December 2007 Archives

[While this may not be the first time I've heard this song since certain facts came to light (to me), it's definitely the first time I've considered the lyrics:]

Really, who but a candidate for a doctorate in astrophysics (now properly defended) could write such a heart-wrenching song about the perils of relativistic space travel?

I know I've had my suspicions over the years, and, sure, it could be argued there are other interpretations (I'd expect nothing less from such a master), but this coincidence is too strong to ignore.

Dear USPS:

Look, I know things are busy for you right now, so you probably won't even hear my cries over the din of all of the mail you're processing, however I have two comments:

1. "package tracking" != "delivery confirmation!" Please stop trying to confuse the issue
2. "Express Mail" my fat, pale, hairy ass!

In short, my package should have been here overnight 1 week ago (even giving you the benefit of the doubt). I have no visibility into your process. I just want my damn package!

no love,
E

Dear Random Cyclist Who Likes to Draft Me on Moffett Park Blvd.:

First off, I am greatly honored by your obvious trust in my abilities, but I have two questions for you as well:

1. Dude, seriously, what the fuck? That shit is dangerous done with people you know how to anticipate, but a random stranger? Yes, yes, I'm in awe of your mad skillz and your obviously far stronger cojones, but what the hell is wrong with you?
2. We've done this a few times now, you know I turn left at Borregas, do you not realize that when I look behind me I'm trying to gauge the likelihood of being mauled by a death machine as I enter the lane? Seeing your smiling face blocking my view is not helpful.

In short: thanks, now please back the fuck off!

No Love,
You Don't Even Know My Name

Dear Random Other Cyclist I'd Never Seen Before:

I'm sorry my passing you was such an affront to your machismo that you felt you had to be a complete prick about it. But let's compare:

1. I passed you, on the left, letting you know I was there, ("On your left")
2. You passed me, on the right (seriously, are you dense?) with nary a peep, at a stop sign, where you immediately made a left turn across my path!

I nearly ran right into you, asshat! If I'd been aware of what you were about to pull I might have out of spite. I hope your manhood has been vindicated. Now kindly cut that shit out.

Whatever.

For once, I'm using that metaphor for something positive!

After a most delectable Thanksgiving dinner[*], I contemplated the carcass of the bird and said "We can't just throw that out," (You can take the boy out of New England, but you can't take New England out of the boy) "I'll make stock!"

So I gathered up a mirpois, some additional aromatics, and some leftover herbage, and put the bird on to boil.

[Note to future self: wishing either of your 8Q stock pots are large enough to handle 4lbs of carcass doesn't make it so. If you plan to do this again, buy a proper stock pot!]

10 hours of boiling, scumming, and topping off later the bones had given up quite a bit of collagen, but there was still some left. On the other hand, it was 1am and it would take about an hour[**] to cool the stock to the point it could safely be stored in the refrigerator. So I pulled it, strained it through cheese cloth and started the cooling process.

When I finally dealt with it, I found that while it wasn't as gelatinous as it might be, it was most assuredly more than a mere broth! Success![***] I then dutifully broke out the muffin tins and portioned it into 1/2 & 1c amounts, plus a few pints and into the freezer it went.

And now, with Chiara off at a baby shower, I went to the kitchen to contemplate lunch. Once there I was hit with a revelation like a bolt of lightning:

Consommé!

Another mirpois (diced this time), one of my frozen pints, a little salt, a little pepper (ok, a lot of pepper. Probably too much, my nose is still running) and some egg noodles I didn't know we had. (Yes, I threw it all together into the pot at the same time, sue me.) Finished with a squeeze of lemon juice.

In a word, sublime.

[*] I think Chiara's tired of me raving about the carmelized onion & balsamic gravy that she couldn't eat, but really, everything we ate was fantastic. That gravy, however, was a mind-expanding substance.

[**] In the other stock pot, surrounded by ice, with two frozen nalgene bottles full in the middle to speed the process. That's all AB's idea.

[***] Ok,I also found it to be a bit murkier than I might like, probably meaning that I cooked it too high and didn't scum as effectively as I should have. It was also curiously lacking in schmaltz. Oh well, for a first (solo) effort, it wasn't bad.