For all you savvy business people. This, from the Sunday edition of the LA Times under Business Opportunities:
“Brothel. World Famous Chicken Ranch. Real $ Maker. Includes 40 ac.”
Lemme know if any of you want the phone number.
Hey, you know, 40 acres is nothing to sneeze at.
To have a husband who doesn’t instantly dial a divorce lawyer when she turns to him — interrupting a peaceful squat on the couch — and starts screeching operatically, without warning, and with a right proper British accent:
Strength doesn’t lie in numbers!
Strength doesn’t lie in wealth!
Strength lies in nights of peaceful slumbers …
When you wake up — WAKE UP!
It tells me all I trust I leave my heart to
All I trust becomes my own
I have confidence in confidence alone
(Oh help!)
I have confidence in confidence alonnnne …..
Besides which you see I have connn-fiii-dennnce in meeeeeee!
Clearly.
(I wrote this last night then fell asleep and forgot to post. So ….. come baaack with me, baaack in time … deeeep in the past … 15 hourrrs (ish) ago ….)
~ Bela Karolyi, that crazy Romanian gymnastics coach, is a commentator with Bob Costas, who seems to need emergency medical assistance, so palpable is his distress over sitting there with Bela. I mean, you cannot understand a thing the man says. Maybe it’s that wiry curtain of mustache trapping words and making everything mumbly-jumbly. But he’s excitable, that’s for sure. Who will be the 6 girls on the Olympic team, Bela? asks Bob. WEEL, BOBE, I HEEF TO TEEL YOU DER VILL BE 6 GEERLS ON DA TEAM! EETS HARD TO SAY WHO EET VIL BE — EETS VERY MOST DISPUTED EXCITEENG!! Bob just stares at him, brow furrowed, mouth agape. I KEEDING, BOB COSTAS!! Then Bob says, Well, there’s pretty much nothing to say after that. Hahahaha. Oh, the pain — the visible pain — of Bob’s professionalism being turned on its ear! Bela is a runaway train. I LOVE this. And Bela will be a commentator at the Olympics. Cannot WAIT. They will be The Odd Couple of the Olympics and the undercurrent of buzzing discomfort will be a joy to behold. Mark your calendars, pippa.
~ Shawn Johnson, the leader here so far, is an adorable smiling chipmunk. I want her for a pet. I want to put her in a cage with a habitrail and a hamster wheel and feed her nuts and pellets and watch her drink out of a little drinky bottle attached to the cage. She’s 4-9. She would probably fit. And, please, this is in no way insulting or dehumanizing or anything like that. That’s not the way I roll.
~ There’s a gymnast competing here named Nastia Lukin. What is UP with that? Why, in the name of holy Moses, name your child Nastia?? I get that her dad is some weirdo Russian gold medal gymnast and he’s cold and never smiles and ignores her if she doesn’t do well. But Nastia? It’s a hostile act, is what it is. Passive aggressive, Daddy-ov. What’s wrong with Natasha or Tasha or Sasha or Natalia or something else Russianesque? Nope. It’s Nastia. And her sister Grossia. And their brother Filthia.
~ All these girls are built like Kewpie dolls. Without the belly. They are tiny, thick-necked, and stumpy. They seem to be stumpier and beefier than I remember. Ya feel me, dawg? Very beefy. Carl’s Jr. Six-Dollar Burger beefy.
(Again with the drunk blogging, Trace? You have a problem. You do.)
~ Okay. I don’t understand the whole point of the Olympic trials anymore. (And yet … I continue to watch.) It goes like this: Six girls will make the team. The top two finishers in the trials are automatically on the team. (Shawn and Grossia.) The remaining four will be picked from a “training camp” held at the Karolyis’ ranch in Texas. (“Training camp”? “Karolyis’ ranch”? Uhm, what’s going on? What does that really mean?) So — what’s the point of the competition? 2/3 of the team is selected by committee. Why isn’t it just the top 6 finishers at the trials make the team? I mean, let the girls compete and let the results be the results. That’s what happens at the Olympics, right? There isn’t a committee after the fact deciding the results. Or I should say, there is RARELY a committee after the fact deciding the results, usually if there’s a controversy. (Hello, Sale and Pelletier, pairs figure skating.) I don’t get it. Someone explain why the top 6 finishers at the trials are NOT necessarily the team. Well, maybe someone had a bad competition and so the panel will consider their overall skill. THAT’S THE WAY IT GOES!! IT’S SPORTS!! AGHHHH!! Just give everyone gold medals then. Nastia gets one. Grossia, too. Filthia is AWOL, so Grossia accepts on his behalf, sobbing huge half-Russian sobs for her giant wrestler brother.
~ My new pet, Shawn Johnson, is simply amazing on the beam. She tumbles on that thing as if it’s the floor. Breathtaking! I’ve never seen anything like it. Wow. WOW. She’s astonishing. Make me proud at the Olympics, my little beefy peach, and there’s some extra pellets in it for you.
~ I heart Bob Costas and his twitching discomfort right now. This cannot be overstated. His DREAD whenever Bela opens his mouth. This is epic comedy.
~ Nastia Grossia is the only thin, balletic gymnast. She’s not a Kewpie burger, but, to compensate, her hairline is unnecessarily high. I see no potential for her to be my pet. Sorry, Grossia.
~ The competition is over now and Bela is yelling something at Bob again and I cannot write anything about it, really, because I’m laughing too hard. I’m telling you. I will watch the Olympics for no other reason but THIS. The Bob and Bela show is painfully hilarious.
YAY, OLYMPICS!! I CANNOT WAIT!!
There’s a movie about gymnastics starring Jeff Bridges and I haven’t seen it? What?? Gymnastics AND Jeff Bridges? I do not care how flat-out cheesy this film may be, I’m gonna have to see it.
Here’s a snippet of an interview I found with Jeff Bridges and a couple of teenage actresses from the film. I love this; so sweet:
NIKKI SOOHOO (Wei Wei Yong):
“Jeff is such an amazing person. One day I was having a bad day and he came into my trailer and serenaded me on the guitar until I stopped crying. I thought that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done and it really showed me a different side of him.â€BRIDGES:
“It’s almost like a reflex action. You get a girl that is that age and they start to cry, and you just go, ‘Come on, let’s play. Let me show you how to play the guitar.’ So we played some guitar. I thought that she was wonderful in the movie too.â€MADDY CURLEY (Mina Hoyt):
“[Because I was a gymnast] Jeff would ask for advice on being a coach. ‘Maddy, Missy’s character is about to do this vault, now what would I say to her?’ And he’d take everything I said to heart. It was pretty cool to have this amazing actor, I’m like, ‘The Dude is asking me how to coach gymnastics!’â€
Yes. Sheila guessed it! It’s (meant to be) Nicole Kidman from “Moulin Rouge” done from my DVD of it last night.
Please note my totally extreme gonads in showing you what the actual DVD looks like:
Her face is wider than I made it and I had trouble “finishing the hat” — (name THAT musical) — and her earring is a scribble and, well, a veritable bouillabaisse of other such issues. But I’m okay with it for a 15-minute challenge.
“Come what maaaaaay …..”
(It’s pixellated again. Drat. I don’t know how to smooth it out. Looks better in person, I think. Ah, well. Cheap pencil, bad scan, operator error? I dunno. Last night, I gave myself 15 minutes and the corner of a paper to draw from image on movie DVD. Just little games I play with myself. Yo dee doh.)
Any guesses who it is? (I did give you a huge hint. I honestly can’t objectively say if it looks like her.)
UPDATE: Just to let you all know — Jayne has just made her own ricotta cheese. Naturally, I proposed to her on the spot. I’m sure I will be very happy, is all I can say. Oh, and if you go over there and see her ricotta cheese and think you’re going to propose to her now? Know this, Peaches: I got there first. I’m pretty sure these types of wedded-bliss things are first come/first served.
Carry on.
***************
Check me out! I do recipes now! I have no credibility whatsoever in this area, but still, I am undeterred!
Okay. Look. Let’s be honest. I’m an okay cook. I have certain things I make really really well. This nourishing protein-rich recipe is one. But I don’t have the passion or the God-given gift that makes people weep with joy whenever they eat my food. On the other hand, MB has not died from starvation. Which, well, has nothing to do with me, now that I think about it. Hm. He does seem to eat copious slobbering amounts whenever we visit his mom. Hm. Maybe he stores it in his cheeks or his hump or his gun safe. Something to think about.
Basically, I am not Jayne. Jayne’s the one you need to see for ALL your gourmet cooking/baking needs. The girl has mad skillz. Have I ever tasted her food? Well, no, no, I haven’t. I don’t need to because I drool just looking at her blog. Good Lord. I’m drooling now just thinking about her blog. Good LORD.
Jayne! JAYNE!!! I am Mr. Rochester, calling to you across the space-time continuum!! JAYYNNE!!
Uhm, I need to calm down. Maybe I shouldn’t blog hungry. Or make random references to 19th-century Gothic romance novels.
Seriously, though. If I were on Death Row for killing that person I killed in my dream the other night — you know, the one I didn’t tell Sawyer about — and they came to me and asked what I wanted for my last meal, I would say, “Give me anything made by Jayne — and step on it, Slappy!! And while you’re at it, since I’m gonna die anyway, gimme one of her kids for dessert. They are smushably, edibly adorable. Oh, and gimme a coupla Wet Naps; I plan to make a big ol’ green mile mess, okay? So get on it, Crackie.”
(It was good that I prefaced all that with “seriously, though” don’t you think? Yes, if I were seriously on Death Row for killing someone in my dreams. Please still love me.)
Let’s see. What’s this post about? Oh, yeah. My caramel almond popcorn recipe. I make this for my Dad every Father’s Day. He gorges on it like a frothing child and never gains an ounce. Grrrr. Thanks for giving those genes to your son, Dad. I also make buckets — literally, buckets — of this for everyone in the family at Christmas. Caramel almond popcorn may very well be solely responsible for turning The Banshee into The Banshee. She has serious issues with this stuff. Has a flappy-armed FREAKOUT at the mere sight of it. (Notice I said “it” not “me.”) Do not get in her way while she’s eating it. She’s a wild animal. She will kill you.
So here’s the recipe, already. Sheesh.
CARAMEL ALMOND FREAKOUT POPCORN
1 C. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, plus more for pans
3/4 C. corn kernels
2 1/2 TBSP. canola oil
2 C. almonds, lightly toasted
2 C. packed light-brown sugar
1/2 C. light corn syrup
2 tsps. pure vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. almond extract
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1. Preheat oven to 250. Butter two baking sheets, set aside.
2. Place corn kernels and oil in large pot, partially covered. (Okay. Pop the corn, pippa. I’m not writing this out. Pop the durned corn.)
3. Transfer the popped corn to a large bowl; add almonds. Set aside.
4. In a medium saucepan, combine sugar, butter, and corn syrup over medium-high heat; stir to dissolve sugar and melt butter. Cook, stirring constantly, until it reaches 255 on a candy thermometer. (A what?)
5. Remove pan from heat; stir in extracts, salt, and baking soda. Working quick like a bunny, pour over popcorn and almonds; toss with wooden spoons — or whatever spoons and/or sticks you have around, frankly — while rotating bowl. (Wow. I haven’t read these directions in a long time. I’m supposed to ROTATE the bowl?) When completely coated, divide evenly between prepared baking sheets. Bake, stirring occasionally, for 1 HR. 20 MIN. Popcorn will crisp when cooled.
I like to mix it up on the nuts. The batch I just made for my dad had almonds and cashews. Yum. I’ve used peanuts, macadamias, all kinds. I like to pulverize them — is that the word I want? — in the blender so there’s just a little coating of nuts on the corn, rather than big nut chunks which are harder than the popcorn and therefore exhausting to chew. They give me the vapors. Basically, I’m lazy, so I have my blender pre-chew the nuts for me. Sounds appropriate and tasty, too, don’t you think? Also: I wasn’t going to bring this up, but this whole thing now sounds vaguely pornographic. Please forgive me. I think it’s the vapors talking. The vapors and the goiter. The vapors and the goiter and the MSG. I mean, I turned a perfectly delicious recipe for caramel corn into a tawdry bit of porn corn. I have a gift for ruination.
I got 3 hours of sleep last night.
So just go visit Jayne, make some tawdry porn corn with pre-chewed nuts, and call it a day, okay?
Uhm, I’m kinda hooked on this game. I play it every day. Luckily, once you finish the puzzle, you’re done for the day. It’s not like you can obsessively play it for hours and hours. So I’m rationalizing. Whatevs.
Waiter, loudly to my dad: So. How ’bout an amber lager?
Dad: I’ll have a lemonade, please.
(Although maybe it’s only funny to me.)
*******
ME (taking a sip of MB’s drink): Ew. What is that?
HE: It’s Diet Coke and horchata.
ME: Oh! I hate horchata!
HE: You’re very passionate about this.
ME: Yes!
*******
~ He seems more like a Nudist Monthly kind of guy.
*******
Piper found out one of her friends has a hole in her heart and needs surgery. She was distressed about it and asked my sister, “How can Jesus live in a heart with a hole in it?” Sister did her best to explain about Jesus living in a person’s heart. When she was done, there was a pause, then Piper said, “Do you think he has a pool and a jacuzzi?”
Yeah. Speaking of timeout, have I ever told you about the time I worked at a preschool in Seattle and all the kids called me Miss Tracey and one day I put a rotten little punk named Rennnn in timeout in the dollhouse and dress-up area then promptly forgot he was there until 45 minutes later?
Yep. Good times. Good times.
