So it turns out that once you add a writing class into the mix, I'm not all that good at juggling my job, my commute, my workout schedule, the odd social engagement, spending time with my loved ones and you know, everyday life, plus posting here. Be back soon.
In the mean time, please enjoy some photos of the cutest beagle ever:
Oh, and lest ye worry -- strawberry jam has been restored to the Penguin household:
If someone had come into my house, held a gun to my head and said "Your life depends on your answering this question correctly. Do you have any strawberry jam?" I would have answered with a confident "Yes, we do."
And then I would have died, because apparently we only have grape jelly and red raspberry preserves. I've ransacked the refrigerator and the pantry, so I know this for sure now.
Now you may be wondering what the hell kind of neighborhood I live in - and clearly it is one that takes its condiments seriously - but my point is how can I not have any strawberry jam? I remember buying it so clearly. I can even picture the little jar in my head. So either I'm now hallucinating grocery store purchases or I actually had a dream about buying jam. I'm not sure which is sadder.
I had lunch with my friends Becky and Laurie yesterday, and they may have made veiled threats about what happens to people who don't update their blogs for a whole week. In my defense, I was unexpectedly busy. However this week marks the five year anniversary of when I started blogging, so I really should make an effort. If I had written, I probably would have said something along the lines of:
1) The new Star Trek movie. Saw it, liked it. The special effects were good, the action extremely satisfactory, and while the plot wasn't perfect, I didn't hate it either. I thought the actors did a wonderful job in their roles, particularly Zachary Quinto, who I was prepared to dislike. Spock was always my favorite character on Star Trek and I'm used to not liking Zachary Quinto as Sylar on Heroes. But the only objection I had to him was that they had Winona Ryder playing his mother. She's my age. He's only six years younger than me (yes, I looked it up.) I'm not old enough to be Spock's mom, dammit.
2) Lost! From starting off with the appearance of yet another Deadwood alum, to the final Lost reversed black text on a white background, the finale did not disappoint. Except for the part where we have to wait until 2010 to find out what comes next. Maybe I'll fill the time with old Deadwood episodes.
3) Andy Capp Hot Fries. These came up in conversation recently, and I wondered do they even still make them? The internet says yes. Not only do they still make them, they make them in four flavors. I'm unclear on why such an obscure comic strip character has his own snack - in Original, Cheddar, Steak White Cheddar and Steak Chili no less - but I guess never underestimate the purchasing power of drunks and stoners looking for that special something to much on after the bars close.
4) Writing class. My writing class started and so far so good. Although, I'm in the first group that has to share a short story for the class to critique and I'm tied up in knots over it. I don't really write short stories, or even read them all that much. So I pulled out the few short story collections I do have, which only made things worse. They either tend to be short stories about characters I know from full length books or written by Neil Gaiman. You know who is an intimidatingly (hey, Word is claiming that intimidatingly is not a real word. I'm pretty sure it is so I'm sticking with it) better writer than me? That would be Neil Gaiman. I've fretted about this story all week and kicked around a bunch of ideas, but I haven't actually written anything yet. And it is due tomorrow. Nothing like a little procrastination to get the words flowing, right?
How was your week?
Someone asked me the other day why I typically only post positive reviews. Am I so uncritical that I like everything I read? No, of course not. It would be impossible for someone who reads as much as I do to like every single book. I generally only choose to write about the ones I like.
Believe it or not, I am picky about what I read. Yes, I'll read just about any genre, but that doesn't mean I'll read any book in any genre. I have standards. If a book sounds interesting, I'll flip through and read a couple of paragraphs at random and see what I think about the writer's style. That doesn't protect me from books that are poorly plotted or disorganized, but it does help me cull most of the books that I won't like right from the start. Sometimes I'll get into a book and realize I just don't like it. Either I won't care about the characters, or I'll find the plot confusing, or the story just isn't pulling me along. In those instances, I usually keep reading for a while, hoping that something will spark my interest, but eventually I get bored and move on to some other book that is more interesting. I can't review a book I didn't bother to finish.
Also, I guess it is more my personality to say nothing at all rather than say something bad. I suppose if I thought an established author who had previously done well had really phoned it in with the job they did on a new book, I might write a negative review. But I find that new authors frequently get better. Jim Butcher who I wrote about recently has gotten better with every single book. I read a book last fall called The Queen's Bastard that I liked. The author, C.E. Murphy had previously written two other series and I've been slowly making my way through them. Her first books aren't as good - the characters show promise, but the stories aren't as well organized, and the plots can be convoluted. But why would I go back and criticize them now when I can see that she's made so much progress?
Sometimes I have mixed feelings about a book, and then I guess maybe I do err on the side of being positive. Take my review of Breaking Dawn, for example. There were parts of that book that I hated, but I didn't want to be spoilery. Hey, if you haven't read that book yet, stop reading this now, because I'm going to try to explain my thought process, and that involves giving away plot details.
Ok. I hated that Bella got pregnant on their honeymoon. Of course, as an infertile, I generally sneer when anyone gets pregnant on their honeymoon, but most particularly when it is a teenager who didn't even want to have kids anyway. I thought the fact that she was desperate to then keep the baby she hadn't wanted and that was probably going to kill her was somewhat unbelievable. But I wanted to know how the story ended so I stuck with it. And then I liked seeing Jacob come into his own, and I liked seeing more of the Cullens and meeting the other vampires. I didn't get what was so great about Renesme, and I thought her name was dumb. Most of all, I really liked seeing Bella and Edward and Jacob all happy at the end of the book. So I walked away feeling generally positive about the book, which meant that I wrote a mostly positive review of it. That's not say that I only like stories with happy endings, but for those particular characters, well, yes, that was what I wanted.
All of which is just a very long winded way of saying no, I don't like everything.
I had some lemons lying around and decided to try making lemon bars from scratch. Guess what?! This recipe is almost as easy as making them from a mix, but ever so much yummier. I got this from Martha Stewart's Cookies.
For the crust:
¾ cup (1 ½ sticks) unsalted butter, frozen, plus more for dish
1 ¾ cups all purpose flour
¾ cup confectioner's sugar
¾ coarse salt
For the filling:
4 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/3 cups granulated sugar
3 tablespoons all purpose flour
¼ teaspoon coarse salt
¾ cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (about four medium lemons)
¼ cup whole milk (I used skim w/a splash of half & half)
Confectioner's sugar for dusting
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 13x9 glass baking dish. Martha says to line it with parchment as well. I think she's parchment happy and didn't bother. My lemon bars turned out fine without it.
Make crust: Take the frozen butter and grate it into a bowl using the large holes on a cheese grater. Set aside. Whisk together the flour, confectioner's sugar and salt in a large bowl. Add in the butter and stir with a wooden spoon until combined and the mixture looks crumbly.
Press the mixture into the buttered 13x9 inch baking dish. Use your hands to make sure it is spread evenly across the bottom. The edges were slightly higher on mine, which led to a well forming in the middle. Not a total disaster, but it would have been better to make sure it was even. Put the pan with the crust in the freezer for 15 minutes to freeze the crust. Then bake until slightly golden, about 16 to 18 minutes. Leave oven on.
While that is baking, make the filling: Whisk together the lightly beaten eggs, granulated sugar, flour and salt until smooth. Stir in lemon juice and milk. Pour over hot crust.
Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees and bake until filling is set and the edges are slightly golden brown, about 18 minutes. I had to cook mine an extra ten minutes until the middle fully set.
Let cool on a wire rack. Dust with confectioner's sugar and cut into 2 inch squares once completely cooled.
I hate to admit it, but the signs are there. Age is clearly creeping up on me. I never get carded anymore, I can't stay up late, and my knee aches in the rain. The newest symptom is even scarier: finding teenage hair annoying.
There's a kid I see sometimes when I am out walking Seamus. He seems like a nice guy, striding around in his Led Zeppelin hoodie, and always takes the time to smile at Seamus and nod at me. But his hair. He's got blonde hair that he is trying to grow long, and the bangs completely cover his eyes. Like down to his mouth. And it's not the Cure-style hair that my friends I may have sported in our younger days. The '80's were the era of mousse and gel (not to be confused with moose and squirrel) and our hair had volume. This hair plastered to this kid's face. I like long hair. I think it is every teenager's duty to have annoying, rebellious hair. For some reason though, with this kid, I have an almost overwhelming urge to grab him and push his blonde bangs out of his face.
I'm a little concerned that the train for old fogeyville is pulling into the station.
Oh yes, and then there's the little fact that my 20th high school reunion is coming up this weekend. 20 years. It doesn't seem like it could have been that long. I can't decide if I want to go or not. It's just a cocktail party at someone's house, but then again, I haven't seen most of these people in 20 years, and for the most part, that's just fine with me. On the other hand, what would it hurt? It might be fun to see some of them again, and if it sucks, I can always leave. Have you been to a high school reunion? Was it fun or a disaster? Maybe I'll just stay home and watch Grosse Pointe Blank.
Ok, universe, I bragged about not getting sick all winter, and I had to be punished. I left you with no choice but to smite me with this cold. I get that. But did you have to saddle me with this annoying, uncontrollable attention-grabbing cough right smack in the middle of the swine flu panic?
Bad enough that I've now lost two weekends to feeling like crap, missed over a week's worth of workouts and was out of the office for two days. Now random strangers hear my congested hacking and give me concerned looks. I saw them step away from me in the bank line on Saturday, and later the cashier at Giant was clearly itching to spray me down with a bottle of Lysol or something. Of course, I was buying a bottle of cough medicine and a carton of juice, so she really shouldn't have been surprised. Those purchases scream "I have a cold!" in my opinion.
Enough is enough, universe. I'm sorry, I really am, and I won't make that mistake again. Can I please get better again before people start crossing the street to avoid me?
