Part VIII: Fire and Ice

WordPress is acting wonky. I upgraded it a few days ago, and have posted a few things here since then. However, every now and then it (or my browser) just won’t let me type anything in the content field. When that happens, I click frantically for a while and then give up.

Dashboard Widgets to the rescue! I don’t know whether QuickPress is just part of WP now, or if I installed it, forgot about it, and never used it. If it’s the latter, then it’s awesome that it has “survived” so many upgrades. If it’s the former, you’d think I could find that information somewhere.

I defeated drug addiction Monday. A friend, who meant well but wasn’t helping at the time, gave me some information that made me doubt my “freedom.” Briefly.

This week has been difficult, of course. However, being an optimist means always knowing that I will always have plenty. Plenty to wake up for, plenty to stay up for. Plenty to eat, plenty to drink.

Speaking of drinking, I had my first real “Never Wanna Drink Again” experience. It was my own fault, of course. I lack the ability to realize when I’ve had too many, especially on days where I’m already dehydrating myself through the eyes.

Plenty of fire, plenty of ice. I can make fire if I have to, I have the patience and the knowledge. I’ve done it before. I know where to get ice, and I know how it’s made. I’ve never made any myself in weather where machinery is required to do so, but I’ve never been in a survival situation where it was necessary to do so.

Receipts and Recipes By Rote, Inauguration: Steak, Veggies, & Bean Dip [RRR]

My template is going to be a bit weird, and I’m sure it will change. Feedback is welcome. Here’s the gist: I like to cook. I can usually come up with something edible without much notice. With a trip to the store and a couple of bucks, there’s a 90% chance that I can put together a delicious feast for several. Tooting my own horn, yes. But it’s science, so I’ll always win. Except for maybe 10% of the time.

I’ll post a receipt, some general info about what I cooked and how, and then something resembling a recipe that you might use to attempt the dish yourself.

Steak, cheap.

Steak, cheap.

Dish: Beef Tenderloin with Grilled Broccoli, Pan Fried Garlic & Eggplant, and hummus.

Grocery Store Damage: $19.28

Bought and Didn’t Use: Basil. Trust me, it won’t go to waste.

What Was Missing: Garlic on the steak. I cooked this on the Foreman, since my propane grill is currently overseas. Since the Foreman gets rid of a shitload of juice/fat/flavor, it could have used a little kick. It’s been a while. I miss my grill.

Why This Was An Adventure: This was the first time I’ve ever really attempted to use eggplant. I bought some once a few years ago, but chickened out. With some roasted garlic, it was tasty as hell.

Better Name For Dish: You tell me. I don’t have a photo of this one, but I intend to have them for subsequent meals. Hopefully my resident photographer will lend a hand there.

Meal Price, Adjusted: Less than $8 per head.

Brian May Says: “Call it simplistic, but if this inaugural dish were the Big Bang, the Universe would be far more delicious!”

“Recipe”: Soaked some beef tenderloins in yogurt, salt, Lee & Perrin (just a drop), pepper, and cumin. Dusted some broccoli with salt, pepper & thyme. Fried some fresh garlic in olive oil, then pan-fried some salted eggplant in that same oil. Grilled the broccoli for about two minutes, then place it on top of the eggplant and covered the pan, decreasing heat to low. Grilled tenderloins for about two minutes on each side. Arranged on plate around a dollop of store-bought (Sabra) hummus.

Wish I had a picture. The broccoli was greener than I’d ever served, and I actually ate all that I served myself. That’s a first when it comes to veggies. The eggplant tasted more or less like slightly exotic garlic mashed potatoes.

Here’s This: Recipes by Rote, Recipes by Receipt

We’re making an effort to eat better, and in such a manner as to recognize that eating better should mean both more healthy and more delicious food. There’s only one way to make a conscious change to the patterns of your life: consciously!

Brian May knows physics. Brian May knows music. Brian May don’t know cooking.

Let me rephrase. I’ll bet you a meal that Brian May won’t read my recipes. I’ll bet Brian May a meal that you won’t read my recipes. Prove either of us wrong, and you win. Feel free to collect anywhere, and at anytime. If your name is Brian May, please call ahead.

I know a little about cooking, and I know a lot about eating. I know more about buying than I care to admit.

The Gentle News concept is now this: one receipt, one meal, and one story. I’ll give you, sweet Internets, one of each, every single day, or else I’ll give you nothing. I’m bound to break that promise now and again. If you know me in person, surprise me and show up for dinner. If we’ve never met in person, interact with me here (wherever here is) and I’ll buy or cook you dinner, or else convince Brian May to do one or the other.

If you think you’ve caught me on something, take a look at the date and think, “Hey, I wonder how many he has saved up in case he forgets a day or two?” I’m OK with being a statistician if I have to be.

I got soups to cook and crackers to fix.

* Edit: It occurs to me that the logic regarding bets and Brian May and proving things isn’t very sound. Doesn’t matter. If Brian May reads any of my recipes, then logic prevails!

Part VII: Lexicography + Steganography = Telepathy

I am no less skeptical today regarding the possibility of paranormal and supra-natural activity than I was the day I had my own personal revelation about God and the Infinite. Mind-reading is not a verifiable, tangible concept, insofar as there will never be a non-artificial method of detecting the electrical patterns in another human being’s brain to such a degree that one could reconstruct the accompanying thoughts in real time. We will never see a report on CNN about God, Jesus, Buddha, and Vishnu holding a press conference to straighten everybody out. Nobody will ever get James Randi’s money. However, I’m coming around to the idea that stupid people who believe in such magic are not necessarily more stupider simply because they do.

If you follow the above to its rational conclusion, an honest logician will also arrive at this tasty salt: Really smart people who nevertheless succumb to the allure of spirituality, religiosity, or outright incantation are not necessarily any more intelligent or enlightened simply because they have figured out that which, by definition, cannot be figured out. I’m only just now, at 28 years of age, beginning to understand the phrase “holier than thou.” I’m probably not 100% cured of the crime, but I think at the very least I’m calm and open enough now that I might never again claim to know what a True Scotsman would (and more importantly, wouldn’t) do.

Revelation of the week: I want to open a restaurant. Still keeping score here? I hope somebody is.

Happy Boy



Happy Boy

Originally uploaded by farrisgoldstein.


This boy loves beer.

Happy Girls



Happy Girls

Originally uploaded by farrisgoldstein.


These girls love the beach.

Welcome to Paradise



Welcome to Paradise

Originally uploaded by farrisgoldstein.


This thing didn’t cause me nightmares, but it did make me spend about 5 minutes trying to make it shut up. Alarm was set for midnight. While trying to turn off the damn alarm, I inadvertently made it start tweeting and bubbling. I still don’t know how I eventually made it shut up. Mom informed me this morning that there’s a main power switch on the cord. The only switch I could find in my sleepy frustration last night was the one that turns off the backlight/motor. That caused the 30-year-old-fridge farting and grinding to stop.

Why does this thing have a motor in it? To make tide appear to shimmer, of course. Duh.

I do not love this clock. I do love my mother.

Part VI: Transportation, Withdrawal

For the first time since some indeterminable night in high school, I am lonely in Beaumont, Texas.

I know my mother will probably read that at some point and freak out at least a little bit, but I’m sure she will soon understand that it’s natural to feel a bit lonely. I am not moping, and I am not miserable. I just miss my best friend and wish I could hold her right now. The pangs will soon ease. I will eat some food. I will go get Mama a card reader so that she can easily put pictures on her digital photo frames.

I genuinely enjoy being around all of the members of my immediate family. There is very little I’m not comfortable discussing with any of them, and for the most part I feel just as at ease around them when I’m happy as I do when I’m depressed. Some people find that strange, and others find it hard to believe. I’m sure plenty of people I know have similar relationships with their family, so I don’t really feel unique in that regard. But I do feel special, in the sense that I am extremely lucky to have such a functional and fulfilling arrangement with three people who, by most modern standards, should harbor tons of resentment for each other for one petty reason or another.

Just typing this has relieved most of the pangs of lonliness. Also, Mama just said something silly that made me feel good. Sitting in her chair, watching the Ayatollah on the Early Show (I doubt she’s paying attention to that) and browsing Facebook or Myspace or whatever Internet singles bar she currently hangs out in, she said, “What am I going to do today?”

I paused and looked up. I flipped my rolodex of responses around in my head for a second, and before I could say anything, she looked up and said, “I’m gonna love you, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Yeah, we say shit like that. And it genuinely makes me feel good. I don’t know where it came from. I can’t really imagine her mother or any of her siblings saying stuff like that. It’s a tiny bit Papaish, but even if he did say something similar, it would probably not be quite so blatantly saccharine.

Just another reason I know she is and was a damn good mother. And here’s another reason I know she’s a hell of a lot smarter than she likes to lead people to believe: I’m certain she used the power of suggestion to make sure I didn’t sleep in this morning. I haven’t had much trouble waking up early lately, but I really hadn’t planned on waking up at 6:50. However, just before she went to bed last night, she said (to herself, but outloud), “I wish I could sleep in tomorrow.”

This confused me a bit, and I asked “Why can’t you?”

Her response was, “I don’t know, I just never can sleep late.”

When I woke up this morning, my first thought after getting over the usual mini-panic involved in waking up without Bonnie next to me was, “The sun is up, no reason for me not to be.” I figured it was 9 or so and I’d walk out to find Mama slurping Folger’s.

“6:50?!? Jesus! Oh well, I can go back to sleep.”

Wrong. Couldn’t stop thinking about sleep, and then food. So I read for a bit, then ventured out to find that even Mama wasn’t up yet.

One more cup of Folger’s and I’ll go find us some breakfast. And a card reader. And a sledgehammer for this Dave & Buster’s clock looking over my shoulder. I swear it just farted. I’ll tell you more about that guy later.

Number One Super Guy

Last night was Vicki’s birthday party. We sat by (and in) the pool and watched Jaws. I got there early and pretended to be useful. My sister and I went to three different Sonics before a manager agreed to fill our 5-gallon cooler with Cap’n Crunch ice. Linda is really good with people. If you ever need to return a cracked aquarium that’s full of dead goldfish and feces, she’ll not only help you clean it, but she’ll talk to the manager of the store and deflect all of his (or her) horseshit. Just don’t ask her if I am a very good navigator. I am.

I woke up this morning wanting to watch cartoons. I waited until I thought B had slept enough and then I let the cats wake her up with coffee and the promise of leftover kolaches. Once her beautiful blues were back in business, I flipped on the TV. Hong Kong Phooey confused me a little bit. As fondly as I remember Penry and his secret alter ego, I’d rather listen to Sublime sing about him than watch his show I guess. I didn’t make it through a single episode before switching over to Sanford & Son just in time to hear Fred use the phrase “faggoty jacket.”

Fred Sanford is the real number one super guy.

Stargazing

This is kinda large and might break stuff:

I know of better ways to do this now. Hopefully Ill put them into practice.

I know of better ways to do this now. Hopefully I'll put them into practice.