Wednesday, January 30, 2013

My under-used skill

- I excel at making obscure, Vanity Fair-themed jokes (the magazine, not the Thackeray novel).  There isn't a Dominic Dunne or Gore Vidal bon mot I won't drop!

The Dotytron and I had an epic conversation (after our CD of tunes from Les Misérables, West Side Story, and Wicked had cycled through) on the drive down to visit my sis about our end-of-life wishes, based on me reading that Get Your Shit Together website's recommendations.  Just talking about what constitutes life, or a quality of life, or consciousness and at what point the other person should make the decision to pull the plug.  It is probably a sign of my inherent selfishness (and issues with mortality) that I insisted that if I was in a persistent vegetative state that I be kept alive for one year to see if I come out of it.  The Dotytron is way more selfless - he's concerned about the impact on his loved ones - like what a burden it would be for me to have to visit him all the time and have him be a husk of a person.  I don't know though - the Chinese way is to approach things with the sense that becoming a burden on your loved ones is kind of expected and that your loved ones should like, grovel for the opportunity to wait on you hand and foot and inconvenience themselves for you.  I'm just living up to my culture, man.  Then the Dotytron veered into "2nd partner" territory, as in: it would be weird for him and his future replacement-Lagerfeld to have me in their house, hooked up to breathing tubes and whatnot and I was all like, why would you want to be with someone who wasn't okay with you caring for the husk of your first partner?  It would be SO LIKE the Dotytron to end up with someone who was all stereotypical evil stepmother/2nd wife syndrome.

His high school girlfriend (who was in my art classes all through high school) made herself a homemade Tori Amos t-shirt that was plain white with the words, "what's so amazing about really deep thoughts?" hand written across the front.


Speaking of Tori Amos, I'm hosting Academic Book Club tonight.  There has been a feverish amount of tidying going on at Lil' Ugmo.  The Tori Amos segue is apt because one of the book club members, my dear strident feminist out-of-touch-with-popular-culture friend J, talked about going to a Tori Amos concert (like, recently!  In 2012!!!) at a meeting and I was all slack-jawed and gaped at her like she was a centaur or something.  Like, I can't believe reasonable people would go to a Tori Amos concert to watch an old lady with brittle hair thrash around and hump a piano bench.  But to each their own!

Anyway, I'm putting out a spread consisting of red wine, sparkling, flat, grapes, clementines, a green pea and pecorino dip, a goat's gouda (my current favorite cheese - it reminds me of the young pecorinos you get everywhere in Florence), an old Dutch beemster that is so loaded with those Parmesano Reggiano crystalline umami-bombs that I salivate just looking at it, and Le Riopelle, a triple cream cow's milk cheese from Quebec; some gluten free crackers, some bread, some baby carrots, and I made bittersweet chocolate budinos with salted caramel and chocolate crumbs, along with gluten free peanut butter cookies.  I have a hosting reputation to uphold and since this is likely the last time I'll be up for hosting book club until, say, 2020, then I want to go out in a blaze of glory.  Call me young gun.

Sometime between posting that post on Monday and today, my stomach/metabolism has waged an all-out war on my protestations of "not being that hungry."  I'm getting hunger headaches every 2 hours.  At first, I thought it was just a return-to-desk-job-after-a-weekend-in-Geneseo headache but then I realized that it went away when I ate.  So even though I don't feel hungry, my body is HUNGRY.  Like, this is me:

I can't tell you how much it amuses me endlessly the degree to which and the sincerity with which Dr. Rei can rhapsodise about this song - her "favorite duet of all time"

By the way, I countered that by saying that one of my favorite duets might be "Islands in the Stream."  

Anyway, even the "not feeling hungry" seems to be going away and today I was hungry and thirsty ALL THE TIME.  Even though I regularly drink TWO LITRES OF WATER A DAY.  But my blood volume is supposed to increase by 100%.  What the f**k are those two little twerps doing to me?  It's super-hard to satisfy hunger healthfully.  Like, I don't know how marathon runners or professional athletes do it.  My colleagues at work today were talking about cholesterol and I got all freaked out and I changed my McDonald's order from my big mac combo/filet-o-fish chaser to a filet-o-fish combo/filet-o-fish chaser.  This is after I spent about half an hour figuring out which McDonald's versus Popeye's combo variation was less likely to kill me.  I swear, I would learn advanced Excel just to build a model that would allow me to figure this kind of stuff out (2 pieces or 3? Biscuit or mashed potatoes? Eat half the biscuit and get an extra piece of chicken? Diet soda?!?!)  Maybe I should build an app for this.  I could call it "Hungry Pigs."  

This stupid multiples book I was reading (last one! I'm through!) had all these lamewad recipes at the back for "mini meatloaves" and fish burgers made with tinned salmon (barf).  My forays into Roseanne territory aside, I really do feel like the meals we cook at home are generally healthy and balanced.  Surely I'm killing it on variety alone?  I made myself an egg white and spinach and cheese omelet the other morning for breakfast.  It was very virtuous but the flavour and satisfaction derived from eating it was inversely related to the degree of virtue.  Egg whites are the grossest.  I mean, I like me a Swiss meringue buttercream and a lemon meringue pie and an île flottante, hard.  But ALL of those dishes find a way to cleverly sneak in some yolk goodness.  Last night we had clam linguine with a tonne of garlic and some baby heirloom hothouse tomatoes thrown in and it was DELICIOUS.  I love me a linguine alle vongole so hard.   

The bottom line is: don't be surprised if this little space devolves into me talking about what I want to eat (more than usual).

The Big Yam has reached a fun, fun, fun milestone: reading stories out loud to himself.  I feel like it's a G-D miracle.  He carries around The Very Hungry Caterpillar and reads out loud and counts out the foods and it's THE BEST!  He's always pestering me in the mornings and the both of us at night to read stories and trying to get more stories out of us and it's really, really hard to say no and stick to a firm bedtime.  How can I say no to a nascent love of reading?  

The Dotytron had an assignment for his grade 6 students who are on the cusp of actually getting to play their band instruments.  He's been gradually working up to it.  The lead-up assignment was for them to research their instrument and to report back on stuff like: how to make a good tone, how your mouth should be, notable players of that instrument, etc.  He had one person come back and report on the flute.  The notable flutist was...

Alyssa Milano.

LOL!!!  Kids rule.  The kid also noted that "Alyssa Milano also plays the piano."  

As an aside: I was reading up on Syria today.  Ugh.  Not good.

I'm trying not to let on too much, but having two twerps is freaking me out.  I just feel like it increases the odds that something bad is going to the very fact that there's two twerps is tempting the fates.  I know there's nothing I can do about it and it's one of those "come what may" scenarios but I just have this low-grade nervousness.  It's partially hypochondria and partially being a worrier and partially having lived with a midwife for 4 years and partially reading too much about odds and statistics and having a shaky grasp of grade 11 finite math (which I somehow got an A in by the skin of my teeth, with the weird side effect of retaining nothing from that class.  I blame this on Dr. B, our teacher, who was so old and doddering he smelled like he was rotting from the inside out).  



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