A bad idea is to store it in the same container you last used to keep a potent cumin based Mediterranean spice rub.

A very good idea is to make yer own hair powder out of cornstarch and a favorite scent. As opposed to paying $12/oz for the stuff.

Testing mobile blogging.

For Hester

So here’s what I know about Iggy Pop, gleaned from movies and general pop culture participation:

He was in the movie Coffee and Cigarettes where he appears in one of the better vignettes with Tom Waits- they are sitting in a bar, (spoiler alert) drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Their conversation wanders all over, at one point Tom Waits tells Iggy Pop that he’s a doctor and delivered a baby on the way over. Iggy Pop is impressed, until he checks the jukebox and doesn’t find any of Tom’s music in it. Tom is dumbfounded and Iggy slinks away. I imagine he sort of slinks everywhere.

He also played an insane character in the “sequel” to The Crow, The Crow II: City of Angels. This was my first introduction to Iggy Pop aside from Lust for Life featured so brilliantly in Trainspotting and then sort of creepily, years later, in cruise commercial. He was most excellent at being the psychotic junkie, Curve, in The Crow II and that impression was firmly cemented in my memory. Heroin use being a pattern in his own life.

Iggy Pop unsettles me. I quite certain that this is not a unique or original reaction to him. But, I really like the way he unsettles me.

I know that he spent some time in mental hospital after his time with The Stooges. Right after he got out, his first call was to David Bowie. Because, really, who better to call? This is supposedly the fodder for Velvet Goldmine.

He is from Detroit.

His first foray into music started with blues and jazz, naturally, he was living in the birthplace of Motown at the height of its heyday. His high school band, The Iguanas, spawned his name.

Richard Avedon captures him, stereotypically but perfectly: shirtless, ropey armed, hollow eyed and sneering, leathery, blonde.

I don’t really listen to Iggy Pop. Not regularly. I know Lust for Life, I Wanna Be Your Dog, and my most favorite song by him: Success. I have toyed with playing Success as Matt and I exit the ceremony after our vows.

Most recently, I was driving back to work after a completing a long distance donation pickup and NPR was talking about Iggy Pop. He has a new album out. It is blues inspired. They played a clip. His voice, ragged and hard, came at me from the speakers. It was the perfect crossover. All the things I know and like about jazz and the blues, having seen the one-man play about Jelly Roll Morton- the man who claims to have invented jazz- how blues clubs are always portrayed in movies, the jazz and blues clubs I’ve been to in real life… melded completely in his rendition. I associate Iggy Pop with seediness, the underbelly of things and a tremendous amount of confidence. His life history and his exuberant performances lend themselves extremely well to my romantic idea of blues and jazz. His voice was almost tangible. I could feel it in my teeth. And again, I liked it. I like that Iggy Pop exists. That he is still doing things, perhaps tirelessly. Undoubtedly, tirelessly.

I have found that what I am most attracted to in life, in people, is unabashed excitement. The act of being thrilled is thrilling to me. If you are excited, jazzed, psyched, into something to the point of obsession, to fanaticism and you wanna tell me about it, chances are I will be into it too and also into you. I am bored, bored, bored by apathy, by the too cool, by the lukewarm reaction to someone else’s empassioned rant about their new favorite thing. I want the vulnerability of loving something, even if it’s weird, especially if it’s uncool or even creepy. If you are going to spend the energy getting hyped about it, I will damn sure expend the energy to listen.

That’s how I feel about Iggy Pop. I imagine him to be in a constant state of excitement, of curiosity, as evidenced by his jazz to blues to power punk inventor to glam rock back to blues and jazz musical trip. And for that, I will always be all about whatever he is all about.

Bad Idea

Part one of a series:

Matt listens to NPR every morning while he gets ready for work and has remarked on numerous occasions how bummed out he gets what with all the economic doom and gloom reporting. And rightly so, things are pretty bad out there. I have heard this same sentiment for more than one person.

Here is my suggestion: turn listening to the morning news into a drinking game. Invite your friends over for poparts and whiskey, take a drink everytime you hear "downturn," "economic crisis" or "unemployment rates."

Maybe not the best thing to do if you still have a job and want to keep it, however.

Chelsea Hotel, Leonard Cohen

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet;
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
And those were the reasons, and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh;
and that was called love for the workers in song,
probably still is for those of them left.

But you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd.
You got away, I never once heard you say:
"I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you,"--
and all of that jiving around.

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men,
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fists for the ones like us
who are oppressed by figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said: "Well, never mind,
we are ugly , but we have the music."

But you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd.
You got away, I never once heard you say:
"I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you,"--
and all of that jiving around.

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best;
I don't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel--
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.

My favorite words associated with the Southwest

Prickly Pear
Ocotillo
Agave
Creosote
green chile
Saguaro
monsoon season
cactus ear
Life Coach

Wednesday Night

I took a home-printing class last night at this little curio shop in downtown Phoenix. They sell all manner of hand made goods, independent magazines and books. In the back of the store, they have a hallway that leads to a gallery space that can also be utilized as a classroom.

I've spent many years on and off taking art classes. Three summers of my tween life were spent in art programs where I did papier-mache, learned how to wheel-throw and hand build things out of clay, made linoleum prints (where I had to get 2 Tetanus shots after gouging myself a few times with a rusty linoleum carver) and painting. Two years in high school in Arts 1 & 2, then I.B. Art. I don't even know what that means. Lots of charcoal and pen & ink drawings, that's what. In college I took glassblowing and wheel throwing again. I've done collages on and off, elaborate surrealist activites where I cut out unrelated words from magazines and illustrate phrases that I put together with other images. Scissors and tape are some of my favorite tools. I own a sewing machine I use for slapdash alterations and clothing experiments.

I've been in a crafting slump, Phoenix does not lend itself very well to my previous obsession with crocheting. I've been playing with new ideas for projects. I am most attracted to things that are usable. Things you can wear, drink out of, put things on or in. These are also the kinds of gifts I give- things that are utilitarian but attractively so.

A lot of the lessons in the class were refreshers for me, reminders, but not a lot of new things. I think the most important thing I got was the time and space to make. Reminded myself that I like to draw and am okay at it if I practice daily.

So, now I have a challenge for myself- make my home a place where I can make things other than food and messes. We live in a small 2 bedroom with little to no excess storage. I am clever but not overly so when it comes to decorating. Also, I am a horrible procrastinator when it comes to doing things about my living space. To the point of resistance.

Goal #1: Buy a faux tulip table for the dining nook- best suited for accomodating the most people in small spaces and lots of room to spread your stuff out on.

I rode my bike from work to the class, I felt hot, and like I was covered in a thin layer of dust afterwards. The way home was much cooler, with less traffic. There is a stretch on a palm lined street off the main drags that literally drops at least 7 degrees in temperature. Living in the desert enables you to notice the incredible impact of asphalt versus grass on the climate. It was so similar to finding a "cool spot" in the ocean, you wander, blind in the murky water and all of a sudden it's 10 degrees colder in just a very small space.

I also saw a falling star.

And also

Here

Dear Phoenix,

You a bizarre city. Big and small at the same time. Talking with my cousin, I tell him if I started a street style blog in Phoenix, I would call it L.A., Jr. He tells me that I just slammed both L.A. and Phoenix so hard with just 4 letters. Phoenix: learn to keep the right secrets.

I anthropomorphize your weather often; it seems to be the only way I manage to stand it. I compare your weather to bad service. Like I am in a restaurant and have a horrible waiter who is rude, almost barbaric, and continuously getting my order wrong, unapologetically. The light is too bright and I can he has dandruff on his shoulders and I wonder how much of it is in my food. I keep coming back though, it's the only joint in town.

You are also like a teenager just discovering her body, wearing all the wrong things, showing me all you have all at once. Short shorts on short legs, exposed belly- like a baby. I can see it all- there is no mystery and I am disappointed; I can see into your future and you will be dressed in a more vulgar version of what you already have because it's the only thing you know. I want you to put on some pants, cover up your shoulders, save your cleavage- let me wonder what you will grow into. Right now- I already know.

I long for the rain and when it happens I am jubilant and grateful- I give myself away and you take notes. Rain makes the brown mountains orange and the green look verdant instead of fake.

But when the climate takes a chill pill, things get civilized. The temperature drops and you are inviting and entertaining, interesting and enviable from afar. I want to be outside every minute of the day- wandering down the streets that the heat keeps from me. I want to stare out the windows of places I don't go because I've been there too many times and I want more from them. My daily bike ride to work is invigorating, the wind sweeps across my face and I can smell the beach somehow. It's happened a few times. I don't know where it comes from. But I know that smell. Florida taught me well.

I love when I have the energy to explore what you have, when the heat doesn't suck it all out of me. I remember a time when the weather broke and I wanted to walk everywhere. Nowhere seemed unsafe or too far away. I felt connected to you, and not unimpressed and bored. You really have a lot to enjoy- you can be charming, sweet and familiar. But I wonder if you even like that side of yourself. You will always be slightly off the right track, but on a track nonetheless.

I won't be here forever, you've seen to that. But for now, I can handle it.

Love,
Chloe

A post where we talk about music but that doesn't mean you shouldn't read it...

Regis: Each new Hold Steady album is kinda like A Prairie Home Companion and Craig Finn is the post-punk Garrison Keillor I am just going to say right now that Craig Finn is probably on par with John Darnielle in terms of ability to create believable vivid characters and situations in song. I've never been in a destructive marriage in Tallahassee but because of that album I kinda think I know exactly what it feels like because of Darnielle. And I've never been a confused scene girl who ends up doing too many drugs and trying to find some semblance of belief or solace in her Catholicism but I kinda feel like I know what that feels like now too. The fact that The Hold Steady cross-reference situations and even lyrics from other albums will never stop impressing me. Finn sings the line "there's gonna come a time/when she's gonna have to go/with whoever gets her the highest" on three out of four of their albums and the amazing thing is that it works. That's part of the reason they're like prairie home companion: each record is like visiting the same town. Except in keillor's case he's describing an idyllic Midwestern town while The Hold Steady are describing the archetypical directionless teen scene where everyone has these really intense but totally vague and unfocused desires.

Chloe: There's something about his voice I find un-placeable but oddly familiar. I want to say Bruce Springsteen but I know that's wrong. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by The Hold Steady because it seems like their songs are so jam-packed with stories and characters that I can't listen to it all and sort of tune out. I like how the Mountain Goats uses the same lines in songs across albums too. That always impresses me and you feel like you're in on a secret as the listener. Even though everyone else who pays attention and listens regularly is in on the same secret- you feel a connection to the band that wasn't there before. I appreciate the thought. I always thought Garrison Keillor was describing my family growing up when he said that all the women are strong, all the men are good looking and all the children are above average. And I felt like maybe I really was a Midwest girl even though I only lived in Minneapolis for a year as an infant.

Regis: I don't think the Bruce Springsteen comparison is wrong. The overall rhythm of Hold Steady songs - the way they build to a crescendo - is very Springsteenian. And Finn references Springsteen lyrics and situations a lot.

Springsteen: tramps like us...baby we were born to run.
The Hold Steady: tramps like us...and we like tramps.

Their songs are definitely NOT background music. It's music to pay attention to.

Chloe: Oh good, glad I wasn't off about The Boss comparison. I think both of them seem very Americana to me in the non-Wilco sense. Like blue-collar or common experiences for certain segments of society.

Regis: Springsteen is a huge fan of The Hold Steady. They have played together. Your description is on-lock. "Non-Wilco blue collar" is a very good description because Wilco (and most alt-country groups) affect this "real blue collar" stance which actually doesn't reflect the actual working class: it just conforms this bourgeois ideal of working class virtue: a Springsteen ideal without grit or bad food or chewing tobacco or shitty apartments. The Hold Steady have this sloppy ugly sprawling picture of genuine American life that encompasses a lot more than that "ideal". Springsteen describes the common experience of being working class using the specific experience of being out of work and working class in post-Vietnam war New Jersey. The Hold Steady describe the common experience of being directionless and young and full of intense desires and hedonism and curiosity and a need for meaning using the specific experience of being townies and music fans and middle-class methheads and skaterats and heshers in suburban America.

Part Animal, Part Machine*

I subscribe to Domino Magazine and also Lucky. I'm OK with that. I'm also OK with Domino as a substitute for Blueprint. There was much kerfuffle over the abrupt demise of Blueprint. Rightly so- it was a good magazine, attached to the Martha Stewart Omnimedia juggernaut. The conspiracy theorist in me says that Blueprint achieved a popularity that Martha Stewart Living hasn't seen in a long time and the plug got pulled for ego reasons. It's a shame because everyone lost out.

I do enjoy Domino for their ideas, recipes, room layouts and stories. I think the most attractive thing to me is that it feels like an amalgam of lists of things. And there is nothing I love more than reading (with pictures!) people's lists of things. Things they love. Things they can't live without. Things they avoid. Things that changed their life. Things they pack on trips. Things in their purses/backpacks/make-up bags/suitcases/lunchboxes. Things they do in a given day and where they go. Things they buy from their favorite stores. Things they wear all the time. Things they are obsessed with.

Both Domino and Lucky meet this need for me so very well. This is most definitely a secondary gain- because first and foremost they want me to buy stuff. Which I might.

But the culling of lists! The itemized details of insignificant stuff! The devouring of other people's lists. I feel like a raccoon in a pile of tin. It can't be just a plain list. It has to have pictures and blurbs of why this thing is important. What does it do? Where can I get it if I wanted it? How much? What do you use it for? Why do you love it? How'd you find out about it? I almost can't read it fast enough. I have to slow down, savor it, re-read it. Dog ear the page and come back to it. So I can read it again. So I can look at the montage of things.

I think it's a form of voyeurism because I have little interest in creating my own lists. I only want to read yours.

*A Henry Rollins thing. I think he meant in a much more uncontrollable intensity/inhuman drive to produce. But I like in it an inoccuous curiosity/repetitive sense. Part magpie/part bike pedal.

Enter/Return

So when I was in high school, I was in I.B. It was this accelerated magnet program that offered somewhat more than most schools had in terms of AP classes. The program was also used to diversify student bodies and bring in more funding (ie- make the poor, black schools whiter and richer). Which was the case at Eastside, where I went. Many of the students I graduated with went on to Stanford, MIT, NYU, Yale, etc. Not this kid- I took an athletic scholarship to attend a small private university in North Florida. In your faces, smarties.

During our senior year, we had to take this colloqiuam called Theory of Knowledge or TOK. TOK was designed to offer us the experience of sampling, theoretically, all the different subjects of thought/learning by way of exposure to the "masters". For example: physics, math, biology, art, history, literature, music and so on. For some reason, we spent about 2 weeks on art and, like, 3 months on physics (much to my chagrin). This is where I first learned about the important Stephens of the world: Jay Gould and Hawking. Totally interesting stuff, right? Right.

So, ok. I did my best but I was way more interested in art, literature and music (which my grades wholly reflected.) I was not what you would call invested in my foundational education nor in the teachers that presented it. I always felt it was a fluke I was in I.B. at all, but in restrospect, I did all right given all the homework I didn't do. I was mostly excited about college and getting to study what I wanted to learn.

As a TOK project, we were given chapters to read in a book on the basic principles of physics with the assignment to present to the class an example and summary of the chapter we read. I don't remember what the book was called- all I remember was that I supposed to somehow demonstrate to the class that a sphere with a hole in it had the same surface area as a flat plane of the same general size. How the hell was I supposed to do that?

The only thing I could think of was to make a paper balloon, which I learned from my dad. When you fold up this origami "balloon" it has a hole you blow into for inflation purposes, but it comes from a piece of paper. Flat plane becomes a sphere (-ish shaped object) with a hole in it. Genius, right? I totally thought so.

My teacher's response? "Next."

I have to tell you, I don't hang onto much but this still makes me angry. In that moment- all my feelings about high school were summed up and expressed and what energy remained that was invested in my being an active learner and participant in my education was sucked out of me. This is a very 17 year old response. I know that.

But, Mrs. Brantley, if you're out there: you were a terrible teacher. And I hated the poems you wrote about Princess Diana's hands.

Delicious

I really don't think there is a simpler or better flavor combination than brownies and lemonade.

+ 2.5 kids

The wedding trip to Alabama came full circle. Matt proposed! Would you call that a meta-wedding experience where, as a bridesmaid, you get engaged at a wedding? Perhaps.

There I was, reluctantly standing with all the other girls to catch the bouquet per Matt's goading: "You're NOT married, you SHOULD be up there!" "But I'm not SINGLE!" "Just. Go."

We were all shouldering for position when Bride Kelly turns around, looks at us to judge aim, turns back around and throws! It headed right for me.

And I ducked.

The girl next to met caught it, which I thought appropriate, as she's Kelly's brother's girlfriend. I congratulate her. Kelly turns around expectantly and mouths at me"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I shrug. She stomps over to me, yanks the bouquet out of the poor girl's hands and puts it in mine. And then here's how I remember what happened next:

All the girls around me clear to reveal Matt down on one knee with an open box in his hand. I see him ask "Will you marry me?" I clamp my hands to my mouth to stop any shrieking that might occur and nod vigorously. He slides the ring on my finger, the band says our names and begins to play "Beyond the Sea." I might be crying, I can't remember. Everyone is taking pictures and clapping. I am stunned.

See, I knew this was coming, I just didn't know when or how. I helped choose the style of ring (Vintage Art Deco) and color of diamond (yellow!). I even knew when it was delivered by UPS to the apartment. I did NOT ransack the place to find it even though, oh man, I knew it was gonna be beautiful and I really wanted to see it. I would harass Matt daily. He had a poker face about it and when I asked for hints, he merely said, "One word: plastics." I was mystified. Plastics? Is it going to be in the bottom of a plastic cup if we go to a baseball game? Jumbo tron? Ikea? Will it be cleverly disguised as the umlaut in the name of piece of furniture?

Matt has had some serious concerns about measuring up to the degree of surprise all of our other friends received when their now fiances asked. One thing you should know about Matt, that kid is a master planner. He is responsible for booking all plane tickets and hotel reservations when we travel. He wrote to our congressman when we went to D.C. so we could get a semi-private guided tour of the Library of Congress (everyone can do this!). He called me back after we arranged out first date to ask my birth date (with year) and time of birth (with time zone and location) in order to check out our astrological compatibility. We're a match!

So I honestly don't know why I expected anything less orchestrated. He has had this plan formed since January. My parents knew. Kelly of course knew and was so very, very gracious in sharing her wedding with me. The band knew. All the other bridesmaids knew. Julia knew. This whole thing is sort of a private joke between us, because by July, I will have been in 3 weddings in the last 10 months. So Matt figured what better place to ask than at a wedding. Good one, Hebert.

So we are planning our wedding now. It's gonna be a great party. On New Year's Eve. In the not too distant future.

However, apparently, one thing we should start planning for is babies. Because that is everyone's question after "when are you getting married?" Societal assumptions aside, the wedding is a year and a half away!

We're going to try our luck with a dog first.

Cherubim

I know I'm not alone, here but seriously? What is it about baby cheeks that suddenly makes me want to slurp them into my mouth? It is like an uncontrollable urge that I have to distract myself from continually whenever there is a chubby little baby around.

I think my friend Roya said it perfectly, "They're like little desserts!"

Exactly.

Kiss me like you mean it

So I have always had this preconceived notion about quirky personality traits or mannerisms... "signature moves" if you will. Mostly that they are either developed over time as a default of who you are or they sort of sneak in based on your environment and that sort of validates the slight shift especially if it something sort of antithetical to who you seem to be...

There are qualities or mannerisms that I wish I had as defaults and whenever I meet someone who pulls it off I am instantly jealous. But I feel sort of false adopting these "facets" because it seems like you can't just start doing something like that in the middle of already being somewhere. Sort of like sitting down halfway through an episode of CSI, you spend the rest of the time trying to figure what hell happened that someone would need to shoot a gun into an apple to figure it out. Maybe it's just me.

These include:

cheek kissing at goodbyes*
wearing red lipstick everyday
using heartwarming pet names for friends and managing to not have it sound fake or forced

I often look at moving to a new place as an opportunity to incorporate something new into my personality so it will seem that I just arrived that way. But so far, none of these have stuck... I was telling someone the other day how I wished I had been wearing red lipstick daily for like the last few years and how can I just start doing that?! She, of course, thought my logic was ridiculous and said, "You just do!"

We're travelling to Alabama this weekend for big southern wedding and it's going to be great. I'm a bridesmaid which means mimosas all day for the next 3 days. Alabama, expect to have red lip prints all over your cheeks, cutie!

*No seriously! I met this one girl for all of an hour and she totally kissed everyone (including me) on the cheek when she left and I was completely charmed. I'm also a sucker for hand kissing.

Easter Celebration

So yesterday was Easter and it totally snuck up on us. I never even had a Cadbury egg or a Peep in preparation! I guess I could go hit up Target and load myself down on Easter candy seconds... Walgreens is pretty good for Easter candy too and I walk past one everyday on the way to work though I think the Cadbury eggs might melt during my walk. Gross, Phoenix.

Anyway, we celebrated by going to our church, the movie theater. We saw The Bank Job and I felt a little better about Jason Statham's career. I really like him and I don't care that he plays the same guy in every movie. Transporter 1 and 2? Please. Snatch, yes! Italian Job? (Yes, I know it was a remake.) So-so, though that part where Seth Green is doing the voice over for the conversation between Jason Statham's character and some girl he's conning is particularly hilarious. Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, also good. Cranked? Meh. The Bank Job- pretty good. I think I'm really digging this trend of movies that are based on actual events that happened in the 70s. Though it did seem a little like Sexy Beast what with the drilling and the stealing and cockney. I could watch heist movies all day, really. And Saffron Burroughs face.

Then we came home and made dinner. (Good job, cell phone camera.) We've been getting our nerd on a whole lot lately and the DVR is full of PBS shows. It's sort of sick. But Best Recipes in The World, Everyday Food and The History Detectives are a lethal combination that render Matt and I slaves to the television... PBS is our Kryptonite. There. I've said it.

But, Everyday Recipes was a surprising find on PBS and a fun substitute for the Martha Stewart Living show of old that I loved watching every Sunday in high school. With my mom. Does anyone remember her Christmas special where she made that ginger bread house with Miss Piggy? Classic!

Her magazine lately, while visually pleasing is sort of elementary and repetitive to me (I have to say it's gotten a lot better since she was released from prison.) I've tried recipes from her magazine and they always end up sort of off in some way. BUT! This Everyday Food is like a slam dunk every time. It's great because the show is 5 recipes that are meant to be done over the course of one week and you could watch the show, write a grocery list and be set for dinner for 5 days. Refreshingly realistic.

Last night I made a version of Everyday Food's Stuffed Chicken and Sauteed Broccoli Rabe

So here's my version, adapted from theirs:

Ingredients:

For chicken + stuffing
2 or 4 (depending on how many of you there are) chicken breasts with skin
1/2 cup basil finely chopped
1/3 cup sun-dried tomatoes in oil, finely choppped
2 cloves garlic chopped (I used one chubby shallot instead)
1 tsp orange zest
salt and pepper
1 wedge of Fontina (I used Gouda because Trader Joe's did not have Fontina but I would recommend a harder cheese than Gouda if Fontina's not your bag) cut into quarters lengthwise

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Line a rimmed baking sheet with aluminum foil.
2. Use a really sharp knife to cut a pocket in the chicken for the stuffing + cheese. I would say go close to the bone (if you have bone in) or a good lower middle if it's boneless and make it about 3-4 inches deep and about 1-2 inches wide, depending on your stuffing likes
3. Mix up the chopped basil, tomatoes, shallot or garlic, lemon zest, add some salt and pepper
   
4. They suggest putting the stuffing in first, then putting in a wedge of cheese like an edible cork. All my cheese oozed out which could be due to a few things: using a softer cheese than advised or not "sewing" it shut with a toothpick. I think the next time I make this I might either put the cheese in first or on top of the bed of stuffing.
   
5. They suggest using a toothpick to close the pockets, I just sort of tucked the skin in the pocket like an envelope. Arrange the chicken skin side up and rub with olive oil, and season generously with salt and pepper. Roast for about 30 to 35 minutes. Let chicken rest 5 minutes; remove toothpicks before serving (if you used them) or you can leave them in like a meat version of that cake with the little plastic baby in it but this time everyone's a winner!
   

Broccoli Rabe with Yellow Peppers

Ok, so I totally used a bag of mixed chard from Trader Joe's. I find it exceptionally hard to find broccoli rabe, it eludes me every time. I think maybe it doesn't exist. But if you can find it- follow these directions (they suggest boiling the rabe because it's kind of bitter and this releases some of the bitterness):

1. Cut broccoli rabe into 11/2 -inch lengths; set aside. Pour enough water into a 12-inch skillet to reach a depth of 3/4 inch. Bring to a boil; season with salt. Add broccoli rabe, and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender, about 3 minutes. Drain. Set aside.
2. Dry skillet; add oil and heat over medium-high. Add bell peppers; cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes. Add broccoli rabe; cook, stirring occasionally, until heated through, about 2 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Serve.

If you use chard or another hearty green (you could even substitute sauteed spinach or roast some asparagus instead) you can just throw it in some olive oil and sautee it. I found that chard takes a little longer because it is so dense but it has a great flavor and is super good for you (in your face, spinach!)

I used yellow and orange peppers which was colorful amongst the green and purples of the chard. Also, since chard takes a bit, I cooked both the peppers and the chard together and left it a little tender. I used a generous amount of olive oil, salt and pepper. About 8-10 minutes altogether.

Matt said that it was a very "earthy tasting meal." I prefer to think of it as Spring Equinox-y.

A Good Night

Last night I

had 3 drinks but only paid for 2
learned how to roll a cigarette
met Dick Van Dyke's grandson to whom I as introduced after he danced for the entirety of the song "Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious" as played for him by the DJ.

PSA

In case you were wondering what the perfect music for walking to work might be, I have the answer for you:

Beck's entire Midnite Vultures album. It's really hard to suppress the overwhelming desire to dance the whole way there. But I triumphed.