After tearing this recipe out of O Magazine and carting it around for five years, I finally gave it a whirl; delicious. Two suggestions: A) Cut the tofu into small triangles instead of slabs; triangles somehow look more appetizing than rectangles, and smaller pieces create more crispy edges. B) Try broiling instead of baking; baking takes forever and scorches your pan horribly.
We ate it, we loved it, we went back for thirds. Even the late Ms. Grendel lapped it up.
3. Black Bean Salad (source long forgotten, but here’s a screenshot)
Mr. S. converted us to this one. To many of us, any bean salad sounds unappetizing at best. I assure you this salad is colorful, flavorful, and reasonably good for you. Plus, easy: dice things, mince stuff, dump everything in a big bowl.
Long reviled by choosy eaters young and old, Brussels sprouts have come into fashion. Who knew that all they needed was a little tender, loving garlic/olive oil/kosher salt? Buying fresh will give you that Belle-goes-to-the-market-with-a-basket-on-one-arm feeling, but frozen sprouts work fine.
I’ve used this recipe at least a dozen times and received many a rave review— but I skip chilling, rolling, and cookie cutters by simply rolling the dough into small balls and squishing it slightly. In other words, I’m making drop cookies instead of cut-outs. But the roll ‘n’ squish technique makes prettier, more uniform cookies than the usual “drop by rounded tablespoon” method.
(Another flashback to my younger, more truthful days days. Originally posted at 11:54 PM, July 26… 2007? 2008? The post was originally called “Emo-tastic.” Apparently I mock my own feelings even while confessing them.)
Tonight, I consumed more than a thousand calories of ice cream. This, in effect, negates all the working out I’ve done in the past two weeks. The running, the crunches, those awful tricep exercises…. swallowed.
What’s worse, I didn’t even enjoy myself. Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food. A chocolatey, marshmallow-y disappointment.
I huddled in a corner of the computer lab wearing a stained T-shirt, eating overpriced hyperfatty ice cream. I read a scavenged copy of The New Yorker and a Stephen Fry piece about Wodehouse, alternating articles every few bites, trying to move quietly.
I have been exhibiting signs of depression for more than ten years now. Not the terrifying sort of depression, with suicide attempts or substance abuse. No, mostly a quiet desperation, semi-permanent restlessness and discontent. A crippling fear of the future that makes daily life nerve-wracking. Above all else, a heavy lethargy that seldom lifts. Joy is hard to come by.
I’ve taken counseling for two semesters now, trying to pull myself together. I have avoided medication thus far, opting instead for exercise— found in several studies to be as every bit as effective and much less dangerous than anti-depressants. I am now reminded that ice cream is not an effective medication.
I’m not consistently miserable, of course; sometimes I’m ridiculously optimistic. I sing to myself, daydream, fall in love, work hard and fight my way upstream. A good song can make my week, an old friend can paste me back together.
Most often, though, I wish to be left alone, so I retreat back into my shell for days, weeks, hiding in corners, only emerging to make cameo appearances in my social circle. Attempts to play the social butterfly often leave me feeling still emptier and more misunderstood. In trying to protect my soft underbelly (very soft, softer all the time), I may come off as snarky, arrogant. I don’t feel that way inside.
There was nothing wrong with the Phish Food, only that it failed to change my life. It failed to take the place of love or success. I was asking too much.
I will be fine in the morning. I’ll sleep off this sugar slump, drag my carcass to work for the thousandth time, and get back to exercising. I’ll keep praying, keep trying, and keep fighting upstream, as I have for so many years. It won’t be easy, though, and heaven only knows if it will be worthwhile.
Really…, for as worthless and unchanging as I feel, I’ve made impressive progress in the last decade. If you think I’m weepy, you should have seen me six years ago. I’m practically Guy Smiley now.
Last Friday, I visited a first grade classroom. Why?
Because when the going gets tough, the tough revert to childhood and cut symmetrical aliens out of construction paper.
A first grade boy christened my creation ”Alien X.” Good call, kid. The alien shall be prominently displayed in the small art gallery that doubles as our refrigerator.
(A flashback to May 4, 2007, two days after my first ever buzz cut. Classy, Myspace-style photo was taken immediately after the haircut.)
My hair is gone, suddenly. I’m adjusting to some changes:
1) Everyone in the world wants to to rub my head. On one hand, I love love love this; I’m a touchy-feely female—but single+introverted, and therefore often craving the human touch. (Note that touch deprivation is a recognized phenomenon, common among those with herpes. It’s not just me, honest!)
On the other hand, being petted makes me feel like a dog. I halfway expect people to stratch behind my ears.
Back to the first hand, I like having people rub my head; it’s fun to see grown-ups (including some university staff and faculty members) transformed into giddy little kids, which they invariably are when they play with my hair/head.
2) None of my clothes look right with my scalp. Earrings look worse
3) Waking up looking like a different person is deeply disturbing. My short term memory is lousy, so I FORGET the baldness at least ten times a day…. I only remember when people gawk at me. Every time I walk past a mirror, I have a heart attack. When I see myself in the morning, I feel sorry for that boy in the mirror with acne and sad eyes.
4) When I’m not feeling like a sad little boy, I feel gorgeous. THIS is a huge adjustment, as I rarely even feel cute, let alone pretty. Gorgeous is more than a little out of the question.
But now I have no hair! There’s nothing to hide behind! I’m twice as naked as most naked people… and it looks nice. Even when I look like a little boy, he looks like a sweet, thoughtful boy. That’s got to be worth something.
5) Getting ready in the morning is a breeze. Priceless.
6) I spend a lot of time noticing hair, still, how much it defines a person’s image. It’s creepy that one aspect of your whole persona can say sooo much about you. I’m not sure what the suedehead look says about me yet. I’m dressing very carefully until I figure it out.
7) Interesting discovery: when I bike, the wind in my hair tickles my head. It feels craaaaazy.
I have to say… I haven’t gotten used to this yet. I spend hours a day running my hand over my head, sprinting to the nearest mirror to see if the sad boy or the model will be staring back at me, gawking at my profile pictures over and over again, trying to reconcile the smooth, rounded head in the photos with the one I live inside….
About the ducking and dodging— several times, friends have come up to give me hugs, and I don’t realize they’re coming for a hug—- I assume they’re coming to feel my head ( like everyone does), so I duck my head down. Then they don’t know what to make of it. Only minutes later will I realize what happened…
(Some internal pro vs. con debating, originally posted 5:19 PM Tuesday, May 1 2007.)
(Persis Khambatta as Lt. Ilia. Clearly not me.)
This will sound hopelessly obsessive, but it’s the truth: lately, I have found hair repulsive. Only one girl out of every 20 has hair that’s pretty enough to impress me, and I find myself wanting to convince anyone and everyone to chop it all off. Honestly, every time I look at another person, I find myself thinking, “What is hair for? How is it making our lives better? Doesn’t stubble feel delicious? I love stubble, I always have…”
This has happened to me before (several times) most notably back in March when I suddenly became obsessed with the idea of head-shaving.
I’m trying to be reasonable about this and think things out logically:
PRO: I can never get my hair to look good anyway, I might as well get rid of it
CON: My major involves performing, and baldness may look worse with my evening gown than messy hair did
PRO: I’ll be doing something I’ve never done before, and I’ve been desperately needing adventure
CON: Maybe there’s a good REASON I’ve never done it before; I could have big dents in my head! Or moles!
PRO: The new look may help me meet exciting new people, artists and free-thinkers
CON: I really, really don’t want that much attention. Even getting a ‘normal’ haircut bothers me, people make such a fuss over hair
PRO: I may look gorgeous without hair. Even just with previous short haircuts, I’ve gotten rave reviews about the shape of my head
CON: It’s more likely I’ll look like a homely, dumpy, acne-ridden, poorly-dressed bald woman… with a well-shaped head
PRO: I already have short hair. Even if I hate the shorn look, it won’t take long to get back to my current length
CON: But then, I don’t even LIKE my current length, I’m trying to get back to the Aging Rockstar look. Shaving my head will only add another six months to the wait.
PRO: As Lori pointed out, I would know who my real friends are
CON: I already know who my friends are, and there’s no one alive I suspect of using me for my looks
Why do I feel so drawn to the idea of shaving my head? Why does hair bother me so much? What am I REALLY trying to accomplish? It’s true that I dislike my hair, and it’s true that I think American women spend waaaaay too much time worrying about their appearance.
I thought about buying a good clippery-razor thing and keeping my head shaved for a year, documenting the changes it makes in my life and the way people treat me. But a year’s a looooooong time, particularly if things go badly. Maybe one of you wouldn’t mind lending me your trimmer?
I also thought about shaving my head, then taking a picture of it every morning to make a video of how quickly hair grows. It sounds like fun, but becoming a skinhead for the sake of a video I wouldn’t even know how to MAKE seems silly.
Sigh. I’ll keep you posted. (Editor’s note: I got my first buzz cut the very next day. Tune in tomorrow to read my riveting post-buzz cut realizations! Until then, observe Persis Khambatta tearfully watching her hair fall away. Lady, I feel your pain.)
(Originally posted on Friday, February 23, 2007 under the title ‘Baldly Going: Reflections on My Hair.’ I have added gratuitous Editor’s Notes for your reading pleasure.)
Those who know me know that I’m more than a little obsessive. Every once in a while, I become madly absorbed with… some… … random thing.
Once it was chandelier earrings; I spent hours searching ebay for the perfect earrings/checking the earlobes of every girl on campus/thinking of nothing else. Once, it was black leather boots. Next, Weird Al. Later, brown skirts. Recently, brownies.
Clearly, there are patterns to my obsession: anything involving personal appearance is destined to plague my dreams. Food, seldom, people, rarely.
It’s good to have a friend who understands these manic bursts of obsession. Greyloon always understood, as did Grackle, for the most part. Shortcake doesn’t get it, being a wash-and-go kind of man. Alas! Greyloon has moved to New York, and Grackle’s in California. I am forced to suffer through this alone.
What’s the latest fixation, you ask? Hair. Specifically, short hair. Very short hair. Yesterday, I discovered baldlygoing.com, and was seriously considering shaving my head to the skin.
(Editor’s note: baldlydoing.com was run by some guy who believed that men AND women looked better with closely shaved heads. If you sent him a photo of yourself, he’d photoshop it to make you appear bald, free of charge. Despite his enthusiasm, I couldn’t help noticing his girlfriend kept her hair long.)
What stopped me? Well, 1) the knowledge that Shortcake would kill me in my sleep and 2) the fact that I’m not quite pretty enough to pull off the bald look. Seriously, folks, I’d have to wear fake eyelashes every day and dress magnificently all the time. Not possible on my current budget and level of motivation. Plus, I really don’t want that much attention from strangers, I’ve never enjoyed being stared at. Being bald would require me to have better posture, have better skin, be in better shape, wear makeup every day or risk being mistaken for a cancer victim….. I’m much too lazy to go bald.
(Editor’s note: back in 2007, I clearly had much different ideas of how women ‘should’ look and what they could ‘get away with.’ In reality, none of my future buzz cuts would be met with false eyelashes or increased beauty work. Turns out you can’t be “too lazy to go bald” when laziness is a swell reason to shave your head.)
This brings us to Plan B: Short hair.
On Sunday, I attempted to trim my own hair. Always, always, always a mistake for me. I was hoping to just take an inch off the longest layer, but ended up hacking off a raggedy two inches, which Shortcake had to straighten out later. The result: a frumpy-matron length, pyramid-shaped bob. Depressingly ugly. I’ve kept in a ponytail for days, trying to hide my shame.
Now I’m willing to pay for a real haircut. But what look do I want? I’ve spent hours searching for good pictures online (yay for my work!), and last night I finally sprang for a hair magazine to gawk at. I’ve found several haircuts I like, none of which meet with FussFace Shortcake’s approval.
(Editor’s note: this means that Shortcake saw the haircuts I’d marked in the magazine and dubbed them either “unacceptable” or “out of the question.” Not surprisingly, this relationship was drawing to its close.)
Don’t get me wrong, gentle readers: I think long hair is beautiful, to die for… not MY long hair, though. It looks permanently slept-on and rumpled. It can be fixed, sure, but not in less than an hour— and I’ve never been willing to spend 1/24th of my life on hair alone.
So, short hair it is! How short? Tune in next time!
(Editor’s note: It’s next time, and this was the haircut. Shortcake didn’t like it. Truthfully, neither did I; it was a boring compromise. My fascination with brutally short hair lived on. Tune in NEXT next time for the rest of the story.)
Perhaps you’ve been asking yourself “where on earth is Jaunty the Dame and why isn’t she writing inane stories for me to read over breakfast?”
Because of ADVENTURE, that’s why! Mr. Jaunty and I drove to across Arizona, up California, and into Eugene, Oregon to spend Christmas with his mother. We were traveling for a couple of weeks, and I’m still getting my act together back on the homefront. Mystery solved, inane stories ahead. Unless otherwise noted, all photos appear courtesy of Mr. Jaunty.
Highlights of the Trip:
- Seeing California and Oregon, two places I’d never been before
(Pyramid Lake, California)
- Spending a week with Mrs. S., whom I hadn’t seen in years
- Singing half-forgotten carols with Mr. Jaunty and his mother on Christmas Eve
- A highly unusual pharmacy/post office in Eugene called Hiron’s. They carry an impressive array of masks, several of which Mr. Jaunty bought for his upcoming opera
- Quiet afternoons of napping, talking, and cat-watching
- Would it look bad to count “receiving a small mountain of fun presents” as a highlight of the trip? Yes? Well, it’s still true
- Meeting jazz singer/pianist/faithful reader Angela Vicente, winner of the JazzPhil-USA’s Talent Search and all-around ace. We dined, we dined again, we thrifted, and she let me paw through her whole closet to help her decide what to wear for New Year’s Eve. If I wanted babies, I’d want Angela’s babies.
(Photo appears courtesy of Angela)
(Posing in front of our hotel. Nice place, eh? That stance reminds me of HIM. Photo via Angela)
- Seeing places that previously seemed far-off and exotic. Bel Air! Sunset Boulevard! The Pacific!
(View from Mulholland Drive, New Year’s Eve.)
- Celebrating New Year’s Eve by decorating our hotel room with Angela’s hand-me-down Christmas tinsel. We dined on trail mix and cheap champagne. Leur élégance, leur joie!
-Meeting exceptionally friendly squirrels at a vista point. What’s the old saying? “If a squirrel touches your shoe on New Year’s Day, that squirrel has come to depend on tourists for food and may be producing a large family it can’t possibly support“? Wait, maybe that’s only if the squirrel sees its shadow.
Low Points of the Trip:
- Acquiring food poisoning shortly before reaching Mrs. S’s place. Want to make an unforgettable impression on your hostess? Keep her awake with your riotous vomiting
- The weather in Eugene was as gray and soggy as a long-neglected dishrag
- Auto failure! When we stopped in Valle de San Fernando, Mr. Jaunty’s truck decided it desperately wanted a shiny new clutch and transmission. The just-over-$1000 charge was fair, but still a nasty surprise
- CNN’s NYE show, which featured Kathy Griffin harassing Anderson Cooper and the least frightening Green Goblin this world has seen— and that’s one supervillain who can’t afford to be less menacing. He reminded Mr. Jaunty of Foghorn Leghorn.
- I… … seem to have left my keys somewhere in southern California. This is why you shouldn’t buy Tiffany keyrings. That’s a bluff, I bought mine on Ebay. So the real moral is: if you insist on buying a fancy or novel keychain, make sure it’s extremely affordable.Also, don’t lose your keys.
Notice that several Low Points resulted in Highlights: if the weather had been better in Eugene, we wouldn’t have had cozy chats and matinees. If the truck hadn’t died, I couldn’t have spent a whole afternoon with Angela. If we hadn’t gotten food poisoning, we… … … alright, so not everything has an upside.
Consider yourself not merely updated, but inundated.
Back in November, Ian said this outfit reminded him of Gambit. Yes, the X-Man.
I here admit that I didn’t pop that collar until after the Gambit remark. Observe that my hair does not grow longer, only taller.
Today’s outfit, similarly captured with crummy indoor lighting and bleached to no end:
Sheila‘s been winterizing her summer dresses all week, which inspired me to give it a stab. You’ve seen this dress, but might not see it again; it’s lived a long life for a cheaply made dress, and can’t hold on much longer.
As it’s past midnight, let’s skip wardrobe details. Most of what I wear is thrifted and not currently on the market, thought you might find Derek Cardigan glasses online. Also, behold the aforementionedstank face sweater; the floppy neckline was annoying, so I sewed it down.
And there you have it; digital evidence that I am still alive and have dressed myself at least twice in the past three weeks. May I fall asleep now?
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