Artful Scheme of Happiness: 10/01/2002

Thursday, October 31, 2002

For the LOVE OF GOD, Muriel!

Note to others: if you make cookies, I will eat them. I will start eating them and I will not stop until they are gone (or until you hide them). I will not eat anything else until the delicious cookies have been consumed. This should not come as a surprise to you.

The same is true of cake and candy. And it's true of tubs of chocolate sauce (spoonful after spoonful, I tell you). The same is NOT true of ice cream (unless there is malt powder).

If you want me to avoid your scrumptious treats, you should either bake raisins into them or cover them in malt-free ice cream. Otherwise, consider yourself forewarned.

Flashing Back

Picture pages, picture pages, time to get your picture pages. Time to get your crayons and your pencils!

Things I never remembered (until now) about The Facts of Life:
(1) Blair went to law school.
(2) Jo Polnicek married a man.
(3) Blair BOUGHT Eastland Academy. Seth Green and Mayim Bialik were two of the students at Eastland when she bought it.

Wednesday, October 30, 2002

My sister, Office Chili Champion

In an odd and totally unexpected turn of events, my sister has won a chili cook-off. Those of you who don't know my sister may not realize how completely improbable this victory was. So let me give you a brief history of my sister's culinary exploits.

For her first foray into the world of cooking, my sister decided (at age 15) to make brownies. From a package. Her first step was to dump the mix into the bowl. Her second step was to merrily add cup after cup of flour to the bowl. Her third step was to listen to me screaming about following the directions. Fourth step was to scoop SOME of the flour out of the bowl. Then she tried, as best she could, to follow the directions. The delightful rock-like quality of the brownies ensured that they remained a topic of conversation in the family for years afterwards.

After that fiasco, she retired from the world of cooking until circumstances (her marriage, over ten years later) forced her back into the kitchen. Still having problems with the reading, she added orange extract to her chocolate-chipless chocolate chip cookies. An old hand at scooping things out, she then removed SOME of the orange extract and added the requisite amount of vanilla. (That she stumbled across a taste sensation is unimportant. The moral of the story is that she DOESN'T READ.)

So now she won a chili cookoff. How? By following the directions on a packet of McCormick seasoning. She's been trumpeting this victory to all and sundry. What she doesn't realize is that it's a victory for literacy more than it's a victory for her cooking skills.

But still, I'm proud of her. I'm also proud of the good people at McCormick for making such a fine product, complete with easy-to-follow instructions.

Say my name, say my name

Just because.

Monday, October 28, 2002

New Lows

I am fairly sure that this is the SECOND time this has happened to me, and I DON'T LIKE IT.

Today I got a rejection e-mail (you couldn't splurge on a piece of paper?) from a bunch of cheap dumbasses. Problem? I never applied to work at their dirty, dirty company.

How do these things happen? Twice? To me? I don't know.

Thursday, October 24, 2002

Stalked By Little Kitty Mews-A-Lot

I have new neighbors next door whom I haven't yet met. Which is neither here nor there since I'm not an ultra-friendly kind of guy. But their CAT is driving me crazy, so I'm wondering if I should bake up a big pan of apple squares or molasses cookies and wander over to introduce myself. Then I might be able to figure out why their cat is stalking me.

It started out innocently enough. The kitty, whom we'll call RATBASTARD because that's his name (I checked the collar), would sometimes keep me company while I picked up apples in the back yard. But things escalated and he started coming to my door several times a day. There he was, sitting and plaintively MEWING to be let in. I'm allergic to cats, so I didn't let him in, but I usually opened the door to talk to him for a while, mostly to convince him to go away, sometimes just for the conversation. Yesterday he climbed up the screen door so we could be face to face while we chatted, which I would have thought was sort of a romantic gesture had it not been his fourth visit that day. This morning he determined which room is my bedroom, then got up onto the window ledge and stared at me, mewing, until I WOKE UP. That's going a bit too far. I'm afraid that tomorrow I'll wake up to find him lying in my bed with his arm around me.

This stalker is so much better than the last one (the real one) that I shouldn't complain, but still I'm at a loss as to what to do. Kitty treats? Burlap sack? There are so many ways to go here.

Tuesday, October 22, 2002

Sigh

I think I might secretly be bored with this slap-fight. It's not as exciting as I imagined it would be, and it takes time away from my latch-hooking. I think my orchids are suffering too. Mm hmm.

I missed Angel the other night and now I'm mad because I am desperately in love with Charisma Carpenter, and wondering what in the world (or not) has happened to Cordelia. If anyone knows, please fill me in.

Who here DOESN'T think it would be a good idea for me to get another degree? (Complete silence.) I'm trying to decide between an LLM (masters of law) in International Trade and a PhD in FRENCH HISTORY. (My one great goal in life is to write a truthful biography of Louis XIV's big gay brother, but you don't really need a degree to do that so much as you need to speak fluent French.) Or maybe I should actually get a job instead. It's all too much for me, I think I'm getting the vapors.

Deutschland uber alles?

Liebe Fraulein Kommissar,

Pound-downdling. HELLO. It's a small pound-downding. The peeky cousin, you might say. You are MUCH smaller than I, so I would only be able to administer the pound-downdling. On the off chance that I am wrong (e.g. the great Sissy Spacek/Swoosie Kurtz debate of 1988), you can consider the addition of an "l" as poetic license. But I digress.

Smallville is for candy-eating freaks! All the very coolest people watch The View (and then tell me about it ... I only watch PBS and the Discovery Channel). Kids in the Hall is full of dirty CANADIANS, so pop POP on that one.

Good things the Huns have contributed to the world: Catherine the Great (who had to leave Germany forever in order to become anything more than mediocre), Passats and the fall of Rome.

Good things the French have contributed to the world: Louis XV, beauty, culture, joie de vivre, a certain je ne sais quoi, the Statue of Liberty; basically, everything good that exists today.

Bad things the Huns have contributed to the world: Schloss Neuschwanstein (we all know the guy who built that was BONKERS and had to be rubbed out), Dieter and his monkey, bad techno-goth music; well, almost everything about Germany is bad, now that I come to think about it.

Bad things the French have contributed to the world: their food, Louis XIV.

So you see (I hope this doesn't make you feel bad), Germany is a force for evil, France is pure joy and goodness. I hope this clarifies any confusion, and that you have now seen the light.

Saturday, October 19, 2002

Oh NO you didn't!

Look here, FRIEND OF TIMMY.

Yeah, you know, TWO of the books I'm reading have people's NAMES for the titles, so of course I couldn't really change THOSE. And the third is, in my opinion, better know for its French title than for its English translation ... so I thought I'd just leave THAT TOO. So take that!

Yeah, I'm not so familiar with Kids in the Hall. It's because I don't really watch much television. I spend my time reading books and composing music for my harp. Yeah, yeah, that's it. I never watch tv. Yeah. Take that too!

You're not the only one who can administer an old-school Oshkosh-style pound-downdling! So watch it! For every Jackie P. there's ... well, I'm gonna have to think about that.

Look, Be-yotch!

mm hmm, I was kidding you. I mean, I am reading all those things. In English ... I can only speak French when I'm DRUNK ... and the one time I tried to read Anna Karenina in Russian, I passed out from exhaustion by page three. But I was never actually hurt or confused. Your man might be though, since he took French with me in middle school.

I think we should start some sort of face-slapping, hair-pulling internet feud now. It would spice up my life. So you should go all Jackie P. on my ass and say you're gonna beat me up after school.

I love references to middle school.

Friday, October 18, 2002

Like, I Wish!

Some people on the internet make wishlists at Amazon.com. I wouldn't do that because I figure no one is about to rush out and buy me a present. But maybe, just maybe, if you're so inclined, you could do me this one little favor.

I would appreciate it if you could find Christopher Lowell and lock him in an unlit closet somewhere. It would make my days so much more enjoyable. I was going to suggest that you sling him up somewhere, but something tells me he'd find that just a wee bit too exciting.

(Discrimination Report: Relatively Subdued Gay Man Suggests that Outrageously Flaming Gay Man Be Put Back INTO THE CLOSET. Yeah, well, suck it, Trebek.)

what I'm reading

I'm always reading more than one book at once, which speaks less for erudition than it does for a short attention span. As it happens though, ALL of the books I'm reading right now are French. A la recherche du temps perdu by Proust, Princesse de Cleves by Madame de Lafayette and The Vicomte de Bragelonne by Dumas. Come to think of it, about 60% of the books I read are either French or about France. So, I guess I might count as a Francophile. (I only wish I could be considered a Francophone.) You can imagine my distress, then, when I see such a scurrilous attack on the Francophile by someone I respect. Add to that the fact that I periodically use the word "whence," and color me HURT AND CONFUSED. (I imagine that that would involve some sort of bluish-purple color with maybe a hint of green or orange around the edges.) :)

Thursday, October 17, 2002

Potato Skating

I am officially an idiot. This afternoon I set out to make some baked potato soup because I had some at a restaurant the other day and I wanted to see if I could recreate it. So I baked my potatoes and let them cool ever so slightly, peeled off the skins, and decided to chop them up just a bit before I added them to the broth. I put them all on the cutting board and started chopping away, not noticing that the cutting board was inching its way towards the edge of the counter. Chop chop chop FLING. The potatoes were tossed, in SLOW MOTION, up, up, UP AND ALL OVER the kitchen floor by the mini catapult of a cutting board.

Having lost all common sense due to shame and rage, I learned two things I did not already know but probably could have figured. One. You cannot rinse off a skinless chunk of baked potato. They ABSORB even as they CRUMBLE. Two. It is next to impossible to wipe baked potato off a hardwood floor, and the floor will be awfully slippery if you try. I learned these things the hard way, then had some chocolate chips for lunch.

Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Well, DUH

Have I even mentioned that I saw Mickey Rooney in the car rental section of the Minneapolis airport? Well, I did. He's far shorter than I thought possible. And I think he may have filled his adult diaper when some fan charged at him to sing his praises. But still, I saw Mickey Rooney. I feel famous.

The Lord giveth

Why is it that people think that G*d will give them whatever they need? I need a big piece of cake right now, but does G*d really give a good god damn? Wouldn't HE be happier if I starved to death and then got to come join HIM that much sooner? (After the mandatory years of purgatory, I suppose. I hope Louis XV is still there because I REALLY want to ask him WHAT he was thinking about with Madame du Barry, though I suppose the answer is fairly obvious. The rest of the questions can wait until we all get to heaven.)

Tuesday, October 15, 2002

the crazies

Can I pat myself on the back for having a lot of visitors to my new *interactive* site if most of those visitors are ... me?

I've long had conversations OUT LOUD with myself (all of my various personalities get together to chat over slim-fast shakes and wasa rye crisps), but now I get to do it in writing too. I can't stand the excitement!

Monday, October 14, 2002

mea maxima culpa

It has come to my attention that I used the phrase "and whatnot" in my last post. I loathe that expression and I can't imagine how it could have popped into my head and out through my keyboard. So, color me ashamed and consider this my official apology.

As G*d is my witness, I will never say "whatnot" again!

Baby Got Back

I have returned, dare I say triumphantly, to Seattle. Beautiful blue skys, mountains galore; it's perfect heaven.

Hordes of my fans have started clamoring for me to move back to Minneapolis. I have to wonder if it's because they think I would be happier there, or if it's because they would be happier if I were there. A little bit of both, I suppose. Of course, part of me longs to return to Minneapolis, but I'm not sure that it'd be the best thing in the world. The grass always seems greener elsewhere, even though it rarely is. (Damned optical illusions.)

You all know that I have been an avid composter for over a year now. Thanks to this compost, I was able to grow those little potatoes of mine ... though some naysayers think that the nitrogen- or something-rich compost may have stunted their growth. Anyhoo, I keep my kitchen scraps in a little plastic container that long ago contained some less-than-delicious store-bought cookies (reduce, reuse, recycle), then carry them out to the compost bin when the kitchen bucket is full (or ripe). This all worked well, or so I thought.

While I was gone, my CLINICALLY INSANE roommate decided that my cookie container was "too permeable" for his tastes. Apparently he thinks that the juices and whatnot from the kitchen scraps somehow SOAK INTO the plastic. So he threw it away and stopped composting.

My questions are legion. How many thousands of years would it take for the juice of, say, a plum to SOAK INTO a plastic container? How could a man who will used unwashed pans OVER AND OVER ("I made pancakes in them last time, so I can make pancakes in them again today.") think that a dedicated scrap container is unhygienic? How could the person who LEAVES FOOD OUT FOR WEEKS, then merrily eats it as though it were freshly made, think that a plastic scraps container will eventually kill him?

Maybe moving away isn't such a bad idea.

Thursday, October 10, 2002

Sniffle, sniffle

Well, the end of my time at home draws nigh. How I will miss my friends in all the little Appleton shops I frequent every day. We've grown so close over these last weeks. I will especially miss you, Hairy Cross-Eyed Girl. And you, Relatively Cute Lesbian Who Can't Cook (you suggested that unsweetened chocolate and bittersweet chocolate were the same thing; they are not, and so I spit at you)! Oh, who am I kidding? I'll miss ALL OF YOU! Godspeed (and just the slightest hint of moustache bleach)!

I leave tomorrow for Minneapolis, where I will spend the weekend laughing and eating and shopping AND LAUGHING with my sister.

On Sunday I go home.

Did you ever notice that home is where you're not?

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

Curious

You'd think that while I was on vacation, I would have more time to write about my life. Mmm, no. I have been drawn inexplicably into attending my mother on her daily round of errands. This involves driving to Appleton every single day. On odd days we buy things at Bed, Bath and Beyond. On even days we return them. It's very tiring.

I go back to Seattle on Sunday, where I am looking forward to getting back to my regular life of DOING NOTHING.

Latest Exciting Search Terms

Aha! Google has found my blog yet again! This time, some CRAZY person entered the phrase: "Real Men Wear Speedos." Let me assure you, in the US, such is NOT the case.

Thursday, October 03, 2002

Mm hmm ... this rocks my world

My humble website has finally been found by a search engine! This brings more joy to me than three spoonfuls of malt powder sprinkled over ice cream. The query? Mablean + Ephriam + Gay. My heart sings.

Sensitive Area! Sensitive Area!
Highlights of my trip thus far

Let me just say this. I am now an airplane vigilante. I will FROM NOW ON take justice into my own hands when I see evils being perpetrated. What evils? Well, there's only one evil, really. If I EVER AGAIN see a short man (with no obvious physical maladies or serious bloating problem) request an EXIT ROW SEAT, I will BEAT HIM TO DEATH with his own tiny hands. As G*d is my witness, I will do it!

There seems to be a new policy at the Seattle airport. If the security guard shouts "Sensitive Area!," he can grope your most private parts to his heart's content. I, for one, applaud the move.

Didn't we see this coming? ... my new blue shirt is a TOTAL success. One strange man complimented me. (STRANGE man.) Another gestured in an appreciative but entirely inappropriate manner. And yet another took it upon himself to try to unbutton the buttons on the dance floor. (He was rebuffed in the iciest possible way. I considered dusting off the classic David line: "Battery is any form of unwanted touching," but I thought I'd hold it in reserve and just GLARE at the man instead. It worked like a charm.) I am now looking to unload this shirt because I can't handle the attention.

Ahh, yes, I'm having the time of my life.

Artful Scheme of Happiness