Tuesday, April 11, 2006
I CARE FOR...
...the Arctic Monkeys. They remain the band of choice for my runs (and for my life, really). And, in spite of the fact that they look like they're barely pushing 15, I find the band members very attractive (especially the uberdorky drummer who's so slight that he seemed to be on the verge of passing out after their SNL performance). You know what they say about girls and rock stars...
I DON'T CARE FOR...
...quick-drying clear gel deodorant that's not supposed to leave white residue on your clothes, but does anyway. Talk about blatantly lying to the consumer! Ugh!
Sunday, April 09, 2006
BLOG, ANYONE?
I've given my readers so many new posts this weekend that I'm all blogged out at the moment.
Why don't you folks blog amongst yourselves for a while?
Let me know what you come up with.
Why don't you folks blog amongst yourselves for a while?
Let me know what you come up with.
AN IMPROMPTU DINNER AND A MESSAGE FROM THE UNIVERSE?
So, I did manage to escape the restful cocoon of my bedroom today long enough to have dinner with a friend we'll call K. As we're talking about her new boyfriend and her new apartment, she leans over her MahiMahi towards me and, dropping her voice conspiratorially, says, "The secret to life, Sabila: bitchiness."
I found all of this very bizarre, since another friend has been saying the same thing of late and my brother, has long been an advocate of aloofness and haughtiness.
It's almost as if the universe is trying to tell me something.
I found all of this very bizarre, since another friend has been saying the same thing of late and my brother, has long been an advocate of aloofness and haughtiness.
It's almost as if the universe is trying to tell me something.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Etymology and the Esperanto
Somewhere between lolling in our chairs at the Esperanto, where we often confabbed about the art of penning love letters to boys who hardly appreciate love letters and waiting anxiously for Etymology, the only class we ever shared in college, to start, Rich penned the following poem for me.
"For Sabila"
She sighs, crying, "When will someone come
to sweep me off my feet, Rich?"
But I don't know, why there is no 'us' ––
even when there's a 'you' and a 'me', love.
And she's really very beautiful, my friend.
If you could only but see her, reader.
You'd want to abduct her from the page,
steal her away from me, carry her off
into the wilting wake of day.
I won't let you take her from me. But if you could taste ––
the way her sable hair succumbs to her neck,
spilling on to fitful shoulders ––
how her delicate frame deliquesces into mine.
How the spoon tries to hug the fork
but cannot find its fit here –– or there.
Sabila is studying for her Whitman final now.
She says that Walt loves all,
would love her as well. (And I guess that means he could
love me too.) And maybe I should better disguise her,
wrap her up in twine and knots, in splendid Technicolor veils,
so that she will not be known for being who she is and is not.
I cannot paint her well enough in words,
to write how her hand sometimes catches her cheek
to keep her sultry mind in check.
She told me once that sometimes, walking from the PATH,
she'll sometimes talk to herself, and that's the moment I knew that she was me,
a part of me lost, absorbed in her delicate exterior, in her dark skin,
torrential hair, like shadows to pull me into her nighttime sun.
She is the moon –– the truth illusion imparts.
We are so caught in idyllic dreams and romantic fancies, spoon.
In darker recesses, my mind deconstructs the phantom
beanpole-vestige, the man this fork would allow him knife.
She says he's arrogant and uptight (but really taciturn and scared, I think)
and suggests I stop passing him wanton notes to feed his ego fuller.
And we say that we are writers and cannot live in reality's tenure.
He is so Gothic and beautiful, I sigh. How I could siphon
black ink from his hair to transubstantiate into poems –– for him ––
to drape about his dripping-cold and stoic, tenuous form.
She sips her tea and I quaff cup-of-coffee depression until,
gazing into her labyrinth, am Lethe to be found,
escaping the fugue of unrequited want back into her serene asylum,
to break from oceanic seas which seize me in their sepulcher.
Together –– We are so taken with our own rubescent dormition, friend.
Sometimes I think we are like Evelings hedging the fall.
"For Sabila"
She sighs, crying, "When will someone come
to sweep me off my feet, Rich?"
But I don't know, why there is no 'us' ––
even when there's a 'you' and a 'me', love.
And she's really very beautiful, my friend.
If you could only but see her, reader.
You'd want to abduct her from the page,
steal her away from me, carry her off
into the wilting wake of day.
I won't let you take her from me. But if you could taste ––
the way her sable hair succumbs to her neck,
spilling on to fitful shoulders ––
how her delicate frame deliquesces into mine.
How the spoon tries to hug the fork
but cannot find its fit here –– or there.
Sabila is studying for her Whitman final now.
She says that Walt loves all,
would love her as well. (And I guess that means he could
love me too.) And maybe I should better disguise her,
wrap her up in twine and knots, in splendid Technicolor veils,
so that she will not be known for being who she is and is not.
I cannot paint her well enough in words,
to write how her hand sometimes catches her cheek
to keep her sultry mind in check.
She told me once that sometimes, walking from the PATH,
she'll sometimes talk to herself, and that's the moment I knew that she was me,
a part of me lost, absorbed in her delicate exterior, in her dark skin,
torrential hair, like shadows to pull me into her nighttime sun.
She is the moon –– the truth illusion imparts.
We are so caught in idyllic dreams and romantic fancies, spoon.
In darker recesses, my mind deconstructs the phantom
beanpole-vestige, the man this fork would allow him knife.
She says he's arrogant and uptight (but really taciturn and scared, I think)
and suggests I stop passing him wanton notes to feed his ego fuller.
And we say that we are writers and cannot live in reality's tenure.
He is so Gothic and beautiful, I sigh. How I could siphon
black ink from his hair to transubstantiate into poems –– for him ––
to drape about his dripping-cold and stoic, tenuous form.
She sips her tea and I quaff cup-of-coffee depression until,
gazing into her labyrinth, am Lethe to be found,
escaping the fugue of unrequited want back into her serene asylum,
to break from oceanic seas which seize me in their sepulcher.
Together –– We are so taken with our own rubescent dormition, friend.
Sometimes I think we are like Evelings hedging the fall.
NERDY CRUSHES, ANYONE?
MY NERDY CRUSHES
I am convinced that all schoolgirls and schoolboys fall in love with a handful of the long dead figures from history, literature, and science that they study in class. Do you still find yourself penning ballads for Napoleon or drawing hearts around Marie Curie’s name? Does your heart skip a beat at the mere thought of John Keats or Nefertiti? Does the thought of bearing Shakespeare’s children in some alternate universe send you into transports of joy?
You’re not alone.
The following, in no particular order, are a few of the dead objects of my affection; I shall expatiate on each person separately at a later time:
Walt Whitman
Pablo Neruda
Matthew Brady
Alexander Hamilton
Emily Dickinson
Leif Erickson
Eric the Red
William Faulkner
Ernest Hemingway
Virgil
Teddy Roosevelt
Boccaccio
Shoeless Joe Jackson
I am convinced that all schoolgirls and schoolboys fall in love with a handful of the long dead figures from history, literature, and science that they study in class. Do you still find yourself penning ballads for Napoleon or drawing hearts around Marie Curie’s name? Does your heart skip a beat at the mere thought of John Keats or Nefertiti? Does the thought of bearing Shakespeare’s children in some alternate universe send you into transports of joy?
You’re not alone.
The following, in no particular order, are a few of the dead objects of my affection; I shall expatiate on each person separately at a later time:
Walt Whitman
Pablo Neruda
Matthew Brady
Alexander Hamilton
Emily Dickinson
Leif Erickson
Eric the Red
William Faulkner
Ernest Hemingway
Virgil
Teddy Roosevelt
Boccaccio
Shoeless Joe Jackson
DOROTHY PARKER
Rich emailed the following Dorothy Parker poem to me this morning (clearly, he's this nerd's Saturday blog-muse). How true this poem is!
"Bohemia"
Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney
Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses' necks
Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe
Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance;
God, for a man that solicits insurance!
--Dorothy Parker (1926)
"Bohemia"
Authors and actors and artists and such
Never know nothing, and never know much.
Sculptors and singers and those of their kidney
Tell their affairs from Seattle to Sydney.
Playwrights and poets and such horses' necks
Start off from anywhere, end up at sex.
Diarists, critics, and similar roe
Never say nothing, and never say no.
People Who Do Things exceed my endurance;
God, for a man that solicits insurance!
--Dorothy Parker (1926)
BLOG HAPPY
I have a feeling that I'm going to put up a number of new posts today for the following reasons:
1) it's raining monkeys outside and one can't do much when it's raining monkeys.
2) I, the Nerd, woke up at 11:40AM on this Saturday morning (QUITE unbelievable, I know!) and am liking this feeling of lazing around (QUITE unbelievable, I know!).
3) I just realized how much I heart the verb "laze." I encourage you, dear reader, to use it in a sentence today. It just rolls off the tongue perfectly: laaaazzzze.
4) must I REALLY run in the morning on weekends? Why not shake things up a little and run on a Saturday night? Running at night will be very nice, I think.
5) it's raining monkeys outside and one really doesn't have to do much when it's raining monkeys.
1) it's raining monkeys outside and one can't do much when it's raining monkeys.
2) I, the Nerd, woke up at 11:40AM on this Saturday morning (QUITE unbelievable, I know!) and am liking this feeling of lazing around (QUITE unbelievable, I know!).
3) I just realized how much I heart the verb "laze." I encourage you, dear reader, to use it in a sentence today. It just rolls off the tongue perfectly: laaaazzzze.
4) must I REALLY run in the morning on weekends? Why not shake things up a little and run on a Saturday night? Running at night will be very nice, I think.
5) it's raining monkeys outside and one really doesn't have to do much when it's raining monkeys.
"IT'S A MACHO THING"
Dear readers: Please read the following article from the Guardian, kindly shared with me by one Richard Russell of London, by way of Jersey.
http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/generalfiction/story/0,,1748085,00.html
The results of the survey discussed in the article reveal that, when it comes to novels, men prefer “all angst and Orwell. Sort of puberty reading,” while women read novels of more emotional depth. These results certainly perpetuate societal stereotypes about gender. Throw in there the fact that, during the survey, men were unwilling to discuss the influence of literature in their lives and one must ask the question, “Are men emotionally unavailable to literature??!”
Shudder.
This is why I encourage all of the straight men in my life to read Pride and Prejudice and shatter through the oppressive shackles of gender typecasting.
http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/generalfiction/story/0,,1748085,00.html
The results of the survey discussed in the article reveal that, when it comes to novels, men prefer “all angst and Orwell. Sort of puberty reading,” while women read novels of more emotional depth. These results certainly perpetuate societal stereotypes about gender. Throw in there the fact that, during the survey, men were unwilling to discuss the influence of literature in their lives and one must ask the question, “Are men emotionally unavailable to literature??!”
Shudder.
This is why I encourage all of the straight men in my life to read Pride and Prejudice and shatter through the oppressive shackles of gender typecasting.
REVENGEOFTHENERDDD.BLOGSPOT.COM's NERD OF THE DAY
NYU alum and old chum Elizabeth Marie Hadden is our Nerd of the Day (thanks to former NOD, Rich, for nominating her)! Not only is she a stunner (because nothing beats an attractive nerd), but her interests also include knitting, battlestar galactica, weightlifting, church history, and hair. Moreover, she has a fab blog at literaryglam.blogspot.com, in which she passionately imparts her opinions about the intellectual property battle over the term “Stitch and Bitch” (http://literaryglam.blogspot.com/2006/01/free-to-stitch-free-to-bitch.html) and teaches us the astounding word atrabilious (http://literaryglam.blogspot.com/2006/04/word-of-day-atrabilious.html). Even her blog readers are literary nerds with uncommon élan, as they leave comments about what they call “the truly apathetic utterance”: “Flah.” (check it out at http://literaryglam.blogspot.com/2006/03/well-shit.html#comments)
This lady makes all things literary quite glamorous and, for that, we crown her revengeofthenerddd.blogspot.com’s Nerd of the Day.
I agree with Rich that this may very well be phase I of Elizabeth’s deification and that it won’t be very long before people start seeing her image in a variety of foods. As our common friend says, “[Elizabeth’s] a nerd goddess, and when properly apotheosized, will spend her immortal days as Patron Saint of Nerds, rescuing poor little Nevilles and Ediths from bullies on playgrounds across the universe.”
Let this inspire you, dear reader.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
A LONG-ISH TRAIN RIDE + THE NERD=AN EXPERIMENT IN STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS
YAH. So, I read The New Yorker between nodding off on the train on the way to and back from Connecticut.
The experiment went kablooey.
Ahem.
The experiment went kablooey.
Ahem.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
A LONG-ISH TRAIN RIDE + THE NERD=AN EXPERIMENT IN STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS
I will be rising and shining at an ungodly (who am I kidding...I heart the morning...I don't mind waking up so early at all) 5AM tomorrow morning in order to head out of state for a sales conference. And while I could be sleeping and dreaming about the FiberOne cereal I won't be able to enjoy while at the meeting (I become intensely obsessive about certain foods and eat them everyday until my system goes, "Enough already! Can we shake things up a bit, please?!" At the moment, my obsessions are FiberOne and crab meat. Later, I'll tell you more about the crab meat, which I'll also be unable to have tomorrow), or reading Gautam Malkani's brilliant LONDONSTANI (pubbing in late June), or listening to my iPod, I've decided to spend my commute writing a blog post in real time for the pleasure of my readers. So, brace yourselves for an unedited, unscripted, no-holds-barred look at the way the Nerd's mind works. It's gonna be stream of consciousness on no food and little sleep. James Joyce would be proud.
See how devoted I am to you guys?
I mean, I MIGHT sneak a few pages of LONDONSTANI in there somewhere, but I'll TRY to MOSTLY write in my diary.
See how devoted I am to you guys?
I mean, I MIGHT sneak a few pages of LONDONSTANI in there somewhere, but I'll TRY to MOSTLY write in my diary.
INSOMINA: Yet Another Haiku
Sleep, you've pimped me off
to insomnia again
and that's so not cool.
(Well, at least the Yankees-Oakland game is on. Insomnia's not that bad after all. Let's go Yanks!)
Check out this half-cute, sorta-disturbing video of an insomniac toddler: http://www.blip.tv/uploadedFiles/Matchbookfilms-Insomnia894.mov
Monday, April 03, 2006
THE NERDY SPY: A Fabulously True Story of Adventure and Intrigue (well, sorta)
I love my friends and will go to great lengths for them, as is illustrated by the true story that follows. My mom will too, as is also illustrated by this true-life account.
The year: 2003
The month: late February
The day: Saturday
The players: The nerd, the nerd’s mother, the nerd’s friend on the other side of a tense telephone conversation, the nerd’s friend’s ex-boyfriend, the nerd’s friend’s ex-boyfriends new girlfriend (rumor has it fiancé) and the nerd’s friend’s ex-boyfriend’s new girfriend’s (some say fiance’s) friend.
The weather: unseasonably balmy
The location: outside/inside Starbucks
Our nerd and her mother have just left the mall after a thoroughly satisfying shopping expedition. The nerd suggests that they drive to Starbucks; her mom can stay in the van while she runs inside to buy coffees for the two of them. Stopped at the light right before the turn that will take them towards the roundabout outside the Starbucks, which rests by the (polluted but oftentimes pretty [mostly by night when all the crap floating in the water isn’t visible]) Hudson, the nerd sees something that makes her dramatically shriek and makes her mother confusedly scream: her very good friend’s ex-boyfriend is crossing the street with his never-before-seen-but-much-rumored-about new girlfriend (many people are saying that the two might, in fact, be engaged). The nerd’s mother demands to know what’s happening as her daughter fishes her cell phone out of her very large handbag and immediately dials her friend.
Nerd: OH! MY! GOD! X JUST WALKED BY OUR CAR! HE JUST CROSSED THE STREET WITH HER!
Friend: NO! WHERE ARE YOU?! WHERE ARE YOU?!
Nerd: Right by Starbucks.
Friend: OH MY GOD!
Nerd’s Mom: OH MY GOD! THAT’S HER? THAT’S THE NEW GIRLFRIEND?
Nerd (to mom): They might be engaged.
Nerd’s Mom: Tell Friend that this new girl is ugly! She’s SO much prettier than this new girl. WHAT was X thinking??
Nerd: Clearly boys are stupid.
Friend: Clearly. Where are they going?
Nerd: Looks to me that they’re going to Starbucks like us. We’re following them!
Nerd’s Mom: We’re so following the twit and his fiancé.
Nerd (covering the phone with her hand): We’re not sure about that yet.
Friend: Actually, I got confirmation yesterday.
Nerd: Oh.
Friend: You have to tell me what she looks like. YOU HAVE TO.
Nerd: We’re following them Friend. Stay on the phone with me.
Friend: Make sure he doesn’t see you!
Nerd (sliding down the passenger seat so that only the top of her head and eyes are visible to anyone who might be looking in from the outside): He won’t see me.
The Nerd’s Mom parks the van parallel to where the X’s girfriend/fiancé is introducing him to a friend of hers. Starbucks is some five yards behind the van.
Nerd: Ew. She’s not good looking at all.
Nerds Mom: Tell Friend she’s pretty butt ugly.
Friend: Is that your mom?
Nerd: Yah. She wants you to know that the chick is butt ugly. And that X is a jerk ass for leaving you.
Friend: You sure he can’t see you right?
Nerd: Yah. I’m practically on the floor, yo.
Nerd’s Mom: Tell Friend that she’s beautiful and that she’ll find a man who recognizes that very soon, Inshallah.
Friend (kinda teary now): I LOVE your mom. Tell her I love her.
Nerd: Friend says she loves you.
Nerd’s Mom: Tell her I love her too and that I mean everything I say.
Nerd: We both love you. For real, this girl is not good looking at all.
Friend: Describe her. What are they doing anyway?
Nerd: Well, she’s probably 5’5” and fat. Her nose looks like wet dough. It’s just splayed out there on her round as a pie face. Ugh.
Friend (clearly crying): Ew! Really!
Nerd: She seems to be introducing him to one of her slutty friends…who’s just as ugly. No way is she as good looking as your friends.
Friend: Obviously.
Nerd: I know. And, man, she’s wearing SO much makeup. I can tell she has horrible skin.
Friend: What’s she wearing? Can you see the ring?
Nerd (craning her neck to get a view of the new girlfriend/fiance’s hand): OH NO!
Friend: WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED!
Nerd’s Mom: Friend is SO much cuter than this girl. Just look at the layers of makeup on this girl’s face! Unbelievable.
Nerd: I think he saw me!
Friend: What?! Oh no!
Nerd’s Mom: Don’t be paranoid, Sabila. The twit’s only looking this way.
Nerd (sinking lower still): Are you sure?
Nerd’s Mom: Yes! Are you going to go in for coffee or what?
Friend: You’re going to go in for coffee?!!
Nerd (trying to calm herself down, prepping for the impending mission): Yes. I’m going in!
Friend: Oh no! You can’t have him see you!
Nerd: I’ll be careful. I promise. And this way, I can get a closer look at the ring. Potentially, anyway. Stay with me on the phone, okay?
Friend: I’m here with you Sabila.
Nerd’s Mom: Be careful.
Our nerd sits up and looks at her mother, turning her back to the pathetic party of three loitering outside the coffeehouse. She nods at her mother and, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, she steps out of the car, keeping her back to X and his new friends. Quickly, she turns towards Starbucks, her left hand shielding her face from X and speed walks to the door. Once inside, she waits on the ridiculously long line, cursing the shoddy service and X.
Friend: Can you see them from inside?
Nerd (standing on tiptoe): Yah. I can’t see her hand though. I swear, she’s a monster.
Friend (laughing and crying at the same time): He’s a jerk. He hurt me so much.
Nerd: I know babe. If you ask me, he looks pretty miserable.
Friend: How?
Nerd: Bored out of his mind. The chick and her friend are blabbing like monkeys while he’s just staring at his shoes.
Friend: Good. Jerk.
Nerd: She looks like a Kmart catalog.
Friend: What is she wearing?
Nerd: Ill-fitting jeans, an ugly t-shirt topped with this wrap around sweater thing that just isn’t flattering on her. Someone ought to tell her that purple isn’t her color.
Friend: What’s her hair like?
Nerd: Straight, dark with cheap and ugly highlights. It looks like someone took a crap on her head. The highlights are the color of poop, I swear.
Friend: Some people have no taste.
Nerd: Tell me about it.
Friend: Wow, is the line long?
Nerd: Isn’t it always long here? Ugh. She really has one of the ugliest noses I’ve ever seen in my life.
Friend: Are you just saying these things to make me feel better?
Nerd: Uh, NO! Would I lie?! Would my mother lie?!
Friend: Good. That makes me feel better. It’s just that we were together for so many years. He walked away from it like it was nothing and he’s with someone new within the month, while I’m still pining away.
Nerd: Why? Why are you pining?! You’re intelligent, beautiful, magnificent. You have so much going for you! You know I never liked X.
Friend: You ALWAYS had a bad feeling about him didn’t you?
Nerd: I did. He had shifty eyes—one tall light iced skim latte please—and I am suspicious of people with shifty eyes—and one tall soy chai tea latte, easy on the soy. He could never meet my eyes. Remember?
Friend: Yah. You were right about him.
Nerd: You’re so better off.
Friend: Gosh, I could use a frap right now. Wanna go back to Starbucks tonight? I need to get out of the house. I’m driving myself crazy thinking about this jerk.
Nerd: Yah. Absolutely. What time?
Friend: 7-ish.
Nerd: I’m there…I mean…I’m already here but…I’m there…tonight. I mean.
Friend: Cool.
Nerd: Friend, I’m heading back out.
Friend: Crap. Run, okay?
Nerd: I can’t run with these cups in hand. I spill drinks just looking at them.
Friend: Oh yah. Just go as fast as you can.
Nerd: Dur.
With tall light skim latte and tall soy chai tea latte—easy on the soy—in hand, our nerd exits the coffeehouse, her head down as avoiding a phantom glare. Her feet skim the surface of the pavement as she rushes to the waiting van. Once in the van, she returns to her half-sitting, mostly horizontal position in the passenger seat. Finding that sipping on her latte in this position is nearly impossible she puts and forgets it in the cup holder and resumes spying.
Nerd’s Mom: He looks bored. That’s what he gets for leaving such a good girl. May he be bored out of his mind.
Nerd: Oh no! I think he saw me.
Nerd’s Mom: He might’ve seen you. He’s looking right here.
Friend: Oh crap. I say you abort the mission.
Nerd (hiding under the glove compartment now and digging through her giant handbag): Not yet. Not just yet.
Nerd’s Mom: I’m glaring at him. He has no idea who I am.
Nerd (finding the tiny compact she keeps in her makeup bag): Aha! Found it!
Removing the tiny mirror from its velvet cover, she holds it over her head, attempting to examine the scene in reflection.
Friend: What?! What did you find?
Nerd: Mirror.
Nerd’s Mom: Okay, we’re leaving.
Friend: You have to leave! Dammit!
Nerd: He’s still looking here.
Nerd’s Mom: Because he sees a compact floating in front of my face.
Friend: I love you guys! I love you guys!
Nerd’s Mom steps on the gas and the van rips into the street leaving a very confused (and bored) X wondering if he just saw a floating compact.
THE NERD OF ALL NERDS
...to my friends/coworkers who didn't know me in high school and weren't buying that I was a bona fide nerd/geek and have now seen the lovely pics on friendster: I told you so.
Saturday, April 01, 2006
OUR NERD BAKES
I've always been very vigilant about my dad's diet. Although his diabetes is more or less under control and he's always had normal blood pressure and cholestrol, I think he carries way too much weight around the middle which, along with the diabetes, makes him vulnerable to many other health issues. He's put on quite a few pounds after our trip to Pakistan and, as a result, has heard more than one lecture from me about the importance of diet and exercise. I'm proud of him though; he's been able to stick to high fiber, low-fat natural foods recently and is looking even more handsome than usual.
I don't have the patience to enjoy cooking. I cook dozens of food items from scratch on Thanksgiving and that's only because I feel like I must uphold this silly tradition of self-torture that I started back in the day when I subscribed to Family Circle for the recipes (please read previous blog post entitled "Iron Chef: Khan Family Thanksgiving" for background). That I rolled back my sleeves and stepped into the kitchen determined to do more than throw a veggie burger into the microwave was rather earth shattering. Earlier today abu had mentioned that he felt like having dessert later, so I was determined to whip up something both delicious and healthy.
I call the following concoction "Fields of Gold":
INGREDIENTS
3 cups puffed wheat cereal
1 ripe golden delicious apple
2 egg whites, slightly beaten
1 1/2 cups plain fat-free yogurt
1 cup flour
24 packets Equal
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda (we were out of baking soda, so I threw in baking powder instead; close enough, no?)
1) crush puffed wheat cereal in food processor and put in a large mixing bowl
2) throw golden delicious apple in food processor; spoon mixture out into separate, smaller bowl
3) go out for a walk with a sibling and/or friend
4) add egg whites and yogurt to apple
5) take a break to check your email and read news on CNN.com; mull over how effed up the world is
6) call best friend to talk about how effed up world is; be a good friend and listen to her bitch about demanding post grad schedule
7) mix flour, Equal, salt and baking soda (OR powder because, seriously, like, what's the difference?)
8) go to brother's place to debate illegal alien controversy, whether or not Crash should have taken the Oscar over Brokeback Mountain and how badass Jack Bauer is
9) wonder why the hell you decided to bake in the first place
10) think about returning home to pop muffin batter into oven
11) call home and ask mother if she can spoon batter into muffin pan and pop pan into oven
12) return home when mom refuses to finish what you started, spoon batter into muffin pan and pop pan into oven for 20 minutes or until muffins turn golden brown
13) when mom asks if these are lemon muffins, tell her "Sure!" with confidence
14) when family comments that muffins are slightly undercooked, say that they're SUPPOSED to be moist and chewy.
15) smile when dad asks for seconds
DIRTY MAD LIBS, ANYONE?
Mad Libs have been around for over fifty years and chances are, if you weren’t raised in a cave on a deserted and still unmapped Pacific island, you’ve played Mad Libs at least once as a kid. The object of the game is simple enough: players are to replace selected blank words in stories, designated by either their parts of speech (adjective, noun, adverb, verb) or sometimes by more specific instructions (girl in the room, part of body, exclamation, etc.). Once the (usually in)appropriate words are plugged in, the story is then read aloud to a soundtrack of laughter.
While a regular game of Mad Libs is silly and fun, you haven’t lived until you’ve participated in a game of Dirty Mad Libs. Dirty Mad Libs is sophomoric humor (is there really a better kind of FUNny?) at its finest.
I could provide you guys with a few examples but wouldn’t want to offend the delicate sensibilities of some readers. So, all of you non-killjoys out there, pick up a Mad Lib from your bookstore or go to
http://us.penguingroup.com/static/packages/us/yreaders/madlibs/fun.html to play Dirty Mad Libs online.
If it doesn’t make you laugh, you’re dead inside.
I CARE FOR...
...Fiber One cereal.
Who knew that 14 grams of fiber per serving could taste so damned good (and I usually have twice the regular serving. That's 28 grams of fiber a pop, folks. Yum)? Throw in some Jacques Torres coffee and I'm so having a party in my mouth!
Breakfast is definitely my favorite meal of the day.
Bless you General Mills for creating the deliciousness that is Fiber One cereal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)