Atlas Shrugged

I want to post more. I'm strangled by my work obligations. However, I had to let you know...

Atlas Shrugged is being made into a movie. I'm not Jewish but I just might plotz.

Reading this book is going to take time out of your life. It's a fucking brick. It is the most amazing book I've ever read. It's better than Erica Jong's Fear of Flying. It's better than George Orwell's 1984.

READ THIS BOOK.

It's important. It's prophetic. IT.IS.REAL.


I know... I don't post much these days. For that, I apologize. I'm busy. Fifty to sixty hour work weeks combined with school (eek! I'm an old student!) and then add home improvement projects... Ack. I'm overwhelmed.

READ THIS BOOK.

I just hope the movie does it justice.

Be a producer. Please don't be a looter.

READ THE BOOK!

(obnoxious enough? I can do more!)

Rock Out With Your Caulk Out

~Am I supposed to caveat this by saying that I received no payment or product for this review?~

I've mentioned that I was doing some home improvement work. Part of the doing the home improvement means that I have to follow up and finish the darned home improvement stuff. I am at the caulking stage for several of my projects.

I've never caulked before now. I was talking to my dad about it and he mentioned seeing an ad on the television (As Seen On TV!) for this caulking tool kit called PROCaulk. He admitted that it might be complete crap and not work but said the commercials looked pretty convincing. I agreed to be the guinea pig.

Of course, before starting any project, research is a good idea. I googled, "How to Caulk." There are LOTS of web pages and videos dedicated to removing old caulk and putting down new. They are extremely intimidating. After watching several of them, I was feeling a bit out of my league. I don't even have any mineral spirits. I had already gone through three rolls of painter's tape for the painting projects. I was not looking forward to putting down even more of it. Damp rags, excess caulk (I am so not going to make some kind of inappropriate comment about how you can never have too much caulk...). What? Where was I? Oh, yeah. Caulk.

Since this pack-o-gadgets my dad told me about was As Seen On TV!, I decided to see if there was an ad out there on the Interwebs. Tah Dah! https://www.buyprocaulk.com/ . Cheesy, huh? Oh, and all those other videos? Not quite as messy as the guy in the ProCaulk ad.


I got my carefully chosen clear silicone. Clear, so that if I was really horrible at this caulking business, it wouldn't be so obvious.



So, I know you're just dying to know. Did it work? Was it messy? Was Ima now permanantly siliconely bonded to the shower stall?

Seriously, Internet. This.Stuff.Rocks. ProCaulk is the bombdealio. It is easy. It is not messy. No mineral spirits, no blue tape, very little waste of caulk.

I'm going to have to go get the white caulk so I can show off my fancy, new caulk skills.

That's hot.

It's Over

The beginning of a relationship is so exhilarating. From the relief that it’s not like the old relationship to the thrill and excitement of all the new discoveries, it’s no wonder we get lost in the bright, glowing light of new love.

Even as the newness begins to wear off and we start seeing the minor (and not-so-minor) flaws, we try to hang onto that glorious rush of euphoria. We forgive the flaws. We tell ourselves that things will get better; things will change.

As time goes on, we try to focus on the positive and ignore the negative. We form mental pros and cons lists. We tell ourselves that the good outweighs the bad.

Eventually, the faults start accumulating and we find ourselves getting inappropriately angry over insignificant events. That’s when we know the end is near. We realize that all those things that infatuated us at the beginning are just glittery window dressing and that the substance just doesn’t exist. They aren’t really there for us when we need them. That’s what happened to me and that’s why it’s over.

I’m breaking up with Target.



Oh, I admit, I was smitten by the wide aisles and clean stores. The OXO brand kitchen implements and the whole wheat pasta selections wooed me. It may have just been the tint of the rose-colored glasses of infatuation that made the screaming, irritable babies less grating and irritating but even that seemed more tolerable at Target.

Sure, they weren’t open twenty-four hours a day and they didn’t carry the fat-free Fage yogurt but no one’s perfect, right? They had a Starbucks and they were less than five minutes from my office. Convenience, cleanliness, and caffeine all in the same place? What’s not to love? They even carried the elusive Honeycrisp apple for a few weeks each year.

Even with all the good, I realized there were problems in our relationship. The pharmacy failed to perform and the staff wasn’t exactly what I’d call satisfying. Still, I returned time and again hoping to recapture the glory of my early love for Target. I should have realized when I bought the pump spray bottles for my canola and olive oils that the end was near. I filled them, pumped them up, then watched in dismay as the oil went from a light, misting spray to a sputtering, dripping, disappointing drizzle. It made me think of old men with prostate problems and that’s not how you want to feel about things you use in your kitchen.

The final straw was a few weeks ago. I didn’t have time to go the long way and hit the drive-through Starbucks on the way to work. I debated the merits of stopping at the Target Starbucks. Sure, I’d have to get out of my car and it was raining but it was just a minute out of the way on the way to the office and it was only ten minutes until eight. I had time. I pulled into the parking lot, thrilled to be getting a spot up front. I unfurled my umbrella and made a damp dash to the door.

It was locked.

I was shocked.

I looked at the sign on the door and saw that they’d changed their hours. They didn’t open until eight o’clock. That was it for me. The end. Target just wasn’t there for me when I needed them.

I can’t close this post without a small confession. Recently, I was out of town on business and my customer wanted to run by Target. I wasn’t going to buy anything but I had a gift card. The lure of the Archer Farms Chai Cookie was too much and I really did need a hat.

I feel so dirty.

New Post!

There's a new post at I Paid For That.

Wormy (aka ChefH)has been riding me about some recipes so I'll try to get them posted here tonight.

I'm also feeling a bit green and that has nothing to do with my dinner.

What Can One Person Do?

When a task seems so daunting you don't even know where to start, the question of "What can I do?" might discourage you from even trying. Let me tell you what one person can do. One person can have an idea and share that idea with another person. From there, it grows until "just one person" turns into a team with a mission.

Susan G. Komen's sister, Nancy Brinker, made a promise. As her sister was losing her battle with breast cancer, Nancy promised to do what she could to warn women that breast cancer can strike unexpectedly and that mammograms and breast self-examinations can save lives. Nancy started the Susan G. Komen for the Cure foundation and has made huge strides in research, education, and assistance.

Where does the money raised go? What does it do? It provides meals to families dealing with breast cancer; it provides breast cancer patients with transportation to and from treatment; it helps underserved patients receive medication and mammograms; and it helps patients get prostheses or wigs. It funds research. It provides for education and awareness. It matters. Every penny matters. Each "just one person" who does something, anything, makes a difference.

Is it all serious? No. There was much laughter and celebration associated with the race weekend. Survivors were cheered, friends reunited, fake boobs dispensed, cookies eaten, money raised. Lots of money. As the matching funds come in over the next few weeks, that dollar amount will rise. A screen shot of the TeamGDT page is below.



I'm so proud to be a part of this cause. I AM THE CURE!

55 Fiction Friday! September 7, 2007

It's time again for 55 Fiction Friday!
Quick explanation: 55 fiction is a very, very short story of exactly 55 words. It needs to have a character, conflict and resolution.

The Wikipedia article on 55 Fiction is here and some great examples are here..

If you'd like to play along, I tell you how at the end of this post.



Here's my 55 for this week:

Limit

Fifty-five, fifty-five. It rang in her head. Why was it so hard? It seemed simple enough. It was simple, right? Fifty-five, fifty-five. No more, no less. Just fifty-five. She pounded her fists in frustration and with an irritated yet resigned sigh turned to look at him.

“Ma’am? Do you know how fast you were going?”


MrWurdi's 55

Knock, Knock! Who's There?

Here's to you, church door knocker.

That's right, you took the time to attend classes about our Lord Savior and now you're spreading the word.

You learned how to knock like a cop with a warrant - demanding attention to your passive message of love.

Pamphlet delivered, name checked off. Next!

It's all about the love.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Come play! Add your story to the comments or put it on your blog and I'll link to it. It's fun. You'll like it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gifts From the Internet

I really am sincere about posting every day this week. Today was more difficult and I apologize if you've come here and been greeted with stale content.

There are so many gifts we get from the internet, internets, interweb, whatever: Google searches, SPAM, new blog friends, odd news stories, cool sites, etc.

I'd like to share with you a few of the Gifts from the Internet that I've received lately. First, a standard among bloggers - Google searches that lead to my blog:

GMILF - Dude. That's kind of sick. While I am a grandmother and I'm not exactly chopped liver the whole idea of a GMILF is kind of skeevy. Ew. I know, I know, I shouldn't be judgmental. After all, MrWurdi is a granddad and I'm not skeeved about him (STOP READING NOW, MrsStevens). In fact, I think MrWurdi is pretty damned hot. Really hot. He's way sexy.(YOU CAN READ AGAIN NOW, MrsStevens)

May You Have An Interesting Life - I did a blog post on that in January. Mostly, I was whining but I thought it had a good ending. Apparently, many people read something that made them Google that phrase. Hi, Interesting Life Seekers! Shit happens! It's okay. Good stuff happens, too. Don't dwell on the bad stuff.

Snuggle and Pain in the Ass Bitch Yeah? What? I can't be snuggly and bitchy? This one cracked me up. Apparently, the Google searcher was a complete and total masochist.


SPAM - Who the fuck is James Foster and why are people trying to send him email at my accounts?


Finally, one of my favorite gifts from the internet is finding people who inspire me and entertain me. I want to share these people with you. Eventually, I'll get around to updating my blog roll but, for now, let me just tell you about them.

Lindystars aka Danielle the Hor Blogger - You've heard me bitch about typos, words spelled incorrectly and horrific grammar. Lindy/Danielle, I don't care. I love your blog.

SGTRedline - I love your eclectic posting style. I never know what I'm going to see on your site and I absolutely love that. You play along with my 55 Fiction Friday and always inspire me to impress you. However, I must admit. I am an attention whore. The fact that you blogrolled me and called me "Linguistically Gifted" has garnered my undying blog devotion.

Finally, SanityOptional - I don't remember how I found you. Heck, you're not even here in the U.S. but I love your blog and I love the way you think. I hate that you have webdrama that makes you moderate your comments and I hope you get that job. Please, please, keep writing. You rock.

Final Episode: Bitching Until I'm Red, White and Blue in the Face (at least for now)

PART THREE – PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN

A few months ago, I read a Washington Post article from 1998 on “The Myth of the Melting Pot.” The author of part one, “One Nation, Indivisible?” William Booth, wrote:

…a Jew from England named Israel Zangwill penned a play whose story line has long been forgotten, but whose central theme has not. His production was entitled "The Melting Pot" and its message still holds a tremendous power on the national imagination – the promise that all immigrants can be transformed into Americans, a new alloy forged in a crucible of democracy, freedom and civic responsibility.

Is it possible? Can we, the legal citizens of the United States of America embrace being Americans? Can we stop identifying ourselves by the countries and loyalties of our ancestors? I want for us all to say, proudly, “I am an American! Period.”

In William Booth’s six part article, one of the things he wrote really disturbed me. He said:

Many immigrant parents say that while they want their children to advance economically in their new country, they do not want them to become "too American."

Am I the only person who sees a problem with this?

Booth went on to write:

One study of the children of immigrants, conducted six years ago among young Haitians, Cubans, West Indians, Mexican and Vietnamese in South Florida and Southern California, suggests the parents are not alone in their concerns.

Asked by researchers Alejandro Portes and Ruben Rumbauthow how they identified themselves, most chose categories of hyphenated Americans. Few choose ‘American’ as their identity.
Then there was this – asked if they believe the United States in the best country in the world, most of the youngsters answered: no.

William Branigan, who wrote part three, “Immigrants Shunning Idea of Assimilation,” in the “The Myth of the Melting Pot” series interviewed Maria Jacinto, who lives in Omaha with her husband and their five children. She speaks only Spanish and says, "When my skin turns white and my hair turns blonde, then I'll be an American."

Mrs. Jacinto, hair and skin color don’t make an American. Why did you become a citizen if you don’t want to be American? Are you simply entitled to live here and benefit from what other Americans have fought and died for all these years?

I’ve been very curious but not had the opportunity to ask: How do legal immigrants feel about illegal immigrants? Is it wonderful to welcome people who enjoy the same ancestry, food and music as their forefathers? Or are they disconcerted? Do they worry that the influx of illegal immigrants causes people to look at them with the suspicion that they, too, are illegal? Are illegal immigrants encouraged to seek legal citizenship?

I don’t have the answer to the question, “What is an American?” I don’t think there is an easy answer; however, I think the answer starts with citizenship. If you’re going to apply for and are granted citizenship, then you are an American. If you’re not interested in becoming an American or in being here legally (married to an American or in possession of a green card or as a visitor), please allow me to show you the door.

Our national motto is still E Pluribus Unum meaning, “From Many, One.”

This is the United States of America. Let’s unite in our pride in being American. We may not like everything about this country. There may be political strife and discord. We may want a revolution to start now, muthaf*****! (love you, Mags) The thing is, we’re in a country where we can fix it. We can talk about it. We can, if we like, vote.

How about it? Shall we all jump into Zangwill’s melting pot and become “a new alloy forged in a crucible of democracy, freedom and civic responsibility?”

I’m in.

More Bitching Until I'm Red, White, and Blue in the Face

PART TWO - WHAT DID YOU SAY?

In my last post, I suggested language as a way to maintain national identity in a society celebrating diversity. I’ve recently posted my disdain for SMS and other lazy language trends. Words and language matter. I love words, hence, my blog name. Until we learn to harness any potential psychic communication, language is the main way we interact with others.

The argument has been made that there’s not an official language of the United States. True. However, I think there should be an official language and it should be English.

Let me share a few random incidents with you.

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I have a friend, an attorney, who went to work for the prosecutor’s office in Houston. She was “strongly encouraged” to learn Spanish so she could do her job. In Houston. Houston, Texas. Houston, TX, USA.

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I read a story about how a group of people waiting to have their day in traffic court had waited almost all day for that moment. After lunch, the bailiff requested that all non-English speaking defendants come to the front to be processed first because the translator would be leaving early.

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Both of my children have worked at AutoZone. They were told that if they learned to speak Spanish, they’d earn an extra $2.00 an hour.

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Even South Park has weighed in on the language/immigrant debate with their episode titled, “Goobacks.” Episode 806 addresses how an influx of immigrants changes the town. I’ll link to a synopsis of the story later.

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In the mood for cheesesteak? At Geno’s Steaks in Philadelphia, the owner has posted a sign stating, "This Is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING `SPEAK ENGLISH."'

The Fox News version of the story (from summer 2006) is here.
The MSNBC version is here.

Lawsuits have been threatened. Vento, the owner, has been accused of being a racist who doesn’t want “brown” people frequenting his place of business. Please, keep in mind that Vento’s grandparents struggled to learn English after arriving from Sicily in the 1920s. He understands discrimination and claims that’s not what he’s doing. He further said no customer had ever been turned away because of the policy and his employees are instructed to help those who don’t speak English learn to order their sandwich.

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As a final anecdote, let me tell you about Palmira. Palmira was born in Nicaragua. She was proud of her heritage and retained her Nicaraguan citizenship even after marrying a United States Marine and moving to the United States with him. She had children here, children who by right of birth were U.S. citizens yet Palmira remained Nicaraguan. For over twenty years, she reared her children to appreciate and live with American values while still appreciating the heritage that came from both of their parents. My friend, Katia (who blogs at My Nerdy Thoughts but not nearly enough), is Palmira’s daughter. Katia followed in her father’s footsteps and became a U.S. Marine much to the understandable pride of both her parents. Still, Palmira retained her Nicaraguan citizenship.

More than twenty years after Palmira came to the United States, the political climate in Nicaragua changed. Palmira was ready to embrace being an American and applied for citizenship. When the day came that Palmira would officially become an American and share citizenship with her neighbors and children and husband, her family accompanied her at the courthouse. Not allowed to witness the ceremony, they waited outside the door. Afterwards, Palmira exited to join her family. She was crying. Her family, knowing how important this was to her, at first assumed the tears were of joy at what she’d done. They were wrong. Palmira’s tears were not of joy. She was upset.

The officials had offered to let her give the oath in Spanish.



I don’t have a problem with people earning more money because they’re bi- or multi-lingual. That’s awesome and I would love to be fluent in more than one language. I don’t think it should ever be required that someone in the U.S. be required to learn another language just to do their job unless, of course, that job is as a translator.

The language thing really chaps my ass. When is it going to stop? Sure, language evolves and I love that it does. I like the fact that Spanish and Greek and Italian and Asian and words from so many other languages have become a part of the English language. I don’t want to see signs in the courthouse written in a variety of languages. I don’t want to drive down the road and not be able to tell by the street signs if I’m in Juarez or Kansas. I don’t want to press one to speak English. I don’t want tech support to get pissed if I ask them to repeat themselves (slowly, please) because I had trouble understanding they hadn’t quite mastered the accent or language. If someone is going to take the naturalization oath and become a U.S. citizen, they should do it in English.

Since the argument “there’s no official language” is still out there, here’s my rebuttal:

If you want to live in America and become a citizen and benefit from the rights and privileges granted by the United States Constitution and Bill of Rights, then learn to speak the language in which they were written.


If you can’t be bothered to learn to speak the language, perhaps you don’t wish to be an American after all. More on that tomorrow…


On a lighter note, I thought the following cartoon was funny.

Bitching Until I'm Red, White, and Blue in the Face

Back in January, I wrote a little piece called ¿Dónde está Miami? ~or~ Where is Miami?

I ranted about an American family who had to learn to speak Spanish to function in their new hometown of Miami. Since that time, I’ve realized a few things. I wasn’t clear enough about what I felt. By omitting some of my thoughts, I’ve potentially offended some people I didn’t mean to offend. Side note: Sometimes I do mean to offend. That wasn’t one of those times. Another possible problem with that incomplete blog post is that I may have given the impression that I condone racism. I don’t. I regret not making clear that I love people of all ethnic backgrounds. Over time, I regretted having not expounded upon my feelings about the whole situation. In the next few days, I’m going to attempt to remedy that.

PART ONE – MULTICULTURAL MELTDOWN

When I was a kid, I remember hearing America described as a melting pot. At the time, that sounded like a really cool thing. New arguments make me question what I once thought made the most sense. The old phrases are being jettisoned and new ones becoming darlings of the media. Multiculturalism and assimilation are the new buzzwords. There’s been a call to rename what we’re doing here a tossed salad with everyone retaining their original culture. Those who favor assimilation are accused of promoting a completely homogenous society with a loss of individualism. Those in favor of immigrants retaining their original cultural identity are criticized by others who say failing to integrate leads to separatism.

The tossed salad description doesn’t work for me. The carrot retains its unique carroteristics. Yes, I made up that word. The carrot doesn’t become a salad. The same goes for the cucumbers, croutons, and all the rest of the ingredients in the salad bowl. They don’t become salad, they remain separate. The problem with the salad analogy and multiculturalism as they’re being promoted is that they doesn’t simply celebrate diversity, but rather, they encourage it to the point of abandoning what it means to be part of a greater something. I’m going to get completely lost in the salad analogy if I’m not careful so I’m abandoning it. Plus, there’s that whole Urban Dictionary definition of tossed salad and I’m not going there.

I digress.

Are you an American or not?

If you were born here or you chose to become a citizen, then you’re an American. It seems rather simple to me. Unless you have dual citizenship, then you’re not a Korean-American, Mexican-American, African-American, or Whatever-American. One exception I can live with is First-Generation-American. If a person isn’t born here but chooses to legally come here from another country, I’m completely fine with that person having “first generation” status and receiving government funding for help in getting started here.

Am I suggesting that family history and culture be abandoned in favor of a homogenized society? Not at all. We need to show not just a tolerance for other cultures and histories but an embracing of them. Our tolerance needs to not be such that we lose our Americanism in the face of being tolerant. Why can’t our tolerance be that we welcome the different accents of people whose families haven’t been here for generations? For that matter, why can’t we be more tolerant of those people whose accents identify them as being from a different part of the U.S.?

I mentioned earlier that I’d worried about the possibility that I’d offended with my earlier post. Let me tell you a little story.

I have a very dear friend who watched intolerance firsthand. Her father came here legally, attended school, and earned a Master’s Degree. Even though his vocabulary and understanding of grammar were so much better than many people he encountered, his Spanish accent remained quite prominent. He was frequently and rudely told that he “needed to learn to speak English.” That makes me angry. I say celebrate the accents! Celebrate the food, the dress, the music.

Sit down to the new All-American dinner of Egg Foo Carne with Hush Matzos on the side. How about a nice Haggis* Schnitzel and Kotopoulo Scallopine? Top it all off with a big slice of apple pie. Put your iPod on International Shuffle and enjoy the sounds of the music of the world.

Our diversity is part of what makes this country so amazing. Celebrate that diversity! However, don’t stop celebrating being an American. How do we do that? How about national pride? How about language?

More on that next…



*Confession: the thought of haggis makes me more than a little gaggy but I was trying to make a point.

I Have a Confession To Make

I have a completely raging blog-on for a certain fellow. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m quite happy with MrWurdi and the object of my blog desire appears to be very happily married to a wonderful woman. It’s not like that. It’s just that my creative bone gets more than a little firm when I read his posts.

His name is Johnny Virgil and he posts at 15 Minute Lunch.


What does he post about, you ask? Why, everything! He posts about neighbors, coworkers, friends, random drivers, and his brothers, The Snitch and Houdini. He posts about travel and food and almost killing people. It’s okay, the almost killing people stuff happened before he could be charged as an adult. I feel a little awkward telling you this (since I’m such a delicate and innocent gal) but he posts a lot about testicles. Retraction and removal of them seem to be hot topics but he certainly doesn’t limit himself.

I’ve, with permission, brought a little bit of Johnny to my blog. The following are snippets of his posts over time:

JV on Fellow Airline Passengers:
The BO hits me in the face like a Stinky Iron Fist. This was not just ordinary BO. This was, I am pretty sure, an actual sentient creature, separate from him, but in some sort of symbiotic relationship with his armpits. I base my sentience theory on the speed and accuracy with which it moved. The second he took off his coat, it immediately jumped off him, quickly surrounded my olfactory senses, and beat them into submission with an efficiency and purpose I’ve never seen in lower animals.

JV on Random People in the Office Bathroom:
He was diligently checking out his bare ass in the mirror, of course. What else would someone be doing in a bathroom at 6:45 in the morning?

JV on Dogs:
Me: Yeah, this was a husky/shepherd mix. cute little puppy. We named him Veal because he was in the cage all the time.

JV on Guppies:
"MOM! MOM! Come here! HURRY! THE MOTHER GUPPY IS HAVING BABIES! THERE'S HUNDREDS OF THEM! MOM! HURRY! OH CRIPES! OH, CRIPES THE FATHER GUPPY IS EATING THEM! THE FATHER GUPPY IS EATING THEM! NOW THE OTHER FISH ARE EATING THEM TOO! GET THE NET! OH JEEZ, NOW THE MOTHER IS EATING SOME! MAKE THEM STOP! MAKE THEM STOP! "

JV on Guppies + Electricity:
Every single one of my guppies instantly flipped over and floated to the top like cheerios in a bowl full of milk.

JV on Sky Diving:
Right at 5,000 feet, I grab the ripcord and yank it. About two seconds later, the chute pops, and my crotch goes from 120mph to 10mph in the space of a second. My shoulders get yanked backwards, and there’s something in my throat that I think I used to piss with.

JV on Fast Food:
"Yes, I would like the seizure with chicken fangers please. And a bottled water." Okay, I didn't ask specifically about lifting a picture from his blog but I wanted you to see how he provides visuals to enhance his stories.


See what I mean? The fellow is hysterical. Treat yourself to the archives. As the king in Alice in Wonderland said, `Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.'
A few words of warning: Go pee before you start reading. Seriously. I’ll explain about the Peequation* later.

After you’ve read all there is to read (and maybe even before then) go vote for Johnny at Blog Interviewer. He might win something!




*Idea shamelessly stolen from Johnny Virgil and to be modified to fit me at a later date.

IMHO, TLAs R a PITA.

The shorthand can’t be missed. It’s everywhere. Text messaging, instant messages, emails, and message boards are where the most frequent sightings occur. Even if you’re not into the whole texting thing, you see it in commercials and magazine ads. Recently, I read about a 13-year-old Scottish girl who turned in an essay written entirely in SMS shorthand. SMS has a few definitions but let’s go with Short Message Service for simplicity.

Not familiar with it? Keep in mind that I’m not a teenager or an expert in this method of communication. Still, I’ll attempt to provide an example - followed by a translation.

SMS:
IMHO, SMS does not make me LOL or ROTF. PPL use TLAs & think they’re GR8. 2 me, they’re a PITA. I M sure fans would like 2 tell me, “STFU, MYOB, QYB, and GOYHH.” Grammar is FUBAR, 2. OMG, & WTF s^ w/EWI & PWI? Apparently, I need 2 RTFM, bcuz I dont get it. I may B SOL. FFS, SSEWBA. YMMV. THX 4 listening. CUL8R & TTFN.

TRANSLATION:
In my humble opinion, short message service does not make me laugh out loud or roll on the floor (laughing). People use three letter acronyms and think they’re great. To me, they’re a pain in the ass. I am sure fans would like to tell me, “Shut the fuck up, mind your own business, quit your bitching and get off your high horse.” Grammar is fucked up beyond all recognition, too. Oh, my, God, and what the fuck is up with emailing while intoxicated and posting while intoxicated. Apparently, I need to read the fucking manual because I don’t get it. I may be shit out of luck. For fuck’s sake, someday soon everything will be an acronym. Your mileage may vary. Thanks for listening. See you later and tah-tah for now.

I admit, it’s a poorly written paragraph but it’s just an example.

I’m not an acronym hater. I work in a field where acronyms are everywhere. I don’t have a problem with using a little bit of the shorthand for casual writing. The same thing goes for lazy grammar and punctuation - in some cases.

Here’s where I have a problem. I don’t want to have to decrypt my text messages. I’m an adult, FFS. I don’t think it’s cool. I mean, really, does it take that much longer to type/tap out a few extra letters and use a little bit of punctuation?

When it comes to message boards, blogs and the like, you’re conversing with other people through the written word. Your typed words are the only impression of you that the other people get. It doesn’t have to be formal, MLA-approved writing but when you use incorrect grammar, misspelled words, and inappropriate punctuation, you’re giving the impression that you’re uneducated or that you just don’t care. Of course, if that’s the impression you want to give, fine. Do that. Have fun.

The informal use of the SMS and lousy writing bothers me more than it should but that is my problem. I’m working on keeping my eyes from rolling as much as I can. What really, really bugs the shit out of me is when people take this casual approach to written communication and bring it into the workplace. I have a customer who can’t spell to save his life and who uses the teenage-like shorthand in official business. Um, dude? Spell check is your friend and, while you’re at it, is it really that much harder to type out message than msg? Cancelled, instead of canx?

I’m turning into a curmudgeon.

I’d like to go to a nice restaurant and not see people wearing shorts or hear them shouting. I’d like to fly somewhere and not see people decked out in their most worn-out sweatpants. I’d like to see people be polite and ask to be excused when they bump into you. I’d like for those damned kids to stay off my lawn.

I’d like for people to know the difference between your and you’re. I’d like for them to know the difference between to, too, and two. Is subject/verb agreement that hard?

Am I perfect? Nope. I don’t expect to be, either. I just see us all sliding down that slippery slope. It’s the accepted dumbing down of America where the intellectual folks are ridiculed and not caring is considered cool. It makes me sad.

TTFN,
Ima

I Paid For That

There's a new post at I Paid For That?

If you'd like the non-rhyming account of my morning, that's the place to read it. I'm in a poem-y kind of mood this week so I've written a short poem about my Target experience.



I took myself to Target
While on my morning break.
I needed medication
To soothe a sinus ache.

The druggist hours were posted
For all the world to see.
Yet the door was locked down
On the Target pharmacy.

The employees weren't helpful
They didn't seem to care.
When I do more shopping
It surely won't be there.

I Paid For That?

I don't know what I was thinking. I haven't had time for this blog, let alone another. Still, I felt the need for a specialized blog. Since one of my frequent blogging subjects is service or a lack of it, I've started a blog titled, "I Paid For That?"

I'll still write here and plan to do that much more often but for now, check out the new one!

Random Thought #5: Chrysler? Crapsler!

Chrysler's suck. Really. See the picture? Chrysler, down the swirly.

Regular maintenance/tune-up actions can not be performed by the owner. You must take your vehicle into the dealer. For example, the fuel filter is supposed to be changed every 30,000 miles. What does it take to replace the fuel filter in the convertible? YOU HAVE TO DROP THE FUCKING FUEL TANK. Seriously. You have to drain it, drop it and then replace the filter. God forbid you'd have to replace the fuel pump. Guess where the geniuses at Chrysler put that? Inside the tank.

I just got off the phone with the Disservice Department. I'd called to find out how much it would cost to get my spark plugs and wires changed. See, it's impossible to do this minor little maintenance task yourself. Half the spark plugs are located in an inaccessible place (for the home mechanic) in the engine compartment. Guess how much it costs... gone on, guess.

Guessing?

Guess high, now.


$401.00

I'm guessing that one dollar there is Chrysler's way of saying, "HA! We have you bent over the fender and we're not using lube! Take that! And a little more!"

Top Chef - Season 2: Finale - Part 1

Noooooooooooo!!!!!

Bad judges!!!

How could you possibly keep Marcel and tell Sam to pack his knives and go??? Elia? Okay, I'm not happy about that but it's understandable. She's high-strung. She cracks under pressure. Sam?? My dreamy fantasy chef??? What the hell were you judges thinking????

I apologize for the excessive punctuation but I'm very upset.

Marcel is a whiny little boy. He's not a chef and he's certainly not a Top Chef. He's an immature kid playing with his Mr. Science chemical set.

Ilan seems talented but he does not branch out of his comfort zone often. He'll probably be a Top Chef one day but he's not there yet.

I'm tempted to not even watch next week. It seems I'm not the only one who feels this way. Comments to judge Tom Colicchio's blog numbered 2,235 at last count.


~EDIT~
I was too cranky to put a really thoughtful post together on this topic. If you'd like to read a nicely done review (even though I don't necessarily agree with her), go check out Kay at Gobstruck.

¿Dónde está Miami? ~or~ Where is Miami?

As I was getting ready to run errands the other day, I had the television on to provide background noise. I like background noise. I wasn’t really paying attention because I wasn’t watching television – I was just listening a little. The show hadn’t been on very long before I realized that it was Hogan Knows Best. Isn’t that what it’s called? One of the reality shows on VH-1? Hulk Hogan, former wrestling superstar, invites cameras in to film his family?

I commented on Becca’s blog that I don’t watch much reality TV. Top Chef is my favorite. Flavor of Love is my guilty pleasure. I guess I’ve had the Hogan family on enough to recognize their voices. I recognized the sound of the two kids complaining. They couldn’t get directions. They couldn’t order food.

This is where I started to get mad. Based on my half-hearted listening, I assumed they were on vacation because the focus of this show seemed to be the Hogan children’s inability to communicate with people in stores. These people were speaking Spanish. I could not believe the gall of these spoiled, obnoxious American kids who went on vacation and expected the people to cater to them and speak English. I was livid. No wonder the rest of the world has such disdain for Americans. They may envy our freedoms but our people are just fucking rude.

I started paying a bit more attention when the Hogan mom began talking about the whole family taking Spanish lessons. I was a bit confused but assumed they must be on an extended vacation. Intrigued, I started watching the show.

They weren’t on vacation. They’d moved. They had not moved out of the United States. This family was taking Spanish lessons so they could live and communicate in MIAMI. Miami, Florida. In the United States of AMERICA.

The Hogans could not get directions, could not buy vitamins, could not hire/direct household staff without first learning to speak Spanish. In Miami. Florida. USA.

Ladies and Gentlemen: That’s fucked up.

Please don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Latinos or the Spanish language. I might, inadvertently, offend by my ignorance of Latino vs. Mexican vs. Spanish but I don’t have any dislike for anyone based on their country of origin. It’s like this. I’ve been to Juarez and Cancun. I’ve been to Munich and Frankfurt. I’ve been to Korea. Not once did I expect that anyone from any of those countries would speak my language. Granted, I was in Korea as a child and we lived on a US military installation but I was in Mexico and Germany as an adult. I went with the knowledge that English was not the native language in those countries. It would have been arrogant to expect anyone to understand me.

Why should Americans living in America have to learn to speak Spanish in order to live in an American city? That’s just wrong. In my humble opinion, that is so very, very wrong.

Top Chef - Season 2

I love this show.

I love the judges.

I adore Tom Colicchio.

Cliff crossed the line this week. I liked him but he needed to go after what he pulled with Marcel.

I really don't see any need to blog the details of this show/episode. You can catch this episode on Bravo through the weekend, if you wish, or right before next week's new episode. Each of the judges (Tom Colicchio, Gail Simmons, and Padma Lakshmi) and some of last season's top finishers (Harold Dieterle, Lee Anne Wong, and Dave Martin) also has their own blog at BravoTV.

I love this show.

More Tallula...

I really loved this restaurant. Just posting what my companion and I ate was enough for one post so I decided to cut it short and continue my professions of love another day. Today is another day. I want to talk about the food. I've also been eating like I never heard of Weight Watchers so now seems like a good time for that.

As the king told Alice in Lewis Carroll's tale, "Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop." I shall do so.

Baby Burger
This was delightful. I'm not foodie enough to give the proper descriptions of flavor, mouthfeel, etc. but I know what I like and what I don't. This bite of beef was exquisite. It was moist and flavorful and I would love a full-size version one day.

Risotto Fritter
Mmmmm. Mmmmmmmmmmmm.... MMMMMMmmmm!!! It was crispy-ish on the outside and wonderfully creamy on the inside. The reddish-orange sauce was perfectly spiced.

Mahi-Mahi Ceviche
I really, really liked this. I'm so glad my companion ordered it because I'm still not sure I'm pronouncing "ceviche" correctly. I know I live in Redneckville. I just don't want to proclaim it with improper pronunciations. I wonder if I can point at it on menus and pretend I'm having a coughing fit or something.

Duck Spring Roll
I've never met a duck I didn't like. This was no exception. I was curious about the gastrique. The first time I'd heard the term was on Top Chef and it was used by a very pretentious contestant. I loved the gastrique. It was the perfect match to the tender duck in the crispy wrapper.

Steak Tartare
This was my absolute favorite of the Amuses. Beef? Cheese? Capers? Mustard? Completely drool-worthy and I want more. Now.

Liptaur on Crostini
While nothing was bad at Tallula, this was my least favorite Amuse item. The crunch was nice. The taste was nice. Goat cheese is always good. Quark? I don't know quark. I suppose I shall Google it at some point. It was okay. If I have the good fortune to find myself at Tallula again, I will pass on the Liptaur and get more Steak Tartare.

I raved about the salad (especially the cheese) with my last blog post so I'll just skip re-reviewing that and continue the dreaming of it.

Tuna Tartare
The mix of flavors in this was unexpected and completely delicious. The pineapple puree was the best little bit of sweetness for the creaminess of the avocado and the cool firmness of the cucumber. Icing on the cake? Sweet potato chips. I loved every single bite I took.

Goat Cheese Ravioli
I just had a bite of this. I thought grabbing the plate from my delightful dining companion and inhaling her food would be just a little bit impolite. I managed, barely, to restrain myself. Fortunately, I had something delicious waiting for me on my own plate.

Seared Hudson Valley Foie Gras
I'd never had foie gras before that night. I wasn't sure I'd like it. So, with all the lovely choices before me, one might ask why I chose the foie. Stupid government interference, that's why. Now, I'm not going to turn my second "I love Tallula" post into a rant about intrusive government but I will say that Chicago's ban of foie gras is what influenced my decision to order it. I thought I'd better try it before other cities jumped on the BANdwagon.

I loved it. It was creamy and hearty and delicious and I want to eat it again. I'll probably eat a few more trans fats before it's all said and done, too.

As for the desserts, I love desserts. While I'm usually a Creme Brulee purist, I enjoyed the Pear Brulee. The sorbets were not in flavors I would normally think of for sorbets but I thoroughly enjoyed them. Cookies are my weakness. I love cookies. Both desserts had cookies. By the time we got to the dessert portion of our meal, I was way outside of my Comfort Zone (thanks, Weight Watchers) but I. DID. NOT. CARE. There were cookies! And creamy brulee and sorbet! And Tawny Port!


Excuse me. I'm going to go think about exercise for a while. It IS the thought that counts, right?

(Thank you, Chef Nathan, thank you!)

Dinner at Tallula!

A few weeks ago, I dined at Tallula Restaurant with a dear friend who lives in the area. Nathan Anda is the chef and my dining companion is well known to him. Chef Nathan and the general manager sent us a bottle of wine they thought we’d like (Tittarelli Bonarda – completely new to me and thoroughly enjoyed). My companion and I decided not to get entrées but, instead, chose from the Amuse Your Mouth menu to start, followed by a salad, and then two appetizers each (in place of the entrée) and dessert.

From the Amuse Your Mouth portion of the menu:
(These are two-biters, designed to share. We split each of these.)
Baby Burger - black truffle butter, red onion marmalade
Risotto Fritter - roasted corn & scallion, romesco sauce
Mahi-Mahi Ceviche - citrus & green onion vinaigrette
Duck Spring Roll - confit leg, chipotle chili, orange gastrique
Steak Tartare - Dijon mustard, capers, Parmesan cheese tuile
Liptaur on Crostini - quark & goat cheese spread, micro salad

It was a hard call to determine which was my favorite but the steak tartare edged out the others for the win. For our beverage with this course, she had a glass of 2004 Santa Barbara Chardonnay and I had the 2003 Kunde Viognier.

Our salad was the Spicy Greens Salad - with pecorino vecchio, truffled acacia honey, pumpkin seed vinaigrette, aged balsamic. The salad was delightful but I fantasized about a plate piled high with the cheese and sauce. Chef Nathan then sent us a treat of a beef tenderloin served with duckfat-fried potatoes and sliced crimini (I think) mushroom with some kind of heavenly reduction.

For our entrée made of appetizers, we both had the tuna tartare. She also had the ravioli and I had the foie gras. The menu description follows.

Tuna Tartare - avocado, cucumber, crispy sweet potato chips, citrus vinaigrette, & spiced pineapple puree
Local Goat Cheese Ravioli - maitake mushrooms, sauteed broccoli rabe, lamb sugo
Seared Hudson Valley Foie Gras - sweet & sour quince, buckwheat crepe, blackberry syrup

We might not have ordered dessert. The chef just sent it out. I think he knew we were weight watchers and probably wouldn’t order it. With this, we had the Taylor Fladgate 10-Year-Old Tawny Port.

Pear Brûlée - Poached Pears, Ginger Snaps
Sorbet Duo - Pomegranite and grapefruit, Shortbread Cookies

The atmosphere was lovely and I can't wait to go back once they finish the EatBar. The food was beyond exceptional. I've perused menus from my local establishments and they all are lacking. I live in a culinary wasteland.

I long for Tallula where there are 70 wines offered by the glass, where the food is decadent and delicious, where dining is an experience, and where the people who provide it love food and enjoy sharing that love with others.

Allow me to share one final appreciation for Tallula. How can you not love a place that categorizes the wines by the glass in such a creative way? (From their menu)

Tickling Your Nose
'...to think of the soil' (Earthy Reds)
'Exuberance After the Crush' (Fruity Reds)
'...but your color was seductive' (Medium-Bodied Reds)
'And With a Touch of Spice Turned the Red Face into a Shadow of Delight' (Spicy Reds)
'The Angelic Side of Hedonistic' (Full-Bodied Reds)
'Summer in a Bottle' (Lighter Style Whites & Rosés)
'Spring & Fall in a Glass' (Medium-Bodied Whites & Rosés)
'Wickedly Ponderous' (Full-Bodied Whites & Rosés)