Big things on the way out, like my butt.

I'm doing the April 2012 A to Z Blogging Challenge. I was inspired to do so by David McCauley of Brits in the USA who did last year's challenge.

So far, I've only written one entry. I'm happy with it. I hope I can do this and keep up with it as March has not had much of a showing, writing wise. But, that's just because I didn't care to write about minutiae.

But it is the minutiae about this place that makes it so damn interesting, frustrating and experiential. Learning to recognize the mundane reality as the extraordinary reality is a chore I will both relish and complain about.

Like this afternoon. It was truly an ordinary day. Yet the sun was shining and on the walk to Tesco, the proprietors of two different shops along the high street of my village had set out lawn chairs along the sidewalk (pavement for you UK bloggers). Ordinary enough if they'd been in their backyard (garden) but nope, extraordinary in that the weather was nice enough to allow all four of them to do this in the middle of the sidewalk.

Also, as I was bringing in the trash cans (rubbish bins), the old guy across the alley decided to come over to talk to me about what I have no idea, but I've heard it before and it was the same old, same old about how he took care of young girls after the war and then was telling me all about one girl's menstrual issues and that she was in a hospital for an operation and how he said she should bang up and go to the chemist's (pharmacy) and get some peppermint oil and put just a few drops on a tablespoon full of sugar and her cramps would then go away and about how some of these women who are still alive write letters to him but his grandson is too busy to come to see him particularly now that he has a fiancee. 

Of course there was more drivel than just that... some of the RAF stories are cool, but he likes to devolve to stories about the girls and how he showed them around after the war and helped them to deal with their bodily functions. At which point I like to take out my phone to text SciMan to call me to save me from the sad, creepy old man. Bless him and his precious girls.

Also, am happily down a few sizes. When we moved here, I was a UK size 20 and am now a size 16 (US size 14) in pants (trousers for you UK bloggers). Progress. Minutiae, but still, progress.

My love affair of meat and slow cooking continues. Bonus: I get a basket.

I used this fantastic chicken recipe from this amazing lady, Danielle, of Mostly Food and Crafts. It's called Slow-Cooker Rotisserie Chicken. It was fantastic. Did I say that already? Because it was.

Got a really good deal on whole chicken, £2.00 per kg at Tesco. This bird cost me about £3.16. Click on Danielle's name for the recipe and other goodies she does.  Or just be lazy and read on.

1 whole chicken or lots of chicken pieces.

1 onion, quartered

4 cloves of garlic

2 tsp salt, kosher, sea, whatever.

1 tsp paprika

1 tsp onion powder (in UK, use 1 tsp onion granules)

1/2 tsp thyme

1/2 tsp oregano*

1/2 basil*

   (if you've got Italian seasoning, use 1 tsp of that instead of the oregano and basil. Be sure to take it with you when you go through security checkpoints, too.)

1/2 tsp cayenne

1/2 tsp black pepper

I skinned the bird because Danielle said stuff about skin and slow cookers that made sense. But if you like soggy avian flesh covering, be my guest.

Combine all the spices together in a container of some kind and if you've got latex gloves, I recommend you put them on now because my hands became ever so slightly stained by the chicken rubbing.  The stain's gone now, but it did look like I went to an Indian bridal shower.

Rub these combined spices on that bird. Put the onions and garlic in the crockpot, and place the chicken breast side down on top. Or you can follow Danielle's suggestion to "tuck the onions and garlic under the chicken or inside."

I put one of the quartered onions in the chicken's butt but didn't notice if it helped.

Cook on high 5-6 hours, or low for 8. I did 8 hours and HOMAHGOSH! It was beautiful. The "jus" was just amazing. 

And so I let Danielle know that I followed her recipe. But I don't think she cares that much.

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I've been wanting a very large basket for some time now. With three floors of living space, it's essential.

The other day, after dropping Kiddo off at school, I saw a sign for a Coffee Morning, Tombola, and Bric-a-brac Fundraiser at the little church hall that is located on the other side of the playground/graveyard next to Kiddo's school.  I went in, because what else was I going to do, clean house?

No. 

I did that today. Besides, they advertised cake on the handwritten sign. I'll go anywhere there might be cake.

Anyway, I went in and there was a bit of a crush at the three tables items were set up on. Two of those tables were just books. You couldn't get to the middle table for love nor money, there were so many women standing there. I did what any passive aggressive individual does and stood behind them, twisting and turning, bending sideways at the waist, raising myself up on my toes to look over their shoulders. Finally, I'd had enough and decided to go get a free cookie off of the tables set up for sitting down and having tea and cake.

And then I saw it. It was on the floor with some other ugly and little baskets and it said to me, "Hey, hotstuff. Thinking about me a long time?"

I coyly said, "Yeah."  The large wicker basket beckoned me to its side. As I edged around a church maven, that's when I saw how much LWB was. Only three pounds.  I doubletook the sign. Only three pounds! I breathed heavier and faster. The metallic taste in my mouth was the same taste from junior high days, a fight or flight mechanism that would rear its ugliness every time the cute boys looked at me.

"I'm sorry... I'll be back." I muttered. Taunted by the ugly and little baskets, the LWB forlornly watched me make my way to the palsied lady in charge of the raffle. As I scrummaged in my wallet for the twenty pence needed to buy a raffle ticket, I resolved to buy the LWB; hell, high water, or church ladies would not bar my way.

LWB, if it could've, would've given me a smile when it saw me come back to it. I picked it up off the floor, dumped the ugly and little baskets out and proudly handed over a fiver to the lady behind the table. I even retained enough presence of mind to stick around for my change.

I walked out with LWB, not even bothering to stick around to find out if I'd managed to win anything at the raffle. That was forty pence well spent. Yes, I bought two tickets. But doing so allowed me the time and space to collect my thoughts. As in garage sale-ing, one does not just offer everything for the first thing one sees. LWB understands. After all, good things definitely come to those who wait and tiptoe behind church ladies. 

I'm determined to show LWB, who happens to be from China, a good life.

Artsy.

You're beautiful!

I'll have a demi half-fat cappu and whatever she's having.

Perfecting the art of doing nothing

For the last three days, I've done nothing above and beyond washing the dishes and brushing my teeth. I don't think I've cooked dinner either. SciMan did that for me. Look at this beaut!

Poached eggs on toast.

So, for the last few days, SciMan's been under the weather and has stayed home. I've taken Kiddo to school and one morning, after dropping her off, I went to the lounge at the bottom of the hill for breakfast. SciMan had waxed ecstatic over their poached eggs on ciabatta. I decided to give it a go. It was okay. Came with a fried tomato and mushrooms. Ciabatta is good for sammies and paninis, but not really useful for an eggy breakfast. The mushrooms were good though. While eating, and because I didn't have a book with me, I looked up how to make a poached egg as I was, overall, happy to eat one. The website I found, ThePerfectPoachedEgg.com is meticulously clear about the method of making The Perfect Poached Egg. I laughed out loud in the lounge and disturbed several students.

Why I laughed:

The three starter items needed according to ThePerfectPoachedEgg.com are a good egg, a non-stick frying pan, and a reliable toaster*.

 The simple steps

The variables 

I got home and told SciMan what I experienced regarding the ciabatta and said, "Tiger loaf would be more appropriate." He agreed. After more conversation, it was determined that we could ourselves learn to make poached eggs. After all, when in Roma...

 SciMan used Alton Brown's method, but I sure did think that the poached egg website was a riot. And isn't that photo just lovely? It was taken with my new Samsung Galaxy S II.


Dual Core

Lots of Gigs.

Mega Pixels. Also lots.

 You can just feel the cracked pepper in your teeth because of my phone. The crunchy roughness of tiger loaf melting away in a puddle a buttery yolk is brought to you by the letter, Technology and the number, Mine Now. Thanks to contractual upgrades, I'm feeling all Enya-y because of the basil and tomato.

I leave you with a darling video of my darling Kiddo, circa 2009, titled  "In which Kiddo is gifted with her Momma's Grandma's jewelry".

*This is serious business. Unreliable kitchen appliances are shit. Wars have been fought, marriages ended, and jihads commenced over less. 

Super Tuesday? I got your "super" right here...

Today is the day for the Alaska, Georgia, Idaho, Massachusetts, North Dakota, Tennessee, Vermont, Virginia, Ohio and Oklahoma. If you are a resident in these states, please go vote.

Quoting the smartest man I know (emphasis mine):

Today is Super Tuesday. News reports, polls, and interviews seem to indicate that many people in the US are concerned primarily with moral and social issues. I want to try to change the subject. If you're voting today in the Republican Primaries, I'm not going to tell you who to vote for. I'm not going to promote one candidate over another. 

I will tell you that throughout human history, almost every case of one group imposing their beliefs on another has gone badly. I will tell you that unless a person is causing harm, then it is wrong to tell them how to live. It's called oppression, and everyone who has ever tried it has been called an oppressor. Having a different opinion is not harmful. Having a different lifestyle, set of habits, hobbies, or preferences is not harmful. It is always wrong to tell a person how to peacefully live their life. 

If you find that what is most important to you in this election is influencing other people to behave how you want them to, or even to legally restrict their peaceful behavior to what you find acceptable, then shame on you. You have a sad, corroded view of what freedom is. 

It is OK to criticize others. Even publicly. Even vehemently. It is OK to have contempt for others and their lifestyles; people have the right to their own opinions and the right to share them. People do not have the right to use government as a big stick and beat the people they don't agree with. A difference of opinion is a peaceful issue that should never be resolved forcibly with law. 

There are much more important issues than worrying about how other Americans spend their free time. Foreign policy for one. I have read more about which candidate legally paid more in taxes than I've read about their stances on US interventionism. Just yesterday, Eric Holder outlined justification for assassinating US citizens. I want to hear the candidates talk about that. I want to hear discussions about police using drones domestically. I want to hear more about funding for energy research. There are so many issues that actually affect everyone that it is shocking to me to find most people seem stuck on issues that don't affect them at all.

 The Guardian, a newspaper from the United Kingdom, has a video from a film-maker who went to several states asking people about their opinions on the issues and finally, who they would vote for.

I have never been so ashamed to be an Oklahoman and an American after watching this Hitchcock-esque video. I wish it had been a video of an Inuit eating a baby seal. It isn't. It's worse.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/video/2012/mar/05/primary-voices-oklahoma-video


If you suspect I am being melodramatic, know this... I have never, ever been ashamed of or have ever said I was ashamed of where I come from. I'm proud of my country. I love my state, but if mainstream ignorance continues to flourish, if lack of critical thinking pins my fellow state and countrymen with a big red arrow in Las Vegas neon saying, "Hi, I'm the lowest common denominator", then put me on the next rocket to Mars.

Voices need to be heard, opinions must be developed. These two aspects of ourselves are the pinnacle of revolution. Yet, I am of that mindset that if you are voicing your ill-informed opinion because you haven't deigned to do the legwork of research into a candidate's viability, you are the idiotic LCD. You are the detriment, not the ones who are different and "other" from you.

For Alaska, Georgia, Idaho, Massachusetts, North Dakota, Tennessee, Vermont, Virginia, Ohio and Oklahoma, it may be too late. For all the rest of the states who have yet to have their primaries, it might not be. After August 27th, we'll find out the mood of half of the nation. What kind of nation will it be? Will it be a progressive, tolerant, and innovative one or will it regress a la Iran and Afghanistan?

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