State of Grace

Hark! The router works great! Let's watch videos!

Man, this N router rules.  I can access the wifi at  more locations around the house except for here:

The deck at the front door where I spend a total of at least two hours a day hurling this ball into the woods at my dog.  We call this game Extreme Fetch with Malcolm.

However, knowing myself, this is probably a good thing.  The only surface to seat the laptop would be that deck railing.  Accidentally smacking the Mac with the ball lobber is a very real possibility for someone with my severe lack of hand/eye motor coordination.   It would be a bitch to explain the scenario to the snotty geek at the Genius Bar.

Despite my klutziness, I totally look like Serena Williams there, don't I?

Don't answer that.

 

Another fabu thing about this router upgrade is the lightening fast speed it takes to download videos.  I no longer have to pause the feed while the file is buffering, something my kid taught me after I made her watch too many videos with annoying buffering interruptions.  Recent favorites include brain-cell-killing clips of Badger Human Remixes; Kelly Wants to Get Some Shoes and Kelly Wants to Borrow That Top (where Margaret Cho makes a cameo appearance); and the always entertaining Japanese Guys Playing Soccer Wearing Binoculars.

Silly and immature online videos streaming into my Mac while I sit on a blanket in a grove of oak trees yards away from the house! Now, that's modern living.

And now, I'm going to insist that you enjoy this brilliant, only-on-da-internets video starring some nerdy  hipsters and my imaginary husband, Bill Murray.  Get a hot cup of Joe, settle into your bean bag chair and click on this, please.  It's long, but you'll thank me afterwards, of that I'm certain.

Pajamas, Costco, Routers - All in One Blog Post

  Sunday Morning 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

With the exception of the bird brining and roasting on T Day, I pretty much did nothing over the four day weekend and wore this outfit almost exclusively.

Lovely.  Pajama blogging at its finest.   Don't tell him I told you, but the hubs thought I looked cute-hot in this ensemble. 

Unfortunately, I had to get out of the Uggs and jammies for the every 6 week Costco run.  I dragged along a kicking and complaining hubs.  He hates going to Costco on the weekend and that I made him accompany me on a Sunday transformed me from cute-hot to a pain-in-the-ass.  As I am used to being called a pain-in-the-ass, I ignored his grumbling and pushed him into the car.

Of course, what starts off as a mission to procure toilet paper, paper towels and that three story high box of Quaker Oatmeal ends with the hubs grinning from ear to ear because he purchased a new electronic toy.  This time it was a nifty Garmin GPS system, something he's been coveting and needs when I'm not in the passenger seat, giving him directions in my pain-in-the-ass way.

Very cool, but the thing talks.  I'm sorry, but I'm not geek enough to appreciate this.  In fact, I find it Hal-creepy. 

Anyway, Costco rules, doesn't it?  There are so many reasons why Costco bulk shopping appeals to me.  I'm certain that part of it is because I come from a large family and understand the need to have the mega-mondo-econo size of any given household item.  Granted, there's only three of us in my own family, but I'm comforted with the knowledge that I have enough oatmeal for the morning gruel from now until February.  We are also rich in our bounty of paper towels and toilet paper, so rich that if I open up the laundry area door in a certain way, rolls of towels will fall on my head.  Surely getting beaned on the head by a shower of paper goods is a sign of prosperity.

Aside from the issue of quantity, I'm always satisfied with the quality of Costco goods. I applaud their choices of name brands.  I dig their own 'Kirkland' label.

I found an excellent explanation of why Costco quality works for me and most everyone I know.  Here you go, by the father of all great geek writing, Kevin Kelly, from his ever useful site, Cool Tools:

Costco has become my personal shopper. I do some research, then I buy what they sell. Like all discount chains they have professionals working full time looking for deals/quality. But what I like about Costco is their niche -- which is my niche. They consistently find a bargain in the "highest common denominator" bracket. What they seem to aim for, and what I am happy with, is the highest quality common quality. Not the very best, not the cheapest, and not mediocre either, but a good brand-name bargain in the high middle. They consistently deliver a great price on a very popular and competent item.

They make shopping easy by eliminating the tyranny of non-essential choice. You don't have to waste cycles trying to scrutinize similar models or brands. They do that for you: "here's the good enough one you need" they say. The typical Wal-Mart store will have 80,000 unique stock items; the typical Costco will have only 3,500.

That last paragraph regarding "non-essential choice" hits another nail on the head for me.  Though having an array of choices in shampoo, macaroni and black beans is every American's birthright, I find this to be dizzying, not dazzling.  Better to have those Costco buyer elves work out those issues for me.  Anyway, if I wanted something special, I'd go online and hunt it down as I have for the best face cleanser on the planet and these running socks of excellence.

By the way, included in those unique Costco stock items - the cute-hot pjs in the pic above. 

********************

Speaking of geek and electronics, I wanted to put up this post before I mess up the household wifi.  We're switching from a squeaky little "G router" that's fast enough but doesn't provide coverage for the entire house, to a mighty "N router", crazy fast with enough oomph to allow me to blog from the upstairs toilet seat to the creek at the bottom of the hill on our property.  Wish me luck, and if I'm not back online by tomorrow, someone send a Geek Party to rescue my sorry (pain-in-the) ass.
 

What is this "Black Friday" you speak of?

  What is this "Black Friday" you speak of? 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

No mall shopping for us.  We're just going to sit here and stare out into space.

This is a picture of what we're staring at today.

Brined turkey turned out okay, considering that I roasted the bird too long.  I couldn't help it; I was talking to my kid about everything and anything and forgot about the bird.  When I plunged the meat thermometer into the thickest part of the thigh, it registered 180 degrees.  Bitch!  It was cooked 5 degrees ago! 

Still, it was tasty and moist enough.  I think my turkey roasting ass was saved because I popped the bird on the rack breast side down, then flip it over after two hours so the breast side can get the heat for 90 minutes.  Worth the effort because the breast does not dry out, something that no gravy can ever fix, and something that I hate with all my being. 

Speaking of gravy, mine was sublime.  I left out the giblets, though, just to see if I would survive.  And, I did.  Rather nicely, I might add.

By the way, Project No More F Word, aka "NoMoEffWo" goes into Day 3.  Kindly refer to the previous post concerning my promise to the hubs that I stop using the F word in every other sentence that rolls out of my mouth.  That includes this blog, bitches. 

Hey! He said nothing about "bitches", bitches.

Thanks for Giving

  Fresh Bird 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

Ah, most dollin State of Grace readers.  I do indeed thank you for giving me your kind charity in reading this here humble blog.  You have been fabulous and I don't deserve your loyalty, but I'll take it anyway because I'm piggy like that.

You all have been on to me in the nicest possible way.  You have agreed with me on some issues, respectfully disagreed on others, called me on my shit, called me to see if I'm okay, held my hand and held me tight.

Thank you.

I've had a couple of unbloggably bad days recently.  I'm okay, but I blew the National Blog Posting Month thingy.  Dang! I got to 19 days! I was doing so well!  Now, I'm no longer eligible for the valuable prizes, honor and glory that comes with blogging every day for 30 consecutive days.  I suck, man.

Another reason I suck - blew the National Novel Writing Month, too.  No comment except that I suck! Suck! Suck!

But, something that I am sticking to is this -  I've stopped using the "F" word around the hubs.  He hates it when I say the F word.  This makes me wonder if he really is from Brooklyn. 

I think the hubs has unreasonably high expectations of me just because I majored in English Lit.  I really should clue the hubs to the fact that anyone with a degree in English Literature says f*ck more than, say, someone who majored in accounting.  This is because we English majors know all too f*cking well that the accountant will get a high paying job after graduation while we end up waiting on tables.  We're f*cked, in other words.

Other than a couple of slips here and there (a given, considering the f*cked up administration that has f*cked this country over in the last 7 f*cking years), I've been golden in keeping my promise to the hubs, who prefers that I dish out my political perspectives with a side of gentility.

My vow to stop uttering the F word every other sentence will be a major challenge today because this, along with most American holidays, is a power cooking day.  Being of the Anthony Bourdain school of cooking, my use of the F word is as necessary as an excellent knife and the best butter.  Today I have to be as sweet and f*ck word free as - gulp - Rachel Ray.

Gah, Rachel Ray.

Note to hubs - See! I did not write "F*ck Rachel Ray."  Golden, I tell you.

Gaaaaah.

Moving on.  Our Thanksgiving Menu:

Appetizers:

Jumbo black olives like the kind we used to put on our fingertips as kids.

Fancy shmancy salami made with Pinot Noir.

Carrot and celery sticks

The Big Kahuna:

Brined and roasted turkey

Steamed lobster tail for the kid who does not eat fur or feather but will eat fin

Mushroom stuffing by El Hubs

Garlic roasted mashed potatoes

Rice because I'm Filipina

Brussel sprouts, aka "Barbie Cabbage"

Fresh cranberry relish

Giblet (for me) and non-giblet (for hubs, who thinks giblets are creepy) gravies

The Pie

Someone will probably stop reading my blog for this, but we don't like pumpkin pie.  We don't like pumpkin.  So sue us already.

Anyway, sugar crumb crust apple pie from the nice progressive infidels at Uhuru Bakery.

Non-partisan vanilla ice cream with that.

...and, Repeat

Then, we're going to my brother's, Gary the Marathon Man, to do it all over again tonight!

 

I'm kinda sorta live blogging this on flickr if you're interested in the brined turkey business.  It produces a turkey breast so moist and tender, you won't believe you're eating your (mother's) turkey!

All righty, then.  Back to the prep.  Happy and blessed Thanksgiving, dollins.

NaBloPoMo Day 19 - The Bigass Biscuit

  Big ass breakfast! 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

This Sunday morning at a local greasy spoon:

Hash browns from Satan himself.  Devilishly good.

Vegie omelette with spinach hanging out and melted cheese all over the place.

A biscuit.  Kindly observe in the image to your right that this was no ordinary biscuit.  It was a mutant biscuit.  A mega biscuit.  El mondo biscuit.  Morphed biscuit.  Major biscuit. 

And, it was fluffy and tasty.

Then, I bought new running shoes.

Then, I meant to run, but passed out at home instead.  I blame the biscuit.

Nineteen consecutive days of blog entries and it's come to this, The Bigass Biscuit Post.

Eat, Pray, Whatever

I'm sorry, but I'd be lying if I told you that Eat, Pray, Love was the most amazing, life transforming book I've ever read.   

Wait, I lied - I didn't read it in the full, complete sense.  I didn't finish it.  I stopped right when she met that Brazilian guy. 

I had enough.  This is an old story.  Been there, done that, have the tee shirt from the ashram.   The book now gathers dust on top of our armoire alongside The Abs Diet,  The Wisdom of Menopause and a basket of George's unmatched socks.

Look, it was a fun read.  Chit chatty like a series of blog entries.  The Italian food, Richard from Texas, author Elizabeth Gilbert's witty friends, all jolly good times, indeed.  And, I was impressed with Gilbert's accessible description of meditation.  She was adept without getting spooky-new-agey in chronicling her spiritual practice and process, though she did get a little giddy with her kundalini moment. 

(I suppose I should give her a break on that passage.  The experience of kundalini is essentially an orgasm of the soul.  Giddiness is to be expected.)

Yes, pleasant enough book, but whatever.  I just don't understand why this book received the worship worthy of a rock star.  It simply did not inspire me, yet it has Oprah and her sycophantic audience under a spell that I find incomprehensible.

Clearly I'm out of step with the American public.  Again.  That's my life, the weirdo on the fringe, the one who couldn't find anything interesting enough to buy at the suburban mall, the dinner party guest who has to watch what she says lest she offends the hostess.  Weirdo, like Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club.

Here's the deal - I'm also the weirdo who has traveled Elizabeth Gilbert's path while everyone else was leading their comfortable lives.  While on that path, those who chose the opposite track, the Molly Ringwald/Breakfast Club lives, if you will, were asking when was I going to settle down, get the house, the car payments and the kids?  When was I going to give up that silly Buddhist thing and go to a regular church like everyone else?  Why did I prefer to take the bus from Guadalajara to some crazy out of-the-way beach town over a week at the all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta?

Then, this book shows up and the comfortable-everyone-elses are asking about that meditation/yoga retreat I go to every year.  They wonder out loud what it's like to get on a plane/stay in a hotel/eat in a restaurant in a foreign country all by oneself.  These are, of course, the same folks who were telling me to get a life like theirs.  Now, they want my life, or, rather,  Elizabeth Gilbert's.  The same folks who sneered at me now want any other life but their own comfortable, suburban Oprah watching existence. 

Okay, I'll settle down.  I recognize that this book has liberated women who needed a good karmic kick in the ass.  Women who have to get out of the mall and stale marriages.  Women who are long overdue for happiness, and just didn't know they could have it until they read this book.   

To this I say, bravo. Really.  If it takes a best selling, Oprah-pimped memoir to break out of the rut, then bravo, bravo, bravo.

But, I don't think I'm alone in my reaction to Eat, Pray, Love.   Any other meditating-traveling-non-conformist weirdos out there who are saying "whatever" along with me?

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom Clara!

  Mom in law Clara with GINORMOUS Prime Rib 
  Originally uploaded by GraceD

Behold, my dear mom-in-law, Mrs. Clara M. of Deerfield Beach, Florida, formerly of East Flatbush, Brooklyn, New York.  A beautiful woman, isn't she?  Oh, yes, she is.

Though this pic is two years old, Mom can still chow down a bigass piece of beef with the best of them.   Women with appetites rule!  Ninety year old women with appetites will kick your ass!

But, my kind and gentle Mom-in-law would never kick your ass.  She won't even manipulate you with guilt, tears or any other trick that I plan to employ in my own golden years.  Instead, this is a mother you do not want to disappoint.  You simply want to please her; you just want to make her happy. 

Mom doesn't have access to the web, but I'm going to send my love and gratitude to her across the bytes anyway  -

Mom, thank you for all you've done for my husband, your son.

Thank you for blessing and supporting our marriage. 

Thank you for embracing me as a daughter.

Thank you and I love you.

Cool Photo Hack - Caravaggio Effect

 
   
   

One evening not too long ago, the hubs set up his camera and tripod in the dining room as I lounged on the couch, snarling at Republicans on TV and snacking on trans-fats and chocolate.  This is not an unusual scenario here at Chez State of Grace, my hubs bustling about, busy at a project while I sit on my keester, yelling at George Bush, potato chip and Milano cookie crumbs flying out of my mouth.  But, in a successful marriage, a couple has to pursue their own interests and hobbies, don't you think? 

Anyway, in between my snarling and snacking, I couldn't help but notice that the hubs had turned out the dining room lights and was standing behind the tripod in the dark, waving a flashlight in the direction of a pile of fruit.

In the normal household, this sort of activity would be acknowledged with a remark along the lines of  "The hell are you doing, honey?"  But, 'round these parts, aiming a camera and waving a flashlight at a bowl of apples in the dark is no big deal.  It's just another intensely geeky experiment of the hubs', whose wide range of interests include photography, electron microscopy and  astronomy.  Heck, if the hubs had his way, we'd have an observatory telescope piercing the roof of the living room and a scanning electron microscope downstairs in the workroom.  Such is life with the hubs, one of the oddest, geekiest guys you'll ever meet, and I refer to odd and geek as compliments of the highest order. 

The hubs' great geek passion for photography compels him to wander around our property armed with the camera-tripod, in pursuit of suitable yet arbitrary subjects - leaves, fencing, the dog's whiskers.  I'll watch the hubs and wonder what the deal is - what exactly is so fascinating about the fence post and how can he stand behind the camera for well over an hour?  One day I just know that our Jack Russell Terrier will reject his role as photographic subject and lunge at the Nikon, pissed that he's been forced to sit still for more than a minute.

Then, the hubs will upload his pics, and I understand what the fuss was all about.  His images are rich with detail and hues and there's a depth and soul in everything his lens captures.  It is worth his time and the threats from the dog.

Back to the flashlight and fruit.  The hubs was employing a technique he learned from Popular Photography magazine - "painting" a subject with light with the flashlight as the brush:

From Emmanuel Carratoni, You Can Do It:  Old Master.  All you need is a flashlight...to find your inner Caravaggio:

"Composing my objects against a black background, I lit them by "painting with light," a technique in which you use a flashlight like a brush. You apply the light to your subjects, defining their shapes and contours by carefully placing highlights and shadows. You do this while the shutter of your tripod-mounted camera is open.

To give myself time to "paint," I set the smallest aperture (f/22) on my Canon 18-55mm f/3.5-5.6 lens, the lowest ISO possible (ISO 100), and a shutter speed of 15 seconds."

Following these steps resulted in the lovely Caravaggio-esque image taken by the hubs, seen below.  This spectacular photograph has been printed out, framed and  hung on the wall above the TV, a gentle reminder to this couch tater that there's more to the world than the ugly fray of American politics and that I really should have a healthy, luscious piece of fruit instead of trans-fatty snacks.

Might be the funniest 1 minute and 43 second scene on TV. EVER.

The season finale episodes for two HBO shows I watch faithfully - Tell Me You Love Me and Curb Your Enthusiasm -  were aired this past Sunday.  I sat in rapt attention to these season finales, even though sad and grieving nakedjen was seeking refuge on my sofa while her now-ex-husband was moving out of their house.  Call me insensitive, but very little would stop me from watching the season finale of a show I've been following.  Please don't hate me for this severe character flaw. 

"Tell Me You Love Me" irritates me to no end, but somehow I got sucked into it.  "Suck" being the operative word, on three levels:

The show's focus is on sex.  "Suck" happens frequently in sex.  But, you knew that.

The show involves three couples who dwell in drab, gray homes furnished in a style that's best described as Deep Yuppie Control Freak Minimalist.  The couples - all charmless, spoiled whiners  - suck, and not in that good sex way either.  They suck so much that I regularly hurl throw pillows at the TV while hollering "YOU SUCK!"  (I guess that's why they call them "throw" pillows.)

The sex on the show is clinical, brutal and not fun to watch.  And, that sucks.  Why else have sex on TV or at the movies if it wasn't for our voyeuristic pleasure?  (Am I saying too much about myself here?)

Clearly, I'm not taken by these yuppies in constant coitus, but all season long I kept hoping for somebody to have an orgasm that's not followed with copious whining.  I also crossed my fingers that one of the households would decide to liven up their dining room by hanging a black velvet Elvis painting over the hutch.

None of that happened.  However, I'll keep my hopes up for next season.

Thank God HBO scheduled Curb Your Enthusiasm immediately after all that pathetic yuppie sex on drab gray couches.   I love this show for the same reason why everyone loves this show - Larry David does and says the verboten, taboo stuff that should never be done or said anywhere.  Nothing is sacred; CYE has poked fun at ethnic groups, feminists, gentiles, Jews and even incest survivors (that I laughed at that episode indicates how far I've come; maybe a little too far, but still.)

The most amazing aspect of CYE  - there's no script.  All dialogue and action is improvised from an outline.  Pure brilliance.

The finale was outrageous and perfect but I won't spoil it for anyone because I've been busted for doing that on my blog.  Anyway, I'm in enough trouble with nakedjen for ignoring her for two and a half hours on Sunday night.

What I would like to honor is the primary subject of this post - the funniest 1:43 minutes in the history of television, or, at the very least, in the entire 7 years that Curb Your Enthusiasm has been on the air.

A little preface for those out of the Curb loop, excerpted from HBO:

Larry has a doctor's appointment.  As he leaves, a skinhead in the waiting room growls at him: 'What the f**k you looking at Jew boy' and calls him a "f**king faggot." Shocked, Larry slunks out.

When Larry gets home he pulls Leon aside and tells him about the skinhead incident. Leon tells him in those situations he needs to "get in that ass."

Without further ado, the VNSFW (very not safe for work) and VC (very crude) but amazingly hilarious video clip of Leon advising Larry:

The Multigenerational Home

Over at BlogHer, I wrote a post about Grandma and Grandpa living with you, the kids, the hubs and the pets - the multigenerational household, once the norm in America, but now a rarity in most middle class neighborhoods.

The post came rolling off my keyboard when I heard about an NPR story on "aging sensitivity training", workshops on appreciating and understanding the lives of our elders.  I also learned about a center where older folks from an adult day care program can spend time caring for young children in a "home-like setting".

Now, the aging sensitivity training is an excellent idea in this brutal culture, a country where we shove our senior citizens into any other home but our own.   But, a center where kids and grandparent figures can interact, shouldn't that take place under our own roof? We have to sign up our elders and babies in a program so they can reap the many benefits of intergenerational contact?

From my BlogHer post:

While I applaud these sophisticated and creative courses and certainly the admirable intentions and efforts, I find it disheartening that we have come to a point in contemporary life where our interactions with elders are so rare and infrequent, we have to learn about the aging experience in a workshop, rather than in a multigenerational home.

Take a look at the post, then come back and tell me, Dollin Readers:

1. Did you grow up with three generations under one roof?
2. If you did, was it great to have that precious grandparent energy and TLC?
3. Or, was it tough stuff - drama, fighting and too many adults in your face? 
4. Can you imagine living with your children as a senior citizen?

My answers:

1. Only for a brief time when I was a baby.   My parents dearly wanted their own piece of real estate, so we moved out of Grandma's urban house to a tract home in the suburbs.
2. We lived close enough to Grandma to reap that good grandparent energy and chow down on her excellent Filipino cooking.
3. Had Grandma lived with us, it would have been a lot of drama between my mom and her mom.  Like, along the lines of crockery hurled against the wall and much slamming of doors.  Those who know My People will agree - there's no drama like Filipina mama drama.
4. The hubs and I are planning to live on our own until the end of our days.  We want to make sure we're covered for skilled nursing care, when and if that time comes.  (To our kids - I heard those big sighs of relief, you guys.)