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Thursday, November 22, 2012
Today we give thanks for the ability to laugh at stupidity
It's funny how certain things have become holiday traditions. Yesterday I was at the archetype of New Jersey malls, Paramus Park, blowing my flex account money on three new pairs of glasses. My prescription has changed since 2007, which was the last time I had a new prescription, and I've been having some trouble with night driving, so I decided it was time to spring for new glasses.
When I was in North Carolina last month, I somehow managed to lose what I called my Nerdy McNerdlingtons, which were these wonderful thick-black-rimmed sunglasses. So I went to Lenscrafters hoping to not just replace them, but to replace my twisty-kid-frame computer glasses with something nerdy as well.
I was greeted at the door by the store's "frame stylist" (yes, there really is such a position at Lenscrafters), who sported a tag with the inevitable name "Giancarlo". Giancarlo was maybe twenty-five at the most, and I assured him that I was about to become his worst nightmare customer of the day, because I was looking for nerd glasses, and they had to be the RIGHT nerd glasses. Well, Giancarlo looked at me and saw just a fat, middle-aged lady, and proceeded to show me frames more suitable to Jewish Grandmother In Boca circa 1972, so I sent Giancarlo on his way and went in search of Just The Right Frames That Would Not Cost Me An Arm And A Leg.
I've never understood the appeal of designer labels. I've never understood why anyone would want a Louis Vuitton handbag, which to me is just an ugly plastic thing. To me, the $79.95 eyeglass frame looks no different from the $249.95 frame with the peel-off sticker that says "Ralph Lauren Polo" and the little gold polo player on the side of the frames. Ralph Lauren is very adept at creating a kind of faux-nostalgic American classic look, but when he looks in the mirror, what looks back at him is still Ralph Lifshitz from the Bronx whose parents came from Pinsk. And he has about as much to do with those eyeglass frames as does Hesh Liebowitz the Optician from Grand Street.
Anyway, after a half-hour of trying to explain to Giancarlo who Nate Silver and Rachel Maddow were as avatars of the kind of Cool Nerd look I was after (he had never heard of either of them, which made me weep for our nation's future), I finally sselected two nerdy frames for my prescription sunglasses and computer glasses, and some functional black-wire-rims for my night driving glasses. Then I was passed along to Patrick the Sales Writer, who regaled me about his experience last year with an electric turkey fryer, and Anthony the Optician, who shared the story of how annoyed he gets as group texts (heh), which is sort of like having all your Facebook friends and all THEIR Facebook friends and then all of THEIR Facebook friends text-reply to you all at once.
So by the time I left to kill an hour and a half in Paramus Park Mall, a smallish mall by contemporary standards, but like most malls filled with stores where there is absolutely nothing a sane person would want to buy, Patrick and Anthony were like my new BFFs and the $700 that I'd spent on three pair of glasses had absolutely nothing to do with it, I'm sure. An hour and a half later, after looking at some hideous clothes at Chico's (what has happened to them, anyway), saying a prayer of thanks to the Goddess that I do not have a young female child who wanted clothing from a store called "Juicy", which looks like an emporium for underaged street hookers, and browsing the rather lame bookstore, I went back for another half hour of stimulating conversation about coffee and text messages with my new BFFs Patrick and Anthony, before I was finally released to go home around 6:30 PM, went home, watched TV, went to sleep and didn't get up until this morning, after Maggie (who is back to her old bad self) had howled at me for two straight hours.
But anyway, holiday traditions... Remember holiday traditions? This is a post about holiday traditions.
Today is Thanksgiving -- the carbo-loading that takes place before the shopping marathon to come. For all that there are far too many retailers so hungry to squeeze every last dollar out of the public that they're depriving their employees of one of the only two actual holidays on the retail calendar and opening today, it's a quiet respite between the workday and the torture to come. It's a torture that consists not just of shopping for tchotchkes for people who don't need more tchotchkes, but also of a relentless barrage of Christmas music and TV specials, each more nauseating than the one before. There's plenty of time for that tomorrow. But today, we're celebrating the most important of all the holiday traditions -- more important than the turkey, the football, the pumpkin pie.
Yes, friends, it's time for the annual playing of "Alice's Restaurant." I kind of like this version from the 1990s:
... but if you prefer the original, it's here:
Have a great day, everyone!
When I was in North Carolina last month, I somehow managed to lose what I called my Nerdy McNerdlingtons, which were these wonderful thick-black-rimmed sunglasses. So I went to Lenscrafters hoping to not just replace them, but to replace my twisty-kid-frame computer glasses with something nerdy as well.
I was greeted at the door by the store's "frame stylist" (yes, there really is such a position at Lenscrafters), who sported a tag with the inevitable name "Giancarlo". Giancarlo was maybe twenty-five at the most, and I assured him that I was about to become his worst nightmare customer of the day, because I was looking for nerd glasses, and they had to be the RIGHT nerd glasses. Well, Giancarlo looked at me and saw just a fat, middle-aged lady, and proceeded to show me frames more suitable to Jewish Grandmother In Boca circa 1972, so I sent Giancarlo on his way and went in search of Just The Right Frames That Would Not Cost Me An Arm And A Leg.
I've never understood the appeal of designer labels. I've never understood why anyone would want a Louis Vuitton handbag, which to me is just an ugly plastic thing. To me, the $79.95 eyeglass frame looks no different from the $249.95 frame with the peel-off sticker that says "Ralph Lauren Polo" and the little gold polo player on the side of the frames. Ralph Lauren is very adept at creating a kind of faux-nostalgic American classic look, but when he looks in the mirror, what looks back at him is still Ralph Lifshitz from the Bronx whose parents came from Pinsk. And he has about as much to do with those eyeglass frames as does Hesh Liebowitz the Optician from Grand Street.
Anyway, after a half-hour of trying to explain to Giancarlo who Nate Silver and Rachel Maddow were as avatars of the kind of Cool Nerd look I was after (he had never heard of either of them, which made me weep for our nation's future), I finally sselected two nerdy frames for my prescription sunglasses and computer glasses, and some functional black-wire-rims for my night driving glasses. Then I was passed along to Patrick the Sales Writer, who regaled me about his experience last year with an electric turkey fryer, and Anthony the Optician, who shared the story of how annoyed he gets as group texts (heh), which is sort of like having all your Facebook friends and all THEIR Facebook friends and then all of THEIR Facebook friends text-reply to you all at once.
So by the time I left to kill an hour and a half in Paramus Park Mall, a smallish mall by contemporary standards, but like most malls filled with stores where there is absolutely nothing a sane person would want to buy, Patrick and Anthony were like my new BFFs and the $700 that I'd spent on three pair of glasses had absolutely nothing to do with it, I'm sure. An hour and a half later, after looking at some hideous clothes at Chico's (what has happened to them, anyway), saying a prayer of thanks to the Goddess that I do not have a young female child who wanted clothing from a store called "Juicy", which looks like an emporium for underaged street hookers, and browsing the rather lame bookstore, I went back for another half hour of stimulating conversation about coffee and text messages with my new BFFs Patrick and Anthony, before I was finally released to go home around 6:30 PM, went home, watched TV, went to sleep and didn't get up until this morning, after Maggie (who is back to her old bad self) had howled at me for two straight hours.
But anyway, holiday traditions... Remember holiday traditions? This is a post about holiday traditions.
Today is Thanksgiving -- the carbo-loading that takes place before the shopping marathon to come. For all that there are far too many retailers so hungry to squeeze every last dollar out of the public that they're depriving their employees of one of the only two actual holidays on the retail calendar and opening today, it's a quiet respite between the workday and the torture to come. It's a torture that consists not just of shopping for tchotchkes for people who don't need more tchotchkes, but also of a relentless barrage of Christmas music and TV specials, each more nauseating than the one before. There's plenty of time for that tomorrow. But today, we're celebrating the most important of all the holiday traditions -- more important than the turkey, the football, the pumpkin pie.
Yes, friends, it's time for the annual playing of "Alice's Restaurant." I kind of like this version from the 1990s:
... but if you prefer the original, it's here:
Have a great day, everyone!
Labels: Christmas, holidays, Thanksgiving
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Around the Blogroll and Elsewhere: Back to the Same Old S**t Edition
BlueGal: Time Magazine isn't taking any chances that you'll look at what's going on around you and start asking questions. They're telling you flat out that getting screwed over by the oligarchy is GOOD for you.
The New York Crank has a dinnertable discussion with an investment banker on Thansgiving. (Are you starting to get the impression that "Fannie and Freddie" is becoming right-wing code for "uppity ni---rs" the way "Dodd-Frank" is becoming right-wing code for "fa--ots"?)
Bruce Schmiechen on the Too Big To Fail doctrine.
This says about everything there is to say about Thanksgiving (via Elayne)
Sherry ventures into Outer Wingnuttia to see what they're saying about the Infamous Halal Butterball Turkey Fracas.
At The Political Carnival, there's a cool list of referrals for gifts for EVERYONE on your list. (Here at Casa la Brilliant, we succumbed to the Siren Song of Cupertino by taking the bait so we can tentatively dip our toes the Cult of Mac via a Mac Mini. Discounted Apple products? Steve Jobs is already spinning.)
These gals just don't post enough. Margaret and Helen put forth their Thanksgiving Rules.
Lisa Wines takes down No-Bullshit Guys in Politics.
And finally...go visit Monkeyfister for a video that tells it like it is about turkey. (A bit late for Thanksgiving, but if you're one of those people that thinks a turkey dinner should be re-run at Christmas during the Lockup:Raw marathon on MSNBC, it might be useful. As for me, I already have the traditional Christmas ham. Because nothing honors the birth of a Jewish baby like pork products.)
The New York Crank has a dinnertable discussion with an investment banker on Thansgiving. (Are you starting to get the impression that "Fannie and Freddie" is becoming right-wing code for "uppity ni---rs" the way "Dodd-Frank" is becoming right-wing code for "fa--ots"?)
Bruce Schmiechen on the Too Big To Fail doctrine.
This says about everything there is to say about Thanksgiving (via Elayne)
Sherry ventures into Outer Wingnuttia to see what they're saying about the Infamous Halal Butterball Turkey Fracas.
At The Political Carnival, there's a cool list of referrals for gifts for EVERYONE on your list. (Here at Casa la Brilliant, we succumbed to the Siren Song of Cupertino by taking the bait so we can tentatively dip our toes the Cult of Mac via a Mac Mini. Discounted Apple products? Steve Jobs is already spinning.)
These gals just don't post enough. Margaret and Helen put forth their Thanksgiving Rules.
Lisa Wines takes down No-Bullshit Guys in Politics.
And finally...go visit Monkeyfister for a video that tells it like it is about turkey. (A bit late for Thanksgiving, but if you're one of those people that thinks a turkey dinner should be re-run at Christmas during the Lockup:Raw marathon on MSNBC, it might be useful. As for me, I already have the traditional Christmas ham. Because nothing honors the birth of a Jewish baby like pork products.)
Labels: bloggers, Blogroll Amnesty Day, Thanksgiving
Only America would have a holiday the point of which is gluttony...
...followed by an orgy of consumerism. Is there anything more American than that?
Because Mr. Brilliant has no family and I have none living close by, Thanksgiving is a quiet affair here at Casa la Brilliant. When Mr. B's father was alive, I once did a big Thanksgiving dinner for the three of us, with fresh fruit, handmade ravioli with vodka sauce (neither of them handmade by me), turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, and something for dessert that I don't remember. Then we started just going out to eat on Thanksgiving.
I grew up with the doctrine that eating out on Thanksgiving is depressing, so my mother made a turkey every year, or else we went to the home of one of her friends. But in recent years, I've discovered the pleasure of letting someone you don't know do the cooking. The last few years we've gone to the Thanksgiving Brunch at the Short Hills Hilton. This is pricey, but they do a lovely buffet spread (which Mr. B. likes for its variety) with unlimited champagne or mimosas. If you're a big eater, you can start at the omelet station for eggs, bacon, and sausage and then move on to trips for appetizers and hot food. If you're more like me and always find today to be a minefield, you case the joint first looking for what's OK to eat and then take a little of the things that looks good and also look like they won't have you in the cardiac ward of St. Barnabas on the way home. They do some lovely salads, and have great smoked whitefish, and then I tend to lean towards things like ale-braised shortribs and orichiette with broccoli rabe and sausage and maple-glazed carrots. After 56 Thanksgivings and the advent of Trader Joe's sliced turkey and frozen mashed potato discs making it possible for even non-cooks like Mr. B. to prepare a turkey dinner any night of the week, the whole "traditional" Thanksgiving dinner seems kind of ho-hum.
For me, the worst part of Thanksgiving is the pitying looks that colleagues give you when you say that it's just going to be dinner for two on Thanksgiving. It makes me understand in a far lesser degree what my colleague who recently underwent treatmet for breast cancer described as "That Look". If I had family close by, I'd be there for Thanksgiving. But I don't, and Mr. B. doesn't, and sucking down unlimited champagne and eating pears poached in port wine with goat cheese is a pretty damn pleasant alternative. It's my one concession to consumerism over the Thanksgiving weekend, since I have zero intention of going anywhere near a store this weekend, unless it's to Trader Joe's to buy that big tray of sliced turkey breast and stuffing just so we can say we have turkey leftovers to eat while we watch the increasingly bad New York football teams play.
This year in Blogtopia (™ Skippy), we are highly amused at Pat Robertson's bafflement about whether mac and cheese is "a black thing":
I realize that Thanksgiving is supposed to be about the Potatoes Mashed and Sweet, but for my money, if you're going to eat a high-fat, high-glycemic index food on Thanksgiving, which is all about comfort food, why NOT macaroni and cheese?
I realize that to admit a fondness for macaroni and cheese at my advanced age is akin to confessing to still liking Smarties (which I do) when you are above the age of ten, but we all have guilty pleasures, and that one is mine. And I'm not alone.
You can pretend you aren't making comfort food by coming up with recipes like Rustic Fried Sage and Chicken Apple Sausage Mac n Cheese with Autumn Chutney, and Wild Mushroom and Grana Padano Macaroni and Cheese, but we know the truth.
I mean seriously. Grana Padano mac 'n' cheese? "Autumn chutney"?
I've made passable mac 'n' cheese using cheddar, but it can be difficult to get the sauce consistency just right. Cheddar mac can be a bit grainy. Ken Johnson of Amarillo Grilling says his secret is French butter, though I suspect that the four kinds of cheese he uses for his amazing rendition of this dish has something to do with it, because his macaroni and cheese leaves no pools of separated grease on your plate, but is just forkfuls of rich, creamy, cheesy, crunchy heaven.
Here are some other recipes that look worth trying if you're inclined towards an early death because there won't be any Social Security by the time you hit age 66:
Are you going to argue with Paula Deen's Creamy Macaroni and Cheese? I'm not.
Likewise for Smack Yo' Mama Macaroni and Cheese.
Soul Food Macaroni and Chees uses the entire cheese counter at Fairway, but it does have Velveeta in it, so i'll forgive that something called Soul Food Macaroni and Cheese is on a web site called Epicurious.
If you like a little heat with your mac, try this recipe from Lynne's Country Kitchen (even if "Lynne's Country Kitchen" sounds like it should be featured in the next Blues Brothers movie: Blues Brothers 2012: Whatever DID Happen To Jonny Lang Anyway?).
Admit it. You now want macaroni and cheese today.
Have a great day, everyone. And go the fuck to sleep tonight. The tchotchkes will still be in the stores tomorrow.
Labels: Christofascist Zombie Brigade, food, recipes, Teh Stoopid, Thanksgiving
Thursday, November 25, 2010
I'm with TBogg on this one
It's now a Thanksgiving tradition, sort of like WFUV's annual noontime playing of Alice's Restaurant:
And yeah, I think Reich is right on the money too.
This is a holiday classic just like A Charlie Brown Christmas but with death and blood and a skinny white chocolate mocha from Starbucks. -- TBogg
And yeah, I think Reich is right on the money too.
Labels: bloggers, Horror, Sarah Palin, Thanksgiving
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Things for whch I'm thankful
If you, like us at Casa la Brilliant, are avid Dexter fans, last week's episode was enough to make us never want to do a "What I'm Thankful For" post ever again.
For the uninitiated, the show is about a Miami blood-spatter analyst and sociopathic serial killer (played to harrowing and complex perfection by the great Michael C. Hall) who has been able to play-act at being normal and has eluded capture by adhering to a "code" that requires him to only kill those who have committed heinous crimes and gotten away with it.
Last week the show brought us fifty minutes of some of the most uncomfortable television I have ever watched, highlighted by this scene of Thanksgiving dinner with this season's Dexter nemesis, "the Trinity killer" (an absolutely perfectly creepy John Lithgow), so called because he kills in threes. "Trinity" is, like Dexter, hiding behind a normal family life, but unlike Dexter so far, he's starting to crack, as we see here, in the most deliciously twisted Thanksgiving dinner scene ever shown on television:
So. Now that we've gotten THAT out of the way...
I'm thankful for Mr. Brilliant and that we still get along after 26 years together.
I'm thankful for my job. (And yes, I know, that's what they WANT us to think.)
I'm thankful for my friends both virtual and in meat world.
I'm thankful for the contracting company that is finishing up redoing the basement and whose workers actually show up, do quality work, and clean up afterwards.
I'm thankful for my health.
I'm thankful to be able to donate to help others this season.
I'm thankful to have enough gray matter in my brain to be able to distinguish between facts and utter horseshit.
I'm thankful for my far-flung family, which even at its most dysfunctional, was never anywhere near as bad as what you just watched above. Because garden-variety dysfunction can be overcome with sufficient good will, understanding, and communication.
I'm thankful for Bertram Nussbaum, my 8th grade English teacher back in 1968, who taught me never to send a sentence with a preposition, hence the configuration of the title of this post. He also taught me that "have to" has no place in formal writing, and neither does "get", unless it's referring to a Jewish divorce.
And I'm thankful for YOU, who for some reason decided somewhere along the line that what I have to say is worth reading.
For the uninitiated, the show is about a Miami blood-spatter analyst and sociopathic serial killer (played to harrowing and complex perfection by the great Michael C. Hall) who has been able to play-act at being normal and has eluded capture by adhering to a "code" that requires him to only kill those who have committed heinous crimes and gotten away with it.
Last week the show brought us fifty minutes of some of the most uncomfortable television I have ever watched, highlighted by this scene of Thanksgiving dinner with this season's Dexter nemesis, "the Trinity killer" (an absolutely perfectly creepy John Lithgow), so called because he kills in threes. "Trinity" is, like Dexter, hiding behind a normal family life, but unlike Dexter so far, he's starting to crack, as we see here, in the most deliciously twisted Thanksgiving dinner scene ever shown on television:
So. Now that we've gotten THAT out of the way...
I'm thankful for Mr. Brilliant and that we still get along after 26 years together.
I'm thankful for my job. (And yes, I know, that's what they WANT us to think.)
I'm thankful for my friends both virtual and in meat world.
I'm thankful for the contracting company that is finishing up redoing the basement and whose workers actually show up, do quality work, and clean up afterwards.
I'm thankful for my health.
I'm thankful to be able to donate to help others this season.
I'm thankful to have enough gray matter in my brain to be able to distinguish between facts and utter horseshit.
I'm thankful for my far-flung family, which even at its most dysfunctional, was never anywhere near as bad as what you just watched above. Because garden-variety dysfunction can be overcome with sufficient good will, understanding, and communication.
I'm thankful for Bertram Nussbaum, my 8th grade English teacher back in 1968, who taught me never to send a sentence with a preposition, hence the configuration of the title of this post. He also taught me that "have to" has no place in formal writing, and neither does "get", unless it's referring to a Jewish divorce.
And I'm thankful for YOU, who for some reason decided somewhere along the line that what I have to say is worth reading.
Labels: Dexter, Thanksgiving
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Don't Rain on my Parade...
"The stabby ends of very, very sharp sticks..."-Driftglass
Just as I was closing up brain and shop, concentrated on matters of chicken poo, hay, and pie ,(not necessarily in that order) out of the corner of my ear yesterday I overheard some pundit or other say something to the effect of "torturers will not be brought to justice," and so goes the rest of this disgusting culture and any morality that was still clinging to the underside of the lip.
India is in flames, supposedly...or you would think so by the reportage...wasn't there a parade that I used to peel potato to?...Ive been brewing coffee, feeding dogs and thinking, thinking, about whether its right at all to post a gut feeling without all the necessary research...and then whether its OK to cross post that opinion/gut feeling over on Mrs. Brill's blog and further. I mean here she is actually brave enough to state the things that she is thankful for, with seemingly no worry that they're gonna come and take it all away, poof!, just like everything else....and here I am with my usual half empty perspective. Yesterday I was asked to answer yes or no as to if I was an optimist or a pessimist, in order to get into a focus group that pays $100 cash that I need right now (what with the household publication of the boy's Christmas/Birthday list and the credit cards deciding to implode with higher minimum payments and APRs.) I kept trying to tell the guy that there must be something between the two, no?...I mean...WTF? Well, its a panel about the credit/economy crisis it turns out, and I was able to get on by a hair...but if I had been pessimistic in general, like, in life, I wouldn't have. More on that as it unfolds; they sometimes cancel and even though the screener told me that this one was definitely on...well. we'll see.
So, I guess its not so horrible that the India thing, when shown on holographic map and zoomed in upon, with flaming American style hotel and obligatory escaped hostage shown over and over, strikes me as another part of the M$M bamboozle that will, no doubt for anyone willing to actually look into it, lead back to a rise in terrorism due to American influence, Mumbai and India being our worker arm after all. And its only a short hop to the connection with our outgoing administration and their crush-the-mushroom strategy on terrorism. If the way the terrorists landed and spread out in multi attacks hits a little close to home, and smacks of being sophisticated enough to rank up there with the best that Al Quaeda Worldwide has to offer, well...
But still, what the fuck is going on? Bangkok anti-government protesters? A coup?....
Don't they know its turkey day? Isn't this when we stuff ourselves with genetically altered, oil injected, bird and lay like slugs in front of American football, watching the helpless, hopeless, meaningless travels of a ball up and down a field?
Ultimately, my gut feeling about all of this terrorism and uncertainty in the world can point in only one direction.... And if a couple of Americans are hurt in the crossfire?...well, there must be some rejoicing in the streets!
Someone called me this morning and stated bluntly that all of this Oh MY! about this operation, in that the number of dead equals a tiny, tiny percentage of people who are dying across India from tooth infections and the like. Get your priorities straight! Honestly, if terrorism is really just a dramatization of the feeling of portions of the population across the country, this wasn't all that bad, considering the desperate conditions out there. Just have a look at where Jack Bauer has been all these months (...blame the writer's strike!)...and I want to know if Obama is gonna at least hold Bauer responsible for what he's done in the name of country.
To the reportage attacks on India are worthy mainly due to great footage of flames and ongoing standoffs, and the hushed exclamation that 2 Americans, maybe more, have been HURT!!
Whatever made Americans feel like we were superior and special must by now be tempered by seeing with our own eyes what happens when we give away what made us strong; Natural resources, resiliency, ingenuity and the intelligence to reinvest in our beautiful country and its superior inhabitants. We gave all that away so that capitalism could cycle into the self destructive part, which is the inevitability in any unregulated economic sceneario; that is unless human nature has changed for the better while I was asleep. The moment Reagan stood at a podium, half addled already, reading the script put in front of him, charmingly, saying that there was no need for regulation as large corporations were very capable of regulating themselves, we were done for.
Which brings me back to the stabby sticks of Driftglass today and the flotation of ideas that the guilty will not be punished...on any level...ever!
Our beloved President Elect is not in any sense a better man than you Drifty; he merely expects less of people than you do....He must know that the American, and hell probably the worldwide attention span, is not long enough to withstand what might be necessary to demand justice. The accusation of holding a grudge or being backward-looking seems to now be stronger than the reality that we will never really be able to move forward without looking at what happened and showing the world, no matter how long it takes, that we really are who we pretended to be before the money took over.
I suppose that cleaning up the mess while you cook is too much to expect of this very messy country and its lazy inhabitants, but I think that we should at least expect some semblance of the realization and knowledge that this was not just a few rogue actors screwing things up, but an aberration in the entire American culture, manipulated by threats and our inherent weakness! I think we should expect more...but having an educated and strong populace doesn't serve those who profit from our weakness.
Meanwhile, over on NBC, thank God for New York City and Macy's, Broadway shows, balloons, clowns, confetti, kids, and anyone able to feel anything real anymore.
(The real thankful part maybe later...Now, I gotta bake a pecan pie...)
c/p RIPCoco
Labels: terrorism, Thanksgiving
Things I'm Thankful For Today
I'm thankful for my gene pool, which has blessed me with good health.
I'm thankful for my spouse of 22 years, who still makes me laugh.
I'm thankful for my sister, who was only too willing to build a relationship with me after I hated her for decades for being "the pretty one."
I'm thankful that my former employer laid me off in August, before things really started going to hell, and I'm thankful that I was able to find a new job quickly.
I'm thankful that Sarah Palin is not going to be the Vice President in January.
I'm thankful that I've been able to separate this holiday from the Norman Rockwellery and become able to do with it as we want.
I'm thankful for my many friends, virtual and meat world, who visit this blog and who feed my soul every day.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And may those who are being buffeted by the winds of corporate greed right now find the wind at their back soon.
I'm thankful for my spouse of 22 years, who still makes me laugh.
I'm thankful for my sister, who was only too willing to build a relationship with me after I hated her for decades for being "the pretty one."
I'm thankful that my former employer laid me off in August, before things really started going to hell, and I'm thankful that I was able to find a new job quickly.
I'm thankful that Sarah Palin is not going to be the Vice President in January.
I'm thankful that I've been able to separate this holiday from the Norman Rockwellery and become able to do with it as we want.
I'm thankful for my many friends, virtual and meat world, who visit this blog and who feed my soul every day.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And may those who are being buffeted by the winds of corporate greed right now find the wind at their back soon.
Labels: Thanksgiving
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Slate Presents the Sarah Palin Turkey Interview Outtakes.....
Don't hate her because she is either an evil genius or a gullible idiot. Instead, hate her because she really doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything outside of her insular and small mindset....She could never serve all the people because she is a fundamentalist whose beliefs don't allow for varying lifestyles or viewpoints...so bye, bye...I can't say that it hasn't been really, really fun somehow along the way. There is something delicious about seeing the evil show their true colors.
Write and tell us what hell is like, K?
c/p RIPCoco
Labels: Sarah Palin, Thanksgiving
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The War on Thanksgiving: An open thread
I suppose that as the holiday season gets into full gear on Friday, we'll start hearing the Usual Suspects (*cough* Billo *cough*) ranting about how liberals have declared War on Christmas, and how it's Patriotic and Christian to spend yourself into debt for the next year to celebrate the birth of a Jewish guy to a mother whose husband has to try to believe that she didn't have an affair.
If there is a War on Christmas, I would say it's being waged by the financial community and the automobile industry, with the help of the Bush Administration, but of course that will never fly with the Billos of the world, for whom Being Aggrieved and Oppressed as white Christian males has become a habit like picking at your fingers or checking the burners on the stove before leaving the house.
Of course, you couldn't tell there was a War on Christmas from the crowds at Kohl's in Ramsey, New Jersey yesterday, where people were filling up carts with sweaters, fleece, gloves, and hats. Nor could you tell at Marshall's, where the Gift Ideas!! of bath sets nobody will ever use and food baskets that make you wonder how old they are were piled high at the front of the store. I got out of Marshall's loaded down with a new set of sheets; a quilted throw for Mr. Brilliant to wrap himself in while we're watching TV because he's always cold, even when the thermostat is set to 72; and some kids' books for the company Tree Gifting for needy families. The tag I picked was age-appropriate books for a one-year-old boy, so I got a bunch of cute Boynton books, something with dinosaurs on it, and an adorable picture book of dogs with pull-out tabs that let you make a dog scratch, or shake its head after bathing. Alas, no tab that would make the dog poop, but you can't have everything.
All of this is, of course, leading up to the Big Thursday Turkey Feast. With my family members having headed south, Mr. Brilliant's father having passed to the Great Beyond, and me unwilling to spend perfectly good time off work sitting around airports, the Thanksgiving get-together is no longer an option. For years, Mr. Brilliant and I went out to dinner on Thanksgiving, feeling obligated to put down a Big Turkey Dinner™ long after we decided that to make a BTD for two was a waste of time and resources, especially since Mr. Brilliant does not like cranberries or sweet potatoes, which pretty much leaves you with a rather wan-looking white-and-tan dinner. But as the years have gone by, and turkey is now available at any time during the year, and you can get perfectly nice turkey breast slices at Trader Joe's if the spirit should move you to make a turkey dinner, the idea of the Thanksgiving turkey being a mandatory thing began to seem like something requiring rebellion. And after the last time we went to our local Nice Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the size zero waitress made a sarcastic crack about the two cookies that constituted my dessert: "You sure you have room for that?" I don't have to pay forty bucks so that some twenty-five-year-old who hasn't spent forty-five years fighting a losing battle with weight pick on me because I dare to eat a cookie and offend her delicate sensibilities.
So last year we decided to forgo spending a hundred bucks on a big dinner that left us feeling oogy for the rest of the day and just cook something nice at home. This year I am making Pastitso from a recipe given me years ago by a co-worker from her Greek mother-in-law's kitchen; along with a chopped salad of cucumber, tomato, red onion, bell pepper, olives and feta with a red wine vinaigrette dressing; and baklava from Trader Joe's.
After seven holiday seasons spent at my former job, I had finally succeeded in convincing my co-workers that Thanksgiving For Two wasn't a tragedy, that in face we actually liked it. I found at a recent departmental luncheon for two departing employees that I now have to go through this again -- convincing people that there are other ways to enjoy the holiday besides, as a commenter over at Firedoglake said, "the celebration of the genocide of native americans or the triumph of euro colonialism in the lands where the native indignous (sic) people lived for years."
Now, there's something to be said for debunking the myth about Thanskgiving that we are all taught from the time we traced our handprints in kindergarten and colored them in to look like turkeys. But today this country is in such a shambles that we just don't have the luxury right now of trying to debunk a holiday that represents for many a rare moment of joy and togetherness as dreary November draws to a close, giving way to the Festival o'Shopping to come and then the long, cold winter.
So now you know what we're doing at Casa la Brilliant on Thursday. Got any unusual traditions or dishes of your own that you're cooking this week? Spill 'em in the comments.
If there is a War on Christmas, I would say it's being waged by the financial community and the automobile industry, with the help of the Bush Administration, but of course that will never fly with the Billos of the world, for whom Being Aggrieved and Oppressed as white Christian males has become a habit like picking at your fingers or checking the burners on the stove before leaving the house.
Of course, you couldn't tell there was a War on Christmas from the crowds at Kohl's in Ramsey, New Jersey yesterday, where people were filling up carts with sweaters, fleece, gloves, and hats. Nor could you tell at Marshall's, where the Gift Ideas!! of bath sets nobody will ever use and food baskets that make you wonder how old they are were piled high at the front of the store. I got out of Marshall's loaded down with a new set of sheets; a quilted throw for Mr. Brilliant to wrap himself in while we're watching TV because he's always cold, even when the thermostat is set to 72; and some kids' books for the company Tree Gifting for needy families. The tag I picked was age-appropriate books for a one-year-old boy, so I got a bunch of cute Boynton books, something with dinosaurs on it, and an adorable picture book of dogs with pull-out tabs that let you make a dog scratch, or shake its head after bathing. Alas, no tab that would make the dog poop, but you can't have everything.
All of this is, of course, leading up to the Big Thursday Turkey Feast. With my family members having headed south, Mr. Brilliant's father having passed to the Great Beyond, and me unwilling to spend perfectly good time off work sitting around airports, the Thanksgiving get-together is no longer an option. For years, Mr. Brilliant and I went out to dinner on Thanksgiving, feeling obligated to put down a Big Turkey Dinner™ long after we decided that to make a BTD for two was a waste of time and resources, especially since Mr. Brilliant does not like cranberries or sweet potatoes, which pretty much leaves you with a rather wan-looking white-and-tan dinner. But as the years have gone by, and turkey is now available at any time during the year, and you can get perfectly nice turkey breast slices at Trader Joe's if the spirit should move you to make a turkey dinner, the idea of the Thanksgiving turkey being a mandatory thing began to seem like something requiring rebellion. And after the last time we went to our local Nice Restaurant on Thanksgiving and the size zero waitress made a sarcastic crack about the two cookies that constituted my dessert: "You sure you have room for that?" I don't have to pay forty bucks so that some twenty-five-year-old who hasn't spent forty-five years fighting a losing battle with weight pick on me because I dare to eat a cookie and offend her delicate sensibilities.
So last year we decided to forgo spending a hundred bucks on a big dinner that left us feeling oogy for the rest of the day and just cook something nice at home. This year I am making Pastitso from a recipe given me years ago by a co-worker from her Greek mother-in-law's kitchen; along with a chopped salad of cucumber, tomato, red onion, bell pepper, olives and feta with a red wine vinaigrette dressing; and baklava from Trader Joe's.
After seven holiday seasons spent at my former job, I had finally succeeded in convincing my co-workers that Thanksgiving For Two wasn't a tragedy, that in face we actually liked it. I found at a recent departmental luncheon for two departing employees that I now have to go through this again -- convincing people that there are other ways to enjoy the holiday besides, as a commenter over at Firedoglake said, "the celebration of the genocide of native americans or the triumph of euro colonialism in the lands where the native indignous (sic) people lived for years."
Now, there's something to be said for debunking the myth about Thanskgiving that we are all taught from the time we traced our handprints in kindergarten and colored them in to look like turkeys. But today this country is in such a shambles that we just don't have the luxury right now of trying to debunk a holiday that represents for many a rare moment of joy and togetherness as dreary November draws to a close, giving way to the Festival o'Shopping to come and then the long, cold winter.
So now you know what we're doing at Casa la Brilliant on Thursday. Got any unusual traditions or dishes of your own that you're cooking this week? Spill 'em in the comments.
Labels: Thanksgiving
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Preznit no giv turkee
He's really good at giving the troops "the least he can do":
President Bush, who visited troops in Iraq on Thanksgiving after the U.S. invasion in 2003, called several servicemen and women Thursday to extend best wishes and say it was “the least I can do.”
Three of those receiving holiday greetings are in the Army, two are Marines, three are in the Air Force, two serve in the Coast Guard and two in the Navy. The troops called are serving in Iraq, Afghanistan and aboard ship, said White House press secretary Dana Perino.
[snip]
The president asked for God’s blessings on the members of the military, Perino said. He said he was thankful to be commander in chief of the finest military ever assembled and told them, “calling you is the least I can do because I admire the military so much.”
The president was celebrating the holiday at Camp David with his wife, Laura, and their twin daughters, who have a birthday this weekend. Also present were daughter Jenna’s husband-to-be Henry Hager, some of the president’s brothers and sisters with their families, and Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.
Isn't it nice that the Bush family was able to get together today with all their children and their children's spouses and intendeds -- and not one of them is in Iraq today? Because after all, real patriotic Americans don't do the dirty work of fighting, right? They make show phone calls while the baby brides and the children who don't remember what their fathers look like and the parents who worry that their son won't get back from his third deployment alive eat their turkeys and try to pretend their lives are normal.
Labels: Bush family, rant, Thanksgiving
Who says you have to make that big hormone-laden bird anyway?
Thanksgiving may be the holiday that most often causes people to plunge into holiday-related depression. No other holiday, not even Christmas, comes with as much Rockwellian baggage as Thanksgiving. It's the day when we think everyone but us is going to sit down to a perfectly-decorated table and eat a delicious meal of golden-brown turkey that oozes juices as it's carved, glistening cranberry sauce, fluffy stuffing studded with bits of sausage/raisins/whatever, mashed potatoes that taste like potatoes instead of something you'd use to putty dents in your car, and apples or pumpkin custard nestled in crusts that flake with a fork -- even on the bottom. We think everyone but us is going to sit around that table, without a cross word spoken, beaming at a few dozen loved ones -- grandparents, parents, children, cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews -- and thank God that they all had the opportunity to be together on that day.
There are people for whom today is going to be like this. They are the lucky ones. For others, it's a day when they pray that their wingnut brother-in-law doesn't insist on bringing up Iraq at the dinner table, or that Grandma doesn't say anything about their weight, or that cousin Brenda's vegan boyfriend doesn't go into one of his meat is murder rants about the turkey, or that Uncle Carl doesn't fall off the wagon again and drink a sixpack of beer while watching the football game. For many women (and it's still mostly the women who do the cooking) it's a day off spent trying to coordinate all the pieces of this dinner that gets demolished in twenty minutes, leaving nothing but leftovers that everyone will be sick of in another day and a mountain of dishes and dirty pots and pans.
My thoughts are with this latter group today.
Because I absolutely refuse to travel on Thanksgiving weekend, this is a holiday that's usually spent quietly at Chez Brilliant. In previous years we've gone to a local restaurant, but after last year, when a size-zero waitress made a snarky comment at me because I dared to have a couple of cookies for dessert, I really didn't want to go back there. I toyed with the idea of making a turkey breast, but frankly, at this point in my life, I mostly identify turkey as deli meat, best served on a whole wheat baguette with a spread of brie and a schmear of honey mustard and maybe a bit of tomato. I don't much care for mashed potatoes, and once you get that "wet bread" idea in your head, the idea of stuffing seems pretty nauseating too. I do, however, love sweet potatoes, but I like them baked, served plain or perhaps with just the tiniest bit of butter. Mr. B's idea of sweet potatoes is those sad little creatures out of a can that are then dressed up with marshmallows until they are unrecognizable as anything but a particularly unpalatable breed of candy. I have vowed to do something with roasting the yams I bought this week with olive oil and herbs to show him how fabulous a little tuber this really is.
But if you're not going to go out, or to where someone else does the cooking, and you don't want to do the bird, what do you do? This is where I ask Mr. Brilliant what he'd like to have, and this year the answer was "Indian food." But alas, Twins India Palace in Orangeburg, NY is closed, so it was back to cooking. Plan B? Spinach lasagne with garlic bread.
Just on the off chance that you can't face the Big Bird today, or if you want to add a pasta course to guarantee turkey leftovers, here's what's cooking at Chez Brilliant today. It's a sort-of less fattening version of conventional lasagne, and uses a white sauce instead of a tomato-based sauce. I made this recipe up, so feel free to adjust seasonings and everything else at will:
And so today we will eat this repast and be thankful for reduced-fat cheeses and high-fiber pasta and for not having to work ourselves to death today. And I will be thankful for being still employed, and for still having my health (and insurance) and a roof over my head. I'll be thankful for not having answered the siren song of home equity loans and not being in debt up to my eyeballs. I'll be thankful that at least for now there is someone running for president who isn't completely loathsome. I'll be thankful for Keith Olbermann and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert and Paul Reickhoff Jon Soltz and the Wilsons and Naomis Klein and Wolf and Paul Krugman and Bob Herbert and the many, many others who do yeoman work trying, however vainly, to save this country. I'll be thankful that there are no family members I'm not speaking to. I'll be thankful for my friends, both meat world and virtual, and you readers who for some strange and wondrous reason known only to yourselves, give me the blessing of your eyeballs every day.
Have a happy, wonderful, and safe day, everyone.
There are people for whom today is going to be like this. They are the lucky ones. For others, it's a day when they pray that their wingnut brother-in-law doesn't insist on bringing up Iraq at the dinner table, or that Grandma doesn't say anything about their weight, or that cousin Brenda's vegan boyfriend doesn't go into one of his meat is murder rants about the turkey, or that Uncle Carl doesn't fall off the wagon again and drink a sixpack of beer while watching the football game. For many women (and it's still mostly the women who do the cooking) it's a day off spent trying to coordinate all the pieces of this dinner that gets demolished in twenty minutes, leaving nothing but leftovers that everyone will be sick of in another day and a mountain of dishes and dirty pots and pans.
My thoughts are with this latter group today.
Because I absolutely refuse to travel on Thanksgiving weekend, this is a holiday that's usually spent quietly at Chez Brilliant. In previous years we've gone to a local restaurant, but after last year, when a size-zero waitress made a snarky comment at me because I dared to have a couple of cookies for dessert, I really didn't want to go back there. I toyed with the idea of making a turkey breast, but frankly, at this point in my life, I mostly identify turkey as deli meat, best served on a whole wheat baguette with a spread of brie and a schmear of honey mustard and maybe a bit of tomato. I don't much care for mashed potatoes, and once you get that "wet bread" idea in your head, the idea of stuffing seems pretty nauseating too. I do, however, love sweet potatoes, but I like them baked, served plain or perhaps with just the tiniest bit of butter. Mr. B's idea of sweet potatoes is those sad little creatures out of a can that are then dressed up with marshmallows until they are unrecognizable as anything but a particularly unpalatable breed of candy. I have vowed to do something with roasting the yams I bought this week with olive oil and herbs to show him how fabulous a little tuber this really is.
But if you're not going to go out, or to where someone else does the cooking, and you don't want to do the bird, what do you do? This is where I ask Mr. Brilliant what he'd like to have, and this year the answer was "Indian food." But alas, Twins India Palace in Orangeburg, NY is closed, so it was back to cooking. Plan B? Spinach lasagne with garlic bread.
Just on the off chance that you can't face the Big Bird today, or if you want to add a pasta course to guarantee turkey leftovers, here's what's cooking at Chez Brilliant today. It's a sort-of less fattening version of conventional lasagne, and uses a white sauce instead of a tomato-based sauce. I made this recipe up, so feel free to adjust seasonings and everything else at will:
SPINACH LASAGNE
- 2-3 bags frozen chopped spinach
- 1 onion, chopped
- 1 Tbs. or so olive oil
- As many garlic cloves as you like, minced (I like to make it really garlicky)
- 2 16-oz. containers ricotta cheese (the fat free works just fine)
- 8 oz. shredded mozzarella
- 2 eggs
- oregano and/or basil to taste
- freshly-ground pepper to taste
- 4 Tbs. butter
- 4 Tbs. Wondra flour
- 2 cups milk (1% or skim is fine)
- 1 box lasagne noodles (I use the Ronzoni Healthy Harvest or whole wheat noodles)
Prepare spinach: Thaw spinach and sqeeze out excess moisture. Heat olive oil in saute pan and add garlic and onion, cook till onion is translucent. Add spinach and saute about 1 minute. Set aside.
Prepare cheese layer: In a bowl, combine ricotta, half the mozzarella, eggs, basil, oregano, salt/pepper to taste. Set aside.
Make white sauce: In a saucepan, melt butter. Add flour and stir. Add milk. Slowly bring to a boil, reduce heat immediately and stir till thickened. Add salt/pepper to taste.
Cook pasta till just al dente. Drain, rinse with cool water.
Spray a lasagne pan with oil spray. Spread a thin layer of sauce in the pan. Layer noodles, spinach, cheese 2-3 times, stopping with noodles. Spread a thin layer of sauce on top if you have any left, top with remaining mozzarella.
Cover with foil and bake at 350 degrees about 40 minutes. remove foil and bake another 15 minutes or so till mozzarella is of desired consistency.
And so today we will eat this repast and be thankful for reduced-fat cheeses and high-fiber pasta and for not having to work ourselves to death today. And I will be thankful for being still employed, and for still having my health (and insurance) and a roof over my head. I'll be thankful for not having answered the siren song of home equity loans and not being in debt up to my eyeballs. I'll be thankful that at least for now there is someone running for president who isn't completely loathsome. I'll be thankful for Keith Olbermann and Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert and Paul Reickhoff Jon Soltz and the Wilsons and Naomis Klein and Wolf and Paul Krugman and Bob Herbert and the many, many others who do yeoman work trying, however vainly, to save this country. I'll be thankful that there are no family members I'm not speaking to. I'll be thankful for my friends, both meat world and virtual, and you readers who for some strange and wondrous reason known only to yourselves, give me the blessing of your eyeballs every day.
Have a happy, wonderful, and safe day, everyone.
Labels: recipes, Thanksgiving
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