Why I don't bake

A short essay.

Because I can write my recipes like this.

The end.

Kale, sausage and potato soup

Swirl of olive oil

1 white onion, diced

2 good-sized potatoes, cut into ½ inch pieces

3 good handfuls of kale (It came from a bag, so I just reached in and pulled it out. It’s just about half the bag.)

4 cups of chicken broth (maybe ¼ cup more. Enough to just cover the other ingredients, but not drown them)

3 links of hot Italian turkey sausage, cut into ½ inch pieces (take the casing off, and then cut it.)

A few shakes of red pepper flakes

½ cup fat-free half and half

In a Dutch oven, brown the sausage in the olive oil with the red pepper flakes. Remove sausage and put in a bowl.

Sautee the onions, scraping up any browned sausage bits. When the onions are translucent (about 5 minutes), return the sausage and any juices (that’s why you put it in a bowl!) to the pot. Add kale and stir until wilted. Add potatoes and broth, and bring to a simmer. Simmer for about 20 minutes, or until the potatoes are done.

Stir in half and half.

Serve.

And, like any soup, it's even better warmed up the next day!

 

Apology NOT accepted

So under pressure and losing sponsors, Rush Limbaugh "apologized" for calling Sandra Fluke a slut, saying "I chose the wrong words in my analogy of the situation. I did not mean a personal attack on Ms. Fluke."

He did this quietly, via a post on his website. Not on his radio show, which he has focused three full days on attacking Ms. Fluke, calling her a slut, a prostitute and suggesting she post videos of her having sex on line as a trade for her contraception.

Well, Mr. Limbaugh, as a woman, I will say loud and proud—your half-assed non-apology is NOT accepted.

Maybe you should focus on the fact that your whole take on the situation was false. And misleading. And out-right lies.

You said on your show that Sandra Fluke told Nancy Pelosi during a hearing that "the women at her school are having so much sex they are going broke buying birth control pills."

That is a lie.

You then brought her parents into the discussion, questioning the pride they must feel for Sandra.

"Your daughter goes up to a congressional hearing... and testifies she's having so much sex, she can't afford her own birth control pills and believes Obama should provide them. Or the Pope."

I know research and fact checking are two practices that are completely foreign to you and your team, but if you had taken five minutes, you would find this. It's Sandra Fluke's testimony.



If that is too much for you to watch, you could also get a copy of the actual transcript of her testimony.

Then you would know that Sandra Fluke didn't talk about her sex life at all, or anyone else's for that matter. She spoke of friends who take oral contraceptives to counter the effects of polycystic ovarian syndrome. Sounds sexy, doesn't it Rush?

Actually, I don't think you know what it is, and you don't care to learn. Truth and facts, again being foreign concepts to you and your team. It's much easier for you to go on the radio and hurl insults and call women vile names for wanting their medication covered under their insurance plans. Not the government. Not taxpayers. The insurance companies. Like the ones we all pay into with our paychecks, and what Sandra Fluke and her fellow students pay for with their tuition.

I'm surprised that, having been married four times without having any kids, no one has taught you how the birth control pill works. Unlike Viagra (which is covered under insurance plans), or your precious Oxycontin, you just take the pill once a day. And that's it. Just the one. Then you could have sex 10 times, or not at all. You still just take the one pill. And, again, unlike Viagra and your precious Oxycontin, it doesn't really make you feel different. I take it every day, and afterward I don't feel any sexier or more aroused than I would without it. I get more of a reaction from my daily allergy pill.

You see, the birth control pill actually is medication, not a sex pill. Women take the pill for a variety of medical reasons. By reducing its purpose to just calling it a sex pill is demeaning to all the women who take it, let alone the women who are taking it specifically for medical reasons. Frankly, it's none of your business or anyone else's WHY someone is taking birth control. It's a legal medication that allows women to have control over their bodies and their reproductive choices.

You said in your "apology" "I think it is absolutely absurd that during these very serious political times, we are discussing personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. I personally do not agree that American citizens should pay for these social activities."

That would be absurd. If it happened. But Sandra Fluke was not talking about her personal sexual recreational activities before members of Congress. You made that up. For three days. And again, women are standing up and speaking out to ensure that their basic health care needs are covered by their health insurance plans. Not by taxpayers. By insurance plans. The plans we pay into with our paychecks.

But it seems that you reap what you sow, as advertisers are abandoning your ship despite your half-assed apology.

Karma's a bitch, Rush, and I'll bet she's on the pill.

A Real Page Turner

I need new bookshelves.

There's really no more room here...



All filled up here...



(Before you say it, yes. I also have a lot of picture frames and do-dads. This isn't about that.)

It's getting a bit tight here, too (and it's hard to get a good shot with the sofa in the way. There are more books on top of the books on the bottom shelf.)



Actually, I guess I just need MORE bookshelves. Because I'm definitely not going to stop buying books. This isn't even all of them. My mom has my Boom by Tom Brokaw. Traci has a few. Sue has one. Paige has Take the Cannoli by Sarah Vowell. I loaned Helen a bag full when she was on bed rest that I don't think I ever got back, since I am short on chick lit that I know I had...

And before you think I'm a hoarder, I have donated more than a few bags of books to the library. Actually, that might be where most of the chick lit went.

I always have a stack on hand, too.



To be fair, The Pillars of the Earth is Jan's, so we're even. For now. How the Republicans Stole Christmas is Trisha's.

I just love books. I always have. Look at this girl. What's in her hands?



Books. Probably Little Golden Books, like The Poky Little Puppy. My grandfather thought I could read when I was 2 or 3, because while he read to me, I knew exactly when to turn the pages. Jan assured him that while I was probably brilliant, I couldn't read yet, I had just memorized it. (I might have added that "brilliant" part. Maybe.)

My mom is a teacher, so she knew the importance of reading, and started me out early, so I could memorize those stories until I could read them on my own.



And Dickie helped out, too.



(Please take a moment to soak in the awesomeness of Dickie's kick-ass mutton chops.)

And when they weren't reading to me, I was listening to those books with the records, and you could follow along with the story, and you knew when to turn the page because Tinkerbell would wave her magic wand like this (insert a little ding sound).

When I could read on my own, there was no stopping me. Dr. Seuss, Madeline, E.B. White, Tom Sawyer, I whipped through the Little House books and sucked in everything by the great Judy Blume. The Outsiders! We got library cards! Sweet Valley High! I probably read Princess Daisy waaaay before I should have.

I didn't even mind reading the books they had us read at school. Well, except for The Hobbit. Jesus H. that was boring. Actually, some of the time, I'd already read the assigned book, but I didn't mind reading it again. I had great teachers too, who encouraged it (Mr. Stanton and Mrs. Donnelly, I thank you). Two of my all-time favorites are Wuthering Heights and A Tale of Two Cities. I could read them over and over again.

I know it will make me sound like an even bigger geek, but a book can just take you away to another place and time. I am perfectly content curling up with a book and just losing myself in Tudor England, the hills of 1950s Ireland or even inside the tunnels in Carrie Fisher's head.

I had a boy say to me once, "I'll bet you read a lot because you're a journalist." I said, "No, I read a lot because I can." I don't think we went out again...

I don't understand people who don't read, or don't enjoy reading.

I love books. Not just escaping into a story, either. I love the feel of turning the pages, I love the smell of them. Even if I'm just going in for shampoo, I always go to the book section at Target. The Costco book table is conveniently located on the way to the water (and the wine). I can wander the stacks at a Barnes & Noble for hours, just looking for something new to discover, or an old classic to reacquaint myself with.

And I mean books. Actual, tangible, flip-the-pages, crack-the-spine, fold-the-corner-to-mark-your-space books.

I've had conversations with people about Nooks and Kindles. To me, it's just not the same. Yes, you're reading a book, but you're not reading a BOOK. When you come to my house, you see the books on my shelves, and it tells you something about me; I'm an open book, if you will. If you walk into somebody's house and all you see is a Kindle on the coffee table, what does that say about them? They could have 1,000 books on there. They could have none.

And, admittedly, I have thought about getting a Kindle. But a Kindle Fire. So I can check the web and play Words with Friends. With Alec Baldwin. On a plane. To France.

Sorry.

I don't want Kindles to replace books, though. Because I will cling to my stacks and piles like a hoarder. I'll lead the resistance if it comes to a Fahrenheit 451 thing, and real books are outlawed.

In the words of the brilliant John Waters (whose Role Models I am dying to read): "We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them."

Amen.

So, my birthday is coming up. I do need bookshelves. But Barnes & Noble gift cards work, too.

Or maybe a new coffee table.

In Memoriam...

The year-in-review magazines are coming out, TV specials are airing, reviewing the best, the worst and the strangest things from 2011. Along with these looks back, they also dedicate a few pages or moments to say a final good-bye to people of note who have left us. Like during the Oscars, where the crowd watches images of the stars that now only shine in the sky, politely applauding as if offering up a last toast.

I'd like to take this space to offer up a little toast myself.


Audrey the Civic
Sept. 2000-June 22, 2011
I know, not a person, but still. I got her when she only had 11 miles on her, and she was shiny and green with a CD player and auto-locks. For almost 190,000 miles, she traveled the long and winding roads.


Daphne Marie
Feb. 21, 1999-July 26, 2011



My furry boo, who slept on my head. Her personality won me over as soon as I laid eyes on her, and she never disappointed. Daphne was very vocal, and had a comforting purr. She preferred plastic milk lids and hair elastics to store-bought toys, liked to curl up on the big red couch, and enjoyed Christmas because Christmas trees are magically delicious.





Margaret Mae Hitchcock Wathier
March 7, 1922-April 30, 2011



Our beautiful Margaret. Beloved mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and friend. She loved playing games, doing crafts and going to lunch with her friends. She liked Bridge and Scrabble and was cut-throat at Monopoly. She knitted lap blankets for patients at the VA hospital, made Christmas pins and ornaments, and had a surprising talent for drawing. She also enjoyed a nice vodka martini. On the rocks.





And the screen goes black to the sound of thunderous applause...

Don't Believe the Hyp(ochondriac)

Hello. My name is Michelle, and I am a hypochondriac. Well, a little bit of one. I am not one to run to the doctor with each sniffle, but I do tend to scare myself into a cancer diagnosis.

I noticed I might have a problem a couple years ago. I was having a painful issue, so I went online and entered in my symptoms. Then I emailed my friend (and fellow hypochondriac) Chris with the results.

Me: I either have colon cancer or IBS. Or maybe some kind of parasite.
Him: Get off of WebMD IMMEDIATELY.

It turned out not be any of those things. Kashi. Seven whole grains on a mission to keep you in the bathroom.

So, I should have known better than to enter in the symptoms of my latest ailment. A sharp stabbing pain, focused on one part of my head. And not "in" my head, but "on" my head. Like right on my scalp. It hurt to touch, and the real pain came in a wave every few minutes or so, lasting about five seconds.

Strange. Random.

And possibly a cluster headache. Or sinusitis. Or idiopathic anemia. Or aseptic meningitis. Or shingles. Or, like I found on one message board, peri-menopause. Yeah. That's just what I need.

Or maybe it had something to do with my back tooth, which is on the same side as the pain. And I'd been warned by the dentist that since I'd had a root canal back there, I wouldn't be able to feel an infection because the nerves were dead. "And now my right ear is stuffed up," I thought. Oh... I need to go to the dentist NOW!

Need a cleaning, you'll have to wait for months. Mention sharp stabbing pain, they'll fit you right in.

I describe the pain and toss up my hypothesis as to what could be causing it. Bafflement, but yes, it could possibly be tooth related. They take some X-rays, which always brings tears to my eyes. I have a pretty sensitive gag reflex, and cramming slides and plastic holders all the way back there, and hold it for a couple seconds please, ugh... it's the worst.

In comes the dentist. "Have you ever had chicken pox?"
No.
"Oh, because shingles is nerve related, but to get shingles, usually you have to have chicken pox first."

AH!! So at least one thing on my list of possibilities. But there is no rash on my head, so it's doubtful.

It's also not tooth related, so he suggests another doctor, and is even so nice to write down what he thinks it might be. Something called "trigeminal neuralgia." Great! That will make it easy to Google it when I get back to the office.

Which of course I did.

The second line of the Wikipedia entry says "suicide disease." Huh... I think I'd rather have another root canal. I shared this with Jan, and got a lecture about how I scare myself, being a hypochondriac, by looking stuff up online. It only causes stress. "You're being ridiculous. It's probably just your sinuses."

Again, call a doctor for a checkup, you'll wait for months. Call them and mention stabbing pain, you're in like Flynn. I am the youngest person in the waiting room by a generation. Maybe two. I am led back to what I can only describe as a combination exam room/supply closet. Seriously, there were boxes of toilet paper, paper towels and aluminum foil serving dishes on top of the cabinets; a folded up wheelchair, oxygen tank on wheels and three scales behind the exam table.

The PA comes in to see me. (I guess stabbing head pain isn't important enough for the actual doctor to bother with) No rash, so no shingles. And no, it's not what the dentist suggested, as that would cause the pain to be on my face, and something about the wind blowing on it would make you want to kill yourself because of the pain.

Diagnosis: plain old ordinary irritated nerve, which is apparently not difficult to do.

"Do you wear your hair back a lot?"

Yes. So my bad hair days have, quite possibly, irritated my last good nerve. Fabulous. Since Excedrin seemed to be helping, she said it would go away on its own. So, I left with a sense of relief and a prescription for Flonase. My ear was still stuffy after all. Allergies.

"No one suggested alien abduction?" Jenny asked. "Because really, random weird stabbing pain in your head? That can really be the only logical explanation."

I got to go to the dentist again today, for a cleaning. And I was able to thank him for scaring the crap out of me last week with his suggested diagnosis, which, of course, I had looked up online.

He admitted he was guilty of doing the same thing more than once, scaring himself with what he found online. Well then, he should know better than to randomly shoot out a strange diagnosis to people.

"Would you like me just to mark 'Hypochondriac' in big red letters in your chart?" he asked.
Why not, I said. I am sure it's what all my other doctors have done.

I Still Like Joel Better

The picture is a little blurry, but I have this pin on my desk (thanks to Jason!).



The other day, a co-worker came in and saw it.

"What is this thing? Some kind of vacuum cleaner?"
"Um, it's Tom Servo."
"What's a Tom Servo?"
"Are you kidding?"
"No."
To the person she was on the phone with: "Do you know what a Tom Servo is? No, me either."
"Get out," I said, pointing to the door.

For the uninformed, THIS is Tom Servo.

I Gotta Be Me

I am loud. I'm obnoxious and sarcastic. My sense of humor is a bit dry and a bit out there.
I swear probably more than I should.
I am opinionated, and always willing to share.
I will stand up and fight for the causes and people I believe in, and knock down haters, discriminators and just plain idiots.
I am book smart, slightly street smart and know more about classic movies and 80s pop culture than a normal person should.
I can be very selfish, but I also have one of the most generous hearts you will ever know.
I know I'm not for everyone, and I'm cool with that. Because if I'm not for you, it's really more your problem than mine.