My cup runneth over.

I’ve had a lot of conversations over the years about how we respond to our negative (and positive) experiences through a lens of relativity. How the intensity of our problems and our capacity to feel gratitude are affected by what we know, not necessarily what we know is out there. 

There are times to strive for self-actualization (i.e. it could be better), and times to take a big ol’ reality check and realize it could be worse. I’ve thought about this personally and, truly, there is a different mindset in recognizing that I live a remarkably privileged life and then actually understanding how to process that rationally in my day-to-day happenings. 

Like this crazy rash I’ve had for more than a month now. (I know it seems a bit indiscreet to talk about rashes so openly, but it’s not like I contracted it through some kind of scandalous behavior. And it’s not like anyone who has seen me in the last few weeks hasn’t already gotten an eyeful of it—not to mention an earful about it. Sorry friends!)

It is pervasive (well, practically, thank goodness). And it itches like—pardon my French—une sale putain. If I could bottle how it feels when I scratch it, I could compete with Viagra. 

In my tiny bubble of bliss, this is a massive problem. The fact that no medical professional has yet determined what it is, or been able to adequately treat it, is slowly driving me mad. And did I mention it itches?

It’s frustrating and uncomfortable, yes. But you know what? I’ve been able to visit a doctor’s office five times in the past four weeks. I’ve had access to a prescription within an hour of diagnosis every time. I can afford to pay for all of this. I have a job to go back to after my appointments, and the sanctuary of my air-conditioned home where I can lie on an ice-pack until it melts. And then go to the freezer and grab another. 

In short, I have no problems. Only blessings that are trying to make sure I’m paying attention, I think.

 

Too many to count...

      

String Theory.

At some point, even the most resistant of renegades will probably have to cede to some kind of societal conformity. And few occasions beg obedience better than those involving domestic harmony. Like, say, a wedding. My cousin (in-law, for the record) was married in full theatrical makeup, for example, but he still had to please his mother with a customary first dance. And pleased she was, I’m sure.

If you’re especially creative, though, you might find a way to thine own self be true without your wider audience being any the wiser. 

For his nuptials, our dearly departed friend, whose memorial we just returned from, outwitted the overlords of orthodoxy by hiring a four-string quartet for his reception. They played only his favorite heavy metal tunes all night. Those in the know were delighted (if you can use that word to describe the emotions of headbangers) and those who weren't knew they weren't listening to Vivaldi, but were at least unperturbed.  

As a tribute, I’m sharing some not so high quality video/audio from that evening. Rock on!

Hit by a Semi.

Last night, a few moments before I was about to power down and retire, I ran across an article called Semicolons: A Love Story. I was naturally intrigued, but decided to hold off reading it at the time to savor it instead with my morning coffee. However, as daylight broke, my sweet anticipation quickly turned bitter when I realized that the article centered on Kurt Vonnegut’s view that the semicolon should not be used at all.

As I read, I began to experience a slight discomfort. I’ve become quite fond of the semicolon, especially over the past months, and I was not feeling at all ready to cut it out of my life—despite what seemed to be a sound reasoning. To my relief, the article ended not in favor or Mr. V. Whew.

A short-lived whew it was, though. I read the article again. I made note of the author’s lack of semicolon use, particularly in places where I’d become accustomed to inserting them. I felt my blood thin a little and drain slowly from my face. I’d been having this nagging feeling for awhile, and now it seemed to be very probable: I was wrong.

At one time, not so long ago, I’d had a pretty confident grasp on correct semicolon use, and often both doubtlessly and mercilessly edited them into and out of others’ writing. And then I read something, somewhere that indicated that I should and must place one in front of every but that presented itself to me. And so I did. Every time. From that day forward. I must have had a good reason to trust my source, though today I cannot find any record of the actual cognitive transaction that took place.

 

What I did find was an overwhelming amount of evidence that what I have been doing is totally incorrect, except for a rare 1% of the time. Visions of all the print pieces I approved, each boldly broadcasting my errant mark, flashed through my mind, and I figuratively died a mortified death for each one.

Seriously, this is really embarrassing.

Sonnet 1: Post-Melee Debris

Last summer, while in New York City for a few days, I came upon this curiosity just outside of Central Park.

It isn’t odd to encounter trash and castoffs on the streets; but this piece piqued my interest enough that I captured it on my phone with the idea that I might write about it someday. 

What happened? Was it ripped off in disgust after an insufferable day at the office? Or part of a school uniform, removed in defiance? Was it torn from its wearer’s neck in a fit of passion? Or the only remnant of an alien abduction? Maybe it simply slipped from the owner’s loose grasp and there is no story here other than a lack of awareness. Or maybe...

I paused to gaze upon the moon,

Its glow was none I’d seen.

A force so strong it made me swoon.

Was filling up the scene.

I felt a clutch around my neck,

And loosened up my tie.

I blinked my eyes to double check;

What was that in the sky?

The brightness left me paralyzed,

My knees were locked in fright.

Too late it was I realized,

A fiery meteorite:

     And now no proof that I was present,

     Except this knotted accoutrement.

My hovercraft is full of eels.

I just returned from my first class at Tigerlilly Arabic Language Academy. I’m doing this because...? I’m going to Dubai in November to visit friends and I thought it might be a good idea to know some basics. I also thought it wouldn’t hurt to illuminate my oh-so-mid-western mindset and manners with a glimpse of the mid-eastern. And, I thought it would just be plain interesting.

Do I really need this much preparation for a ten-day stay? Unlikely. But if I learned anything from my trip to Budapest last summer, having a few verbal and cultural niceties in your pocket will get you a long way. Especially when you’re at the mercy of a very grumpy taxi driver whom you encounter nearly every day. (He hugged me when he dropped me off at the airport. I either won him over or he was very happy to see me go!)

My head is pretty full at the moment. With letters that connect and those that don’t. Ever. With a little trickster called the hamzah. And the fact that despite this being my first night, I was declared mumtaz. It says so on my monkey, see…

:) ممتاز

Short & Sweet.

Mark Twain is credited for writing, “I didn't have time to write a short letter, so I wrote a long one instead.” As, according to the ever-reliable Google, are Pascal, Pliny, Shaw, Voltaire, and probably anyone else who has struggled with self-editing. 

I am guilty of being wordy, and I do recognize it as a crutch of sorts. If I write four or five paragraphs, it’s likely that there’s something good hiding in one of them. If I write one, then every word better be one-upping the last. In short, less is more...pressure.

This is intimidating. But I’m going to give it a try.

I’m taking my inspiration from a description written about the Pantone® Color of the Year: Tangerine Tango. I can state with relative certainty that Leatrice Eiseman of the Pantone Color Institute is its author. She wrote, "Sophisticated but at the same time dramatic and seductive, Tangerine Tango is an orange with a lot of depth to it. Reminiscent of the radiant shadings of a sunset, Tangerine Tango marries the vivaciousness and adrenaline rush of red with the friendliness and warmth of yellow, to form a high-visibility, magnetic hue that emanates heat and energy."

Feeling similarly expressive about Cabaret, another swatch in the Spring 2012 Collection, I might characterize it this way...

Like lips that have been locked in a ravenous kiss, Cabaret comes up for air, flushing in demure surprise. Inflamed with an innuendo of fiery yellow while tempered with a hint of cyan indifference, Cabaret’s magenta heart percolates in growing infatuation. With hunger and intensity that resonate from within, Cabaret abandons discretion and embraces with anticipation the passion to come.
 
Something like that, maybe.

No surprise: BCBG is paying attention. I picked up this dress yesterday, not knowing I'd hear
a coworker's presentation today on Pantone color trends and be moved to
write tonight about its exact color: Cabaret. Hmmm.

Two Weeks (yes, two) of Falafel: Frijol'el Negro

I was so pleased with the recipe I pulled together last week: meatless, low fat, some fiber, high protein, and mostly fresh ingredients. No bad! Until I had to recognize that I had mashed up all this goodness, rolled it into little balls, and then dropped them one by one into a vat of boiling badness. Yes, deep frying does make them delicious; but it seems almost a little demented to do this to this otherwise perfectly harmless meal.   

So, I’m going to try something. If you’re reading this, then it must have worked. If you’re not, then I wonder what I ended up doing…?

Here's everything you need:

1 - 15 ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 medium onion, chopped
1 medium jalapeño pepper, seeded and chopped
1 ear of fresh corn, kernels cut from the cob
1/4 cup fresh parsley
3 cloves garlic, chopped
Juice of half a lime
2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon Aleppo pepper
¼ teaspoon hot paprika
½ - 1 teaspoon kosher salt, to taste
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 cup of pre-soaked bulgar (about ⅓ cup dry, soaked in ½ cup of boiling water for an hour)
3-5 tablespoons of unbleached flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
Vegetable oil for frying

Here’s what to do:

Mash black beans in a large bowl until chunky and pasty. A potato masher works best for this. Put onion, jalapeño, corn, garlic, parsley, and lime juice in a food processor and blend until finely chopped; but not pureed. Add to the mashed black beans and mix thoroughly.

Add chili powder, cumin, paprika, Aleppo pepper, salt, black pepper, and bulgur and mix thoroughly with a spoon. Mix in, by tablespoons, enough flour for the dough to hold together. It will be a little sticky. Refrigerate dough for about half an hour.

About 15 minutes before cooking, mix baking powder into dough and preheat oven to 300°. 

Form dough into medium, flattened patties. Arrange them on a lightly greased or lined cookie sheet and bake for 20 minutes. Carefully flip each one over and bake for 10 more minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

So far so good, FYI.

Add about one tablespoon of vegetable oil to a non-stick skillet to cover, heat to medium high, and add patties to skillet. Sauté until evenly browned. Drain on a paper towel.

I'm serving them on flour tortillas with a lube I made by mixing half a container of Fage Total 0% plain yogurt, the juice of the other half of that lime you were wondering what to do with (never mind that you now have a half container of yogurt), a clove of minced garlic, and a little sea salt, black pepper, & Aleppo pepper. Lettuce, tomatoes, etc. as you wish.

The verdict? Not great. I think there might be something here for a veggie burger. Maybe.

What happened? For one, too much liquid came out of the food processing stage. Then I had to adjust that by adding bread crumbs and flour in addition to the bulgar. All of this wheat gave them a bitter taste. Plus, I chopped the corn in the food processor because I thought the whole kernels would make the patties fall apart. As a result, the corn was undetected except for a mysterious, unwelcome sweet taste.

I could tinker and try making them again; but my palate understands that they probably still won't be that great. I think the same bodes for the forthcoming iterations (the plan was Italian, Moroccan, and West-Coast Fusion). So, I'm going to make this a two part series and call it good. Yes, I am kind of giving up; but I'm doing it out of sincere practicality. :)

Sorry for making you read all this, by the way. I made it so far I couldn't bear to hit delete.

On a positive note, though, baking them totally worked! And the yogurt sauce was pretty dope, as well.