So, yesterday I was working on a polemic about how all my relationships are the same, and Orpheus has as little regard for my friends as LaGrippe did, etc… I’m almost glad my formerly happy Mac was hijacked, as that’s the only reason said polemic didn’t get published was my scramble to call folks vulnerable to computer-based stupidity (Grandma, Auntie Dearest, Mom, Dad…) and tell them not to open two particular e-mails. After everything, it may have just been my e-mail that was ‘jacked, as I can’t find a record of the offending e-mail being sent from either of my computers. Anyway, the password on my e-mail has been changed without being updated in the e-mail clients I work with. That, and the more suspect computer (left on all night with a video loaded off a Chinese server… Yeah, I’m a total rube,) is spending a great deal of time offline and undergoing virus scans.
The reason for my aborted polemic was as follows… Wednesday night, O. called me downtown early. He was supposed to get off of work and take a nice, restorative nap. However, after work he had to stop quickly by the library, and saw friends of his who he hadn’t talked to in a month. They ended up getting a drink, which segued into dinner. Since I hadn’t seen them in quite awhile either, and O. realized it wouldn’t be polite to blow me off, he asked me to high-tail it downtown for a little dinner alfresco at one of our favorite bar/restaurants. During the conversation, we eventually turned to my innate dorkishness, which most of Orpheus’ friends find fascinating… You know, like a car-crash. Of course, I good-humoredly played along, making fun of myself in the kind of way that both entertains, and makes people a little guilty for being assholes in the first place. During this, though, O. interrupted, and made it clear that he wasn’t terribly fond of my friend Bulgaria.
Now, to remind you, Bulgaria is probably my best friend in town. It was he who kind of took it upon himself to make sure that I survived my divorce. He got me interested in cookery, and has just all-around been there when I needed someone to talk to, no matter what. After LaGrippe, who was perfectly clear (and hostile,) on the point that she loathed pretty much everyone I liked under my own steam, this “revelation” really shook me. I looked at slightly declining rates of copulation over time, clung to the apparent fact that O. hates everyone that I like, came to the hasty conclusion that Orpheus was beginning to correlate over time with LaGrippe, and hence, that my life was over. Fortunately, before this was put online, I talked to him about it, and it turns out that he likes Bulgaria, but only in small doses. The problem is prolonged exposure in a canned situation with limited alternate interactions… Which isn’t abject hatred, or even actual dislike, he was careful to point out. He just finds the man too… intense.
Further, O. was careful to say, he’s changed his mind about folks like BakedAlaska and QuakerNoOats recently, and is looking forward to meeting my friends from home at the wedding I’m to be in, if he can get the time off. So this, I guess, is kind of a lesson to me. DON’T JUMP TO CONCLUSIONS!!! Especially when stressed about other things, take time, and talk first. I keep forgetting that Orpheus and I are past the part of the relationship where he bristles when I ask him about his feelings. This little monkey would do well to remember such blessed things in the future. Oh, yeah… And guess what’s on the menu, tonight? A belated birthday dinner with Bulgaria and his boyfriend. Meh!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Virus, central...
So, I think my Mac has a virus. I fucking hate this shit. Last time I buy that "ooh, UNIX is soooo secure!" shit.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
My Head Hurts… But Not As Much As Basso’s.
Last night was off the wall. Orpheus, Basso and I met just after work for happy hour at a bar that has a very well-appointed buffet so I could say ‘hi!’ before they went to rehearsal. I went on a consumer rampage, buying an old game that I very much wanted so that when my friend Leo moves to SoCal in a couple months, I’ll still have access to it. I also bought a new set of D+D dice, and the expansion pack to the aforementioned game. Afterwards, I went to the store and got veggies for dinner, which was just leftover burgers from Monday, and a kind of zucchini/red pepper/carrot/onion stir-fry with red wine, salt and pepper. It was very good. Basso called while O. and I were eating, and asked to come over for a drink. He wanted sex, but we weren’t feeling it. However, we did all go out for queer-ass karaoke at the Shamrock.
There, I proceeded to get wicked-drunk and grope the f#*k out of Orpheus, while Basso groped both of us. It was interesting. Turns out Basso likes Cake so much, he does karaoke to it… Too bad about that, but it was fun to watch. I got screwed out of the good version of Summertime, and did the slow one. Crappy! However, I did the German version of ‘Amadeus,’ which made me quite happy. O. did some hot stuff, including a Ricky Martin number and a couple rap dillys. When we left, Basso was talking to a guy one sees online a lot, we’ll call him S. Things seemed to be going well. Orpheus and I went back to his place and wrapped up some drunken groping fairly quickly, at which point I fell asleep with earplugs in, and went completely dead to the world. Apparently, around 2 AM, Basso called my phone and asked to come over and crash. O. answered, said “cool,” and thirty minutes later, no B. A cop called using Basso’s phone a few minutes later, and asked if he could drop the poor dear off. He was found unconscious, bashed over the head. Basso had been mugged on the way over! To my great regret, I was so completely passed out, I couldn’t help make sure he was OK when the police officer dropped him off, which meant that Orpheus had to do all the worrying, clucking, and general mom-type crap.
Worse yet, I was so out of it that I didn’t know there was a third body in bed when the alarm was going off, and kept yelling at O. to hit the snooze. In fact, when I finally rousted, O. had to explain the situation slowly and clearly. I didn’t even get the fact that Basso was on the other side of Orpheus until half-way through the bit where a cop had dropped him off! So, yeah, I totally feel like a heel at this point. O. is wicked-cranky because he got so little sleep. I’d love to baby him a bit tonight, but he’s still not sure if he’ll be in any shape to do anything tonight except nap. And Basso! I texted with him a little early on in the day. He’s in one piece, which is the most important thing, but may have a bit of a complex over all this after he’s had time to process. Anyway, that’s about it for now. That and the fact that the hamster on the exercise wheel in my head seems to have run out of steam for the day.
There, I proceeded to get wicked-drunk and grope the f#*k out of Orpheus, while Basso groped both of us. It was interesting. Turns out Basso likes Cake so much, he does karaoke to it… Too bad about that, but it was fun to watch. I got screwed out of the good version of Summertime, and did the slow one. Crappy! However, I did the German version of ‘Amadeus,’ which made me quite happy. O. did some hot stuff, including a Ricky Martin number and a couple rap dillys. When we left, Basso was talking to a guy one sees online a lot, we’ll call him S. Things seemed to be going well. Orpheus and I went back to his place and wrapped up some drunken groping fairly quickly, at which point I fell asleep with earplugs in, and went completely dead to the world. Apparently, around 2 AM, Basso called my phone and asked to come over and crash. O. answered, said “cool,” and thirty minutes later, no B. A cop called using Basso’s phone a few minutes later, and asked if he could drop the poor dear off. He was found unconscious, bashed over the head. Basso had been mugged on the way over! To my great regret, I was so completely passed out, I couldn’t help make sure he was OK when the police officer dropped him off, which meant that Orpheus had to do all the worrying, clucking, and general mom-type crap.
Worse yet, I was so out of it that I didn’t know there was a third body in bed when the alarm was going off, and kept yelling at O. to hit the snooze. In fact, when I finally rousted, O. had to explain the situation slowly and clearly. I didn’t even get the fact that Basso was on the other side of Orpheus until half-way through the bit where a cop had dropped him off! So, yeah, I totally feel like a heel at this point. O. is wicked-cranky because he got so little sleep. I’d love to baby him a bit tonight, but he’s still not sure if he’ll be in any shape to do anything tonight except nap. And Basso! I texted with him a little early on in the day. He’s in one piece, which is the most important thing, but may have a bit of a complex over all this after he’s had time to process. Anyway, that’s about it for now. That and the fact that the hamster on the exercise wheel in my head seems to have run out of steam for the day.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Four things that fry my A$$...
Since nothing of any import happened last night, today is dedicated to a rant, and quite probably, my latest lurid cooking fantasies. So, without any more pretentious ado…
THINGS THAT FRY MY A$$:
1) Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes.
2) The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news.
3) Being male, but on the bride’s side in a wedding.
4) Horniness as a waiting game.
And now, I shall address all of the aforementioned issues in the order that they were presented.
Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes. Last night, I was lazy, wanted to try out my new “eco-friendly” non-stick pan at slightly higher temperatures, and therefore decided to fry thin-sliced sweet potatoes. So, I sliced the damned thing up thin, with thick slabs of garlic and big chunks of onion. I sprayed the pan with a little grape seed oil, and cranked the heat to medium-high… well, kinda low medium-high, but still. I had to keep adding oil, which blew donkey balls, as the only time the stinkin’ potatoes would brown was when there was oil to soak off the bottom of the pan. Plus, they were still so crisp in the center, I had to boil off a little water and irish whisky from the bottom of the pan to soften them up, which meant re-browning. Grr. No more potatoes in the non-stick pan!
The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news, sends chills up my spine… in a bad way. It’s not so much that said slogan is sensationalistic. I mean, it’s the news, so that’s a forgone conclusion. The days when reporters conveyed information for its’ own sake are long since past, a glimmer in the lazy eyes of the joyless Bahbwa Wa-wa and Walter Cronkite. No, it’s the way it’s phrased, the nuances of pronunciation utilized by the bo-toxed to within an inch of paralysis journalistic hoard that annoy me. “OIL (portentiously, all syllables given equal weight heavier than what follows) has hit (slight pause,) another (rushed, with a tone almost of annoyance,) all-time (near-Sulu-like,) high, today…” And it’s always the same. ALWAYS… Male or female, the dead-eyed, rictus-grinning mummy face, regardless of sex, uses the same manner of conveyance. And they always use it to segue into the same damned stories about third world unrest, fundamentalism, terrorism, bad corporate governance, etc. Fudging ratings-grabbers!
Being male, but on the Bride’s side in a wedding is no piece of cake. On the upside, I get to see a few very pretty girls near-naked for the better part of two days. Also, I get to wear a pink vest with my tux. All in all, pretty sexy. However, there’s also the flip-side. The flip-side on which I may or may not be forced to spend a hundred bucks at the spa the day before the wedding, and also be forced to go to the male side, missing out on the bridal dish-fest. There’s the gas it will take to get home, the price of the present, the tux rental, and taking time off work. There’s also the date of the bridal shower, which I have to get off for, as well. Plus, O. is probably not going to be able to come with me, will miss out on meeting my parents, who finally OK’d him staying at the house if he can come, etc. This makes me cranky, because, though the couple is very progressive and could give a fig for sexuality, their families aren’t as forgiving, and I’m walking down the aisle with another boy. Meh. Though, how I think ANOTHER limp-wristed male is going to help the situation, I don’t know. Good thing I love the bride like a sister.
Horniness as a waiting game sucks. Orpheus worked ueber-late last night, then was supposed to go to a rehearsal for the play he got into. This meant I didn’t get to see him. Boo! Also, he has a rehearsal tonight. So I’m going downtown after work, we’re eating hurriedly, and then he’s leaving again. When he gets back, I’m going to be naked as a jay-bird and frothing at the mouth. If he’s not clean, god help my digestive tract, ‘cause as soon as he’s in the door, it’s on a seek-and-find-the-place-where-the-moans-come-from-type mission.
THINGS THAT FRY MY A$$:
1) Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes.
2) The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news.
3) Being male, but on the bride’s side in a wedding.
4) Horniness as a waiting game.
And now, I shall address all of the aforementioned issues in the order that they were presented.
Non-stick pans don’t really brown potatoes… Especially not sweet potatoes. Last night, I was lazy, wanted to try out my new “eco-friendly” non-stick pan at slightly higher temperatures, and therefore decided to fry thin-sliced sweet potatoes. So, I sliced the damned thing up thin, with thick slabs of garlic and big chunks of onion. I sprayed the pan with a little grape seed oil, and cranked the heat to medium-high… well, kinda low medium-high, but still. I had to keep adding oil, which blew donkey balls, as the only time the stinkin’ potatoes would brown was when there was oil to soak off the bottom of the pan. Plus, they were still so crisp in the center, I had to boil off a little water and irish whisky from the bottom of the pan to soften them up, which meant re-browning. Grr. No more potatoes in the non-stick pan!
The sentence “oil has hit another all-time high,” when used on the evening news, sends chills up my spine… in a bad way. It’s not so much that said slogan is sensationalistic. I mean, it’s the news, so that’s a forgone conclusion. The days when reporters conveyed information for its’ own sake are long since past, a glimmer in the lazy eyes of the joyless Bahbwa Wa-wa and Walter Cronkite. No, it’s the way it’s phrased, the nuances of pronunciation utilized by the bo-toxed to within an inch of paralysis journalistic hoard that annoy me. “OIL (portentiously, all syllables given equal weight heavier than what follows) has hit (slight pause,) another (rushed, with a tone almost of annoyance,) all-time (near-Sulu-like,) high, today…” And it’s always the same. ALWAYS… Male or female, the dead-eyed, rictus-grinning mummy face, regardless of sex, uses the same manner of conveyance. And they always use it to segue into the same damned stories about third world unrest, fundamentalism, terrorism, bad corporate governance, etc. Fudging ratings-grabbers!
Being male, but on the Bride’s side in a wedding is no piece of cake. On the upside, I get to see a few very pretty girls near-naked for the better part of two days. Also, I get to wear a pink vest with my tux. All in all, pretty sexy. However, there’s also the flip-side. The flip-side on which I may or may not be forced to spend a hundred bucks at the spa the day before the wedding, and also be forced to go to the male side, missing out on the bridal dish-fest. There’s the gas it will take to get home, the price of the present, the tux rental, and taking time off work. There’s also the date of the bridal shower, which I have to get off for, as well. Plus, O. is probably not going to be able to come with me, will miss out on meeting my parents, who finally OK’d him staying at the house if he can come, etc. This makes me cranky, because, though the couple is very progressive and could give a fig for sexuality, their families aren’t as forgiving, and I’m walking down the aisle with another boy. Meh. Though, how I think ANOTHER limp-wristed male is going to help the situation, I don’t know. Good thing I love the bride like a sister.
Horniness as a waiting game sucks. Orpheus worked ueber-late last night, then was supposed to go to a rehearsal for the play he got into. This meant I didn’t get to see him. Boo! Also, he has a rehearsal tonight. So I’m going downtown after work, we’re eating hurriedly, and then he’s leaving again. When he gets back, I’m going to be naked as a jay-bird and frothing at the mouth. If he’s not clean, god help my digestive tract, ‘cause as soon as he’s in the door, it’s on a seek-and-find-the-place-where-the-moans-come-from-type mission.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Weekend Blues
This weekend was kind of a walking comedy of errors. I made some OK grub, but for the most part, things just didn’t work out. Friday, O. and I were at odds. Saturday, after he finally got off work, again there were odds to split. I was a super-cranky-pants. Sunday, we had a pretty cool day, including an impromptu gourmet-super-market picnic at a huge, beautiful, empty park near an aging bloc of high-priced real estate. This after some very highly encouraging foraging at the malls, where I found (finally) one of the cool Martha Stuart GreenPans at Macy’s. Supposedly, this is a hydrolyzed SiO (glass-well, of a slightly different composition, but glass) based non-stick coating that doesn’t emit toxic fumes when heated above, oh, 5 degrees Celsius. The only thing I find weird about it is, they say to maintain the pan you should rub it occasionally with a seasoning oil… And just leave it like that. Not bake it in, nothing. Soap, water, and occasional sacrifice of vegetable fat. Any way you look at it, the thing’s non-stick worked better on its’ first use than any other pan of its’ type I’ve ever seen. We’ll see if it maintains standards over time.
Resuming the main line, post-picnic we went to see ‘Persepolis’ at the cheap seats. It was amazing. Made me almost wish we’d paid ten bucks each to see it at the “Sundance Theatre,” which is slowly driving all the other art-house cinemas in town out of business with its’ middle-age friendly bland gourmet food and hoity-toity suburbanite atmosphere. Finally, O. had his kind of snippy day, and, since I’ve been generally oversensitive and aggressive lately (must be my period), I took it kind of hard. I made mini-pork and beef burgers with pine nuts spiced like kibbeh, accompanied by fresh corn on the cob with olive oil and a small tomato salad. We did drinks and hang-out with Basso, and watched ‘Reno: 911 Miami,’ a good-time romp, and nice counterpoint to ‘Persepolis’ earlier. There was no sex, which was OK, as O. and I got our Kumbay-ya-ya’s out and needed some juice with which to seal the breach. Though I slept like the dead, I’m pretty sure that Orpheus didn’t last night. Which is too bad. He starts working a lot more than normal, this week, and should probably be rested.
Tonight we have off, as he works late, then goes straight to play practice. His auditions went well, indeed, and he was cast as the inventor and murder victim in a two-man gay short. Afterwards, they’re all going out drinking, which has me a little miffed… I mean, Cinco de Mayo all by myself? He tries pulling that on the 4th of July, and I’m-a gonna stick him! ;-) Just kidding! Anyway, wish me luck, and have a great night, yourselves.
Resuming the main line, post-picnic we went to see ‘Persepolis’ at the cheap seats. It was amazing. Made me almost wish we’d paid ten bucks each to see it at the “Sundance Theatre,” which is slowly driving all the other art-house cinemas in town out of business with its’ middle-age friendly bland gourmet food and hoity-toity suburbanite atmosphere. Finally, O. had his kind of snippy day, and, since I’ve been generally oversensitive and aggressive lately (must be my period), I took it kind of hard. I made mini-pork and beef burgers with pine nuts spiced like kibbeh, accompanied by fresh corn on the cob with olive oil and a small tomato salad. We did drinks and hang-out with Basso, and watched ‘Reno: 911 Miami,’ a good-time romp, and nice counterpoint to ‘Persepolis’ earlier. There was no sex, which was OK, as O. and I got our Kumbay-ya-ya’s out and needed some juice with which to seal the breach. Though I slept like the dead, I’m pretty sure that Orpheus didn’t last night. Which is too bad. He starts working a lot more than normal, this week, and should probably be rested.
Tonight we have off, as he works late, then goes straight to play practice. His auditions went well, indeed, and he was cast as the inventor and murder victim in a two-man gay short. Afterwards, they’re all going out drinking, which has me a little miffed… I mean, Cinco de Mayo all by myself? He tries pulling that on the 4th of July, and I’m-a gonna stick him! ;-) Just kidding! Anyway, wish me luck, and have a great night, yourselves.
Friday, May 2, 2008
Porco (p)Roso
Yesterday revolved around three themes. The first was my obsessive-compulsive e-mail conversation with this lovely man (who never, ever co-occupies the same time-space coordinates with the guy who, oddly, writes the blog appended to Mr. D’s site). It was in regards to some really neat material he wrote about the process of readying his new book, Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever, for publication. Unfortunately, not being publication-minded myself, I don’t think I gave him the kind of feedback he wanted. But I’m definitely far more excited to buy his book than I was before (which is saying something)! While doing personal essays, he really reminds me of a super-energetic David Sedaris, but far more engaged, witty and urbane. Where Sedaris kind of turns inward at every opportunity, Joel seems endlessly to pour effort outward. The way he uses language is very musical, with closely-considered sentences reminiscent of The Picture of Dorian Grey, but lacking the museum-piece, Tiffany-stained-glass quality of Wilde’s stately-pleasure-dome grammary. In essence, we’re talking vital beauty.
After work, I returned home, where Orpheus eagerly awaited my presence. I chose to do my culinary experimentation with pork loin chops, pancetta and sweet peppers in a prosecco sauce last night. I have one word for you… Success!!! Well, mostly. First off, I’m going to make damned sure that the prosecco I get next time is less dry. Secondly, LESS PANCETTA!!! It tasted like I’d buried the pork in salt for a good month before cooking it. (Yes, I’m given to hyperbole. Roll with it!) Next on the list are the shallots. They’ll be very finely minced next time so that they’ll just melt in the sauce. The peppers will be added later in cooking so that they’re still semi-crisp, and I’ll be using the LOWEST SODIUM chicken stock I can find. I think the neatest thing about the dish, which I initially considered disastrous, was that the broth stubbornly refused to reduce to the consistency of a sauce, even with cornstarch, and instead remained a fragrant soup-consistency. Turns out, it was very attractive pooling that way, and it was also F-ING DELICIOUS to sop up with bread.
The process was simple… I salted and peppered the pork, slapped a piece of pancetta on each face, fried for four minutes/side in grape seed oil, removed from heat, drained pan of most accumulated fat, then quickly sautéed my peppers and shallots. After this, I deglazed with a cup or so of prosecco, put in a cup of chicken broth, added 2 chopped grape tomatoes, a sprig of fresh rosemary, and three sprigs of thyme, put the pork back in, and placed in the oven for 10 min. at 350, covered. I then removed the pork and solid vegetable matter to cook down the stock, which took a little too long, leaving the pork a bit chilled when served. Overall, though, not bad. And the flavor was phenomenal. Both Terra Firma and Sister walked in half-way through the process of making the dish, so I offered them half-portions of the extra chop I cooked, and both of them were enthusiastic about the dish’s future, as was the always-appreciative O.
Finally, when we got downtown, had a little 30-Rock under our belts, and were nice and relaxed, the third obsessive activity took place. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Mmmm. There’s nothing better than clearing out the mental cobwebs with a mind-blowing fuck. Too bad it got warm enough last night to disturb my sleep, otherwise I’d say today is the perfect Friday. Anyway, that’s it for now. Happy belated May Day, ya’ll! And, if you have a favorite recipe, please e-mail me. I’d love to try.
After work, I returned home, where Orpheus eagerly awaited my presence. I chose to do my culinary experimentation with pork loin chops, pancetta and sweet peppers in a prosecco sauce last night. I have one word for you… Success!!! Well, mostly. First off, I’m going to make damned sure that the prosecco I get next time is less dry. Secondly, LESS PANCETTA!!! It tasted like I’d buried the pork in salt for a good month before cooking it. (Yes, I’m given to hyperbole. Roll with it!) Next on the list are the shallots. They’ll be very finely minced next time so that they’ll just melt in the sauce. The peppers will be added later in cooking so that they’re still semi-crisp, and I’ll be using the LOWEST SODIUM chicken stock I can find. I think the neatest thing about the dish, which I initially considered disastrous, was that the broth stubbornly refused to reduce to the consistency of a sauce, even with cornstarch, and instead remained a fragrant soup-consistency. Turns out, it was very attractive pooling that way, and it was also F-ING DELICIOUS to sop up with bread.
The process was simple… I salted and peppered the pork, slapped a piece of pancetta on each face, fried for four minutes/side in grape seed oil, removed from heat, drained pan of most accumulated fat, then quickly sautéed my peppers and shallots. After this, I deglazed with a cup or so of prosecco, put in a cup of chicken broth, added 2 chopped grape tomatoes, a sprig of fresh rosemary, and three sprigs of thyme, put the pork back in, and placed in the oven for 10 min. at 350, covered. I then removed the pork and solid vegetable matter to cook down the stock, which took a little too long, leaving the pork a bit chilled when served. Overall, though, not bad. And the flavor was phenomenal. Both Terra Firma and Sister walked in half-way through the process of making the dish, so I offered them half-portions of the extra chop I cooked, and both of them were enthusiastic about the dish’s future, as was the always-appreciative O.
Finally, when we got downtown, had a little 30-Rock under our belts, and were nice and relaxed, the third obsessive activity took place. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Mmmm. There’s nothing better than clearing out the mental cobwebs with a mind-blowing fuck. Too bad it got warm enough last night to disturb my sleep, otherwise I’d say today is the perfect Friday. Anyway, that’s it for now. Happy belated May Day, ya’ll! And, if you have a favorite recipe, please e-mail me. I’d love to try.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Boy, howdy did last night suck…
Finishing work yesterday was difficult. Getting out was not fun, and I decided to stop at the grocery store before going home, so that I could just settle in and get shitfaced while prepping dip and Japanese Steakhouse dressing for a salad day we had at work today. Just to let you know what kind of night it was, I also picked up a fifth of Jameson. I bitched at Orpheus online for a little while, was frankly cruel to horny old men in a few chatrooms, and finally got to cooking around 8 PM. The eggplant I put into my roasted red pepper dip was a little too large, leaving me with enough to base a sauce for the chicken breast I’d picked up, so I sautéed onion and garlic with my chicken, deglazed the pan with lemon juice and dry vermouth, then added the eggplant for a simmer-sauce reduction. I’d baked a sweet potato for oven-roasted mash, and had everything set to go, when disaster struck…
I had just brought the steaming plate back into my room to eat, and placed it kind of half on, half off my desk (because of the piles of shit already occupying said space), and half-way through the first cut into my delicious-smelling chicken, the plate overturned onto the floor. It was a disgusting mess. I just drank more instead of dinner, went to bed early, and had a crappy night’s sleep. I think, all told, I slept two hours last night in real time. Plus, I got so hot that the bed was a swampy, sweaty mess in the morning. I had to get up early and do laundry. Meh! Hopefully, tonight will be better.
Today at work was actually OK. I didn’t have as much trouble staying awake as usual, and the salad day was quite nice. My sales were up relative to the last couple days, and that was nice, too. Hopefully, O.’s day didn’t suck, and he’ll be ok with watching my pathetic ass nap for an hour before I start in on dinner. If not, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a big grumpus stumpus. Hell, at least the movie on tonight’s docket is Baseketball. That oughtta liven our shit up.
I had just brought the steaming plate back into my room to eat, and placed it kind of half on, half off my desk (because of the piles of shit already occupying said space), and half-way through the first cut into my delicious-smelling chicken, the plate overturned onto the floor. It was a disgusting mess. I just drank more instead of dinner, went to bed early, and had a crappy night’s sleep. I think, all told, I slept two hours last night in real time. Plus, I got so hot that the bed was a swampy, sweaty mess in the morning. I had to get up early and do laundry. Meh! Hopefully, tonight will be better.
Today at work was actually OK. I didn’t have as much trouble staying awake as usual, and the salad day was quite nice. My sales were up relative to the last couple days, and that was nice, too. Hopefully, O.’s day didn’t suck, and he’ll be ok with watching my pathetic ass nap for an hour before I start in on dinner. If not, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a big grumpus stumpus. Hell, at least the movie on tonight’s docket is Baseketball. That oughtta liven our shit up.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
So tired… So very, very tired…
OK. I remember, once in a great while, my parents coming home and putting and end to whatever noisy activities my sister and I were performing at the time… Practicing instruments, vocal rehearsal, playing “new-fangled music” while we attempted our more boring homework, what have you. It all had to stop and wait for a sullen Mom and Dad to decompress from a shitty day by yelling at the kids to clean up after themselves for a few minutes, strap on a book for a spare hour, then make dinner or do housework over a slightly too stiff drink. This was a rare occurrence, admittedly. Unfortunately, this situation describes my activities every day when I get off work. Unlike my parents, I have nobody to yell at but my cat and my boyfriend, neither of whom can be blamed for their lack of domestic derring-do (I mean, one doesn’t have opposable thumbs or understand English, and the other doesn’t live with me), nor their inability to put up with my perpetual ill-temper.
I guess you could say that my current bout of prissiness re: the job has been spurred by my friend out in Minneapolis, who just up and quit his job one day while going through his yearly review. They loved him, mind you, but the work was driving him insane with the hours and the requirements of running a tight ship of a hotel in a ghettofied suburb of St. Paul. The HR regional VP asked him if he was happy in his job, and his response was, “No. I’d like to make this my official one-month notice.” Balls. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a new job yet, and he’s down to two weeks before he starts dipping into savings. Savings, I don’t have, more’s the pity. Also, I have less marketable skills than he. Oddly, as hard as I’ve worked to make a living, I also lack the work ethic to do what I see other people do willingly every day to survive. Or, perhaps I just haven’t found work yet that I can love. I love the people I work with, but without love of the work, it’s just not enough.
I want to be that lighting designer from last Saturday… I want to be an artist who can wax rhapsodic on what he does. I’d like to bring the love and energy of positive exhaustion into my life in every aspect. Quixotically, this seems to be the hardest thing in the world to do for people without business degrees. Folks who know HOW to shoot the system do well, greyly, while the rest of us founder, or flail about until we figure out how to be just the slightest bit less bohemian. It’s no wonder most aspiring authors become soulless contract lawyers. They’re sick of starving, and want to be able to afford the meds that will put an end to sleepless nights spent wondering whether they’ll be able to afford to eat tomorrow. Fishing-pole, indeed. Somehow, I don’t think a BA/BS in business (B[ull]S[hit] being the preferred term, in my mind, for any undergraduate “science” degree,) should be a prerequisite for happiness. I don’t claim to be an artist. At this point, I’d just settle for being left alone.
I guess you could say that my current bout of prissiness re: the job has been spurred by my friend out in Minneapolis, who just up and quit his job one day while going through his yearly review. They loved him, mind you, but the work was driving him insane with the hours and the requirements of running a tight ship of a hotel in a ghettofied suburb of St. Paul. The HR regional VP asked him if he was happy in his job, and his response was, “No. I’d like to make this my official one-month notice.” Balls. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a new job yet, and he’s down to two weeks before he starts dipping into savings. Savings, I don’t have, more’s the pity. Also, I have less marketable skills than he. Oddly, as hard as I’ve worked to make a living, I also lack the work ethic to do what I see other people do willingly every day to survive. Or, perhaps I just haven’t found work yet that I can love. I love the people I work with, but without love of the work, it’s just not enough.
I want to be that lighting designer from last Saturday… I want to be an artist who can wax rhapsodic on what he does. I’d like to bring the love and energy of positive exhaustion into my life in every aspect. Quixotically, this seems to be the hardest thing in the world to do for people without business degrees. Folks who know HOW to shoot the system do well, greyly, while the rest of us founder, or flail about until we figure out how to be just the slightest bit less bohemian. It’s no wonder most aspiring authors become soulless contract lawyers. They’re sick of starving, and want to be able to afford the meds that will put an end to sleepless nights spent wondering whether they’ll be able to afford to eat tomorrow. Fishing-pole, indeed. Somehow, I don’t think a BA/BS in business (B[ull]S[hit] being the preferred term, in my mind, for any undergraduate “science” degree,) should be a prerequisite for happiness. I don’t claim to be an artist. At this point, I’d just settle for being left alone.
Monday, April 28, 2008
‘a’ is for Art with capital expenditures...
So, sorry about the two posts today. I realized, belatedly, that I hadn’t gotten to getting the previous bit on the web (as intended) by about 6:00 PM on the 25th. Therefore, it was on the web around 4:50 PM on 4/28. So, here’s the end to the story... Friday was a walking abortion, up to the point where we got into bed. Really, to “save gas,” I went downtown directly after work, even though O. was working until 8. There was a really fast walk-through of the super-expensive design-show-like gallery for free, as one of his co-workers nabbed a ticket for me when Orpheus wasn’t looking. When it was 7, a friend called, and reminded me that Leo, he of great annoyance to O., was having a goodbye charity drag show thrown by his frat for him. So, I got ready, returned Orpheus’ keys at the museum, and went. As failures (labeled A,) go, it was fun, but lasted WAY longer than advertised. Afterwards I was kinda crabby, O. was kinda crabby, and agitated as fuck with the dumb shit that goes on during fundraisers at work. We ate out at Denny’s, where there was a teen male youth group seated quite close to us (Failures B and C, respectively), and then we came back to my place, where there was some transcendent sex, thank god (you know, the one that lives in Orpheus’ dick). Thus, we at least both slept decently.
Saturday started out well, with a nice version of my american potatoes for breakfast, and french scrambled eggs with bacon, yellow pepper and shallots, all prepared in a similar manner to last week’s rendition of the same, albeit without the chicken stock in the potatoes. Then, we went back downtown, and O. went to work. On the way, I was to pick up BakedAlaska, who, half-way to his place phoned to tell me that QuakerNoOats was horribly sick, so he couldn’t make gaming. Once I’d dropped Orpheus off, and picked up Bulgaria, who had asked for a ride, we arrived at gaming, only to find that we hadn’t made group quorum... Leo was sick post-drag-show, and didn’t show up. This meant that we spent the afternoon playing board games, which in and of itself wasn’t bad. It’s nice to have contact with one’s friends that doesn’t involve loudly invoking the names of (fictional) gods who sound silly and are absurdly single-purpose. (I mean, monotheism gets SOME things right. Sadly, I prefer religious Swiss-army-ism in this regard, even if I do find all ‘gods’ similarly fictional in feel.) Afterwards, O. and I had an odd night together at his place (and several bars,) involving Basso, who’d just had his bag stolen. Admittedly, I and I was rather out of it, and a bit spacey, as well as horny as hell. Basso, though he wasn’t feeling the love enough to get pounded, was more than happy to watch us have sex. Kind of fun, but I’d have rather been a good boy. We went to bed fairly quickly after dropping B. off.
Sunday just plain sucked, with two provisos. Orpheus had to work early, and I was stuck at his place by myself... Worse yet, I forgot to brew coffee, which would probably explain my overarching grumpiness well into last night. Proviso one was that I found a site where I can stream episodes of Top Chef: Season IV. I will not share the name of said site, because I want to continue to find said episodes there! For this, I apologize. Secondly, I went to a really neat symposium session on lighting artwork at the benefit. The guy talked like the Sicilian thief from ‘The Princess Bride’, which was wonderful. Plus, he was so passionate about his work... I couldn’t help but think that I’d love working if I could just be as excited about the things I do as he is about his work. Well, that and his clients include some of the richest people in the US, and half the huge industrial concerns in a four-state spread, so business has to be booming. Yes, monetary success would sit well, too. Anyway, he was very amusing. After O. finished work, I was still crabby, but made a neat little dish with chicken breasts, leftover Rose (fucking accent marks!) and prosciutto from our excursion to the House on the Rock, and a little vegetable broth, shallot, Italian seasonings, etc. It was actually pretty nice! I think, though, that I’ll try the treatment down the road with pork loin chops and prosecco or a sweet rose, if such I can find, and call the dish “Porco (p)Roso,” both in honor of the movie, and because it’s fucking cute. Besides which, I think the idea of “Porc au Vin is kinda funny. and neat... However, one must find a way to rid oneself of the dreaded bay leaf without ruining the dish! I left last night, as I hadn’t taken good care of my kitty, and so spent last night alone, cold, and masturbating my brains out through my ears. Le-sigh!
Saturday started out well, with a nice version of my american potatoes for breakfast, and french scrambled eggs with bacon, yellow pepper and shallots, all prepared in a similar manner to last week’s rendition of the same, albeit without the chicken stock in the potatoes. Then, we went back downtown, and O. went to work. On the way, I was to pick up BakedAlaska, who, half-way to his place phoned to tell me that QuakerNoOats was horribly sick, so he couldn’t make gaming. Once I’d dropped Orpheus off, and picked up Bulgaria, who had asked for a ride, we arrived at gaming, only to find that we hadn’t made group quorum... Leo was sick post-drag-show, and didn’t show up. This meant that we spent the afternoon playing board games, which in and of itself wasn’t bad. It’s nice to have contact with one’s friends that doesn’t involve loudly invoking the names of (fictional) gods who sound silly and are absurdly single-purpose. (I mean, monotheism gets SOME things right. Sadly, I prefer religious Swiss-army-ism in this regard, even if I do find all ‘gods’ similarly fictional in feel.) Afterwards, O. and I had an odd night together at his place (and several bars,) involving Basso, who’d just had his bag stolen. Admittedly, I and I was rather out of it, and a bit spacey, as well as horny as hell. Basso, though he wasn’t feeling the love enough to get pounded, was more than happy to watch us have sex. Kind of fun, but I’d have rather been a good boy. We went to bed fairly quickly after dropping B. off.
Sunday just plain sucked, with two provisos. Orpheus had to work early, and I was stuck at his place by myself... Worse yet, I forgot to brew coffee, which would probably explain my overarching grumpiness well into last night. Proviso one was that I found a site where I can stream episodes of Top Chef: Season IV. I will not share the name of said site, because I want to continue to find said episodes there! For this, I apologize. Secondly, I went to a really neat symposium session on lighting artwork at the benefit. The guy talked like the Sicilian thief from ‘The Princess Bride’, which was wonderful. Plus, he was so passionate about his work... I couldn’t help but think that I’d love working if I could just be as excited about the things I do as he is about his work. Well, that and his clients include some of the richest people in the US, and half the huge industrial concerns in a four-state spread, so business has to be booming. Yes, monetary success would sit well, too. Anyway, he was very amusing. After O. finished work, I was still crabby, but made a neat little dish with chicken breasts, leftover Rose (fucking accent marks!) and prosciutto from our excursion to the House on the Rock, and a little vegetable broth, shallot, Italian seasonings, etc. It was actually pretty nice! I think, though, that I’ll try the treatment down the road with pork loin chops and prosecco or a sweet rose, if such I can find, and call the dish “Porco (p)Roso,” both in honor of the movie, and because it’s fucking cute. Besides which, I think the idea of “Porc au Vin is kinda funny. and neat... However, one must find a way to rid oneself of the dreaded bay leaf without ruining the dish! I left last night, as I hadn’t taken good care of my kitty, and so spent last night alone, cold, and masturbating my brains out through my ears. Le-sigh!
Cleaning up the word vomit… (Meant to be posted on Friday)
Apparently, holding back the flow of words from my fingers for nearly a solid week makes me an incoherently gibbering boob, if yesterday's post is any indicator. Hope you liked the pictures, as there will never be any more such images taken, more's the pity. They've closed that staircase behind the carousel permanently… Dumb senior discount tours and handicappers… Grr. Anyway, there was a third person on the tour with Orpheus and I, and it was Aphrodite, who is still, annoyingly, with BF. Apparently, all is going well between them at the moment, and they got a dog together. The dog is named Mosseda. Yes, Mosseda. Apparently, BF is attempting to build his domestic fortress around an unstable, frankly unhappy relationship by binding ties such as this "family building" exercise, in which Aphrodite raises a dog, and BF gets to baby it. If she finishes converting, it'll be complete, and even marching the ark around the walls ten times for a week won't bring such a façade down.
In any case, we were free of BF, so everything was quite fine. Though, in retrospect, we were just as quick touring as we were with our picnic. Each thing we did took about one to one and a half hours.
Picnic – Tour I – Tour II. It was a fun day, albeit a little mechanical, probably because it was a repeat experience for O. and I. However, the ongoing conversation was rather fun, and being as loopy as I was on that much Rose, there were quite a few fun pictures! I accidentally stumbled onto a gold-mine of settings on my camera that made images which shouldn't have turned out crystal-clear… Including the one of me kinda blowing a wooden Dumbledore-like character's outstretched wand. What can I say? It was a celebratory picture.
Yesterday, both Orpheus and I were quite cross to start. He got better faster than I. My mood, of course, plummeted when 'The Office' came on, so O. sent me to the liquor store to stock up so I could skip the episode. When I came back, I had enough Japanese-style lagers to get a football player drunk, and kind of made a night of it. He hated, for once, the Office, saying that the episode was a waste of his time. 30-Rock, on the other hand, was the bomb-diggity. I mean, wow… Business Juice? I think I’m going to have to get so ‘juiced’ over a work lunch sometime that I get business sick on my crappy, no-vent Perry Ellis suit.
Either way, interesting weekend on the way, or not… The MMoCA (Madison Museum of Contemporary Art) is throwing a design symposium as a fundraiser, so rich/old people can pay $15/ticket to see a brace of rooms set up around pieces from the museum’s permanent collection, including a set of Warhol prints of whacky US dollar signs. More later…
In any case, we were free of BF, so everything was quite fine. Though, in retrospect, we were just as quick touring as we were with our picnic. Each thing we did took about one to one and a half hours.
Picnic – Tour I – Tour II. It was a fun day, albeit a little mechanical, probably because it was a repeat experience for O. and I. However, the ongoing conversation was rather fun, and being as loopy as I was on that much Rose, there were quite a few fun pictures! I accidentally stumbled onto a gold-mine of settings on my camera that made images which shouldn't have turned out crystal-clear… Including the one of me kinda blowing a wooden Dumbledore-like character's outstretched wand. What can I say? It was a celebratory picture.
Yesterday, both Orpheus and I were quite cross to start. He got better faster than I. My mood, of course, plummeted when 'The Office' came on, so O. sent me to the liquor store to stock up so I could skip the episode. When I came back, I had enough Japanese-style lagers to get a football player drunk, and kind of made a night of it. He hated, for once, the Office, saying that the episode was a waste of his time. 30-Rock, on the other hand, was the bomb-diggity. I mean, wow… Business Juice? I think I’m going to have to get so ‘juiced’ over a work lunch sometime that I get business sick on my crappy, no-vent Perry Ellis suit.
Either way, interesting weekend on the way, or not… The MMoCA (Madison Museum of Contemporary Art) is throwing a design symposium as a fundraiser, so rich/old people can pay $15/ticket to see a brace of rooms set up around pieces from the museum’s permanent collection, including a set of Warhol prints of whacky US dollar signs. More later…
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Weekends should all be four days long…
I'm now 28. I took plenty of time off from blogging (not to mention
work), and now figure that I owe you folks (if you actually exist… I
wouldn't know, as nobody every leaves comments,) a little something in
recompense. First off, I'm really f-ing glad I didn't make a huge
deal out of my birthday this year. Last year's hour of awkward
conversation with Dungeon Master (the only person other than Orpheus
to show up near on-time,) was a little much… As was having to hear O.
complain re: my friend who is also a Leo and was kinda
mean/opinionated/leonine in a conversation they had about sexuality.
So, this year, I just dominated Orphheus' time over the course of a
four-day weekend.
I haven't felt like cooking for awhile, oddly… I think it has
something to do with just being off on the Coq au Vin last week, for
starters, and partially because I'm kind of stuck in a flavor rut
that's only beginning to break a touch. This weekend, most of what I
did was traditional breakfast fare, pan-fried and oven-finished
breakfast potatoes "importencias," as I made them all fancy-like with
fresh thyme and bay leaf, and the boiling liquid was chicken stock and
dry vermouth. Since I had bad bacon, I just cooked the lean with a
tiny portion of the fat in a spray of grapeseed oil, and used the
remnants thereof to sauté the shallots and green peppers for the eggs.
I then turned down the heat, put the finely chopped bacon back into
the skillet, and added the eggs. Fortunately there was raclette on
hand, so the eggs tasted like dying and going to heaven. Other than
that, we ate out a lot, and had a really fun time dressing up some
Tino's frozen burritos for dinner on Sunday, served with oven-fried
potato wedges. It was delightful!
On Monday, my birthday was capped off quite nicely. O. and I had a
beautiful doink in the morning, very experimental. I ended up doing
him on an exercise ball, which seemed to ignite a certain fire
heretofore unknown. Very interesting, to say the least! We went
downtown, and while Orpheus worked for a couple hours, I went to the
bar that lets you drink tap beers free all day/night on your birthday,
in your own personal 8-oz. birthday stein. It was fun, as I struck up
a neat mid-day conversation with the house manager (a real hottie –
don't tell O., though, as it tends to upset him when I check out
girls). Later, when Orpheus was done with work, we got gussied up and
went to the New Pornographers' show, which was an awesome concert…
They're a second band project, so I was very surprised to see them
pull out quite a few reinterpretations of their old music. There
wasn't as much witty banter on stage this time around, and I literally
slept through most of their opening act, but they did their job… That
band's high-energy, low-skill flailings in skinny suits that they were
slightly too fat (and too old) for got everybody jazzed up, but hungry
for substance. The New Pornographers supplied.
Before the concert, as a side-note, O. and I had the most lovely
dinner at the Tornado Steak House, the restaurant attached to one of
our fav. bars, The Tornado Room. It was pretty quick, but I had a
beautiful petit fillet done medium-rare, accompanied by a neat little
Argentinean Malbec. There was no time for dessert, but it didn't
matter. The meal was simple and brilliant, and our lesbian waitress
was both perfectly professional (read – didn't look down at us because
we were dressed for a concert in an old hall with a bunch of fudging
hippie-sters), and a real laugh-riot. She also got that we had to be
quick, and was instrumental in fighting our orders to the top of the
queue in the kitchen. It was an excellent experience.
On Tuesday, I got up super-early, baked a quiche with broccoli, yellow
pepper, onion, shallot, gruyere, raclette and sharp cheddar, put
together the fundaments of a salad that we tossed on-site (prcciutto,
fresh mozz balls, figs, pistachios and baby arrugula with a balsamic
vinegar and olive oil dressing, and my roast pepper dip. We had
store-bought cookies for dessert, and the liquid accompaniment was a
beautiful French Rose (would you happen to have a grave laying
around?). The House on the Rock, which we experienced after eating
our picnic, has been slightly diminished by the decision to make it
more handicap accessible. One misses out on the winding, odd routings
through buildings more slap-dash storage than museum
presentation-quality. The most cruelly felt change was the new exit
from the world's largest carousel, which used to be a narrow staircase
that climbed around the side of the spinning monstrosity, then entered
a narrow, hot, dark, close hallway into which was carved a six-foot
rectangular window. Through this window, the steel-cable suspension
holding the carousel's canopy up could be seen, spinning slowly around
the central spindle, bathed in light from a heat vent in the side of
the wall. The pictures I took served as my desktop background for
some months last year, until I took better ones of some mercury glass
at the Milwaukee Museum of Art. You can see my favorite 2 above.
Yesterday was the day I actually meant to post this, but I lost all will to survive after work let out, and so I went to bed. I woke up around midnight, then went to sleep again around 12:30. I slept all night with earplugs in, then went to work... Tired. How does it always work out that way? I GOT ENOUGH SLEEP FOR ONCE!!! Sometimes, I just hate being human. Anyway, have a great evening. I promise I'll be writing more next week... And thank you for the comment, fellow blogger (you know who you are)!!! I'm glad to see that I am actually read. ;-)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Dinnertime exploits
It’s gorgeous outside. 55F, the world’s most perfect temperature… Tonight, instead of getting outside and enjoying nature, I’m cooking for my friend R., who I mentioned last week. It’ll be about two hours of cooking, drinking, and various other non-sexual activities. Thank god for straight friends! The only problem I’m having is coming up with something for him to do while I’m slaving over dinner/drinks! I fear that the poor dear will be bored mindless whilst I cook. Oh, well. He isn’t a “compleat” slouch in the kitchen, but he’s not good, either (read “compleat” as better around a campfire or in a poorly-built hearth). Ends up eating organic frozen pizza most nights. Meh. Sea salt is still sodium, no matter how many brine shrimp it has making it pink.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Where hast thou gone, O weekend fair?
Lately, I feel like Prospero’s daughter, waiting for a gentleman to end her solitude… The difference is, I wear no dresses (except on Halloween), I’m just here for a brain, not a prince ( I was simply lucky and got both), and I’m really just pinning for the weekend. Two days here and there, delightful in their freedom, fleeting and precious, then gone like a sweet albeit ill-advised tryst. Of course, had I my way, every day would be a weekend, and then what would we do about an economy in general? I have my guy already, but maybe we need a sugar-daddy or something. A freaky-deaky voyeur who gets his jollies off watching a couple fuck each other like minions, then gives out fat sheaves of cash for the privilege. And health benefits. And unsupervised Continental vacation time. Did I mention pension and/or 401K?... Hot.
Friday started off just wrong. Our plans with Basso were snafued, and by the time I got downtown, I’d been through the ringer driving-wise already, and just wanted a nap. I got it, and O. brought B. back to his place after he got a bite to eat. We watched some TV, then we fucked. Saturday, we got together and saw a production of Female Stage Beauty, after I’d roleplayed (again, TABLE-TOP with dice, not whips and chains). It was nice! B. ended up sleeping over at my apartment afterwards, and we had a good deal of experimental sex on Sunday morning. We tried that guy on guy on guy thing, and it turns out that it doesn’t work so well outside of porno… At least not the way we tried it. Eventually, Basso’d had enough pounding, so we just gave him a show. Orpheus fucked me for awhile, on my front, back, legs in the air, edge of the bed, all that good stuff. For effect I moaned a lot while staring constantly at Basso. Let’s just say that, mild artifice aside, everybody was ggg, and B. came about three times as quickly as O. did, leaving me as the final star of the morning. We then cleaned up, got dressed, and took a trip to the zoo. We wanted very much to beat other people’s children.
Last night, I did taxes, and ended up with a shitty return. Still, though, a return it was, so I’ve got that going for me. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough left to pay for the flying/driving/living/clothing expenses for the two weddings I’m in this summer, let alone a 6-qt. All-Clad sauté pan, more’s the pity. I was really counting on an overage. Good thing that damned rebate is coming in the form of “economic stimulus.” So stupid. If we had a responsible administration, it’d just be going to people who didn’t have enough cash to pay an accountant to help them cheat on their taxes. I made less money last year than in 2006, and ended up paying more to the government. Since when has that been OK? And I even bloody well had a huge charitable contribution this year! This is TOTALLY f-ed up.
Friday started off just wrong. Our plans with Basso were snafued, and by the time I got downtown, I’d been through the ringer driving-wise already, and just wanted a nap. I got it, and O. brought B. back to his place after he got a bite to eat. We watched some TV, then we fucked. Saturday, we got together and saw a production of Female Stage Beauty, after I’d roleplayed (again, TABLE-TOP with dice, not whips and chains). It was nice! B. ended up sleeping over at my apartment afterwards, and we had a good deal of experimental sex on Sunday morning. We tried that guy on guy on guy thing, and it turns out that it doesn’t work so well outside of porno… At least not the way we tried it. Eventually, Basso’d had enough pounding, so we just gave him a show. Orpheus fucked me for awhile, on my front, back, legs in the air, edge of the bed, all that good stuff. For effect I moaned a lot while staring constantly at Basso. Let’s just say that, mild artifice aside, everybody was ggg, and B. came about three times as quickly as O. did, leaving me as the final star of the morning. We then cleaned up, got dressed, and took a trip to the zoo. We wanted very much to beat other people’s children.
Last night, I did taxes, and ended up with a shitty return. Still, though, a return it was, so I’ve got that going for me. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough left to pay for the flying/driving/living/clothing expenses for the two weddings I’m in this summer, let alone a 6-qt. All-Clad sauté pan, more’s the pity. I was really counting on an overage. Good thing that damned rebate is coming in the form of “economic stimulus.” So stupid. If we had a responsible administration, it’d just be going to people who didn’t have enough cash to pay an accountant to help them cheat on their taxes. I made less money last year than in 2006, and ended up paying more to the government. Since when has that been OK? And I even bloody well had a huge charitable contribution this year! This is TOTALLY f-ed up.
Friday, April 11, 2008
TGI f-ing F
Two days of rain and bone-gnawing cold has me a little down. I’m usually OK with the cold, but this winter has been punishing at the end… It’s been a bad year for health, but a good one for my sanity. A good year for my bank account. A good year for my kitchen and my soul, too, one hopes. Any way you look at it, good outweighs the bad this time through.
Last night was nice. Orpheus and I hung out at his place, after I’d half-cooked dinner at mine. It was a more fully realized version of the dish I made for BakedAlaska, QuakerNoOats and EvilGenius, their daughter. It was also a little more standard for me. I used shallots, black walnuts, cherries and cranberries for the glaze and the stuffing. Pretty much, I butchered, stuffed, tied and browned the tenderloin at my place, then popped it in my small enameled casserole, glazed it, transported it to O.’s place, and roasted it there. Other than a positively horrid wine selection (a Spanish white that was rather too dry for pork, ESPECIALLY pork with a bittersweet cherry glaze), all was well. We watched South Park online, then had some very nice sweaty time sans-pen.
Tomorrow, I roleplay again, and we’ll be seeing a play later that night, for free, thanks to Basso. Afterwards, there should be plenty of time to sweat, and much of it screwing, too, one hopes. That will be followed, finally, by a trip to the zoo on Sunday morning, if it’s not freezing and wet by then. And if it is, then Sunday will likely be whiled away in bed, fucking like some sort of deranged rabbit. I love the weekend.
Last night was nice. Orpheus and I hung out at his place, after I’d half-cooked dinner at mine. It was a more fully realized version of the dish I made for BakedAlaska, QuakerNoOats and EvilGenius, their daughter. It was also a little more standard for me. I used shallots, black walnuts, cherries and cranberries for the glaze and the stuffing. Pretty much, I butchered, stuffed, tied and browned the tenderloin at my place, then popped it in my small enameled casserole, glazed it, transported it to O.’s place, and roasted it there. Other than a positively horrid wine selection (a Spanish white that was rather too dry for pork, ESPECIALLY pork with a bittersweet cherry glaze), all was well. We watched South Park online, then had some very nice sweaty time sans-pen.
Tomorrow, I roleplay again, and we’ll be seeing a play later that night, for free, thanks to Basso. Afterwards, there should be plenty of time to sweat, and much of it screwing, too, one hopes. That will be followed, finally, by a trip to the zoo on Sunday morning, if it’s not freezing and wet by then. And if it is, then Sunday will likely be whiled away in bed, fucking like some sort of deranged rabbit. I love the weekend.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Stupid Breeders...
Last night was pretty darned fun. I cooked chicken breasts in the leftover red wine/bacon soup disaster post coq au vin on Sunday. They were friggin’ amazing. And I was right in that the dish, with the sauce finished appropriately, actually goes better with my own mashed roasted sweet potatoes than with mashed russets, reds or Yukon golds. Orpheus contributed a beautiful little fresh spinach salad, and had made bisquick scones earlier in the day, which I covered in fresh strawberries in a honey sauce set off with a touch of pepper, salt, and peach schnapps. I like dating a man who doesn’t make a bloody mess of baking. God knows I do.
After a couple quick chores, and contacting a very old friend who I’m supposed to hang out with this week (and cook for… R. and his girlfriend just broke up, and he’s still paying for the apartment), O. and I headed downtown. We had to make a quick trip to Walgreens for lube, which he was fresh out of at his place, and it was pretty amusing. When we walked in, there was a really cute straight couple standing by the wall ‘o prophylactics timidly considering their options, caught like deer in headlights between two obvious fags and the Astroglide. Orpheus said he got full eye contact with the guy, while reaching past to the lube, and there was fear in his eyes… stupid breeder. Once we finally checked out, we’d also acquired three cans of Pringles, a box of Honey Bunches of Oats, and some bit of candy or some such. All I could think while we paid was “damn, it looks like we’re holing up for the night!” I mean, really! Enough carbs to get one to NYC and back, and lube in quantities sufficient for a small yet tasteful orgy. Funny, ‘cause we ended up going out.
We hit the Opus Lounge, which is quickly becoming our favorite bar. It was the site of the walking abortion of an evening with BF, Aphrodite’s cohabitator, tormenter, and now boss. The regular weeknight bartender (also the manager) was there, so we got excellent and familiar service with ongoing conversation continued from weeks before. Plus, we were there with friends who I hadn’t seen in awhile (and who O. and I had, by our phone call, rescued from such an ignominious fate as watching the final basketball game in the NCAA tournament), so all was right with the world. Since I’m flaking on him Wednesday with R., Orpheus and I will be hanging out tonight. This is just fine by me, as I totally want to use the lube we purchased at the price of a straight man’s dignity for its’ intended purpose… Easing the way.
After a couple quick chores, and contacting a very old friend who I’m supposed to hang out with this week (and cook for… R. and his girlfriend just broke up, and he’s still paying for the apartment), O. and I headed downtown. We had to make a quick trip to Walgreens for lube, which he was fresh out of at his place, and it was pretty amusing. When we walked in, there was a really cute straight couple standing by the wall ‘o prophylactics timidly considering their options, caught like deer in headlights between two obvious fags and the Astroglide. Orpheus said he got full eye contact with the guy, while reaching past to the lube, and there was fear in his eyes… stupid breeder. Once we finally checked out, we’d also acquired three cans of Pringles, a box of Honey Bunches of Oats, and some bit of candy or some such. All I could think while we paid was “damn, it looks like we’re holing up for the night!” I mean, really! Enough carbs to get one to NYC and back, and lube in quantities sufficient for a small yet tasteful orgy. Funny, ‘cause we ended up going out.
We hit the Opus Lounge, which is quickly becoming our favorite bar. It was the site of the walking abortion of an evening with BF, Aphrodite’s cohabitator, tormenter, and now boss. The regular weeknight bartender (also the manager) was there, so we got excellent and familiar service with ongoing conversation continued from weeks before. Plus, we were there with friends who I hadn’t seen in awhile (and who O. and I had, by our phone call, rescued from such an ignominious fate as watching the final basketball game in the NCAA tournament), so all was right with the world. Since I’m flaking on him Wednesday with R., Orpheus and I will be hanging out tonight. This is just fine by me, as I totally want to use the lube we purchased at the price of a straight man’s dignity for its’ intended purpose… Easing the way.
Monday, April 7, 2008
The best-laid plans of mice and men…
As you can tell from the title, this weekend didn’t look much at all like I’d envisioned it. Amorphous, in fact, doesn’t even begin to describe the feats of laziness involved in making things “work” in any sort of by-the-clock fashion. The only thing that Orpheus says that literally makes me set my teeth is “Let’s play it by ear.” This weekend was very much played by ear.
Friday night, we ended up unable to attend the Goldberg Variations, as said event was sold out. Therefore, we ended up having to ditch the Mac movie to do it on Sunday. We ended up spending Friday night downtown at O’s place, and he was kinda crabby. Crabby to the point that he snapped at me several times, and ended up taking a log shower, then a long walk by himself to maintain some semblance of humanity. (Note: I really wasn’t aware there was so much bitterness regarding this episode until the preceding slipped my fingers.) We didn’t end up seeing any movies at the film festival at all, and we couldn’t even really settle on anything to watch except a pretty lame-o Woody Allen film that only seemed to annoy O. more. The sleep was atrocious, and Orpheus was a touch crabby the next morning, too, mostly because he had to work wicked-early.
So, on Saturday morning, we got ourselves fed, and I had to drive to the other end of town to pick up a package that came early from Amazon.com containing two super-cool cookbooks. One was the Top Chef coffee-table cookbook, and coffee-table book or not, it has some kickin’ stuff going on. The other is the Culinary Institute of America’s intro textbook for professional chefs. It is full of some very basic teaching recipes for ten, and has great teaching sections re: kitchen tools, veggies, cuts of meat, culinary science, etc. It weighs more than my LeCreuset skillet, if that tells you anything. It’s “smashing.” ;-) After the post office, I picked up BakedAlaska, and went to roleplaying, where we got a ton of stuff done. Cunegonde, my dwarf, ended up hitting the proverbial jackpot after we “killed” a lich, and walked away with a magical library that includes every single spell in the players’ handbook. Dorkalicious, yes, but very sexy. Later on, after I’d dropped BakedAK off back at his apartment, Orpheus and I hung out with Basso. We went to a nice newer kind of a hippie bar on his side of town named “Alchemy” or some such, walked around a bit, and saw his place for the first time. We then did the Mercury Lounge downtown, which is his normal hangout. It was an OK night, I think we were all a little distracted. Fortunately, there was some really nice non-penetrative sex on Saturday night between just O. and I that left both of us smiling. Otherwise, I’d call the day a total loss relationship-wise.
Sunday was pretty chill. We rose quite late, and Orpheus was very helpful in terms of reminding me gently to do some stuff that just plain needed getting done. He was also very nice in terms of helping me with said tasks. We did a really big shopping trip to Woodman’s, the local super-duper mart, and on our way to the Goldberg Variations, checked out a wonderful little place called Brennan’s that BakedAK let me know about. When we cooked at their place last weekend, the loganberries in the freezer had been sourced from Brennan’s. O. and I were quite impressed. It’s a gourmet market with awesome produce, kickin’ cheese, decent wine, great meat and fish cases, and generally a beautiful atmosphere with helpful employees. From there, we got downtown absurdly early, and hung out at a little place across the street from the First Unitarian Society called “Booked for Murder.” They are a small local bookstore specializing in the sale of mystery novels. We ended up walking out with a couple books, one of which is a Patricia Bond novel. Patricia, apparently, is James Bond’s lesbian twin. I’m looking forward to that one.
The concert was awesome. The First Unitarian Society owns what is probably the nicest harpsichord in the state of Wisconsin. It isn’t actually a period instrument (I was horribly wrong on that point), but is, in fact, an artful copy of a French two-manual model built in the late 18th century. As such, it was one of the more complex examples of its’ type, and had quite a few neat bells and whistles, including four stops that could variously change the sound of the instrument. (Fortunately, it didn’t have one of those weird gliss-bars that let it almost sound like there is dynamic variation to the tone.) As such, it was certainly the most aurally varied performance of the Goldberg Variations I’ve ever heard on what was, apparently, the instrument for which they were written. I had a wonderful time, as it was an excellent performance, but the experience left O. a little cold. It also brought up a question that I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to… If old people are wont to nod off in the middle of eating, why the hell would they attend a two-hour concert of thematic variations on a single-line melody on what may be the world’s most tonally challenged keyboard instrument? If they were recording, and I think that they were, then the tape will have to be ruthlessly edited for old-man snoring.
Last night was very long, but neat. I cooked my ass off. I made Coq au Vin from the Top Chef cookbook… It didn’t quite work the way I wanted it to, as the sauce didn’t reduce properly without a little more chicken in the pan, etc… However, it worked well enough. I also made enough of my faux-Chinese chicken (also wine-boiled, but with “Chinese” spicing) to eat for lunch for a few days. That’s pretty much my weird-ass weekend in a bucket, except that I didn’t get laid at all! I’ll tell you what… O. spends every Monday at my place, and he’d better be showered and naked when I get back home, today… ;-)
Friday night, we ended up unable to attend the Goldberg Variations, as said event was sold out. Therefore, we ended up having to ditch the Mac movie to do it on Sunday. We ended up spending Friday night downtown at O’s place, and he was kinda crabby. Crabby to the point that he snapped at me several times, and ended up taking a log shower, then a long walk by himself to maintain some semblance of humanity. (Note: I really wasn’t aware there was so much bitterness regarding this episode until the preceding slipped my fingers.) We didn’t end up seeing any movies at the film festival at all, and we couldn’t even really settle on anything to watch except a pretty lame-o Woody Allen film that only seemed to annoy O. more. The sleep was atrocious, and Orpheus was a touch crabby the next morning, too, mostly because he had to work wicked-early.
So, on Saturday morning, we got ourselves fed, and I had to drive to the other end of town to pick up a package that came early from Amazon.com containing two super-cool cookbooks. One was the Top Chef coffee-table cookbook, and coffee-table book or not, it has some kickin’ stuff going on. The other is the Culinary Institute of America’s intro textbook for professional chefs. It is full of some very basic teaching recipes for ten, and has great teaching sections re: kitchen tools, veggies, cuts of meat, culinary science, etc. It weighs more than my LeCreuset skillet, if that tells you anything. It’s “smashing.” ;-) After the post office, I picked up BakedAlaska, and went to roleplaying, where we got a ton of stuff done. Cunegonde, my dwarf, ended up hitting the proverbial jackpot after we “killed” a lich, and walked away with a magical library that includes every single spell in the players’ handbook. Dorkalicious, yes, but very sexy. Later on, after I’d dropped BakedAK off back at his apartment, Orpheus and I hung out with Basso. We went to a nice newer kind of a hippie bar on his side of town named “Alchemy” or some such, walked around a bit, and saw his place for the first time. We then did the Mercury Lounge downtown, which is his normal hangout. It was an OK night, I think we were all a little distracted. Fortunately, there was some really nice non-penetrative sex on Saturday night between just O. and I that left both of us smiling. Otherwise, I’d call the day a total loss relationship-wise.
Sunday was pretty chill. We rose quite late, and Orpheus was very helpful in terms of reminding me gently to do some stuff that just plain needed getting done. He was also very nice in terms of helping me with said tasks. We did a really big shopping trip to Woodman’s, the local super-duper mart, and on our way to the Goldberg Variations, checked out a wonderful little place called Brennan’s that BakedAK let me know about. When we cooked at their place last weekend, the loganberries in the freezer had been sourced from Brennan’s. O. and I were quite impressed. It’s a gourmet market with awesome produce, kickin’ cheese, decent wine, great meat and fish cases, and generally a beautiful atmosphere with helpful employees. From there, we got downtown absurdly early, and hung out at a little place across the street from the First Unitarian Society called “Booked for Murder.” They are a small local bookstore specializing in the sale of mystery novels. We ended up walking out with a couple books, one of which is a Patricia Bond novel. Patricia, apparently, is James Bond’s lesbian twin. I’m looking forward to that one.
The concert was awesome. The First Unitarian Society owns what is probably the nicest harpsichord in the state of Wisconsin. It isn’t actually a period instrument (I was horribly wrong on that point), but is, in fact, an artful copy of a French two-manual model built in the late 18th century. As such, it was one of the more complex examples of its’ type, and had quite a few neat bells and whistles, including four stops that could variously change the sound of the instrument. (Fortunately, it didn’t have one of those weird gliss-bars that let it almost sound like there is dynamic variation to the tone.) As such, it was certainly the most aurally varied performance of the Goldberg Variations I’ve ever heard on what was, apparently, the instrument for which they were written. I had a wonderful time, as it was an excellent performance, but the experience left O. a little cold. It also brought up a question that I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to… If old people are wont to nod off in the middle of eating, why the hell would they attend a two-hour concert of thematic variations on a single-line melody on what may be the world’s most tonally challenged keyboard instrument? If they were recording, and I think that they were, then the tape will have to be ruthlessly edited for old-man snoring.
Last night was very long, but neat. I cooked my ass off. I made Coq au Vin from the Top Chef cookbook… It didn’t quite work the way I wanted it to, as the sauce didn’t reduce properly without a little more chicken in the pan, etc… However, it worked well enough. I also made enough of my faux-Chinese chicken (also wine-boiled, but with “Chinese” spicing) to eat for lunch for a few days. That’s pretty much my weird-ass weekend in a bucket, except that I didn’t get laid at all! I’ll tell you what… O. spends every Monday at my place, and he’d better be showered and naked when I get back home, today… ;-)
Friday, April 4, 2008
Autistic pursuits…
So, yesterday night turned out to be a mess of coincidences that have shaped this weekend into quite the looming, amorphous event! I’m shedding money like water doing it, but there’s a great deal going on in town, including the Goldberg Variations on a period harpsichord, the Wisconsin Film Festival, and roleplaying (remember, table-top with dice, you dirty bastards). Orpheus and I are going to make quite the trip through the proverbial artistic underworld of Madison. Underworld only because the weekend is so jam-packed, mind you, but still… Tonight, if O. can get the tickets in time, we’re headed to First Unitarian (for those of you not in Madison, it’s Frank Lloyd Wright’s home church. He designed and paid for the building pretty much himself,) for the Goldberg Variations, probably J.S. Bach’s most interesting work for Keyboard, which is saying a lot.
On harpsichord, this piece loses some of the intimacy, nuance, and playfulness of the Gould recordings, or any modern performance on piano, but gives the listener a great appreciation for why literature written for that now exotic instrument is so intricately figured. Namely, because if it weren’t, you’d be left waiting for dynamic variation only to find that the harpsichord isn’t capable of such in the least. At times, the music can sound like a wall of even-toned grace-notes, impenetrable to any but highly trained ears. Additionally, since these 30 gorgeous variations on a theme were written as the capstone of Bach’s highly demanding “Clavier exercises,” they are, needless to say, highly physically demanding for any keyboard performer. I’m very much looking forward to watching that *bitch sweat tonight. ;-)
On Saturday, we’ll be seeing as many art-house style flicks as we can fit in after I pretend to be a red-headed magical female nympho virgin dwarf for a few hours, and Orpheus works. The most amusing of the things he wants to see is a late show about dork-rappers, featuring M.C. Hawking, my fav. Physics-rapper. On Sunday, after visiting the zoo with Basso (if it’s not raining), we’re going to try to take in a documentary about Mac-heads, and anything else we have time for. Should be bracing!
Anyway, I should also let you know that both O. and I were very satisfied with the way things went last night, even down to the amount of cuddling after the earth-shattering, all-singing, all-dancing sex. The only things I’m a little sad about due to the weekend being so busy are 1) that we probably won’t be doing much doinking, 2) that I haven’t had the will or the time to cook for the last two nights running, and probably won’t for a couple more, and 3) that I don’t have the wherewithal to start an amateur string quartet called ‘The Screaming Orgasms’ that gives impromptu concerts in the park after getting past the awkward stage on a couple concerti.
UPDATE: This is the terrible part about writing these posts while waiting for people to answer the phone… It takes a really, really long time. Since I wrote the above, O. called and let me know that the Friday concert was sold out, so he got tickets to the Sunday afternoon show. Fortunately, we should still be able to squeeze in both the zoo, AND the mac-head movie, but the squeeze, as they say, shall be tight. So, tonight is freed up for walking around in the unexpected sunshine, cooking, and catching a few extra movies at the film festival, if there are tickets. See what I meant earlier about “amorphous?”
* bitch (Aeffchen’s personal definition) – Any PERSON who is flighty and out of control, and annoys the shit out of me, regardless of sex.
On harpsichord, this piece loses some of the intimacy, nuance, and playfulness of the Gould recordings, or any modern performance on piano, but gives the listener a great appreciation for why literature written for that now exotic instrument is so intricately figured. Namely, because if it weren’t, you’d be left waiting for dynamic variation only to find that the harpsichord isn’t capable of such in the least. At times, the music can sound like a wall of even-toned grace-notes, impenetrable to any but highly trained ears. Additionally, since these 30 gorgeous variations on a theme were written as the capstone of Bach’s highly demanding “Clavier exercises,” they are, needless to say, highly physically demanding for any keyboard performer. I’m very much looking forward to watching that *bitch sweat tonight. ;-)
On Saturday, we’ll be seeing as many art-house style flicks as we can fit in after I pretend to be a red-headed magical female nympho virgin dwarf for a few hours, and Orpheus works. The most amusing of the things he wants to see is a late show about dork-rappers, featuring M.C. Hawking, my fav. Physics-rapper. On Sunday, after visiting the zoo with Basso (if it’s not raining), we’re going to try to take in a documentary about Mac-heads, and anything else we have time for. Should be bracing!
Anyway, I should also let you know that both O. and I were very satisfied with the way things went last night, even down to the amount of cuddling after the earth-shattering, all-singing, all-dancing sex. The only things I’m a little sad about due to the weekend being so busy are 1) that we probably won’t be doing much doinking, 2) that I haven’t had the will or the time to cook for the last two nights running, and probably won’t for a couple more, and 3) that I don’t have the wherewithal to start an amateur string quartet called ‘The Screaming Orgasms’ that gives impromptu concerts in the park after getting past the awkward stage on a couple concerti.
UPDATE: This is the terrible part about writing these posts while waiting for people to answer the phone… It takes a really, really long time. Since I wrote the above, O. called and let me know that the Friday concert was sold out, so he got tickets to the Sunday afternoon show. Fortunately, we should still be able to squeeze in both the zoo, AND the mac-head movie, but the squeeze, as they say, shall be tight. So, tonight is freed up for walking around in the unexpected sunshine, cooking, and catching a few extra movies at the film festival, if there are tickets. See what I meant earlier about “amorphous?”
* bitch (Aeffchen’s personal definition) – Any PERSON who is flighty and out of control, and annoys the shit out of me, regardless of sex.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
On the Wings of a Threeway…
We had our second sexual encounter with Basso yesterday evening, and it was smashing. I haven’t gotten to fuck a man like that since I started dating Orpheus… He’s learning to take it, but it’s so very slow, and he’s very, well, tight. In fact, he feels tighter than a security lockdown at the White House (which helps a little in some ways), but loosening him up before he’s sore is very, very difficult. This probably has something to do with him being a sexual control freak, but that’s a story for a different time. I got to fuck Basso. I mean FUCK Basso. Not for as long as I’d have liked, or as hard, but I opened him up after eight months of butt-celibacy. I did it slowly, exploring every nook and cranny, every sensitive spot, searching out every yelp and bit lip. I was methodical, and enjoyed it so much, because it’s been so long. When O’s turn came, it didn’t last long. I feel bad for Orpheus for that reason, but he’s so big, it’s hard for it not to hurt the first time. Especially since he’s kind of a brute with that too thick, scrumptious cock. Believe me, that’s not an insult, but still. It took me a long, long time, and a couple bottles of poppers to adjust. Poor, raw-assed Basso!!!
Afterwards, we all went out to eat, and took a walk together. When O. and I dropped him off, B. hugged us both goodbye. We went back to O’s place, and had the worst night of sleep, ever! I know that I get clingy after group sex. It’s my unconscious way of re-asserting a bond with my partner after he’s been shared. Of course, we were both sleeping too warm, which annoys the hell out of Orpheus. So, basically, we spent the night waking each other up, usually unpleasantly. Hopefully, tonight will be better. I’ve got an appointment with his dick, if he can bring it. His disappointment last night should not, after all, be long-lived. ;-)
Afterwards, we all went out to eat, and took a walk together. When O. and I dropped him off, B. hugged us both goodbye. We went back to O’s place, and had the worst night of sleep, ever! I know that I get clingy after group sex. It’s my unconscious way of re-asserting a bond with my partner after he’s been shared. Of course, we were both sleeping too warm, which annoys the hell out of Orpheus. So, basically, we spent the night waking each other up, usually unpleasantly. Hopefully, tonight will be better. I’ve got an appointment with his dick, if he can bring it. His disappointment last night should not, after all, be long-lived. ;-)
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Lesser Pleasures
Last night, the cure for my ravening loneliness was two-fold… First off, reading some Laurell K. Hamilton, writer of the seedy but rather well-written late-20th-century-hard-boiled-detective-fairy-porn in the Merry Gentry series. Secondly, I cooked a little improvisation for dinner, using my new LeCreuset skillet. It was very simple. Thin-sliced sweet onion and finely minced garlic were thrown into the pre-heated pan with a thin spray of grape seed oil for lubrication. When they became a little translucent, and the smell began to be good, I added finely minced ginger, some dried cranberries, and then a salted and peppered chicken breast. A couple minutes into cooking, I added a spray of oil to wet the pan again, then a bit of orange juice squeezed right into the pan. After more browning, and careful regulation of the temperature no higher than medium, the chicken was flipped, and the process repeated. At some point, the onions weren’t going to cook anymore, so I removed all extra vegetable matter from the pan, and just kept at browning the chicken, reserving all that good stuff on a bed of mixed greens. When the chicken was done, I emptied the orange onto it, then deglazed the pan with the orange juice and an ounce of vermouth. It boiled the goo from the bottom of the pan (the chicken stuck less than it ever had on a true non-stick pan, in the first place), and quickly reduced the liquid. I poured it over the salad as a dressing. The greens were nicely wilted, and the whole was lovely. I threw in a few shelled pistachios, and enjoyed myself thoroughly. It wasn’t O. between my thighs, but the burn marks that scared me so yesterday were tidily deglazed along with everything else by the vermouth. Nice enough, I can tell you.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Mmmm... Le Creuset
Not much to report on, excepting that I showed Orpheus a print-out of my post yesterday, and the bit about feeling woozy re: him on Saturday didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin. In fact, he got a little more snuggly afterwards. Also, the Le Creuset pan makes me wet. The heat I used was a touch high at times, I think. I’ll be pedaling that back a lot in the future. But, overall, as long as one sticks to the rules and has a little patience, this pan has better non-stick properties than most of the Teflon I own. Oh, yeah, and it actually heats evenly, aluminum and stainless be damned. Basically, I cooked bacon, used much of the grease for a vinaigrette dressing on a spinach salad (w/Spanish Sherry vinegar and pepper), and used the rest of the pan drippings to brown stuffed chicken breasts. The chicken was almost too moist (though done… I checked with a meat thermometer, thanks), and was delicious other than a poor choice I made regarding one of the cheeses in the stuffing.
Tonight is a night off for O. and I, so there’s some confusion as to what to do/cook tonight. I may try a smaller-scale version of what I cooked on Saturday, and have some left over. I’ll definitely be doing a spinach salad, as I have enough of that crap to drown in, and it goes bad fairly quickly. I may call a friend and see if he wants to cook together. Or, I may just sleep. It seems like that might in fact be the smartest idea, anyway. I may feel loads better, but I’d like to feel better still by week’s end, so I can start drinking again. In any case, Orpheus and I are supposed to hang out with Basso tomorrow after work, so conservation of strength may be in order. More later, kids! Have a great April Fool’s Day.
Oh, yes… One further point. O. wanted me to editorialize regarding what he was watching when I got crabby on his ass Saturday night. It was, in fact, the movie ‘Enchanted’ rather than ‘Drawn Together’ as previously written. For chrissakes, I was trying to sleep, and it was loud! I didn’t care what was on!!! Maybe he deserved the kicking. ;-)
Tonight is a night off for O. and I, so there’s some confusion as to what to do/cook tonight. I may try a smaller-scale version of what I cooked on Saturday, and have some left over. I’ll definitely be doing a spinach salad, as I have enough of that crap to drown in, and it goes bad fairly quickly. I may call a friend and see if he wants to cook together. Or, I may just sleep. It seems like that might in fact be the smartest idea, anyway. I may feel loads better, but I’d like to feel better still by week’s end, so I can start drinking again. In any case, Orpheus and I are supposed to hang out with Basso tomorrow after work, so conservation of strength may be in order. More later, kids! Have a great April Fool’s Day.
Oh, yes… One further point. O. wanted me to editorialize regarding what he was watching when I got crabby on his ass Saturday night. It was, in fact, the movie ‘Enchanted’ rather than ‘Drawn Together’ as previously written. For chrissakes, I was trying to sleep, and it was loud! I didn’t care what was on!!! Maybe he deserved the kicking. ;-)
Monday, March 31, 2008
Cheney/Satan 2008, and other amusing things I've seen on Volvos...
This weekend was most disconcerting. I got so much sleep it was nearly absurd, and had a lot of fun, considering the circumstances. If you’ll recall, last Wednesday heralded the beginning of my thoroughly modern convalescence, which is to say, continuation of the rat-race albeit medicated. I haven’t had a drop of liquor, wine or beer since my diagnosis, and yet have been utterly loopy due to hydrocodone-based cough-suppressant. Meanwhile, my respiratory bothers are in full retreat in the face of carpet-bombing by fancy, up-to-the-minute, semi-sythetic macrolides in a five day dose that stays in the system for ten days. The only problem I’ve experienced with said regimen is extreme semi-conscious crankiness where Orpheus’ nighttime habits are concerned. Apparently, on Saturday night I was foul-mouthed in my sleep when I wanted him to turn down ‘Drawn Together’ on his computer, and pushed him off the bed with my feet when he dared to snuggle me.
Friday was, perhaps, the oddest day of all. I was feeling done-in, and O. called to see if I wanted to hang out with Basso. Fortunately, Orpheus worked until 8 PM, so I had plenty of time to nap beforehand. We met downtown after O. and I had dinner at a kind of cruddy Italian place frequented by poor students which serves huge salads. We ended up going back to my place, and snuggling like warm puppies all night long. Basso really wanted to doink, but neither Orpheus nor I were feeling any sort of love that night, as we were both so overstretched from last week’s exertions. So, we just ended up making breakfast together and snuggling in a pile for a good bit of the next morning, then we dropped him off at a friend’s place, where I’d assume he went for the sex he’d tried to source from us. At four, we went over to BakedAlaska’s apartment to visit he, his wife QuakerNoOats, and their daughter, EvilGenius. I’ve talked about them before. They are my only close friends with a living, breathing child for whom they’d consider letting me baby-sit. BakedAlaska is named thusly not because he likes the green weed, but because his parents were hippie druggies from way back who raised he and his older brother in a crack-house, then slowly weaned themselves back to whacky-tabaccey only. In Anchorage. QuakerNoOats is so as she is 1) a Quaker (and the most fascinatingly non-judgemental religious person I’ve ever met,) and 2) is allergic to almost everything under the face of the sun, including oats. EvilGenius? More on that in a bit.
They brought Orpheus and I over in order to slake their joint lust for adult contact. Because EvilGenius is freakishly intelligent, she is commensurately demanding of time and attention. Add this to her age of one and a half years, and you get the basic idea. This problem, they figured they’d throw O. at, since he is a bit younger, has less in common with them than I, and has experience working with children. I was to cook dinner after shopping with BakedAK on his docket so as to pick ingredients that wouldn’t kill QuakerNoOats. We settled on fresh pork loin stuffed with chives, dark sweet cherry, black walnut and loganberries (they look like raspberries, but are very tart). I also dumped quite a bit of the fruit into a pan with two tablespoons of olive oil, and over a quarter cup of dextrose, which is a super-sweet substitute for beet sugar, which QNO is allergic to. I’d have used honey if given a choice. We butchered the loin so it unrolled lengthwise into a good foot-wide blanket of meat, stuffed it, tied it in a roulade, then browned it on all sides. We then placed it in a 375F oven, with part of the cherry/berry/walnut reduction over it as a glaze, until the internal temp. was 155F. After letting it sit for juice redistribution, we cut the ties and sliced the roulade into tournedos. The remaining glaze, further thickened on the stovetop, was served over top of said tournedos. The rest of the evening, like dinner, was delicious.
EvilGenius took to O. right away, and took a bit longer to warm up to me. I was the first person to see her aside from her parents and hospital staff, as their family is all in Alaska. It was neat to be there and interact with her, as she’s just picked up basic speech, and exited screeching baby phase. Everybody had a grand time, and though the original plan called for movie rental, we just ended up googling over the baby all night long. The whole rigamarole had me thinking most warm and wholesome thoughts about Orpheus. Rather more warm and wholesome that either of us is ready for, yet. But it was nice to borrow the glow for an evening, and pretend to have a family, even if I probably never will have one of my own. It was nice to feel that way about O. in a way that was deeply satisfying albeit a bit embarrassing, too. Perhaps embarrassing because I know it’s far too early to think thusly, perhaps just out of queer propriety. I mean, aren’t fun-bois too busy having sex and popping pills to have kids? Still, it was nice, just the same.
Sunday was perhaps the most surreal day of all. I had an experiment of attempting to live without the vaunted cough-syrup, and it went rather well with the aid of mucinex. I bought a new 11.5” LeCreuset frying pan, which is the last you’ll hear of it until tonight (its’ maiden voyage). We had a nap, a rousing little dinner, and a hard and fast doink, then got dolled up and went to the Jens Leckman (sp?) concert on campus at the UW. Unfortunately, nightfall and thickening mucous necessitated the lowering of the hydrocodone veil. We took Orpheus’ little sister along to see Jens, and had a grand time. The show was at the old music hall, which is a converted church that served as the university’s first school of music and performance space. The opening “band” were the HoneyDrops, or, in this case, the HoneyDrop, a Swedish group represented by only one of their members, and his Mac. He simply sang, backed by the recordings his band had sent him with, holding Jens’ hollow-bodied guitar as a prop. Afterwards, when the main show came on stage, energy built quickly, and the show was fairly short. Everyone left with a light, happy look on their faces, and a bounce that had no right to be in their steps, at 10:30 PM on a Sunday.
All in all, a really cool weekend. I just wish that I could have forgone the cough-syrup for most of it. I’ve titled the post after a lovely bumper-sticker that I saw today while depositing my check at the bank, amongst other errands… Wish me luck with the LeCreuset, and bon appetite, mes enfants!
Friday was, perhaps, the oddest day of all. I was feeling done-in, and O. called to see if I wanted to hang out with Basso. Fortunately, Orpheus worked until 8 PM, so I had plenty of time to nap beforehand. We met downtown after O. and I had dinner at a kind of cruddy Italian place frequented by poor students which serves huge salads. We ended up going back to my place, and snuggling like warm puppies all night long. Basso really wanted to doink, but neither Orpheus nor I were feeling any sort of love that night, as we were both so overstretched from last week’s exertions. So, we just ended up making breakfast together and snuggling in a pile for a good bit of the next morning, then we dropped him off at a friend’s place, where I’d assume he went for the sex he’d tried to source from us. At four, we went over to BakedAlaska’s apartment to visit he, his wife QuakerNoOats, and their daughter, EvilGenius. I’ve talked about them before. They are my only close friends with a living, breathing child for whom they’d consider letting me baby-sit. BakedAlaska is named thusly not because he likes the green weed, but because his parents were hippie druggies from way back who raised he and his older brother in a crack-house, then slowly weaned themselves back to whacky-tabaccey only. In Anchorage. QuakerNoOats is so as she is 1) a Quaker (and the most fascinatingly non-judgemental religious person I’ve ever met,) and 2) is allergic to almost everything under the face of the sun, including oats. EvilGenius? More on that in a bit.
They brought Orpheus and I over in order to slake their joint lust for adult contact. Because EvilGenius is freakishly intelligent, she is commensurately demanding of time and attention. Add this to her age of one and a half years, and you get the basic idea. This problem, they figured they’d throw O. at, since he is a bit younger, has less in common with them than I, and has experience working with children. I was to cook dinner after shopping with BakedAK on his docket so as to pick ingredients that wouldn’t kill QuakerNoOats. We settled on fresh pork loin stuffed with chives, dark sweet cherry, black walnut and loganberries (they look like raspberries, but are very tart). I also dumped quite a bit of the fruit into a pan with two tablespoons of olive oil, and over a quarter cup of dextrose, which is a super-sweet substitute for beet sugar, which QNO is allergic to. I’d have used honey if given a choice. We butchered the loin so it unrolled lengthwise into a good foot-wide blanket of meat, stuffed it, tied it in a roulade, then browned it on all sides. We then placed it in a 375F oven, with part of the cherry/berry/walnut reduction over it as a glaze, until the internal temp. was 155F. After letting it sit for juice redistribution, we cut the ties and sliced the roulade into tournedos. The remaining glaze, further thickened on the stovetop, was served over top of said tournedos. The rest of the evening, like dinner, was delicious.
EvilGenius took to O. right away, and took a bit longer to warm up to me. I was the first person to see her aside from her parents and hospital staff, as their family is all in Alaska. It was neat to be there and interact with her, as she’s just picked up basic speech, and exited screeching baby phase. Everybody had a grand time, and though the original plan called for movie rental, we just ended up googling over the baby all night long. The whole rigamarole had me thinking most warm and wholesome thoughts about Orpheus. Rather more warm and wholesome that either of us is ready for, yet. But it was nice to borrow the glow for an evening, and pretend to have a family, even if I probably never will have one of my own. It was nice to feel that way about O. in a way that was deeply satisfying albeit a bit embarrassing, too. Perhaps embarrassing because I know it’s far too early to think thusly, perhaps just out of queer propriety. I mean, aren’t fun-bois too busy having sex and popping pills to have kids? Still, it was nice, just the same.
Sunday was perhaps the most surreal day of all. I had an experiment of attempting to live without the vaunted cough-syrup, and it went rather well with the aid of mucinex. I bought a new 11.5” LeCreuset frying pan, which is the last you’ll hear of it until tonight (its’ maiden voyage). We had a nap, a rousing little dinner, and a hard and fast doink, then got dolled up and went to the Jens Leckman (sp?) concert on campus at the UW. Unfortunately, nightfall and thickening mucous necessitated the lowering of the hydrocodone veil. We took Orpheus’ little sister along to see Jens, and had a grand time. The show was at the old music hall, which is a converted church that served as the university’s first school of music and performance space. The opening “band” were the HoneyDrops, or, in this case, the HoneyDrop, a Swedish group represented by only one of their members, and his Mac. He simply sang, backed by the recordings his band had sent him with, holding Jens’ hollow-bodied guitar as a prop. Afterwards, when the main show came on stage, energy built quickly, and the show was fairly short. Everyone left with a light, happy look on their faces, and a bounce that had no right to be in their steps, at 10:30 PM on a Sunday.
All in all, a really cool weekend. I just wish that I could have forgone the cough-syrup for most of it. I’ve titled the post after a lovely bumper-sticker that I saw today while depositing my check at the bank, amongst other errands… Wish me luck with the LeCreuset, and bon appetite, mes enfants!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Double-meh Friday, Tussionex-style
Well, it turns out that the effect of prescribed hydrocodone (I just want to make that clear, I DO have a prescription, for a damned good reason, for Tussionex,) on orgasm is to make it frustratingly difficult to finish, but to keep one more or less ready for the act until such time as one pops. No wonder sickos love it! I, on the other hand, was not rated for such orgiastic gymnastics last night, and since O. and I had only settled in for a wank, it just got bloody frustrating. In the time it took me to bring myself, Orpheus came twice. This is something of a rarity for him. He was also very kind and supportive, and didn’t complain when it took me an hour. This speaks volumes to his strength of character, frankly.
Other than that, there are quite a few other things that I’m rather un-fond of regarding the Tussionex. The first is that it puts a buzzing pall over my entire day. I have to concentrate very hard on even the simplest of things in order to get anything done at all. It makes me very sleepy, to the point that I had to drink twice as much coffee as normal this morning to be functional. But it completely clears my sinuses, and stops all but the lightest coughing. My nostrils are slowly beginning to put themselves back together from the bloody ruin they had become by Wednesday. And I’ve gotten the best sleep the last two nights that I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Opiates do a very good job zonking one out.
There is a price for anything good, and that price is sometimes quite bad. But the fact that I haven’t had to be home sick is to the good, as far as my bosses are concerned, and the fact that they’ve watched me suffer like a trooper is also good. What isn’t good is the fact that work is making me sick in the first place.
Other than that, there are quite a few other things that I’m rather un-fond of regarding the Tussionex. The first is that it puts a buzzing pall over my entire day. I have to concentrate very hard on even the simplest of things in order to get anything done at all. It makes me very sleepy, to the point that I had to drink twice as much coffee as normal this morning to be functional. But it completely clears my sinuses, and stops all but the lightest coughing. My nostrils are slowly beginning to put themselves back together from the bloody ruin they had become by Wednesday. And I’ve gotten the best sleep the last two nights that I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Opiates do a very good job zonking one out.
There is a price for anything good, and that price is sometimes quite bad. But the fact that I haven’t had to be home sick is to the good, as far as my bosses are concerned, and the fact that they’ve watched me suffer like a trooper is also good. What isn’t good is the fact that work is making me sick in the first place.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Holy Cough-Syrup, Batman!!!
Today has been very odd. For the first time in a long time, I slept quite well last night. The reason, however, is a touch sinister. It turns out, you see, that the freaky-deaky cough syrup I was given by the doctor isn’t a codeine concoction, but rather a vicotin cocktail also containing a powerful antihistamine. I’m higher than a kite, and if that’s the price for not sneezing constantly, having a head stuffed full of acid-green mucous, and coughing until my throat feels as if it is bleeding, then I’ll just be loopy, thanks much. Having said this, though, I think it important to also mention that once I don’t need the crap not to feel like the world is ending, I’m taking it back to the pharmacy for proper disposal. Honestly, I’m a little scared of the stuff. Mom pops it (in pill form, without the antihistamine,) like candy, but she has real pain issues that have nothing to do with the common cold gone bad.
The last time I was on vicotin, it was probably the worst possible choice of painkiller for the situation. I had double dry socket after a wisdom tooth removal, so the problem wasn’t really pain. There was going to be that whether or not I was on an opiate-derived narcotic painkiller. No. What I really needed was upwards of 1000mg of ibuprophen at a time to reduce swelling, make tiny the engorged flesh of my mouth, pressing outward where raw and missing the bone that used to back it. Now, things are different. The discomfort I am in is so much less, and yet so unassailable using the good ‘ol anti-inflammatory analgesics… So viola (the French, not the instrument)! I feel like about $750,000.00 to my usual million, and that’s far more than I can say for the last time I was ill. Plus, there’s a pleasant buzz going which is keeping me from getting truly angry at anything. The only suckage is the low-grade headache that seems to accompany my use of Tussinex. Well, that and the light sensitivity. Small prices to pay, after everything.
What’ll really be interesting, though, is to see if I can stay awake long enough after my evening dose to have sex with Orpheus. I’ve heard weird things about vico and doinking.
The last time I was on vicotin, it was probably the worst possible choice of painkiller for the situation. I had double dry socket after a wisdom tooth removal, so the problem wasn’t really pain. There was going to be that whether or not I was on an opiate-derived narcotic painkiller. No. What I really needed was upwards of 1000mg of ibuprophen at a time to reduce swelling, make tiny the engorged flesh of my mouth, pressing outward where raw and missing the bone that used to back it. Now, things are different. The discomfort I am in is so much less, and yet so unassailable using the good ‘ol anti-inflammatory analgesics… So viola (the French, not the instrument)! I feel like about $750,000.00 to my usual million, and that’s far more than I can say for the last time I was ill. Plus, there’s a pleasant buzz going which is keeping me from getting truly angry at anything. The only suckage is the low-grade headache that seems to accompany my use of Tussinex. Well, that and the light sensitivity. Small prices to pay, after everything.
What’ll really be interesting, though, is to see if I can stay awake long enough after my evening dose to have sex with Orpheus. I’ve heard weird things about vico and doinking.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Five days of soberness...
So, for the last couple of days, I’ve felt a bit under the weather. Last night, I was so overcome by the solid blockage of my sinuses by rubber-cement-like goop that I only slept for about three hours, and that interrupted by frequent hot showers and hot, citrus-y caffeine-free tea breaks. Today, I did my damndest. I showered for about twice as long as usual, attempting to clear my sinuses and head. I got to work early. I hunkered down. I made a doctor’s appointment for during lunch, when I’d normally take a nice nap. And, it turns out, I have either sinusitis, or developing bronchitis, which means no booze or fun of any other sort for five days, until done with the antibiotics. Meh. Why must one always be punished for being ill? It’s already miserable enough in and of itself.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
BF sucks ass (not mine, you idiot, BF!!!)
Aphrodite’s BF is a completely unacceptable human being. I don’t think he has a soul. To make a long story longer, one must start at the beginning, but I’m going to short-circuit so as to waste the least amount of energy possible on that walking abortion. Try, if you will, to remember that Aphrodite has had a long, tortured, on-again-off-again thing with BF, the loathsome toad. There was only one major intervening sub-relation, named Kouros, who was a god carved of flesh, but too nice to A. to be taken seriously by her. She would say of that fiasco that she wants a “challenge,” which is just a dressed-up way to say that she likes to be degraded.
Last night, I wasn’t feeling terribly tip-top in terms of shape. I asked Orpheus, who was staying at my place yesterday whilst I was a-work, to decline any and all requests for our presence out. Unfortunately, Aphrodite called, and she was out of her mind with the need to escape BF for a few hours. Normally, I love hearing her complain about the bastard. So, I gave O. permission to respond in the positive, under the assumption that BF wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, he was. Furthermore, we had to meet at Maduro, a great bar, to be sure, but one that was abusing my poor lungs. It is one of maybe two places in Madison where it’s still OK to smoke indoors in public, legally. Hooray for cigar bars! We moved to a better venue re: my health, the Opus, which I believe that I’ve mentioned before.
At the Opus, everything started well. BF retreated into himself for a bit, waiting for the sushi he ordered to be served, and the sake to be warmed. Then he began complaining about everything. And speaking animatedly about work with Aphrodite, as to solve her rampant unemployment, they created a new HR position for her at his company. She hates it, and it shows, but she bore up well, considering. All the bile and stupidity that came out of his mouth just made me so cranky. I did well, myself. I didn’t give him a good reason to bite, but niggled him just a little all night long. I socialized with the help. (This is one tactic that really gets him, as he actually thinks himself better than the folks that are working their butts off to put his fat, arrogant ass at ease.) I ceaselessly turned the conversation to (more) interesting things, taking over when he truly believed himself the end-all and be-all of entertainment... I gently rebuffed the more absurd of his opinions with fact. Attack BF outright, and he flies into a rage. Poke at him while he’s self-assured, and he becomes confused, retreats a little. I kept him in retreat most of the evening. It was awful. Terribly rude. But he didn’t understand what was happening, and it honestly made me happier than listening to his constant bullshit.
When we finally left the bar, I’d drunk twice as much as intended... However, the second drink was an experiment, a collusion between the bartender and myself. She didn’t charge me, and I believe that she also undercharged for the appetizer that O. ate, as well. I told Orpheus that I didn’t want to hang out with BF ever again. Apparently, Aphrodite agrees... With everything. Including the bit where BF was a douche. I love being right. I hate being right at the cost of my soul.
Last night, I wasn’t feeling terribly tip-top in terms of shape. I asked Orpheus, who was staying at my place yesterday whilst I was a-work, to decline any and all requests for our presence out. Unfortunately, Aphrodite called, and she was out of her mind with the need to escape BF for a few hours. Normally, I love hearing her complain about the bastard. So, I gave O. permission to respond in the positive, under the assumption that BF wouldn’t be there. Unfortunately, he was. Furthermore, we had to meet at Maduro, a great bar, to be sure, but one that was abusing my poor lungs. It is one of maybe two places in Madison where it’s still OK to smoke indoors in public, legally. Hooray for cigar bars! We moved to a better venue re: my health, the Opus, which I believe that I’ve mentioned before.
At the Opus, everything started well. BF retreated into himself for a bit, waiting for the sushi he ordered to be served, and the sake to be warmed. Then he began complaining about everything. And speaking animatedly about work with Aphrodite, as to solve her rampant unemployment, they created a new HR position for her at his company. She hates it, and it shows, but she bore up well, considering. All the bile and stupidity that came out of his mouth just made me so cranky. I did well, myself. I didn’t give him a good reason to bite, but niggled him just a little all night long. I socialized with the help. (This is one tactic that really gets him, as he actually thinks himself better than the folks that are working their butts off to put his fat, arrogant ass at ease.) I ceaselessly turned the conversation to (more) interesting things, taking over when he truly believed himself the end-all and be-all of entertainment... I gently rebuffed the more absurd of his opinions with fact. Attack BF outright, and he flies into a rage. Poke at him while he’s self-assured, and he becomes confused, retreats a little. I kept him in retreat most of the evening. It was awful. Terribly rude. But he didn’t understand what was happening, and it honestly made me happier than listening to his constant bullshit.
When we finally left the bar, I’d drunk twice as much as intended... However, the second drink was an experiment, a collusion between the bartender and myself. She didn’t charge me, and I believe that she also undercharged for the appetizer that O. ate, as well. I told Orpheus that I didn’t want to hang out with BF ever again. Apparently, Aphrodite agrees... With everything. Including the bit where BF was a douche. I love being right. I hate being right at the cost of my soul.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Slick as snot, I slide...
Salaam and good morning to you, worthy friends! It’s been a heck of a weekend. Weird, slow, sick, and just plain odd. Wonderful, at moments, and yet running against some sort of grain. This might herald the slow recovery from Orpheus’ internet malfeasance, it might just be because what has come out of my mouth in terms of forgiveness isn’t quite in step with what’s in my heart, or it could be the fifth encroaching cold of the season slowly creeping up on my respiratory system. Either way, I’ve had some fun, but overall there is still some sort of pall over everything in my memory that I can’t quite put a finger on.
On Friday, I’m actually kind of at a loss as to what the hell we got up to. O. worked until 8 PM, we had our chat, and spent a lot of time naked, clinging to one another. I don’t remember much of what we watched or did, except that we went out to do dinner at a place that serves trad. Bachelor food… Burgers and fries. It was good, but the environ was so unsettling that I wanted out of my skin. All cheap tile interior in black and white check with fluorescent lighting will tend to do that, especially when you get the idea that everyone currently dining in the restaurant would rather you were dead than look at you.
Saturday, Orpheus worked a double shift with a three hour break between… This meant four hours in the morning, lunch, and four hours in the afternoon/evening, again until eight. It was terrible. I felt quite sick, and took a couple naps, waking up cranky before we went back to my place so I could pay attention to my slut-cat. We did go to an excellent Indian buffet for lunch, but I overate. Furthermore, I followed up getting uncomfortably full by watching ‘Alien vs. Predator.’ Blech. Fortunately, we had a good dinner, then spent a very memorable late night having some surprisingly rough but very intimate sex. If nothing else, the threeway has us trying new things with each other. Things we wouldn’t have thought up before on our own. We’re far more attuned to one another right now than we were before. It’s kind of neat, and rather necessary.
Sunday started off with a negative bang. As per usual, I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, and couldn’t’ get back to sleep. O. was very cranky, because it was so bright in my room, and he didn’t want to snuggle as he was cranky, leaving me cranky, too. We didn’t go to church, but instead met his family out for lunch in Old Middleton at a neat little restaurant that has gone downhill in the last year or so. All in all, after we left the apartment, it was nice. It was good to see his entire family at once. Up until now, I’ve only met them in fits and starts, one or two at a time. This was all of them at once. His mother is a dear. His dad, if I didn’t know any better, I’d take for a mute, but just kind of sits there and lets the family happen around him. I think that P. is aware that nobody pays him much mind, and the kids tend toward active dislike, at times. But he loves them, and they comfort him just being there. I’ve spoken of Orpheus’ middle sister before, and it’s always fun to have her around. O.’s youngst sister is kinda creepy, but that I was prepared for. Unfortunately, she’s also a mega-Christian, which made it more difficult at times.
We finished off the night, which was a near-whiteout, by the by (damn snow!!!), visiting with Basso and making easter eggs. There was no sex this time, which I was very proud of. I think he’ll work out as a friend. I hope. If not, we’ll have to jettison him, and he needs people too, possibly more than he’s admitted to date. One just hopes he stops getting all touchy-feely when he knows there is to be no sex in the future. This time, it was Orpheus who seemed a bit jealous. Talk, talk, talk… I like to do it, and I think he’s finally ready to admit that it’s necessary to speak about ones’ feelings almost as often as I’m wont to. Anyway, that’s my weekend in a bucket. Just like the cat-puke I had to clean off one of my fav. insulator-tees this morning before work.
On Friday, I’m actually kind of at a loss as to what the hell we got up to. O. worked until 8 PM, we had our chat, and spent a lot of time naked, clinging to one another. I don’t remember much of what we watched or did, except that we went out to do dinner at a place that serves trad. Bachelor food… Burgers and fries. It was good, but the environ was so unsettling that I wanted out of my skin. All cheap tile interior in black and white check with fluorescent lighting will tend to do that, especially when you get the idea that everyone currently dining in the restaurant would rather you were dead than look at you.
Saturday, Orpheus worked a double shift with a three hour break between… This meant four hours in the morning, lunch, and four hours in the afternoon/evening, again until eight. It was terrible. I felt quite sick, and took a couple naps, waking up cranky before we went back to my place so I could pay attention to my slut-cat. We did go to an excellent Indian buffet for lunch, but I overate. Furthermore, I followed up getting uncomfortably full by watching ‘Alien vs. Predator.’ Blech. Fortunately, we had a good dinner, then spent a very memorable late night having some surprisingly rough but very intimate sex. If nothing else, the threeway has us trying new things with each other. Things we wouldn’t have thought up before on our own. We’re far more attuned to one another right now than we were before. It’s kind of neat, and rather necessary.
Sunday started off with a negative bang. As per usual, I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, and couldn’t’ get back to sleep. O. was very cranky, because it was so bright in my room, and he didn’t want to snuggle as he was cranky, leaving me cranky, too. We didn’t go to church, but instead met his family out for lunch in Old Middleton at a neat little restaurant that has gone downhill in the last year or so. All in all, after we left the apartment, it was nice. It was good to see his entire family at once. Up until now, I’ve only met them in fits and starts, one or two at a time. This was all of them at once. His mother is a dear. His dad, if I didn’t know any better, I’d take for a mute, but just kind of sits there and lets the family happen around him. I think that P. is aware that nobody pays him much mind, and the kids tend toward active dislike, at times. But he loves them, and they comfort him just being there. I’ve spoken of Orpheus’ middle sister before, and it’s always fun to have her around. O.’s youngst sister is kinda creepy, but that I was prepared for. Unfortunately, she’s also a mega-Christian, which made it more difficult at times.
We finished off the night, which was a near-whiteout, by the by (damn snow!!!), visiting with Basso and making easter eggs. There was no sex this time, which I was very proud of. I think he’ll work out as a friend. I hope. If not, we’ll have to jettison him, and he needs people too, possibly more than he’s admitted to date. One just hopes he stops getting all touchy-feely when he knows there is to be no sex in the future. This time, it was Orpheus who seemed a bit jealous. Talk, talk, talk… I like to do it, and I think he’s finally ready to admit that it’s necessary to speak about ones’ feelings almost as often as I’m wont to. Anyway, that’s my weekend in a bucket. Just like the cat-puke I had to clean off one of my fav. insulator-tees this morning before work.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Eh...
There’s been a bit of e-unpleasantness over Orpheus’ blog, again. It was more hurtful, this time, though, because instead of mean-spirited unpleasant things coming up about me, he lied about what he’d said, tried to cover his tracks, and when he finally gave me permission to read what he’d alluded to over the phone, I found him out by reading the comments. Coming on the heels of our first three-way in quite some time, this is just a very bad moment at which to need to question my trust in O.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
Eh...
There’s been a bit of e-unpleasantness over Orpheus’ blog, again. It was more hurtful, this time, though, because instead of mean-spirited unpleasant things coming up about me, he lied about what he’d said, tried to cover his tracks, and when he finally gave me permission to read what he’d alluded to over the phone, I found him out by reading the comments. Coming on the heels of our first three-way in quite some time, this is just a very bad moment at which to need to question my trust in O.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
In fact, the lie/omission/whatever the hell it really turns out to be was regarding the ménage. The precarious statement in question was something to the tune of “It’s become clear he likes me more than [Aefchen] and I’m not telling.” In retrospect, as the most obviously nervous party the first time we met him, and the drunkest party when we had sex, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be true. Orpheus is younger, and shares slightly more interests with Basso than I do. But that he wouldn’t tell me something had been said that could herald a bid to steal my boyfriend? I don’t cotton to that, even if it is what he really wants. It would hurt less if there were honesty involved in such a transition, even if it is against our rules for three-ways.
Update: Fortunately, I hadn’t managed to post before lunch time. I had to go to Orpheus’ place in order to retrieve a check I’d forgotten to deposit last week. We had a chat. I can’t exactly explain what was said or what passed between us, but it was enough. There was already a lot of sturm und drang on the phone and by AIM last night. I’ve been assured the post was a falsehood in the first place, as O. is rather fond of fictionalizing he blog on occasion. All I really had to do was look in his eyes when he apologized to know he’s playing straight. Fortunately, he can’t lie if you’re looking directly at him. He explained things a little more rationally, and found ways to make recompense. I’m hurt, but it won’t be so forever. Maybe he’ll mend his ways online. Maybe he won’t. We’ll have to talk about Basso, and his blog. I think this shook him more than I’d imagined. Good. Once in awhile, even he should have to wonder.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Baby steps toward…
I got a call today. It was Orpheus, sounding rather excited. He and Basso, our effulgent (read: pale-skinned and auburn-haired,) friend from Sunday night, made plans to meet for happy hour this evening. I, of course, am encouraged to attend. Normally, Tuesday would be our night off. As interested as I am, I’d have never made plans to hang out yet without O. present. I get the idea they’d have met whether I’d been able to go or not. While Basso is certainly more than worthy to be one of our first joint friends, and quite possibly a sometimes-spice in our sex lives, I’m a little unhappy about these plans. I trust Orpheus, but I don’t know B. well enough to do so. I admit to being quite clingy, sometimes very possessive, and a little hurt by O’s boldness in this matter. I’ll go with bells on, though, because I love him, his spontaneity, and the tingly possibility that hangs in the air with Basso. We’ll have fun, and this won’t bother me. But it will come up in conversation with Orpheus, later.
Monday, March 17, 2008
A thousand little difficulties…
Orpheus and I had a neat little weekend, though penetration-free. There was flirtation with the idea of a three-way with a very good friend (and ex-f-buddy,) of mine who came to town, but his incessant, nervous conversation at dinner on Friday kinda ended that idea. On Saturday, I played Dungeons and Dragons, and it was the first session where my character, by herself, saved the party from near-certain Total Party Kill (TPK). We did lose one player, but he was given a true resurrection, which made it a pretty nice day for him, overall. Let’s just say this… Cunegonde Deepaxe dominated the battlefield but good.
On Sunday, we started off saying goodbye to my nervous friend from out of town by taking him to breakfast. We made a lovely dinner, one O. had wanted to make for awhile (home-made pizza), and had a great side-salad with some leftover ginger dressing I’d made for Friday. Also, we had a speculative date with a new prospective sex friend. It was a meet and greet session, so there were no pants removed, but it was pretty clear to everyone at the table that there is at least room for a good friendship. Given the amount of strained fabric in the front panel of our collective pants, naked friendship is a distinct possibility. However, after our first abortive attempt at occasional playing together, Orpheus and I both agreed that we’d really have to get to know the person before clothes came off in the future, so… In the meantime, we’re both kind of amazed at how much we enjoyed ourselves last night.
Tonight, it’s pork loin roast and the bars for a single drink. Hooray for St. Patrick, the man who purportedly drove the snakes from Eire and all, but really. How dumb do you think I am? It’s Tuesday tomorrow, and that spells “beginning of the week.” Wish me well!
On Sunday, we started off saying goodbye to my nervous friend from out of town by taking him to breakfast. We made a lovely dinner, one O. had wanted to make for awhile (home-made pizza), and had a great side-salad with some leftover ginger dressing I’d made for Friday. Also, we had a speculative date with a new prospective sex friend. It was a meet and greet session, so there were no pants removed, but it was pretty clear to everyone at the table that there is at least room for a good friendship. Given the amount of strained fabric in the front panel of our collective pants, naked friendship is a distinct possibility. However, after our first abortive attempt at occasional playing together, Orpheus and I both agreed that we’d really have to get to know the person before clothes came off in the future, so… In the meantime, we’re both kind of amazed at how much we enjoyed ourselves last night.
Tonight, it’s pork loin roast and the bars for a single drink. Hooray for St. Patrick, the man who purportedly drove the snakes from Eire and all, but really. How dumb do you think I am? It’s Tuesday tomorrow, and that spells “beginning of the week.” Wish me well!
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Yesterday TOTALLY sucked. Today's not far behind.
Pall over day. Horrible depression about working in general, especially here. A bit of a nasty night last night with Orpheus, and a touch of sadness about that, insecurity. Feeling like the wind has been whipped out from under me. Can’t make calls. Can’t go home. Can’t quit this place, no matter how much I want to. Heh. So few “can’s” to brag about, so many cannots it doesn’t even make sense to mention them all. Being an adult sucks. If I’d have known it was going to be this bad ten years ago, I really would’ve tried something with the 500-count bottle of ibuprophen I kept under my bed through those angst-ridden teenage years. These days, there are too many people who rely on me for something. Even the thought of trying a thing like that is sickening, and terribly stupid. Here’s a “can’t” for you… Can’t do it, ‘cause what if it didn’t work properly? Besides which, I’m far too sparkling a personality to succumb to the planet. Please.
Today, though, is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and not come out until a proper stench has developed. At least last night I made a fair approximation of a mojito sauce that O. and I really liked but has been discontinued at Trader Joe’s. I made chicken soft tacos with the sauce (just two limes skinned, de-rinded, and sliced into small chunks, 1 cup of sliced tomatoes, a whole sweet onion chopped coarsely, about a quarter-cup of lemon juice, 3 Tbsps. of olive oil, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, a sprinkling of “Italian seasoning”, 2 cloves garlic minced fine, 2 small hot peppers, all cooked down a bit), and a can of Cuban-style black beans. With chicken, it was a touch runny, like Qdoba’s marinated meat, but the effect was quite similar to (though less salty than) the Trader Joe’s sauce. It was my only pleasing triumph in the last 24 hours. There was some decent live jazz thrown in before dinner, too, so maybe I should try harder not to malign yesterday so much. I had half the day off to see my new doctor for the first time, and got a nasty surprise on the scale when I weighed 10 pounds more than I should. It’s only 10 pounds less than I weighed when I got married. Nevermind. Yesterday TOTALLY sucked.
Today, though, is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and not come out until a proper stench has developed. At least last night I made a fair approximation of a mojito sauce that O. and I really liked but has been discontinued at Trader Joe’s. I made chicken soft tacos with the sauce (just two limes skinned, de-rinded, and sliced into small chunks, 1 cup of sliced tomatoes, a whole sweet onion chopped coarsely, about a quarter-cup of lemon juice, 3 Tbsps. of olive oil, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, a sprinkling of “Italian seasoning”, 2 cloves garlic minced fine, 2 small hot peppers, all cooked down a bit), and a can of Cuban-style black beans. With chicken, it was a touch runny, like Qdoba’s marinated meat, but the effect was quite similar to (though less salty than) the Trader Joe’s sauce. It was my only pleasing triumph in the last 24 hours. There was some decent live jazz thrown in before dinner, too, so maybe I should try harder not to malign yesterday so much. I had half the day off to see my new doctor for the first time, and got a nasty surprise on the scale when I weighed 10 pounds more than I should. It’s only 10 pounds less than I weighed when I got married. Nevermind. Yesterday TOTALLY sucked.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Roast Lamb... Don't say I've never given you any recipes
Roast Lamb with a red wine and roasted red pepper eggplant sauce
Serves 8-10 (small portions)
This recipe is fairly intense, and needs prep in stages, over two to three days. I will begin with the recipe for the baba-ganousch-like sauce, move on to the min. 24-hour marinade for the lamb, and finish with the final stages of prep. Each section will have its’ own ingredients listing and directions.
Step I: Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
Ingredients:
• 1 large eggplant
• 1 small red sweet pepper
• 2 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced very finely
• ¼ c. extra virgin olive oil
• “Splash” lemon juice (1 tsp?)
• Salt, pepper and paprika to taste
Directions:
Preheat oven to 400F. Poke holes all over eggplant’s skin with fork… If you don’t do this, it might explode in the oven. Place on baking sheet with the red pepper, whole. You may wish to cover your baking sheet in foil, as it’ll make cleanup easier. Roast for 45 min. to an hour, at which point the pepper’s skin should be mostly blackened, and the eggplant should be browned and collapsing slightly. Remove from oven, and let cool for 10-15 min. Remove stem, and peel eggplant, keeping as much flesh as possible intact. Throw into food processor with garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and paprika. Remove stem from roasted pepper. You may peel off skin if you find it unappetizing, but I find that the dip is better with the blackened skin. Throw it in, too. Process, stirring occasionally, until you have a fine, creamy-textured glop. Store, covered, in refrigerator for at least 24 hours. This dip is better if it sits for one or two days before use.
Step II: Red-wine marinade for lamb
Ingredients:
• 2-2½ lb. lamb roast, boned, tied (either leg or shoulder will do fine)
• 1-1½ c. bold red wine (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• 2-3 oz. extra virgin olive oil
• 2 large cloves garlic
• Salt and pepper to taste
Directions:
Remove the lamb from packaging, pat dry. Salt and pepper the roast to taste, and tie if not already strung up. Put in strong freezer bag with wine and garlic, chopped into thick slices. Refrigerate, turning every 6-12 hours, for 24 to 48 hours. (Alt. method: pound lamb out flat with and thin with meat hammer before marinating. Do not tie up. Marinade as described above.)
Step III: To cook or not to cook?
Ingredients:
• Marinated Lamb, described above
• Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
• 1 lg. sweet onion, sliced thin
• ¼ c. pine nuts
• ¼ c. crumbled feta cheese
• 1-1½ c. red wine, same as that used for marinade (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• Approx. 1 “portion” plain couscous per four diners, prepared as listed on package
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F, pat roast dry with paper towel, and pan-sear in a hot pan, preferably iron, steel or copper (not non-stick, though enameled iron is fine,) on all sides. Remove from heat, and rub with a small amount of the baba ganousch. Place in a large, tight-lidded casserole, and cover with sliced onion and pine nuts. Place in oven for about 25-30 min/lb, checking meat’s internal temperature after about 30-40 minutes, and every 10 or so thereafter. Cook to an internal temperature of 150-155F for medium-rare meat and maximum flavor sans-gaminess. Once meat is done, remove from oven and casserole, and let sit for about 15 minutes to give juices a chance to redistribute on cutting board. Reserve cooked Add wine to roasting casserole, and deglaze pan at no higher than med-high heat, scraping all meat drippings from bottom with rubber spatula. Transfer remaining baba ganousch into saucepan, and slowly incorporate deglazing wine into it, stirring constantly, over medium heat. Reduce for about fifteen minutes until good sauce consistency. Slice lamb thin, and arrange a few slices on each guest’s plate on a bed of couscous. Sprinkle with reserved feta, ladle red wine pan sauce over top, and put a small stack of reserved onions and pine nuts on top of the whole mess. Serve immediately. (Alt. method: If you chose to pound out the roast and do a roulade, congrats! Get ready for some work. Pat dry, spread a thin layer of baba ganousch over the internal surface of the roulade, sprinkle with feta and pine nuts, roll, and tie. Skip pan searing, and place directly into casserole, following directions above for rest of recipe. Watch temperature very carefully! Also, you needn’t necessarily deglaze the roasting pan, as it should be full of liquids to start. Just pour the wine directly into the dip, and reduce. One may add a few spoonfuls of jus from the roasting pot to the sauce if one wishes, however.)
Serves 8-10 (small portions)
This recipe is fairly intense, and needs prep in stages, over two to three days. I will begin with the recipe for the baba-ganousch-like sauce, move on to the min. 24-hour marinade for the lamb, and finish with the final stages of prep. Each section will have its’ own ingredients listing and directions.
Step I: Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
Ingredients:
• 1 large eggplant
• 1 small red sweet pepper
• 2 large cloves garlic, peeled and minced very finely
• ¼ c. extra virgin olive oil
• “Splash” lemon juice (1 tsp?)
• Salt, pepper and paprika to taste
Directions:
Preheat oven to 400F. Poke holes all over eggplant’s skin with fork… If you don’t do this, it might explode in the oven. Place on baking sheet with the red pepper, whole. You may wish to cover your baking sheet in foil, as it’ll make cleanup easier. Roast for 45 min. to an hour, at which point the pepper’s skin should be mostly blackened, and the eggplant should be browned and collapsing slightly. Remove from oven, and let cool for 10-15 min. Remove stem, and peel eggplant, keeping as much flesh as possible intact. Throw into food processor with garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, salt, pepper and paprika. Remove stem from roasted pepper. You may peel off skin if you find it unappetizing, but I find that the dip is better with the blackened skin. Throw it in, too. Process, stirring occasionally, until you have a fine, creamy-textured glop. Store, covered, in refrigerator for at least 24 hours. This dip is better if it sits for one or two days before use.
Step II: Red-wine marinade for lamb
Ingredients:
• 2-2½ lb. lamb roast, boned, tied (either leg or shoulder will do fine)
• 1-1½ c. bold red wine (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• 2-3 oz. extra virgin olive oil
• 2 large cloves garlic
• Salt and pepper to taste
Directions:
Remove the lamb from packaging, pat dry. Salt and pepper the roast to taste, and tie if not already strung up. Put in strong freezer bag with wine and garlic, chopped into thick slices. Refrigerate, turning every 6-12 hours, for 24 to 48 hours. (Alt. method: pound lamb out flat with and thin with meat hammer before marinating. Do not tie up. Marinade as described above.)
Step III: To cook or not to cook?
Ingredients:
• Marinated Lamb, described above
• Roasted red pepper “baba ganousch”
• 1 lg. sweet onion, sliced thin
• ¼ c. pine nuts
• ¼ c. crumbled feta cheese
• 1-1½ c. red wine, same as that used for marinade (Grenache, Cotes-du-Rhone, Bordeaux)
• Approx. 1 “portion” plain couscous per four diners, prepared as listed on package
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350F, pat roast dry with paper towel, and pan-sear in a hot pan, preferably iron, steel or copper (not non-stick, though enameled iron is fine,) on all sides. Remove from heat, and rub with a small amount of the baba ganousch. Place in a large, tight-lidded casserole, and cover with sliced onion and pine nuts. Place in oven for about 25-30 min/lb, checking meat’s internal temperature after about 30-40 minutes, and every 10 or so thereafter. Cook to an internal temperature of 150-155F for medium-rare meat and maximum flavor sans-gaminess. Once meat is done, remove from oven and casserole, and let sit for about 15 minutes to give juices a chance to redistribute on cutting board. Reserve cooked Add wine to roasting casserole, and deglaze pan at no higher than med-high heat, scraping all meat drippings from bottom with rubber spatula. Transfer remaining baba ganousch into saucepan, and slowly incorporate deglazing wine into it, stirring constantly, over medium heat. Reduce for about fifteen minutes until good sauce consistency. Slice lamb thin, and arrange a few slices on each guest’s plate on a bed of couscous. Sprinkle with reserved feta, ladle red wine pan sauce over top, and put a small stack of reserved onions and pine nuts on top of the whole mess. Serve immediately. (Alt. method: If you chose to pound out the roast and do a roulade, congrats! Get ready for some work. Pat dry, spread a thin layer of baba ganousch over the internal surface of the roulade, sprinkle with feta and pine nuts, roll, and tie. Skip pan searing, and place directly into casserole, following directions above for rest of recipe. Watch temperature very carefully! Also, you needn’t necessarily deglaze the roasting pan, as it should be full of liquids to start. Just pour the wine directly into the dip, and reduce. One may add a few spoonfuls of jus from the roasting pot to the sauce if one wishes, however.)
Monday, March 10, 2008
The Rite of Spring (kind of...)
So, minus any and all ritual doinking or riotous outbursts based upon musical excesses committed upon morally repressed peoples, dinner last night was a smashing success. Sister missed out, as she had a volunteer shift in New Glarus at the EMS, though Terra Firma did make it for part of dinner. Bulgaria and Mr. Hockey brought dessert in the form of baklava, made from an original Turkish recipe, courtesy of a Bulgarian cookbook. They also brought a bottle of wine, which bumped the total number consumed in the evening up to 4. This was rather a feat, as poor Mr. Hockey had a liver flare-up, and couldn’t drink any at all.
We started with cored mission figs, wrapped in procciutto and stuffed with a mixture of crushed pine nut and pistachio, crumbled feta, finely minced shallot, pepper and paprika, then sprinkled with fresh-squeezed orange juice and run under the broiler. They were fantastic. Next was an invigorating garlic soup. I know it sounds dicey, but #1, it didn’t taste like garlic, and #2, was drop-dead delicious. I served this with a Spanish Albarino, a stout, dry, fruity white wine which also paired well with the next course, a couscous salad with minced onion, a touch of shallot, and chopped green bell pepper, tomato, fig and fresh mozzarella, seasoned with paprika, pepper, sea-salt, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a splash of the Albarino for good measure. Next was the lamb. It didn’t work out as a roulade, but rather as more of a roast. It was marinated for a full day in red wine and garlic, then spread with roasted red-pepper, eggplant and garlic spread (baba ganoush), couscous, pine nuts and crumbled feta, and a whole mess of thin-sliced onions and roasted. It was sliced thin and served on a bed of couscous, with a red wine/baba ganoush reduction as a sauce, and onion from the roasting pan piled on top. The pairing for this was a bold Spanish Grenache, the same wine used for the reduction sauce and marinade. Damn, was that fine lamb.
Finally, we had the baklava paired with a Mondoro Asti… Not the finest of dessert wines or anything, but the demi-sec was a great match for what can be a cloyingly sweet dish. Most of us had second helpings. The best part was that, though this was about a five-hour kitchen job, I got to do it over three days, and cleanup was a snap. Loaded the dish washer, did about five dishes by hand, and was done. Easy-peasy one-two-threesy. Also, even though she’s a vegan and HATES the smell of cooking meat, Terra’s GF came in and complimented me on the way the apartment looked during the dinner. She was wincing a little at the time, but did make google-eyes at the couscous salad, at least. ;-)
All in all, GREAT dinner. And because it went off with nary a hitch, I’m expecting tender green shoots any time, now. I mean, I didn’t sacrifice a lamb for nothing… J/K, I left that to the good people at Artemos Meats! Hope there were good readings in the entrails. Incidentally, I also had a very convoluted dream about being arcanely related to Julia Child last night, and getting to talk to her father almost as an ancestor spirit. I think it was the interaction between all the wine, the touch of coffee before dessert, and the camomile tea I had just before bed. Any way you look at it, I'm taking it as a smashing omen. Spring, HO!!!
We started with cored mission figs, wrapped in procciutto and stuffed with a mixture of crushed pine nut and pistachio, crumbled feta, finely minced shallot, pepper and paprika, then sprinkled with fresh-squeezed orange juice and run under the broiler. They were fantastic. Next was an invigorating garlic soup. I know it sounds dicey, but #1, it didn’t taste like garlic, and #2, was drop-dead delicious. I served this with a Spanish Albarino, a stout, dry, fruity white wine which also paired well with the next course, a couscous salad with minced onion, a touch of shallot, and chopped green bell pepper, tomato, fig and fresh mozzarella, seasoned with paprika, pepper, sea-salt, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a splash of the Albarino for good measure. Next was the lamb. It didn’t work out as a roulade, but rather as more of a roast. It was marinated for a full day in red wine and garlic, then spread with roasted red-pepper, eggplant and garlic spread (baba ganoush), couscous, pine nuts and crumbled feta, and a whole mess of thin-sliced onions and roasted. It was sliced thin and served on a bed of couscous, with a red wine/baba ganoush reduction as a sauce, and onion from the roasting pan piled on top. The pairing for this was a bold Spanish Grenache, the same wine used for the reduction sauce and marinade. Damn, was that fine lamb.
Finally, we had the baklava paired with a Mondoro Asti… Not the finest of dessert wines or anything, but the demi-sec was a great match for what can be a cloyingly sweet dish. Most of us had second helpings. The best part was that, though this was about a five-hour kitchen job, I got to do it over three days, and cleanup was a snap. Loaded the dish washer, did about five dishes by hand, and was done. Easy-peasy one-two-threesy. Also, even though she’s a vegan and HATES the smell of cooking meat, Terra’s GF came in and complimented me on the way the apartment looked during the dinner. She was wincing a little at the time, but did make google-eyes at the couscous salad, at least. ;-)
All in all, GREAT dinner. And because it went off with nary a hitch, I’m expecting tender green shoots any time, now. I mean, I didn’t sacrifice a lamb for nothing… J/K, I left that to the good people at Artemos Meats! Hope there were good readings in the entrails. Incidentally, I also had a very convoluted dream about being arcanely related to Julia Child last night, and getting to talk to her father almost as an ancestor spirit. I think it was the interaction between all the wine, the touch of coffee before dessert, and the camomile tea I had just before bed. Any way you look at it, I'm taking it as a smashing omen. Spring, HO!!!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Buck up, little camper...
Please disregard yesterday’s post. I think I’m suffering from male PMS… This morning, one of my two big bosses actually ducked into a meeting I was having with my direct superior and told me how well management thinks I’m doing, how much smarter than anybody else on the floor I am, etcetera. This naturally gave me a little boost, though it didn’t decrease my desire to walk home with the lotto jackpot anytime soon, or change jobs. And the stupid fluff I keep airing about O. is just that… Stupid fluff. I can’t help but think that there is a transition coming, but it should be pointed out that I don’t believe it will amount to anything more than an internal change to the relationship. So, in all, I’ve learned two big lessons today. #1, keep smiling. It’s a lot more effective than frowning. #2, shut up until a smile is fixed on your face, rictus-like. Even if it makes your face hurt, it’ll turn the ol’ attitude up a couple notches.
I’m also SUPER excited, because I’m to cook my first really complex, uncompromisingly sexy gourmet dinner this weekend, and did my wine shopping during lunch. I ended up with a couple real steals, and a good idea of what I just may buy for dessert, depending on what the guests are bringing. Additionally, there’s finally a clear idea for the amusee bouche (sp? – no hablo frog,) forming in my mind. Mission fig, stuffed with crushed pistachio, feta and onion, wrapped in prosciutto tied up like a bag with a long string of candied orange peel. After spritzing with just a touch of juice sqeezed from a fresh-cut orange, putting under the broiler for about a minute so the prosciutto gets crisp and the feta molten. I think I want it to eat me.
I’m also SUPER excited, because I’m to cook my first really complex, uncompromisingly sexy gourmet dinner this weekend, and did my wine shopping during lunch. I ended up with a couple real steals, and a good idea of what I just may buy for dessert, depending on what the guests are bringing. Additionally, there’s finally a clear idea for the amusee bouche (sp? – no hablo frog,) forming in my mind. Mission fig, stuffed with crushed pistachio, feta and onion, wrapped in prosciutto tied up like a bag with a long string of candied orange peel. After spritzing with just a touch of juice sqeezed from a fresh-cut orange, putting under the broiler for about a minute so the prosciutto gets crisp and the feta molten. I think I want it to eat me.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Seppuku or bust
I. Am. Mind-numbingly. Tired.
No, I’m not really gonna try to commit ritual suicide. That would take too much energy. Though, I may just end up boring myself to death. Call, call, voicemail, call, call, conversation, call… It never ends, here. And the conversations are all about how nobody has money, and budgets are being slashed, and people being let go. If I can’t make budget this month, I’m pretty sure some harsh words are going to come my way from management, too. The only mitigating factor is that nobody is really making budget, but that’s not exactly a good excuse these days.
O. and I are doing well, but seem to be in kind of a weird floating place, waiting for something to happen. We went out to a very nice dinner on Friday, but were patronized by the waiter, who I in turn patronized with a frightfully average tip. The bastard didn’t even bother asking when he had to find a substitute for the wine I ordered with dinner, he just brought it out. Now, I can’t say it wasn’t good. Rather the opposite. But it certainly wasn’t as good as the one I asked for in the first place. And the coffee! Blech. I find it funny that decent restaurants here are far more snobbish than better places in Chicago. At least there, they’d stop looking down their noses as soon as I ordered well. And poor Orpheus was a bit intimidated. Overall, I’d call it kind of a good metaphor for the place we are right now. Neither of us able to force something out that we probably need to say or do, but nothing is bad or boring. Just slightly too comfortable, and yet not.
Anyway, tonight is a night off for us, and I’m going to put a tiny meatloaf in a rammikin into my broke-ass oven (to be fixed on Thursday, thank you rental company), cook it up (or burn it, the outcome is not yet clear), and fall the h-e-double-hockey-sticks to sleep early tonight. Wish my mental health well.
No, I’m not really gonna try to commit ritual suicide. That would take too much energy. Though, I may just end up boring myself to death. Call, call, voicemail, call, call, conversation, call… It never ends, here. And the conversations are all about how nobody has money, and budgets are being slashed, and people being let go. If I can’t make budget this month, I’m pretty sure some harsh words are going to come my way from management, too. The only mitigating factor is that nobody is really making budget, but that’s not exactly a good excuse these days.
O. and I are doing well, but seem to be in kind of a weird floating place, waiting for something to happen. We went out to a very nice dinner on Friday, but were patronized by the waiter, who I in turn patronized with a frightfully average tip. The bastard didn’t even bother asking when he had to find a substitute for the wine I ordered with dinner, he just brought it out. Now, I can’t say it wasn’t good. Rather the opposite. But it certainly wasn’t as good as the one I asked for in the first place. And the coffee! Blech. I find it funny that decent restaurants here are far more snobbish than better places in Chicago. At least there, they’d stop looking down their noses as soon as I ordered well. And poor Orpheus was a bit intimidated. Overall, I’d call it kind of a good metaphor for the place we are right now. Neither of us able to force something out that we probably need to say or do, but nothing is bad or boring. Just slightly too comfortable, and yet not.
Anyway, tonight is a night off for us, and I’m going to put a tiny meatloaf in a rammikin into my broke-ass oven (to be fixed on Thursday, thank you rental company), cook it up (or burn it, the outcome is not yet clear), and fall the h-e-double-hockey-sticks to sleep early tonight. Wish my mental health well.
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