Squid Ink

First, a bit of business: I had a lovely and hilarious post about last week’s ANTM and WordPress ate it.  I seemed to have been publishing at the exact moment that they were upgrading b/c my post vanished and when I logged in again, everything on the control panel looked different.  And I don’t like the new set up.  Hmpf.

Second, for the title of the post, I owe gratitude to Brawndo. And also to my sad competitive nature.  I was never any good at any sports and thus quickly stopped participating in them (b/c how fun is it to suck at something?  not).  This leaves me competing at utterly stupid things like bulletin boards.  I must create the best board in the school.  The teachers, when they walk past, must know that they have been soundly defeated.  They must know that I am the coolest parent in the school and they must beg the principal to put my kids in their classes.  It helps that putting up bulletin boards and doing art projects gives me excuses to go into the educational supply store.  I long to fully equip an elementary classroom with cool supplies.  But no children may mess them up.  Shoo, messy children.  Where was I?  Oh yes…I win!  For this month’s art class, I introduced the kids to Keith Haring (funny story: Lily’s teacher looked up Haring on the internet to see how to spell his name.  The site she went to had an advisory about mature content.  She was relating the tale of our class and her search to the principal who exclaimed, “She didn’t show explicit material to the kids, did she?”  Nice.  yeah, if I don’t show the kids a poster of two cartoon men jacking one another off, who will?).  I had them pose in front of an overhead projector and another mom and I traced them.  Then we each took home a pile and gave them a thicker outline and cut them out.  Then I arranged them on the wall!  Behold:

I love it.  I’m hoping that a photographer at the school can take a photo of it more straight-on so that we can blow it up and sell it at the silent auction.  The kids, of course, have much to say about it, they were far more engaged by the end-product of this project than any of the others we’ve done.  Which is nice, of course, but the important thing?  I win.

Tonight was a Chilean feast, featuring an argument with my 8 year old about the proper pronunciation of Chile. “Chil-lay” says I, and not even with a thick Jimmy Smits on SNL accent. “Mom. It’s Chilly,” he informs me. No, I tell him, it is Chil-lay and if you go to that country I assure you they are not calling the place “chilly” (in fact, they may be calling it El chupacabre for all I know, and I don’t call Germany “Deutschland” so who knows why I’ve taken this stand, but still). He informed me, complete with eyeroll, that his teachers call it Chilly and that is correct. Grr. I am the Mother. I know all! When those teachers feed you and step on your damned legos trying to come read to you at night, THEN they can determine how we shall pronounce the names of South American countries!

The food was less obstreperous (I feel like I’ve just used that word recently in a post…did I ? It’s a good word, but mustn’t over use. Esp when mis-using), I made Empanandas from the Sundays at Moosewood cookbook. And the salsa and Mushroom Stuffed Eggs from the same book. All were super yummy. Pretty far off my current course of eating, but I tried to show restraint. Steve declared the salsa the Best Ever, so that was a hit. All hail Muir Glen Fire Roasted Tomatoes!

In other news…I’m currently listening to Jonathon Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke. I’m enjoying it well enough, but it was praised to the heavens when it came out. I’m not loving it and I wonder if it’s partly due to the fact that I’m listening. I think I’ll go get the book tomorrow and see if that enhances my enjoyment. It’s a great conceit with really interesting characters. It’s set in England in the early 1800s, and the basic notion is that in the Renaissance or there abouts, magic was real. It disappeared, for reasons not yet revealed to me, and has begun to re-emerge. It’s gothic and funny and mysterious. When I listen while driving (for example the nearly 3 hours I spent driving to get a guinea pig to and from the vet to have a cyst removed. A wee little growth that was causing no harm. Oy.), I can pay full attention, but when I try to listen while I do things in the house, I lose part of it. I can listen to podcasts of The Bugle or Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me with no trouble, but I think I need to hold weightier books in my hand. I just got some P.G. Wodehouse to load onto the ol’ ipod, that’s light enough to listen to.

Lord, I feel like Andy Rooney is blogging for me lately.

I wore my Dickinson sweatshirt while I was working car line yesterday. I got several “Oh did you go there? My husband/brother/niece goes/went there.” Never anyone I overlapped with. Today, a woman I’m friendly with came up and said, “I saw you in that Dickinson sweatshirt, did you go there?” I said yes. “When did you graduate?” 89. “OMG! Me too!” I told her that she’s always looked kinda vaguely familiar to me, but I’ve re-encountered so many people from Julianna’s baby years ad then there are just some people who look like lots of people. “What was your major?” Psych and American Studies. “I was Psych!” I kind of apologetically told her that I was a drama person, not “greek” and thus didn’t know everyone. “I was a Delta Nu.” Okay, the one sorority I actually knew a lot of people in. “I used to hang out at Phi Ep” The one fraternity I actually went into. Her kids were there, I wanted to say, “Did you loan me a lighter?” or “Did I barf on you?” We determined that our areas of focus in psych didn’t overlap, so while we may have had intro classes together, we likely didn’t after that. She was probably one of the people in the Abnormal Psych class that thought we must be having a test on the rare days that I showed up…What was I thinking scheduling an 8 am class? I mean, really. I asked Stacey (a Delta Nu) if she remembered her, and she said she thinks she had “big brown hair.” I wanted to look her up, but my yearbook is in hiding, apparently. Steve’s yearbook photo is on the 1988 Alumni Reunion page though…Find him? Hint: he’s not the small, stuffed one, but you’re close.

Dinner was a tasty stew from Belize and a nasty soup from Columbia.

Tonight we dined in Brazil. This stew was quite delicioso. We also had cheese potatoes from my Global Vegetarian book. They were a very big hit. I, of course, only had a taste or two. Gotta tell you, finding vegetarian chow in South and Central America is a challege. Sure you have beans and rice and quesadillas, but there’s only so much of that one can take. If nothing else all this global eating is telling where it would be good to travel as a vegetarian. Africa, Middle East, India–no problem! Eastern Europe, South America? Not so much.

Catching up a bit…Ben is sporting that one front tooth gone, one coming in look that I love:

and yes, he is still wearing the piece of yarn and beads he got at Field Day last June. See his fabulous haircut? I took the kids to The Temple for a trim over Spring Break. Ben’s bangs are a bit shorter. Lily is unchanged. But Julianna went shorter and layered. Then the stylist straightened it, which was weird:

She didn’t wash it for 3 days, knowing it would spring back up. She has come to terms with it now, thank goodness, b/c it looked a bit weird, honestly.

And, um…I’m UTTERLY uninspired. Go read Stuff White People Like.

So, for our second Family Movie Night, I rented Labyrinth. 1986, David Bowie, the dark Muppets…I remembered LOVING this movie, but really didn’t recall much else about it. One thing I didn’t remember? It’s a musical. Oh yes, several musical numbers, none of which I recalled–Steve was alo very surprised by them. And not pleasantly, I might add. Because they suck in that very special way that David Bowie sometimes does. You expect Ziggy Stardust, and then you get Tin Machine. And the suckitude does not begin and end with the music. It’s hamfisted. Okay, it’s a kids’ movie, but I’m disappointed in High School Senior me for not noticing. What I DID recall was how much I loved Jennifer Connelly’s shirt/vest combo. Big peasanty sleeves, brocade vest, very late 80s chic. Frankly, it still holds up. I still want that shirt. Anyway, heavy metaphor, like in The Phantom Tollbooth. I imagine I found it seriously clever, bless my heart.

It wasn’t all bad. In fact, one part I’d forgotten–the Helping Hands–was really cool. And the Muppets hold up better than I expected them to. I think the kids liked it. Probably not as much as Escape to Witch Mountain, last week’s pick. One thing that really jumped out at me was the pacing. Movies move so much faster now and I find myself getting impatient with the interminable journey. Broken up by bad songs. Move it along, people! I do regret that we weren’t able to get our wedding vows from Bowie’s little speech at the end. “Fear me. Love me. Do as I say and I will be your slave.” That would have been awesome.

We concluded our African cuisine week with Ethiopian food–one of my favorites.  I made two different stews, one lentil, one vegetable based, both out of Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant.   The book suggested serving them together, which is traditional and all, but they were spiced almost identically.  Luckily it was good, but really there could have been some variety.  Kids loved it, including the friend Julianna brought home.  The injera didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped, but it’s tricky stuff.  It’s a flat, spongey pancake used to pick up the food.  The kids were all over that aspect, but my injera wasn’t really up to the task.  I had teff flour, but it wasn’t freshly groud and apparently it loses its natural rising powers or something?  So I used a recipe that called for baking soda and club soda and we ended up scooping our W’et with thin flat Irish soda bread.  I’m a child of the world, baby.

…was Morocco.  We honeymooned in Tenerife, which is off the coast of Morocco, owned by Spain, and largely populated with the English.  But tonight, Moroccan food!  We had a cous-cous, the national dish, made with fake beef chunks from May-Wah instead of lamb.  It was yummy, and fairly well received.  Also had Dukkah, which would have been better if I’d had proper hazelnuts instead of these weird Chilean hazelnuts from Trader Joes.  We finished with Moroccan Date Cake with generous squirts of Whipped Cream.  Right now, I have teff flour in a bowl, hopefully fermenting, so that I can make injera and round off our week with an Ethiopian meal.  I might need to do a week on/week off, though.  Travel, while broadening, is exhausting.

I still miss Marvita. And I do. not.understand Claire. A breastfeeding mother. Leaves her baby for what? 6 weeks? 8 weeks? She’s dedicated enough that we are treated to a shot of her pumping her breast. But she says it would be “cheating my daughter if I didn’t go for my dreams.” I’m going out on a limb here, but I think that baby would rather have her mommy. Just a guess.

what, exactly, IS Anya? She’s like this fairy ice princess thing with a weird accent and no pigment or eyelashes. I keep thinking we’ll get a storyline that might at least tell me why she talks that way (if it was in the casting show, I missed it. Because I wasn’t going to watch this steaming pile anymore) but no. what is she?… Now I KNOW what Dominique is. When will the NAACP step in and stop these shows from casting “the black bitch”? I mean just one season in which there wasn’t one. Sure, there are white bitches every season too, but there are seldom more than 3 black girls and one of them is always a delusional bitch. That, btw is what Dominique is. In case you hadn’t picked that up.

Tyra teaches them to “pose with pain.” Apparently if you’re in a shoot, and you get stuck, the secret is think about “pain, but pretty.” Even more odd, it seems to work. It was nice to have validated my belief that those “high fashion editorial poses” are actually a manifestation of menstrual cramps. Freaky Fairy Queen Anya wins the challenge and gets a one-on-one fashion shoot with Nigel Barker. For the shoot, he puts her naked in a bed. He knows he has the best job, ever.

Back at the henhouse, the other girls are talking about Dominique right in front of her. She asks them to leave so she can sleep and they won’t. Claire is being flat nasty. Aw man, they’re making me feel bad for her. No fair. The show this week is all horrible bitchiness and super sweetness from Aimee. This makes it clear that she and her super secret Mormon underpants (that she is so glad she never had to take off for the camera) will go home.

Oh, Saliesha? In her life as a Cover Girl? She gets to go to castings. ooooo!

The shoot is to portray a type of music. Fatima is heavy metal, Stacey Ann (who?) is house (not Gregory House, although that would be cool), Aimee feebly tries to look R&B. Oh, and Lauren has never heard Britney Spears, so she can’t pose in a pop way Because she has spent her life AVOIDING pop. Ah, to be 20 and defined by music. Dominique looks even more like a man. And Whitney must just be stunning in person b/c they love her soooo much. But she looks like Wynona Judd. Who is (or was) a pretty enough woman, but not a model.

Panel. Actually they liked Lauren’s shot, even though it was edited as a bad shoot. Tyra gives a go at making Katarzyna cry, suggesting that she looked so good in her shot with a short wig that they might actually cut her hair! Katarzyna blanches, but does not give up those delicious, delicious tears. First photo goes to Whitney. Please. It’s down to Aimee and Claire. Aimee knows the gig is up and starts snuffling. Claire–whose photo was “comical, blase, and stoic” huh?–of course gets to stay. Aimee delivers those tears, phew.

Next week: Go-sees! In which, once again, the “fat” girl has to try to squeeze into size 2s when she is easily an 8.

Only in Kenya.  Turns out it’s also a good place for slimy spinach.  We had a bad leg on our journey.  It was bound to happen, I suppose.  I made Kenyan Corn, Bean, and Spinach Mash which really did sound good to me, but…wasn’t.  The spinach was slimy.  Slimy is not an acceptable food texture.  The Garbanzo stew was good, but I didn’t make enough, so I plumped it out by stirring up left over rice and veggie sausage.  The mango snow for dessert was good, but since it is made of mangoes and cream, I’m not surprised.

This morning, when she awoke, Lily said to me “I dreamed that I was at Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends [TV show] and there was a guy that turned into a giant vulva.”

Me, sure I had heard wrong, r’s and a’s are hard to distinguish: Revolver?

Lily: Nooo [implied "you idiot"], a VULVA.  And the giant vulva was chasing a spider.

oKAY.  And she referred to the Vulva as “he.”  So make of it what you will.

For those of you with an unnatural interest in what I eat, I’ve started a semi-blog about my breakfast smoothies.  Check it:  Ugli Shax

…well, no it isn’t. It’s Africa still. We did the Western Region today, blithely ignoring Ellen’s suggestion that we eat the groundnut stew (I think it may show up later in the week, and I can have moderate amounts of peanut). We had Nigerian Okra and Plantain stew, which suprised me by actually being good. Everyone liked it. The Futari, which I thought was going to be the big hit–I remembered getting it at Boma (the only place at Disney I’d care to go to again)and loving it–was not especially well liked. Maybe a bad recipe. Also beloved were the Algerian Green Beans with Almonds, but really what’s not to like about oily garlicky green beans? We finished with Ginger Drink, which was okay, but will really sing later tonight when I add mint and rum to it…

The next two nights are 4-H nights, which means I don’t get home until nearly 7. Crockpot dishes from Kenya and Morocco!

And Laura, you answered your own boomerang question before I could get there, but I love Raymond Loewy and if I could go back in time I would study industrial design instead of American Studies and Psychology. Just as likely, I will go back in time and visit the 1939 World’s Fair and see his work there….sigh.