massacre of garlic: the kitchen revolution, part 2

Garlic. A lovely thing. Long ago when forced to read Things Fall Apart (prior to sophomore year of high school--the summer reading assignment) I noticed how very fond of garlic the main character guy is. His name escapes me, actually. It escaped far too many years ago to hope of an honest retrieval. Thus I cheat and look in the book. Ah. Okonkwo. Unless I am mislead (very probable) there is a passage somewhere where he says how much he likes to eat ropes of garlic but his wife doesn't like him to.

Thus I first came to ponder garlic. I did not swoon.

Many years later, after growing up without knives that cut, I have learned to delight in garlic. I have chopped garlic, peeled garlic, tease those that buy pre-peeled garlic, ate garlic, watched others eat garlic, and cooked with garlic. But secretly, subliminally, I yearned for a garlic press. I would say (as I do with all kitchen supplies that I want), when I am rich.

Alas, I shall never be rich, and thus I bought a garlic press 2 weeks ago. And now I can properly massacre garlic. And swoon.

rock of ages

Today I become 24. According to my birthday theory, I should have celebrated yesterday.

For a long while I was reluctant to turn 24. I didn't like 24, thought it had no redeeming qualities--especially compared to the marvelous and glorious 23. 23, because it was a prime number and also the day of the month I was born. My golden birthday, golden year, has drawn to a close.

But two days ago I realized an important thing. 24 does have redeeming value. It is 4!, or 4 factorial. A very special age. The only age where you can be a factorial and know what a factorial is. At, 3!, age 6, I must admit I did not know. But at 4! I do. 5!, I hope I'm dead long before that.

I am compiling a list about reasons to love ones age. It does have holes, however. Those years are looking bleak.

<10: Too young to care about age number excitement. Just want to get older.
10: The world of double digits welcomes you.
11: Repeating number age...and prime, but too young to care.
12: Finally get out of primary!
13: Become a distinguished teen. And a prime, once again.
14-15: Nothing exciting about these years. I don't know how I survived them.
16: drivers license. and date. and 4^2. and 2^4.
17: My favorite number, also a lovely prime. And a Dancing Queen. Only seventeen.
18: can vote.
19: can buy cigarettes. (ha)
20: finally out of teens, can now be taken seriously by those old college boys (not that it did any good)
21: can buy alcohol. (theoretically)
22: another repeating number. Positively thrilling.
23: prime, golden, odd, etc. lovely.
24: 4!
25: 5^2
26: a very bleak year.
27: 3^3
28...not yet compiled.

the abandoned posts post

There have been a handful of times where I started writing a blog entry and then never finished it for one reason or another. I have decided to post them as is. [with commentary]

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Abandoned on 9/1/06: this entry had no title.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine & becoming viands.

~Lord Byron (journal entry for 25 Sept. 1812)

[I wanted to write something about how hilarious this quote is, but could never improve on it and deleted everything I wrote.]

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9/1/06:

In remembrance of things lost

I thought I'd lost my favorite bookmark a while back. I was sad..but then miraculously found it after several weeks. The elation that follows from such a stupid thing...

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us; a year impairs; a lustre obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory. Then, indeed, the lights are rekindled for a moment. . . . Let any man try at the end of ten years to bring before him the features, or the mind, or the sayings, or the habits, of his best friend.

~ Lord Byron (Ravenna Journal, 1821-22).

The tree was taken out and replaced with the japanese tree lilac [here, I must finish the thought. There was once a lovely tree that was next to the entry gate of a previous dwelling place. But mum removed it, and put in not a lilac tree, but a tree lilac. I missed the old tree. Alas. But I don't remember either of them anymore.]

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9/15/06: this entry consists of a defunct link to a youtube video. I don't remember what it was, unfortunately.

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12/30/06: this entry is just one line. There is no title.

Today was another unremarkable day. I awoke, and did several dull and forgettable things.

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4/8/07: Dh and I went hiking at none other than Foothills Park, where we returned to car trouble. Many people contributed to the plot, and dh suggested I turn it into a play. Which I never finished.

Foothills Park: the play

Foothills Park: the play, is based on a true story that took place on April 6. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent, though most are protected by default since I never knew their names anyway.

Dramatis Personae:
lr
dh
crotchety old man
Al
female park ranger #1
female park ranger #2.

Setting:
Foothills Park parking lot, 4 pm. lr and dh are trying to flee the park in lr's Ford Focus, but they find the car unwilling to accommodate their wishes.

Act I

Scene I:
[Enter lr and dh. They enter aforementioned vehicle, and lr attempts ignition.]

[Months later, after dh left for zimbabwe, he decided to make a contribution to the play effort and wrote a poem, which I might post in future if he consents.]

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Finally, 2 weeks ago I had planned to write a blog entitled "three dressers in one week," but never managed to. It was going to be about how I had bought three dressers in one week and managed to find them all happy homes, while finally liking the 3rd one I bought.

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There are no more. As yet.

label failure

Most of my posts have the same label, blather--because that's what they are. I realize this defeats the purpose of labels. Janie the magnificent has a brilliant array of lovely labels (or categories, as she calls them), of which I am exceedingly jealous. I may consider reworking my label listings. Any label ideas are welcome.

fae flying high

Fae is my butterfly. She is approximately 20 inches wide. Yellow and orange wings. I somehow fit her into my luggage after buying her at F.A.O Shwartz in New York City 6 years ago during choir tour. (my apartment is hot. This must be said. Now that it is said I shall move on.) Fae is the centerpiece of my stuffed animal collection. Only the most prized of my stuffed animals have names.

Herman: a very tall tortoise. He is my sole purchase from my one visit to Moab.
Walter: a rabbit, sent via david hubbards trunk from my own dear mum (for easter).
Clara: a raccoon, whose name I forgot and then remembered.
Ross Calvin: An owl. Many in high school said my owl looked like a furby (from behind), but it does not. I repeat, it does not. My mum bought me this owl at the hospital gift shop once after I had a PFT.
Fae: the lovely butterfly.

I have recently done a childish (but exciting!) thing and pinned netting to a ceiling corner and put all my stuffed animals in it. Fae is on the bottom, flying, seemingly supporting the rest. It is pinned very insecurely above my bed. I rest easy in the knowledge that no one I know has died from stuffed animals falling on them in sleep. It did take two tries to make it stay (though insecure) and Walter does not fit...or rather, I am afraid it will collapse if I put him in. Eventually I will get my film developed, and when I do I'll post a picture of the delightful spectacle.

zip code heaven

I have had three zip codes in one year. I'm through with zip codes. (12345 might be ok though.) I have cast off multiple zip codes, and they have gone to zip code heaven. Zip code heaven is a lovely place with a health spa and free car rental. I have moved yet again--away from Melville. Alas! Though I will miss my delightful and warm hearted roommates, I will not miss how the little rocks from the walkway always stuck into the the soles of my sandals. I probably trailed many such rocks into the house unknowingly. But I threw many of them away, it's true, so I am not only responsible for trailing them into the house, but for depleting the ground cover.

12345 is actually a zip code too. It belongs to Schenectady, New York. I guess USPS didn't think it necessary to be skipped due to its semi-barely-uniqueness. In San Francisco, there are many buildings that skip the 13th floor, however. I couldn't believe it the first time I noticed, but apparently it was common practice. Those poor deluded 14th floor workers. Also, why does friday + 13th = stupid horror films on tv? Why doesn't "Freddy vs. Jason" air on monday the 13th instead?

Today I bet my life, and won it.