Fixing Mrs. Flinger Feb 20, 2015
I'm currently working on this website. I want to add back the links to blogs I love, some ways to find content easier, and put in archive, at last, some of the ancient articles. Come back to see updates.
Cop out post relating to Rocket science by @thicket Jul 16, 2010
Perfect hardboiled eggs
Put (*cough*...farm fresh) eggs in pan, add cold water to an inch above them.
Bring to water to a gentle boil and keep that going for ONE MINUTE ONLY.
Turn heat off and cover your pot for SIX MINUTES ONLY.
Plunge eggs into ice cold water, repeat when water heats up from eggs.
The yolk should not be grey on the outside. The inner core of the yolk should be slightly darker and moister than the outside. That my friends is a delectable hardboiled egg.
*I have tried vingar in the boiling water to make hardboiled eggs peel better, I have never noticed a difference. The ease of peeling an egg seems to be how old the egg is, we use very fresh eggs so they are always a nightmare to peel.
If your experience differs, do tell. I love me some easy to peel hardboiled...
In Flight: A tale of a mid-life crisis at thirty-four Jul 15, 2010
A truth I’ve known about myself for years: I have a very strong flight instinct. Some people stay and fight, some people flee. I am of the latter.
I’d make a fantastic bird.
“We can lift ourselves out of ignorance, we can find ourselves as creatures of excellence and intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!” - Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
There is a culmination of events recently taken place that leads me back to this instinct. When trying to remember exactly what happened, or when perhaps, I can only begin a long list of items bringing me to this truth: I want to leave. I want to leave. I want to leave.
In searching for my most beloved books, as I always do when complex thoughts dominate my mind-space, I realize I’ve read no less than...
It’s funny, the things you regret Jul 11, 2010
We got married on the top of a small mountain on a tiny island off the north-western corner of the “lower forty-eight” states. My dress was twenty dollars from Ross and I wore my favorite combat boots I purchased at a consignment store for six dollars. It was November and a tiny group of our closest friends stood outside in the freezing cold with us.
I have never, once, ever regretted not having a big fancy white-dress wedding.
With increasing frequency, however, the subject of my Dissertation has entered casual conversation. I submitted a proposal I still have a passion for, so much so that when a poor soul asks me about it I launch in to an entire discussion until their eyes glaze over and they begin to drool. It’s a great topic, honestly. I deferred after...
This week kicked my ass so all you get is this lousy photo Jul 09, 2010
Things I know Jul 09, 2010
I have a laundry list of random bits I’ve believed because my parents told me so. Sometimes as an adult, I’ll start to say something, stop, and realize I’m uttering complete and total bullshit. Bullshit which I’ve heard a million times from my parents.
I probably need to see a counselor about such matters but instead, I will tell you.
I’ve posted about the day I realized my mother lied to me. We were on the airplane heading back to Houston after a visit to Portland, OR, and she sighed, “Oh, I forgot to replace the toilet paper in our bathroom.” I was about seven and looked up in her face, “Why? Can’t Daddy do it?” “He apparently doesn’t’ know how, sweetie.”
Seven year olds do not get sarcasm.
The Village Jul 05, 2010
Growing up, I remember the Fourth of July in Houston probably in the same way you would any other city. We had a BBQ with our neighbors. Us kids would ride our hot-wheels while the parents drank sweet tea and chatted. There would be some music piping from the window of my parent’s house and inevitably someone would start dancing in rhythmic gyrations resembling a dying catfish. These are what memories I hold and expectations I have of our Country’s birth.
The fourth is very similar to me now as an adult. This time, though, I am the one drinking the sweet tea. (Or hard cider. Come to think of it, I don’t actually know what my parents were really drinking. Sweet Tea may have meant “vodka and tea” but I’m not sure.) We have the same small town parade...
Wordless Friday? Jul 02, 2010
Thought I would start a regular wordless Friday (yeah I know it’s supposed to be “Wordless Wednesday”...that’s just so conformist).
Being a human is a messy business Jul 02, 2010
I remember telling my old boss, years ago, my plan for vacation. “Well,” I started, “I think we’ll be getting in the car and taking a right on the freeway. After that? I have no idea.” He was surprised at this. “No lists? No plans? YOU?” I was just as shocked that he’d expect me to actually plan until I realized I’ve nicely compartmentalized my life in such a way I can live in two extremes: The To Do List and The Not.
Now I worry less that I’m some sort of bi-polar schizophrenic and more of a well-balanced human being. To be successful at work and organized enough to accomplish the tasks at hand, I’m willing to place my items in neat little boxes. Tiny little boxes all sitting in a row. But at home, in my own space, in my...
Five Reasons I’m Glad I’m Not A Bobblehead Jun 30, 2010
1. I have a small tendency toward vertigo with my thick neck as it is.
2. Driving would be a bitch. (Did you see that car? ALL FIFTY OF THEM? No, wait, that’s just one car, wait, where did it go? OH THERE THEY ARE.)
3. People would want to put me on their dashboards with their other fugly hello-kitty bobbleheads and I HATE HELLO KITTY.
4. “Does this neck make my head look fat?”
5. Sarah Palin is a BobbleHead. That’s just fucked-up yo. THE END.
Having a mid-life-crisis at thirty-three thousand feet Jun 28, 2010
I tell people I’m going through a small mid-life crisis. They look at me, judging. “HmmMMmm,” they start, “I bet you’re not nearly mid-life. What are you? Thirty? You really expect to only live until sixty?”
To these people I put a pox on their eyebrows and ear hair.
Funny thing: Mid-Life can mean any time in which you wake up and look in the mirror and immediately proclaim “HOLYSHIT! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED WHILE I WAS SLEEPING.”
This is exactly how I feel right now.
Last Thursday I travelled to Utah on SouthWest Airlines. This means I was part of the cattle call to find my own seat on a plane with a bunch of other livestock. I sat in row seven on the isle next to two people who, by the end of a two hour flight, would be my partners in...