A time ago, at least 9 years, I went with my dad to get a copy of The Sims. I was confused; I thought that you actually went and worked a job with your Sims, i.e., you got to seek revenge on your enemies as a corrupt cop or choose choice houses to ransack as a thief. I wasn't much into peaceable living when I was 10.
Turns out, The Sims doesn't allow you to micromanage your career. No virtual thieving for Kev. I had no idea Grand Theft Auto was around.
(Choose and choice. That's pretty neat.)
Anyway, on our way to get that game, we stopped by a certain store and got a Moon Pie.
Now, I hate Moon Pies.
But I'm a very nostalgic person. I like memories. I dislike memories. Memories can move me, memories can...cause me to...rebel against them. I'm trying to be prosaic, here.
Oh my goodness! Prosaic is a word! I had no idea! I meant to write prose, but I wrote prosaic. I'm so smart, it hurts. No prosastic, procrastic, or prosarositarious for me. I'm a genius.
...problem is, prose is the exact opposite of what I meant. Isn't the irony ironic? I'm getting distracted. Yes, it seems that the Moon Pies have disappeared. It's been many moons since I've had a Moon Pie, but I quite remember seeing them as recently as a year ago. I always think, "Wow, Moon Pies are not good."
For some reason, God only remembers as I forgot, my nostalgia was engaged for Moon Pies. Maybe it's the long, forgotten blond hair, or the orange, gray-black-green suit, or perhaps the gnawing guilt. Definitely the suit. That suit is awesome. And adaptable. And stretchy. But in a rigid sort of way.
I think, or it seems, that I liken Moon Pies to working with a fine woman; you hate her, but she's kind of alright. So I told my driver, "Driver, drive me to the finest establishment I know of to purchase Moon Pies from. The ol' Circle K on the corner."
To my astonishment, shock, and horror, no Moon Pies. Maybe it's the name I like. Moon Pies. It reminds me of the armorsuit.
Then, no Moon Pies at 7-11. No Moon Pies at FR. No Moon Pies at the post office. I even asked! They said they could receive a package of them if I ordered them. Hah hah laugh.
I managed to find an off-brand (Little Betty) at a Fry's. No idea where the Moon Pies have gone, but the off brand will do. They're still gross.
But they're kind of alright.
Showing posts with label Food (discussion/general). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food (discussion/general). Show all posts
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Where Is My Pusher
I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. As you know, humble fool, hornets fly because they're really mad. When they can't exert their rage by creating upward lift and propulsion, they...uh...burn.
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Monday, October 27, 2008
The Fall of the Age of Idols: Repercussions
So there I was. Chillin'. You know me.
And there was Red dataDyne. "Oh look at me I have red hair," she said. I could care less about Barack Obama, but she...well, will probably be reading this. But you all know. Or at least you should. So I was talking to her and some people, and then her brother showed up. And then my mom showed up. "OH WOW try this!" she demanded. "No! No I can't, aagh!" I retorted.
Then I announced that I don't eat dataDyne food. Red looked at me. "What?!" she blurted in horror. I am paraphrasing.
"I says," I said, "I don't eat dataDyne food. I only eat Hitman food."
A few minutes later, here comes Lisa dataDyne. Now, if this was two weeks ago, or three weeks ago, or maybe even a month ago, I would have just laughed in her face. But this was past the Time of All Blonds Losing Credence, and I was once more weak to her demands as if she were not blond.
"Her, try this!" she demanded, offering a piece of candy-like candy coated in chocolate. It seemed like everyone was watching the standoff; I don't blame them. Maybe even a month ago, or three weeks ago, or if this was two weeks ago, it would have been hilarious.
But now, I had no choice. I haltingly accepted the piece of candy and, after mumbling "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!", took a bite. The rest was a swirling whirlwind of confusion.
What does this mean?
How will this go?
Wasn't I hoping to have some time to consider the implications of this?
What's the next step?
How do I make my decisions?
Do I care?
Do I have to care?
Who has my loyalty?
Who do I hate?
Who do I love?
Why do I exist?
What are the repercussions?
I still haven't quite figured all of that out. It was a short few weeks ago that I realized that the Age of Idols was coming to a close. I didn't know what it meant; I barely wanted to accept it. And I didn't know what it meant when it happened yesterday at the hands of that sanctified cookie-candy-chocolate-thing.
And I still don't know what it means.
But it had to happen, so, good looking out, Mrs. dataDyne. Just, um...if you go after the Age of Anxiety and the Age of Arrogance next, please diminish them equally, because they kind of balance each other, y'know? One without the other and bad things happen to Kev's personality.
And there was Red dataDyne. "Oh look at me I have red hair," she said. I could care less about Barack Obama, but she...well, will probably be reading this. But you all know. Or at least you should. So I was talking to her and some people, and then her brother showed up. And then my mom showed up. "OH WOW try this!" she demanded. "No! No I can't, aagh!" I retorted.
Then I announced that I don't eat dataDyne food. Red looked at me. "What?!" she blurted in horror. I am paraphrasing.
"I says," I said, "I don't eat dataDyne food. I only eat Hitman food."
A few minutes later, here comes Lisa dataDyne. Now, if this was two weeks ago, or three weeks ago, or maybe even a month ago, I would have just laughed in her face. But this was past the Time of All Blonds Losing Credence, and I was once more weak to her demands as if she were not blond.
"Her, try this!" she demanded, offering a piece of candy-like candy coated in chocolate. It seemed like everyone was watching the standoff; I don't blame them. Maybe even a month ago, or three weeks ago, or if this was two weeks ago, it would have been hilarious.
But now, I had no choice. I haltingly accepted the piece of candy and, after mumbling "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!", took a bite. The rest was a swirling whirlwind of confusion.
What does this mean?
How will this go?
Wasn't I hoping to have some time to consider the implications of this?
What's the next step?
How do I make my decisions?
Do I care?
Do I have to care?
Who has my loyalty?
Who do I hate?
Who do I love?
Why do I exist?
What are the repercussions?
I still haven't quite figured all of that out. It was a short few weeks ago that I realized that the Age of Idols was coming to a close. I didn't know what it meant; I barely wanted to accept it. And I didn't know what it meant when it happened yesterday at the hands of that sanctified cookie-candy-chocolate-thing.
And I still don't know what it means.
But it had to happen, so, good looking out, Mrs. dataDyne. Just, um...if you go after the Age of Anxiety and the Age of Arrogance next, please diminish them equally, because they kind of balance each other, y'know? One without the other and bad things happen to Kev's personality.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Birthday #19, 2008!
Well, well, well. I am now 19. I don't feel much different than when I was 18, but now I'm one year closer to my goal. My goal is to live to 20. My previous goal was to live to be 15 (or 16, can't remember right now), and I made it. Then I set the goal to live to 20. After I turn 20, I am not sure what will happen. As Einstein was fond of saying, time will tell.
Sorry. That was the preamble. Or something.
Anyway, here's what I got. Because, come on, birthdays are all about the presents, let's admit it. I'll go in order of wonder. Oh, and if you like, read the relating post, The Birthday List 2008.
And I think that's it. I already installed the hard drive, and as I said the battery is fantastic; I have not started on any of the books, and I used the pen tonight for the first time. It can cause a bit of cramping, but I've got an NDS with Metroid Prime: Hunters so I can handle it. The ice cream is uh, dry...plus it's weird if you powder it.
I have not made use of the DMT Aligner yet, but I hope to sharpen a knife to throat-cutting sharpness, yet I need to do some experiments to discover just how sharp throat-cuttingly sharp is. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone. Or at least I don't plan on it. Uh, 'make my day'?
For the party, we had pizza and two cakes. One was a dark cake (chocolate), one was a light cake (strawberry and cream), following the MP2: Echoes/LoZ:ALttP/LoZ:TP/etc. plot of light and dark. They were both "log style" cakes, that is, normal cakes rolled up with itamz in them. Freaky, huh? Actually, the dark cake was more my dad making the cake of his dreams and less of it being my birthday cake. But I still appreciate it.
The jerk.
Now, there's a second part to this birthday's story. I kind of stayed up for the entire 24 hours and blogged throughout the day. You should already know this, but you're a dolt, so I'll explain it again. I'll use the posts I made to do so.
The night before, October 5th: Good Night.
I explain that I'll be up for entire 24 hours of October 6th. It's posted at 4:26 PM but I didn't get to sleep until 9:00-9:15 PM. I know, I know, I'm a jerk.
Yawn. 2:30 AM.
I'm up and about...doing things. I got up at 11:43 PM after getting 2.5 hours of sleep. I cleaned the kitchen floor and listened to Coast to Coast AM. Much ablah about nothing.
9:15 AM. The heat is on.
I started going a little bit mad. Mr. dataDyne declares me mad. I think that I need to be a little bit mad to have these delusions of grandeur that make me Kev.
12:40 PM. CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of Kev's Birthday.
CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of my birthday. The title says it all. The Dow also groundrocketed. My birthday is fun.
1 PM. Glenn Beck hates on California.
Need I say more? It just kept getting better, life was good. Happy birthday, Kev.
1:06 PM. Eleven Hours to Go.
The cake was being made. Dad'd been plotting it for hours. I was confined to my room.
2:34 PM. Metroid prepped. Cake being made. Three hours to go.
I comment that I can't go to the room with the bath in it. I took a break from Metroid Prime 2: Echoes so that I could spend some time on it after the party. I was pretty dull at this point, but still very awake. I needed my cellphone to contact the outside world. I forget where it was. Dad was still working on the cake.
4:50 PM. A "lull in the action."
My dad had apparently finished the cake. My mom already made the light cake on Sunday. Dad admits that he made the cake pretty much for himself. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.
8:30 PM. It is (almost) finished.
I declare that I forsee attaining my goal of staying up the entire 24 hours. And I comment that it was a rush. Truly, this is what I will remember this birthday for, as well as the theme of this year, which is rebirth. Somewhere after the party I continued in MP2 and got the Screw Attack, thus attaining my birthday quota for MP2: Echoes progression.
12:00 AM. Goodnight, Birthday
And to round off the day, after a drawn-out ceremony of saying goodnight to everything around me (as The Waltons), I ironically find that I have a minor case of amnesia. I mean insomnia. I was asleep by 1:30 AM at the latest.
And that's pretty much it. I think. Oh, wait, I need to say "so in ending."
So in ending, it was a good birthday. I haven't had that much fun in...a long time. At least that much fun that I can feel good about; I typically look back on fun times of this caliber with either sorrow or disgust. It leads me to despise people sometimes, but those vermin deserve it.
So if you can manage to do it, defitinitely stay up for the entire 24 hours of your birthday. 8 extra hours in the day = pwnage. Just give yourself a few extra hours of sleep the day after and there's a chance that you might get sick so take some vitamin C or whatever. I had a birthday date with my granny for today, but I had to cancel because I was on the verge of some sickness. If I hadn't of canceled... I could be the living dead right now.
Living, yet not alive...ooOOoOOOooo...
Sorry. That was the preamble. Or something.
Anyway, here's what I got. Because, come on, birthdays are all about the presents, let's admit it. I'll go in order of wonder. Oh, and if you like, read the relating post, The Birthday List 2008.
- A 250 GB Western Digital Scorpio Blue 5400 RPM 2.5" EIDE Hard Drive (if you don't understand that, it's the disk that is inside my laptop and spins and contains data)
- A double-cell battery for my laptop (which is a HP Pavilion dv5215us; previously my battery life was 10 minutes on the darkest screen running WordPad, now it's 2-3 hours on the 3rd brightest screen setting running an external hard drive and full operational load)
- Three books (I will not mention which ones because...well, come on. But, thanks, Debbie!)
- Another DMT Aligner knife sharpener (new and abrasive stones = sharp knives)
- A stainless steel pen which I have taken to calling "Hollow Point" because it's sharp
- Some freeze-dried ice cream. Freeze-dried ice cream is just like normal ice cream, except it's actually good.
And I think that's it. I already installed the hard drive, and as I said the battery is fantastic; I have not started on any of the books, and I used the pen tonight for the first time. It can cause a bit of cramping, but I've got an NDS with Metroid Prime: Hunters so I can handle it. The ice cream is uh, dry...plus it's weird if you powder it.
I have not made use of the DMT Aligner yet, but I hope to sharpen a knife to throat-cutting sharpness, yet I need to do some experiments to discover just how sharp throat-cuttingly sharp is. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone. Or at least I don't plan on it. Uh, 'make my day'?
For the party, we had pizza and two cakes. One was a dark cake (chocolate), one was a light cake (strawberry and cream), following the MP2: Echoes/LoZ:ALttP/LoZ:TP/etc. plot of light and dark. They were both "log style" cakes, that is, normal cakes rolled up with itamz in them. Freaky, huh? Actually, the dark cake was more my dad making the cake of his dreams and less of it being my birthday cake. But I still appreciate it.
The jerk.
Now, there's a second part to this birthday's story. I kind of stayed up for the entire 24 hours and blogged throughout the day. You should already know this, but you're a dolt, so I'll explain it again. I'll use the posts I made to do so.
The night before, October 5th: Good Night.
I explain that I'll be up for entire 24 hours of October 6th. It's posted at 4:26 PM but I didn't get to sleep until 9:00-9:15 PM. I know, I know, I'm a jerk.
Yawn. 2:30 AM.
I'm up and about...doing things. I got up at 11:43 PM after getting 2.5 hours of sleep. I cleaned the kitchen floor and listened to Coast to Coast AM. Much ablah about nothing.
9:15 AM. The heat is on.
I started going a little bit mad. Mr. dataDyne declares me mad. I think that I need to be a little bit mad to have these delusions of grandeur that make me Kev.
12:40 PM. CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of Kev's Birthday.
CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of my birthday. The title says it all. The Dow also groundrocketed. My birthday is fun.
1 PM. Glenn Beck hates on California.
Need I say more? It just kept getting better, life was good. Happy birthday, Kev.
1:06 PM. Eleven Hours to Go.
The cake was being made. Dad'd been plotting it for hours. I was confined to my room.
2:34 PM. Metroid prepped. Cake being made. Three hours to go.
I comment that I can't go to the room with the bath in it. I took a break from Metroid Prime 2: Echoes so that I could spend some time on it after the party. I was pretty dull at this point, but still very awake. I needed my cellphone to contact the outside world. I forget where it was. Dad was still working on the cake.
4:50 PM. A "lull in the action."
My dad had apparently finished the cake. My mom already made the light cake on Sunday. Dad admits that he made the cake pretty much for himself. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.
8:30 PM. It is (almost) finished.
I declare that I forsee attaining my goal of staying up the entire 24 hours. And I comment that it was a rush. Truly, this is what I will remember this birthday for, as well as the theme of this year, which is rebirth. Somewhere after the party I continued in MP2 and got the Screw Attack, thus attaining my birthday quota for MP2: Echoes progression.
12:00 AM. Goodnight, Birthday
And to round off the day, after a drawn-out ceremony of saying goodnight to everything around me (as The Waltons), I ironically find that I have a minor case of amnesia. I mean insomnia. I was asleep by 1:30 AM at the latest.
And that's pretty much it. I think. Oh, wait, I need to say "so in ending."
So in ending, it was a good birthday. I haven't had that much fun in...a long time. At least that much fun that I can feel good about; I typically look back on fun times of this caliber with either sorrow or disgust. It leads me to despise people sometimes, but those vermin deserve it.
So if you can manage to do it, defitinitely stay up for the entire 24 hours of your birthday. 8 extra hours in the day = pwnage. Just give yourself a few extra hours of sleep the day after and there's a chance that you might get sick so take some vitamin C or whatever. I had a birthday date with my granny for today, but I had to cancel because I was on the verge of some sickness. If I hadn't of canceled... I could be the living dead right now.
Living, yet not alive...ooOOoOOOooo...
Saturday, September 20, 2008
What To Do When Protein Isn't Enough
I may have to apologize for this post. My mind is out of it. I can't think straight. I can't operate sufficiently. I am unable to determine whether or not material is inappropriate or grammatically correct with any amount of certainty. I think I have been poisoned.
So, have you ever been a woman? And you're like, "Oh, my bones. My children have taken all of my calcium whilst they were greedily developing in my womb. I am going to die. Uh-huuuuuurg, blegh. I am dead now."?
Well, I have a solution. Here's your normal Breakfast of Champions:
Eww. Sorry, nobody actually eats their eggs like that. That's just sick.
There we go. Much better! I don't know what kind of person eats their eggs whole without blending them. A weird person, that's who. But still...what do you do when protein isn't enough? Such as an woman who produces offspring which devour her precious nutrient reserves during gestation, leaving her calcium-deprived bones crumbling? What do they do?
Well, you know that these are chock-full of calcium, right?
Yeah! But the problem is, they're so hard to eat like this. But think about it: the egg contents are hard to eat whole, too! So of course it follows that the shells are the same! I can't believe I'm like, the first person to figure this out! OK...
First, get your eggs in your blender. Then blend them!
Mmm-mm. Don't be surprised if half the house wakes up because of what I assume to be the wonderful smell of calcium-enriched Breakfast of Champions! Although it doesn't really have a smell. So I don't know, maybe it's just some cosmic allure that wakes them up when I make calcium-enriched BoC, some instinct that tells them: Woo! A perfect breakfast awaits!
Now, scrape all the calcium into your glass, like so...
And add a straw!
To all the midwives and calcium deprived out there, you're welcome.
Tune in next week when I reveal the secret of calcium-rich omelettes. You won't believe it.
So, have you ever been a woman? And you're like, "Oh, my bones. My children have taken all of my calcium whilst they were greedily developing in my womb. I am going to die. Uh-huuuuuurg, blegh. I am dead now."?
Well, I have a solution. Here's your normal Breakfast of Champions:
Eww. Sorry, nobody actually eats their eggs like that. That's just sick.
There we go. Much better! I don't know what kind of person eats their eggs whole without blending them. A weird person, that's who. But still...what do you do when protein isn't enough? Such as an woman who produces offspring which devour her precious nutrient reserves during gestation, leaving her calcium-deprived bones crumbling? What do they do?Well, you know that these are chock-full of calcium, right?
Yeah! But the problem is, they're so hard to eat like this. But think about it: the egg contents are hard to eat whole, too! So of course it follows that the shells are the same! I can't believe I'm like, the first person to figure this out! OK...
First, get your eggs in your blender. Then blend them!
Mmm-mm. Don't be surprised if half the house wakes up because of what I assume to be the wonderful smell of calcium-enriched Breakfast of Champions! Although it doesn't really have a smell. So I don't know, maybe it's just some cosmic allure that wakes them up when I make calcium-enriched BoC, some instinct that tells them: Woo! A perfect breakfast awaits!
Now, scrape all the calcium into your glass, like so...
And add a straw!
To all the midwives and calcium deprived out there, you're welcome.
Tune in next week when I reveal the secret of calcium-rich omelettes. You won't believe it.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Hmm!: PomPOM Revived
I was thinking...since I get little joy out of life right now (cause I'm in a videogame-deprived, zombielike stupor), maybe I should make some food. Remember PomPOM?
Well, I sure didn't remember PomPOM- I had the same idea I had last year, then after the fact realized that PomPOM was for my birthday (and the following wedding).
But I can't really make enough food to last for the entire two weeks of my birthday run because the lack of slaving over a hot stove for hours would drive me to madness...I'll only get to play MP2 for an hour or so a day, you know. That's an increase from the half hour a day I spent on TTYD, but eh, none of you know these acronyms, so I'll cut to the chase.
(Plus my parents don't enjoy buying three weeks worth of food in one week. It drives them mad. And it makes them rave. Mad ravers are bad people to deal with.)
Thus, I will strike a compromise. I'll clean the meat we have and prepare the vegetables/side dishes we have ingredients for and make some stews, but I won't go overboard. And I'll let you know how it goes. See you then, humble fools! I mean, see you then on this same topic. ...you know what I means.
Well, I sure didn't remember PomPOM- I had the same idea I had last year, then after the fact realized that PomPOM was for my birthday (and the following wedding).
But I can't really make enough food to last for the entire two weeks of my birthday run because the lack of slaving over a hot stove for hours would drive me to madness...I'll only get to play MP2 for an hour or so a day, you know. That's an increase from the half hour a day I spent on TTYD, but eh, none of you know these acronyms, so I'll cut to the chase.
(Plus my parents don't enjoy buying three weeks worth of food in one week. It drives them mad. And it makes them rave. Mad ravers are bad people to deal with.)
Thus, I will strike a compromise. I'll clean the meat we have and prepare the vegetables/side dishes we have ingredients for and make some stews, but I won't go overboard. And I'll let you know how it goes. See you then, humble fools! I mean, see you then on this same topic. ...you know what I means.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Sparkling Water, My Sweet
My parents- especially my dad, as he doesn't drink the stuff- have a hard time understanding this logic: When we run out of sparkling water, and the stores are out, and we have none, we have none, and we cannot buy any.
It's basic logic. But if, when the stores run out of sparkling water, we have a stockpile, we can survive the drought. That is also basic logic. The common argument is, "What?! But we already have two packs of them! Why on earth do we need five more?" to which I respond, "Listen. We need to have extra for the drought that's upcoming, remember?"
On that note, I am unsure why, but sparkling water is sometimes hard to find- thus the "drought." It's as if they only ship a few to the stores, and sometimes other shoppers get the few that were shipped before you do. A few packs of sparkling water would make a great birthday present, hint hint. (Actually, really, I just need money this year. I'm a man.)
Then it happened. A drought. The store that sells it was out of stock for weeks. I thought I would go crazy. At the risk of offending one of you, I thought I would go cra...wait, I already said that. And it really isn't that offensive, sorry.
Regardless, we were out for weeks. I don't drink much normal soda; I find it too weird for everyday consumption, so I drink sparkling water instead. Without its sparkly goodness, I took to writing "No sparkling water and no place to buy sparkling water makes Kev a-go-crazy" on the walls with chalk. That's a hard sentence to write, however, so I didn't write it much. It made my hand cramp. Actually, the plural "walls" is exaggerating a bit.
Now the drought is over, so I am taking action to ensure that we don't run out again. Behold, heaven came down and glory filled our kitchen!:
Yes! Yes! Muahahayes!
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some, uh... business, to attend to. knird, k-nird!
[You get the joke, right? Like, "redrum"?]
It's basic logic. But if, when the stores run out of sparkling water, we have a stockpile, we can survive the drought. That is also basic logic. The common argument is, "What?! But we already have two packs of them! Why on earth do we need five more?" to which I respond, "Listen. We need to have extra for the drought that's upcoming, remember?"
On that note, I am unsure why, but sparkling water is sometimes hard to find- thus the "drought." It's as if they only ship a few to the stores, and sometimes other shoppers get the few that were shipped before you do. A few packs of sparkling water would make a great birthday present, hint hint. (Actually, really, I just need money this year. I'm a man.)
Then it happened. A drought. The store that sells it was out of stock for weeks. I thought I would go crazy. At the risk of offending one of you, I thought I would go cra...wait, I already said that. And it really isn't that offensive, sorry.
Regardless, we were out for weeks. I don't drink much normal soda; I find it too weird for everyday consumption, so I drink sparkling water instead. Without its sparkly goodness, I took to writing "No sparkling water and no place to buy sparkling water makes Kev a-go-crazy" on the walls with chalk. That's a hard sentence to write, however, so I didn't write it much. It made my hand cramp. Actually, the plural "walls" is exaggerating a bit.
Now the drought is over, so I am taking action to ensure that we don't run out again. Behold, heaven came down and glory filled our kitchen!:
Yes! Yes! Muahahayes!Now if you'll excuse me, I have some, uh... business, to attend to. knird, k-nird!
[You get the joke, right? Like, "redrum"?]
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Mission Final: Metroid Prime
I have finally finished Metroid Prime. Hoorah!! But not only finished it: Finished it with 100% of scans (I had to look one up which I would not have gotten) and 100% of items (no guide)!
But most importantly...I didn't die once, not even at the last! I ended the 'end boss' with eight or nine energy tanks to spare. Thus, 100% scans, 100% items, zero deaths.
Mission final, including the credits, at 3:18 PM; the time this picture was taken.
It took 26 hours on-the-dot according to the game's reckoning. It was more around 30, all things considered. My arms are sore. My shoulders are sore, especially. You would do well to wonder how on earth my arms and shoulders are sore after less than an hour of gaming, when I can game for many more hours without such discomfort. The best I can guess is that I was gaming really, really hard.
And that I was nervous and tense and being very cautious, as, having defeated the rest of Metroid Prime without dying, I didn't want to mess up at the end. But I made it through. I read Romans 8:37 and remembered Hebrews 12:2.
For the joy that was set before him. That's what I had in mind when I bitterly assailed the last remnants of darkness, using all of my wisdom, mental prowess and reflexes. It's surprisingly draining, but I've done much harder things.
I discovered a very nice setup/trick for Metroid Prime: Turn the music low, and turn the volume up a little. It's a much better experience when you hear the ambient sounds clearer. And you can fight better. And Samus is more awesome, if it were possible. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage.
In the end, I stand victorious, even as a man. I ate the traditional pecan pie slice while I watched the credits...let's just say that pecan pies are not exactly the sugary, flaky, nutty comestible equivalent of Pepto Bismal and Alka-Seltzer. Oog.
Tradition.
Expect a header to be edited in soon, linking to a post with a master list of the posts I've posted about this playthrough of Metroid Prime within a few days...uh, post.
But most importantly...I didn't die once, not even at the last! I ended the 'end boss' with eight or nine energy tanks to spare. Thus, 100% scans, 100% items, zero deaths.
Mission final, including the credits, at 3:18 PM; the time this picture was taken.
It took 26 hours on-the-dot according to the game's reckoning. It was more around 30, all things considered. My arms are sore. My shoulders are sore, especially. You would do well to wonder how on earth my arms and shoulders are sore after less than an hour of gaming, when I can game for many more hours without such discomfort. The best I can guess is that I was gaming really, really hard.
And that I was nervous and tense and being very cautious, as, having defeated the rest of Metroid Prime without dying, I didn't want to mess up at the end. But I made it through. I read Romans 8:37 and remembered Hebrews 12:2.
Rom 8:37 KJV Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.
Heb 12:2 KJV ... who [Jesus) for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, ...
For the joy that was set before him. That's what I had in mind when I bitterly assailed the last remnants of darkness, using all of my wisdom, mental prowess and reflexes. It's surprisingly draining, but I've done much harder things.
I discovered a very nice setup/trick for Metroid Prime: Turn the music low, and turn the volume up a little. It's a much better experience when you hear the ambient sounds clearer. And you can fight better. And Samus is more awesome, if it were possible. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage.
In the end, I stand victorious, even as a man. I ate the traditional pecan pie slice while I watched the credits...let's just say that pecan pies are not exactly the sugary, flaky, nutty comestible equivalent of Pepto Bismal and Alka-Seltzer. Oog.
Tradition.
Expect a header to be edited in soon, linking to a post with a master list of the posts I've posted about this playthrough of Metroid Prime within a few days...uh, post.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Protein Dense Salad Alert
A few days ago, while outside waiting for my dimwitted family members to get their act together so that we could go spend money on gasoline, I saved a moth out of one of the dog pools. We have three dog pools. Why do we have three dog pools? I really don't know.
It was a difficult rescue. I doubt it lived...it would leap off of the bean pod I was using to remove it every time I got it onto the bean pod. If that makes sense. Of course, eventually it didn't leap off, and that's when I set it on the grass and it probably proceeded to die.
Then my family materialized. "Huh, huh, we r go 4 teh money and gasoline!! el oh el!!1" they said collectively. It's creepy to hear three people speak as one, especially them. Children of the Corn, man. The only remedy is Children of Mana, but I don't know anything about that. I've just heard that Secret of Mana is really good. OK? OK. OK? Fine. Good. Stop.
You know that a meal is not a meal without a salad, but oh, I am finicky about salad. Anyways, check it out! This is the salad I had. It's a new recipe-method-style-addition. I forget the name, but it ends in 'fey.'
Isn't it a pretty salad? I don't think I've ever seen a salad with so good a mix of croutons, and if I may say so, that napkin is hot. Though the lettuce itself is not the greatest- for, if you behold, it is romaine cut widthwise. The dressing was fine- a kind of vinegary ranch, I reckon.
I think I saw pepper in it. Anyways, did you see anything special in the picture?
Cause I did when I was eating it.
I think the new recipe-method-style-addition is called moth-fey.
Yum. "Oh, but Kev, you haven't touched your salad!" they said. I scowled. This must be some maniacal form of reverse-karma, I thought, remembering the moth I had saved. Now I recall the Luminoth...I digress. I wanted to give it to Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top, but my mom said "Don't do that, it might make someone sick to their stomach."
It may seem an illogical thing to give a moth to them, but Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top paid dataDyne Jr. $2 a while back to eat a grasshopper wing. I figured they'd have a ball with a living moth. I'd be a hero.
...and I also figured my chances of getting paid $5 for eating it when Jr. refused would be high, as well. I don't know if I would be able to do it.
wholestep wholestep halfstep wholestep wholestep wholestep halfstep mincemeat...
It was a difficult rescue. I doubt it lived...it would leap off of the bean pod I was using to remove it every time I got it onto the bean pod. If that makes sense. Of course, eventually it didn't leap off, and that's when I set it on the grass and it probably proceeded to die.
Then my family materialized. "Huh, huh, we r go 4 teh money and gasoline!! el oh el!!1" they said collectively. It's creepy to hear three people speak as one, especially them. Children of the Corn, man. The only remedy is Children of Mana, but I don't know anything about that. I've just heard that Secret of Mana is really good. OK? OK. OK? Fine. Good. Stop.
You know that a meal is not a meal without a salad, but oh, I am finicky about salad. Anyways, check it out! This is the salad I had. It's a new recipe-method-style-addition. I forget the name, but it ends in 'fey.'
Isn't it a pretty salad? I don't think I've ever seen a salad with so good a mix of croutons, and if I may say so, that napkin is hot. Though the lettuce itself is not the greatest- for, if you behold, it is romaine cut widthwise. The dressing was fine- a kind of vinegary ranch, I reckon.
I think I saw pepper in it. Anyways, did you see anything special in the picture?
Cause I did when I was eating it.
I think the new recipe-method-style-addition is called moth-fey.
Yum. "Oh, but Kev, you haven't touched your salad!" they said. I scowled. This must be some maniacal form of reverse-karma, I thought, remembering the moth I had saved. Now I recall the Luminoth...I digress. I wanted to give it to Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top, but my mom said "Don't do that, it might make someone sick to their stomach."
It may seem an illogical thing to give a moth to them, but Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top paid dataDyne Jr. $2 a while back to eat a grasshopper wing. I figured they'd have a ball with a living moth. I'd be a hero.
...and I also figured my chances of getting paid $5 for eating it when Jr. refused would be high, as well. I don't know if I would be able to do it.
wholestep wholestep halfstep wholestep wholestep wholestep halfstep mincemeat...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
As I Have Judged, I Hold the Cast of Death
The other day, my mom was out of town on business, and me and my dad had to milk. My mom is very gentle ('crazy old goat lady' gentle) with the goats, but me and my dad...well, we're not quite as old-lady.
When my dad decided that Lightning, the Black Goat that Recently Gave Birth (link to my mom's blog), didn't want to be milked and decided not to milk her, it fell to me as the ruthless, cruel, and evil one, to milk her, and to thereafter put lots of commas in this sentence. After she kicked the bucket twice (soaking me in milk), I decided that she did not deserve to have her small, [word removed] baby anymore. In fact, I won't even use that word, lest I bring shame to Samus Aran. I'd never want to go and do a thing like that. It'd also make an attempt at shaming Jesus, and well, I wouldn't want to do a thing like that, either.
This was the baby I recorded being born...here it is:
...and am currently not editing the footage of for Mrs. dataDyne and Mick Key and well, a lot of people who want to see it. I can't seem to find the inspiration- and now I think I've found it, but shame, there's no time to start right now. Anyway, guess what happened today? Something very sad.
I was washing dishes, as I often do. Then I discovered it...somewhere near the bottom of the water.
The beloved Harvest Plate. The plate that bore several Thanksgiving feasts, and found itself at church supplying food more than once. Brother-in-arms to the elder Holiday Plate.
Dead. I am sorry, Holiday Plate.
See that? Somehow it got chipped in a jarring way. What nonsensical, pointless brutality. This plate died long before its time should have come. And speaking of death...
There's Lightning's little baby. Well, OK, click here to see it. Warning: It's 'graphic'. It's a baby goat swollen up in a dumpster laying next to a lamp. Its dead eyes do not even show. It's not that bad, sheesh. Anyways. I suppose, now, that I hold the keys of death, or at least the ability to cast it in some fashion. His life is extinguished, and the message spans the entirety of the goat hoard. Rumors abound that I poisoned him in his sleep.
Still...what a fate not to be shared, to be dumped uselessly into a dumpster. A fate I will not allow to be shared.
Thus, I begin.
First, find your area.
Then mark the area, like below. (Squint, if you have to. Or be smart and open the picture to see it bigger.) I used a fair, fierce shovel, if weak of neck. But still not lacking in courage, and one of the sharpest we have.
Now, it in this lackluster, brutal beginning of Summer that I begin my toiling.
What a cunning foe I face...the sun...
Now start digging. I remember what short bit of life it lived as I dug, burrowing deeper and deeper, as what could have possibly been tears, but were almost assuredly sweat, dripped from my face.
Nine minutes later, with the hole sufficiently dug...
I begin the solemn progression. A fate not to be shared...the words rang in my head, as bitterly and resolutely as first my mind whispered them to me. No time for lamenting, no time for speeches...dinner had to be made. Unceremoniously, but still as ceremoniously as I could, I placed the young, dead one into the hole, then covered it with shielding to keep out prying, evil eyes. And shovels.
Now the time comes to cover it. Again, I cry bitter tears that are most likely just sweat. They sting my eyes.
This is the saddest leg of our journey...the last sighting...the sorrowful parting.
Five minutes later, it is complete. Now to stomp all about to make it harder for the dogs to get to it. And now to get back inside, for, since the Foe has seen me, it has doubled its efforts to wipe me from the face of the planet.
But Harvest Plate is in its final rest. The waves of death radiating from the sky have not succeeded...this time.
And thus I have stopped the dumpster-fate from touching my dear Harvest Plate. May its soon replacement not be a sk8rgirl or a person who says "dude" and "whoa" every other sentence.
Note: I now hear that the dummy goat (as is his name) will be buried tomorrow morning. As is our manner, I shall dig the hole today, and he shall bury the goat tomorrow. I dig holes good.
This is out next to Hannah, our psychotic border collie whose montage I have yet to make.
When my dad decided that Lightning, the Black Goat that Recently Gave Birth (link to my mom's blog), didn't want to be milked and decided not to milk her, it fell to me as the ruthless, cruel, and evil one, to milk her, and to thereafter put lots of commas in this sentence. After she kicked the bucket twice (soaking me in milk), I decided that she did not deserve to have her small, [word removed] baby anymore. In fact, I won't even use that word, lest I bring shame to Samus Aran. I'd never want to go and do a thing like that. It'd also make an attempt at shaming Jesus, and well, I wouldn't want to do a thing like that, either.
This was the baby I recorded being born...here it is:
...and am currently not editing the footage of for Mrs. dataDyne and Mick Key and well, a lot of people who want to see it. I can't seem to find the inspiration- and now I think I've found it, but shame, there's no time to start right now. Anyway, guess what happened today? Something very sad.
I was washing dishes, as I often do. Then I discovered it...somewhere near the bottom of the water.
The beloved Harvest Plate. The plate that bore several Thanksgiving feasts, and found itself at church supplying food more than once. Brother-in-arms to the elder Holiday Plate.Dead. I am sorry, Holiday Plate.
See that? Somehow it got chipped in a jarring way. What nonsensical, pointless brutality. This plate died long before its time should have come. And speaking of death...
There's Lightning's little baby. Well, OK, click here to see it. Warning: It's 'graphic'. It's a baby goat swollen up in a dumpster laying next to a lamp. Its dead eyes do not even show. It's not that bad, sheesh. Anyways. I suppose, now, that I hold the keys of death, or at least the ability to cast it in some fashion. His life is extinguished, and the message spans the entirety of the goat hoard. Rumors abound that I poisoned him in his sleep.
Still...what a fate not to be shared, to be dumped uselessly into a dumpster. A fate I will not allow to be shared.
Thus, I begin.
First, find your area.
Then mark the area, like below. (Squint, if you have to. Or be smart and open the picture to see it bigger.) I used a fair, fierce shovel, if weak of neck. But still not lacking in courage, and one of the sharpest we have.
Now, it in this lackluster, brutal beginning of Summer that I begin my toiling.
What a cunning foe I face...the sun...
Now start digging. I remember what short bit of life it lived as I dug, burrowing deeper and deeper, as what could have possibly been tears, but were almost assuredly sweat, dripped from my face.
Nine minutes later, with the hole sufficiently dug...
I begin the solemn progression. A fate not to be shared...the words rang in my head, as bitterly and resolutely as first my mind whispered them to me. No time for lamenting, no time for speeches...dinner had to be made. Unceremoniously, but still as ceremoniously as I could, I placed the young, dead one into the hole, then covered it with shielding to keep out prying, evil eyes. And shovels.
Now the time comes to cover it. Again, I cry bitter tears that are most likely just sweat. They sting my eyes.
This is the saddest leg of our journey...the last sighting...the sorrowful parting.
Five minutes later, it is complete. Now to stomp all about to make it harder for the dogs to get to it. And now to get back inside, for, since the Foe has seen me, it has doubled its efforts to wipe me from the face of the planet.
But Harvest Plate is in its final rest. The waves of death radiating from the sky have not succeeded...this time.And thus I have stopped the dumpster-fate from touching my dear Harvest Plate. May its soon replacement not be a sk8rgirl or a person who says "dude" and "whoa" every other sentence.
Note: I now hear that the dummy goat (as is his name) will be buried tomorrow morning. As is our manner, I shall dig the hole today, and he shall bury the goat tomorrow. I dig holes good.
This is out next to Hannah, our psychotic border collie whose montage I have yet to make.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Kev VS Jalapeno
I love that word. Jalapeno. Jalapeno, Cayenne, Tabasco, Habanero, Serrano. I might explain that to you sometime.
Regardless, do you remember my trip to California? Well, we went by this one place that was basically a ...well, I'm not sure what it was. It was lighted with red light...and there were pictures all over...and half-naked statues, and racecar seats for the shortstops. Yeah, it was basically a strip club, but without the strippers.
I ordered the Reuben sandwich. Best Reuben sandwich ever. I loved that sandwich. I wish I hadn't eaten it. We could have eloped. Started a life all our own away from the prejudices of commonfolk. We could have escaped to the mountains and lived off of the innards of bears and eaten honey, as I would become a hunter-gatherer immune to bee stings as my wife stayed home and cared for our children, Swiss and Corny.
Anyways, after the meal, I decided to eat the lemon quarter in my drink. I had um, vodka, with a twist of helluciny, which is basically powdered sugar, but red. Yeah. I'm a man. I didn't have Sprite. Regardless, it was the first lemon peel I've ever eaten, and it tasted OK. Everyone was perplexed. For a minute, I thought they thought I was Mikey. I wondered if they would bring me a bowl of Life cereal next.
Of course, I then asked what I was supposed to do with the parsley. I guess it is supposed to help your breath, but I didn't know that at the time. "You put it behind your ear (if you're a girl)," Manny said. So I did. I wore it for several hours, making my first impressions upon myriad saints, until I realized what it must have looked like. The catch? She didn't speak the (if you're a girl) part. I need to learn to read minds.
Yesterday, I had a similar experience with eating new cuisine. Me, my dad, The Hitman, and The Raw Justice walked into a bar. (OK, it wasn't a bar, it was a Mexican restaurant.) I went to hunt the claw machine (and I lost), thus my dad had to get the assorted spicy things for both of us.
When I returned, and after we ate, I discovered that my dad had picked up two jalapenos.
"Why did you get those?" I asked. "I got them for you," he said. I said, "Oh." I then did something I didn't quite think I would do. I think I was lost in a perplexing timeshaft of nostalgia, because I picked up the jalapeno, and I promptly bit the jalapeno from its stem.
I chewed. It wasn't so bad. The texture was weird, but I was so worried about the pain that would follow, I didn't care. I know how these work: they're OK at first so you eat them, but then they kill you. I guess it wasn't very hot.
They couldn't believe it. I think their feelings were hurt, actually, because I didn't scream or anything. My eyes watered a bit, but I was OK. Then I began sweating for a few minutes, but then I stopped. Overall, not very hot. I think if they could have, they would have shot me in the shoulder, just to satisfy their desire to see me in pain. If Kile II was there, I know he would have. Or stabbed me, or hit me with his truck. He loves my suffering.
In related news...my new goal is to eat a habanero pepper.
Yep...I'll let you know when I'm at that point, humble fools. I'll even voice-record my first attempt. How does that sound? I don't like it, either.
Regardless, do you remember my trip to California? Well, we went by this one place that was basically a ...well, I'm not sure what it was. It was lighted with red light...and there were pictures all over...and half-naked statues, and racecar seats for the shortstops. Yeah, it was basically a strip club, but without the strippers.
I ordered the Reuben sandwich. Best Reuben sandwich ever. I loved that sandwich. I wish I hadn't eaten it. We could have eloped. Started a life all our own away from the prejudices of commonfolk. We could have escaped to the mountains and lived off of the innards of bears and eaten honey, as I would become a hunter-gatherer immune to bee stings as my wife stayed home and cared for our children, Swiss and Corny.
Anyways, after the meal, I decided to eat the lemon quarter in my drink. I had um, vodka, with a twist of helluciny, which is basically powdered sugar, but red. Yeah. I'm a man. I didn't have Sprite. Regardless, it was the first lemon peel I've ever eaten, and it tasted OK. Everyone was perplexed. For a minute, I thought they thought I was Mikey. I wondered if they would bring me a bowl of Life cereal next.
Of course, I then asked what I was supposed to do with the parsley. I guess it is supposed to help your breath, but I didn't know that at the time. "You put it behind your ear (if you're a girl)," Manny said. So I did. I wore it for several hours, making my first impressions upon myriad saints, until I realized what it must have looked like. The catch? She didn't speak the (if you're a girl) part. I need to learn to read minds.
Yesterday, I had a similar experience with eating new cuisine. Me, my dad, The Hitman, and The Raw Justice walked into a bar. (OK, it wasn't a bar, it was a Mexican restaurant.) I went to hunt the claw machine (and I lost), thus my dad had to get the assorted spicy things for both of us.
When I returned, and after we ate, I discovered that my dad had picked up two jalapenos.
"Why did you get those?" I asked. "I got them for you," he said. I said, "Oh." I then did something I didn't quite think I would do. I think I was lost in a perplexing timeshaft of nostalgia, because I picked up the jalapeno, and I promptly bit the jalapeno from its stem.
I chewed. It wasn't so bad. The texture was weird, but I was so worried about the pain that would follow, I didn't care. I know how these work: they're OK at first so you eat them, but then they kill you. I guess it wasn't very hot.
They couldn't believe it. I think their feelings were hurt, actually, because I didn't scream or anything. My eyes watered a bit, but I was OK. Then I began sweating for a few minutes, but then I stopped. Overall, not very hot. I think if they could have, they would have shot me in the shoulder, just to satisfy their desire to see me in pain. If Kile II was there, I know he would have. Or stabbed me, or hit me with his truck. He loves my suffering.
In related news...my new goal is to eat a habanero pepper.
Yep...I'll let you know when I'm at that point, humble fools. I'll even voice-record my first attempt. How does that sound? I don't like it, either.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Preparing for my Trip to California: Post #1
So I am now going by myself, as the lone Flag Representative of the Quixotic USay. Too many things have to be done around here and abroad, and my dad can't get Monday off. The way I look at it, it'll just be one long, extended, 4-day-long Wednesday night. I wish I had a good hat to wear. I don't wear hats well. They tend to wear me. I'll bring my "I'm sad" hat, which is probably the second hat I've ever liked in my entire life.
I'm planning to travel with the Pastor Raw Justice and at least one other (Mick Lock), but I'll probably be sent to travel with the Bruckners, so that Mrs. Lock can travel with her son. Old people are usually fun to ride with. All you have to do is be very, very quiet, only speak when spoken to, and they get all impressed and stuff. They can even forget about you, if they like. But usually, they start treating you like the perfect grandchild they never had: "Hey, Kev, want to stop and pick up an ice cream cone?" "Oh, sure, granddy!"
It may sound like a sweet gig, but not when it comes to actual food. "And one happy meal for my grandson here!"
I've finally figured out the teenage angst: it isn't teenage angst at all, it's stress! I'm now free! Yes! Liberated from the crushing jaws of the teenage angst. Stress is easily handled- depression that isn't actually depression is not. It's like trying to pull a tooth by giving someone a haircut. You may have heard of the Kev Conscious...ah...I'll explain it later.
I was getting fed up with all the theories. "Maybe you don't think you'll ever meet anyone. Maybe you'll come back from California with grandchildren!...triplets!" my mom breathlessly suggests.
"Maybe you hate Pastor Raw." "Maybe...why would I hate Pastor?" "Because he first hated you?!?! LOL, I JOHN 4:19 BABY!" my dad laughs. Great one, pops. Just great.
I'll need clothes to last 3 days, my camera camcorder laptop and their respective chargers, 4 1-hour miniDV tapes, 2 SD cards (one 1 GB, one 2 GB), on and on and on. I'd also like to bring some powdered paper towels...just add water, and poof! Paper towel!
And some socks. Whew. I figure I'll need 40 pairs of socks to get me through the weekend. And I'll need to bring two pairs of shoes.
Speaking of which, it's laundry time. I have so few clean clothes, --- That's a bad joke...I'm going to cross it out in editing.
Then I need to do a load of dishes and start dinner. We're having steak...pounded flat and covered in breading! My favorite kind of steak! I'll be having a side of black-eyed peas. I bake them in the toaster oven just until they lose their nutty flavor. They're all dry and stuff, it's great.
OK, one load of laundry done. On the second load, I realized that IT WAS SET TO MINI, and it was supposed to be set to extra-awesome ultra double-sized steel-chain-wash-mode! GREAT! No wonder that first load of laundry smelled like a pile of dead, rotting corpses when I transferred them to the dryer!...oh well, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know, just like that time that cat poop found its way into the wash. They wouldn't of know if I hadn't of told them.
Milking is done. I milked those goats so quickly, two of them now have what could be called hemorrhoids on their udders. I have to process the milk, still.
OK, the milk is processed. I got most of the clothing washed for this weekend, except for the socks. I need to get my DS all together, and Dad advised me to take a plastic bag to bag up all of my filthy, smelly clothing. Uh, yeah...my clothing doesn't tend to get filthy and smelly after I've worn it for one day to a glorified Bible study. Speaking of Bible study, if Don Feldick doesn't come to Bible study tomorrow, I'm going to be saddened. Heaviness of heart, all that.
I contacted Pastor Raw Justice to let him know it would only be me. He said something along the lines of "Oh...are you sure you don't want to just stay home too Kevin, maybe your mom could go instead of both of you, or yeah, the better option is thatnone of you go you guys get a lot of things done that you want to do. Like covering hay or milking pigs or building maternity wards or whatever."
There's not that much to do, not too much that I can't go and represent the church! Yes, they'll be like, "Wow, Pastor...what a dead group you have here, I wouldn't want to be handcuffed to any of them when they died," then they'd see me and go, "Wow! Quality over quantity! That boy's anointed, make way!" They'd push down old ladies and randomly stop and momentarily choke people on their way to me.
"Oh, yes, I taught him everything he knows," Pastor would say. "Well boy-howdy, every single day of your life hasn't been a miserable waste, after all!" his dad would chime in. "This boy is the future! We must build him a megachurch!"
I would react with typical humility...I don't have a proud bone in my body! Anyway, I've still got to make a more detailed list of what I need (my mom pledged to help with this), read up on California some (there have to be some good eateries on the "strip." I really don't know if it's called "the strip," from what I know, 95% of land in California is "on the strip." I need to find out weapons laws especially. I think a Bible is considered a weapon of some sort.)
I'm planning to travel with the Pastor Raw Justice and at least one other (Mick Lock), but I'll probably be sent to travel with the Bruckners, so that Mrs. Lock can travel with her son. Old people are usually fun to ride with. All you have to do is be very, very quiet, only speak when spoken to, and they get all impressed and stuff. They can even forget about you, if they like. But usually, they start treating you like the perfect grandchild they never had: "Hey, Kev, want to stop and pick up an ice cream cone?" "Oh, sure, granddy!"
It may sound like a sweet gig, but not when it comes to actual food. "And one happy meal for my grandson here!"
I've finally figured out the teenage angst: it isn't teenage angst at all, it's stress! I'm now free! Yes! Liberated from the crushing jaws of the teenage angst. Stress is easily handled- depression that isn't actually depression is not. It's like trying to pull a tooth by giving someone a haircut. You may have heard of the Kev Conscious...ah...I'll explain it later.
I was getting fed up with all the theories. "Maybe you don't think you'll ever meet anyone. Maybe you'll come back from California with grandchildren!...triplets!" my mom breathlessly suggests.
"Maybe you hate Pastor Raw." "Maybe...why would I hate Pastor?" "Because he first hated you?!?! LOL, I JOHN 4:19 BABY!" my dad laughs. Great one, pops. Just great.
I'll need clothes to last 3 days, my camera camcorder laptop and their respective chargers, 4 1-hour miniDV tapes, 2 SD cards (one 1 GB, one 2 GB), on and on and on. I'd also like to bring some powdered paper towels...just add water, and poof! Paper towel!
And some socks. Whew. I figure I'll need 40 pairs of socks to get me through the weekend. And I'll need to bring two pairs of shoes.
Speaking of which, it's laundry time. I have so few clean clothes, --- That's a bad joke...I'm going to cross it out in editing.
Then I need to do a load of dishes and start dinner. We're having steak...pounded flat and covered in breading! My favorite kind of steak! I'll be having a side of black-eyed peas. I bake them in the toaster oven just until they lose their nutty flavor. They're all dry and stuff, it's great.
OK, one load of laundry done. On the second load, I realized that IT WAS SET TO MINI, and it was supposed to be set to extra-awesome ultra double-sized steel-chain-wash-mode! GREAT! No wonder that first load of laundry smelled like a pile of dead, rotting corpses when I transferred them to the dryer!...oh well, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know, just like that time that cat poop found its way into the wash. They wouldn't of know if I hadn't of told them.
Milking is done. I milked those goats so quickly, two of them now have what could be called hemorrhoids on their udders. I have to process the milk, still.
OK, the milk is processed. I got most of the clothing washed for this weekend, except for the socks. I need to get my DS all together, and Dad advised me to take a plastic bag to bag up all of my filthy, smelly clothing. Uh, yeah...my clothing doesn't tend to get filthy and smelly after I've worn it for one day to a glorified Bible study. Speaking of Bible study, if Don Feldick doesn't come to Bible study tomorrow, I'm going to be saddened. Heaviness of heart, all that.
I contacted Pastor Raw Justice to let him know it would only be me. He said something along the lines of "Oh...are you sure you don't want to just stay home too Kevin, maybe your mom could go instead of both of you, or yeah, the better option is that
There's not that much to do, not too much that I can't go and represent the church! Yes, they'll be like, "Wow, Pastor...what a dead group you have here, I wouldn't want to be handcuffed to any of them when they died," then they'd see me and go, "Wow! Quality over quantity! That boy's anointed, make way!" They'd push down old ladies and randomly stop and momentarily choke people on their way to me.
"Oh, yes, I taught him everything he knows," Pastor would say. "Well boy-howdy, every single day of your life hasn't been a miserable waste, after all!" his dad would chime in. "This boy is the future! We must build him a megachurch!"
I would react with typical humility...I don't have a proud bone in my body! Anyway, I've still got to make a more detailed list of what I need (my mom pledged to help with this), read up on California some (there have to be some good eateries on the "strip." I really don't know if it's called "the strip," from what I know, 95% of land in California is "on the strip." I need to find out weapons laws especially. I think a Bible is considered a weapon of some sort.)
Monday, January 28, 2008
Rattlesnake Stew
I was not ready for church this week. It was one of those times when you go to sleep knowing you're not ready for church, and you wake up thinking the same thing. I was shot for seemingly no reason.
Once I got there, things turned out great. I think Pastor could tell I was a little down. He probably thought my dog died or something, because he knows I absolutely love rain, and if I'm still in the dumps while it's raining- (it was raining last Sunday)- it's a clear indicator something dear to me died. Except this week. This week, I just did not sleep well.
[For my records, I also discovered this week that doctrine and/or the Bible are the only topics that universally throw our family into arguments.]
Pastor once more reminded us that we're having a soup dinner next Sunday...we've decided that we're bringing Rattlesnake Stew. We have the meat from a rattler we killed sometime back; it was a year or so ago, at least. It was a clean kill; you'll note it did not bite itself like either of the two snakes I blogged about (first and second).
Now, I am unsure if them biting themselves is bad- they obviously do it as some last-ditch effort to kill us- but regardless, I would rather not risk it with my church pals. If you think about it, if you bring any less than your absolute best (i.e., hold back the best for yourself), why bother to bring anything at all? So we'll bring rattlesnake. Only the best for them.
I figure we'll make beef or chicken stew, then just add the rattlesnake meat. They'll be so excited! Now, Mrs. Bruckner said that she wouldn't go to church if I brought a rattlesnake in, but it will only be a partial rattlesnake. And she doesn't have to eat it.
You know what?
I'm going to go milk, then do some work in MoviePlus. Oh, I'll also cook dinner first. We're having shrimp and ham put into The Joy of Cooking's version of Chinese fried rice. I'll make my brother...something. Off I go.
OK, I am back several hours later. Dinner somehow worked out. I did not add the shrimp, but froze it to add to...something. I made the idiotic mistake of letting it sit in the fridge for a day. Actually, three days. Time flies!
Also, I worked for more than three hours (4 hours atm), and I produced this neat video you should watch. It is 4 minutes long- 4 minutes and two-thirds of a second. It is 13 MB in size.
I'll provide a 3.5 MB, slightly lower quality video for my fans at the bottom of the post (it's almost as high quality as the 13 MB video, so if you have restrictions, the one at the bottom is OK.) Here comes the disclaimer...wait for it...
WARNING! VIDEO SHOWS RATTLESNAKE BEING KILLED! GRAPHIC AND CREEPY! WARNING!
That came out better than I thought. Aren't you proud of what my feeble toiling produced?
Time to be frank. I need to edit Bess's wedding footage. It's been ...3 months now, and I typically do not procrastinate this badly. She made the mistake of not pressuring me into editing it, but she shouldn't have to pressure me for me to do it, right? But I do not work well when left to easily forget things!
I learned how to use the program- MoviePlus 5- a while back. I chronicled it in these two posts: Bess' Wedding #1: It Begins and Bess' Wedding #2: Come to me, my baby!
I really like Metroid. I'll need to make a post on that sometime, as it fascinates even me.
Please, let me know how it loaded for you. It loads fine for me...but you can never tell with these things. Below is the promised low-size movie for dialup users. See, I'm trying to be helpful...oh drat...it won't upload. OK, new plan- if you need a lower size video, email me, and I'll upload one for you specially. It's almost midnight, and I don't want to miss this day's post. Sorry, guys.
Once I got there, things turned out great. I think Pastor could tell I was a little down. He probably thought my dog died or something, because he knows I absolutely love rain, and if I'm still in the dumps while it's raining- (it was raining last Sunday)- it's a clear indicator something dear to me died. Except this week. This week, I just did not sleep well.
[For my records, I also discovered this week that doctrine and/or the Bible are the only topics that universally throw our family into arguments.]
Pastor once more reminded us that we're having a soup dinner next Sunday...we've decided that we're bringing Rattlesnake Stew. We have the meat from a rattler we killed sometime back; it was a year or so ago, at least. It was a clean kill; you'll note it did not bite itself like either of the two snakes I blogged about (first and second).
Now, I am unsure if them biting themselves is bad- they obviously do it as some last-ditch effort to kill us- but regardless, I would rather not risk it with my church pals. If you think about it, if you bring any less than your absolute best (i.e., hold back the best for yourself), why bother to bring anything at all? So we'll bring rattlesnake. Only the best for them.
I figure we'll make beef or chicken stew, then just add the rattlesnake meat. They'll be so excited! Now, Mrs. Bruckner said that she wouldn't go to church if I brought a rattlesnake in, but it will only be a partial rattlesnake. And she doesn't have to eat it.
You know what?
I'm going to go milk, then do some work in MoviePlus. Oh, I'll also cook dinner first. We're having shrimp and ham put into The Joy of Cooking's version of Chinese fried rice. I'll make my brother...something. Off I go.
OK, I am back several hours later. Dinner somehow worked out. I did not add the shrimp, but froze it to add to...something. I made the idiotic mistake of letting it sit in the fridge for a day. Actually, three days. Time flies!
Also, I worked for more than three hours (4 hours atm), and I produced this neat video you should watch. It is 4 minutes long- 4 minutes and two-thirds of a second. It is 13 MB in size.
I'll provide a 3.5 MB, slightly lower quality video for my fans at the bottom of the post (it's almost as high quality as the 13 MB video, so if you have restrictions, the one at the bottom is OK.) Here comes the disclaimer...wait for it...
WARNING! VIDEO SHOWS RATTLESNAKE BEING KILLED! GRAPHIC AND CREEPY! WARNING!
That came out better than I thought. Aren't you proud of what my feeble toiling produced?
Time to be frank. I need to edit Bess's wedding footage. It's been ...3 months now, and I typically do not procrastinate this badly. She made the mistake of not pressuring me into editing it, but she shouldn't have to pressure me for me to do it, right? But I do not work well when left to easily forget things!
I learned how to use the program- MoviePlus 5- a while back. I chronicled it in these two posts: Bess' Wedding #1: It Begins and Bess' Wedding #2: Come to me, my baby!
I really like Metroid. I'll need to make a post on that sometime, as it fascinates even me.
Please, let me know how it loaded for you. It loads fine for me...but you can never tell with these things. Below is the promised low-size movie for dialup users. See, I'm trying to be helpful...oh drat...it won't upload. OK, new plan- if you need a lower size video, email me, and I'll upload one for you specially. It's almost midnight, and I don't want to miss this day's post. Sorry, guys.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Church This Week: January 20th, 2008
Today, we brought "snacks." I guess that's what it's called. OK, actually, they're "refreshments." See picture. Following, pictures will be posted after food is named. (I.e., "These are muffins," then the picture.)We brought Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins, which I baked last night (enough to feed a shipload of pirates! Or at least half a shipload! Depending on the size of the ship, of course, and which meal they were being served for)...
And pinwheel sandwiches (that's what I call them, at least; I don't have a better name thought up)...
(Note that you spread cream cheese on the tortilla, then only put meat and cheese on half of it, and they're very difficult to roll if you skimp on the meat, and you're going to lose 1-1.5 inches on either side- that's the preparers reward!)
...sugar cookies (my mom attempted to upstage Manny, the Hitman's wife, who brought sugar cookies baked with love and frosted with joy and peace; my mom has most likely started a war with her which may fare badly for both parties. Did I mention that I recently discovered that Manny is not evil, but instead is just shy?)...
And Celery Marrow Bites. I guess it's celery cut in half to look like a split bone with marrow in the middle. She's weird. Why on earth she would want to copy an animal product (split marrow leg bones) with vegetables and peanuts, I will never know. Only God knows what the raisins and craisins are. I guess maybe marrow has lumps in it. Picture below.
The muffins fared well, but they'd fare better around Halloween. The celery marrow bites all disappeared. Oh, my mom just informed me, that the celery marrow bites are in fact called "Ants on a Log"...well, I've been wrong before. This is a second time. OH, NO I DIDN'T!
The pinwheel sandwiches did very well as the main push. People filled up on them, then went to feast on the muffins, and as an afterthought, the cookies and the ants on a log. Why my mom would want to call them ANTS on a log is beyond me. Why not just call them "large pregnant cockroach bites?" Seriously, mom, call them something appetizing- like celery peanut raisin bites. Or celery butter raisin smackers, or something good, not sugar coated locust crunchies or octopus ink encrusted lobster brain bites.
Someone tried to upstage us. A man named "John," if I remember correctly. OK, I know who that is. There's 12 people named David, 17 people named Don (one of them has a blog), and 15 people named Suzie, yet only one person named John. I am going to overnight him a fist in the mail (it's like blowing somebody a kiss, but it hurts like hell), and I'll mark it "For John's Face Only." He won't know what hit him, as fists, even when overnighted, tend to evaporate quickly when opened, and aren't always visible! Hahaha! Take that!
[John, if you're reading, thanks for bringing those donuts! We'll have to start supplementing our refreshment days with donuts, as the hoards seem to like those a lot. Foolproof contention of the masses. I think "contention" is akin to "contentment."]
After Sunday School and the main sermon- i.e., at the end of the church day- the Hitman asked me if I have any questions. He knows I'm attempting to work my way through Romans (I asked him for some help last week), and I got obliterated by Romans 1:17- to Romans 2. The whole chunk there jabbed me like a spearthrower (from the Latin, one who throws spears) in heat. Yeah, I guess spearthrowers go into heat. How else do spearthrowers reproduce?
Speaking of reproduction, I asked him to introduce me to (tell me who they belong to) the short stops running all around there, and in a roundabout way, asked him where babies come from. I had earlier told him that we neutered a baby male goat with a rubber band (whew, that's a mental image), so I should have some grasp of it. My mom says it's just like a goat reproduces, but I understand it completely different. I guess it could go down like that, but typically human females give birth in hospitals or at least indoors, not on a bed of their own feces with some jerk with a camera hovering over them and telling them to "Just push harder, stupid! You can do it! Push! Heave, ho!" But it may be that that's just my limited understanding. Was that sacribirtial?
He said, "Look, Kev, I know you're going to pull that verse on me and tell me I have to be your slave because I am a dishopon, but why don't you just let me bring you some DVDs I have which go through Romans?"
I am pretty sure I didn't pee my pants. "Wow, shiny DVDs?" I asked. "Things that show thousands of pictures in only a few minutes of time, strung together with AWDEEO?" "Yes, Kev, you don't need to say 'audio' like that, what's wrong with y-" "Wow! That'd be fantastically, monumentally webstratificatic!" (web-stratifeh-catic) He's funny; you can make up stuff and he assumes it's computer terminology. Heh heh heh, sucker. He asked if I could burn DVDs, I said, "My computer is the bomber, and 'perfectly furnished unto all good works!'"
There was a pause.
No, a longer pause.
That's about how long.
"...so, it can burn DVDs?" "Uh, yeah." "OK, then you can just take the originals and burn yourself a copy." "Sounds great! Thanks, Hitman! Very much! Btw, you should know, I do have this nasty habit of snapping discs in half anytime I take them out of a drive of sorts when I'm excited, but aside from that, I can copy them and give back the originals." "Uh, Kev, don't break the discs in half." "Yeah, I probably won't, I only do that if I'm really stoked." "Yeah, OK, make sure you're not really stoked before you take them out, alright?" "OK. Otherwise, you'll kill me, right?" "No, Kev, you'll just get a pie thrown in your face."
But what kind? A gunpowder pie with a lit fuse?
In other news, Kile II is starting a blog! I don't know what he'll blog about, but it scares the festering bear blood out of me. (It's a long story, one that I made up; when you're in the forest, and you need a blood transplant...)
After Sunday School (I bold those so you know when these conversations occur, because they're not all in order, as this is one long post), we had a good long conversation about it. I don't have his email and I'm not sure when he'll start blogging, but I think we gave him enough guidance. We're very eager to
In other other news, at least one church member is just sure that I'm gay, and...actually, that quite sucks! THAT'S IT, I'M GOING DRESSED AS A COWBOY NEXT WEEK, JUST TO SHOW THEM! That'll never backfire due to Hollywood! Those fools can't ruin my plan this time!
Hey! My brother just acknowledged that I am a man. He has this mindset that if I am a man, then he is a boy, and if he is a boy, then I am a man. I don't really consider myself a man yet. When I'm able to rear a family, then I'll consider myself a man. Pastor taught on how mothers and fathers are supposed to train children today. Man, I got like, everything wrong. Apparently, TV does not raise children or teach them morals. Who knew?
In the middle of the Sunday Sermon, I had to get up during the service to get my mom some Kleenex. I had to walk right by Pastor. Apparently, he felt his territory was threatened, because he leaned over sideways and shook real violently and spread his arms; his jacket made him look like a bat of sorts. I can only assume that he was trying to puff himself up to appear more of a threat. I got the Kleenex- he watched, stone cold- then he went through the same routine after I passed him on the way back. Apparently, he was trying to keep me from the pulpit or something on it, as he circled it in an arc keeping himself between it and me. He then put his balled fists on the side of his ribcage and proudly walked/pranced around in a circle pawing the ground.
That's probably the weirdest thing I've ever seen him do. [Btw, did I mention, this post gets a "I probably made that up" tag.]
I also saw something incredibly cute today, before Sunday School. Little kids- small things, like 2-3 years old- amaze me. They're so stupid, but they're cute, so they make up for it (keep in mind, I've never changed a diaper in my life.) I am unsure of who the child belonged to, but a 2-3 year old was carrying something- distracted by it- and smashed, forehead first, into the wall. "She just ran into the wall!" I exclaimed. I don't know if that causes brain damage or what. "Yeah, they're little, they do that," Pastor said. "Wow...they're like those robotic carpet cleaners," I marveled.
Next Q&A, they'll be hosting a soup dinner/crockpot potluck. Wiggy. Pastor says that I can't cook for it, and I don't get any soup. Hah hah, he's so silly! I'll bring some gumbo with white and brown rice. They'll be so happy. I better bring our biggest pot full of it. "Wow, Kev- we brought potato soup, chicken soup, and you brought spicy gumbo soup" and I'll be like, "Yeah, all praise be to God, for I have double-jointed thumbs which I can bend more effectually than other fellows of the lewd baser sort!" (I'm hearing this terminology, and it takes me a while to learn to use it correctly.)
Pa and my brother stayed home today. They either hate bringing
Curse his bones. OK, fine, bless his bones. Man, is this just a long post...or is it my imagination?
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Why do I hate zucchini? I'll tell you why I hate zucchini.
Well, when I saw this picture...
It was "Man I love that stuff!" all over again. So, I know that we have mayonnaise, I'm pretty sure we have yogurt, I think we have cucumbers, and we of course have the bread ingredients. I think we even have the apples! If you don't know what Jew Food Challah Bread Sandwiches are, check this post: Challah Bread and Vegetable Sandwiches.
Now, go ahead and picture me toiling away for several hours, only to realize that some fool used all the cucumbers in a salad. Imagine the horrible sorrow I experienced. Then imagine that it was ALL DUE TO THE ACCURSED ZUCCHINI THAT I THOUGHT WAS A CUCUMBER! ERRAAARGH! CURSE THE ZUCCHINI GOD, ZUCCULES!
[like hercules]
...OK, I really found out that we were cucumber-less before I began toiling, but I still don't have to be happy about it.
...plus, it's harder to cook zucchini than eggplant. Looks like I'm having bean soup for dinner, instead, guys. Sorry guys...party's over.
It was "Man I love that stuff!" all over again. So, I know that we have mayonnaise, I'm pretty sure we have yogurt, I think we have cucumbers, and we of course have the bread ingredients. I think we even have the apples! If you don't know what Jew Food Challah Bread Sandwiches are, check this post: Challah Bread and Vegetable Sandwiches.
Now, go ahead and picture me toiling away for several hours, only to realize that some fool used all the cucumbers in a salad. Imagine the horrible sorrow I experienced. Then imagine that it was ALL DUE TO THE ACCURSED ZUCCHINI THAT I THOUGHT WAS A CUCUMBER! ERRAAARGH! CURSE THE ZUCCHINI GOD, ZUCCULES!
[like hercules]
...OK, I really found out that we were cucumber-less before I began toiling, but I still don't have to be happy about it.
...plus, it's harder to cook zucchini than eggplant. Looks like I'm having bean soup for dinner, instead, guys. Sorry guys...party's over.
Monday, December 31, 2007
My Brother. On my nerves again.
So, my brother is getting on my nerves again. I am unsure why. I think it is because I am more or less blamed for him having the dishes in his room, and around dinnertime there has been an increase of shortages (what?) of either forks, spoons, or plates the last 1-2 weeks.
As you know, this has caused "burn out" for me in the past (warning: clicking the link will cause loss of respect for our family like my mom's post here (Master Bedroom Cleanup), via this recent post here (Six Days of Freedom)), and I've stopped cooking or cleaning for as much as a week.
To remedy the situation, I will start barging into his room at odd hours to retrieve the dishes. We also need to get him a box spring for his bed (his current box spring is connected to his bed stand, and that allows dishes to weasel their way under his bed). That should hopefully motivate him to set his dishes outside of his door to hopefully stop the intrusions.
I will also be restricting his access to large bowls; he'll either have to eat smaller portions, or take two smaller bowls. He will have access to bowls no bigger than 2 quarts...and if he needs more than two quarts worth of food (which he does), oh well.
Now if only we could have a "you have to eat the vegetables on your plate" rule.
Apparently, New Years is not today, but tomorrow, so the mail will be running today, which means it may be lawful for me to ponder if FF1&2 or AoE:AoK will get here today. That makes no sense to me, but like my mom said the other day in church in front of EVERYONE, "Kev isn't allowed to look at calenders. He figures out how long it is until the next major holiday and he gets so excited that he wets himself sometimes."
THANKS A LOT, MOM.
As you know, this has caused "burn out" for me in the past (warning: clicking the link will cause loss of respect for our family like my mom's post here (Master Bedroom Cleanup), via this recent post here (Six Days of Freedom)), and I've stopped cooking or cleaning for as much as a week.
To remedy the situation, I will start barging into his room at odd hours to retrieve the dishes. We also need to get him a box spring for his bed (his current box spring is connected to his bed stand, and that allows dishes to weasel their way under his bed). That should hopefully motivate him to set his dishes outside of his door to hopefully stop the intrusions.
I will also be restricting his access to large bowls; he'll either have to eat smaller portions, or take two smaller bowls. He will have access to bowls no bigger than 2 quarts...and if he needs more than two quarts worth of food (which he does), oh well.
Now if only we could have a "you have to eat the vegetables on your plate" rule.
Apparently, New Years is not today, but tomorrow, so the mail will be running today, which means it may be lawful for me to ponder if FF1&2 or AoE:AoK will get here today. That makes no sense to me, but like my mom said the other day in church in front of EVERYONE, "Kev isn't allowed to look at calenders. He figures out how long it is until the next major holiday and he gets so excited that he wets himself sometimes."
THANKS A LOT, MOM.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Where's the Dead Animal Flesh?
In the freezer! Yes! Observe the photo below and weep bitterly!
Isn't it great? Of course it is! There's
Now, I've been craving chicken fried steak lately (we'll probably have it for dinner tonight), so I will teach you how to prepare chicken fried steak meat. You have to pound it really, really thin for some reason. I am unsure of why.
First, look on the "before" square, below. Then you'll see how much bigger of a steak you get when you flatten it. If you have morons in your household, it's simple to make them think they're getting a huge steak.
You must hit it really, really hard. If you hit it right, it should only take one hit. Note that I used the Deni meat tenderizer on it before I pounded it at all...why? I don't know, I like the thing. It makes me happy. See the below picture. This is what it should look like after one swing. If it doesn't, just hit it again, and that should do it.
Then you pepper it real good and hit it with some salt, then coat it with some flour, and bake it in a pan on the stovetop in some lard or something. It's real simple. I've used Alton Brown's Chicken Fried Steak recipe at FoodNetwork.com. I'm totally not sure if it's a good recipe or not (speaking in terms of better recipes), but come on, it's steak with pepper and flour. E plus Z equals E+Z.
----------------------------------
My mom informed me that she hates chicken fried steak. My parents' tastes frustrate me. Someday, I will understand them...perhaps it is their hormones. Until then, I will continue to have no remorse nor empathy for them in the matter of not liking perfectly good food.
Sorry guys.
Isn't it great? Of course it is! There's
- 2 dinners worth of pork
- 7 dinners worth of cow steak
- 1 dinner of chopped beef (1/4 inch cubes)
- 1 dinner of meat prepared as unto the Pioneer Woman's direction for Marlboro Man's Favorite Sandwich
- 1 dinner of meat prepared for chicken fried steak.
Now, I've been craving chicken fried steak lately (we'll probably have it for dinner tonight), so I will teach you how to prepare chicken fried steak meat. You have to pound it really, really thin for some reason. I am unsure of why.
First, look on the "before" square, below. Then you'll see how much bigger of a steak you get when you flatten it. If you have morons in your household, it's simple to make them think they're getting a huge steak.
You must hit it really, really hard. If you hit it right, it should only take one hit. Note that I used the Deni meat tenderizer on it before I pounded it at all...why? I don't know, I like the thing. It makes me happy. See the below picture. This is what it should look like after one swing. If it doesn't, just hit it again, and that should do it.
Then you pepper it real good and hit it with some salt, then coat it with some flour, and bake it in a pan on the stovetop in some lard or something. It's real simple. I've used Alton Brown's Chicken Fried Steak recipe at FoodNetwork.com. I'm totally not sure if it's a good recipe or not (speaking in terms of better recipes), but come on, it's steak with pepper and flour. E plus Z equals E+Z.
----------------------------------
My mom informed me that she hates chicken fried steak. My parents' tastes frustrate me. Someday, I will understand them...perhaps it is their hormones. Until then, I will continue to have no remorse nor empathy for them in the matter of not liking perfectly good food.
Sorry guys.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I don't feel like posting.
No, not at all. My teeth hurt, the top of my mouth hurts, and I blame this Orbit sugarfree gum. Everything was fine until I chewed a few pieces. Worse, I want to drink some water, but my mouth is now so sensitive due to the mint I can't drink my water. Every time I do, my mouth hurts for about 25 seconds. Curse this gum! Curses, welcome the Curse Them tag! For cursing both individually and corporately. CURSES!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another;(italics mine, and I'm not sure if this is the true old KJV or the newer KJV). There are something around 25 of these verses in Paul's epistles, if memory serves. Don't stab each other, don't backbite each other, don't do this, don't do that, do this, do do that, on and on. I'll tell ya, that Paul can ramble something fierce!
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Pecan pie, my sweet -- Thanksgiving post #7
It is Thanksgiving! Rejoice, brethren! Accolades delivered on high to the Most High! Give thanks, stuff like that. Do good unto all men, yadda yada.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Dad's Lack of Food Poisoning Knowledge
My Dad- despite the fact that he came down with a case of explosive diarrhea from food poisoning just last week- does not believe that food left out for days can give you food poisoning.
A living example is the food I made him Friday night. He was going to leave Saturday, and stay overnight at a jobsite Saturday night, so I wanted to make him a "delicious icebox lunch."
I made him:
3.5 leftover hamburgers from dinner that night
A half gallon of goat milk
A quart bag of doritos chips
1 dozen boiled eggs
1/4th of the Applesauce cake that I made
The "cheesecake" he made but no one ate (so I figured I'd give it to him), and a small bag of jello to go with it
A very large portion of macaroni salad (he loves macaroni salad like I love potato salad HINT HINT)
2 slices pizza
4 tamales (we made them on Tuesday)
Now, with a spread like that, wouldn't you be self-sufficient for a few days? Just the boiled eggs alone!
But no. He has to go spend $30 on a steak dinner, while we eat AIR! His reason? "I couldn't read any of your non-legible handwriting! In fact, anytime I see your handwriting, I don't even bother reading it, because it is so horrible!"
How often do you see a note in the morning- prominently displayed- and ignore it because it's "strenuous to read"?
I, personally, avoid such folly. He, apparently, does not. When asked why he didn't simply look inside the ice box filled with at least 10 pounds of food stuffs, his response is "because I didn't know what was in it."
That's like not looking in the refrigerator and starving to death because "you don't have a photographic memory and can't be sure no one placed a bomb inside it that will kill you."
To make matters worse, he didn't see fit to refrigerate it.
So he'll be taking food that's been out for 2 days to work to eat for lunch. And it will not be refrigerated there, either.
To make matters worse, tonight my Mom told me "Oh yeah, BTW Kev, I read that letter you left for your Pa."
I expected something along the lines of "We're going to set up an automated whipping machine that beats you senseless each time you make a misshapen 'i,' because boy, your handwriting is horrible! I couldn't even tell what letters you were trying to "spell," let alone which words!"
But no. "I read it, and it's perfectly legible. What I think is that he needs glasses."
"Wow...really, Mom?"
"Yes. Didn't you see him trying to read that bank statement the other day?"
"Uhh... no."
"He...had it upside-down."
"Oh. So it isn't me? It's HIM?! I've been developing a paranoid, delusional phobia about my writing for months and it's HIM?!"
"I guess so."
"Oooh. I hope he DOES get explosive diarrhea again!"
I'll report back the consistency of his bowel movements. He deserves it, I know that. Boy, those boiled eggs look good...he had to ruin them. Or at least I assume they're ruined. My Mom seems to agree, and she knows all about medicine and differentiating between colds and flus. My Dad knows how to differentiate between colds and flues. My right nostril is stuffy.
A living example is the food I made him Friday night. He was going to leave Saturday, and stay overnight at a jobsite Saturday night, so I wanted to make him a "delicious icebox lunch."
I made him:
3.5 leftover hamburgers from dinner that night
A half gallon of goat milk
A quart bag of doritos chips
1 dozen boiled eggs
1/4th of the Applesauce cake that I made
The "cheesecake" he made but no one ate (so I figured I'd give it to him), and a small bag of jello to go with it
A very large portion of macaroni salad (he loves macaroni salad like I love potato salad HINT HINT)
2 slices pizza
4 tamales (we made them on Tuesday)
Now, with a spread like that, wouldn't you be self-sufficient for a few days? Just the boiled eggs alone!
But no. He has to go spend $30 on a steak dinner, while we eat AIR! His reason? "I couldn't read any of your non-legible handwriting! In fact, anytime I see your handwriting, I don't even bother reading it, because it is so horrible!"
How often do you see a note in the morning- prominently displayed- and ignore it because it's "strenuous to read"?
I, personally, avoid such folly. He, apparently, does not. When asked why he didn't simply look inside the ice box filled with at least 10 pounds of food stuffs, his response is "because I didn't know what was in it."
That's like not looking in the refrigerator and starving to death because "you don't have a photographic memory and can't be sure no one placed a bomb inside it that will kill you."
To make matters worse, he didn't see fit to refrigerate it.
So he'll be taking food that's been out for 2 days to work to eat for lunch. And it will not be refrigerated there, either.
To make matters worse, tonight my Mom told me "Oh yeah, BTW Kev, I read that letter you left for your Pa."
I expected something along the lines of "We're going to set up an automated whipping machine that beats you senseless each time you make a misshapen 'i,' because boy, your handwriting is horrible! I couldn't even tell what letters you were trying to "spell," let alone which words!"
But no. "I read it, and it's perfectly legible. What I think is that he needs glasses."
"Wow...really, Mom?"
"Yes. Didn't you see him trying to read that bank statement the other day?"
"Uhh... no."
"He...had it upside-down."
"Oh. So it isn't me? It's HIM?! I've been developing a paranoid, delusional phobia about my writing for months and it's HIM?!"
"I guess so."
"Oooh. I hope he DOES get explosive diarrhea again!"
I'll report back the consistency of his bowel movements. He deserves it, I know that. Boy, those boiled eggs look good...he had to ruin them. Or at least I assume they're ruined. My Mom seems to agree, and she knows all about medicine and differentiating between colds and flus. My Dad knows how to differentiate between colds and flues. My right nostril is stuffy.
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