Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

This is the Winter of Our Discontent

I have two complaints today.

CNN isn't changing to Egypt time.I swear two hours ago I heard Anderson Cooper say, "The mass protest is scheduled to begin at daybreak today, just two short hours." A few hours later I tune in and hear him say the exact same thing, on replay, because CNN says "The mass protest is scheduled to begin at daybreak today. This is history in the - ops - time for bed. Here's a re-run." Do they think they can play history like the Olympics? "Shhh... just pretend it hasn't happened until prime time." I decided to get some live tv on the CNN web site, where they have the Nile TV Live feed. I swear I went there and ... sigh ... I am soooo American.

 

The '11 Blizzard is Making Me Look Bad. Here's another example of media hype. I stayed at home today because everyone assured me I would die if I got on the roads. Weather.com said the ice storm would begin in two hours! Hunker down. Two hours later. "Ice storm will begin in two hours!" I could have gone to work. If I wake up tomorrow and hear a weatherman say, "Whew, Saint Louis dodged a bullet" I will stalk him and pelt him with ice cubes.

Offensive Commercial

The TiVo has been protecting me from commercials, so I only saw this tonight during the SAG awards:

If you don't want to watch the above commercial (and who would blame you) it depicts a variety of women of childbearing age picking things out at a store stocked with items like "Trip to Paris" and "Buy a house" and A Stork Bearing a Baby.

It's nice to have choices, the commercial says.

They suggest that childless women had a choice, and we chose stuff instead of babies.  They imply that women who desire babies and can't have them  would be consoled by a trip to Paris. I've been to Paris, and it was lovely, but nothing compared to a baby for someone who wants one.

With apologies to the gays for stealing their slogan, the desire for a baby isn't a choice. It's just who you are. A better interpretation of this commercial would be two stores side by side, the Stuff Store and the Baby Store. I'd wouldn't look at the Baby Store any longer than I'd look at Forever 21. Some women would never leave the Baby Store.

I know this commercial is tweaking my memories of being too expensive for my deadbeat dad. Is it just me? Am  I the only one who finds this offensive?

My Response Was "Thank You For the Blog Post"

Gary and I were emailing back and forth Friday, since it's BNL Cruise time of year. I was checking up on-line to see where we could eat by our hotel. Here is Gary's response:

I am interested in trying some food that we can’t get anywhere except Miami. 
 
I still remember the giant shrimp that I had in a half-submerged fish restaurant attached to the shrimp fishing dock on my senior biology trip to Mobile.  That restaurant  served the shrimp that came in that day that were too big to take to market because they were larger than the standard Jumbo size.  Way larger.  However, [you and I] couldn’t eat at that restaurant.  Dr. DeWitt took us there so that we could taste fresh fish.  It was for the fishermen and was very dirty and very wet.  Part of the dining room had flooded and they still stayed open which means that they were not being monitored by the Board of Health.  Two tables away from me, the tables were half-submerged under-water.  The place reeked of fish.  However, the shrimp were giant.  As big as my two hands put together sort of like a deep-fried porterhouse steak made of shrimp-meat.  They looked like they had mutated under radiation.            
 

Sympathy for the Devil

This will ensure I am globally reviled.

I feel sorry for this guy:

 

I heard today that Jared Loughner, before he shot innocent people including a congresswoman and a nine-year old girl, went on-line to look up lethal injection. So, I suppose he knew he was going to die. He may have preferred "blue suicide," but it looks like he's taking the long route, the one that ends with the drugs and the table.

Here's what I'm imagining though: I'm putting myself in the place of the schizo kid (there but for the grace of God) and imagining what's in his head. Is there a chance the voices are clearing up now that he has no outside influences? What if his mind clears and he thinks - "Wait - I did what?"

Or, even worse, what if he's found guilty (maybe the jury didn't SEE the mugshot) and he takes anti-psychotic medication in prison, while he waits on death row? And what if that works, he realizes what he did and how crazy it is, and then he realizes what's ahead for him? Or, more probably, he ends up in an institution and they do give him drugs. He'll be like John Hinkley, no matter how sane he gets he'll never get out.

Or maybe I'm not feeling sorry for him, I'm just finding satisfaction thinking he'll be tortured by the realization of what he's done.

Arch Grounds

People of the World: the Saint Louis Arch is being spruced up.

The Arch today:

 

This is the view of the arch from downtown. To walk from downtown to the arch you have to take a hike over Highway 70. They courteously dug the highway under the street you would take to get to the Arch and the Very Old Cathedral above.

(In traffic reports the dug-in section is "the depressed section." Until I drove past the arch at 18, I thought they meant economically depressed, so I assumed they were talking about either North or East Saint Louis.)

So, that red pickup truck is unsightly. Soon we'll be spending millions to make the Arch grounds more sightly. I approve. Here's why: look at the map below.

 

There's the shiny silver arch on the right. On the left, there's a single-file line of park after plaza after garden. Our two green areas are bisected by the unsightly yellow Highway 70. What they plan to do is put a "cap," which I see as a slice of grass pie, pointing away from the arch, between the red lines, balanced on top of  the depressed section, so we can jog barefoot on the grass for eight blocks and not fall into the red pickup.

(Of course, I still get nervous driving under bridges in South Saint Louis because Aunt Carleen told me they were made of mud. (Sarcasm. I get it now.) So of course I worry that grass pie slice will collapse.)

BUT! The grass pie is not the best part of the plan. There will be ... an aerial skyway of gondolas! Like they used to have at Six Flags over Missouri! Before it crashed!

"Where will it go?" Gary asked.

Guess where! Where would you not want to go? Where would you not want to be suspended in the air over a bored automatic-weapon-toting populace?

"East Saint Louis!" I said, and watched the horror, the horror, dissolve Gary's face.

Look where the skyway goes, from the South leg of the arch to ...

 

BLOODY ISLAND. Embiggen. I do not lie.

Now, I could be mistaken. If they had printed an artist's rendering in the paper this afternoon I would not have had to imagine this.

The King's Speech: A Review

Acting: Tremendous!

Directing: Great!

Sets and Costumes: Superb!

Music: Fabulous!

Screenplay:  (pained face...) Well, it was charming. British TV science fiction shows are charming too. But the screenplay simply wasn't that wonderful.

Screenplays adapted from history have one fatal flaw: everyone knows what's going to happen. The Titanic is going to  [SPOILER] sink. [END SPOILER]  And if you know the story of King George VI, you know what's going to happen. The time not spent on suspense is spent noticing how they choose to manipulate history.

For example, Edward VIII abdicates a few weeks before Christmas, and they suggest in the film that George VI doesn't even attempt to give a Christmas broadcast. Instead, his first big speech rallies the British at the start of WWII. But of course he gave a broadcast.  They skipped it, because that wouldn't have been good cinema, and if I didn't know better I'd never have guessed. But since I do know better ... it jumps out as manipulation.

And little details were jarring too. If you know that Wallis Simpson had a "wen," a mole on the side of her face ...

 

You look for that mole, and when [SPOILER] it isn't there [END SPOILER] you wonder why the decision was made to de-mole her.

Imagine if it's 2020, and you see a movie of the Clinton-Lewinski affair. Let's say they give Monica Lewinski blond streaks in her hair and set it up so the impeachment trial occurs while the Clintons are vacationing in Cape Cod. You couldn't get caught up in it because you'd compare reality with drama and question every difference.

And finally, I was distracted because I kept wondering what the Royal Family thinks of this movie. Probably, "As if Grandpapa would ever [SPOILER] be friends with a commoner! [END SPOILER] Quite!"

Usurpation

Gary's sister Sandy was in some distress this weekend over some decision her father was making. She was worked up enough to call Gary and tell him he should step in and take matters in hand, because he is ...

[snort]

he is ...

[chokes]

the "Head of the Family."

I mean, a) sister wives use that term and b) is this a royal conspiracy? Is she trying to make her brother the Prince usurp the throne? 

Now it did make me pause a moment later that day and wonder, "Why have I made this pile of used towels so Gary can approval their disposal? Why can't I just throw them away? Is it because he's Head of the Family?"

Last evening I disagreed with Gary, and he smacked my butt and roared, "How dare you question the Head of the Family!"

Does your family have a Head? And, if so: really? How does that work? What are Head Responsibilities?

A Cooking Challenge

Party in the house! DONNER party, that is.

 

But before we eat each other, we can eat chicken broth, frozen peaches, and green beans. The Sinus mask in the upper right is not edible.

As you can see, we're in the last days of our grocery phase. The rat-roasting, pancakes for dinner phase.

 

That's a big bowl of soup in the bottom left. Nothing in the drawers. No eggs either. We can't touch the two cans of dog food on top.

 

Corn ... lentils ... muffin mix and a box of quinoa against the wall.

It's kind of fun seeing what you can make out of available ingredients. Like last night, I had enough raspberry pie filling for half a pie, and went online to see if I could fill in with something besides frozen peaches. And there was a nice recipe for a sour cream - sugar baked pie topping.

However, if there had been a canned corn - oatmeal pie topping I would have made that instead. Another online hunt found me a quinoa - green bean - saffron - chicken dish, and I have all those things.

So, that leaves me with oatmeal, bread, a pie crust, lentils, cream, quinoa, corn, jiffy mix, beef bouillon, and a small onion. And peaches. What can I make without visiting the store again? 

Say It Aint So, KO

 It's three thirty in the morning and I can't sleep.

1) I thought over fixing up Mom's house. Now I am in the "Worried about asbestos, lead paint, and broken tile" stage of grief.

2) Dave called and said, "Breaking news, Keith Olbermann is quitting after the commercial break." And then he did.

I copy and paste this with love. 

Babies. Why I Don't Have Them.

We continue to poke holes in Steve at work, hoping he will spill information about his impending baby. I asked if he would be putting the baby in the vegetable crisper and taking photos, because I LOVE photos like that. He said "No."

No explanation, by the way, just "No." Very abrupt. As if it were not a valid question.

If I had a baby, these are the first things few I would do with it. (Not saying "him or her." It. Gender neutral pronoun.)

1) Wrap it up warmly and take photos of it in the vegetable crisper. And in the sock drawer. I'd put some ketchup on its arm and get the dog to lick it off so it would seem the dog was eating the baby's arm.

2) Paint it up. Full makeup, rouge, lipstick, lots of eighties blue eyeshadow. And you know they must have baby wigs. Like these on http://www.babywigs.co.uk/ 

 

3) When the dog has barked his seven hundredth bark of the evening, we say,

"Mac? What are you saying?"
(High-pitched 'Mac' voice) "Bullshit!"
"Pardon me?"
"Damnit! Shit's fucked up!"
"What is, Mac?"
"More food! Bitches!"

So, baby's crying? (High-pitched 'baby' voice.) "Gimme the titties, bitch!"

4) Take a photo of it laying in the same spot every day so I could make a multi-media Flash piece to document its growth.

5) You know how they have birth certificates with the baby footprints? I'd get an ink roller, ink up the baby really fast, and then roll it on a sheet of paper so I had a full-body baby print.

 6) To be completely honest, if that baby had an extra thumb like I had, you know I'd eat that part after it was snipped off. COME ON. What other chance would you have to find out what baby tastes like?

Cozy Snowbound

Another nice thing about Twitter: if you follow the Weatherbird, he documents the snow as it progresses across the county.

 
 
Similarly, Steve at work was obsessed today with the approaching snow. He made a nice little job aid from some doppler map screen grabs as it crept across the state.

I'm not the person who goes out and gets bread and milk at the last minute, but I did buy supplies to make bread, cornbread casserole, cream of mushroom lentil gouda soup (trying to recreate a work recipe), pie, tollhouse cookies and ORGANIC MILK. (You all "pussed" me out. Plus, it costs more, so I'm sure Gary will like that.)

I have been told specifically to work from home tomorrow. Gary might do the same.

If I didn't have another DAMN DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENT tomorrow, I could see myself tucked in a clean bed designing web pages and eating chocolate chip cookies with organic milk. But that's a luxury, and I'm not really so soft that I have to stay in. I'm sure the streets will be clear in the afternoon. Still, #SNOWMYGOD!

If It Aint Broke After Thousands of Years, Don't Fix It

I'm not English, my family hasn't been since the Revolution. However, I have more than my share of opinion about the Royal Family and their toe-sucking camera-snubbing royal-wedding ways.

Yet, lo. Someone in the UK House of Commons has suggested the succession laws be changed so a girl child of Kate Middleton and Prince William might have an equal right to the throne.

This is madness. MADNESS I TELL YOU! Have they never SEEN Henry V? The inheritance from the female is always contentious.

Below - The Salic Law Speech. If your day hasn't been sufficiently gorgeous I recommend you spend all seven minutes on this clip, lusting after Kenneth Branagh lounging his lipless self on the throne.

But the point is, the lawmakers feel this would modernize the monarchy. Does anyone want a modern monarchy? No! We want one based on outrageous antiquated traditions. The Royals can't change the rules after thousands of years.

Think of the consequences. This could bring down the House of Windsor. One or two generations from now some distant Hapsburg ancestor could come in and claim the throne.

Write your MPs, you subjects. Stop this before it's too late.

UPDATED: Just a Little Mystery from the In-Laws

Saturday was the niece and nephew's birthday dinner at the in-laws. We arrived starving. Not much on the table yet, just seven devilled eggs by the paper plates and plastic cups and forks. I wasn't hungry enough to eat devilled eggs, so I waited till the real food was out.

The real food was: vegetarian potato casserole, cornbread casserole, pasta salad, and chicken tetrazzini. The desserts were on the sideboard. Cocunut cream pie, lemon cake, and oreo cookie ice cream cake.

Various topics were discussed. Wilma copped to absent-mindedly putting a devilled egg in someone's cup before dinner because she was distracted. Sandy confirmed I do stick my tongue out when I take a bite. I suggested my niece just watch the last two seasons of Frasier on Hulu, since we didn't buy them for her birthday, and she pouted.

(She is from the gatherer tribe of the in-laws, while Gary is from the hunter tribe. The rest of Gary's family likes their movies and TV in DVD format. Gary, on the other hand, gets excited when he can "catch" a movie on TV. Gary will cry, "Look! It's The Matrix! The first one FROM THE BEGINNING!" I point at his DVD of the Matrix Trilogy that he rarely watches. "But - no - it's RIGHT HERE on TV!")

Anyway. We were finishing up, and Karen said, "Uh-oh. Why is there an eyelash on my plate?"

I thought, are you worried your lashes are falling out? Is there eyelash cancer? Sandy was worried she had throat cancer because she coughed.  I quote: *Cough* "Oh no, I'm coughing, I hope I don't have cancer."

But no, someone else found an eyelash on the tablecloth, and it was no where near Karen. We began looking closely at each other's eyes when someone solved the mystery. Can you?

=======================================

UPDATED: Seriously? People! Here's a hint
.

Twitter

My feelings about Twitter are the same as my feelings about CNN. When called upon to fill a need, it's great. The rest of the time it should be off the air.

Useless Self-Twitter:  I'm as guilty as anyone. I use Twitter to complain each time I visit a doctor's waiting room, but no one needs my opinion on that.

Small-Group Twitter: No one needs my opinion on Mystery Diagnosis, either. Since I don't simul-tweet with the show, and I usually forget the #mysterydiagnosis hashtag, there's no call for it.

Useful Twitter: This is when we need it. My first positive Twitter experience was the Olympic hockey game between the US and Canada. My BNL-biased Canadian friends and all the US friends tweeted across North America every shot, goal, score of the game. If anything happened, refresh and "YEEEAHHH!" "NOOOO!"

I like Twitter for global events. Michael Jackson dies. You're in the office, updating the TMZ page with your friends and coworkers, and then everyone on the face of Twitter reacts with you. Say that people in Haiti need supplies. Say that, instead, a politician is shot in the head. Good or bad, it huddles us in troubled times.

Speaking of bad ... I saw "Joe Buck" as a trending topic on Twitter last night. "Oh no!" I thought, "Joe Buck isn't dead, is he?" Because Joe Buck is son of Jack Buck and Jack Buck owns the hearts of Saint Louis. When he demanded after a playoff game, "Go crazy, Saint Louis" fans went forth and destroyed the Astroturf. (This is how I remember it, so shall it be written.) So Joe Buck became a baseball broadcaster like his father, and we love our dynasties in Saint Louis.

I was surprised to click Joe Buck's name on Twitter and find a) he was alive and broadcasting a big football game and b) People. Hate. Him. Perhaps they were transferring their hatred of the winning team on to him.

Of course, as I write this I'm missing both the Twitter take on the Golden Globes and Baby Doc's return to Haiti on CNN. Gotta be alone sometimes.

In Which Some Excessive Guilt is Soothed

I was driving back to work Wednesday afternoon after my latest doctor's appointment. My car was at the intersection of Ballas and the hospital lot. There was a rangy worn-out woman walking down Ballas, dressed in a sweater, rolling a travel suitcase. It was cold, and I wondered why she didn't put on the hoodie she had wrapped around her waist. I must have looked at her with pity, because she made a bee line to my car, tapped on the passenger side window, and explained (without any niceties or small talk) that she'd accompanied her mother in an ambulance to the hospital, she had to bring her clothes, but now she had to get back to her house, and could I give her a ride?

No, I said, gotta get back to work, but if she went back to the hospital I was sure they would give her a ride back to her Mom's house. Or else they'd call a taxi for her, or give her a voucher. She grimaced and said thanks, and headed toward the hospital.

Then I drove back to work. Then I worried about my soul for a few days. Because how cold am I? Here's this woman, she needs help, and I am the Pharisee passing by on the other side. I am not a Good Samaritan. I have not gone the extra mile. I could have given her my coat, only really, she had that hoodie. And I convinced myself that she was unbalanced because who would not wear a hoodie in the ten degree cold? Crazy woman with a shiv, that's who. Then I thought, "You're rationalizing," and that took few hours, and now it's Friday night.

I decided to go to the source. WWJD? Would J give the woman a ride, his- sorry, His coat, or advice about going back to the hospital? Here's the original Good Samaritan story from Luke:

³⁰ In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. ³¹ A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. ³²So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³ But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. ³⁵The next day he took out two denari and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

I was very relieved. Jesus recommends you help strangers only when they are naked and half-dead. If that woman had been beaten half-dead, I'd have gladly piled her into my car. (I might have balked at the naked part. "She has a suticase. Why isn't she wearing what's in the suitcase?") Anyway, that's a nice little nuance from the Bible I had forgotten about. That's a relief.

Dueling Doctors and Dentists

The Neurologist (or, "Just when I thought that I was out ... they pull me back in")

Remember last December 16? Spartacus was dead. May Spartacus hang long on the cross at her leisure instead of visiting doctors. Well, Spartacus was called down from the cross. 

The nurse told me, "To stay on the trial" [read: duck the $4K a month price tag] "you need to make [the trial doctor] your neurologist, and that means you have to come in for a 'new patient' appointment."  

So, today I had ANOTHER neurological exam. Ran directly into a wall this time. And now I find myself with two main neurologists, because I still like my other one. I'll have my new prescribing physician and my old exacerbation physician.

The Dentist (or, "Just when I thought it was in ... I pull it back out")

A few years ago I lost a crown in a bit of chewy brownie. Somehow, by the end of that day the dentist had not only glued on the crown, but had cleaned my teeth and "cleaned my gums." A gum "cleaning" is a gum "scraping" when the dentist isn't dealing with a teary baby.

This time a salted caramel took out the same crown (now tucked a a lovely embroidered hankie in my purse). I don't want to have dentist above glue it back on. I have fouled the nest, as Mom would say.  I have burst into tears at least five times at that dentist. I have sobbed and raved and they think I'm crazy. (Oh, and they think they can sneak an expensive gum "cleaning" past me.)

That's why I made an appointment with Friend #3's dentist to glue the crown back on tomorrow. Yet, I haven't turned my back on the old dentist. She always handed me Kleenex all the times I cried. I'm sure it never bothered her, only me. Here's what it boils down to: I'm ashamed.

So, two doctors, two dentists. Bring em on! I can take on two gynecologists too.

Dog Diet

My dog has a piercing bark. He yaps in a way that says, "YAP, bitch! Look at me when I YAP at you! YAP! Give me some! YAP! I will not be IGNORED! YAP! Perhaps you didn't hear me. YAP!" It's a demanding yap, and there's a pause between yaps while he thinks, "maybe one more will do it ..."

And of course, it's always when I am eating. I tell you there are foods I can no longer eat because the dog climbs up my bosom, gets in my face and yaps.

1. Multi-Grain Sun Chips (He hears the bag, of course. Dogs in the next county can hear that bag.)
2. Fried Chicken (The dog not only yaps at me, he yaps at the refrigerator when I put it away.)
3. Baby Carrots
4. Dry Cereal

Many's the time I've said no to fried chicken because he is insufferable when it's in the house. He's even taken to pawing the Sun Chips bag open if it's sitting out. You'll note I'm not mourning the loss of the baby carrots and the dry cereal quite a much as the others. But I'm sure keeping the fried chicken out of the house is good for my diet.

It could be Gary's next diet! Only eat food the dog doesn't want! Diet soda, tomatoes, and fish.

Surveyors Symbols, Seriously?

So here's Sarah Palin's infamous "crosshairs" map:

 

I don't think the shooting was even remotely her fault. But, I would think more of her if I got to see a video of her tearing her hair, or better, banging her head on a table repeatedly, moaning "stupid stupid stupid."

Instead, her camp has decided to say,"Whaaa? Crosshairs? Crazy. Those are the sights from surveyors tools," which is so lame I'm more inclined to believe someone's flying a false flag. The graphic's gone now. When I heard Olbermann say the graphic now has been "scrubbed," I thought he meant they took out the crosshairs but left the circles, then used Paint to make them look like "surveyor's tools."

Seen here in North Dakota.

 

(I got the general idea of what surveyors tools actually look like from a fine blog post, carefully titled http://freakedoutxenophobes.wordpress.com/2011/01/09/palin-defenders-crosshairs-are-actually-surveyors-tools-excuse-is-total-bullshit/)

Or, they could have done something else. Look at Colorado.

 

It could have read "LOOK at these crazy congressmen in Colorado! Voting for healthcare!"

Or tiny grizzly bears, not Momma Grizzlies but Deadbeat Dad Grizzlies.Or she could have made them into boobies. Look at Colorado again, it's begging to be boobies. Because that would be in better taste than crosshairs. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Just as stupid as surveyor's tools.

From Sluts to Milk

Sluts. The steakhouse we visited recently is on Washington Avenue. To Saint Louisans of a certain age, Washington Avenue means "hookers." No hookers anymore. I don't know when they left. However, after some research I see on March 24, 1987, Washington from 12th to the river was declared a historic district. Maybe the hookers didn't like wearing period costumes. My question is: where have all the hookers gone?

Milk. Or, the Great Milk-Off. Milk vs. Milk. Dean's 2% vs. supermarket organic 2%. Each taste is unique, but the difference is very subtle. One is not better than the other. Dean's is brighter, organic is more mellow. OF COURSE now I have to go by Trader Joes so it's a three-way milk-off. Sounds so dirty after all the hooker talk.

Loan Gunman

Mostly I mock my loved ones. Rarely I mock people I hate, people who are too stupid to live, assassins who cry 'think of the squirrels.'"

I'm not even going to try to get to the YouTube page where Congresswoman Gifford's shooter posted his video. A news report (from Foxnews, I confess, so, grain of salt) says his words appear on the screen. In addition to his murderous ways, this asshole can't spell.

Allegedly it says: "Hello, my name is Jared Lee Loughner ... My favorite activity is conscience dreaming; the greatest inspiration for my political business information."

I was intrigued. What is conscience dreaming, I wondered. Perhaps this is some New Age way people get in touch with their moral compass. I almost typed that crap into Google.

Oh - wait - Conscious dreaming. Oh God, this asshole saw Inception.

He raves on about the "second United States constitution," and then he says this: "I can't trust the current government because of the ratifications."

Ratifications? Or ramifications? OR refudiations?

"The government is implying mind control and brainwash on the people by controlling grammar." Grammar? Or Gramma? GRANDMA? With the Death Panels!

Crazy jackass. And it's worse, because he thinks he's an intellectual. Well, he'll have a lot of time to read in federal prison.

In Defense of Milk

I am astonished to hear some of you speak ill of milk. You suggest milk is the wallpaper of beverages. Here in my part of the Heartland, milk is a staple. For all I know the milk in my glass came from those cows around the corner across from the library.

Here's what else is nearby: Big Momma Monsanto is five miles from my workplace. I think bovine somatotropin growth hormone is TASTY, especially the Posilac Monsanto makes.

(In 1984 I went to college with a tester for the BigMo. She ate pounds of beef and ice cream, ALL chock full of bovine somatotropin growth hormone. She had a lot of extra bacon once. I don't know how they doctored the bacon.)

Believe me, my love of rBST(Saint Louisans didn't even have to look that up) is not just because I'm from here. Case in point: I hate Budweiser.

But I thought, maybe there's some other problem with milk. I Binged "what is wrong with milk," and ignored the suggestion "What is wrong with Seal's face" to hunt down the answer.

I found many articles blasting milk. "Side effects for adults using dairy products heart disease, arthritis, allergies, sinusitis, leukemia, lymphoma and cancer." Not MS. (That's from Nutrasweet.) Not Lupus. (That's what's wrong with Seal's face.)

After I Binged "What do DOCTORS say is wrong with milk" I found this article. You won't click that link, so here's a paraphrase:

Cows are given hormones. Doesn't that make their milk unhealthy?
Not unless you're injecting the milk. rBGH milk contain a hormone that's been linked to cancer: IGF.  rBGH and IGF must be injected to have any effect because the process of digestion destroys these "protein" hormones.

(To be fair, I've bashed hormones in milk when speculating why girls these days start their periods at nine or ten. I must have been wrong.)

What about antibiotics?
No one really knows. Some scientists argue that milk from cows given antibiotics leads to antibiotic resistance in humans, but this finding has never been proved.

I heard that milk can contain a lot of pesticides, hormones, and antibiotics. Is it safe? The safety of milk depends on who's interpreting the data. While milk-bashing is popular among consumer groups, the government (with the support of the American Dairy Council) has tried to foster a pure image for the sacred cow. 

If you're uneasy, you can purchase antibiotic-free (and typically hormone-free, as well) milk from specialty grocers, such as Trader Joe's or Whole Foods, or select USDA-certified organic milk, which is available at most supermarkets.

What was that then? At lunch Anne from work was praising non-ultra-pasturized-grass-fed-free-range milk from Whole Foods, but she said "it's ridiculously overpriced." Sold! So, now it's a countdown to see how long before I get to Whole Foods and do a side-by-side 2% milk taste test.

Bedsides, what do people eat with chocolate, if not milk?

A New Tactic

This has been successful twice now.

Step 1. Wait for your husband to yell at you for some minor mistake.
    a. He must full-on YELL. He can't be snippy, snide - he must bellow.
    b. It must be a minor mistake.
        i.  Leave something like a set of keys on the counter.
        ii. Drink your milk too slowly so it is full later and splashes when the couch is bumped.

Step 2. Remain non-plussed during the yelling and bide your time.
    a. Remember his exact words.
        i.  "ELLEN! COME HERE! WHY CAN'T YOU EVER PUT YOUR STUFF AWAY?"
        ii. "ELLEN! COME HERE! NEXT TIME YOU DRINK MILK, DRINK ALLLL THE MILK!"

Step 3. After a few hours, search through the house to see if your husband has done anything similar.
    a. Let's say he hung a jacket over the back of a chair.
    b. Perhaps he only drank half his milk. Hmm.

Step 4. When you are sure he's forgotten whatever your crimes were, call him into the room.
    a. "GARY! Come in here." Make it ominous. Sell it.

Step 5. Mimic him.
    a. "LOOK AT THIS MILK HERE!"
    b. "NEXT TIME YOU DRINK MILK, DRINK ALLLL THE MILK!"
        i.   He will start to laugh
        ii.  Don't start to laugh yourself.
        iii. Really lay it on thick. Chase him around the house yelling "NO! THIS ISN'T FUNNY!"

I have failed twice now at Step 5.b.ii -- I fall apart laughing running after him yelling, "WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM! WHY CAN'T YOU DRINK ALLLL YOUR MILK?"

I hope it still works to make him laugh next time. Oh, and if you can time it so he's eating food at the moment you yell, that's a bonus.

Tongue Lashed

"I really enjoyed our dinner last night, Gary. I hope I didn't embarrass you too much."

"What, like with your table manners?"

(A pause. I hope you all used this pause to think,"Stop talking, Gary.")

I asked, "What's wrong with my table manners?"

"Nothing. It was just an example ... Well, except that thing you do with your tongue when you eat."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know, you stick out your tongue when you eat."

"What?"

"I've mentioned it five thousand times."

"In your HEAD. And, I do not."

As it turns out, sadly, he is right. When today's first spoonful of soup at lunch neared my face, I opened my mouth, I touched my (slightly protruding) tongue with the spoon and then my tongue ushered the spoon back into my maw. And then over and over again.

When I tried to open my mouth and get the spoon in without navigating with my tongue, I spilled soup on my chin. (The Friends were very encouraging and said it takes practice.) I was only slightly more successful with cantaloupe. One chunk completely got away from me as I tried to deposit it in my mouth without touching it to my tongue first.

I watched the Friends at lunch: no one else did this. I need to ... it occurs to me I need to check if I've taken my medication this week* ...   I need to check and see if this is one of those things, like bottom-wiping, where Motherhood would have given me a refresher course in the basics.

My question now that I feel like I'm eating incorrectly: do you make tongue to food contact inside the lip threshold, or do use your tongue to guide the food into your mouth?

* I am all up on my medication.

Prime 1000

First: I really enjoyed my meal at Prime 1000, my last stop in the quest for the ideal steak. You might not think so while you read this, because I take a few nauseating turns. 

The Showme Steak
I cornered our waiter early on and pointed to "dry-aged" on the menu. "Is this really dry-aged?" I demanded.

"Follow me and I can show you."

Observe: The Meat. It looks pretty damn old. The fresh-looking pink slabs are salt.

 

I told you, it's quite an unappetizing review, especially in contrast to the tasty food.

Our Menu Selections

I had these foods. (Pork products highlighted in bold.)
**** Carrot and Elderflower Soup garnished with Crispy Spec and Candied Sunflower Seeds
***  Grilled Asparagus with Fermin Serrano Jamon and Poached Quail Egg
**** Dry Aged New York Strip Steak with Candied Bacon Sauce on the side
**** Black Pepper Spice Cake with Marscapone and Salted Caramel

Gary had these foods. (Mushrooms highlighted in bold.)
**** Vegetable Salad with Caramelized Onions, Roast Apple and Goat Cheese (and wee white mushrooms)
***  Crispy Sweetbreads with Duroc Bacon, Roasted Artichoke and Truffle Emulsion
**** Flakey Pastry with a Fricassee of Maitake, Shiitake & Crimini Mushrooms
**** Dry Aged New York Strip Steak with Wild Mushroom and Balsamic Sauce on the side
**** Chocolate Cake with Anise and Berries

In addition, the chef decided it was Fun With Butter night. He created Saffron Butter, Goat Cheese Butter, and Marrow Butter.Oh, and our bouches were museed by a tasty scrap of crusty stuff and some micro-greens (including, regrettably, micro cilantro) and ... crab, I believe.

Gary Starts off With The Shameful Disgusting Talk

The first thing that came to the table was our shared appetizer of sweetbreads. I forgot it had a truffle emulsion, which looks like froth. I immediately thought "Egg whites." Gary, on the other hand, went with "Spit!" Soon the waiter came by and reassured me that it was not egg whites but frothed truffles. He left.

"Oh, the pig that rooted up the truffles had a sinus infection. So this is pig snot."

I Continue With The Shameful Disgusting Talk

The steak was tasty. It didn't taste like chewy pink water, as recent steaks have. It tasted like a steak. Gary had the same cut. He had a morsel of fat on his plate, a morsel he foolishly cast aside.

Go back with me to my days between second and sixth grades. On Steak Night, my brother would trim all the fat from his cooked steak, and then the bartering would begin. Usually I would get away with trading the right side of my T-bone for all his fat. Because, and I know this is scandalous to say aloud today: I Love Steak Fat.

At least, I loved steak fat, back in the day when "marbled" meant not only that the steak was juicy, but you would get these bonus fire-crisped morsels of buttery beef tallow all along the sides. It. Was. Great. And, this steak had that taste. You can tell me it's because the fat gets filled with bacteria while it dry-ages and I don't care. "Don't care!" she says, as she shovels steak fat in her mouth.

My cut was leaner than his, so I kept spearing his discarded fat and gobbling it up. Eventually he held the plate over my head and gave it to the waiter.

Gary Tries To Rise Above the Shameful Disgusting Talk by Speaking French

He ordered "Cafe au lait" with our dessert. His exact words were "Two cafe au lait."

The waiter responded with "Coffee with hot water, yes sir," and bustled off.

"What did he say?" Gary asked.

"Maybe he means he's getting espresso and water and milk?"

We were more confused when the waiter came back with black coffee, sat it down, and said, "I hope I didn't make it too weak."

Um. Okay? "Annnnd ... do you have cream?" because I didn't see any au lait in the cafe.

All we could figure is that Gary's "cafe au lait" (kah-fey ah lay) sounded too much like "cafe l'eau" (kah-fey low), or "coffee water."

The Aftermath

We came home, spooned on the bed, and listened to our bellies have an animated gurgle conversation. It was a phenomenal meal and I'm happy to digest it.

More From Mom From Beyond the Grave

I'm sorting through Mom's files, separating the wheat from the chaff.

Chaff: EVERY receipt for EVERY appliance bought since 1959. Toasters long gone. (Old charge card receipts printed the entire charge card number; that was quaint.) She kept a disturbing number of clippings about MS. Plus many articles about keeping your senses as you grow old.

Wheat: Lists of garden plantings, family history, old Christmas newsletters, and an intriguing document Mom wrote titled "History of the House."

She details who built the house (the Kaufmans), who then bought the house ten years later (the Bartes), what trees were planted and removed, all room dimensions, and all repairs.

We are then moved into the house in third person, as "The Davis Family." After a few more paragraphs about roofs and when they were installed, she writes,

"When the Davises removed the red velour flocked wallpaper in the bathroom they discovered this hole in the wall behind the mirror. Margaret" [that would be Mom] "thought 'if somebody had left us a history of this house we would have know about this hole and the plumber could have installed the new shower in half the time.' So she wrote this little history for you. And just in case there are any little kids in the house the next time the wall is papered she gathered up some interesting stuff to leave there for them to find."

What the ... ? She did? I removed that red flocked wallpaper myself, and I'm sure I would have been in on any caper involving time capsules left for future generations, but of this I have no recall at all. 

"...The next time the wall is papered ... " Of course, how could Mom know about the violent wallpaper bigotry that has overcome the civilized world? I now have to remove all the wallpaper I put up to replace the bordello wallpaper. I'll be sure to check in that hole and see what's there.

2010 Recap

My resolutions for 2011 ... are you kidding? 2010 was perfect. Why would I change?

It was ideal. Perhaps I just have a selective memory.

What I Selectively Remember about 2010:

Travel
I went to Paris
... and Louisville, where I stayed at the best hotel in the US
... and downtown Saint Louis, where I had a very nice view and a room of good friends.
I jetted off to New Jersey all on my own.
I visited my brother in Albuquerque.

Concerts
Three BNL concerts
Doobie brothers / Chicago
Ingrid Michaelson
Steven Page
Litlithfair
NOT Cake, because of the dog surgery

Personal Accomplishments
Series 7
Series 66
Finished the clinical trial.

Economizing
Paid for this February's trip to Miami with frequent flyer miles.
Did my own yardwork this year

Physical Changes
Lost 20 pounds. (Gained back 6. So, lost 14 pounds.)

========================
After going over the blog, this is

What I Didn't Remember About 2010:

Travel
Visited Bloomington IN

Concerts
Eddie Izzard concert
Chelsea Handler
Loufest
Guster
Chuck Berry

Personal Accomplishments
I stopped making Babka.
I made Pie Cake, Pie Pie Pie, and Meat Pie.
I used a bidet.

Economizing
HAH.

Physical Changes
Optic migraines! No pain, though.
I had a pseudo exacerbation after the Chicago concert.
Fell on my knee. Also, fell on my head.
I got that Benign Psomething Positional Vertigo thing. That's still there.

So really, the things I don't remember aren't that bad, just not memorable compared to the good stuff. What a good year. Only downhill from here.