of American Nationalism. These changes are dangerous, at best. They move us away from inclusiveness no matter race, creed, identity, what-have-you, toward a system that can deny services, actively persecute based on differences, and may one day threaten everyone with mandatory faith. Snow-flake babies and the absurdity of “preserving the sanctity of life” aside, the bru-ha-ha’s in Afghanistan and Iraq seem to point out that this “religious” culture that’s being instigated against the will of most Americans is actually one of death… After all, you have to be the right kind of religious for your life to be protected. Most definitely NOTHING LIKE what the founding fathers envisioned, Christian or no.
Moving on, it seems that, though the President was fine with Pork-barrel spending while it was his Neo-Con cronies doing the write-ons, he simply won’t stand for responsible social measures as are being forced through by Democrats. In a no-holds-barred statement sounding much like a five-year-old going “Nya-nya-nya-nya-nya, Nyaaaaaah!” President Bush said he’d exercise his heretofore limpid veto rights with abandon to stop pork-barrel spending. Remember how many times he did that before Nancy Pelosi put on pants on Capitol Hill? I sure as hell don’t. Furthermore, the fact that he could keep a straight face while indignantly demanding a ‘straight up-and-down vote’ for his gun-toting whack-job judicial nominees was more than I can stomach. It takes more than eight years to turn a more-or-less viable, economically successful Constitutional Democracy into Margaret Atwood’s Gillead. Who told you otherwise, Mr. President?
Regardless of what many people have said, will say, and want to say on this point, I think it’s been covered MORE than sufficiently. Lest anyone forget, most of the contractors brought on by our shoddy executive war-effort are slowly moving headquarters overseas, to nations all good Americans should hate in their deepest Christian hearts… It’s a wonderful, Randyan (ha!) story, really, except nobody exceptional seems to be shrugging.
Finally, back to the the judicial nominations to start… Mind picking somebody with an adequate portfolio to question for the position of Chief Justice of the Supreme Court? Do you mind actually listening when people complain about your unwarranted, ill-advised wire taps? It’s not like there’s any difficulty in getting a free warrant in less than 24 hours. Mind telling us what is ACTUALLY being reported by the CIA, or any of the rest of the alphabet soup of intelligence agencies that report to the administration? Do you mind being transparent about the smallest of your dirty little secrets, Mr. President? Mind not lying?
That’s about it. This has taken all day to pare down, to make a little less offensive. But it’s an honest reaction to the bullshit that came out of that man’s mouth. I’m so glad this is the last year we have to deal with Bush and his White House. They are poison, and they are almost expunged.

George W. Bush is a Stupid #$%^er

President Bush is a hose-beast. I say this with the absolute certainty of a fundamentalist... A sense of moral right completely un-respective of the views of others. I give not a rat's ass what anybody else says at this moment. Someday, all will see this rampant evil for what it is: anti-populist. Anti-freedom. Anti-peace. Anti-religious, even! Who amongst the faithful could EVER think this man thought a whit of god or god's people? Are they stupid, or just blind? Are they so focused on the political equivalent of jazz-hands and “ravening” (read: desperate,) Muslims that they are capable of listening to that damned drunk piece of shit? Don't even get me started on faith-based initiatives. Anyone who thinks that a service which can push something down the throats of its' users or deny usage rights is alright should be dragged out of their homes, into the streets amongst people who don't believe as they do, and forced to fend for themselves for a day. That'd do them good, maybe reveal a new perspective to the fuckers. I can't think anymore. I can't argue anymore. I cannot hear or listen or bitch or even be angry anymore. This man is the most potent force of evil alive on the planet today. Our President is attempting to DRIVE us into Jihad. He is a force for hate and stupidity and ignorance and poverty. I am ashamed, not for the first time in this sad era, to be a citizen of the greatest country. Just remember this: I DIDN'T VOTE FOR HIM!!! It's not my goddamn fault, and I hope to god that everybody whose fault it is regrets it to their core someday. Otherwise, there really is no justice in the world.
Note: It is now 8:58 PM CST. I can't watch anymore. I'm so sad. Nothing will get done. President Asshole has made that clear. And that smug, rich, smiling corpse behind him didn't make it any better. Orpheus has put 'Laugh In' on DVD into the player. I can't even smile.

Happy @#$%ing Monday!

Weekends can suck. This weekend was pretty OK, tending toward suckage at the beginning, but veering back towards pretty cool later on. Friday night, I went to the Fitchburg Great Dane (a ‘brew-pub’ with several locations in Madison… As local chains go, tops,) to cheer a work colleague who left the company suddenly two weeks ago, and starts her new job, incidentally, today. M. is doing fine, and had a wonderful interlude to spend with her son. However, after a lovely bitch-fest with folks from work, I left for downtown and Orpheus’ place. We had difficulty deciding where to go for dinner, finally settling on a gourmet pizza place on the other side of town from my apartment. Now, the roads weren’t exactly good on Friday. In fact, they were downright awful, dangerous, terrifying, and any number of other, nastier adjectives that I hesitate to record here. Not a good idea to do this, I thought, but O. hasn’t been there yet, so… When it came time to pay, I discovered that my debit card had gone missing. No problem, really. Orpheus paid, and I started going nuts.
The feeling of nuttiness only grew as we slowly crawled the icy roads back to my domicile, this exercise in transportation feeling almost Doctor Zhivago-like in both its’ pacing and snow-encrusted vistas. When we got back, I immediately looked up the lost/stolen number for my card, and had it shut down. This was the least stressful part of the evening, as it used to be something that I did for a living, so I knew procedure. Fortunately, everything was more or less OK. No unexpected charges came up, so the card was likely lost to the elements at some point, and has cracked under-tire in extreme temperatures or some-such. Saturday, I went to the Credit Union, got out a fat wad of cash, paid O. back for dinner, and cooked to vent my stress. I made a meatloaf which, honestly, was a little off, two beautiful quiches, hummus with a roasted red pepper added for flavor and color, and, essentially, a babaganoosh with roasted peppers for flavor. We tried to go dancing Saturday night, but they were charging a cover for a crappy DJ at the club, so we said “no thanks!” and got to, umm, “sleep” instead.
On Sunday, I went to an informal gathering of my role-playing group. Because more than one member was away, we did a game day. I brought one of the quiches I baked, and got a bunch of requests for the recipe. Orpheus and I also did a little shopping, buying some slightly exotic spices, and oils we want to experiment with while cooking. I also bought a copy of the big boxed set of Apples to Apples, which I’ve been coveting for a long time, but which was not played at game day (more’s the pity). I made a hearty dinner of baked chicken strips (tarted-up Bisquick-chic), spiced potato wedges, and salad. We had some pretty satisfying sex, then slept all crappy, and here I am. Happy effing’ Monday!

A whore for cold, hard steel...

I bought another knife, yesterday. It is shameful. I’m a Wuesthof whore. A WHORE, I TELL YOU!!! But I couldn’t say no to 25% off a bread knife nicer than the piece of supposedly metallic flotsam currently darkening my knife drawer. There were also several other purchases made, including a sharpening steel for Orpheus, whose little Santoku has, recently, been in need of TLC. I also bought the very coarse grater Terra Firma has been harping on me about, with a handy little attachment so that using my graters isn’t an exercise in self-mutilation management. And speaking of T.F…
We try, once a month or so (it’s supposed to be every week, but that never works out with my sexual schedule), to do a roommate night, Terra and I. This week was the monthly Drag King show at our local, crappy gay bar, Club 5. Terra and I decided to go and have a racy evening with the dames. I made her favorite dish in my repertoire, we got a little liquored up, dolled up, and went to see the packin’ ladies. (To be particularly alluring to the lesbians, I’d not shaved in two days. I had fantastic second day scruff.) To my great surprise, a couple of them had some really kickin’ boy energy, which was a touch confusing at times. The best bitch on the block, though, was one of the femmes dancing circles around the wee-willie-synthskins. Her stage name was bubbles, and during one of the songs, she dropped a broken, well-used C-cell vibrator into my lap. Needless to say, I held it aloft, and proudly let loose the cry of the hunter triumphant! Of course, she took it away while dancing by on the next number, but I got my cheap thrill. It was a fun night, and we’re planning on going next month, and bringing along Sister, as well. Three queer foodies, all drooling into their drinks, in a row. Bloody fantastic.
That pretty much brings you up to speed, except that, during lunch today, I went to the new cutlery store to have my older knives sharpened. None of them held and edge terribly well anymore, and hadn’t been regularly steeled early in their operating lifetimes, so I felt it was a good enough excuse. Unfortunately, thought the conversation was stimulating, and the edge on my 6” chef’s knife is once again freakishly sharp, he wasn’t very careful on my paring knives, and I may even have to replace the 3.5” blade, as the tip is now uneven, with a metallic dingleberry hanging off. Don’t think I’ll be going back for sharpening, but there will be some purchases when I’m finally ready to work with Japanese knives. He stocks MAC at very fair prices, and we had a nice bitching session regarding Global knives, and how popular they are for no good reason. He also told me that they don’t stand behind their product, so I’m sticking with good, heavy GERMAN steel where my working knives are concerned, thanks. But, damn… I’m gonna miss my paring knife.

Me no sleepy so good

Last night, when it came time to sleep, I made all the wrong decisions where getting a healthy entry into dreamland was concerned. After staying up too late, I decided to pig out on evil, evil foods like ramen and potato chips. Then, I just started shoving shredded cheese into my craw for no apparent reason. I chased all this with about a quart of 2% milk, and then continued watching TV shows on my computer until I passed out. Approximately three hours later, I woke up, couldn’t get a piece of music I’d listened to earlier on iTunes out of my head, and proceeded to stare at the blank white ceiling for a couple hours, willing my mind to be as void. Finally, I grabbed my cat, forced her into prime hot-water bottle position (which she didn’t have to be forced into for long… ten seconds, and she was purring like some sort of deranged muscle car revving at a stoplight), and got, like, an hour and a half more sleep. I be zombie at the moment. Wish me luck not getting fired.

*Sentences redolent of Amy Tan titles...

Orpheus has had a blog, in one form or another, since he was in high-school. Due to some unpleasantness in our relationship after I first found said message-board on the world-wide-weberverse, I’ve promised never again to read it. This hasn’t been easy at times, but gets a little simpler the longer the policy survives. To help, I’ve replaced reading O’s blog with that of his ‘blogvater,’ Dr. Faustus (http://www.joelderfner.com/blog/)... This Faust is a fascinating specimen, indeed. He’s a gay, all-singing, all-dancing liberal arts genius. He’s super-cute, super-fit, teaches courses on Musical Theatre, a red-head, a bottom, writes musicals and books, and has a penchant for history and languages to boot. Add in the fact that he’s soon publishing a book of personal essays, and you have a guy who would, under normal circumstances, induce the vapors in little odd (not an editing mistake,) moi. However, *out of respect for his writing, his fiancee, and my lover, I hold myself in check. Really, though, if you haven’t before read ‘The Search for Love in Manhattan,’ get going. Joel is fucking funny.
The reason this all comes up today is mostly just coincidence. There was a note of extreme helplessness in Faustus’ post, today, preceded by an incendiary bout of frustration on topics political yesterday. The fact that he normally wields beautifully such a strong voice, but feels helpless to write in praise of Martin Luther King due to modern breakdowns in our political process was literally heartbreaking... I thought, when I saw the posts, that I hadn’t really felt this bad about someone else’s desperation in a long time. This got me thinking about Orpheus’ blog, as ‘The Search for Love...’ comprises my physical replacement for reading O. online... And I realized, the last time I sympathized so much with someone else’s feelings of frustration was when I read those heartbreaking words posted by my boyfriend so many months ago.
Aside from the humiliation that I felt, he was so alone back then, and scared. I was, for a good part of his period of unemployment after graduating, one of the only people that he hung out with. His best friend was studying abroad in Prague, and only the unreliable college-kids were left in town to take care of him. I couldn’t help feeling that I was dirty, horrible, and deserved what he’d written. I felt responsible, and that made me feel worse. When I confronted him on it, he apologized, but then it happened again. Now, I just don’t have the strength to read the blog, anymore. He still doesn’t hang out with his friends enough, and doesn’t like too many of the people I call friends. I just have to pretend that some small part of him isn’t still resentful of me, because he doesn’t have anybody to confide his frustrations to. And, really, if one’s not part of the solution, one’s part of the problem (thank you, Sartre), so I can’t help feeling a little responsible for the breakdowns that are making Faustus so down, too. I’ve got political acumen in spades, but very little drive to deal with people that have a will to power, who are almost to a one despicable human beings.
I did my part to attempt to cheer the dear Doktor, though I doubt that I really made an impact. As to O., I just have to stick to not reading him, and hope that he can sort things out. I love him so much. I hope he’s not still writing things like he used to write about me. But then, I vent here, too, so maybe it’s not all so bad. Here’s hoping I keep getting to worry about him for a long time... Just not like this. And here’s hoping you, Faustus, can see the hope coming at us all in the distance. You’re too damned fabulous to be upset over the near-expired presidency of an increasingly marginal idiot and the ineffectual flounderings of the congress currently his political prisoner!

Dirty Boy...

If last Friday was a beautiful and uplifting experience work-wise, today, MLK Day, is rather a cosmic punishment for said end-of-week optimism. After an hour-long group meeting, I had a one-on-one this morning with my direct boss to defend crappy sales figures. This defense went quite well, with me winning on several key points information-wise such as non-repeating capital expenditures in 2007 having caused a dangerous skew to sales numbers for January of this year. Unfortunately, it took me nearly another hour to prepare for said meeting, and now that it’s the afternoon, I can’t get anybody on the phone to save my soul (or, incidentally, my job). After a weekend that helped me very much to relax and reconcile myself to another five days at work, this is just what I DIDN’T need. Discouragement sucks.
On a brighter note, I had a very encouraging weekend with Orpheus. He was very kind to me on Friday, when I was very grumpy post-work. Then, yesterday, he bent over backwards to make me happy by giving in to my choice of movie on our “special day” together. (Note: if you haven’t already seen it, DO NOT waste money on Beowulf, despite Neil Gaiman’s involvement in the project.) Furthermore, he was patient while I bought out several stores in the mall of things that I needed, were on sale, and fit me like a dream, while there was absolutely nothing for him, even things that he needed, for sale in his size. This gave me the chance to make him a special comfort-food type dinner, after which he was absolved from cleanup duty due to crabbiness. We had a very nice, protracted snuggle, then some mind-blowing sex. Twice. Anyway, hopefully the rest of the week will be better. I can tell you that the sex has made me considerably more agreeable today than I would’ve been under normal circumstances.

Diphallic Threeway

I had a dream last night that I had a freaky three way with two gay Trekkers. You know it was a dream, because homos keep that kind of thing to themselves. I know this, because I myself am a queer Trekkie. You also know it was a dream, because the sex was seamlessly perfect and entirely unprotected. Finally, it’s glaringly obvious this was a dream, because I fucked both of these fictional gay Trekkers until they blew like volcanoes. Now, I’m not saying this is, in and of itself, unusual when I top… But two guys concurrently? I didn’t look down, but I must’ve been diphallic for one beautiful REM cycle in my otherwise hum-drum life.

When one is dumb enough to date another top, what the hell can one do when his partner is principally a) a top, b) inflexible and staid in the way he loves, c) seemingly incapable of letting go of control? I love O. I really do. But it's getting to me. I have made men who haven't had dicks in them in years cum with little effort... Why is Orpheus so difficult? Why can't he love me the way I've learned to love him?

Weeds, moving, cudling like rabbits

Had a lovely weekend, all told, despite all the work involved in moving Orpheus. We tackled the job by ourselves, mostly. His Dad was in town last week (see the last couple posts for info about familial fiascos), and thus the Van was around, but it wasn’t exactly clear in the back, so most of the moving was done with my car. Plus, O. Sr. has back problems, so it wasn’t exactly like he was helping… Much like when I moved with my ex to Wisconsin. Both of our families helped, but my Dad, the old Orangutan (so called because he’s both Orang-like in shape and color due to over-tanning), just watched the ice-water, and sucked down freezer-cooled Absolut martinis all day long. No booze in Orpheus, Sr.’s case, but replace hooch with food and you’ve got an idea. At least O. got some nice eats in the deal.
Orpheus’ new place is another efficiency. For him, this isn’t a problem. In fact, it seems to work better than a multi-roomed place. He doesn’t have much stuff, so if there’s only one space to fill, it’s actually a boon, as said room is full and homey. Plus, there’s no more roommate to worry about, which means more naked time for us when hanging at his place. Another really nice thing was all the rest we did between sets of moving and cleaning. Lots of sleepy snuggling is good when you have a tall-ass boyfriend who’s into spooning. Finally, Weeds is the bomb-digity of TV shows. We watched the entire first DVD from season 1 yesterday, and found the first three episodes to be exceptionally well-written and entertaining. The last three with the dude from Angels in America? Well, let’s just say, I think they were coasting after the triumph that were the first three episodes. Hopefully, disk two will prove up to the Agrestic housewife standard, ‘cause I LOVE my Cracker-Mom-dealer drama (though I am less than enamored of the stoner-brother-in-law-goofball story arc)!

Unwarranted optimism

My mind is broken. I hate my job. And yet, I think sheer exhaustion (both mental and physical,) has driven me to a point of near-elation this afternoon. I just can’t shake a goofy optimism despite crappy sales numbers… What else could we attribute this feeling to? Too much caffine? Dehydration? Who cares. I like it.

Sucks to your driving skills, Madison WI!!!

Last night was very nice. I had time to gab with Terra Firma, with neither Orpheus nor TF’s GF present to taint the waters (and both cooking in the kitchen… A great time for both of us). There were vast tracts of time to talk with Mom on the phone. AND I got to see O., as well. There was much waste of gas, but both my cat and my boyfriend are happier for the time that I spent (and didn’t spend,) with them both. Kitty-kitty-2x4 got me while I was asleep (A great time for her, ‘cause I don’t try to force her to snuggle me like she’s a stuffed animal), and Orpheus got me while I was still awake enough to help him start moving. Also, we downed a bottle of wine together that I’d opened only to attempt the recreation of my pork dish from two nights ago. The only smirches on the evening were as follows: 1) The pork didn’t turn out quite as well… It turns out that thick-cut slabs should always be butterflied, as broiling for a couple minutes won’t finish cooking the meat, even if it does a great job of browning. 2) Project Runway judges are either thinking on a whole different plane from what I’m used to, or they’re stupid, arbitrary, crazy fucks who like shite that looks as if somebody took a bedazzler to it. 3) People in Madison, WI are apparently born without the ability to drive like rational beings. Sometimes I just wish I lived in a place where public transportation were truly feasible.

Pork, heavy cream/wine reductions, porking...

Last night was far better than expected. Orpheus ended up calling the rental company for which he was completing paperwork, and they let him know they’d rented the place out from under him. Thus, he went back to his old landlord, who knew him already, and didn’t require a cosigner. This weekend, I’ll be helping him to lug his stuff down the street two blocks to the new place. Hopefully, he’ll just sign for the summer as well, because I really don’t want to be doing this again in four months (even if he did offer to move in with me – very sweet, but the timing is bad).
As I headed over to his place directly after work, I was suffering from several different problems. Problem the first was a dazed countenance and attitude after one of the most frazzlingly busy days I’ve ever experienced here. Problem the second related to cooking at O.’s place. He has tried very hard to get me all the basic things that I’d need to be more or less comfortable making food without hauling half of my kitchen along with me every time I come over, even finding a surprisingly good rolled-steel blade, sintered, granton-edged santoku on sale at a price he could afford. With these considerately provided tools, I ended up making a culinary sow’s ear into half a silk purse for dinner last night…
Orpheus had pretty limited stuff to cook with. I started by thin-slicing half a sweet onion, sautéing it in an absurd amount of grapeseed oil until translucent, then removing the onion from heat. I then butterflied two thick-cut boneless pork loin chops that his parents’ bought for him after Christmas, seasoning with salt, pepper and a touch of paprika on both sides. These were quick-fried for a minute and a half on each side in the onion-oil, then slapped on the foreman to finish cooking, covered with the onions reserved from earlier. I then browned crushed pine nuts in the fat remaining in the fry pan, and deglazed with a good couple ounces of white Rioja, adding about four ounces of cream when the pan was clean on the bottom. This mixture was brought to a boil, stirred constantly, and reduced to a simmer until the sauce had thickened, and browned just a touch.
The dish went wrong in only two ways. First, I left it on the grill too long. The pork was a touch over-cooked. Secondly, I added bleu cheese crumbles just before pouring the finished sauce over the chops. Next time, I’m going to put the chops under the broiler for a couple minutes with the onions and bleu cheese to finish cooking and form a nice crust. The sauce will be poured over to finish and serve. Also, I’m doing it next time with veal, not pork, animal rights be damned. Finally, I’m not serving with potatoes. Greens, greens, greens! In any case, it was good eats. And the sex was just what the doctor ordered, after we’d had a chance to digest. Overall, a very satisfactory evening, all told!

I'm so _______, I could _______ the _______ out of the entire football team...

I am tired. Bone-tired. It’s a damned good thing my sales are so good today, or I’d quit right now. Orpheus’ parents’ house was broken into abortively last night, as the clumsy thief knocked over a microwave, alerting the household. This situation was complicated by the fact that his dad is in town (in Madison, they live a couple hours North,) on business, so his mother and sisters had to deal with all this rigmarole themselves. Furthermore, Dad’s phone doesn’t work terribly well in the “big city,” so Mom and Company called O. at four this morning, and made him run over to the hotel to roust his father. Apparently, they’ll let just anybody walk in off the street at all hours, but they won’t route emergency phone calls from the desk. Amateurish bastards. So, when I get off work, I have to go over and take care of my frazzled boyfriend, who was supposed to be getting his Dad’s co-signature on a sublet today, but will now likely loose the apartment… Why, oh WHY didn’t he listen to me when I told him to look at sublets in November? I just hope he’s ready to bone tonight, ‘cause I’m so horny I could easily take the entire football team at the ‘U… Not that I would want to, the ugly ogres.

Exultate, Julia Child...

This weekend, an order I placed with Amazon.com came in… This order included copies of both Volumes one and two of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Needless to say, this little monkey is elated. Orpheus is pretty psyched, too, as he 1) is rather fond of eating my culinary output, and 2) finds great joy in nudging me toward readings and projects that will give me pleasure. O. egged me on until such time as I caved in and bought the books, actually, along with a really cool spatula I’ve had my eye on for awhile. Fortunately, the weather was dreadful in Madison this weekend, and included both record high temperatures and copious fog, which meant I was more or less marooned with the Books (capitalized biblically for a reason, as I’ve already found more to worship within said pages than between the sheets of that incestuous volume of forgotten begats).
All I can do is thank the gods (who and whatever they may be,) that I had the foresight to get a full complement of knives together before such time as true revelation struck. Now, the journey is begun in earnest, and mercy be to (s)he who gets in the way. Clogged arteries will be the least of their problems, if I’m short on pork at the time of interference…

Fragment: A Conversation between Orpheus and Myself Last Night...

Orpheus: Anyways, sucks about Iowa.

Aeffchen: What's that?
Aeffchen: The primary?
Aeffchen: It's super-expensive. Whatev.

Orpheus: Yeah. Barack won
Orpheus: Clinton got third, I believe

Aeffchen: Fuck that noise. I was going to wait until tomorrow morning to find out that feminism was a flash in the pan.

Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, Vincent Price, Wusthoff cutlery...

OK, so I admit it… I, Aeffchen, am obsessed with my own kitchen knives. So obsessed that I’ve made myself things for breakfast in the last couple days that shouldn’t be made for breakfast, ever. Like the chicken soup I described in yesterday’s post. Granted, I have a cold, and the hot liquid with enough capsaicin to kill a normal human is terribly beneficial, but that’s hardly the point. No. The point, my friends, is that I spent 5 minutes this morning feverishly chopping veggies to put into said soup. And I picked the perfect knife for the job, my 17 cm. Santoku. After chopping, mincing, slicing, etc., I cleaned the knife reverently before steeling it. The reverence is what is still bugging me now. And the fact that I’m still mad at Terra Firma for leaving my knives dirty last weekend. She was on the way to a party, for chrissakes. And yet, this isn’t true stainless steel. It can rust. It can discolor. Seething rage, however, is hardly a proper response given the nature of the crime. Especially since the blades were all gooed up with avocado, which should’ve provided quite the slimy yet surprisingly fibrous barrier to rust.
In any case, I think it’s time to attempt opening the last chakra, and transcending obscene love for my cutlery. Really, naked lust should be saved for people with parts that won’t kill. Orpheus, for example. The knives are just tools. That’s all. Nothing more. Oh, who the hell am I kidding… I wish I could be reborn as Aeffchen, Wusthoff-Hands. Poor O. He has no idea what he’s dating! ;-)

Happy New Year!!! (Sorry about the holi-hiatus)

Dear readers: many thanks for putting up with my holiday hiatus. I love you all, even if you don’t actually exist, as such. My blog may be one of the top google searches for its’ name, but that doesn’t really mean too much, after everything. It’s really more about people wasting time when they should be looking into more important Margaret Atwood references. And there’s also the question of what I would do if cognizant of having over 1,000 readers per day… Most likely, there’d be a rather ugly bit of show-boating, which would be tragic, given my rapid loss of skill in the manipulation of the written language. In any case, things are more stable now, so… Get ready for some normalcy!!!
Updates, updates… We had a lot of sex this weekend. A whole lot of sex. Really, really good catch-up sex. Enough said. New Years’ Eve was a flop, but a funny one. We spent a good portion of the day cooking, but were completely respectful of Terra Firma and her girlfriend, and cleaned the kitchen thoroughly after each dish completed. They did not return the favor, more’s the pity, when they trashed said room making shitty vegan sushi rolls for a party they headed to. Worse yet, they used some of my knives, and didn’t clean them immediately upon completion of the task. Fortunately, they got up early the next morning, and put the kitchen back into something like working order, but wow… I was pissed when Orpheus and I headed out to the biggest gay club in town for the festivities. Apparently, all the hip young (or hip rich) gays now go to the gay hockey league party on New Years’ Eve (which I attended last year… It was swank). This meant that O. and I were about the youngest, most attractive people out at good ‘ol Club 5. Refreshing, if somewhat pathetic. Let’s just say we had a good time making fun of people who were trying to eat us with their eyes. We also had fun dancing.
Yesterday was actually my one-year anniversary with Orpheus, in a way of thinking. We met a year ago yesterday, but didn’t start dating officially until a month later (and didn’t have sex for the first time until the morning after said date … We count it as the second date starting the moment we suddenly became both conscious and naked). Despite our raging colds, we decided to do something special, and I came over to cook a nice dinner. I did three courses, and used a leftover (but well preserved) Christmas dessert with Asti (which WAS sweet enough to work well). I started with a strongly flavored, pan-Asian chicken/beef stock-based soup (garlic/ginger/shallot/sweet pepper/chile de arbol/pepper,) to clear the sinuses, moved on to a spinach salad with shallots, sweet pepper, pine nuts, and a balsamic dressing, then served a grilled beef tenderloin marinated in olive oil, shallots, garlic, a tiny bit of fresh ginger, salt and pepper for several hours, with pinot noir added in the last 30 minutes for a beautiful aroma and hint of flavor. This was served with roast mashed garlic red potatoes. Dessert was a bit of my mother’s rendition of Plumb Pudding, which she makes using vegetable shortening rather than beef suet. Since Dad was born on December 23rd, it was Mom’s cute idea in the late ‘70’s to make plumb pudding as a cake every year. It’s a great tradition, I think, and now just the slightest bit less disgusting, given the shortening.
Dinner was a great success, though the sex was a bit too experimental for celebratory doinking. Plus, they’re systematically getting rid of all my favorite people on ‘Project: Runway’ this season, and so there was a bit of disappointment there intruding on the perfect vibes. Either way, I am so grateful that O. and I met out last year. It’s been a long road, but a good one. He makes me feel safe, and I know I can talk to him about anything. Plus, we tend to be really snarky about the same sort of shit, so it’s kind of fun… We have positive negativity moments talking about other peoples’ bad choices on a regular basis. Schadenfreude ueber alles, children!
And so, that about sums it up. Happy New Year, children… I hope yours is starting out well, and wish you all the happiness in the world. More later!