BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

GIRL: Will he offer me his mouth?

BOY: Yes

GIRL: Will he offer me his teeth?

BOY: Yes

GIRL: Will he offer me his jaws?

BOY: Yes

GIRL: Will he offer me his hunger?

BOY: Yes

GIRL: Again, will he offer me his hunger?

BOY: Yes!

GIRL: And will he starve without me?

BOY: Yes!

GIRL: And does he love me?

BOY: Yes

GIRL: Yes

BOY: On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

GIRL: Yes

BOY: I bet you to say that to all the boys.

(classy)  

Then again, it all kinda makes sense when you factor in the meatloaf and instant mashed potatoes that I have planned for dinner tonight.

(kinda)

Pam was always there for me.  She gave me encouragement when I needed strength, she gave me advice when I needed wisdom and she gave clothes when mine were thread barren.  She prayed for me to find a mate.  When she heard him preach, she approved.  She let me use her punchbowl for my wedding reception.  She also offered to make my dress.  When my husband and I moved home to serve in a local congregation, she attended a service.  She was eager to tell me that she had prayed that I would be able to move back home.    Family was very important to her and she knew how important family was to me.  Pam was a distant cousin, family and friend and she was important to me.

• The Carnivore (loves meat and potatoes, likes food fairly plain and not too spicy, tolerates just a couple fruits/veggies)
• The Omnivore (will eat just about anything except saurkraut, the more ingredients & spices the better, loves veggies, whole grains, fruits, and tries to eat healthy)
• The Preschooler (has a fairly varied appetite for foods, an unnatural fondness for beans, but is subject to the typical whims of young children regarding foods)
• The Toddler (a one year old who is all about finger food and learning to feed himself, takes after his dad in liking meat)

The other night we tried the frozen meatloaf that was part of the April menu.  I was a little hesitant to have it as a main entree, since the Carnivore isn't too fond of meatloaf in general, and even less so of ones that have green pepper and onion.  We decided to give it a try and see how it went.

The meatloaf did have cooking instructions for both oven and microwave cooking from frozen or from thawed listed on the packaging. For frozen in the oven, it said to vent the corners of the plastic wrapping and bake with it on, but I took it out of the packaging and placed it into a  meatloaf pan instead.  There was a good layer of sauce to spread over the meat, which helped keep it moist while cooking.  Since I cooked it out of the plastic wrapping, it took a little bit longer than the time listed on the packaging (just over an hour total). This probably would cook up alright in the crockpot as well over a full day.

There wasn't a lot of grease in the pan after cooking, and it sliced up nicely. Although you could taste the green pepper and onion slightly, it wasn't enough to bother the Carnivore, who is pretty sensitive about those things. The onions were diced quite small, and the green peppers weren't too prevalent, and the right size to pick out for picky eaters. The Preschooler had thirds, but the Toddler wasn't too fond of it. I (the Omnivore) felt that it was very tasty, especially given the ease of cooking. We served it with rice and (leftover) green beans and peas.

Recently I started to tick off the months it has been since I last saw my parents, much the same the way I used to count each month anniversary with my high school boyfriend.

It has been not quite eight months; I went home for a few days during Chanuka. As each month passes by without a comment from my mother about my weight or one of my siblings offering to get me high, I've become a little more defiant, a little more too into playing the role of the kid who has a don't-even-mention-it-in-front-of-her fucked up relationship with her family.

This is slightly misinformed as my family doesn't hate me more than they hate anyone else (we're pretty curmudgeonly and we enjoy complaining), and even though we don't have a lot in common and can't stand to be around each other fifteen minutes after I step off the plane (here is a typical conversation that takes place on the car ride home from the airport):

"Are you going to smoke while you talk on your cell phone while you drive?" "Are you ever going to shave your armpits?" etc.

we still have one of those I'm-going-to-hate-my-family-members-as-much-as-I-want but-if-you-say-anything-bad-about-them-I-will-put-a-dead-horse-in-your-bed dealios.

Having a poor relationship with one's parents inevitably surrounds one with a sexy, sexy cloud of mystery, and I could ponder why that is or discuss why I think this is fucked up, but I am feeling mushy and not very critical at the moment. Plus, I don't care; I miss my mom. Poor relationship or not, I think about my mom all the time, and most of those thoughts are about the random things that make me think of her rather than how my perceived independence makes me more sexually desirable.

Even though my mother and I are not close, being older and living far away from her sometimes makes me feel like I have broken up with a great love, in the way that I am sometimes overwhelmed with sadness knowing that things will never be the same, or something. It's a weird analogy. If I run with it anymore, I'm bound to run into incest territory, which was not where I was attempting to go, so you can think about how your great love breakups made you feel and then apply that to my mom.

Sometimes I think about her in past tense, as if she has died. She is healthy and alive, though; we talk on the phone once a week, but it feels like I am constantly grieving. Someone my age with dead parents probably needs to smack me around a little bit.

I have developed mom triggers-- things or places or actions that hit me in the stomach by surprise, and I get caught in these sudden onslaughts of loneliness and nostalgia and weakness and confusion.

Every now and then something will remind me of her in a positive way; I will find a new memory or be reminded of something good that makes me feel grounded and whole and safe. This does not happen especially often, though, and these moments do not lend themselves nearly as well to compelling blogs as the existential crisis type moments do.

1. This just started happening to me: my mother's voice comes out in mine when I sing in my car. I was winding around the freeway on-ramp headed to my office a couple weeks ago when I first heard it. It was during this two week stretch of cold rain (I swear I am moving away from this miserable coast and never coming back) and I only heard it for a second, but it was unmistakably her intonation, her voicing.

I have a terrible singing voice (I had a lead role in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta in eighth grade and everyone in my family agreed that while my acting was cute and funny, my solo numbers sounded like a lo-fi version of Yoko Ono imitating a school bus); my mother was a voice major during her one semester stint in college who sang in fancy, elite choirs. We have never sounded anything alike. This is one of many reasons why I am not especially concerned about the prospect that I am possibly becoming my mother, even though we are both middle children and we have the same face and both love to overstuff our friends and say things like "I love to see you eat".

Recently I learned how to drive and acquired a car and now that car is an extension of myself where I feel safe and happy (champagne honda civic, i wonder what that means?), so now I sing (loudly) all the time, but the mom voice thing is a new development.

It was a folk song that I like a lot, because I can sing a majority of the notes close to on-key. I was belting out some line about the fucked-upedness of the american political system and then there it was, hanging in the air, like casper the friendly ghost or a butterfly. I put my hand over my mouth, and then I got a little weepy, and then I went back to singing. I sang the same song again on the way home from work and felt it again, the same note. After experimenting with almost all of my cds, I've found three albums where my singing versions conjure my ma, but it feels a lot like listening to the voicemail greeting of someone who has died. You think it'll make you feel closer to them, but it doesn't, and instead the hollow space in you gets a little bit bigger.

2. I don't eat meat and I don't make vegan nut loaves, but last week I watched some kids mix ground beef with vegetables with their bare hands the way my mom does when she makes meatloaf, and that made me feel a little lost. I participated in a cooking class with the youth I teach at my job; they made egg rolls.

When I saw the youth in my program working their hands through the meat, I couldn't stop thinking about my mother, and how when she made meatloaf when I was younger she wouldn't be able to answer the phone while she stirred, and how I could never get up the guts to ask her to mix the beef with a fork. I think I was worried that she would get E Coli and die by mixing it by hand. When I became a vegetarian, I never thought about how it would affect my mother, but she went through a long period of feeling resentful about me not eating her cooking, especially the foods that she used to show her love through, like meatloaf.

I used to love eating meatloaf as a kid (I think I loved it more because my sister hated it AND it was covered in ketchup), but I hated watching the prep for it. My mother would take her rings off and stick her hands in up to her wrists in the ground beef, eggs, bread crumbs, and god knows what else. I hated the noises it made and I could not figure out how something so disgusting turned into any meal, let alone something as wonderful as meatloaf.

3. I have a watch my mother wore every day for as long as I can remember. A couple of years ago my father bought my mother a fancy pink Burberry watch to replace her old one. She put the old one at the bottom of her jewelry box to make way for her new wrist candy almost immediately.

I was heartbroken. I remember looking at the new pink plaid band around my mother's wrist with pure sadness and hate for my mother's love of new, pretty pink things and how it felt like everything sacred in my life was disappearing. I had no words. It was like meeting your new baby sibling; you can't say you hate it, even if it makes you feel like life as you know it is gone forever (though I guess the changing of the watches was a wee more symbolic).

Last summer we went to an antiques roadshow-type jewelry buying event and my mother attempted to sell the old watch along with a bunch of other random pieces of costume jewelry she had acquired from well-meaning relatives. I spotted the watch in her plastic bag of twinkly crap and threw a small fit about how she could not get rid of the watch (literal translation-- me: "you aren't going to get rid of that, are you?").

I said "I need a new watch; I'll take it", and I put it on. My mother was happy to give it to me; I think she was happy that it meant I would stop hinting at how much I hoped she would buy me a watch before I left for Seattle.

What I meant to say was "This watch reminds me of everything that was good about being a child; I cannot think about this watch without remembering how your skin felt when you hugged me when I was small and feeling sad; this watch is your entire essence rolled up in gold plated tin; when you stopped wearing it my whole world shifted; I am going to wear it every day even though I hate women's watches and gold colored jewelry because I need to take a part of you with me when I move away".

4. I will never drink vodka martinis because they are my mother's drink of choice and even the words 'vodka' and 'martini' conjure up an image of Mama Marnegras stumbling around the back patio during our annual memorial day barbeque with the music up way too loud, screaming at some neighbor to lighten up and have another shot.

Whereas the fact that my grandmother only drank bourbon makes me feel like I am carrying on a family tradition, even when my friends order martinis (even the slutty chocolate kind that look more like yoohoo than their transparent brethren), I shudder.

I will never get over how much my mother cried when she broke her favorite martini glass. She was washing dishes, and then she couldn't stop screaming "FUCK!" pause. "FUCK!" She cried even harder when a few weeks later she broke the other glass in the set.

5. I do almost nothing to spite my parents (on purpose, that is; I am in my 20's; I am not fooling anyone.)

I do indulge when I can 1. afford my favorite ice cream and 2. restrain myself long enough to put said ice cream in a bowl. I douse my ice cream in chocolate syrup, I eat every drop, I don't share it with anyone, and when I am done, I think of my mother, smile, and lick the entire bowl (with my whole face, in a way that only someone who enjoys cunnilingus can: who else could haphazardly close their eyes, stick their whole face into something wet and sticky, and come out licking their lips, happily satiated?).

When I tried to lick my ice cream bowl as a kid/teenager/college student home for Thanksgiving, my mother would squawk, swoop down, and pry the bowl away from me. She would, with disgust, throw my bowl with perfectly good ice cream residue in a dishwasher full of crusty dinner dishes and dessert would suddenly be over.

The first time I ate ice cream out of a bowl as an adult away from home, I was in a college dining hall. It took about six minutes (the time it took to eat the ice cream in the bowl) to realize that no one cared what I did with my dishware or my tongue (we were too busy exploring our sexual identities and wearing sweatpants in public). I licked the whole bowl. I got ice cream on my nose. My new friends laughed. I have never not licked a bowl with ice cream in it since.

6. My mother has a big personality that goes along with her big voice, and though she passed neither along to me, i did inherit her rabid love for musical theatre. My mother sang snippets of old broadway shows as bedtime lullabies, cheer up songs, rallying cries. I, in turn, sing them to my friends now in the same kinds of moments my mother would sing them to me (this is how my friends usually come to understand the depths of my love for musicals; when I attempt to communicate my feelings through sondheim).

For several years on my birthday I was permitted to skip school and we would go into the city and see a show. I never thought about it then, but I think I was in love with the fact that a big, shaking broadway voice could sing any number of trite, melodramatic lyrics and still convey complex, conflicting emotions; the kind that transcended whatever the actual words were. Broadway voices made me believe that is possible to communicate emotion without surrendering to the confines of our vocabularies, that there are certain voices that could make anyone understand love or pain or whatever. When people make fun of Barbara Streisand around me, I remember watching Funny Girl for the first time on the couch with my mom at age 14, I remember hearing her hit the notes in 'People' for the first time, and it feels like they are directly making fun of me and my mother. Our entire relationship is based upon the fact that we are clearly the only people in the world who understand the breadth and depth of what Fanny Brice is experiencing as she is in the alleyway with Nicky.

The Tony awards, which were on last week, featured this incredible performance by Patty LuPone as Mama Rose in the new revival of Gypsy, singing 'Everything's Coming Up Roses', and I watched alone on my couch here in Seattle, hugging an overstuffed pillow as my housemates milled about, freaking out a little that their housemate they thought they knew was crying over a televised awards show. I wanted so badly to be watching the Tonys with my mom. I don't even remember if we watched them every year when I was growing up. I don't think we did. It still felt right, though; missing my mom, conjuring up these memories that may have never happened, wishing I knew for sure she used to be the person I thought she was.

By MrMean

(HUH? WHERES THE SAYING???)

Ok Ad time! Need a new phone? Will this ad persuade you to buy a GoPhone?

The first thing I thought about this commercial that it reminds me about the Kickapoo music video (or the first 5 minutes in the movie Pick of Destiny). It starts with the son talking, then it moves to singing. Then the dad gets mad! Even the dad in the ad looks like the dad from the music video. The dads sound the same too. Oh wait. It is the same guy! Meatloaf! But if his name is Meatloaf why is he a vegetarian? But if he's a vegetarian why does the mom bring in a huge piece of meat? Also, shouldn't the meat be wrapped up in plastic to avoid spreading germs? But what does the dad throw in the garbage can to make something in it explode? What is a GoPhone anyway? I have never heard of it. Well, whatever it is, it has a crazy ad for it.

Remember to send me your crazy ads!!!!!!!!

]]> http://copiluatomic.wordpress.com/?p=187 Thu, 19 Jun 2008 08:43:33 +0000 CopiluAtomic http://copiluatomic.wordpress.com/?p=187 pentru un bebe frumos...

Meatloaf - i'd lie for you

I'd never tell you one lie, I'd never let you down
I'd never leave, I'd be the one who'd always be around
Baby give me a chance

I'd pull the sun out from the sky to light your darkest night
I wouldn't let one drop of rain fall down into your life
Put your heart in my hands

Baby Believe me, I could never do you wrong
And I would never paint your world blue
And if sometimes it seems I must have lost mind
I might be crazy but I'm crazy about you...

I'd lie for you and that's the truth
Do anything you ask me to
I'd even sell my soul for you
I'd do it all for you
If you'd just believe in me

Just take a look in my eyes, you'll see a love that's blind
Just take a hold of my hand, I'll take you to paradise
Let me into your heart

Believe me baby got your name carved on my soul
’Cause You're the only one that I'll give it to
Go let 'em say that I'm I fool to act this way
'Cause if I'm crazy, I'm just crazy 'bout you...

I'd lie for you and that's the truth
Move mountains if you want me to
I'd walk across the fire for you
I'd walk on the wild for you
If you'd just believe in me...

And you will never see a day I'll ever break your heart
You'll see the sky fall down before it ever gets that far
I'll show you heaven every second that you're in my arms
Baby I'm crazy, but I'm crazy about you!

[Instrumental bridge]

I'd lie for you and that's the truth
Do anything you ask me to
I'd even sell my soul for you
I'd do it all for you
If you'd just believe in me

I'd walk across the wild for you
Move mountains if you want me to
I'd walk across the fire for you
Do anything you asked me to

I'd lie for you and that's the truth
Move mountains if you want me to
I'd walk across the fire for you
I'd walk on the wild for you
If you'd just believe in me...

I'd lie for you and that's the truth

However. Never let it be said that the cosmos does not conspire against me. About two years ago, while out driving and exploring this neck of the woods, I came across an old covered bridge. Just the sort you might expect to see in a picture (clever, eh?). And wouldn't you know that I just happen to remember where this bridge is located (in the most general of terms that is). So I made it my first place to stop today. No back deck shots. No favourite spot at my local park. Nope. Outside the box. Something new and adventurous. So this lad headed West on 40 towards Indiana. Lo and behold I found the bridge that was my indicator to turn north and I found my next indicator that told me to double-back East and there was the bridge. Well, sort of.

The bridge was there, but also there was a bunch of lumber, working men, construction signs and all sorts of manner of tools. The bridge was being rehabilitated. My gorgeous 1800's covered bridge was just a shell of its former self.

Shit.

No. Fucking shit.

I had driven the forty minutes for this?  Yep. Fucking shit.

Oh well, when in Rome.........so I grabbed my camera and took a few pictures. Emphasis on "few".  As I had stopped here and there on the drive there was no reason to return via the same route so I thought to myself "What now dummy?" and it was there that I decided to return to the warm embrace that is my favourite local park.  "However...," thought I, "....this time I'll head over to that large field that is a designated wildflower area and snap lovely pics of the flowers and the bees and the whatever else happens to be there."  To the highway I went and made a hasty journey to the park.

I can now let you in on a little secret: areas designated as "Do Not Mow:  Wildflower Area" are not filled with wildflowers.  I think it's just that the park is either too lazy or too broke to actually mow the damn field.  Rest assured that much in the way of flowers are blooming all about Ohio, but not in the designated wildflower area.  At least not at the one in my park.

(sigh)

So what do I have over at Flickr?  Not much for my troubles.

I'm more certain than ever that "Forkboy's Photographic Travails" was precisely the correct title for my sojourn into amateur photography.

Nothing used to strike fear into my heart more than meatloaf. Up until one year ago I hadn’t eaten meatloaf since I was 16 years old. I despised it, hated it, couldn’t stand looking at it and would have been happy to never eat it again for the rest of my life. The meatloaf that I grew up was not good, plain and simple. But the worst part was my dad would, on certain occasions, make me sit at the dinner table until everything was cleared.

Most of the time this wasn’t a problem since my dad and I fought over the last piece of whatever it was my mother cooked. Not with meatloaf. I still remember the night that changed my view of meatloaf for the past 23 years. I remember wishing I had a dog like everyone on TV that they could secretly pass their food to under the table.

On this night I sat at the dinner table from 5:00 to 8:30, which you can imagine is not too easy to do when you are 16 years old and all your friends are out playing football while I sat at the table, pissed off at my dad and sick to my stomach.

As a last resort I started to swallow whole pieces with a big drink of water, no chewing necessary. Needless to say, this still took some time because I would gag each time I tried to force it down. Thanks mom and dad, maybe I can sue you and win some monetary damages or your house or something.

Fast forward to one year ago… my wife owns a restaurant with a published meatloaf recipe and our sous-chef Megan makes what everyone says is excellent meatloaf. So with my competitive spirit I decided to make the meatloaf published in the Best New Recipe book by America’s Test Kitchen because my stepson Randy really wanted to cook something with me and he wanted meatloaf. YUCK… but you have to do whatever is necessary for your kids. Well, most of the time.

Surprisingly I actually liked it, had second helpings and ate it for lunch the next day! Wow, it’s amazing what cooking something properly can do! I think my mom is going to kick my ass when she reads this!

Let’s fast forward again to a few days ago when I read a recipe in the book “The Shameless Carnivore” for Buffalo Meatloaf. It looked super easy and I of course was interested since Buffalo meat has 30 percent less cholesterol and half the fat and calories of the cow variety. The recipe was simple and I knew that I could come home from work, do the prep, get it in the oven and then go workout while it cooked away.

So tonight I did just that. I stopped on my way home from work and picked up 2 pounds of buffalo meat at the local butcher, frozen of course. I came home and put the meat, still in the package, in a bowl and ran cold water over it to defrost it. This took about 20 minutes and by that time I had all my ingredients ready to go. This recipe was fast!

Overall I was happy with the results, but after consulting with Nancy and taking a look at some other recipes, I present to you the modified version that will knock your socks off!

Ingredients –

• 2 pounds of ground buffalo meat
• 2 tablespoons of olive oil
• 3 teaspoons of kosher salt
• ¼ teaspoon of fresh ground black pepper
• 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
• ¾ cup of soft bread crumbs, made with sourdough bread in the food processor
• ½ cup of whole milk
• 2 teaspoons of Worcestershire sauce
• 1 teaspoon of Dijon mustard
• ½ cup of onions, small dice
• ¼ teaspoon dried thyme
• ¼ teaspoon of chopped, fresh rosemary
• One 8-ounce can of tomato sauce
• 9 dashes of Tabasco sauce

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. While the oven is preheating sauté the onions in a pan over medium high heat until tender, about 7 minutes. Remove from the heat and cool.

Combine all of the ingredients with the exception of the tomato sauce and Tabasco in a large bowl. Do not over mix! Lightly grease a loaf pan and transfer the meat mixture to the pan, packing down the meat. Mix the tomato sauce and the Tabasco then spread over the top of the loaf. Bake uncovered for 1 hour, to 160 degree internal temperature, then turn on the broiler and broil for an additional 3 minutes or until browned. Remove and rest for 10 minutes, pour off excess fat, slice, serve and enjoy!

As to what I learned this time around. Well first off the original recipe called for adding the onions raw. I did this time, but haven’t in the past and there was quite a difference in texture. The cooking time and the temperature just don’t have enough gusto to soften the onions. It is well worth the additional few minutes to sauté them before adding the the rest of the ingredients.

Other items for future research are the minimum temperature buffalo needs to be cooked to. Most of the research I’ve done suggests 160 degrees just like ground beef.

Also there are three different ways to cooks the meatloaf in the oven. You can use a loaf pan, which this recipe calls for, but has the drawback of stewing the meat in the fat. If you don’t like crunchy exteriors then this is the way to go. There are also pans made for meatloaf that have a perforated bottom and an accompanying drip pan. The enclosed pan keeps the meat soft but allows the drippings to flow to the bottom pan below.

Lastly you can cook them free-formed on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil, for easy clean up. This allows for the top and sides to brown much better. The last meatloaf I cooked I did this way and was very happy with the results.

So with that I will say good luck on your cooking quest!

]]> http://ironbunny.wordpress.com/?p=115 Thu, 12 Jun 2008 23:14:06 +0000 ironbunny http://ironbunny.wordpress.com/?p=115 So if you remember from my last dr. appt post, the PCP referred me back to the RE that had said they couldn't see me.

Well I called and made an appointment.  Apparently they don't have my named etched into the wall on a list of people that are not permitted to darken the door.  And if they did, how lame would that be.

The appointment is on the 24th.  The husband has his follow up appt with the PCP on the 23rd.  She will more than likely refer him to a urologist due to his hormone levels.  I do feel bad for him.  I don't think I would feel any differently if I found out I didn't have much estrogen but I think the situation has sort of gotten him down.  Not that you would ever notice!  He is not often a wear your heart on your sleeve kind of guy.  Just comments he has made since then like, "I'm a shell of a man", even if in a joking manner, show that things might be getting to him.  We'll see how things go on that front.

I've hemmed and hawed over my appointment.  Do I go?  Do I not?  Do I mention the fact we aren't pursuing IUI/IVF?  Do I answer ambiguously?

My real fear is like the first RE I went to, they just gloss over the first steps.  The previous RE would never talk in depth about Clomid, monitoring, progesterone (which in my lay person opinion I have a significant need for- more on that later), any of that.  All three times I met with them it was, in your first IUI we do this, and if the IUI doesn't work then this is our plan of attack.  I had to remind them each time that I had no intention of doing IUI and could we just start at the beginning please.  I would get the befuddled look along with a brush off and that was it.

It seems that I am in the minority.  There is only one other person that I have come across that has been TTC for a number of years and is not pursuing IUI/IVF.  It is beyond frustrating when dr.'s don't listen to your requests and plans and seem to think that if you aren't willing to "go the distance" then there is something wrong with you.  Hell I get it from more than just dr.'s.  I can not tell you the number of times I've had people go ape shite on me when I say we have no intention of going past drug intervention.  Seriously if I hear one more person tell me that "until you are in that situation, you have no idea what you might or might not do." I might blow a gasket.

I am in that position and my decision remains the same as it did almost two years ago.

So that is my fear- that I'll go in and they will either a.) tell me they won't see me again or b.) consistently overlook the 'first' stages because they know that there is always IUI/IVF if it doesn't work.

I'm thinking I might wear a sign to each appt. (if I do stay with them) that says- If you want me to be a success story for your brochure, don't ignore me when I say this is it; I'm not going to change my mind.

Then there (good lord this is getting long) is the whole "Oh my god if this doesn't work we are at the end of the ttc line" part of things.  Not going to lie, there definitely is some trepidation there.  Granted there is the adoption route, but having worked for an adoption agency I know that it isn't that simple.  Hell, we could be in the same position three years down the road.  A possibility that saddens me more than anything.

I've wanted to be three things in my life- a fighter pilot, a wife, and a mom.  Meatloaf said it best- two out of three ain't (can't believe I just typed ain't) bad.  I tend to agree.  Actually I think two out of three will be fantastic- I've already dealt with the fighter pilot issue.

One out of three will be a huge disappointment.

My sister was making meat loaf out of deer meat while we were talking on the phone.  She had approx. 2 pounds of meat and used two eggs, chopped onion, drained canned tomatoes with jalepeno peppers, and 1/2 cup of oatmeal.  She had shelled about 1.5 cups of peas that day from her garden and she wondered what it would taste like if she put them in the meatloaf -  I said "why not?"  So she did....  Later that evening I called to ask how it tasted and she began laughing.   When she served the meat loaf the peas rolled out onto the plate.  So every time she took a bite the peas would roll away.  I ate some of it today and it didn't taste at all like deer meat and was very good - of course the peas rolled away.

The last 4-6 weeks I had the occassion to cook 4 boxes of Duncan Hines Brownie Mix.  I like to do the fudgy brownies where you use 2 eggs instead of 3 eggs.  Out of the 4 boxes, only one came out right, the other three boxes did not have the shine on them.  So...yesterday I fixed the last box and sure enough no shine.  So....I called Duncan Hines and found out that if you use extra-large eggs or just a little bit too much water the brownies loose the shine.  Because I had both sizes of eggs in the refrigerator, I'm not sure which eggs I used. 

Life is just like the meatloaf and brownies.  You can be surprisingly pleased by adding an ingredient and displeased by using too much of an item.  A lesson for all of us - handle life with care.

Tonight, there was a twist.  I made them small and cooked them on the grill.  Probably the best meatloaf I've ever done.

Now, if you read this blog regularly, you know I don't measure much.  So everything is just kind of "some". All measurements are approximate.  Experiment, it's what the kitchen is for.

Build a medium fire in your grill.  You'll want to keep a temperature of about 350 in the grill.  If you can, build it off to one side and put down some foil on the other to catch drippings. 

For the meatloaf(s), you'll need:

About a pound each of ground beef and ground pork.  1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs, 1/4 cup ketchup, 2T worstershire sauce,  1 large egg, 1/4 cup chopped scallions or Vidalia onion.  3 cloves chopped garlic, salt and pepper.  Throw it all in a bowl and mix with your hands until it just comes together.  Don't overmix or it'll be crumbly.  Divide into three equal portions and form into loaves.  Then, the secret ingredient.  Cover each loaf with bacon.  For this size, one strip cut in half will do.

Put the loaves on the cool side of the grill.  Drop the cover and walk away.  Just walk away.  In about 45 minutes, take the temperature of the largest loaf.  You won't make them all the same size, you know you won't.  You're looking for an internal temperature of about 160.  If you pull them off at about 155 and let them rest, they'll coast up to 160, 

Seen served here with some sauteed green beans (microwaved, then sauteed in butter) with almonds. 

-0-

Meanwhile, yesterday I wrote:

People like me who spend their days steeped in the news might actually have a clue about what’s going on.  Not to say that others don’t, but there’s a much higher probability that I’ll have a more informed opinion on the issues, and that might skew their results.

When I read it again, it seemed kind of conceited.  I do feel like I'm well informed, because I do spend a lot of time reading, but more than most?  I don't know.  I need an editor.

--scene--

Romantic, huh?

Anyway, I'm kinda bugged out about all this. Kinda but not really. I mean if it wasn't this what else would it be? Single and looking for love was never much fun...attached and having regular sex is fun. It's also comfy. Houseboy isn't perfect. There are things about him that I could imagine being more perfect but I am sure he feels the same way about me...so I accept his less than perfectness and have resolved myself to live happily ever after...or whatever. I know there will be good times and bad. Hell - I know there will be good yrs and bad...but I decided I am in this for the long haul. Unless we stop having sex. Then I'm out. Or I'm getting a boytoy on the side (ooooh keep reading...maybe this will get really interesting in a few years!).

So that's my opening statement. He's calling now and meatloaf is in the oven so I gotta go...

The noteworthy thing is the lyrics like i said before. The lyrics are actually written by a 'Jim Steinman'. Why i speak of this guy is, the lyrics are original and quite impressive. They have that whole "sex, drugs, rock&roll" thing going for them. But what differentiates their music from their other contemporary groups is their affinity towards Harleys for one, and the whole inclination towards dark and gothic lyrics. Quite a few of their songs discuss themes like these. Meat Loaf or the songwriter Steinman seem to be totally taken with bats - which is why all their albums are name Bat out of Hell! Every song has something about Harleys, the sound of a revving Hog especially. Harleys are mentioned in almost every song. Another important thing about their songs is the whole REBELLIOUS streak. Its one of the reasons their songs have always appealed to me. A lot of rebellion and a lot of gothic defeatism is evident in the songs.

I personally suggest everyone reading this blog try out a few of their songs. They should be available on P2P, but considering its not that famous a group, you might have to search around a bit. The older albums - Bat out of Hell I and II have some of my favorite songs, though the latest album isnt bad either. I'll go ahead and list a few of my favorite Meat Loaf songs so as to make it a little easier:

1) Bat out of Hell - rocking, dark!
2) Objects in the rear view mirror - just unbelievable
3) Rock & Roll dreams
4) I would do anything for love
5) Paradise by the dashboard light

& my personal favorite
6) wasted youth (a.k.a - everything louder than everything else)

This blog entry is a whole lot different than the others i've been posting all this while, but i felt it worth to mention Meat Loaf. If there's any other fans that are reading this....Cheers! and if i'm able to create some more meatloaf fans thanks to this...Cheers!

Just try to understand the lyrics of the songs...especially wasted youth. Then you'll know what i've been talking about. Songs like those make me a little happier cuz it helps me understand that other people think the way I do. Steinman is awesome - HAIL! As is Meat Loaf himself - HAIL you too!

An excerpt from the lyrics of wasted youth!

They got a file on me and it's a mile long and they say that they got all of the proof,
that I'm just another case of arrested development and just another wasted youth
They say that I'm in need of some radical discipline, they say I gotta face the truth,
that I'm just another case of arrested development and just another wasted youth

They say I'm wild and I'm reckless
I should be acting my age
I'm an impressionable child in a tumultuous world,
and they say I'm at a difficult stage

But it seems to me to the contrary, of all the crap they're going to put on the page,
that a wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age!
A wasted youth is better by far than a wise and productive old age!

ROCK ON!

www.meatloaf.net

Can somebody please explain this to me?

Men with pony tails

Physics

The recent proliferation of mini-burgers

God’s sovereignty in light of man’s free will.  This one deserves fleshing out.  I’m not implying that God is somehow restricted by man or that He can’t do whatever He wants and I’m not talking in terms of salvation, but rather in living.  Was it God’s will that I wore a black shirt today?  Yes, that’s a pretty silly question, but following that logic, when I have a big life decision to make, am I really making that decision, or has God already made it for me?  Maybe a better phrasing of the question would be, how much does God intervene in day to day living of human beings?  Is there even a way to answer that question?

Hitler’s declaration of war on the US immediately after Pearl Harbor

Cricket

Coastal areas are generally so much more liberal than interior areas

Things that are hard go soft when stale, things that are soft get hard when stale

The continued appeal and success of Tom Bergeron

There are 33 different varieties of Colgate toothpaste (yes, I actually counted)

Meatloaf waited 20 years between the releases of his two albums

And what is it that Meatloaf won’t do for love

This man had a relatively successful career in show business

People read this blog

The latest news has it that GMA is going to distribute a one-time 500-peso subsidy under the appropriately populist brand: "Katas ng VAT, Pantawid Kuryente."

Now will someone please tell me what a one shot infusion of 500 pesos actually do for these people? Assuming that the money actually goes to pay for their bills this month, where are they going to find money to pay for those bills next month, much less the month after next?

And in any case, the chances are - if they're going to distribute this money in depressed areas - the actual subscriber's bill doesn't accurately reflect his household's consumption. Ten to one, that bill will be bloated by the consumption of any number of illegal taps from his neighbors to his neighbor's neighbor to the big sari-sari store all the way down at the end of the street. So, if you think about it, the government actually ends up paying even for illegal connection. Who says crime doesn't pay?

Oh, and are they actually going to conduct a lifestyle check on the recipients? As part of several immersion programs I've taken part in, many urban poor households only look poor from the outside. Step into their rickety squatter crib and you find a flatscreen teevee, a DVD player, an X-box or PSP, and about five cellphones with chargers perpetually plugged in. That's not even counting the microwave oven, the electric stove, and (this is what really slays me!) the airconditioner.

So government does not just end up subsidizing illegal taps, it also promotes the live-like-a-rockstar lifestyles that proliferate even in urban poor communities.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with welfare support, IF given to the truly in need, and within reason. Remember, the money is going to come from value-added tax proceeds. That's my friggin money too! Everyday it seems, I'm being taxed to within an inch of my life - my cigarettes are taxed, my commute is taxed, my salaries are taxed, even watching a stupid movie to forget even for a moment what a shitty life I'm living is taxed. Seriously. I don't want any of that money going to crackhead layabouts who clog up the esteros with their garbage, harbor petty criminals, and beat up their children who refuse to go begging because they want to go to school. Nossir.

If this government is going to start giving away money that I worked fucking hard for, it had better be to some poor shmuck who needs it to get back on his feet so he can resume being a productive member of society; or to some poor family that was displaced by some storm or something; or to some foundling children who need to go to school.

Ah, but what the fuck, right? DSWD never asked me before they started this abortion of a public relations move. Come to that, did they ask anyone?

Oh and, howabout that name, eh? Katas ng VAT?

That particular metaphor has always made me feel uncomfortable, evoking images of stinky seepage from rotting garbage. This particular katas has me feeling just as nauseated.

They did this before too, with that Ahon project. I wonder what happened to that?

(DSWD Secretary) Cabral said the P2 billion, which would be derived from the P4 billion value added tax proceeds that was initially identified by the government, was intended for the cash transfer program where the poorest of the poor is given monthly allowance by the government.

Methinks this means that the money for Katas will actually be taken from the billions originally earmarked for the Ahon project. What? Maybe they weren't spending money quickly enough?

~

Times like these, the temptation to drag out truisms can be irresistible. I can say something like, a foolish government and its money are soon parted; or maybe i can say don't throw good money in after bad; or the somewhat more modern mo'money, mo'problems. Like the fox, I have more truisms than I can figure out how to use. So, instead of trying to be clever, let me just say this:

This dole-out policy is a lemon, and I want my money back!