Well, I've got a new game to blab about. My nerd index rises rapidly. I'm playing, every now and then, a game called "King's Bounty: the Legend." King's Bounty (without the legend part) was a game by New World Computing way, WAY back when (pre-3d graphics card days but post-SoundBlaster days, if that helps) that actually started the well known Heroes of Might and Magic series (which I've blabbed about before). Bounty: Legend, my current interest, was not made by NWC but is very much in the spirit of the original. Only better, much better. It's got all the cool game play elements that made the HOMM series awesome (well at least the first 3 installments of the HOMM series) plus VERY nice graphics, good sound, a role playing/character driven element, and interesting campaigns. It's really, really a blast and if you 1) own a Windows PC and 2) liked even a little any of the HOMM titles it's worth checking out. You can find it cheap at retail stores (or could a few months back) and I know Steam and Impulse sell it online for cheap from time to time. So you have no excuse for not checking it out.
Except that most of our IR's aren't, to my knowledge, gamers and/or don't run Windows boxes. Those are good excuses. But good excuses be damned, CHECK IT OUT!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Book alert!
Ok, all you sci-fi/fantasy geeks out there. You know you're jonesing for a new book, right? Well the next Malazan book is out! The Malazan Books of the Fallen, by Stephen Erickson, are now among my favorite fantasy books. They're big, they're complicated, they're gritty, they're mature. They're lots of cool stuff with very little suckage. My only complaint is that there's too much of a good thing here. There's so much going on, so much intricate history, that it's hard to track it all. I have literally felt like taking notes. I didn't though. My geek-o-meter isn't quite that high (well, it is, but my lazy-meter is even higher). But anyway, the books are highly recommended and book 9 of 10 is now available! Woo-hoo! I've got it in my hot little hands, and as soon as I finish the 10 books that are before it on the list I'll be reading it!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Did I ever mention that malware sucks?
This is old news, but I'm not sure if I shared it. About a month back, in the midst of a very busy time at work, I tried to use my statistics program at home to work on a paper or two. The program got all buggy and told me, wrongly, that the license had expired. I got all stupid and ornery and decided to try to download a hack to let me ignore the license requirement. This was stupid in so many ways. First, because I didn't need it - my license had NOT expired and I knew it, I was just pissed off that the damn software was screwing with me and so rather than go to work and get them to update the license info, I decided to try to hack it. Second, because hacking it is technically illegal (even if you do have a valid license). And finally, as I've told many people many times, if you go to a website that is specifically distributing illegal software you can't be surprised if you download some illegal software. In the form of malware. Which, as it turns out, I did.
Now I DID scan the program, with two different scanners (damn you Norton), and both said it was fine. Then I ran it. Immediately my email program started to try to send gazillions of spam emails. Norton DID detect that, and gave me all kinds of warnings. So I unplugged the network cable. Heh. Cant' send spam if there's no internet connection. Take that, malware! But then I had to go through the laborious process of running MANY scan and removal runs with MANY malware removal tools (Malware Bytes, Norton, and a few I can't remember). After no kidding a few days I did manage to get rid of almost all of it EXCEPT for this incredibly annoying thing that kept playing adds on my speakers every few minutes. I kept at it, determined to rid my machine of this bug, until I realized that I had already spent 3x longer messing with this than I would have spent wiping my drive and re-installing the OS.
So that's what I did. Reinstalling Windows XP is really not all that hard. Backing everything up is a pain, especially when you have to be careful not to move any infected files over. But the reinstall itself was relatively painless. Putting all the other software on is more of a pain - all the drivers, the office software, the FRIGGING stats programs, and so forth. Altogether I'd say this crap ate up, no kidding, ate least 12 hours of my life. Which is not a lot until you realize that I've only GOT about 12 hours of free time in a week, so that sucked.
Are there any lessons to be learned here? Well, one is "Don't be an idiot." It is QUITE annoying that the whole thing is my fault. The second is this: Norton sucks. I have now battled several types of malware (twice on my wife's machine, once on mine) with Norton finding nary a one. I've had to download a whole boatload of other programs to take care of it. Now I know Norton is AntiVirus, and malware is not always a virus, but for what Norton costs, in money AND system resources, it should be able to do just a little bit more. So Norton was not reinstalled when I redid the whole OS. Instead I'm running AVG, which is 1) free, 2) faster, and 3) can hardly be less effective. I've heard good things about it and so far, so good.
So I am now a repentant Shifter, who has now legally made the stats program realize my license never expired, and who will never ever ever visit another warez site as long as I type.
Now I DID scan the program, with two different scanners (damn you Norton), and both said it was fine. Then I ran it. Immediately my email program started to try to send gazillions of spam emails. Norton DID detect that, and gave me all kinds of warnings. So I unplugged the network cable. Heh. Cant' send spam if there's no internet connection. Take that, malware! But then I had to go through the laborious process of running MANY scan and removal runs with MANY malware removal tools (Malware Bytes, Norton, and a few I can't remember). After no kidding a few days I did manage to get rid of almost all of it EXCEPT for this incredibly annoying thing that kept playing adds on my speakers every few minutes. I kept at it, determined to rid my machine of this bug, until I realized that I had already spent 3x longer messing with this than I would have spent wiping my drive and re-installing the OS.
So that's what I did. Reinstalling Windows XP is really not all that hard. Backing everything up is a pain, especially when you have to be careful not to move any infected files over. But the reinstall itself was relatively painless. Putting all the other software on is more of a pain - all the drivers, the office software, the FRIGGING stats programs, and so forth. Altogether I'd say this crap ate up, no kidding, ate least 12 hours of my life. Which is not a lot until you realize that I've only GOT about 12 hours of free time in a week, so that sucked.
Are there any lessons to be learned here? Well, one is "Don't be an idiot." It is QUITE annoying that the whole thing is my fault. The second is this: Norton sucks. I have now battled several types of malware (twice on my wife's machine, once on mine) with Norton finding nary a one. I've had to download a whole boatload of other programs to take care of it. Now I know Norton is AntiVirus, and malware is not always a virus, but for what Norton costs, in money AND system resources, it should be able to do just a little bit more. So Norton was not reinstalled when I redid the whole OS. Instead I'm running AVG, which is 1) free, 2) faster, and 3) can hardly be less effective. I've heard good things about it and so far, so good.
So I am now a repentant Shifter, who has now legally made the stats program realize my license never expired, and who will never ever ever visit another warez site as long as I type.
Triathlon on the horizon
Turns out the triathlon is going to be on Superbowl Sunday. Not a huge loss for me, I'm not much of a football fan, but it sure does explain why there were so many open slots for the afternoon heats of the event. Yes, I'll be able to keep my head above water and I'll probably even avoid falling off the bike. I've only been on a bike 3 times this training season. Clearly it won't be my strong point, but who the hell cares? I'm a runner. And I'm going to be swimming for 30 minutes! That has to be good enough.
My hopes/expectations are:
Swimming: .66 miles (I'm doing 24 laps in 30 minutes routinely now, and 36 laps is a mile, so this should be a doable goal since I'm already there).
Biking: 10 miles. (this is more of a stretch. When I swim, then bike, I turn in about 9.5 miles in 30 minutes. I'm counting on a bit of adrenaline to help me out).
Running: 3.5 miles (this is maybe a bit of an underestimate. Normally for 30 minutes I'd say I could, in a race on a treadmill, do 4 miles or pretty damn close - a 7:30 pace. But I'm going to be worn out so I figure between an 8:30 pace is reasonable).
The real gains have been in the swimming - when I started training I could barely do 10 laps, now I'm more than double that with very few stops. I'm sure it's still crawling to a real swimmer, but it's strategic drowning at a whole new level for me. I should *really* buy a new swimsuit though. I've got the same one for this tri that was old for the last one 4 years ago. It was once blue.
This is likely to be the very last triathlon post until the post-even summary, so wish my luck!
My hopes/expectations are:
Swimming: .66 miles (I'm doing 24 laps in 30 minutes routinely now, and 36 laps is a mile, so this should be a doable goal since I'm already there).
Biking: 10 miles. (this is more of a stretch. When I swim, then bike, I turn in about 9.5 miles in 30 minutes. I'm counting on a bit of adrenaline to help me out).
Running: 3.5 miles (this is maybe a bit of an underestimate. Normally for 30 minutes I'd say I could, in a race on a treadmill, do 4 miles or pretty damn close - a 7:30 pace. But I'm going to be worn out so I figure between an 8:30 pace is reasonable).
The real gains have been in the swimming - when I started training I could barely do 10 laps, now I'm more than double that with very few stops. I'm sure it's still crawling to a real swimmer, but it's strategic drowning at a whole new level for me. I should *really* buy a new swimsuit though. I've got the same one for this tri that was old for the last one 4 years ago. It was once blue.
This is likely to be the very last triathlon post until the post-even summary, so wish my luck!
Fuzzy slippers
There's really not much more to say. Fuzzy slippers rock. You don't know that if you don't live in an arctic climate 6 months out of the year. If you do live in an arctic climate half the year, and you don't know that, then I pity you and your very cold feet. And I envy you the joy you'll feel when you first put on your pair of manly, cozy, fuzzy sleepers. Warm, feety goodness has arrived. Watch the white cloud flow from my mouth in the frigid air of my study as I breathe a sigh of contentment.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
As You Like It at the BAM
One of my New Year's Resolutions for 2010 was to take advantage of living near New York City more. I love theater, and yet last year I really didn't get into the city to see anything, and it wasn't because there was nothing I wanted to see. More often than not I get hung up on the fact that nobody else wants to go to a play I want to see, and although it would be great to go to dinner and do the whole "theater evening" thing, I'd rather go by myself than just miss out.
Kevin Spacey took over as artistic director at London's Old Vic theater in 2003, and ever since then I have wanted to see a play there. The last couple of times I've been in London the shows that have been playing there have either been too expensive or too expensive for a depressing play. Fortunately, The Bridge Project, a transatlantic cooperation between the Old Vic and the Brooklyn Academy of Music, has brought some great plays to Brooklyn, and I thought I'd start with one of them.
So last night I went to see As You Like It, directed by Sam Mendes (director of American Beauty) and starring an amazing British and American cast. The cast was everything that a Shakespeare comedy requires, replete with a believable couple (real-life marrieds Juliet Rylance and Christian Camargo), a quick and funny clown (Thomas Sadoski) and an impeccably suave cynic (Stephen Dillane). The darkly sexy Edward Bennett as the villainous Oliver was a welcome surprise.
The set was nice and spare--I always feel like a Shakespeare play with an elaborate set is compensating for some kind of deficiency--so scene changes were handled efficiently. Even with the speedy switcheroos the show was super long for a comedy (the rhythm of some of the snappy patter could probably have been stepped up a bit). We ended up getting out a little before 11, and the performance started at around 7:40. Still, I'd have hated to miss out on any of the scene stealing minor characters (there are some terrific bits for the women in this play), and they're typically the casualties of an expeditious production.
I was also really happy with the John Harvey Theater at the BAM. It was much smaller than I had imagined from the online seating tool that I used to choose my ticket, and I was far closer to the action than I had imagined. All in all, the show was well worth the money, and a good start to keeping my resolution. I even came home and bought a ticket for the next play in the series, The Tempest.
Now if I could just get started on losing 10 pounds...
Kevin Spacey took over as artistic director at London's Old Vic theater in 2003, and ever since then I have wanted to see a play there. The last couple of times I've been in London the shows that have been playing there have either been too expensive or too expensive for a depressing play. Fortunately, The Bridge Project, a transatlantic cooperation between the Old Vic and the Brooklyn Academy of Music, has brought some great plays to Brooklyn, and I thought I'd start with one of them.
So last night I went to see As You Like It, directed by Sam Mendes (director of American Beauty) and starring an amazing British and American cast. The cast was everything that a Shakespeare comedy requires, replete with a believable couple (real-life marrieds Juliet Rylance and Christian Camargo), a quick and funny clown (Thomas Sadoski) and an impeccably suave cynic (Stephen Dillane). The darkly sexy Edward Bennett as the villainous Oliver was a welcome surprise.
The set was nice and spare--I always feel like a Shakespeare play with an elaborate set is compensating for some kind of deficiency--so scene changes were handled efficiently. Even with the speedy switcheroos the show was super long for a comedy (the rhythm of some of the snappy patter could probably have been stepped up a bit). We ended up getting out a little before 11, and the performance started at around 7:40. Still, I'd have hated to miss out on any of the scene stealing minor characters (there are some terrific bits for the women in this play), and they're typically the casualties of an expeditious production.
I was also really happy with the John Harvey Theater at the BAM. It was much smaller than I had imagined from the online seating tool that I used to choose my ticket, and I was far closer to the action than I had imagined. All in all, the show was well worth the money, and a good start to keeping my resolution. I even came home and bought a ticket for the next play in the series, The Tempest.
Now if I could just get started on losing 10 pounds...
Friday, January 22, 2010
Actual issue from our queue this morning
"User called in to say that he gets the error when he shops in SRM."
Oh, "The Error," eh?
Even scarier? Someone on our team knows what that means.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Seeking Laptop Recommendations
I've made some bad decisions over the past few years. But the worst consumer decision I have ever made is getting a Dell Inspiron 1525. I upgraded where appropriate, so it does manage to run Windows Vista (I would install 7, but the next computer will have it, and its day has come). Although it's slow occasionally, I wouldn't really blame the computer for that--it's not a well-loved computer, and there's some stuff on it that's just not very good for it. Unlike many 1525 users, my hard drive has never crashed.
The real problem is the hardware, which has the usability of a computer designed by blind Luddites. At any given moment half the poorly-located USB ports are unusable for any reasonably sized USB device. And the touchpad hasn't worked since I bought it. And for those unfamiliar with the 1525, it's a laptop, so the pad is integral to the experience of the computer.
Initially the mouse was just sticky. It would want to pick things up and move them around--so when you were just trying to move around a web page, the mouse is dragging words and links around after it like a dog bringing things home from the park. Eventually I learned to avoid this by using the touchpad only when necessary. The rest of the time I navigated like a WebTV user. The tab key is your friend. Alt + arrows for browsing--hey, it saves you 700 hours of yelling and begging and pleading to get your mouse up to the top of the web page--Yay! And on the plus side, the mouse completely stopped anyone but me from using the computer. After about 20 seconds people would get frustrated and quit. They didn't know the keystrokes--it's a lost art.
Well, this week the touchpad stopped working until I hit the computer really hard. So it would work for 15 minutes and then stop--the arrow totally unmovable. Hit the computer, and maybe you'd get another 15 minutes of mobility--then nothing. Eventually I had to hit the computer harder and harder. And tonight it stopped working completely (there's a dent--I hit it pretty hard).
If anyone has any suggestions on a laptop they've enjoyed, lay 'em on me. I had an HP before this that I actually liked until it mysteriously stopped seeing the internet and had to be plugged in to the wall (ah, Windows updates--don't call us, we'll call you). I might go back to that if replacing the OS works. But I'm totally happy to take any suggestions, if any of our IR's aren't desktop devotees.
The real problem is the hardware, which has the usability of a computer designed by blind Luddites. At any given moment half the poorly-located USB ports are unusable for any reasonably sized USB device. And the touchpad hasn't worked since I bought it. And for those unfamiliar with the 1525, it's a laptop, so the pad is integral to the experience of the computer.
Initially the mouse was just sticky. It would want to pick things up and move them around--so when you were just trying to move around a web page, the mouse is dragging words and links around after it like a dog bringing things home from the park. Eventually I learned to avoid this by using the touchpad only when necessary. The rest of the time I navigated like a WebTV user. The tab key is your friend. Alt + arrows for browsing--hey, it saves you 700 hours of yelling and begging and pleading to get your mouse up to the top of the web page--Yay! And on the plus side, the mouse completely stopped anyone but me from using the computer. After about 20 seconds people would get frustrated and quit. They didn't know the keystrokes--it's a lost art.
Well, this week the touchpad stopped working until I hit the computer really hard. So it would work for 15 minutes and then stop--the arrow totally unmovable. Hit the computer, and maybe you'd get another 15 minutes of mobility--then nothing. Eventually I had to hit the computer harder and harder. And tonight it stopped working completely (there's a dent--I hit it pretty hard).
If anyone has any suggestions on a laptop they've enjoyed, lay 'em on me. I had an HP before this that I actually liked until it mysteriously stopped seeing the internet and had to be plugged in to the wall (ah, Windows updates--don't call us, we'll call you). I might go back to that if replacing the OS works. But I'm totally happy to take any suggestions, if any of our IR's aren't desktop devotees.
Monday, January 18, 2010
There are how many episodes to get through by 2/2?
OK, so last season, I just stopped watching Lost. Somewhere in the whole, "You must come back to the Island" "I shan't" "You must" "I couldn't" "But you have to" "Well, all right then" exchange I just lost interest. I wanted them to go back--there's not much that's entertaining about having them back home apart from Hurley's family and kitchen porn (dude, I'd sleep with Jack just to be able to make coffee in that kitchen the next morning, and his character is so obnoxious that he has long since ceased to be remotely attractive to me). But the whole thing with the will-they-or-won't-they went on one episode too long and I just couldn't hang any more.
But I didn't want to be out of the loop. I so want to be a part of the last season--it's my reward to sticking it out through some of the boring bits. So I kept recording them. Seriously, I have episodes of Lost that are now well over a year old on my DVR. And I don't know anyone who watches it, really, and I didn't go to forums because I didn't want to be unduly spoiled, so nobody was telling me, Dude, you MUST WATCH, people finally made their decisions and although the kitchens are not nearly as nice the "Whoa!" moments are back and I think you'll agree that it makes up for the lack of polished granite.
This morning I didn't want to waste good treadmill motivation by watching Human Target during breakfast, so I turned on an old episode and picked up where I left off. Which, it turns out, is just where things got interesting. I spent the entire morning with my hand over my mouth mumbling things like, "So she's the.... And now he's going to.... And now this is going to go back to the time when he said... Can someone please kick his ass? Thank you. No way!" and so on. Now I'm motivated in a way I didn't think I would be to get to the end of season 5 before the beginning of season 6. Just nobody tell me what's in the shadow of the statue for like, another week. If indeed we have any clue by the end of season 5.
But I didn't want to be out of the loop. I so want to be a part of the last season--it's my reward to sticking it out through some of the boring bits. So I kept recording them. Seriously, I have episodes of Lost that are now well over a year old on my DVR. And I don't know anyone who watches it, really, and I didn't go to forums because I didn't want to be unduly spoiled, so nobody was telling me, Dude, you MUST WATCH, people finally made their decisions and although the kitchens are not nearly as nice the "Whoa!" moments are back and I think you'll agree that it makes up for the lack of polished granite.
This morning I didn't want to waste good treadmill motivation by watching Human Target during breakfast, so I turned on an old episode and picked up where I left off. Which, it turns out, is just where things got interesting. I spent the entire morning with my hand over my mouth mumbling things like, "So she's the.... And now he's going to.... And now this is going to go back to the time when he said... Can someone please kick his ass? Thank you. No way!" and so on. Now I'm motivated in a way I didn't think I would be to get to the end of season 5 before the beginning of season 6. Just nobody tell me what's in the shadow of the statue for like, another week. If indeed we have any clue by the end of season 5.
Of Reviews and Flames
At some point early yesterday evening I wandered over to Mr. Gaiman's blog, there to read first of his official engagement to Amanda Palmer (yay!) and then, eventually, to his latest example/cautionary tale of authors who respond to nasty bad reviews of their work.
Evidently a certain Candace Sams engaged her reviewers on Amazon.com. And then she kept engaging them, and also engaging a great many people who stopped by to see what the fuss was all about. And then she continued to engage commenters long after it was clear that they were there to keep her good and riled so that they could witness her descent into madness and perhaps high-five each other upon her inevitable commitment to an inpatient facility.
Because it's a 3-day weekend, and because my work has sucked and therefore I have a touch of schadenfreude about the whole affair (hey! someone out there made a bigger ass of herself than I usually do at work!) I read the whole thing, including the posts that have been deleted by Sams herself and by Amazon. Her descent into madness would have been, shall we say, a short but scenic journey, and the whole thing was at least as entertaining as an episode of Jersey Shore. Not that I'm recommending either of these things as entertainment--I'm sure our IR's have better things to do with their time.
But one of the best things I got out of reading the 400+ comments and the related commentaries and debates in various booklovers' forums was a link to this Amazon UK reviewer, who is a genius. I highly recommend all the reviews of cookbooks and also laughed out loud at the review of the GPS, in which I believe the reviewer goes through all the Kubler-Ross phases of dealing with recalcitrant technology. Should you need a quick laugh, one of these reviews will probably do the trick.
Evidently a certain Candace Sams engaged her reviewers on Amazon.com. And then she kept engaging them, and also engaging a great many people who stopped by to see what the fuss was all about. And then she continued to engage commenters long after it was clear that they were there to keep her good and riled so that they could witness her descent into madness and perhaps high-five each other upon her inevitable commitment to an inpatient facility.
Because it's a 3-day weekend, and because my work has sucked and therefore I have a touch of schadenfreude about the whole affair (hey! someone out there made a bigger ass of herself than I usually do at work!) I read the whole thing, including the posts that have been deleted by Sams herself and by Amazon. Her descent into madness would have been, shall we say, a short but scenic journey, and the whole thing was at least as entertaining as an episode of Jersey Shore. Not that I'm recommending either of these things as entertainment--I'm sure our IR's have better things to do with their time.
But one of the best things I got out of reading the 400+ comments and the related commentaries and debates in various booklovers' forums was a link to this Amazon UK reviewer, who is a genius. I highly recommend all the reviews of cookbooks and also laughed out loud at the review of the GPS, in which I believe the reviewer goes through all the Kubler-Ross phases of dealing with recalcitrant technology. Should you need a quick laugh, one of these reviews will probably do the trick.
Adam Thinks 2010 Through
I know, I'm terrible for not running across this sooner, and you all probably knew about it. But in my defense around New Year's this would not have reminded me so very much of my job. Oh, Cindy. If only you'd had a totally senseless power point presentation with some moving graphics and maybe a dancing bear.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Stand Back Everybody...Katy Is Cooking
So, those who know me know I never cook. At best, I assemble. I can make a mean stir fry--my rice cooker cooks the rice (which I would never get right, not in a million years, because I have a hereditary condition in which all my rice turns into paste no matter what I do) and then I throw it into a wok with a stir fry sauce and vegetables and some kind of protein from Trader Joe's. Tofu, chicken, shrimp, whatever they're selling that's already cooked and sliced to throw into a stir fry. It's a balanced meal with complex carbs and veggies and protein, but I have not cooked it, per se. I have merely assembled it.
I have two tour-de-force recipes in my arsenal. They look like cooking, but they are actually just assembly followed by time in the oven. One is a French Toast Casserole, and one is a Strata (which is basically a savory French Toast Casserole, but nobody seems to have cottoned onto that yet). When I discovered that I could make these consistently without killing anyone, I was pretty excited. I prepared myself to be the Casserole Queen.
I like casseroles because everything is, by default, done at the same time. That's one of my major issues with actual cooking. If I cooked a meal like my mother used to make, you'd end up eating each element as a separate course. It would be like, "oh, look, the green beans are done." And then maybe an hour and a half later you'd have some meat. If you ever saw Bridget Jones and her blue soup, I'm right there with her. That's why a casserole is brilliant--everything is in the dish and then you have maybe a salad and some bread (one of which you assemble, and the other of which you can actually buy) and everyone is happy and fed and you get to sit down.
The only problem was that every time I looked up non-breakfast casserole recipes they always involved things I wouldn't eat under any circumstances. Cream of mushroom soup just...well, just look at it. It looks like industrial waste with some tiny, unidentifiable mushroom bits in it. Cream of chicken soup is even scarier. At least the cream of mushroom soup is vegetarian industrial waste.
Enter The Best Casserole Cookbook Ever. It offers sensible alternatives to the cream-of-mystery soups, and I have attempted several of the recipes without killing anyone. There is a Guinness stew casserole that was very, very tasty. And last night I was feeling sorry for myself and made macaroni and cheese.
When I lived in Brooklyn, there was a grocery delivery service that would bring a teeny tiny portion of the best macaroni and cheese on earth. I ordered it every two or three weeks and it was heavenly--until at some stage I looked at the calories and decided that I could not possibly exercise enough to keep eating it.
This book has a couple of recipes, and the easy one has a lot of low-fat substitutions in it, and I made it with whole wheat pasta. I would change some things next time (more cheddar, and all of it sharp), but it was darn close to the best mac and cheese I've ever tasted. It was by no stretch of the imagination virtuous but a) I'm not dead, and b) it was probably better for me than mac and cheese from a box--it certainly tasted better. Plus my house smelled amazing.
Cooking wasn't even one of my 2010 goals. Indeed, it may run counter to one of my goals, which is to lose weight. But I'm still glad to know that I can do it without taking lives.
I have two tour-de-force recipes in my arsenal. They look like cooking, but they are actually just assembly followed by time in the oven. One is a French Toast Casserole, and one is a Strata (which is basically a savory French Toast Casserole, but nobody seems to have cottoned onto that yet). When I discovered that I could make these consistently without killing anyone, I was pretty excited. I prepared myself to be the Casserole Queen.
I like casseroles because everything is, by default, done at the same time. That's one of my major issues with actual cooking. If I cooked a meal like my mother used to make, you'd end up eating each element as a separate course. It would be like, "oh, look, the green beans are done." And then maybe an hour and a half later you'd have some meat. If you ever saw Bridget Jones and her blue soup, I'm right there with her. That's why a casserole is brilliant--everything is in the dish and then you have maybe a salad and some bread (one of which you assemble, and the other of which you can actually buy) and everyone is happy and fed and you get to sit down.
The only problem was that every time I looked up non-breakfast casserole recipes they always involved things I wouldn't eat under any circumstances. Cream of mushroom soup just...well, just look at it. It looks like industrial waste with some tiny, unidentifiable mushroom bits in it. Cream of chicken soup is even scarier. At least the cream of mushroom soup is vegetarian industrial waste.
Enter The Best Casserole Cookbook Ever. It offers sensible alternatives to the cream-of-mystery soups, and I have attempted several of the recipes without killing anyone. There is a Guinness stew casserole that was very, very tasty. And last night I was feeling sorry for myself and made macaroni and cheese.When I lived in Brooklyn, there was a grocery delivery service that would bring a teeny tiny portion of the best macaroni and cheese on earth. I ordered it every two or three weeks and it was heavenly--until at some stage I looked at the calories and decided that I could not possibly exercise enough to keep eating it.
This book has a couple of recipes, and the easy one has a lot of low-fat substitutions in it, and I made it with whole wheat pasta. I would change some things next time (more cheddar, and all of it sharp), but it was darn close to the best mac and cheese I've ever tasted. It was by no stretch of the imagination virtuous but a) I'm not dead, and b) it was probably better for me than mac and cheese from a box--it certainly tasted better. Plus my house smelled amazing.
Cooking wasn't even one of my 2010 goals. Indeed, it may run counter to one of my goals, which is to lose weight. But I'm still glad to know that I can do it without taking lives.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Krugman strikes again
I've commented before that Paul Krugman writes an interesting, though at times a bit dense, blog. Two things of note about it today.
First, although the man makes insane amounts of money, and I assume enjoys his blogging, you could not pay me enough to write a blog like his to an audience like his. Read the comments that get posted to like, everything he says. If he said the sky was blue there would be 30 people with angry, critical responses ranging from the overblown, overanalyzed, and wrong to the crazy to the just plain ignorant and stupid. I hope he never reads the comments, because if he does he'll be needing some major antidepressants, and a bodybuard.
Second, and perhaps more to the point, he has a funny post on Fox TV. Check it out here.
First, although the man makes insane amounts of money, and I assume enjoys his blogging, you could not pay me enough to write a blog like his to an audience like his. Read the comments that get posted to like, everything he says. If he said the sky was blue there would be 30 people with angry, critical responses ranging from the overblown, overanalyzed, and wrong to the crazy to the just plain ignorant and stupid. I hope he never reads the comments, because if he does he'll be needing some major antidepressants, and a bodybuard.
Second, and perhaps more to the point, he has a funny post on Fox TV. Check it out here.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Letterman on Leno
I like the way he gets a three-fer in his parody at the end--Leno, NBC, and Law & Order:
Conan, the People of Earth Salute You!
Before O'Brien took over the Tonight Show, I saw an episode of The Actor's Studio where he was interviewed. I'm a huge fan, and it was easy to enjoy the retrospective of his work on the Simpsons and his subsequent rise to prominence as a late-night host. What I didn't expect was how emotional he was about the opportunity to host a show that he clearly saw as a hallowed American tradition. It was clear that the show meant a lot to him, and that he was excited about the challenge of making it his own.
I think O'Brien is the real thing--the true heir to Johnny Carson and a good guy--and I was really happy that he was going to the Tonight Show. I hear a lot of comments about how "out there" he is and how people have had trouble connecting with him, but frankly, Leno had two years to make ratings and the privilege of at least one proven flagship show to support him. I think O'Brien would have made the connection, given time.
I'm sad that this debacle could mean the end of the Tonight Show, but I respect Conan for stepping aside and not being a party to the stupidity. His statement makes a good read.
I think O'Brien is the real thing--the true heir to Johnny Carson and a good guy--and I was really happy that he was going to the Tonight Show. I hear a lot of comments about how "out there" he is and how people have had trouble connecting with him, but frankly, Leno had two years to make ratings and the privilege of at least one proven flagship show to support him. I think O'Brien would have made the connection, given time.
I'm sad that this debacle could mean the end of the Tonight Show, but I respect Conan for stepping aside and not being a party to the stupidity. His statement makes a good read.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Coach for just one day
Cue the Thompson Twins music (a billion weird-o points to anyone getting that reference).
Shifter here. (duh).
So one of the reasons I haven't been posting, the only reason I haven't been posting, is that I grew a third arm last month and it took a while to learn how to coordinate it while typing. Kidding. I've been crazy busy. Now, most of our IR's, and our non-I co-blogger, are at least as crazy busy as I, so I won't bitch too much. But crazy busy = less posts. And third arm, well, that = all kinds of crap. But I digress.
One thing that kept me crazy busy was hauling my daughters around all day Saturday to various kid like activities. My beloved was working that day, so I was, well, not working on work and instead kid-hauling. Kid hauling isn't as bad as working if you have cool kids, which we do. But when you're done with working you have a finished project, or at least a pay check. When you're done with kid-hauling, you have more kid-hauling to do. So one of the things I kid-hauled to was an indoor soccer practice, my older daughter's first.
This was through our local YMCA, the folks who brought us Dreadmills and tiny hamster like tracks. It was not, as it turns out, a high stress event. I got there with my kids and found that one team was already warming up and the other, my daughters, seemed not to exist. So I told my daughter to go out and start kicking a ball around, and went and kicked a ball to her to encourage her. Next thing I know a young lady who was evidently the referee came up to me and asked if I would like to be coach. Those of you who know me are laughing right now. I said, calmly I thought, hell no. She said "it's easy" and I said "I don't know how to play soccer." Thinking that perhaps knowing how to play soccer was a prerequisite to coaching soccer. She said "you just have them do some drills" and I said "what are those?" She said "Ok, I'll do it." But then she seemed to be too busy and I was feeling guilty, so I told her I would tell the kids to do whatever she told me to tell them, and hence Coach Shifter was born.
I wish you could have seen it, dear IRs. There stood Shifter, pretending to know what I was doing, yelling encouraging things like "Good job! Good block! Kick the ball that way!" I was most proud of the "kick the ball that way" comment, as it couldn't possibly be wrong. Whichever way was the right way, that's the way I meant. The other coach, who it turned out had played soccer professionally 20 years ago, just looked at me like I had grown a third arm. The other parents couldn't bitch, though, cause they weren't out there coaching. It was just me.
So coaching lasted an hour. One of the longer hours of my life. From time to time I'd wonder how this was happening to me. I hadn't even meant to stay and watch! I was just going to drop her off for an hour and go home. And now I was a coach. And I sucked! Now maybe 8 year old kids don't know if you suck, but I sure knew. I mean it's all for fun anyway, and they weren't even keeping score, and, and, and. But still, if you're going to do something for fun, shoudlnt' you at least do it right? Or is that weird. Blessedly, the hour only lasted about six months and then it was over.
I'd like to say it was fun but that would be an overstatement. Kind of like Sarah Palin overstated the Bridge to Nowhere thing. A bald-faced lie? Yes, that kind of overstatement. But my daughter loved it. "Are you going to be my coach next week too Daddy?" "No, your mother is bringing you next week." Just to be sure.
Shifter here. (duh).
So one of the reasons I haven't been posting, the only reason I haven't been posting, is that I grew a third arm last month and it took a while to learn how to coordinate it while typing. Kidding. I've been crazy busy. Now, most of our IR's, and our non-I co-blogger, are at least as crazy busy as I, so I won't bitch too much. But crazy busy = less posts. And third arm, well, that = all kinds of crap. But I digress.
One thing that kept me crazy busy was hauling my daughters around all day Saturday to various kid like activities. My beloved was working that day, so I was, well, not working on work and instead kid-hauling. Kid hauling isn't as bad as working if you have cool kids, which we do. But when you're done with working you have a finished project, or at least a pay check. When you're done with kid-hauling, you have more kid-hauling to do. So one of the things I kid-hauled to was an indoor soccer practice, my older daughter's first.
This was through our local YMCA, the folks who brought us Dreadmills and tiny hamster like tracks. It was not, as it turns out, a high stress event. I got there with my kids and found that one team was already warming up and the other, my daughters, seemed not to exist. So I told my daughter to go out and start kicking a ball around, and went and kicked a ball to her to encourage her. Next thing I know a young lady who was evidently the referee came up to me and asked if I would like to be coach. Those of you who know me are laughing right now. I said, calmly I thought, hell no. She said "it's easy" and I said "I don't know how to play soccer." Thinking that perhaps knowing how to play soccer was a prerequisite to coaching soccer. She said "you just have them do some drills" and I said "what are those?" She said "Ok, I'll do it." But then she seemed to be too busy and I was feeling guilty, so I told her I would tell the kids to do whatever she told me to tell them, and hence Coach Shifter was born.
I wish you could have seen it, dear IRs. There stood Shifter, pretending to know what I was doing, yelling encouraging things like "Good job! Good block! Kick the ball that way!" I was most proud of the "kick the ball that way" comment, as it couldn't possibly be wrong. Whichever way was the right way, that's the way I meant. The other coach, who it turned out had played soccer professionally 20 years ago, just looked at me like I had grown a third arm. The other parents couldn't bitch, though, cause they weren't out there coaching. It was just me.
So coaching lasted an hour. One of the longer hours of my life. From time to time I'd wonder how this was happening to me. I hadn't even meant to stay and watch! I was just going to drop her off for an hour and go home. And now I was a coach. And I sucked! Now maybe 8 year old kids don't know if you suck, but I sure knew. I mean it's all for fun anyway, and they weren't even keeping score, and, and, and. But still, if you're going to do something for fun, shoudlnt' you at least do it right? Or is that weird. Blessedly, the hour only lasted about six months and then it was over.
I'd like to say it was fun but that would be an overstatement. Kind of like Sarah Palin overstated the Bridge to Nowhere thing. A bald-faced lie? Yes, that kind of overstatement. But my daughter loved it. "Are you going to be my coach next week too Daddy?" "No, your mother is bringing you next week." Just to be sure.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Neil Gaiman Featured in Telegraph's Expat Bookclub
Neil Gaiman writes a few paragraphs explaining the genesis of Neverwhere, including a shout-out to Lenny Henry. You could actually hear Lenny Henry's voice in your head if you read Anansi Boys in a very quiet place. (Lenny Henry also reads the audiobook in case your head isn't as noisy as mine in quiet places.)
WTF Moment in NY
Just to prove that giant corporations are insane until we make them pretend they're not crazy, this article in the NY Times explains that unsold clothing is cut up and then thrown away in New York City, because you wouldn't want to donate it, or even to allow people to find it and wear it because they are cold or homeless.
Note to corporations: If you donated the clothing, the Times might write an article about that, too. And then you wouldn't look like giant douchebags. Just a thought.
Note to corporations: If you donated the clothing, the Times might write an article about that, too. And then you wouldn't look like giant douchebags. Just a thought.
Saturday, January 02, 2010
Surgeons and the God Complex
You know how people always talk about how surgeons have a God complex? Yeah, that's totally real. The surgeon who performed my second emergency surgery in a week has cast-iron balls and he's right about everything all the time...except when he isn't. My wound is infected because he gave me inaccurate wound care instructions, and even when I questioned his stupid method and explained that I had had this same surgery before, he said, "Well, that may be how they do it where you're from, but here we do it this way." Oh, okay, Mr. Balls of Steel.
I was quite happy to follow his instructions, because they were much easier, and the wound seemed good two days later. But now it's infected. Naturally it waits until the weekend to do this, because that's when you can't do anything about it without going to an emergency room where they'll just carve you into a million pieces and leave you for dead.
So we called him today in an effort to get some guidance on the matter. His wisdom? "It's always going to be infected." Um, really? Then what the fuck did I need your services for exactly? And if I did need you, shouldn't we have installed some kind of permanent apparatus to deal with the infection? It took the testimony of a nurse to convince him that it needed further attention, and I don't even want to explain what we had to do with it. And now I'm basically not allowed to sleep until it heals because I have to supervise the damn thing every hour or else it will sprint off into the land of infection again--it literally gained ground while I made myself dinner.
I try to be a model patient, really I do. I once had a conversation with a friend of mine who was in the hospital all the time, and she explained that it was best to be positive and sweet and hardy and brave and follow instructions without fail all the time--that you got good treatment that way, and that if you broke down and admitted that you were upset the medical establishment will basically drop you like a hot potato and leave you to rot in your own depression because, frankly, they can't afford to be sucked in. But today on the phone with the surgeon, I verbally frosted his precious cast-iron balls until I was absolutely certain they won't thaw out until New Years 2011. I got courtesy antibiotics for my trouble, which was a moderate consolation prize. But honestly, watching him cover his privates with a clipboard the next time he sees me will be way more satisfying.
I can fully appreciate that, as he reminded me in my initial examination, "it's not like you have cancer or anything," and that is some comfort to me, it's true. But I'm still a 38-year old woman with a gaping hole in her chest and I think I'm allowed to ask whatever questions I need to in order to feel comfortable that I'm doing the right thing about it. And I deserve to have those questions answered completely and with respect. So now that he's made me totally paranoid about infection, he can share the fun a little by being paranoid about his balls. It's only fair.
Which makes me wonder a little about the God complex. Maybe it's not true. I have a hard time imagining God being paranoid about his balls. Maybe it's more like a Pope complex. You know, "I'm infallible and super awesome, but just in case anyone else thinks I'm an asshole, I'll ride around in this bulletproof popemobile."
I was quite happy to follow his instructions, because they were much easier, and the wound seemed good two days later. But now it's infected. Naturally it waits until the weekend to do this, because that's when you can't do anything about it without going to an emergency room where they'll just carve you into a million pieces and leave you for dead.
So we called him today in an effort to get some guidance on the matter. His wisdom? "It's always going to be infected." Um, really? Then what the fuck did I need your services for exactly? And if I did need you, shouldn't we have installed some kind of permanent apparatus to deal with the infection? It took the testimony of a nurse to convince him that it needed further attention, and I don't even want to explain what we had to do with it. And now I'm basically not allowed to sleep until it heals because I have to supervise the damn thing every hour or else it will sprint off into the land of infection again--it literally gained ground while I made myself dinner.
I try to be a model patient, really I do. I once had a conversation with a friend of mine who was in the hospital all the time, and she explained that it was best to be positive and sweet and hardy and brave and follow instructions without fail all the time--that you got good treatment that way, and that if you broke down and admitted that you were upset the medical establishment will basically drop you like a hot potato and leave you to rot in your own depression because, frankly, they can't afford to be sucked in. But today on the phone with the surgeon, I verbally frosted his precious cast-iron balls until I was absolutely certain they won't thaw out until New Years 2011. I got courtesy antibiotics for my trouble, which was a moderate consolation prize. But honestly, watching him cover his privates with a clipboard the next time he sees me will be way more satisfying.
I can fully appreciate that, as he reminded me in my initial examination, "it's not like you have cancer or anything," and that is some comfort to me, it's true. But I'm still a 38-year old woman with a gaping hole in her chest and I think I'm allowed to ask whatever questions I need to in order to feel comfortable that I'm doing the right thing about it. And I deserve to have those questions answered completely and with respect. So now that he's made me totally paranoid about infection, he can share the fun a little by being paranoid about his balls. It's only fair.
Which makes me wonder a little about the God complex. Maybe it's not true. I have a hard time imagining God being paranoid about his balls. Maybe it's more like a Pope complex. You know, "I'm infallible and super awesome, but just in case anyone else thinks I'm an asshole, I'll ride around in this bulletproof popemobile."
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