Many of you know that I do not like chain letters. In fact, I have often responded to mass-email writers imploring them to remove me from any distribution list that includes the message, "If you do not send this email on to 100 of your friends, evil things will befall you and everyone you love." You know, seriously, I feel like I have had my fair share of badness these past few years, and I don't want even a hint of that kind of energy around me.
But, come to think of it, I don't really like the happy chains either. Recently, a mommy at the boys' school asked me if I wanted to participate in her Amish Friendship Bread chain, which, apparently, involves creating a bread mix and passing it on and on and on to make a friendship "circle." Call me Scrooge, but I didn't want the pressure. I asked her if refusing her Friendship Bread would mean that I couldn't be her friend. She just shrugged.
So I winced when Krystal, my niece, mentioned me on her blog this morning. Apparently she has "tagged" me to participate in some sort of blogging recipe chain thing. My first response was, "Oh no, my blog fans will NOT like this. I only write about serious matters, like politics and...holidays."
But then I got to thinking about how Krystal is pregnant, and pregnancy brings with it a whole host of indignities. There's the back pain and the hip pain. There's the sudden, maddening hunger that seems to come around only when you're impossibly stuck in traffic. There's also the urgent need to pee, again somewhat correlated with being stuck in traffic. And, of course, there are the tears. One minute you're sitting calmly on the couch eating a pint or two of Ben and Jerry's, and the next minute you find yourself crying uncontrollably at a commercial for laundry detergent.
So I said to myself, "How hard would it be to participate in this recipe chain? It would bring Krystal joy, and joy is good." And there's also the sheer humor of the fact that she tagged ME to distribute recipes. Ummm.....Step 1: Buy a Trader Joe's frozen pizza. Step 2: Take it out of the packaging. Step 3: Heat in oven.
It's really no secret that I am not domestically inclined. How many of you have had dinner at our house and have thought to yourselves, "This meal tastes remarkably like takeout from the deli section at Whole Foods." Ahem. Well. What can I say? I may not be very adept at cooking, but I am GREAT at making selections at the grocery store. Bon appetit.
Because I am such a giving person, I am going to enter the chain JUST THIS ONCE. Per the instructions, I will leave you with two different recipes for one thing I CAN make myself: spaghetti. Only the best for you guys.
Recipe #1: Fancy Grownup Spaghetti
OK, what you're going to like about this one is that it's a MARTHA STEWART recipe. You might be wondering what in the world I, of all people, am doing anywhere near a Martha Stewart idea. I actually discovered this recipe while reading Martha's magazine on the elliptical machine at the gym one day when all the copies of People and US were taken. I have modified it slightly to make it more suitable for the average person (e.g. you do not need to make your own noodles or grow the olives yourself).
You'll need:
1 and 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup black olives (Gaeta or nicoise), sliced into small pieces
1/2 cup Italian-style green olives, sliced into small pieces
3 tablespoons capers
1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1 can (28 oz) diced tomatoes
1 sprig fresh basil
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
spaghetti
freshly grated Parmesan cheese
1) cook your noodles
2) Heat oil and garlic in a large saucepan about 30 seconds
3) Add olives, capers, red pepper flakes, and tomatoes. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Add basil and oregano. Cook for 10 more minutes
4) Toss spaghetti with sauce. Add cheese on top.
Recipe #2: Spaghetti that you can call PASTA
The key to this spaghetti recipe is that you NEVER use spaghetti. What makes it different than the spaghetti that we eat the other 6 days of the week is that it takes CAVATAPPI noodles. This adds an air of sophistication to the meal that is unmistakable.
You'll need:
fresh spinach
1 package cavatappi pasta
olive oil
1 can cannellini beans, rinsed
2 garlic cloves
lots of shredded Asiago cheese
1) Cook your noodles
2) Heat oil and garlic. Add spinach. Wait until the spinach gets all droopy. Add the beans and heat them up.
3) Combine everything with the noodles. Dump lots of Asiago cheese on top.
4) If you separate some of the noodles out, you can give your kids just the noodles with the cheese on top. That way, there won't be a hint of "healthy" anywhere near it. And it can be differentiated from the macaroni and cheese they ate at lunch, because it's CAVATAPPI. Remember?
Now, I am going to assume that there are at least 3 of you out there reading this thing. And if I get the gist of what Krystal is saying, I'm supposed to persuade you to somehow add a couple of recipes to the chain. So, if you want to, post a recipe or two in the comments section. And if you don't want to, well, that's OK, too (but you might find yourself with a big lump of Amish Friendship Bread on your front porch tomorrow. Consider yourself warned).
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
Caucus Video Issues
I know that those of you with PCs are not able to see the whole video (about 9 seconds gets cut off at the end for unknown reasons). I have spent most of my day trying to figure out why this is happening, but I still don't know how to fix the problem. If you can't tell which candidate I chose in the end, you have a few choices:
1) Go buy a Mac.
2) Drag the video cursor beyond the point at which the video stops. You will then be able to see the last 2 frames of the video.
3) Email me, and I'll just tell you what happened.
1) Go buy a Mac.
2) Drag the video cursor beyond the point at which the video stops. You will then be able to see the last 2 frames of the video.
3) Email me, and I'll just tell you what happened.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Doing My Part
Alright, Democrats. You didn’t make things easy for me with your votes on Super Tuesday. I was looking to you to make a clear choice in your states’ Democratic primaries so that some of the pressure would be off of me on Mediocre Saturday, when I will be participating in the Washington State caucus.
Usually, by this stage in the political game, there is already a front-runner, and my vote is nothing but symbolic. But this year, I feel like I really have a say. The only problem is that I don’t know what that say will be.
I am undecided. Really undecided. This is a new feeling for me. Part of the issue is that the two candidates on the buffet menu are both moderate Democrats who, more or less, propose similar ideas. But I also think that I’m struggling with something bigger, some larger question about what matters to me.
It occurred to me that, for the first time, I am no longer a “younger voter.” And I guess the issue is whether I am still able to feel like a younger voter and whether I want to. In the past, if a candidate said that he was going to have us all stand together on the top of a mountain and hold hands and find common ground across division, I would have followed him up the hill like he was the pied piper. But now, I hear the calls for UNITY! And CHANGE! and HOPE! and I think to myself, change doesn’t happen just by wishing it so.
Or does it?
Obama gives me the opportunity, if I’m willing to take it, to reconnect with a type of idealism that has been slippery and elusive. He is not the first to promise a new set of civic relationships, a new way of solving problems, a new world order of sorts that has capital J Justice at its core. He is not the first, but he delivers his message in a way that sounds so authentic, so real, so almost-there possible. I miss that feeling, and I am hungry for it. But I am also wary, because I know that we, as a country, have a crappy track record of translating good vibes into meaningful action.
It would feel right to jump on the sails of Obama idealism, but Hillary Clinton represents a different kind of idealism for me. I’ll be honest. It’s exciting to me that we could possibly have a left-leaning, competent, persuasive female president, even if we have to spend the next four years analyzing whether she’s too female or not female enough (Too many tears? Too few? Too much cleavage? Matronly pantsuits?). I read an essay by Rebecca Traister on Salon.com that has come the closest to expressing my feelings about the gender component of this election. She writes,
"…I think of how, when I was 9, my dad took me into the voting booth so that I could pull the lever for the first female vice president, and how he told me that he hoped that in my lifetime I would have the opportunity to vote for a woman at the top of the ticket. And I think about the fact that this is it -- my chance to pull that lever for her, so that I can do it again come November.
Who am I to turn up my nose at her because she's imperfect? I always figured the first female president would be a Thatcher-style Republican -- how can I complain about a Wellesley-educated Democrat who once resembled the second-wave women who fought for my ability to control my own reproduction and get paid as much as my male colleagues?
How could I ever tell those women that I voted for Barack Obama? What do I tell my aunt, my mother -- women who aren't crazy about Hillary's politics either, but whose extra decades on the planet have left them more acutely aware than I about the fleeting opportunity she presents. What if I have a daughter someday and she asks me about why we've never had a woman president? Do I tell her that we once came close, but that Mommy was really digging Obama that day?"
And so I struggle, but I sure am glad to feel the power of choosing again, to feel that a struggle is worth it. I have a sense that I will walk into the caucus site this Saturday still unclear about what I will do. Perhaps I will be one of those people who shifts position in the middle of the caucus! Wouldn’t that be fun?
Stay tuned. I’ll be doing a little filming this weekend as we make our way from the boys’ school pancake breakfast to the polling place. Live coverage of my indecision – it doesn’t get any better than that.
Usually, by this stage in the political game, there is already a front-runner, and my vote is nothing but symbolic. But this year, I feel like I really have a say. The only problem is that I don’t know what that say will be.
I am undecided. Really undecided. This is a new feeling for me. Part of the issue is that the two candidates on the buffet menu are both moderate Democrats who, more or less, propose similar ideas. But I also think that I’m struggling with something bigger, some larger question about what matters to me.
It occurred to me that, for the first time, I am no longer a “younger voter.” And I guess the issue is whether I am still able to feel like a younger voter and whether I want to. In the past, if a candidate said that he was going to have us all stand together on the top of a mountain and hold hands and find common ground across division, I would have followed him up the hill like he was the pied piper. But now, I hear the calls for UNITY! And CHANGE! and HOPE! and I think to myself, change doesn’t happen just by wishing it so.
Or does it?
Obama gives me the opportunity, if I’m willing to take it, to reconnect with a type of idealism that has been slippery and elusive. He is not the first to promise a new set of civic relationships, a new way of solving problems, a new world order of sorts that has capital J Justice at its core. He is not the first, but he delivers his message in a way that sounds so authentic, so real, so almost-there possible. I miss that feeling, and I am hungry for it. But I am also wary, because I know that we, as a country, have a crappy track record of translating good vibes into meaningful action.
It would feel right to jump on the sails of Obama idealism, but Hillary Clinton represents a different kind of idealism for me. I’ll be honest. It’s exciting to me that we could possibly have a left-leaning, competent, persuasive female president, even if we have to spend the next four years analyzing whether she’s too female or not female enough (Too many tears? Too few? Too much cleavage? Matronly pantsuits?). I read an essay by Rebecca Traister on Salon.com that has come the closest to expressing my feelings about the gender component of this election. She writes,
"…I think of how, when I was 9, my dad took me into the voting booth so that I could pull the lever for the first female vice president, and how he told me that he hoped that in my lifetime I would have the opportunity to vote for a woman at the top of the ticket. And I think about the fact that this is it -- my chance to pull that lever for her, so that I can do it again come November.
Who am I to turn up my nose at her because she's imperfect? I always figured the first female president would be a Thatcher-style Republican -- how can I complain about a Wellesley-educated Democrat who once resembled the second-wave women who fought for my ability to control my own reproduction and get paid as much as my male colleagues?
How could I ever tell those women that I voted for Barack Obama? What do I tell my aunt, my mother -- women who aren't crazy about Hillary's politics either, but whose extra decades on the planet have left them more acutely aware than I about the fleeting opportunity she presents. What if I have a daughter someday and she asks me about why we've never had a woman president? Do I tell her that we once came close, but that Mommy was really digging Obama that day?"
And so I struggle, but I sure am glad to feel the power of choosing again, to feel that a struggle is worth it. I have a sense that I will walk into the caucus site this Saturday still unclear about what I will do. Perhaps I will be one of those people who shifts position in the middle of the caucus! Wouldn’t that be fun?
Stay tuned. I’ll be doing a little filming this weekend as we make our way from the boys’ school pancake breakfast to the polling place. Live coverage of my indecision – it doesn’t get any better than that.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Celebrity Blog, Part II
Here's the second volume of my answers to your most probing questions. Never fear, next week will be business as usual. I'm sure you're weak with anticipation to hear about the boys' unit on water snails or a synopsis of the class preparation for Groundhog Day.
When did the Scotch thing start?
You’re referring to my enjoyment of single malt scotch. I think I first tried it in my twenties, when Michael and I went to a scotch bar (long since closed). Scotch is fun, because it’s half snooty refinement/half tough-guy cool. And it makes me happy without causing me to slide under the table.
Of course, my love of scotch can get me into trouble. When the kids were just two years old, we had a little backyard party. The boys came outside with sippy cups filled with apple juice. They proudly told the crowd, “Look at our scotch!”
No, really, I don’t drink it that often. And the kids only get some after they finish their chores.
Who’s going to be the first sponsor of your blog?
What, you think I’m going to sell out?
Uh, anyone want to sponsor this blog?
Now that you teach, I imagine your perception of university life is a bit different than when we were the "customers." Do you think the students are different, or might it be just us? What do you think of students who don't bother to attend your class each time?
Oh, don’t get me started. But you know, I didn’t feel like a customer when I was in college. I felt “lucky to be there,” or at least that’s what I was told over and over again. What was the magic bullet that let me in the door to my alma mater, and not the 7 other kids from my high school who applied and were rejected? (It must have been that poem about nuclear war that I sent in along with my application. Ha.).
But I definitely feel like my students are customers, and I am the server. Or, as I told a friend the other day, I am a waitress of ideas. Low wages, bad tips. I’ve said it before, but I feel a tremendous pressure to keep those customers HAPPY.
That said, many of my students are incredibly active, and my class is just a tiny spot in their lives. A student might be an Assistant Manager at Blockbuster AND President of the Student Senate AND Co-chair of the Save the Elephants Auction AND an intern at Microsoft. When I was in college, I just read books (oh, and I also drove a recycling truck. But that’s a different story).
The thing about the kids who don’t come to class is that I get 30 emails afterwards asking me what they missed. And I say, “You missed class.”
I do wonder how you select your reading list for your books, and how do you find time to read on top of everything else?
Do you mean the books I assign in my classes? I tend to pick books that have a good, narrative style, because I’ve found that many students, especially younger students, tend to connect emotionally with a topic before they connect intellectually. (Plus, good stories make them HAPPY).
But if you mean the books I read on my own, I tend to choose those by browsing around. I read Nancy Pearl’s suggestions. I check out new releases on amazon.com. I’m on goodreads.com, and I poke around there. I read the New York Times Book Review. And I like to go to bookstores, too. And as for the time thing, I’ve always been a big reader. It’s like breathing to me. The TV writers’ strike helps, too.
We want to know what is the favorite ethnic food at your house and do B&G ever eat it too?
We definitely have pan-Asian palates. Japanese, Chinese, Thai…And yes, the boys eat it, too, in large volumes. After all, noodles are beige.
Do you want to live overseas? Even if only for a six month stretch? How old would Blue and Green need to be before you would take them out of the country for that long?
It would be fun, but I think I’d rather do something like that when the kids are older and better able to entertain themselves. Right now our lives are consumed by trying to keep the boys busy and fed and exercised. That seems so much harder if you’re sitting in some cobble-stoned little village where you don’t speak the language and you’re under tremendous pressure to drink a big bottle of wine during the afternoon siesta and again in the evening. But you should ask ECM and Shawn, two of this blog’s loyal readers. They’re currently hanging out in Rome for three months with their five year old and are having a great time. I’ve heard that the kid keeps busy by licking the peeling lead paint off the walls.
When you drive/fly/ship Blue and Green off to their respective colleges of choice, how will you know how you did as a parent?
I don’t think that moment will be the point of measurement. I’ll judge success ten years later by seeing whether one is able to buy me a big house with a view of the water. That’s all I care about. I’ll leave it to their professors to make sure that they’re HAPPY.
If you find out that you're going to die tomorrow and you can choose whatever you want for your last meal, what would you choose and why?
Well, I think I’d have to combine elements of my some of my favorite meals into one big multicultural feast. (Warning: This probably won't mean anything to you unless you live in my city). I’d start with some calamari from Toyoda Sushi. And then I’d have a margarita and a green enchilada plate from Santa Fe Cafe. And some fried spring rolls from Araya's Vegetarian Thai. And I’d end with a cup of Gold Medal Ribbon ice cream from Baskin Robbins. Why? Well, why not? If I’m sick the next day, who cares?
How do you tell Blue and Green apart from a distance? Do you regard dressing them in different colors as a kindness to others, and if so, should we thank you when you do this?
From a distance? Hmmm. Green is a little thicker. Blue has two cowlicks in the back of his head, giving him rather noticeable sprouts of hair. Green’s head is round like a basketball, while Blue’s is a bit more oval. Blue is usually the one who is jabbering.
Their teacher has thanked us for color coding them, so we keep doing it. But you know what’s funny? There have been at least three occasions when strangers have approached me and started a conversation that goes like this:
Weirdo: Are they twins?
Me: Yes.
Weirdo: You might want to get that checked to be sure. They don’t really look alike.
We want to know what is the favorite ethnic food at your house and do B&G ever eat it too?
We definitely have pan-Asian palates. Japanese, Chinese, Thai…And yes, the boys eat it, too, in large volumes. After all, noodles are beige.
Do you want to live overseas? Even if only for a six month stretch? How old would Blue and Green need to be before you would take them out of the country for that long?
It would be fun, but I think I’d rather do something like that when the kids are older and better able to entertain themselves. Right now our lives are consumed by trying to keep the boys busy and fed and exercised. That seems so much harder if you’re sitting in some cobble-stoned little village where you don’t speak the language and you’re under tremendous pressure to drink a big bottle of wine during the afternoon siesta and again in the evening. But you should ask ECM and Shawn, two of this blog’s loyal readers. They’re currently hanging out in Rome for three months with their five year old and are having a great time. I’ve heard that the kid keeps busy by licking the peeling lead paint off the walls.
When you drive/fly/ship Blue and Green off to their respective colleges of choice, how will you know how you did as a parent?
I don’t think that moment will be the point of measurement. I’ll judge success ten years later by seeing whether one is able to buy me a big house with a view of the water. That’s all I care about. I’ll leave it to their professors to make sure that they’re HAPPY.
If you find out that you're going to die tomorrow and you can choose whatever you want for your last meal, what would you choose and why?
Well, I think I’d have to combine elements of my some of my favorite meals into one big multicultural feast. (Warning: This probably won't mean anything to you unless you live in my city). I’d start with some calamari from Toyoda Sushi. And then I’d have a margarita and a green enchilada plate from Santa Fe Cafe. And some fried spring rolls from Araya's Vegetarian Thai. And I’d end with a cup of Gold Medal Ribbon ice cream from Baskin Robbins. Why? Well, why not? If I’m sick the next day, who cares?
How do you tell Blue and Green apart from a distance? Do you regard dressing them in different colors as a kindness to others, and if so, should we thank you when you do this?
From a distance? Hmmm. Green is a little thicker. Blue has two cowlicks in the back of his head, giving him rather noticeable sprouts of hair. Green’s head is round like a basketball, while Blue’s is a bit more oval. Blue is usually the one who is jabbering.
Their teacher has thanked us for color coding them, so we keep doing it. But you know what’s funny? There have been at least three occasions when strangers have approached me and started a conversation that goes like this:
Weirdo: Are they twins?
Me: Yes.
Weirdo: You might want to get that checked to be sure. They don’t really look alike.
When did the Scotch thing start?
You’re referring to my enjoyment of single malt scotch. I think I first tried it in my twenties, when Michael and I went to a scotch bar (long since closed). Scotch is fun, because it’s half snooty refinement/half tough-guy cool. And it makes me happy without causing me to slide under the table.
Of course, my love of scotch can get me into trouble. When the kids were just two years old, we had a little backyard party. The boys came outside with sippy cups filled with apple juice. They proudly told the crowd, “Look at our scotch!”
No, really, I don’t drink it that often. And the kids only get some after they finish their chores.
Who’s going to be the first sponsor of your blog?
What, you think I’m going to sell out?
Uh, anyone want to sponsor this blog?
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