Don't worry, if law school doesn't work out, I can always get a reality TV show.

Why has getting a reality TV show become the fall-back job? Have you noticed this phenomenon? It's odd. Do you not have a shred of talent, and yet the desire to live like a rich person? Are you a total fame whore? Are you willing to make an utter ass of yourself in front of the camera? Do you dream of having paparazzi following your every move because magazines are so starved for news that any little thing you do might just make the front cover? Are you willing to make yourself hated, despised, ridiculed, mocked, and then forgotten, all in the name of fame and money? Well, then a reality television show might just be for you!

Seriously, though, it’s become this back up option. If you don’t have any talent or a career, just try and get a reality TV show. After all, the networks, (especially MTV and the like), are just handing them out, right? They’re a good deal for the networks because they cost practically nothing, and yet they generate viewers, because it’s nearly impossible to look away from a train wreck. Also, people are stupid and will watch just about anything.

Examples of talentless fame whores garnering for their own reality TV shows:

· Jon and Kate Gosslin, albeit separately. Separate douchey shows for divorced douches.

· Octo-mom.

· Speidi

· That kid who knocked up the Palin girl.

· The Hogan kids

· The Kardashian kids

· The Colorado family with the balloon and the little boy

· Any of the Real Housewives

Notice how none of these people are talented in their own right, or are actually famous for doing anything. The real stars wouldn’t touch a reality TV show. In fact, they seem to try and avoid everything that these douche bags want so very badly.

It reminds me of that show, Tila Tequila’s Shot at Love, or whatever it was called. The premise was that a bi-sexual Mexican midget stripper would find love in a single season, and both girls and guys would compete for her heart. It was very Bachelor/Bachellorette, and I’ve never watched any of these shows. I have, however, seen bits and pieces, especially when watching TV with a friend, and not wanting to sound like an asshole by shrieking, “OH MY GOD, TURN IT OFF! MY EYES!” The people on these shows rattle off the word “love” like it’s going out of style. And it’s not. I would venture to say that love will never go out of style. Anyway, these contestants pledge their love to these people they don’t know, have never met before the taping of the show, and why? Why on earth would this appeal to ANYONE? Do they know the meaning of the word? Are they aware that these words have meaning? Or is it all just a competition, and they know it’s not real, and so in trying to win, they are willing to say any old thing?

I tend to think that it’s that latter – that it’s just a competition, and they’re willing to do anything to win. Well, that’s all well and good, but it’s still morally abhorrent. Of course, if this is the case, then it implies that these people are smart enough to know the difference between reality and fantasy, and I’m just not sure they are. I think the lines have become somewhat blurred. I think that there are the craftier amongst them who do understand the… emotional dishonesty (?) of the whole thing, but that implies a certain level of cunning, and cunning these people ain’t. Or maybe they are, I really don’t know.

It reminds me of the Jerry Springer show, and how, sometime in the late 90s it “came out” that it was all fabricated and fake – essentially it was improv for the trailer park set. I mean, big shock, right? That’s essentially what reality TV is, though, isn’t it? I mean, if there is any actual writing, then its super minimal because these people aren’t actors. The bulk of the storyline shaping happens during post-production.

Essentially, then, shows like The Hills, Big Brother, or whatever, are really just the modern day Jerry Springer Show. These fame whores are really just Jerry Springer contestants (guests?). The storylines are just as made up and bad, and these subjects, the Speidis of the world, are really just using their paltry acting abilities to carry the paltry storyline, and in order to keep the attention on them, they do crazy, scandalous things.

And the funny thing is that these subjects then start to believe their own hype, and they somehow get the impression that people actually give a shit about them, or that they actually are talented. I just read something about how Kate Gosslin now wants to get into movies. Seriously, Kate? Does that hair-do and a douche bag of an ex-husband entitle you to a movie career?

I mean, I wouldn’t want to act even if I had the talent, which I don’t. So, to an extent, any of this desire to be famous sails right over my head. I just don’t get it. And more than that, I don’t like it. I don’t like the current focus on fame in America today. I don’t like that kids are being raised to think that the reality television show is the norm.

But the idea of a reality TV show as being the fall-back career is just something else all together. It seriously strikes me that these people don’t want to do actual work, whether they’re spoiled, used to being rich, want to get rich, or just want to be famous and yet have no actual talent to do so. And I think the delusion here is that once these people get famous, they will always be famous. They’ll always be able to get back into the spotlight. It’s the same sort of logic that convinces people that they’ll win the lottery. Someone is going to win, and it might as well be me, right?

I feel like, back in the 1950s and 1960s, television shows were given to really famous people who were famous already, and who were talented. Lucille Ball, for example. Dick Van Dyke, and Mary Tyler Moore. Danny Thomas. These people had made names for themselves already, and were rewarded with a television show. The networks banked on the talent of the performers to make money; it wasn’t a gamble, it was a sure thing. I think that was probably because TV shows were so much more expensive then, and the networks hadn’t yet figured out that Americans will watch ANYTHING. Now we’re less naïve; shows don’t have to be good, they just have to be on. And production is cheaper, especially for a reality show. In terms of a cost-benefit analysis, it’s totally worth it for a big network to try out something new, someone new, in the hopes that they’ll be the next big thing, because they just might. Throw some money at some loser and maybe they’ll be a hit. But if it doesn’t, no harm no foul. Just move on, try something new. A couple million spent isn’t too bad. It’s certainly cheaper than paying for actual talent.

Flog: Cakery

So, I figured it was time for a flog. Today's topic: CAKE! My dad (or is it my mom?) says that there are two types of people: cake people, and pie people. While I love each equally, I think I'm probably more of a cake person. The only reason being that I find it easier to make a cake than a pie. It all comes down to the pie crust, and I'm like a spooked horse when it comes to pie crust. I've made one too many tough crusts. I think the problem is that I don't have a delicate hand... or palette... or sense of humor. I'm not what you'd call subtle.

I realized recently that I never posted pictures of my wedding cake, which, if you'll remember, my mom baked, and I filled and decorated. It was a fun, albeit long and exhausting process, and the results were stunning. My decorations weren't professional looking by any stretch of the imagination, and I wish I had either had more time or more practice or had used stencils, but whatever. The proof was, as they say, in the pudding. Or, cake. Whichever. You may also remember that, though we made enough cake for 300, and though we only had under 100 guests, that ALL OF THE CAKE WAS GONE at the end of the night. Seriously. Gone. I'm not sure if I got a piece, to be honest with you. But that's okay, because there's nothing I love more than when people really like the food I cook, and/or the cake I decorate.

(Cake Below: Not actually my wedding cake, but a practice cake that we brought to the shower. I didn't do the roses - they're prepackaged, and, I would guess, not edible.)

Making my own wedding cake, (with my mom - I can't forget that; in fact, it might be more accurate to say that SHE made the cake, and I helped), was really a great experience. I learned so much. I learned how to make curd, (mango), and cloud cream, (raspberry), and buttercream icing! It was my first foray into buttercream, (if you don't count my attempt at it last Halloween when I, for some reason, thought that I had to add cold butter rather than room temp, and it took a million times longer because the butter had to soften in order to become spreadable), on any serious level, and I learned that it's quite a delightful substance to create and work with. We made Italian Meringue Buttercream, which is when you boil some sugar water to a certain temp, whip some egg whites for, like, ten minutes until they're glossy and cloud-like, then stream the hot sugar into the egg whites with the stand mixer going, and end up with this delightfully shiny, ribbon like mixture, that you then mix room temperature butter into one pat at a time. It tastes amazing, and it spreads like a dream. What's best is that, when you layer it on your cake, you can stick said cake into the fridge to harden up the icing, which then forms an easy base to add more frosting. That makes doing the crumb coat super easy, (and you always must do a crumb coat!), and it makes it easy to get a smooth coat of frosting on the cake, and it helps with decorations.

Why did I not take more pictures of the wedding cake? Seriously, I can only find, like three. What the hell? Was I too much of a crazed bride to take this thing seriously? Anyhoodle, this is the stage where I had iced all three tiers, and was putting the thing together. I think it turned out alright.
Anyway, I'm glad we did it the way we did. I thought that we were insane for even thinking about making our own cake, but the thought of paying upwards of $5/slice for mediocre cake was just too much for my poor brain to handle. Was it a lot of work? You bet your sweet ass it was. Was it utterly and completely worth it, and better than we even imagined it would be? Yes, it was that, too. Am I SO relieved that my memory of my wedding wasn't tainted with the memory of bad cake? Oh, hell yes. I may have regrets about my wedding, (and who doesn't?), but the cake isn't one of them. I hope I never regret cake.

I hope Brian never regrets my cakes, either. I made this fabulous confection for his birthday last week. We shared it with family, and were still able to eat a slice a day for an entire week. It was the gift that kept giving!




Light, moist chocolate mocha layer cake, with an orange-chocolate buttercream? Yes, please! It sliced like a dream, and I don't know what kind of icings you're used to, but this buttercream was like heaven itself. When it's cold, it flakes off into buttery, chocolatey chunks. When room temperature, it's like eating a cloud - it's so fluffy, you wouldn't believe that it's almost entirely made of BUTTER, which can seem as dense and heavy as lead.

I just wish I had a piece right now! Oh well, this weekend, for Halloween, I'm making red velvet mini cupcakes with a cream cheese buttercream iced to look like brains. It's MarStew, of course. I did a lot of research on buttercreams today; I just hope that the addition of the cream cheese won't keep me from being able to pipe properly. I must have a proper pipe! Stay tuned, I'll be sure to take pictures this time.

Strangers in the Night

Halloween approaches swiftly, and I am super excited. I love Halloween - it's probably my favorite holiday, even though it's not a federal holiday and thus doesn't come with a day off. But you know, maybe that's another aspect that makes it fun - the social nature of it. Thanksgiving and Christmas are fairly private affairs, with close friends and family. Halloween is for being out in the world, and interacting with others. It's one of those few times when anyone can feel comfortable talking to complete and utter strangers without the slightest bit of hesitation. In a society that doesn't encourage making eye contact, Halloween is the bastion, the lighthouse, as it were, in our otherwise isolated lives when it's not only normal, but encouraged, to look at and study strangers openly. The magic phrase, the entre into conversation? "Who are you supposed to be?"

Now, I think that the answer to this question, or even the fact that one's costume can prompt this question, is a highly detailed world unto itself. Through the magnifying glass, we see the decision making process, the execution, the thought behind it, the way the world sees it. How to choose a costume is a study unto itself, and I consider myself an amateur student of the art. And yes, it is an art form.

When dressing up for Halloween, I think that one has two basic options: the first option is to go with something creative, wacky, and off the wall. When one chooses this option, the creativity of the choice gives certain leeway in execution. That is, the more creative the option, the less perfect the execution need be. The second option is to go for a traditional, classic, or iconic costume, but when making this choice it is important to remember that the only way to keep it from being boring is to make your execution perfect. For example, (going with option 1), I once saw a girl at a party in Gainesville wearing a blue dress, with cotton balls attached in various places, and she was carrying a spray water bottle. Because Halloween invites stranger-on-stranger interaction, I asked her what she was dressed as. Her answer: Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Showers. It was delightful, and so simple. A blue dress, some cotton balls and a spray bottle. Because it was a concept, the execution wasn't exacting. It was easy. Going with option 2, I'm dressing up as Marilyn Monroe this year. It fits - the theme is Dead Celebrity - and I'm busty and blond. But, because Marilyn is such a traditional Halloween costume, (overdone, even), I have to make my execution flawless. If I didn't, my costume would be trite, boring, and lame. With flawless execution, however, I could, in theory, elevate it to something much greater. Here's hoping.

It's because of this social-ness of Halloween that I think it's much better to go to a party rather than to a bar or club. First of all, parties invite more conversation than would occur at a crowded bar or club. And that means conversation about costumes. I think that, because of the social nature, you want one of two reactions when you answer the ubiquitous question of "Who are you supposed to be?": either immediate recognition, and a laugh, or puzzlement, followed by a short explanation on your part, and then recognition and a laugh. The recognition is key, the laugh is preferable, in my opinion, but not necessary. At the very least, you need a smile of approval. Otherwise, what's the point? I don't think anyone will laugh at my costume this year, and if they do it will not be a good sign. I usually like to get a laugh. In previous years, Brian and I have dressed as Ned and Maude Flanders, and Axl Rose (me) and Slash (Brian) from G'n'R. Those were two examples of creative costumes that didn't take a whole lot of work, but that engendered the recognition-and-laugh, one-two punch, that I like in a costume. There's something so fun about, when someone looks at your costume with a puzzled expression on their face, and then, (either with an explanation or without), recognition dawns on them, and their confusion turns into a smile. It's like a game. It's like sharing a joke with a complete stranger. It's people-watching at its best.

With the explanation, it's important not to need too much of an explanation. You should be able to explain your costume in one sentence or less. You start to lose your audience after the first sentence. So don't be too obscure, or else you'll be explaining yourself all night. That is, unless you're just going to be hanging out with your super artsy friends who understand that you're dressed as a soul in torment. After all, in my opinion, Halloween is about being around strangers. It wouldn't be fun without your friends there, but there have to be strangers in the mix to make it lively. That's what Halloween is all about: dressing up as the non-familiar, as something different; essentially, Halloween is about becoming a stranger yourself.

Along with the explanation, I also think it's important to have a character. Halloween is the ONLY time in the year that I actually want to act, to play a character, to be theatrical. I hate acting 364 days out of the year - on Halloween, I love it. So the character is another element of the costume to take into consideration. I think it not only adds to the affect, but it makes it more fun. One year, for example, I dressed up as Barbie, and I decided that Barbie was probably not all that smart, was probably consumed with money, probably voted Republican, and that she talked a lot. So that's what I did. I was totally annoying, and it was awesome. Another year, I dressed up as Tammy Faye Bakker. I made my mascara run, and I pretended to cry all night. It was great! Last year, as Axl, I fully intended to scream "Welcome to the Jungle," and do the snake dance with the microphone all night. I sort of forgot to do so, but I did have a character, should I have chosen to use it. (Perhaps as a result of this lack of obvious character, as well as the tight and low-cut nature of my shirt, one party goer said that I looked more like a groupie than Axl Rose. But she was dressed as a chef, so I think that I won that little costume contest.) A character can make an otherwise dull costume into something more interesting and fun. Again, I think it all comes down to the interaction one has with others. It's important, and it can make or break the night. As Marilyn, I don't really have much of a character to play. I mean, there's the high-pitched and breathy voice, but unless I plan on singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President," or "I Want to Be Loved By You," then the character element of my costume may be lacking. But... oh well. At least I'll be wearing a pretty dress.

And speaking of pretty dresses, I have one last thing to address: the current fad for girls to dress as the Sexy Blank: the Sexy Cop, the Sexy Nun, the Sexy Cat, the Sexy Bumble Bee, the Sexy ___ (fill in the blank). My main complaint with the Sexy Blank fad is not that women are feeding into the male dominated culture, or even that they're distracting others with their bodies when they could be distracting others with their minds. My main complaint is that Sexy Blank costumes are BORING. They are uncreative, a little desperate, completely cliche, and utterly dull. Sexy Baseball player? Yawn. Sexy Sailor? Snooze. It's just a total (sexy) cop out. What's the line from "Mean Girls"? That Halloween is the one day of the year that girls can dress slutty and not be called sluts? Well, frankly, I'd rather you dress slutty year-round than use Halloween as an excuse. It's just inconsiderate, and these girls just aren't respecting their audience. And what happens when you don't respect your audience? Your audience will not respect you. Of course, that also happens when your boobs are hanging out of a Sexy Nemo costume, observe:


Good Lord, seriously? And as stupid as that is, (especially with the tutu and leg warmers), I think the thing that irritates me the most is that it's utterly uncreative. It's a ploy to show some skin. And I understand that women feel the need to be perceived as sexy, but can't you at least be creative about it? I'm not so into Halloween that I would dress up as something ugly, (God forbid). I like to be pretty, and yes, sexy. But I will never dress as a Sexy Blank.

Flog: Mac n Gruyere

So last night I made a startling discovery. I unintentionally paired the perfect beer with my food. In general I'm not much of an oenophile. I like wine, and I love the idea that, when paired with the right food, it can bring out the best of everything, flavor-wise. But I don't have a delicate palate. I just don't. So pairings are sometimes lost on me. (Although, one time in Paris Jules and I had the best meal at this little restaurant and each course was paired with the PERFECT wine... and even I could tell. But that's Paris.) Brian can drink a wine and come up with all sorts of flavors, like cinnamon, or vanilla, or plum. The most I can usually come up with is "fruity" or "oaky." I recently read an article about pairing beer with food, (you can read it here), and it sounded like such fun. I'm going through a real beer phase right now; I haven't had the taste for wine in a while. It might be the heat - who can drink a red wine in this heat? White is a little easier to stomach, but still, there's nothing so nice as a cold, refreshing beer.

But ANYWAY, I ended up with my own pairing: a version of mac and cheese with gruyere, and a pale ale! It wasn't even a pale ale I had tried before. It was Widmer Brothers Drifter Pale Ale. I didn't think I liked Widmer Bros., because I found their hefeweisen somewhat lackluster. I have high standards for my hefeweisens. But I was in the mood for a little risk-taking, and was very pleased with the results. The beer was hoppy and slightly bitter, but crisp and refreshing at the same time. It's supposed to have citrus notes, but my lack of a palate didn't help me detect them. I took a bite of the mac n cheese, and then took a sip of the beer, and it was nirvana in my mouth. The nutty flavor of the cheese worked perfectly with the crisp/bitter flavor of the beer. I even made Brian taste right then and there, despite the fact that he was in the middle of washing dishes. It was THAT good.

So, why not share the recipe? Okay!

A few caveats. First of all, the name "Mac and Cheese" is a bit of a misnomer. It was more like pasta with a nice bechamel sauce, and cheese. The traditional mac and cheese is macaroni pasta, a bechamel, in a casserole dish, topped with cheese and baked like a casserole. When it comes out, it's all bubbly with a nice upper layer of melted cheese, slightly crisp on the edges. Dang, I'm making myself hungry. I didn't have the time to bake it, so I just cooked the pasta, made the sauce, and dumped some grated cheese in the pot with the pasta and sauce, and mixed it around. The result was less casserole, and more like loose, albeit delicious, cheesy pasta. I also added some sauteed portobello mushroom slices to mine, which was awesome.

Second, I made the bechamel lighter than normal by adding chicken broth and milk, rather than just straight milk and/or cream. Perhaps the French would think the worse of me for it, but fuck it. I don't need that many calories - I'm already eating pasta and cheese, for crying out loud!

Third, gruyere is a little expensive and for that reason I don't buy it often. When I do buy it, however, I realize/remember/decide that it's work every penny and that I should buy it more often. It's a nice melting cheese, from Switzerland, and it has this amazing buttery-nutty flavor to it. It's similar to a good parmesan, but it's a younger cheese (i.e. softer), and it gets gooey when melted. The flavor is perfect with pasta, as well as with toast (like a cheese toast with soup!), and black pepper sets it off wonderfully.

Instructions

1. Take one box of pasta and cook according to the directions on the package. I used Kamut Spirals, which is a wheat alternative. If you choose something like that, (either Jerusalem Artichoke flour pasta, or kamut, or whatever, I tend to think it's a little better if you cook it for a minute more than what the directions say - they tend to be a little too al dente otherwise.) Boil in very salty water. I've heard that you should make the pasta water as salty as the sea. When it's done cooking, take a bowl or a cup and scoop out some hot pasta water. Then drain your pasta in a colander.

2. Replace the pot on the stove, but reduce the heat to medium. Make a roux: Working quickly, put 1 Tablespoon of butter (or oil) in the pan, and once melted, add 1 Tablespoon flour. Using a whisk, mix the flour and butter until there are no lumps, and it's evenly spread on the bottom of the pan. Add about a teaspoon of salt and a generous grinding of black pepper. Let the flour-butter mixture cook for about a minute. It should bubble and get brown, but watch and make sure it doesn't burn. If it looks like it's cooking too quickly, take it off of the eye and let the eye cool down for a few minutes. If you let the roux burn, you're going to have to dump it out, wipe out the bottom of the pan with a paper towel, and start over. Once the roux cooks for about a minute or a little more, add some chicken broth and some milk - about 2 cups total, one cup of chicken broth and one cup milk. But, as a caution, try half a cup at a time. Half a cup of broth, half a cup of milk. If it's too thick, add another cup liquid, a quarter cup at a time, keeping in mind the half broth-half milk portions. Pour the liquid in a thin stream, whisking as you go to mix it thoroughly. As you add the liquid, the mixture will instantly thicken. Pour the liquid in slowly until the mixture has attained the right thickness - you know, not to thin, not to thick. If you accidentally get the sauce too thin, add a little bit of the reserved pasta water, bring it to a simmer and let it cook for 2-3 minutes to thicken up again. But use your best judgment.

3. Grate about a cup to a cup and a half of gruyere in a large grate.

4. Dump the pasta back into the pot, and toss to coat in the sauce. (Note: at this point, you could turn this loose-pasta dish into a more traditional mac and cheese casserole. To do so: toss the pasta in the sauce, grease a casserole dish, dump the pasta with sauce in the casserole dish, and then top it with the gruyere. Bake at 300 or 350 degrees for about half an hour, until the cheese is bubbling on top. If it begins to brown too quickly, tent some foil on top.)

5. Throw in the cheese half at a time, tossing to mix. Use less cheese or more cheese to taste. A grinding of black pepper is also good at this point, if you want.

6. Serve it up, pop open a pale ale (preferably the Widmer Bros. Drifter), and enjoy yourself. Like I said earlier, I sliced some portobello mushroom caps very thinly, and then cut cross-wise into thirds, sauteed in some butter or oil until soft and slightly browned, and ate it with the pasta and cheese. I didn't mix it in the whole dish, (Brian no likey the mushrooms), but that would be fabulous. What would also be phenomenal would be some bacon. If you add bacon, pre-cook it, (I like cooking it in the oven, although I put the bacon on a cooling rack in a baking pan with a rim because it raises the bacon up out of the grease), roughly chop it, and mix it in at the stage where you add the cooked pasta to the bechamel sauce.

Oh, and you're welcome.

Framer's Intent

So I was driving home the other day and I saw a Hummer, and written in large soap letters along the side and back, it said: “WAKE UP OBAMA ZOMBIES!!!”; and, “OBAMA’S HEALTH CARE PLAN IS UNCONSTITUTIONAL!!!! ”

It was so odd. In this day and age of twitter updates and facebook statuses, to have the physical, real-world equivalent driving around on the streets. It had to be pretty effective – by which I mean, I’m sure a lot of people saw the message. Unlike twitter or facebook, however, it was merely one side of the argument. Because it was on a truck in motion, there could obviously be no response.

The main problem with this Hummer-driving-twitter-status-update is the incorrect use of the word “constitutional.” I felt like replying via my car windows and a bar of soap to explain that “constitutional” actually does have a meaning, and it’s doesn’t mean what this person, apparently, thinks it does. “Unconstitutional” does not mean “I don’t agree with it.” “Constitutional” doesn’t mean “American.”

The Constitution is actually a document, and one can find it and read it fairly easily. We even study it in law school! To say that something is “unconstitutional” is to say that the challenged action is either not in the Constitution at all, or that the spirit of the action is not supported by the Constitution. And while one may argue over whether the Constitution is a living document, or whether we should interpret it according to the intent of the framer’s, the reality of the situation is that it is a tangible, physical document with a finite number of words, that is easily referenceable. The claim that something is unconstitutional can be validated or not by merely reading the document. And I can guaran-fucking-tee you that there is nothing in the Constitution about universal health care. Read it all you want; it isn’t in there.

(Now, you might say, well what about abortions? The Constitution doesn’t say anything about abortions, and yet the Supreme Court has held that abortions are constitutional. To which I would reply, well, not exactly. The Court actually held that it was unconstitutional for the states to restrict a woman’s right to an abortion. That is a privacy right. There’s a difference between finding something constitutional and finding something unconstitutional. But that’s a whole other argument, and we won’t get into that today.)

People misuse the term “constitutional” all the time. Just like the term “activist judge,” all they really mean is “I disagree,” but to make it sound better they throw the Constitution in there for support. But it’s not this magic thing that means what you think it should mean. It’s not mysterious, it doesn’t change. It’s been the same since the day it was written. And it doesn’t say anything about universal health care.

In addition to the misuse of “unconstitutional,” the Hummer was also sending another message. There’s a real sense of paranoia contained within that gas-guzzling monster and its soapy words. For one, it’s a Hummer. I think there are basically two types of people who buy Hummers: the extraordinarily wealthy who want to show off their wealth, and the paranoid survivalist types who are paranoid and survivalist. I think that the message helped me lump this person into the latter, rather than the former, category. So that's the first point: survivalist Hummer driver. Next, we have writing on one’s car in soap. And that is just… odd. It’s either for people graduating high school, or newlyweds in the 1950s. Finally, there's this mention of “zombies.” It all sounds pretty paranoid to me. Add to that the fact that this person just HAD to get his message out to the world, and we come up with a picture of a man, (or woman, but seriously, it had to have been a dude), who was just so angry and freaked out that he had to micro-blog about it on his vehicle as he hurtled through Hillsborough and Pinellas counties. It's just sort of odd.

I would have liked to explain to this man (via soap on my car windows or not) that maybe it’s not so much that Democrats are “zombies,” as it is that we’re all just so exhausted from EIGHT LONG YEARS of Bush, that now that we’re finally able to relax and BREATHE again, it's a major relief. SIGH. And that it’s not that we take whatever Obama says as gospel, or that we’re “drinking Obama kool-aid,” (which is a phrase I’ve heard WAY too many times lately), but that it’s just that it’s so refreshing that we have a President who is able to speak in complete sentences, and who comes up with sensible plans, and who we’re not CONSTANTLY AFRAID WILL BLOW UP THE FUCKING COUNTRY AT ANY MOMENT. And the funny thing is, I didn’t even vote for Obama. I voted for Hillary. I didn’t tow the party line or whatever. I am not an Obama Zombie, and I am not drinking any such kool-aid, and yet I am happy with the job that he’s doing. I think he’s doing a fabulous job. And frankly, I think I am a harsher critic than Republicans out there, because I have Hillary to compare Obama to. And in my mind, no one can compete with Hillary. Republicans, on the other hand, were already going to disagree with EVERYTHING that came out of Obama’s mouth and administration. No matter what he says, they’ll be pissed. I, on the other hand, have real standards. I’m the undecided voter, here! But ANYWAY, that’s neither here nor there, and now instead of being a relaxed and happy zombie, I’m now all worked up just thinking about Bush and what a NIGHTMARE the last eight years have been. THANKS A LOT, HUMMER.

Hair, hair, everywhere.

So why is hair so gross? I mean, not hair that's on your head, and meant to be on your head. No, that hair is lovely, or can be. I'm talking about the hair that maybe once was on your head, or on the head of someone else, that is now in your coffee, on your lip gloss, or in your mouth. It's really gross, right?

I think there's just something so organically gross about it, something that revolts to the core of our instinctual primate brains, only I can't figure out why exactly. Have you ever gotten a hair stuck in your eye? That's gross and SCARY. Or when you have a hair in your mouth, or you think you have a hair in your mouth, or at the back of your throat. It sort of freaks me out, and I have to get it out right now or I will freak out! And then, of course, there's the old ordering food at a restaurant and finding someone else's hair in your food. My mom always pointed out that, really, the hair is probably clean. Most people have clean hair, especially if they work at a restaurant, right? Hair is probably cleaner than hands, especially those hands that handle raw things, or that don't wash themselves after using the toity. But for some reason, hair is way gross, clean or not. Of course, part of it is likely that the hair is this tangible thing, it's right there, you can pull it out of your burger/salad/ice cream and lay it down on the table, at which point you may feel a little ill. Dirty hands, while gross and potentially dangerous (e-coli, anyone?), isn't something you can see. At least not right there, sitting at the table.

Also, we have cats, and they have hair, and boy is that gross! I regularly get to school only to find that I am covered in cat hair. In our old house, it was so dark that I literally didn't see the cat hair all over me. Now it's more that I don't notice it, like, on my school bag, or on my computer. My computer is always covered in cat hair, to varying degrees. I vacuum the house, floors, furniture and all, at least once a week, yet there usually comes a point during the week where I start to notice that there's cat hair EVERYWHERE, including on my face. And then I freak out and end up vacuuming early.

So what is it about hair? Whether it's clean or not, human or not, in your food or not, it's gross. If you see someone covered in hair, it looks gross. It doesn't look dapper, clean, intelligent, anything. It looks unclean, unwashed, ungroomed, and just icky. But, as we've discussed, there's not actually anything wrong with the hair that's all over someone, in your salad, or stuck on the back of your tongue. It can be perfectly clean, and it's still gross and disturbing.

Is it just because the hair is in the wrong place at the wrong time? Is hair good when it's on the head, or on the cat, and bad when it then leaves the head/cat and floats somewhere else? Isn't it also the bit about how it floats, and it's hard to control? That is, when you feel a ticklish bit of loose hair somewhere on your body, and you can't freaking find it to pluck it off? Or when I'm petting the cat, and a bit of fluffy hair takes flight into the air and alights on my face? Or gets stuck in my gloss, or worse, nail polish? Or when I dry my hands on a dish cloth or towel, and my clean hands become stuck with cat hair that is now clinging to my damp hands? Or worse, when I'm at the gym and I wipe my sweaty face on an ostensibly clean towel, only to pull away and feel the telltale signs of cat hair on my face? Which I then hope that no one notices because that's really gross?

So what is it, exactly? Why is hair so gross? I'll say again that hair on the head is, or can be, lovely. I spend many hours and dollars on my hair, and I think it's fabulous. But only so long as it's on my head, attached via the follicle to the roots in my scalp. Once it breaks free, it's dead to me.

Don't know much about trigonometry...

So, I used to think that I was just an impatient person, but I think I’ve realized that I’m just impatient about some things. And I’ve further narrowed it down, so that now I think that I’m just impatient about things that involve math, or numbers. Weird, right? I’m really impatient about having to measure things – like this last weekend when Brian and I installed some shelving in our laundry room. I can find the stud in the wall, I can line everything up by sight, but I will NOT measure. Why is that? I just find it so annoying. I’d rather poke a bunch of holes in the wall that I will later have to patch and repaint than just freaking measure already. And I always attributed this to impatience, especially since it’s the sort of thing that makes more work for me in the long run. I thought that I was just an impatient person by nature. But I don’t know. There are some things that I'm incredibly patient about. So I don't think it's just a blanket personality flaw: Impatient. The thing is, I have taken the time to measure, but it rarely works out better for me. I’m not sure why that is. I tend to think that, in the world of numbers, math, engineering, all things physical and practical, I am out of my element. I’m not so cerebral as some, (my husband), but I am still mystified by the entire world of How Things Are Built/Repaired/Work. That’s my brother’s strength. He got the building genes; I got the talking genes.

Another numbers-related impatience example: sewing. I love sewing, in that I can take pretty fabric and create something with it. I have a sewing machine, and fabric. And, so long as I’m sewing straight lines and/or anything that doesn’t involve too much… care, I guess, I’m fine. I made our drapes, which involved measuring the height of the window, allowing for the seam, and sewing straight lines. That’s fine. And I’ve done some quilting, but that’s sort of easy. And, in theory I’d love to make clothing. But here’s where my impatience and non-numbers brain comes in: it’s the most frustrating thing EVER. To me. To others, I’m sure it makes perfect sense. To me, oh the horror! The measuring and the checking and rechecking and the fitting and the testing! The endless FIDGETING. No, I can’t do it. I just can’t. And that’s a bummer, because I’d like to make Brian’s and my Halloween costumes this year. But I don’t have the patience, and although I’m sure I could talk my mom into helping me, in this sort of situation I get on her nerves and she gets on mine and we end up in a huge fight. She’s so cautious with each step and always wanting to measure-twice-and-cut-once, and I’m just like, OH MY GOD LET’S JUST DO THIS ALREADY. So, yeah. I don’t know about that.

I had a third example…what was it? Oh! Baking. BAKING. I can handle cooking, although I don’t like recipes at all. I mean, I like them, and I read them, but I very rarely follow them exactly. With cooking, that’s fine. You can improvise, make it up as you go along, throw together whatever you have, and as long as you know what you’re doing, it’s usually fine. I’ve only had to throw out, like, 2 dishes with my method. One was a casserole that I put some anchovy paste in to give it flavor, only I put in too much and it tasted too fishy. But the dog LOVED it. Anyway, with baking, that sort of thing doesn’t work. You can’t really improvise, because you’re working with, essentially, a chemical reaction. You have to follow some sort of recipe, or at the very least a formula. I’m sure if you do it enough, you can experiment and make it work, but at the very beginning, you really have to follow a recipe. And that drives me crazy. I should say, however, that as I love baked goods, there are a few that I make regularly. I have a brownie recipe that can't be beat, (I dare you), and I love chocolate chip cookies, and I can whip up a mean cake. But super confusing or long recipes I can't handle. I do not have a delicate hand, or palette, for that matter. The more complicated a recipe, the less likely I am to make it, and it's not just because I'm a beginner. Something about it just makes me crazy, and bored. Why is that? If a recipe is too long, (and this goes for any kind of recipe, not just baking), my eyes, like, literally glaze over. I just stop reading, even if I’m trying to pay attention. It’s involuntary. Which is why I’ve never made a curry – there are just too many ingredients.

And, you know, it’s sort of like the way, when I’m reading law, my eyes involuntarily skip over the citations. Like, when a judge cites a previous case, sometimes I read the name of the case, but most of the time, especially if it’s accompanied by the cite (4 F.3d 238), my eyes float right on over, and it’s like it’s not even there. Or, it’s like I’m reading reading reading, and then there’s a blank, and then reading reading reading. It’s weird, and totally involuntary. And all of these things have one thing in common: numbers! Crazy, huh? But the thing is, I always liked math. Or, I liked it alright. And I always made good grades in math, but that was only because I had to work really hard at it because it didn’t make sense to me naturally. And apparently it still doesn’t.

It’s also interesting how, each of these things that frustrates me are things that my mom is really good at. She’s a really good baker, and she’s a great sewer. But she’s not especially math-ish. Or, at least, she’s highly verbal. Huh. Who knows?

I once saw this autistic guy on some news-journalism show like 20/20, and he was, like, a genius when it came to numbers. He could recite Π to, like, the quadrillionth decimal, which is apparently the test for how math-ish you are or something. But the thing that I thought was so cool was that, to him, every number had its own aura. That is, when he’d think of the number 3, it would look a certain way to him – not the shape of the number, but his mind would conjure up this image, as though the number were a person. He saw the personality of the number. He said that he thought that this was why he was able to memorize numbers: because to him they were as people. He drew some of the images he saw, but they reminded me of when you try to draw something you dreamed about, and as you draw the picture floats further and further away from you until you can’t even remember it. I’m sure they were vibrant in his own mind. He said that Π was the most beautiful. I wonder why. Maybe it’s because of the nature of Π, and how it never repeats, for infinity. In that sense, Π is infinity itself, and would contain all numbers, the way the color white contains all colors. I love the idea of that. The idea of being able to see numbers, perhaps as they’re meant to be seen. Pure numbers, numbers outside of the cave, so to speak. But now I think I’m stumbling into the realm of metaphysics, and I just don’t need to go there right now.

I will likely never be able to see pure numbers in this life. Honestly, it’s as much as I can handle to do the little daily numerical things. Anything past a few digits loses all meaning to me. I’m like those indigenous tribes whose numbers and counting systems go: one, two, three, many. Anything over three is too much for my brain. But I’m okay with that. I can handle my shortcomings.