food i made plus a musical note

polenta and vegetable bake. tasted like lasagna. a lot of eggplant.

never got around to making a salad with the fuyu persimmons. they sure are pretty though.

i baked a batch of cookies. i made two pots of coffee.

salmon salad with white beans last sunday.

plus, shankar jaikikshan's title music from merchant ivory's film bombay talkie caught my attention from the darjeeling limited.

To Do.

Breakfast: Part 2

This is the greatest thing ever.

Asparagus

18th century poet Charles Lamb thought that the vegetable inspired gentle thoughts, while Aristotle thought that it caused erections.

Locked Out

I locked myself out of the house on Saturday. A little turn of the old doorknob on our front door exiled me outside of the house with dog in tow. I sat with friends and waited for our locksmith to arrive. When the locksmith arrived, I couldn't believe the plumber butt that he displayed. It was like it was out of a movie or a sitcom that our handyman should have such a preference for low waisted pants, and not wearing underwear.

Sunday morning I awoke, and I felt like I had to make up for my $150 mistake. I scrubbed the sink, the toilet, vacumned the carpets, swept the floor, emptied the catbox, and did a load of laundry. I paid $150 to get in the house; I was going to make sure I stayed in it for awhile and took some measure to make it the best house possible.

Oyster Shooter

my first oyster shooter. spicy, salty, and slimy as it slipped down my throat. a little burn and then it was gone. in the shotglass: jalapeno infused vodka, cocktail sauce, a dash of Tabasco and of course a raw oyster.

bubble bubble pearl milk tea

i enjoyed a most delicious coconut green milk tea with pearls today. bubble tea is so refreshing on a hot day. It's always oh so satisfying to punch the oversized straw through the cellophane and hear the subtle "pop", so much so that I don't really want the bubble tea unless they have the machine that seals the plastic cup closed.

Wikipedia has this to say about it:

"The original bubble tea consisted of a hot Taiwanese black tea, tapioca pearls, condensed milk, and honey.

These tapioca pearls are made mostly of tapioca starch, which comes from the tapioca, or bitter-cassava plant. In other parts of the world, the bitter-cassava plant may be called manioca or yuca. Cassava is native to South America, and was introduced to Asia in the 1800s. The balls are prepared by boiling for 25 minutes, until they are cooked thoroughly but have not lost pliancy, then cooled for 25 minutes. After cooking they last about 7 hours. The pearls have little taste, and are usually soaked in sugar or honey solutions.

There are two shops that claim to be the first creator of Bubble Tea. One is Liu Han Chie who worked in Chun Shui Tang teahouse Taichung City, Taiwan in the early 1980s, and experimented with cold milk tea by adding fruit, syrup, candied yams, and tapioca balls. Although the drink was not popular at first, a Japanese television show generated interest among businessmen. The drink became well-known in most parts of East and Southeast Asia during the 1990s.

An alternative origin is the Hanlin Teahouse in Tainan City, Taiwan, owned by Tu Tsong He Hanlin Bubble tea is made by adding traditional white fenyuan which have an appearance of pearls, supposedly resulting in the so-called "pearl tea." Shortly after, Hanlin changed the white fenyuan to the black, as it is today.

"Bubble Tea" in Chinese actually refers to a modern method of beverage preparation: to efficiently and homogenously mix various ingredients in these drinks (e.g., sugar, powdered milk, tea, and ice), drink makers often shake the tea up as bartenders do with cocktails. Thusly prepared, a layer of foam forms on the surface, and any tea so prepared can be called bubble tea.

good things

1. coffee
2. butter
3. lemons

I am now a real office worker . . .

because I purchased this.

existential loneliness at the dryer

most of the time i am okay with my single status. I definitely have those moments where i feel this melancolic haze about what things could be like, but i've been maturing and realizing that my life is as good as it will ever be, so dwelling on how things could be better is a waste of time.

but then i have these ridiculous moments where i don't want to feel so alone. pulling my laundry out of the dryer today, it hit. what do i expect? someone to clean the lint out of the lint trap with me, each of us holding a plastic edge, while my other hand reaches out to wipe away the sheet of linty fibers.

i realize fully that this is ridiculous.

most classicly, it's the waking up each morning that i find the toughest. i have no problem coming home to an empty bed, but waking up inside of one is more frightening. i roll over each morning to a vacant slot with an unused pillow next to it. the delight and/or regularity of having someone there is something i have never really been able to get used to.

so much so that I have much difficulty in the past sleeping next to someone. i get insomnia, that usually fuels my love sickness, and makes me loopy as can be.

George oppen talks about the moment of awakening quite extensively in his poetry. it is the moment that light hits our eyes that we realized that we exist. we see something that proves that we are expereincing, that we are alive. maybe what i long for is to see a mirror image, a male image that reminds me that I exist. that i am not just a floating entity. Is this what true love is able to prove to us? That we exist, quite simply, alongside of each other. Proximity becomes comforting, even though we experience alone. Why is romantic love different?

I don't mean this in a way that being with a man would as the cliche goes "fill the void" inside of me, but I do desire to feel presence of a certain masculine variety. Presence, being present . . . engagement.

I watched a man on the bus yesterday methodically change his text message to someone that I presume was a girlfriend. He slowly made the message he was sending to her less and less engaged. It went from something like "let's meet here at this time" to "lemme know" (let me was spelled just like that) . . . text messaging is the best thing that ever happened to boys.

the desire for presence is such a female desire, and the desire for casual freedom such a masculine one. i resent feeling like such a cliche.

motion

i'm in one of those places again where everything seems up in the air. i have no idea what will happen next. i don't know what I want out of my life. i don't know what i want to be. I believe this is commonly referred to these days as "the quarter life crisis." i am excited by the thought of the opportunities ahead of me for self improvement.

on a similar note, my opinions are more clear cut these days. i assume i am on the path to a higher level of self assurance.

going with the flow is simultaneously not acceptable, and my only option. i guess what i mean is that i am open to whatever fate has to offer me, but i am aware of the fact that I am in control when i believe that it is taking me somewhere i don't want to go.

These names only mean something to you

Vocabulary.
my vocabulary against your vocabulary. everytime i have to communicate with someone, (and sometimes even with myself), I run up against this conflict.

Each person seems to have their own set of meaning that they are woking within.

a new computer

a new haircut

I've been trying to clean and minimize these days. It feels wonderful. A few weeks ago I recycled some old cassette tapes, this week I have a bag full of books that I'm going to donate. I put stray paperwork in it's filed home, and spare blankets in their place in the basement. Less weight, more clarity, I hope. The comic books are on the agenda, and there's a bag of old shoes sitting at home to go out too.

Like the roasted body of an animal, you and I, we consumed each delicate bite. We picked off all the meaty morsels, and chewed them over. We revisited the flavors of the passion we shared. I picked, you picked, we both chewed on the fat, fed ourselves on the meat.

The carcass is left, the flavor is still in my mouth, and sadly darling, there is no more to eat.

I still want to chew off your shoulder. I want to give you my arms and my calves.

The fading sets in even further, but I remember fondly . . .

Your Catfish Friend
by Richard Brautigan

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

Dear Anonymous Commenter to My Blog

Hello,

I have turned my comments back on. I trust that you will not abuse the feature. I understand your good intentions, but I was displeased that you used my real name in my blog. I do not want it posted.

I was unsettled by the nature of your comments, especially after the second poem you left for me (both poems I have removed from the blog). Your sentiments were of an overly reverant nature. Your fascination with me is largely constructed. You do not know me as a person.

I have no idea who you are. I have read the posts you made to your blog, the blog that you linked to in one of your posts, and have now deleted.

If you would like to commment on my blog, please be transparent about your identity.

Best,

A Thursday in the ER . . .

I saw my doctor last thursday morning. I had to drink tons of water and wait forty minutes to give him a sample. He wrote me a prescription, and sent me to the ER.

By the time my sister drove me to the emergency room, I was in serious pain. My bladder was visibly distended. The previous two days, urination had required ample time, the sound of a faucet running, and some reading material, usually the back of a hairspray bottle to distract me and relax me enough to let it flow. It was hard to walk into the ER.

They gave me my robe, and showed me the hospital room where I would be waiting for my doctor. It was more like an operating room with a huge light over my head. I had peed once on my way in, and the pain returned. It was excruciating.

I talked to at least 3 doctors reviewing my story, my theories of what was causing my affliction. They told me it wasn't a normal bladder infection, that I should be going a lot, not retaining.

They did a bladder scan: 967 ml. It was obvious I needed to be drained.

They took my blood, and I waited. It was cold and I was feeling overwhelmed. The nurse returned, and put in a foley catheter. I didn't notice an immediate release in pressure, but within 5 minutes, my only discomfort was the presence of the catheter. I drained steadily for quite awhile. I hade 1500 ml inside me, more than a liter!! That's more than a carafe of wine.

They sent me home with a leg bag, and instructions to see a uroligist. Thank goodness my sister was there with me. Not the way I expected things to be. I thought I was going to get prescribed antibiotics at the first doctor's office, and go to work, go to yoga in the evening, but I was at home with a catheter.

Lucky Breaks

So I won a television from Lucky Magazine. It's a 20" LCD screen. At first I thought it was spam, but curiosity got the better of me. I did remember entering for it. . . and it was real. Arrived on my doorstep last week. A pretty nice tv too.

I had no idea what to do with it. I have a small room, and it would require me to buy a dvd player. I also already have a tv/dvd set up, one of those all in one combo units. I decided to give it to my parents. They can use as a big computer monitor. My dad will be proud of my gold bar syndrome . . . runs in the family.