cookie monster

You know how when you're watching your weight and you encounter a plate of cookies and you really want one and it's this epic Herculean struggle because you really want one but ultimately you decide to walk away and then you realize that not eating that one cookie doesn't make any difference in the grand scheme of things because the cookies are still there and it's not like not eating that specific cookie actually caused your pants to fit any better? I have been having an angry day--an angry day full of metaphorical cookies where my self restraint is my self restraint and the cookies are yelling at people. And I'm getting to the point where I'm willing to wear metaphorical sweatpants for the next few months if it means licking those last crumbs off that stupid plate. This morning I didn't yell at the pharmacist at Walgreens even though she had no particular explanation for why my copay doubled this month--a prescription that actually costs less at full price than what we pay for the prescription coverage each month. I didn't yell at the representative from the insurance company as she explained to me that my copay was only applicable if I bought a 90 day supply and that I was only allowed to buy more than 30 days at CVS. (Ironically enough I had tried to buy a three month supply last month and was told my insurance would only cover one month at a time.) I didn't even yell when she told me that, as a service to me, the insurance company accepted my regular copay at Walgreens for the first two or three months, nor did I tell her that I am not, in fact, a moron, and that their system was clearly designed to get me into a routine I would be too lazy to break and then charge me more for the convenience of not bothering to switch pharmacies. I didn't yell. I may have been terse, but since what I really wanted to say was "If I had another option--any option--for prescription coverage, I would take it no matter how expensive or inconvenient because your company is a lying, cheating, evil bureaucracy that should be burned down" I'm counting this as a win for self-restraint. Now I am not engaging a former elementary school teacher who has been posting increasingly insane right-wing crap on facebook. I wasn't even going to be all that snotty when I responded to her most recent post. I was going to invoke civil discourse and ask for a genuine, thoughtful expression of her perspective. But Steve kept saying "you don't want to get in fights with old ladies on facebook" which is true, except that today I so did. But I didn't. No cookies. No sweatpants. No sweet rush of guilt and satisfaction. Just good advice from Steve: hide her and move on. There might also be some slightly less metaphorical baked goods in my future.

internet yoga

Have I mentioned lately how much I am over getting old? I mean in some respects it's nice to have an excuse to want to go to bed at 10:00 and wear sensible shoes and deliberately seek out a high fiber diet and do all the other things I've been doing for the better part of a decade while my friends mocked me while eating white bread at midnight wearing stilettos. But for the most part, I'm over it. I'm tired of having to subsist on a mean and meager 2000 calories a day to keep from exploding like the Hindenburg. I'm tired of hoisting increasingly sagging boobs into increasingly strained undergarments. And I'm tired of the constant stream of minor injuries that have been interfering with my two favorite activities: running and sleeping. Last month it was my knee, likely the result of old shoes. That said, it still took me three solid weeks to recover from that one--three weeks after I replaced my running shoes. This week it's been my back/hip, which has really turned me into a cranky old lady. Seriously, the only silver lining would be to end up with a walker that I could shake while I yelled at those damn kids. What I did to my back is beyond me, since I have yet to break a six mile long run building up from the last injury--and very seldom do I do more three or four. But it wakes me up at night and in fact seems extra aggravated by our bed.

To alleviate some of strain on my old and battered body I've been seeking out alternative ways of keeping active (I mean as active as a lazy, slightly agoraphobic old person with few friends, an unreliable car, and no job can truly be). And this is how I've stumbled upon internet yoga. I've never been in love with yoga. I'm neither strong nor flexible enough for it to be truly relaxing (most of what I think when I'm supposed to be concentrating on my breath is fuck, fuck, fuckity ouch!) and I find nothing natural or centering about "downward dog." Running is intuitive and simple--one simply goes until one can go no more; yoga is messy and requires turning oneself into a human curly fry (and to some degree requires a level of smugness about one's wholeness with the universe that I just can't quite pull off.) But I do enjoy this (and only this) video. I find the woman's voice soothing and she makes the whole process nice and repetitive (not unlike running) so that even if I mess up the first time, I'm sure to catch it on the third or fourth. She also breaks all the poses down into individual components so that I don't have to be even twistier to keep one eye on the TV while the teacher goes about her business "flowing" through the poses like I know what the hell she's talking about. In short, it's been nice to stretch a bit. My favorites are the cat and the tree, but I also enjoy the pigeon and the extended child pose. Before you know it, I'll have ditched the internet to join forces with the legions of old ladies who fill up the library parking spaces descending upon the Saturday morning classes. Or maybe I'll just start speed dialing the police to complain about my neighbors. Namaste.

another food post

Today is Steve's birthday (happy birthday Steve!). In some ways I think I enjoy his birthday more than my own. For example, I didn't bother making myself a birthday cake (even though I LOVE cake) because it seemed silly and a little wasteful to make a whole cake for just the two of us. But by his birthday, we realized the folly of this thinking: that his coworkers will eat anything (ANYTHING) that sits in the departmental office long enough. As evidence of this I can personally attest to the truly disgusting, cold, congealed take out that was left over from some departmental function that I, myself have eaten...because it was there. So out with the old plan (the two of us eating with exponentially increasing self loathing equally increasingly stale cake until one of us finally dumps some portion of it in the garbage) and in with the new: birthday cake for everyone! Some of you have eaten my cakes--I decided to abandon mixes once I realized it's nearly as easy to make them from scratch and much, much more delicious--so you know that as often as not, they turn out pretty well. Last year, when we were still on the Old Plan but with the scale-tipping addition of my sister (no love handle pun intended--really) I made this:

It was an orange chocolate cake with a lovely ganache (recipe available here: http://smittenkitchen.com/2006/09/this-cake-has-a-hole-in-it/) Sure her ganache was a little ganachier than the one I ended up making, but pain that this was to make, it tasted amazing. It was also perfect for my Stephen (aka Dr. Poopjoke) since it required the purchase of a bundt pan, which was almost immediately rechristened the butt pan.

This year we know each other even better and Steve finally felt comfortable confiding in me that he doesn't really like frosting in the traditional sense. Ganaches and glazes are fine but butter cream really isn't his thing. In a less perfect union this might have be cause for alarm. Indeed in my younger, singler, more care-free days I largely considered the point of making cake the opportunity to also make large quantities of frosting, sometimes to the exclusion of the actual cake, putting the frosting directly in a tupperware container so that I could eat it on fruit--strawberries, bananas--or sometimes as a meal in itself with a spoon. But Steve and I are meant to be, and I've taken his honesty as a bit of a challenge--to make the most delicious frosting free cake ever! So this year I whipped together this (recipe available at http://www.joyofbaking.com/LemonCranberryPoundCake.html):

Yes, it's a bit like last year's. Indeed, if you substitute the orange for lemon and the chocolate chunks for dried cranberries soaked in brandy, you'd have the general gist of it. But the added bonus of this year's is that it's a pound cake. Yes, this airy, six egg, three cups of sugar, full pound of butter, four and a half lemon confection was so big it nearly spilled out of the butt pan and took a good heave-ho to get out of the oven. (I recently learned--and then promptly forgot--that a pound cake gets its name from the vast magnitude of its ingredients, namely a pound each of butter, sugar, flour, and eggs.) Steve and I had two pieces each and the rest was gone by lunch time. To wit, I must say, good job Steve's coworkers, good job.

Tonight we head to the hibachi to continue Steve's tradition of celebrating his birthday (which also happens to be Pearl Harbor Day) with the consumption of theatrically prepared Japanese food. Some coincidences are too perfect to let pass by.

smells like soup

I'm taking it as a sign of my improving health that all I've been able to think about today is taking an entire extra large pizza with the works and shoving it down my gullet as quickly as possible. Fortunately I've been living with my brain long enough that I know that it seldom has the best interests of my stomach in mind and that doing what it wants would likely send me back to moaning and writhing on the floor (this is also true when it becomes fixated on eating an entire carton of ice cream without breathing). So instead I had a bowl of soup for lunch. I really love soup. And it's really hard to make oneself sick eating soup. My mother can be quite obstinate about acknowledging that it's about the best food ever, but I offer as evidence the following three recipes. They're delicious, easy, and might I say once more, unlikely to induce vomiting.

Hot and Sour Soup

5-7 shiitake mushrooms

5-7 woodear mushrooms (I use fresh but you could probably use dried and re-hydrate them)

1 carton (c. 4 cups) vegetable broth

2 1/4 cups water divided

1 tablespoon minced ginger

1 teaspoon minced garlic

1/4 c. plus 2 tablespoons rice vinegar (or more to taste)

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1/2 teaspoon black pepper

1/2 cup bamboo shoot slivers

1 package extra firm tofu cut into small cubes

2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch

2 lightly beaten eggs

1/2 c. chopped green onions

1/4 c. minced cilantro

1 teaspoon dark sesame oil

chili oil (optional)

squirt of sriracha (optional)

Combine broth, 2 c. water, garlic and ginger in pot and bring to a boil. Add mushrooms and simmer 5 minutes. Add vinegar, soy sauce, pepper, bamboo and tofu and simmer 5 more minutes. Whisk cornstarch with 1/4 c. water until dissolved, add to soup. Bring to a full boil and then back to a simmer for about 3 minutes or until soup thickens slightly. Stirring constantly, slowly pour eggs into hot soup egg drop soup style. Remove from heat, add onions, cilantro, and oils. Tastes great with sticky rice and a little seasoned nori.

Coconut Curry Chicken Soup (courtesy of cooking light)

4 cups water
3 cups fresh spinach leaves
1/2 pound snow peas, trimmed and cut in half crosswise
1 (5 3/4-ounce) package pad thai noodles (wide rice stick noodles)
1 tablespoon canola oil
1/4 cup thinly sliced shallots
2 teaspoons red curry paste
1 1/2 teaspoons curry powder
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
2 garlic cloves, minced
6 cups fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 (13.5-ounce) can light coconut milk
2 1/2 cups shredded cooked chicken breast (about 1 pound)
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 tablespoon brown sugar
2 tablespoons fish sauce
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper
lime wedges

Bring water to boil. Add spinach and peas and blanch about 30 seconds. Remove with a slotted spoon and put aside in a bowl. Add noodles to boiling water for about 3 minutes or until just cooked (and it's better if they're still firm). Drain and add to the bowl with the veg. Heat oil in a pot. Add shallots and next 5 ingredients (through garlic) and saute 1 minute. Add broth and coconut milk and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and add chicken, onions, red pepper, sugar and fish sauce. Cook 2 minutes. Turn off heat. Return cooked veg and rice noodles to soup. Stir in cilantro and serve with lime.

Leftover Chicken (or Turkey) Soup

2 teaspoons olive oil

1 cup chopped onion
1 cup diced carrots
1 cup sliced celery
1 garlic clove, minced
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon dried thyme
1/4 teaspoon poultry seasoning
6 cups low-salt chicken broth
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups diced leftover roasted chicken
1/4 cup heavy cream
4 ounces (2 cups) uncooked wide egg noodles

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add chopped onion, carrots, celery, and garlic clove; sauté 5 minutes. Sprinkle flour, oregano, thyme, and poultry seasoning over vegetables, and cook 1 minute. Stir in broth and salt. Bring to a boil; reduce heat, and simmer, partially covered, about 10 minutes. Add roasted chicken, cream, and noodles, and cook 10 minutes or until noodles are tender.

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the lost weekend

If one accepts the premise that a successful day is one in which an individual (or couple) spends absolutely no time on the floor of the bathroom, then Steve's and my Thanksgiving was an Epic Failure. Indeed, if one gives oneself a point for every hour not spent on the bathroom floor, our collective score for the weekend would have been about negative sixteen. While on the one hand I pretty conclusively cracked the code to avoiding overindulging on our national holiday of gluttony (this is also a useful tool if you've ever struggled with your sincerity in begging for the end of days), on the other I desperately wish I could tell you that our misery was a direct result of overindulgence and gluttony. But it wasn't. I'm guessing the more likely suspect was e. coli or some other nasty, easily communicable infectious disease that effectively made the thought of turkey repugnant and severely limited my capacity for pie. Ultimately we payed it forward and left the microbes in Michigan in enough time to come home with a cooler full of leftovers, but we also returned with a rather empty feeling that was the duel result of our inability to ingest food and the fact that we were kind of cheated out of a relaxing vacation.

In other news I got a "job" for next semester. I say it's a "job" because all it really is is the local community college "paying" me to adjunct for them, but nevertheless, it is employment if one chooses to be truly technical about the whole thing. And as I've learned over the last year, with a degree like mine, beggars truly cannot be choosers. I am genuinely excited to get back to teaching, although I was really hoping my near or below minimum wage days were behind me. And that, I suppose, is all I will say about that.

Well I'm tired now. I may be over the worst of the illness, but it still doesn't take much. I think it might be time for a little snooze and a peanut butter cookie that Trader Joe's has cleverly disguised as a healthy whole grain snack bar.

legacy

As a former resident of State College, Pennsylvania and an avid (one might almost say fanatical) football fan, I've obviously been deeply preoccupied with the recent scandal. (For a concise summary of these events, I direct you to the Will Cooley Fan Club.) I've come to very few conclusions; indeed, I think it is primarily questions that have come to light. I do, however, have some thoughts.

They should have canceled the football game this week. I think a call to end the season is extreme, and I would love as much as anyone for the Big Ten to redeem itself on and off the field. But it's not about that. Nor should such a move have been seen as punitive--against a team that bears no responsibility for this situation nor even against the student body, members of whom managed to make an unbearably difficult situation even worse. (I desperately hope that Nebraska's athletic director's call for increased security to ensure the safety of its fans and players is unnecessary, but, even if they go so far as to administer breathalizer tests at the gate, I share his fear.) But time to reflect is necessary, particularly given the height of the emotions over so many aspects of this situation, and I think this is all the more true given the fact that football is so central to State College's identity. I think taking some time to decide what Penn State stands for outside of what Joe Paterno stands for (and indeed what he claims to stand for) is the only way to move forward.

I reserve judgement on Mike McQueary, the graduate assistant and now receivers coach who witnessed Sandusky raping a ten year old child. Obviously he could and should have done more. But the central issue in every aspect of this case is the disparity of power between individuals: not just between Sandusky and his victims, but between witnesses (there was a janitor who witnessed a similar incident who was equally hesitant to break the chain of command) and the people to whom they reported. The issue of power is also pivotal in the decision not to include the police. We may never know who, ultimately, had the last word on whether this investigation would move forward; I suspect the former leaders of Penn State will soon be eagerly throwing each other under the bus, with the result that anything resembling objective truth on this issue will be obscured. However, I do have a question that I hope will be answered as this case goes to trial: this indictment was two years in the making--why? Why did it take so long to level charges, and what kind of evidence was Tom Corbett (then state attorney general and now governor) amassing, and was it worth the risk of Sandusky remaining at large? I understand that these are very serious allegations, and the victims deserve to not have Sandusky set free on a mistake or a technicality, but I suspect there is more to this case and its cover up that we haven't yet seen.

Finally, I think that the primary question need not be how could this have happened? The answer is simple: there are truly horrible people who do truly horrible things. This may smack of cynicism, but it's true. I think the real question is why? Why did this happen? Why the closing of ranks? The deliberate ignorance? The University law unto itself? One might suggest that this is what we get for deifying sports icons (there was an eerily posthumous--even beatified--quality to the revery surrounding Paterno, even as he was still coaching), and there's probably some truth to this, although, despite all his actions and inactions, I believe Paterno loves Penn State. One could also say that this was a simple matter of greed or pride; we've made major universities into institutions like every other, where money begets power and power begets hubris. I suspect that Paterno and the other top leadership at the university (not unlike the Catholic Church) believed that their alternate, self-serving morality was potent enough to supersede that of the outside world. But neither of these explanations accounts for the full story. Which leads me to, yet again, wonder what's left and whether we'll ever truly know why these men failed so deeply.

reflections on turning thirty

I know some of you are older than I am, so I'll try to keep the whining to a minimum, but somehow without any effort on my part, I have become very, VERY old. My half marathon a few weeks back was a complete success--and not just because it was my last race in the 25-29 age bracket. But I went to the doctor for a physical and a flu shot last week and had the unsettling experience of the doctor being younger than me. I mean, there's the off chance she was exactly the same age, but she mentioned that her training only took six years (to my eight), so doing the maths, puts her between 0 and 2 years younger. She also mentioned that she has a brother who's still in college with an undeclared major (just like my Bruizer) so there was alarming parity there as well. It was weird.

On the whole though, I seem to be doing fairly well on the "goals before I turn 30" front. When I first started grad school I made a promise to myself that if I hadn't finished by the time I turned 30, a PhD just wasn't in the cards. So check. And that's pretty much it. I've never been a particularly goal oriented person, which I guess makes them easy to fulfill. (I'm saving "career" for 40 since that's obviously not going to happen in the next fifteen hours.) I also did my marathon, which wasn't really on a timeline, but nevertheless a success. I haven't invented any breakfast cereals or had sex while playing frogger, but I'm more or less married, and happily so. All that's left is a technicality and a bit of dancing and maybe the sacrifice of a goat. We don't have a house yet, but I hate our apartment enough that we're truly committed to finding a place, so it's likely we'll be in a better home by the end of 30. So here I am: slower and fatter and more educated than I was a year ago, with no particular fear of dying alone and comically crappy living arrangements. I guess on the whole, not too bad.