Day 30: Finish a Blog
What to do, what to do? That has been the question of the day for the past month as I counted down the final days of my youth by completing 30 things that I have never done in the 30 days leading up to my 30th birthday. Many of the activities were scheduled and planned out well in advance. Some of the ideas just happened to advantageously work their way into my already hectic schedule. And then there were those ideas that purely by the grace of God came to me at the eleventh hour. However, by the time day 30 rolled around I am sorry to say that I was plum out of ideas.
I had many admirable suggestions along the way. Some that I had already done, some that I never would do, and some that I just didn't feel were the right fit for what I was going for. Then there were the not so admirable suggestions like skinny dipping in the ocean (thanks but no thanks Deb and Mary) however I decided I didn't want to spend my birthday finding sand where sand does not belong. Someone jokingly mentioned a tattoo parlor down the street, and for a fleeting moment I contemplated having them put one tiny dot in the most pain free place just for the ability to tell people I got a tattoo, but then I decided that I should probably steer clear of activities that could jeopardize my grandmother's fragile health.
I thought all day and all night and was quickly running out of time. I had come this far, I couldn't just give up. So I did the next best thing. I found a way to make something I'd been doing for a while now magically turn into something I'd never done. Now, before there is an uproar and charges of cheating let me defend my position. When I began my exercise in personal growth no less than a month ago I also started a blog to keep a record of my adventures. Now, had I been a wise person I would have made my new blog the first activity on my calendar. But wise I am not (I'm hoping that wisdom will come with my newly acquired age) and so my brand new blog got cast off as nothing but a side note. So, because I didn't count starting a blog as one of my 30 new things, I saw no reason why finishing a blog couldn't be included. Furthermore, let me remind you, as I have stated before, it's my game so I get to make the rules!
Thus, as I prepare to close out my twenties so too I prepare to close out this online memoir of my many fascinating (and many not so fascinating) experiences. I think I ended up with a pretty well rounded list of accomplishments. Because of activities like the museum of tolerance and fasting and finishing the bible I am certainly a little wiser (even though to some I have always been Wiser (get it, cause it's my last name!)) Thanks to multiple not so low fat ventures like making butter and marshmallows and rice crispy treats I am definitely a little fatter. And then there were those endeavors that were just plain fun like my police ride along and playing golf. Now I know what you're thinking. Ending a blog for a new experience is kind of an anticlimactic end to such a fantastic run of life altering undertakings, but what can I say except I'm almost 30 and I'm tired!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Ready, Aim, Fire
Day 29: Shoot a gun
The constitution was alive and well today as I exercised my second amendment right. No, not the right to a speedy trial, I executed my right to keep and bear arms. With my parents in town for my 30th birthday extravaganza, my father and I enjoyed some good old father daughter bonding at the local gun range. I like to joke that I shoot kids in their homes for a living, but truthfully I've never even held a gun, let alone fired one, but, like most things I've done over the past month, it has always been something that intrigued me.
It was a small little range in and industrial part of town. As we entered the facility we were greeted by display cases full of hand guns and racks of ammunition and miscellaneous gun paraphernalia. It was all very overwhelming and exciting. As we were waiting for assistance we heard the man behind the counter mention that he was from Iraq so I was assured that he knew plenty about firearms. I on the other hand was a true novice. We approached the counter and the clerk asked us how he could help us, to which I answered, "I'd like to shoot a gun." I'm not really sure why he hesitated so much to hand one over to me. However, after some reassurance from my father that one of us was familiar with proper firearm protocol, he reluctantly relinquished the weapon, but not before giving us a brief overview of its features.
We were then asked if we needed eyes and ears, to which I replied, "No I've got my own but I do need something to protect them with." When our friend the gun range clerk didn't seem to get my obviously hilarious joke I shrugged it off to which he then quite dryly said, "I get your joke." (but obviously he didn't because otherwise he would have been rolling with uncontrollable laughter) Once outfitted with the proper protective gear and with equipment and ammunition in hand we headed in.
As the pops from the gun a few booths away resounded in the small facility I felt myself jump. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous. This was a potentially deadly weapon I was about to be holding. I had no idea what shooting a gun would sound like, feel like, even smell like. My father went first to show me how it was done, then it was my turn. I loaded the clip, inserted it into the gun, aimed then squeezed that trigger for the first time. Bulls-eye, right through the target! Okay it wasn't an actual bulls-eye but I hit the paper, so as far as I was concerned at that point it may as well have been dead center.
After a couple initial shots I hit my groove. Shooting a gun was fun! Now I know I wasn't shooting any high powered weapon of mass destruction, it was only a small 22 caliber pistol, but it still made a big bang and definitely accomplished the desired result. This is one hobby I could definitely get into. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm a crack shot, but let me put it this way, the man on my target during my last round didn't stand a chance.
The constitution was alive and well today as I exercised my second amendment right. No, not the right to a speedy trial, I executed my right to keep and bear arms. With my parents in town for my 30th birthday extravaganza, my father and I enjoyed some good old father daughter bonding at the local gun range. I like to joke that I shoot kids in their homes for a living, but truthfully I've never even held a gun, let alone fired one, but, like most things I've done over the past month, it has always been something that intrigued me.
It was a small little range in and industrial part of town. As we entered the facility we were greeted by display cases full of hand guns and racks of ammunition and miscellaneous gun paraphernalia. It was all very overwhelming and exciting. As we were waiting for assistance we heard the man behind the counter mention that he was from Iraq so I was assured that he knew plenty about firearms. I on the other hand was a true novice. We approached the counter and the clerk asked us how he could help us, to which I answered, "I'd like to shoot a gun." I'm not really sure why he hesitated so much to hand one over to me. However, after some reassurance from my father that one of us was familiar with proper firearm protocol, he reluctantly relinquished the weapon, but not before giving us a brief overview of its features.
We were then asked if we needed eyes and ears, to which I replied, "No I've got my own but I do need something to protect them with." When our friend the gun range clerk didn't seem to get my obviously hilarious joke I shrugged it off to which he then quite dryly said, "I get your joke." (but obviously he didn't because otherwise he would have been rolling with uncontrollable laughter) Once outfitted with the proper protective gear and with equipment and ammunition in hand we headed in.
As the pops from the gun a few booths away resounded in the small facility I felt myself jump. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty nervous. This was a potentially deadly weapon I was about to be holding. I had no idea what shooting a gun would sound like, feel like, even smell like. My father went first to show me how it was done, then it was my turn. I loaded the clip, inserted it into the gun, aimed then squeezed that trigger for the first time. Bulls-eye, right through the target! Okay it wasn't an actual bulls-eye but I hit the paper, so as far as I was concerned at that point it may as well have been dead center.
After a couple initial shots I hit my groove. Shooting a gun was fun! Now I know I wasn't shooting any high powered weapon of mass destruction, it was only a small 22 caliber pistol, but it still made a big bang and definitely accomplished the desired result. This is one hobby I could definitely get into. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm a crack shot, but let me put it this way, the man on my target during my last round didn't stand a chance.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Card Shark
Day 28: Learn a new card game
In a world that is so overrun with electronic gizmos, that power our existence, the magnificent simplicity of a deck of cards tends to get lost in the shuffle. (Pun most definitely intended!) I don't believe today's youth would have the slightest idea what to do with themselves if they didn't have their headphones jammed in their ears, their cell phones tightly affixed to the palms of their hands, and an internet connection always within reach. While I am not completely without technological reliance (I realize even now I am writing this blog on a laptop computer with a wireless internet connection) I do have certain old fashioned principles that I cling to. So, in my efforts to try new things I decided to try something not so new. I wanted to learn a new card game.
There have been plenty of times that I have had nothing but time and a deck of cards. Of course I know how to play the classics like Go Fish and War and the ever popular Solitaire (but sadly I tend to play that more on the computer than with actual cards) but after a couple rounds of those it gets old fast. I needed to broaden my card game horizons. I needed to fill my arsenal with plenty of rainy day recreation.
My friend's mom (hooray for Mary Love) was on hand to provide me with some card game guidance. First she attempted to teach me some new-fandangled form of solitaire. There was something about every other card being face up, and instead of having the aces at the top you start with a random card from the deck and you build up or down based on that number. And if that weren't confusing enough, to make the game just that much more challenging you could only go through the cards in your hand once. Let's just say that between the statistical disadvantage of only going through one rotation of the cards and the sheer complication of the game I deemed it unwinable and we moved on to our next lesson. (Even Mary told me she found that she started winning more when she started shuffling less, but I guess it's not really cheating if your playing against yourself)
I liked the next game much better. My wise instructor referred to it as Peanuts, but apparently it is known by many aliases including Nertz (which I think I have heard of before). I decided that neither of these names had anything to do with the game so I was going to give it yet another possible name, one that made sense with how the game was played, making both the game and the name much easier to remember. I call it Thirteen due to the thirteen cards in your stack that you are attempting to get rid of. Thirteen, as it will be referred to from here on out, is a game of speed. You are attempting to get rid of all the cards in your stack before your opponents get rid of theirs. Each player has their own cards they play on, but then there are also community cards that everyone plays on. It's fast, it's furious, it's playing card mayhem at it's finest.
Now, apparently there is also some sort of scoring system devised to continue the competition hand after hand. If you didn't get rid of all your cards then you must count the ones that are left in your stack, then there was some sort of a point value assigned involving multiplication and math that required too many fingers. In my opinion I think the scoring system was just devised by someone who lost, so they found a way to delay the verdict of victory.
Aside from the confounding complexity of the solitaire game and the superfluous scoring system of Thirteen (or Peanuts or Nertz or whatever you decide to call it) I found the games to be an entertaining way to pass some time. Its amazing how many different things you can do with 52 cards and some imagination. However, as we discovered as our night was winding down, that whole 52 card thing is kind of optional. It turns out one of our decks only had 51 cards and about 8 of those were duplicates.
In a world that is so overrun with electronic gizmos, that power our existence, the magnificent simplicity of a deck of cards tends to get lost in the shuffle. (Pun most definitely intended!) I don't believe today's youth would have the slightest idea what to do with themselves if they didn't have their headphones jammed in their ears, their cell phones tightly affixed to the palms of their hands, and an internet connection always within reach. While I am not completely without technological reliance (I realize even now I am writing this blog on a laptop computer with a wireless internet connection) I do have certain old fashioned principles that I cling to. So, in my efforts to try new things I decided to try something not so new. I wanted to learn a new card game.
There have been plenty of times that I have had nothing but time and a deck of cards. Of course I know how to play the classics like Go Fish and War and the ever popular Solitaire (but sadly I tend to play that more on the computer than with actual cards) but after a couple rounds of those it gets old fast. I needed to broaden my card game horizons. I needed to fill my arsenal with plenty of rainy day recreation.
My friend's mom (hooray for Mary Love) was on hand to provide me with some card game guidance. First she attempted to teach me some new-fandangled form of solitaire. There was something about every other card being face up, and instead of having the aces at the top you start with a random card from the deck and you build up or down based on that number. And if that weren't confusing enough, to make the game just that much more challenging you could only go through the cards in your hand once. Let's just say that between the statistical disadvantage of only going through one rotation of the cards and the sheer complication of the game I deemed it unwinable and we moved on to our next lesson. (Even Mary told me she found that she started winning more when she started shuffling less, but I guess it's not really cheating if your playing against yourself)
I liked the next game much better. My wise instructor referred to it as Peanuts, but apparently it is known by many aliases including Nertz (which I think I have heard of before). I decided that neither of these names had anything to do with the game so I was going to give it yet another possible name, one that made sense with how the game was played, making both the game and the name much easier to remember. I call it Thirteen due to the thirteen cards in your stack that you are attempting to get rid of. Thirteen, as it will be referred to from here on out, is a game of speed. You are attempting to get rid of all the cards in your stack before your opponents get rid of theirs. Each player has their own cards they play on, but then there are also community cards that everyone plays on. It's fast, it's furious, it's playing card mayhem at it's finest.
Now, apparently there is also some sort of scoring system devised to continue the competition hand after hand. If you didn't get rid of all your cards then you must count the ones that are left in your stack, then there was some sort of a point value assigned involving multiplication and math that required too many fingers. In my opinion I think the scoring system was just devised by someone who lost, so they found a way to delay the verdict of victory.
Aside from the confounding complexity of the solitaire game and the superfluous scoring system of Thirteen (or Peanuts or Nertz or whatever you decide to call it) I found the games to be an entertaining way to pass some time. Its amazing how many different things you can do with 52 cards and some imagination. However, as we discovered as our night was winding down, that whole 52 card thing is kind of optional. It turns out one of our decks only had 51 cards and about 8 of those were duplicates.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Chompers
Day 27: Teeth Whitening
When the lovable Popeye said, "I am what I am and that's all that I am" I believe he was on to something. I have never been one to worry much about what others think, or to bother myself with trivial self improvement tasks. But, as I have learned quite well by now, there is a first time for everything. Therefore tonight I would take a long hard look in the mirror, then attempt to change what I saw, starting with my teeth.
Truthfully, I just decided to add this activity to the list because I had a couple boxes of teeth whitening gel that had been sitting around for quite some time so I decided it was either now or never. When I got the product as part of a promotional deal I had every intention of using it and brightening my already delightful smile. But, as it has been said, "The road to [somewhere not so nice] is paved with good intentions." Now was the time to pull my teeth from the theoretical fire and brimstone.
I was a little apprehensive at first. Okay, I was a lot apprehensive at first. I looked into it a little and discovered that while teeth whitening gel is safe to use on your teeth, it can have a tendency to severely burn your gums or cause pain to sensitive teeth. Call me crazy, but that didn't exactly make me want to jump up and give it the ol' college try. But I thought to myself, as I do with many other things, hundreds of other people do this every day and they are fine. I'll be fine. So, out came the trays, in when the goop, and into my mouth it went.
Now I don't know the exact amount of time that the gel was supposed to stay on my teeth, but I'm pretty sure it's more than the five or so minutes that I kept it there. At the first sign of my gums not feeling normal (which I'm sure was probably just my imagination running amok with my fears) I spit the stuff out and gave my teeth a thorough brushing. What can I say, I chickened out. I also wasn't a fan of sitting there with the mouth piece in and either swallowing the toxic goop or letting my mouth fill with minty flavored saliva. So for the foreseeable future my pearly whites may not be very pearly or very white, but there mine and I love them none the less.
When the lovable Popeye said, "I am what I am and that's all that I am" I believe he was on to something. I have never been one to worry much about what others think, or to bother myself with trivial self improvement tasks. But, as I have learned quite well by now, there is a first time for everything. Therefore tonight I would take a long hard look in the mirror, then attempt to change what I saw, starting with my teeth.
Truthfully, I just decided to add this activity to the list because I had a couple boxes of teeth whitening gel that had been sitting around for quite some time so I decided it was either now or never. When I got the product as part of a promotional deal I had every intention of using it and brightening my already delightful smile. But, as it has been said, "The road to [somewhere not so nice] is paved with good intentions." Now was the time to pull my teeth from the theoretical fire and brimstone.
I was a little apprehensive at first. Okay, I was a lot apprehensive at first. I looked into it a little and discovered that while teeth whitening gel is safe to use on your teeth, it can have a tendency to severely burn your gums or cause pain to sensitive teeth. Call me crazy, but that didn't exactly make me want to jump up and give it the ol' college try. But I thought to myself, as I do with many other things, hundreds of other people do this every day and they are fine. I'll be fine. So, out came the trays, in when the goop, and into my mouth it went.
Now I don't know the exact amount of time that the gel was supposed to stay on my teeth, but I'm pretty sure it's more than the five or so minutes that I kept it there. At the first sign of my gums not feeling normal (which I'm sure was probably just my imagination running amok with my fears) I spit the stuff out and gave my teeth a thorough brushing. What can I say, I chickened out. I also wasn't a fan of sitting there with the mouth piece in and either swallowing the toxic goop or letting my mouth fill with minty flavored saliva. So for the foreseeable future my pearly whites may not be very pearly or very white, but there mine and I love them none the less.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Flap Jacks
Day 26: Make Buttermilk pancakes from scratch
Who doesn't love breakfast for dinner? Anytime my mom would open it up to suggestions for dinner menu options I would most emphatically propose having a delicious spread of breakfast delights. There was just something about eating waffles and sausage as the sun was going down as opposed to coming up that seemed to make it all taste a little better. So as my day was winding down and I had yet to attempt a new endeavor I racked my brain for something that I could not only fit in, but even enjoy. Then it came to me, once again the activities of the past month have paid off in more than one way. I remembered I had a jar of perfectly good buttermilk sitting in my fridge just waiting to be put to good use and what better way to use buttermilk than to make real honest to gosh buttermilk pancakes.
Sure I've made pancakes before, but it usually consists of dumping some powdery substance in a bowl and adding water until it looked like it was about the right consistency. For me the directions on the box were more of a suggestion. I have made pancakes that were a little more involved, but always with a boxed pancake mix at the heart of it. Tonight's short stack would be made completely from scratch, right down to the homemade buttermilk.
I found a suitable recipe (actually I found the only one that called for the amount of buttermilk that I had on hand) and measured out my ingredients and gave it all a quick stir. That was pretty much the end of the new stuff, cooking pancakes is pretty universal no matter what goes into the batter. So the true test of this new experience would be the taste. Would making the effort to take the extra steps required to create a delicious breakfast favorite completely from scratch be worth it in the end?
I pulled the first batch off, and slathered on a generous allotment of butter (homemade of course!) After I poured a second round into the skillet I couldn't help but take the first taste of my handiwork before it got cold. And the verdict is...not half bad. They weren't quite as light and fluffy as I had envisioned, but I have a feeling that may have something to do with my measuring and mixing technique. I'm not exactly what you would call precise, I'm more of a "good enough" kind of cook. And so for that reason I will most likely be sticking with pancake mixes of the boxed variety in the future.
Who doesn't love breakfast for dinner? Anytime my mom would open it up to suggestions for dinner menu options I would most emphatically propose having a delicious spread of breakfast delights. There was just something about eating waffles and sausage as the sun was going down as opposed to coming up that seemed to make it all taste a little better. So as my day was winding down and I had yet to attempt a new endeavor I racked my brain for something that I could not only fit in, but even enjoy. Then it came to me, once again the activities of the past month have paid off in more than one way. I remembered I had a jar of perfectly good buttermilk sitting in my fridge just waiting to be put to good use and what better way to use buttermilk than to make real honest to gosh buttermilk pancakes.
Sure I've made pancakes before, but it usually consists of dumping some powdery substance in a bowl and adding water until it looked like it was about the right consistency. For me the directions on the box were more of a suggestion. I have made pancakes that were a little more involved, but always with a boxed pancake mix at the heart of it. Tonight's short stack would be made completely from scratch, right down to the homemade buttermilk.
I found a suitable recipe (actually I found the only one that called for the amount of buttermilk that I had on hand) and measured out my ingredients and gave it all a quick stir. That was pretty much the end of the new stuff, cooking pancakes is pretty universal no matter what goes into the batter. So the true test of this new experience would be the taste. Would making the effort to take the extra steps required to create a delicious breakfast favorite completely from scratch be worth it in the end?
I pulled the first batch off, and slathered on a generous allotment of butter (homemade of course!) After I poured a second round into the skillet I couldn't help but take the first taste of my handiwork before it got cold. And the verdict is...not half bad. They weren't quite as light and fluffy as I had envisioned, but I have a feeling that may have something to do with my measuring and mixing technique. I'm not exactly what you would call precise, I'm more of a "good enough" kind of cook. And so for that reason I will most likely be sticking with pancake mixes of the boxed variety in the future.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
X Marks the Spot
Day 25: Use a metal detector on the beach
Since playing the Lottery didn't quite pan out the way I had hoped it would I moved on to a new method of achieving my goal of becoming independently wealthy. We've all heard those overplayed commercials for the companies who want to buy your old gold jewelry, and apparently, right now the price of gold is near an all time high. Unfortunately I do not own anything made of gold, but plenty of other people do, and sometimes they lose said gold (in addition to countless other treasures) while enjoying a relaxing day at the beach. So, armed with my new metal detector, I was determined to find all those hidden gems.
Call me crazy, but searching for buried treasure along the vast stretches of sandy beaches is something I have wanted to do since childhood. There were quite a few Christmases and birthdays that I was hoping there would be a fancy new metal detector amongst the finely wrapped gifts. But alas, there never was. And so for this, my 30th birthday, I took it upon myself to ensure I received the gift I had been longing for since my youth.
I pulled my new toy out of the box and after arming it with some fresh double A's, I threw some coins on the floor to test it out. I pushed buttons, turned nobs, heard some high pitched tones and then concluded that I had no idea what I was doing. It turns out this whole metal detector thing was a little more complicated than I had envisioned. So I pulled out the instructions and skimmed them, then when that didn't work I went back and actually read them. Once I knew what I was doing I headed down to the sand.
I was brimming with excitement and optimism as I began my search. What would I find first? Would it be a rare coin? Perhaps it would be a lovely piece of jewelry with a broken clasp. Heck, I would settle for a set of lost keys! As I began scanning the sand I soon realized it was going to be a slow process to find my riches.
I slowly...walked...down...the...beach, searching...and searching...and searching. When I got my first possible strike I was elated. I scooped up a healthy dose of sand into my sifter and shook it out until all that remained was a few bits of shell. I reached down for another load and repeated the process only to be met with disappointment. It was a false alarm.
I continued on, making my way down the beach and then back up, all the while keeping a close watch on the gauge and listening intently for that tell tale sound (or silence depending on the type of metal.) As I decided to wind down my search disillusionment began to set in. My very first treasure hunt did not turn out quite the way I had envisioned. But never fear for I will continue my search to find my fortune buried in the sand, even if I have to put it there myself!
Since playing the Lottery didn't quite pan out the way I had hoped it would I moved on to a new method of achieving my goal of becoming independently wealthy. We've all heard those overplayed commercials for the companies who want to buy your old gold jewelry, and apparently, right now the price of gold is near an all time high. Unfortunately I do not own anything made of gold, but plenty of other people do, and sometimes they lose said gold (in addition to countless other treasures) while enjoying a relaxing day at the beach. So, armed with my new metal detector, I was determined to find all those hidden gems.
Call me crazy, but searching for buried treasure along the vast stretches of sandy beaches is something I have wanted to do since childhood. There were quite a few Christmases and birthdays that I was hoping there would be a fancy new metal detector amongst the finely wrapped gifts. But alas, there never was. And so for this, my 30th birthday, I took it upon myself to ensure I received the gift I had been longing for since my youth.
I pulled my new toy out of the box and after arming it with some fresh double A's, I threw some coins on the floor to test it out. I pushed buttons, turned nobs, heard some high pitched tones and then concluded that I had no idea what I was doing. It turns out this whole metal detector thing was a little more complicated than I had envisioned. So I pulled out the instructions and skimmed them, then when that didn't work I went back and actually read them. Once I knew what I was doing I headed down to the sand.
I was brimming with excitement and optimism as I began my search. What would I find first? Would it be a rare coin? Perhaps it would be a lovely piece of jewelry with a broken clasp. Heck, I would settle for a set of lost keys! As I began scanning the sand I soon realized it was going to be a slow process to find my riches.
I slowly...walked...down...the...beach, searching...and searching...and searching. When I got my first possible strike I was elated. I scooped up a healthy dose of sand into my sifter and shook it out until all that remained was a few bits of shell. I reached down for another load and repeated the process only to be met with disappointment. It was a false alarm.
I continued on, making my way down the beach and then back up, all the while keeping a close watch on the gauge and listening intently for that tell tale sound (or silence depending on the type of metal.) As I decided to wind down my search disillusionment began to set in. My very first treasure hunt did not turn out quite the way I had envisioned. But never fear for I will continue my search to find my fortune buried in the sand, even if I have to put it there myself!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Make Mine Music
Day 24: Learn to play the guitar
As a child growing up in the Wiser family learning to play a musical instrument was not so much a choice as it was a genetic requirement, thanks mostly in part to my grandfather. Grandpa Wiser (or Chuck to so many others) was an amazingly talented musician and he used his gift to instill a love of music in countless others throughout his career as a music teacher. As his grandchildren we were not exempt from his musical legacy. We each took lessons from him at different times, on various different instruments (except maybe Tracy, she stuck to her piano lessons with the incomparable Gladys Coyan.) My instrument of choice at the time was the Violin, and while it is still my top pick, I have thought about learning the guitar for quite some time.
Usually one would need to acquire an instrument in order to learn to play it. Lucky for me I already had said instrument in my possession. While there are unquestionably many benefits to living in a single family home versus and apartment one might argue that there are also certain drawbacks as well, not the least of which the lack of access to wealth of perfectly good property that people feel they no longer require and therefore leave by the dumpster to be given a new home by the first lucky passer-by. I have been that lucky resident on more that one occasion, but perhaps the best one was when someone left two entirely acceptable acoustic guitars, free for the taking. They were a little worse for ware and needed a little cleaning. One had no strings, the other had a small crack on the face, but there was nothing a novice like myself couldn't deal with. And now, over a year later the guitars were still sitting in my closet, unplayed except for the occasional jam session by my nephews.
My goal for today was not to completely learn to play the guitar, as I understand that would be highly implausible to master in one day. What I was hoping to accomplish was to be able to play a song somewhat recognizably. I chose Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in homage to one of the first songs my grandfather taught me on the Violin (and just about the only song I can now even attempt to play) and because it only required three relatively simple chords. I began to learn the chords, which at first were awkward at best but seemed to get easier as I practiced. Then right as I thought I might actually be getting somewhere I heared that unmistakable snap. There went my A string (unfortunately for the sake of this little narrative it was not my G string.) As I attempted to progress despite my impaired instrument I realized it was an impossible task.
So while some might say I did not actually fulfill my obligation I beg to differ. Did I do more to learn to play the guitar than I ever have thus far? Yes. Did I actually play recognizable chords on a guitar? Yes (well if it were tuned correctly that is.) Was I able to play a basic song? Well, no, but I do have every intention of continuing my training. However considering how long it took me to take the initiative to start learning when I had a perfectly usable instrument at my disposal, I can't promise that the reprise of my musical career will be any time in the near future.
As a child growing up in the Wiser family learning to play a musical instrument was not so much a choice as it was a genetic requirement, thanks mostly in part to my grandfather. Grandpa Wiser (or Chuck to so many others) was an amazingly talented musician and he used his gift to instill a love of music in countless others throughout his career as a music teacher. As his grandchildren we were not exempt from his musical legacy. We each took lessons from him at different times, on various different instruments (except maybe Tracy, she stuck to her piano lessons with the incomparable Gladys Coyan.) My instrument of choice at the time was the Violin, and while it is still my top pick, I have thought about learning the guitar for quite some time.
Usually one would need to acquire an instrument in order to learn to play it. Lucky for me I already had said instrument in my possession. While there are unquestionably many benefits to living in a single family home versus and apartment one might argue that there are also certain drawbacks as well, not the least of which the lack of access to wealth of perfectly good property that people feel they no longer require and therefore leave by the dumpster to be given a new home by the first lucky passer-by. I have been that lucky resident on more that one occasion, but perhaps the best one was when someone left two entirely acceptable acoustic guitars, free for the taking. They were a little worse for ware and needed a little cleaning. One had no strings, the other had a small crack on the face, but there was nothing a novice like myself couldn't deal with. And now, over a year later the guitars were still sitting in my closet, unplayed except for the occasional jam session by my nephews.
My goal for today was not to completely learn to play the guitar, as I understand that would be highly implausible to master in one day. What I was hoping to accomplish was to be able to play a song somewhat recognizably. I chose Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, in homage to one of the first songs my grandfather taught me on the Violin (and just about the only song I can now even attempt to play) and because it only required three relatively simple chords. I began to learn the chords, which at first were awkward at best but seemed to get easier as I practiced. Then right as I thought I might actually be getting somewhere I heared that unmistakable snap. There went my A string (unfortunately for the sake of this little narrative it was not my G string.) As I attempted to progress despite my impaired instrument I realized it was an impossible task.
So while some might say I did not actually fulfill my obligation I beg to differ. Did I do more to learn to play the guitar than I ever have thus far? Yes. Did I actually play recognizable chords on a guitar? Yes (well if it were tuned correctly that is.) Was I able to play a basic song? Well, no, but I do have every intention of continuing my training. However considering how long it took me to take the initiative to start learning when I had a perfectly usable instrument at my disposal, I can't promise that the reprise of my musical career will be any time in the near future.
Grease Monkey
Day 23: Change my own oil
I have heard the story many times about when I was just a wee little one and my father found me underneath the car with a pile of tools attempting to turn bolts. Apparently my inner mechanic has always been a formidable influence on my life. So, as I prepare to turn 30 I thought it was about time I satisfied my automotively inclined musings. The oil in my car needed to be changed and I was going to do it.
I knew the basic procedure, however, to ensure that I didn't make an egregious mistake I turned to two of my favorite resources for information, the internet and my dad. After picking up the necessary supplies at my local Pep Boys I was ready to complete my do-it-yourself auto maintenance. Or so I though.
After a brief search (both under the car and online) I located the all important drain plug. Enter my first dilemma. Thanks to the skid plate covering the engine components the sockets in my tool repertoire were not long enough to successfully reach the drain plug well enough to loosen it's tight grip. This was the first of many episodes in which I contemplated defeat. But my determination took over and I resolved to finish what I set out to do. So I was off to Harbor Freight (if you've never been there you should definitely add that to your list of new things to try!) to pick up a new set of sockets.
With my new tools in hand I optimistically made my way back under the car only to be dealt another dream crushing blow. I couldn't get enough leverage to overcome the overly torched drain plug. I search my garage high and low for some sort of a pipe, or long handled device that I could use to gain the added force I needed. As I stood there, mere milliseconds away from once again throwing in the oil soaked towel, I spotted it. There on the work bend half buried under the piles of tools and rags and garbage was an old towel rack. Upon closer inspection I figured out how to release the bar from the brackets, and moments later I had my leverage.
I successfully loosened the drain plug and with quite a bit of skill I removed it from its post with minimal spillage onto my hand. I was elated and quite proud of myself until I realized my driveway, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The plug on the oil pan that I purchased had fallen back into place and the flood of oil pouring from the newly liberated drain was pooling up on top, then cascading over the edge into a rushing river of viscous liquid. I did have the foresight to put down some cardboard before beginning, but that was no match for the deluge of oil. I grabbed every rag I had and soaked up as much as I could, then moved on.
Up next, replace the oil filter. Never let it be said that all my new experiences of the past month were all for naught. Thanks to my pleasant cookie induced encounter with my neighbors, I felt comfortable enough to go over and ask to borrow an oil filter wrench for the oil filter that proved to be equally as hard as the drain plug to remove. If I was a lesser woman you would have heard me uttering quite a colorful assortment of expressions at this point. However, after a bit of a struggle, the oil filter conceded and I was able to remove it and install its replacement.
After replacing the drain plug, refilling the engine with new oil and cleaning up my gulf coast inspired puddle I had officially changed my own oil. Once I got past the many, shall we say, hick-ups and threatening to quit and take it to Jiffy Lube (or a less expensive equivalent) about a dozen or so times, the basic process was pretty simple. However, when you consider that the cost of taking the car somewhere and letting someone else do all the work for you is only a few dollars more than doing it yourself there hardly seems to be any reason for all the effort. Although, there is a certain sense of accomplishment after successfully defeating every challenge the auto maintenance gods could throw at me. And lest I ever forget this monumental achievement I have the giant oil stain in my driveway to remind me.
I have heard the story many times about when I was just a wee little one and my father found me underneath the car with a pile of tools attempting to turn bolts. Apparently my inner mechanic has always been a formidable influence on my life. So, as I prepare to turn 30 I thought it was about time I satisfied my automotively inclined musings. The oil in my car needed to be changed and I was going to do it.
I knew the basic procedure, however, to ensure that I didn't make an egregious mistake I turned to two of my favorite resources for information, the internet and my dad. After picking up the necessary supplies at my local Pep Boys I was ready to complete my do-it-yourself auto maintenance. Or so I though.
After a brief search (both under the car and online) I located the all important drain plug. Enter my first dilemma. Thanks to the skid plate covering the engine components the sockets in my tool repertoire were not long enough to successfully reach the drain plug well enough to loosen it's tight grip. This was the first of many episodes in which I contemplated defeat. But my determination took over and I resolved to finish what I set out to do. So I was off to Harbor Freight (if you've never been there you should definitely add that to your list of new things to try!) to pick up a new set of sockets.
With my new tools in hand I optimistically made my way back under the car only to be dealt another dream crushing blow. I couldn't get enough leverage to overcome the overly torched drain plug. I search my garage high and low for some sort of a pipe, or long handled device that I could use to gain the added force I needed. As I stood there, mere milliseconds away from once again throwing in the oil soaked towel, I spotted it. There on the work bend half buried under the piles of tools and rags and garbage was an old towel rack. Upon closer inspection I figured out how to release the bar from the brackets, and moments later I had my leverage.
I successfully loosened the drain plug and with quite a bit of skill I removed it from its post with minimal spillage onto my hand. I was elated and quite proud of myself until I realized my driveway, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The plug on the oil pan that I purchased had fallen back into place and the flood of oil pouring from the newly liberated drain was pooling up on top, then cascading over the edge into a rushing river of viscous liquid. I did have the foresight to put down some cardboard before beginning, but that was no match for the deluge of oil. I grabbed every rag I had and soaked up as much as I could, then moved on.
Up next, replace the oil filter. Never let it be said that all my new experiences of the past month were all for naught. Thanks to my pleasant cookie induced encounter with my neighbors, I felt comfortable enough to go over and ask to borrow an oil filter wrench for the oil filter that proved to be equally as hard as the drain plug to remove. If I was a lesser woman you would have heard me uttering quite a colorful assortment of expressions at this point. However, after a bit of a struggle, the oil filter conceded and I was able to remove it and install its replacement.
After replacing the drain plug, refilling the engine with new oil and cleaning up my gulf coast inspired puddle I had officially changed my own oil. Once I got past the many, shall we say, hick-ups and threatening to quit and take it to Jiffy Lube (or a less expensive equivalent) about a dozen or so times, the basic process was pretty simple. However, when you consider that the cost of taking the car somewhere and letting someone else do all the work for you is only a few dollars more than doing it yourself there hardly seems to be any reason for all the effort. Although, there is a certain sense of accomplishment after successfully defeating every challenge the auto maintenance gods could throw at me. And lest I ever forget this monumental achievement I have the giant oil stain in my driveway to remind me.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Two Turn Tables and a Microphone
Day 22: Be on the Radio
Sometimes the best things in life are completely spontaneous. You can plan things and schedule life till you're blue in the face but there is definitely no substitute for being in the right place at the right time. When I began my little challenge of attempting to do 30 new things in 30 days I had grand notions of amazing adventures and fascinating experiences, so I sat down and wrote myself out a nice little schedule full of plenty of extraordinary undertakings. However now that I have reached the final days of my exercise in personal enrichment I will admit my innovative ideas are dwindling, and so is my initiative. So when a new experienced presented itself unexpectedly this morning, I jumped at the opportunity. Well, I didn't jump because I was driving to work, but I did wave my arms with enthusiasm.
It is not all that often that I listen to the radio, and even more rare that I actually pay attention to what the DJ is saying, so it must have been fate when I actually heard the announcers on morning show of the local christian radio station ask for listeners to call in to tell them about the last time they were out of their comfort zone. At first I thought nothing of it, but then as the memories of taking cookies to my neighbors, and getting a pedicure and flying in a small plane and other recent endeavors came flooding into my mind I realized that virtually the entire past three weeks of my life have been out of my comfort zone. It still took me a minute or two before I decided that what I had to say was actually worthy of air time, but eventually I pick up the phone and dialed (with my hands free device safely placed on my ear of course!)
As the phone rang I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I was semi-convinced that the only response possible when calling a radio station was a busy signal, since that is all I ever heard any time I called in to attempt to win something. You can imagine my shock when after a few rings I was greeted on the other end by an actual person, and not just any person but the recognizable voices I heard on radio. We had a brief conversation where I told them about my little experiment and a couple of my experiences, then they wished me a happy birthday and that was it. I hung up and figured that was the last I would hear of that. In my opinion it didn't sound like a morning show worthy exchange. However a couple songs and quite a few commercials later I hear my friends the DJ's say, "Hello Lindsay." I immediately turned up the volume on my radio exponentially and I reveled in my 15 seconds of fame.
As quickly as it began it ended. I made a couple quick phone calls to share my exuberance with whoever would listen (Tracy and Sarah, thanks for humoring me!) and then I went about my day. It certainly was not a profound life changing event, but it was new and fun and different. And I didn't sound half bad if I do say so myself. Perhaps a career shift to broadcasting is in order. Then again, I think my gems of wisdom are better left to the occasional call in discourse.
Sometimes the best things in life are completely spontaneous. You can plan things and schedule life till you're blue in the face but there is definitely no substitute for being in the right place at the right time. When I began my little challenge of attempting to do 30 new things in 30 days I had grand notions of amazing adventures and fascinating experiences, so I sat down and wrote myself out a nice little schedule full of plenty of extraordinary undertakings. However now that I have reached the final days of my exercise in personal enrichment I will admit my innovative ideas are dwindling, and so is my initiative. So when a new experienced presented itself unexpectedly this morning, I jumped at the opportunity. Well, I didn't jump because I was driving to work, but I did wave my arms with enthusiasm.
It is not all that often that I listen to the radio, and even more rare that I actually pay attention to what the DJ is saying, so it must have been fate when I actually heard the announcers on morning show of the local christian radio station ask for listeners to call in to tell them about the last time they were out of their comfort zone. At first I thought nothing of it, but then as the memories of taking cookies to my neighbors, and getting a pedicure and flying in a small plane and other recent endeavors came flooding into my mind I realized that virtually the entire past three weeks of my life have been out of my comfort zone. It still took me a minute or two before I decided that what I had to say was actually worthy of air time, but eventually I pick up the phone and dialed (with my hands free device safely placed on my ear of course!)
As the phone rang I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. I was semi-convinced that the only response possible when calling a radio station was a busy signal, since that is all I ever heard any time I called in to attempt to win something. You can imagine my shock when after a few rings I was greeted on the other end by an actual person, and not just any person but the recognizable voices I heard on radio. We had a brief conversation where I told them about my little experiment and a couple of my experiences, then they wished me a happy birthday and that was it. I hung up and figured that was the last I would hear of that. In my opinion it didn't sound like a morning show worthy exchange. However a couple songs and quite a few commercials later I hear my friends the DJ's say, "Hello Lindsay." I immediately turned up the volume on my radio exponentially and I reveled in my 15 seconds of fame.
As quickly as it began it ended. I made a couple quick phone calls to share my exuberance with whoever would listen (Tracy and Sarah, thanks for humoring me!) and then I went about my day. It certainly was not a profound life changing event, but it was new and fun and different. And I didn't sound half bad if I do say so myself. Perhaps a career shift to broadcasting is in order. Then again, I think my gems of wisdom are better left to the occasional call in discourse.
The B-I-B-L-E, Yes That's the Book for Me
Day 21: Finish Reading the Bible
Today's new experience has been quite a long time in the making. It certainly wasn't something I just conjured up for this little 30th birthday extravaganza of mine. Many people like to follow a reading plan for their daily studies. Some people adhere to the Bible in a year program. While any one of many possible options probably would have expedited the process exponetially, my method of reading my Bible sporadically until I can barely stay awake (which was usually about 10-15 minutes in) still got me to the same end result. I finished reading the entire Bible.
When I say the entire Bible I do mean the ENTIRE Bible. There was no skimming the boring parts, or skipping any of the begats. I read that puppy word for word. Now granted, sometimes that meant making up my own pronunciation for some of those unique old testament names, but none-the-less, I read them all.
So as the good little Christian that I am, after reading through the Bible from cover to cover I must have some profound new insights into the character of God, right? Well not really, because I'm not that profound. That's not to say I didn't gain anything from it though. First of all, reading through the Bible straight through gave me a much better understanding of the time line of things. I now know how all the different stories and events fit together. I also understand a little better how the Bible is organized. I always knew it wasn't arranged in perfect chronological order, but quite frankly my logical brain couldn't figure out why. After reading through it all, it appears that perhaps they did actually know what they were doing when they put it together. And of course, I can't forget all the songs that came out of the recesses of my brain as I read the verses that inspired, or in many cases were word for word, the lyrics. You'd be amazed at how quickly you can recall the melody to a song that you used to sing a couple decades ago when you read the verse in the Bible that it was based on. There are a lot of songs in the Bible (and a lot of melodies in my head!)
This is certainly one experience worthy of repeating. I could start over right now and it would be like a whole new book, with new insights and impressions. I don't know if I would read it from beginning to end in the order in which it is written or not. Maybe I'll try the smart thing and follow some sort of a reading plan so that I will actually finish before Jesus returns.
Today's new experience has been quite a long time in the making. It certainly wasn't something I just conjured up for this little 30th birthday extravaganza of mine. Many people like to follow a reading plan for their daily studies. Some people adhere to the Bible in a year program. While any one of many possible options probably would have expedited the process exponetially, my method of reading my Bible sporadically until I can barely stay awake (which was usually about 10-15 minutes in) still got me to the same end result. I finished reading the entire Bible.
When I say the entire Bible I do mean the ENTIRE Bible. There was no skimming the boring parts, or skipping any of the begats. I read that puppy word for word. Now granted, sometimes that meant making up my own pronunciation for some of those unique old testament names, but none-the-less, I read them all.
So as the good little Christian that I am, after reading through the Bible from cover to cover I must have some profound new insights into the character of God, right? Well not really, because I'm not that profound. That's not to say I didn't gain anything from it though. First of all, reading through the Bible straight through gave me a much better understanding of the time line of things. I now know how all the different stories and events fit together. I also understand a little better how the Bible is organized. I always knew it wasn't arranged in perfect chronological order, but quite frankly my logical brain couldn't figure out why. After reading through it all, it appears that perhaps they did actually know what they were doing when they put it together. And of course, I can't forget all the songs that came out of the recesses of my brain as I read the verses that inspired, or in many cases were word for word, the lyrics. You'd be amazed at how quickly you can recall the melody to a song that you used to sing a couple decades ago when you read the verse in the Bible that it was based on. There are a lot of songs in the Bible (and a lot of melodies in my head!)
This is certainly one experience worthy of repeating. I could start over right now and it would be like a whole new book, with new insights and impressions. I don't know if I would read it from beginning to end in the order in which it is written or not. Maybe I'll try the smart thing and follow some sort of a reading plan so that I will actually finish before Jesus returns.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Chubby Bunny
Day 20: Homemade marshmallows
What would a cup of hot chocolate be without a layer of fluffy little mini marshmallows floating on top and melting away into a frothy foam. Whether you like them flamin' or just flame kissed, camping wouldn't be nearly as much fun without a bag of jet puffed mallos to roast over the fire. And my second day of this challenge would not have even been possible if it weren't for the sticky, glue-like properties of marshmallows. But, did you know that fluffy gooey fabulousness of marshmallows doesn't have to come in a bag. Apparently, you can make them yourself and supposedly they actually taste better that way. I'll be the judge of that!
I sought the guidance of trusted Food Network host Alton Brown. (well, his recipe popped up first when I Googled homemade marshmallows) The recipe seemed simple enough, although it did require me to purchase a candy thermometer. The ingredients were pretty simple. You need 3 packages of unflavored gelatin, which FYI this does not mean 3 boxes but rather 3 of the little pouches inside one of the boxes (anyone need some gelatin, I have some extra!), some corn syrup, some sugar, and some vanilla extract. You also need some powdered sugar and cornstarch to coat the marshmallows with. It takes about 10 minutes to heat the sugar and corn syrup mixture, then about 15 minutes to whip it together with the gelatin, a process that would have been infinitely more enjoyable with the aid of a fancy-shmancy stand mixer. Pour the whole mixture into a cornstarch and powdered sugar coated baking pan and voila, 4 hours later you have marshmallows.
But did I stop there. Of course not. In Lindsay's world there's always a better way to do something. How about putting the marshmallow on a stick, dipping it in chocolate and coating the whole thing in graham cracker crumbs. Yeah that's right, homemade smores on a stick. I call them smores-pops. I also just dipped some of them in the chocolate. And then, finally the remainder of them just got the requisite coating of the powdered sugar and corn starch mixture. Of course that all came after carefully prying the marshmallow slab from its form. Alton was not exactly forthright in his depiction of this part of the process.
And the verdict is...there certainly is no comparing the taste of a homemade marshmallow to the taste and texture of the store bought variety. I would say that when it comes to running to the cupboard for a quick sugary treat I actually lean more towards the cheap overly processed bagged variety. However, for a gourmet treat to tantalize the taste buds there's nothing quite like a homemade marshmallow, or better yet, a yummy smores-pop!
What would a cup of hot chocolate be without a layer of fluffy little mini marshmallows floating on top and melting away into a frothy foam. Whether you like them flamin' or just flame kissed, camping wouldn't be nearly as much fun without a bag of jet puffed mallos to roast over the fire. And my second day of this challenge would not have even been possible if it weren't for the sticky, glue-like properties of marshmallows. But, did you know that fluffy gooey fabulousness of marshmallows doesn't have to come in a bag. Apparently, you can make them yourself and supposedly they actually taste better that way. I'll be the judge of that!
I sought the guidance of trusted Food Network host Alton Brown. (well, his recipe popped up first when I Googled homemade marshmallows) The recipe seemed simple enough, although it did require me to purchase a candy thermometer. The ingredients were pretty simple. You need 3 packages of unflavored gelatin, which FYI this does not mean 3 boxes but rather 3 of the little pouches inside one of the boxes (anyone need some gelatin, I have some extra!), some corn syrup, some sugar, and some vanilla extract. You also need some powdered sugar and cornstarch to coat the marshmallows with. It takes about 10 minutes to heat the sugar and corn syrup mixture, then about 15 minutes to whip it together with the gelatin, a process that would have been infinitely more enjoyable with the aid of a fancy-shmancy stand mixer. Pour the whole mixture into a cornstarch and powdered sugar coated baking pan and voila, 4 hours later you have marshmallows.
But did I stop there. Of course not. In Lindsay's world there's always a better way to do something. How about putting the marshmallow on a stick, dipping it in chocolate and coating the whole thing in graham cracker crumbs. Yeah that's right, homemade smores on a stick. I call them smores-pops. I also just dipped some of them in the chocolate. And then, finally the remainder of them just got the requisite coating of the powdered sugar and corn starch mixture. Of course that all came after carefully prying the marshmallow slab from its form. Alton was not exactly forthright in his depiction of this part of the process.
And the verdict is...there certainly is no comparing the taste of a homemade marshmallow to the taste and texture of the store bought variety. I would say that when it comes to running to the cupboard for a quick sugary treat I actually lean more towards the cheap overly processed bagged variety. However, for a gourmet treat to tantalize the taste buds there's nothing quite like a homemade marshmallow, or better yet, a yummy smores-pop!
Monday, September 27, 2010
Cleared for Takeoff
Day 19: Fly in a small plane
Since the days of the Wright brothers people have been putting their lives in the hands of physics and trusting the principles of lift and thrust to carry them safely above the earth. More power to them for figuring out how to properly construct a wing so that it would catch the wind just right to lift a giant piece of machinery off the earth. This concept is even more astonishing when you board a jumbo jet and come the the realization that the giant whale of a vessel you are now sitting in is about to be lifted off the ground and float as though weightless, through the air. No wonder people are so afraid to fly, the concept seems purely preposterous. None-the-less I have taken my fair share of flights never thinking twice about the science behind it or the sheer inconceivability of it all. That all changed when I boarded a flight in a small single engine prop plane piloted by my handy-dandy brother-in-law Chris.
As he went through his pre-flight checks, and ensured that everything on the plane was in proper order, I went through my pre-flight checks to make sure all of Chris's credentials were in proper order. Most importantly, how good is he at gliding in if we find ourselves without an engine. Truthfully, I knew Chris knew what he was doing, and I knew where I would be going if he didn't, so I really wasn't that worried. I was more worried about how my ear was going to react to the pressure change and how my stomach was going to react to, well, everything.
We piled in (like sardines in a can), fueled up, and taxied out to the runway. No going back now. A quick rev of the engine and we were off. Up, up and away. I was actually surprised at how quickly we were in the air. We did a little tour around the bay, up over the boardwalk and back, then over Watsonville for a circle over the house then back in for a smooth landing.
We were up in the air for about half and hour. I am proud to report that my defective ear canal behaved itself (due mostly in part to a genius invention called Earplanes) and my overly sensitive stomach was relatively well behaved (thank goodness that circle over the house was at the end of the flight!) As it turns out flying in a small plane is not all that much different from a big commercial flight. You definitely feel more of a sensation of floating in a small plane, but with that you also feel more of a sensation of air sickness (at least if you're me you do.) As for in-flight amenities, the leg room was pretty comparable, but I found the beverage service and a snack choices to be a bit lacking on my privately chartered excursion.
Now that I've said my peace I have a little confession to make. I kind of cheated a little. My first flight was actually made yesterday overlapping two of my new things into one day. But the way I figure it, it's my game so I make the rules. However, for those nay-sayers out there that are calling foul (and I admit, deep down I am one of them) here are a few new experiences from my drive back to Santa Ana. I saw a unicycle strapped on to a bike rack. I heard someone order 22 Big Macs at McDonalds (boy am I glad I got my order in before that bus load of Asian tourists!) I saw a Delorean (you know, the car from Back to the Future) on a tow truck (that one was for you Michael, and it was a nice one too!) And finally, the pièce de résistance. As I peered in my rear view mirror I saw Daddy Warbucks cruising up rather quickly in his convertible Maserati. I did the responsible thing and got back into the slow lane to let him pass. As they sped by me his female companion in the passenger seat turned towards me and held up a yellow happy face on a stick with the word THANKS written in big bold letter (as if to excuse their excessive speed.) I started cracking up and said to myself, "Now that's a first!"
Since the days of the Wright brothers people have been putting their lives in the hands of physics and trusting the principles of lift and thrust to carry them safely above the earth. More power to them for figuring out how to properly construct a wing so that it would catch the wind just right to lift a giant piece of machinery off the earth. This concept is even more astonishing when you board a jumbo jet and come the the realization that the giant whale of a vessel you are now sitting in is about to be lifted off the ground and float as though weightless, through the air. No wonder people are so afraid to fly, the concept seems purely preposterous. None-the-less I have taken my fair share of flights never thinking twice about the science behind it or the sheer inconceivability of it all. That all changed when I boarded a flight in a small single engine prop plane piloted by my handy-dandy brother-in-law Chris.
As he went through his pre-flight checks, and ensured that everything on the plane was in proper order, I went through my pre-flight checks to make sure all of Chris's credentials were in proper order. Most importantly, how good is he at gliding in if we find ourselves without an engine. Truthfully, I knew Chris knew what he was doing, and I knew where I would be going if he didn't, so I really wasn't that worried. I was more worried about how my ear was going to react to the pressure change and how my stomach was going to react to, well, everything.
We piled in (like sardines in a can), fueled up, and taxied out to the runway. No going back now. A quick rev of the engine and we were off. Up, up and away. I was actually surprised at how quickly we were in the air. We did a little tour around the bay, up over the boardwalk and back, then over Watsonville for a circle over the house then back in for a smooth landing.
We were up in the air for about half and hour. I am proud to report that my defective ear canal behaved itself (due mostly in part to a genius invention called Earplanes) and my overly sensitive stomach was relatively well behaved (thank goodness that circle over the house was at the end of the flight!) As it turns out flying in a small plane is not all that much different from a big commercial flight. You definitely feel more of a sensation of floating in a small plane, but with that you also feel more of a sensation of air sickness (at least if you're me you do.) As for in-flight amenities, the leg room was pretty comparable, but I found the beverage service and a snack choices to be a bit lacking on my privately chartered excursion.
Now that I've said my peace I have a little confession to make. I kind of cheated a little. My first flight was actually made yesterday overlapping two of my new things into one day. But the way I figure it, it's my game so I make the rules. However, for those nay-sayers out there that are calling foul (and I admit, deep down I am one of them) here are a few new experiences from my drive back to Santa Ana. I saw a unicycle strapped on to a bike rack. I heard someone order 22 Big Macs at McDonalds (boy am I glad I got my order in before that bus load of Asian tourists!) I saw a Delorean (you know, the car from Back to the Future) on a tow truck (that one was for you Michael, and it was a nice one too!) And finally, the pièce de résistance. As I peered in my rear view mirror I saw Daddy Warbucks cruising up rather quickly in his convertible Maserati. I did the responsible thing and got back into the slow lane to let him pass. As they sped by me his female companion in the passenger seat turned towards me and held up a yellow happy face on a stick with the word THANKS written in big bold letter (as if to excuse their excessive speed.) I started cracking up and said to myself, "Now that's a first!"
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Weld-done
Day 18: Welding
Thanks to Jr. High woodshop I've mastered the woodworking world. I've conquered ceramics thanks to my wheel throwing class in college. I've done sewing, paper mache, and as of a few days ago, soap carving. Just about the only medium I haven't mastered is metal. I did get a taste of it in my high school jewelry making class when we used the blow torches to solder rings and key chains and such. But while soldering was certainly fun, the idea of welding was even more intriguing, and thanks to my sister marrying a man whom she didn't, "like, like that" I now have a perfectly suitable instructor (thanks again Chris.)
Welding 101 began with an introduction to the various types of welding. Apparently it is more than just getting the metal really hot and melting it together. The most basic method is oxy-acetylene welding, then there is ARC welding, then MIG welding and finally TIG welding. If I'm understanding my instructor correctly, each method is a little better than the last but also a little more difficult to master. So for now we began with simple Oxy-Acetylene welding. This is where you have a torched with two hoses attached running to an Oxygen tank and an Acetylene tank. You have to get the mixture of gasses just right to get the perfect flame.
Finally, once we got through the boring book learning it was time for the fun stuff. I donned the proper welding attire. (Don't be surprised if you see me strutting around in a simple, yet very stylish leather welding jacket. I have a feeling they are going to be all the rage!) After Chris gave a brief demonstration of how I should do it and what to watch for it was finally my turn to try my hand at welding. Sparks were flying. Metal was melting. I was welding! Now, I've heard that a good weld should look a bit like a roll of quarters all laid out. My first weld looked like a roll of quarters all melted into a big blog. Well, it wasn't quite that bad. I had some decent looking spots, but I think that was when Chris was helping.
So, as it turns out I am not quite the welding prodigy I presumed I would be. Even though Chris didn't agree with me when I exclaimed, "I'm a welder!" I will prove him wrong. Don't rain on my molten metal parade because this is one skill I am determined to master. Now do you think I'll be able to find welding equipment in the free section on Craigslist?
Thanks to Jr. High woodshop I've mastered the woodworking world. I've conquered ceramics thanks to my wheel throwing class in college. I've done sewing, paper mache, and as of a few days ago, soap carving. Just about the only medium I haven't mastered is metal. I did get a taste of it in my high school jewelry making class when we used the blow torches to solder rings and key chains and such. But while soldering was certainly fun, the idea of welding was even more intriguing, and thanks to my sister marrying a man whom she didn't, "like, like that" I now have a perfectly suitable instructor (thanks again Chris.)
Welding 101 began with an introduction to the various types of welding. Apparently it is more than just getting the metal really hot and melting it together. The most basic method is oxy-acetylene welding, then there is ARC welding, then MIG welding and finally TIG welding. If I'm understanding my instructor correctly, each method is a little better than the last but also a little more difficult to master. So for now we began with simple Oxy-Acetylene welding. This is where you have a torched with two hoses attached running to an Oxygen tank and an Acetylene tank. You have to get the mixture of gasses just right to get the perfect flame.
Finally, once we got through the boring book learning it was time for the fun stuff. I donned the proper welding attire. (Don't be surprised if you see me strutting around in a simple, yet very stylish leather welding jacket. I have a feeling they are going to be all the rage!) After Chris gave a brief demonstration of how I should do it and what to watch for it was finally my turn to try my hand at welding. Sparks were flying. Metal was melting. I was welding! Now, I've heard that a good weld should look a bit like a roll of quarters all laid out. My first weld looked like a roll of quarters all melted into a big blog. Well, it wasn't quite that bad. I had some decent looking spots, but I think that was when Chris was helping.
So, as it turns out I am not quite the welding prodigy I presumed I would be. Even though Chris didn't agree with me when I exclaimed, "I'm a welder!" I will prove him wrong. Don't rain on my molten metal parade because this is one skill I am determined to master. Now do you think I'll be able to find welding equipment in the free section on Craigslist?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
On the Road Again
Day 17: Drive to Watsonville without stopping
My quest to complete 30 new things in 30 days has led me many places. This weekend it has taken me to my hometown of Watsonville in northern California. I have begun to exhaust many of my resources in southern California so I ventured north to seek out new opportunities. Here I have the assistance of a whole new batch of people that have not already been burdened by my requests for assistance on my tasks. I also have an entirely different skill set available to me to broaden the possibilities.
There are two types of road trips in my opinion. The first kind is the more adventurous of the two, whereby the trip is more about the journey than the destination. It consists of making many stops along the way to partake in any number of roadside amusement enterprises. The second option is the git-r-done mentality. Timeliness is the name of the game and the shorter the trip the better. While the former is certainly a much more relaxing and enriching experience, more often the latter is the option I defer to.
On a weekend when I literally have one day to squeeze in as much quality nephew time as possible, while still trying to accommodate everything else I have planned, getting to my destination as quick as possible was certainly high on my list of priorities. And thanks to my new car (well, it's new to me at least) shaving down my drive time was a very real possibility. My old car (may it rest in peace) with its 220something thousand miles on it was not exactly the most economical vehicle. There were times when I looked down at my gas gauge and thought I could make it without stopping, but as the needle crept lower and lower I inevitably had to pull off for a quick fill up. So, as my first trip north in my new car I though today might be the day I finally make it without having to stop.
The challenge here was not just maintaining good enough fuel economy to make the journey, but fighting my own urges to stop an take a quick stretch and grab a bite to eat. It's interesting how when you don't want something it is available in abundance, but what you do want something you can't have it. Every other time I have made this voyage between Watsonville and Orange County I wanted to just keep driving but was forced to stop. Now that I was attempting to actually make it the whole way without stopping all I wanted to do each time I passed an exit was pull off.
Alas, I did not succumb to my desires and I made it all the way to my destination without a single pit stop. I drove 367 miles in just under 6 hours munching on Cheetos and Corn Nuts and fruit snacks to pass the time and keep me awake (did I mention I was tempted quite a few times to call the whole thing off and stop for a quick power nap.) So, will I make any stops on the way back down to The O.C.? Not if I can help it!
My quest to complete 30 new things in 30 days has led me many places. This weekend it has taken me to my hometown of Watsonville in northern California. I have begun to exhaust many of my resources in southern California so I ventured north to seek out new opportunities. Here I have the assistance of a whole new batch of people that have not already been burdened by my requests for assistance on my tasks. I also have an entirely different skill set available to me to broaden the possibilities.
There are two types of road trips in my opinion. The first kind is the more adventurous of the two, whereby the trip is more about the journey than the destination. It consists of making many stops along the way to partake in any number of roadside amusement enterprises. The second option is the git-r-done mentality. Timeliness is the name of the game and the shorter the trip the better. While the former is certainly a much more relaxing and enriching experience, more often the latter is the option I defer to.
On a weekend when I literally have one day to squeeze in as much quality nephew time as possible, while still trying to accommodate everything else I have planned, getting to my destination as quick as possible was certainly high on my list of priorities. And thanks to my new car (well, it's new to me at least) shaving down my drive time was a very real possibility. My old car (may it rest in peace) with its 220something thousand miles on it was not exactly the most economical vehicle. There were times when I looked down at my gas gauge and thought I could make it without stopping, but as the needle crept lower and lower I inevitably had to pull off for a quick fill up. So, as my first trip north in my new car I though today might be the day I finally make it without having to stop.
The challenge here was not just maintaining good enough fuel economy to make the journey, but fighting my own urges to stop an take a quick stretch and grab a bite to eat. It's interesting how when you don't want something it is available in abundance, but what you do want something you can't have it. Every other time I have made this voyage between Watsonville and Orange County I wanted to just keep driving but was forced to stop. Now that I was attempting to actually make it the whole way without stopping all I wanted to do each time I passed an exit was pull off.
Alas, I did not succumb to my desires and I made it all the way to my destination without a single pit stop. I drove 367 miles in just under 6 hours munching on Cheetos and Corn Nuts and fruit snacks to pass the time and keep me awake (did I mention I was tempted quite a few times to call the whole thing off and stop for a quick power nap.) So, will I make any stops on the way back down to The O.C.? Not if I can help it!
This Little Piggy Went to Market
Day 16: Get a Pedicure
Those who know me well know that I stick to a strict regiment of cleansers, moisturizers, and beauty products and my attention to my personal appearance is meticulous even to a fault...in opposite world! (that was for you Deb) Okay, so I'm not exactly known for my femininity. In fact, aside from reluctantly wearing a dress and makeup for my sister's wedding, getting a pedicure is perhaps the girliest thing I've ever done. So what on earth would cause me to agree to such an uncharacteristic outing? Sarah said she'd pay that's what! Her and our friend Kari have a tradition of treating each other to pedicures for their birthdays, so now, with my 30th birthday approaching, it was my turn to join the festivities.
The other thing you must understand, that makes a pedicure a completely foreign concept to me is that my feet virtually never see the light of day. If they are not nestled in a pair of plush cottony socks it is because I am either asleep, in the shower, or at the beach (and even at the beach they don't get liberated from their cottony cocoon until I step foot in the sand.)
After I dug out the one pair of sandals I own, and let me feet have a breath of fresh air we headed out. As we walked into the nail salon the nice Asian lady behind the counter uttered something unintelligible to me so I deferred to my chaperones for guidance. Apparently I was supposed to choose a color. Decisions, decisions. Should I go with Tarnished and Varnished, Cha-ching Cherry, or possibly Mauve-lous Memories. In the end I chose a deep shade of purple called Violet Flare. That's right, if I'm going girly I'm going all the way.
As she opened up her sealed bag of sterilized equipment I got a little nervous. This was beginning to resemble an intense medical procedure rather than a relaxing beauty treatment. However, once she got started all was well. I enjoyed the massage chair. I enjoyed the warm water with the soothing jets. I enjoyed the clipping and trimming and massaging and buffing. I did not enjoy the filing! That emery board was a mild form of torture, but apparently a necessary evil to complete the process properly. Finally out came the disposable foam flip-flops and my very first pedicure experience was all but over.
I still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that the toes I see when I look down now actually belong to my foot. If it weren't for the iridescent glow of my foot's sun starved pigmentation and my carefully crafted tan line I would argue that I was looking at someone else's feet. In the end, I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again, although in my opinion that money is better spent on a nice new package of fluffy white socks!
Those who know me well know that I stick to a strict regiment of cleansers, moisturizers, and beauty products and my attention to my personal appearance is meticulous even to a fault...in opposite world! (that was for you Deb) Okay, so I'm not exactly known for my femininity. In fact, aside from reluctantly wearing a dress and makeup for my sister's wedding, getting a pedicure is perhaps the girliest thing I've ever done. So what on earth would cause me to agree to such an uncharacteristic outing? Sarah said she'd pay that's what! Her and our friend Kari have a tradition of treating each other to pedicures for their birthdays, so now, with my 30th birthday approaching, it was my turn to join the festivities.
The other thing you must understand, that makes a pedicure a completely foreign concept to me is that my feet virtually never see the light of day. If they are not nestled in a pair of plush cottony socks it is because I am either asleep, in the shower, or at the beach (and even at the beach they don't get liberated from their cottony cocoon until I step foot in the sand.)
After I dug out the one pair of sandals I own, and let me feet have a breath of fresh air we headed out. As we walked into the nail salon the nice Asian lady behind the counter uttered something unintelligible to me so I deferred to my chaperones for guidance. Apparently I was supposed to choose a color. Decisions, decisions. Should I go with Tarnished and Varnished, Cha-ching Cherry, or possibly Mauve-lous Memories. In the end I chose a deep shade of purple called Violet Flare. That's right, if I'm going girly I'm going all the way.
As she opened up her sealed bag of sterilized equipment I got a little nervous. This was beginning to resemble an intense medical procedure rather than a relaxing beauty treatment. However, once she got started all was well. I enjoyed the massage chair. I enjoyed the warm water with the soothing jets. I enjoyed the clipping and trimming and massaging and buffing. I did not enjoy the filing! That emery board was a mild form of torture, but apparently a necessary evil to complete the process properly. Finally out came the disposable foam flip-flops and my very first pedicure experience was all but over.
I still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that the toes I see when I look down now actually belong to my foot. If it weren't for the iridescent glow of my foot's sun starved pigmentation and my carefully crafted tan line I would argue that I was looking at someone else's feet. In the end, I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again, although in my opinion that money is better spent on a nice new package of fluffy white socks!
Friday, September 24, 2010
You Can't Catch Me I'm the Gingerbread Man
Day 15: Make a Gingerbread House
And the award for Best Aunt and Uncle goes to...drum roll please...Dana and Dale of Moses Lake, Washington! (Don't worry Denise, with a little effort you and Bill can claim that top spot!) Not only did my wonderful aunt and uncle give me a great suggestion for something I've never done before, but they sent me the materials to complete the task.
While it may not be the traditional season for making a gingerbread house, I figured now is as good a time as any to begin to develop my architectural pastry techniques. Plus, Halloween is known for massive amounts of candy consumption so it makes perfect sense to incorporate all those sugary delights into some seasonal home decor.
As I opened the box the scent of gingerbread penetrated through its packaging and permeated the room. I unloaded the rest of the adornments and set to work. After a brief bout of sever frustration with roofing panels sliding off their perch (a problem easily remedied with kabob skewers cut to size and used as shims) it was time to get down to business and give this gingerbread house some serious candied curb appeal. My self-diagnosed case of mild OCD did cause this process to take a little longer than it would for most. Attempting to get the perfect lines and symmetrical candy placement that I had pictured in my head, and on the box, proved to be a bit of an impossible task. In the end I decided this was supposed to be a haunted house anyway, so imperfections would only help retain the integrity of the theme.
Once all the candy was lovingly placed in on the gingerbread structure (that is, what candy made it through my strict quality control process of taste testing each decorative element) it was time for the toughest part of the entire process. Any faithful viewer of Food Network Challenge knows the part I'm talking about. It was time for the nerve wrecking, white knuckle move from the prep area to the display table, hoping and praying that the whole thing doesn't come crashing down.
The move was successful and now I have a beautifully adorned gingerbread house to complete the Halloween ambiance in my living room. Quite honestly my future in building and decorating edible structures looks bleak. My future in eating said structures, however, is quite promising. And now for the final challenge of this gingerbread building adventure...to keep my dog from devouring my masterpiece!
And the award for Best Aunt and Uncle goes to...drum roll please...Dana and Dale of Moses Lake, Washington! (Don't worry Denise, with a little effort you and Bill can claim that top spot!) Not only did my wonderful aunt and uncle give me a great suggestion for something I've never done before, but they sent me the materials to complete the task.
While it may not be the traditional season for making a gingerbread house, I figured now is as good a time as any to begin to develop my architectural pastry techniques. Plus, Halloween is known for massive amounts of candy consumption so it makes perfect sense to incorporate all those sugary delights into some seasonal home decor.
As I opened the box the scent of gingerbread penetrated through its packaging and permeated the room. I unloaded the rest of the adornments and set to work. After a brief bout of sever frustration with roofing panels sliding off their perch (a problem easily remedied with kabob skewers cut to size and used as shims) it was time to get down to business and give this gingerbread house some serious candied curb appeal. My self-diagnosed case of mild OCD did cause this process to take a little longer than it would for most. Attempting to get the perfect lines and symmetrical candy placement that I had pictured in my head, and on the box, proved to be a bit of an impossible task. In the end I decided this was supposed to be a haunted house anyway, so imperfections would only help retain the integrity of the theme.
Once all the candy was lovingly placed in on the gingerbread structure (that is, what candy made it through my strict quality control process of taste testing each decorative element) it was time for the toughest part of the entire process. Any faithful viewer of Food Network Challenge knows the part I'm talking about. It was time for the nerve wrecking, white knuckle move from the prep area to the display table, hoping and praying that the whole thing doesn't come crashing down.
The move was successful and now I have a beautifully adorned gingerbread house to complete the Halloween ambiance in my living room. Quite honestly my future in building and decorating edible structures looks bleak. My future in eating said structures, however, is quite promising. And now for the final challenge of this gingerbread building adventure...to keep my dog from devouring my masterpiece!
Thursday, September 23, 2010
♪♫ I'm just a bill, yeah I'm only a bill...♪♫
Day 14: Write my Congressman
I heard on the radio this morning that today is "Meet you at the pole." If you are unfamiliar with this tradition it is a day set aside for students all over the country to meet together at their school's flagpole to pray for our nation and its leaders. As soon as I heard this I thought it was quite serendipitous that I chose writing to my representative in congress as my new thing for today.
The goal of my not so little 30th birthday challenge was to have some fun experiences and cross a few things off my to-do list. To be quite honest writing to my congressman (or in this case congresswoman) was never really on that list. I'm not really the political action type. I'm not even the sit down and watch the evening news type. Writing to my congressional representative was just something I had always heard people say was an important thing to do and, more importantly, I could squeeze it into my already busy day.
First things first, I had to figure out who the heck I was supposed to be writing to. I found out I live in California's 47th district and my representative is Loretta Sanchez (D). Now, what in the world was I going to write to her about? I wanted it to be relevant and current, but I also wanted it to be something I actually cared about. Since I don't watch the news or keep current on any of the issues my options were slim to none. In the end I decided to voice my opinion on California's issue of same sex marriage. More specifically, I used that as a way of addressing my biggest grievance, that of the flawed practice of lawmakers overturning a decision that has been clearly approved by voters.
Unlike so many of my fun little activities, this one has no real immediate result to make it seem like something worth doing. I did find out a couple cool things along the way. Did you know you can order an American Flag from your representative, and even request to have it flown over the U.S. Capitol (that's way better than just picking one up at Target!). I also found a great website that tells you who your elected representatives are and what they've been up to voting wise. Check out www.congress.org. As for my letter, maybe she'll read it, maybe she won't. More than likely some underpaid intern will give it a quick glance and send me a standard form letter response. Either way, writing to your elected official makes you feel like your normal griping and moaning might have a fighting chance of being heard by someone who can actually do something about it. Whatever happens, I certainly have a slightly heightened interest in all things political, but even so, don't expect me to be tuning in to C-Span any time soon.
I heard on the radio this morning that today is "Meet you at the pole." If you are unfamiliar with this tradition it is a day set aside for students all over the country to meet together at their school's flagpole to pray for our nation and its leaders. As soon as I heard this I thought it was quite serendipitous that I chose writing to my representative in congress as my new thing for today.
The goal of my not so little 30th birthday challenge was to have some fun experiences and cross a few things off my to-do list. To be quite honest writing to my congressman (or in this case congresswoman) was never really on that list. I'm not really the political action type. I'm not even the sit down and watch the evening news type. Writing to my congressional representative was just something I had always heard people say was an important thing to do and, more importantly, I could squeeze it into my already busy day.
First things first, I had to figure out who the heck I was supposed to be writing to. I found out I live in California's 47th district and my representative is Loretta Sanchez (D). Now, what in the world was I going to write to her about? I wanted it to be relevant and current, but I also wanted it to be something I actually cared about. Since I don't watch the news or keep current on any of the issues my options were slim to none. In the end I decided to voice my opinion on California's issue of same sex marriage. More specifically, I used that as a way of addressing my biggest grievance, that of the flawed practice of lawmakers overturning a decision that has been clearly approved by voters.
Unlike so many of my fun little activities, this one has no real immediate result to make it seem like something worth doing. I did find out a couple cool things along the way. Did you know you can order an American Flag from your representative, and even request to have it flown over the U.S. Capitol (that's way better than just picking one up at Target!). I also found a great website that tells you who your elected representatives are and what they've been up to voting wise. Check out www.congress.org. As for my letter, maybe she'll read it, maybe she won't. More than likely some underpaid intern will give it a quick glance and send me a standard form letter response. Either way, writing to your elected official makes you feel like your normal griping and moaning might have a fighting chance of being heard by someone who can actually do something about it. Whatever happens, I certainly have a slightly heightened interest in all things political, but even so, don't expect me to be tuning in to C-Span any time soon.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
It's Like Budda'
Day 13: Make Butter
We have come a long way from the little house on the prairie days. Technology affords us so many conveniences that would be hard to imagine going through life without. Some of my personal favorites would have to be the development of indoor plumbing (hooray for flushing toilets and hot showers!), microwaves (ours is humming away in the kitchen as we speak), and of course the good old world wide web. But with so many grandiose achievements, it can be easy to overlook the small but vital conveniences of daily life that past generations have gone without. Among those is store bought butter.
Whether you like it in a tub, or as a stick, or even as a spray, one thing is for certain, butter is delicious. Would a tall stack of pancakes at IHOP have the same appeal without the precisely scooped dollop of butter resting precariously on the summit? What would corn on the cob be if not accompanied by the stick of butter with the unmistakable concave indentation across the top? Two words, butter cookies! Any way you slice it, butter is a staple to classic American cuisine. But could it be even more delicious if it were home made? I decided it was about time I found out the answer to that question.
The process of making butter is relatively simple. All you need is cream and a container, such as a jar, to shake it in (or a mixer to beat it if you want to take all the fun out of it). Here is the procedure:
Step 1: Pour the cream into the jar
Step 2: Shake the jar vigorously
Step 3: Switch arms and repeat step 2
Step 4: Shake it some more
Step 5: Think to yourself, "I've been shaking it a long time, surely it must be butter by now!"
Step 6-12: Just keep shaking, just keep shaking, just keep shaking, shaking, shaking
Step 13: Watch the solids finally collect into real honest to gosh butter
Step 14: Drain off the buttermilk (and save it to make some delicious buttermilk pancakes to spread your delectable homemade butter on) and enjoy your tasty handy work.
So, is making homemade butter really worth all the effort. Well, it was certainly the smoothest, creamiest, freshest condiment I've ever spread on a roll. Unfortunately though, in this particular situation I fear convenience will win out. The last thing I need to squeeze into my morning routine is a quick round of churning before I can butter my toast. However, don't rule out some seasonal shaking to to add that little something extra to the holiday dinner table.
We have come a long way from the little house on the prairie days. Technology affords us so many conveniences that would be hard to imagine going through life without. Some of my personal favorites would have to be the development of indoor plumbing (hooray for flushing toilets and hot showers!), microwaves (ours is humming away in the kitchen as we speak), and of course the good old world wide web. But with so many grandiose achievements, it can be easy to overlook the small but vital conveniences of daily life that past generations have gone without. Among those is store bought butter.
Whether you like it in a tub, or as a stick, or even as a spray, one thing is for certain, butter is delicious. Would a tall stack of pancakes at IHOP have the same appeal without the precisely scooped dollop of butter resting precariously on the summit? What would corn on the cob be if not accompanied by the stick of butter with the unmistakable concave indentation across the top? Two words, butter cookies! Any way you slice it, butter is a staple to classic American cuisine. But could it be even more delicious if it were home made? I decided it was about time I found out the answer to that question.
The process of making butter is relatively simple. All you need is cream and a container, such as a jar, to shake it in (or a mixer to beat it if you want to take all the fun out of it). Here is the procedure:
Step 1: Pour the cream into the jar
Step 2: Shake the jar vigorously
Step 3: Switch arms and repeat step 2
Step 4: Shake it some more
Step 5: Think to yourself, "I've been shaking it a long time, surely it must be butter by now!"
Step 6-12: Just keep shaking, just keep shaking, just keep shaking, shaking, shaking
Step 13: Watch the solids finally collect into real honest to gosh butter
Step 14: Drain off the buttermilk (and save it to make some delicious buttermilk pancakes to spread your delectable homemade butter on) and enjoy your tasty handy work.
So, is making homemade butter really worth all the effort. Well, it was certainly the smoothest, creamiest, freshest condiment I've ever spread on a roll. Unfortunately though, in this particular situation I fear convenience will win out. The last thing I need to squeeze into my morning routine is a quick round of churning before I can butter my toast. However, don't rule out some seasonal shaking to to add that little something extra to the holiday dinner table.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Book 'Em Dano
Day 12: Police Ride Along
What would our cities be like without the fine men and women behind the badge to maintain order? I can't say as I know the answer to that question and after my new experience for today I don't know that I want to know the answer. Whatever your opinions of local law enforcement may be I encourage you to try going on a ride along like I did this morning. It is certainly an unpredictable and eye opening adventure. As you read the following please be advised some of the names may have been changed to protect the innocent (or else because I just forgot them).
My commanding officer was Roger Tesoro. He's been on the force for 17 years. After a quick briefing to alert me to certain procedures and safety precautions we were ready to hit the streets. Our first call of the day was to take a report about a stolen car. Not very glamorous, I know, but certainly a good way to ease into life on the beat. Next was a call about a possible home invasion. We were first on the scene, so once backup arrived we went in with guns drawn to secure the perimeter. Okay so WE didn't go in, all the officers did and I stayed in the car and watched, but it was still exciting! In the end there was no one there and it was much ado about nothing so it was off to the next call. This time it was a welfare check. The caller was worried because he hadn't seen his elderly neighbor in a few days. But alas, there would be no dead bodies here today, as we spoke to the neighbor the woman in question came to her door to see what all the fuss was about.
Up next was a man named Danny that we would end up seeing quite a bit of as the day progressed. He was our third call, and then after choosing not to heed the warnings of the well meaning officers he became our fifth call as well. Thanks to his not-so-recreational drug use he was, how shall I say this, one grape short of a bunch, a few cards short of a full deck, not the sharpest tool in the shed. However you say it, his deficiencies caused him to be completely unaware that handing out candy to children in a store might tend to make people a little uncomfortable. He did make for some colorful conversation though. While officer Flores (who's haircut Danny was particularly fond of as he kept telling him, "nice haircut, I like your haircut man") got some background information, officer Tesoro took the opportunity to get to know our perpetrator a little better. He noticed that Danny was wearing a Lakers t-shirt so officer Tesoro asked what the Lakers are, to which Danny responded, "They drive boats on the lake...the Sea of Galilee." I suppose I should explain that Danny professed to be a born again Christian and said "God bless you" with every breath. While only God truly knows where his heart is at, his religious views certainly made for a more entertaining day.
We had a couple other minor calls that we responded to and then we got it, the call every ride-alonger dreams of. There was report of a 415 (code for a fight) and we were going code 3, that's lights and sirens baby! The excitement was over by the time we got there, but as they say, it's about the journey not the destination.
So my day ended with a little excitement. I got to see a good mix of a little of everything. I found out that there's no need to get excited when you see about half a dozen cop cars in one location, because no matter what the call is, they pretty much all seem to show up. I also discovered that cops speak an entirely different language. I understood more of the conversation when they were speaking in Spanish to a victim than when they were speaking English to each other. But, more than anything, I learned a lot more about the city I call home and a little about the people who keep it safe.
What would our cities be like without the fine men and women behind the badge to maintain order? I can't say as I know the answer to that question and after my new experience for today I don't know that I want to know the answer. Whatever your opinions of local law enforcement may be I encourage you to try going on a ride along like I did this morning. It is certainly an unpredictable and eye opening adventure. As you read the following please be advised some of the names may have been changed to protect the innocent (or else because I just forgot them).
My commanding officer was Roger Tesoro. He's been on the force for 17 years. After a quick briefing to alert me to certain procedures and safety precautions we were ready to hit the streets. Our first call of the day was to take a report about a stolen car. Not very glamorous, I know, but certainly a good way to ease into life on the beat. Next was a call about a possible home invasion. We were first on the scene, so once backup arrived we went in with guns drawn to secure the perimeter. Okay so WE didn't go in, all the officers did and I stayed in the car and watched, but it was still exciting! In the end there was no one there and it was much ado about nothing so it was off to the next call. This time it was a welfare check. The caller was worried because he hadn't seen his elderly neighbor in a few days. But alas, there would be no dead bodies here today, as we spoke to the neighbor the woman in question came to her door to see what all the fuss was about.
Up next was a man named Danny that we would end up seeing quite a bit of as the day progressed. He was our third call, and then after choosing not to heed the warnings of the well meaning officers he became our fifth call as well. Thanks to his not-so-recreational drug use he was, how shall I say this, one grape short of a bunch, a few cards short of a full deck, not the sharpest tool in the shed. However you say it, his deficiencies caused him to be completely unaware that handing out candy to children in a store might tend to make people a little uncomfortable. He did make for some colorful conversation though. While officer Flores (who's haircut Danny was particularly fond of as he kept telling him, "nice haircut, I like your haircut man") got some background information, officer Tesoro took the opportunity to get to know our perpetrator a little better. He noticed that Danny was wearing a Lakers t-shirt so officer Tesoro asked what the Lakers are, to which Danny responded, "They drive boats on the lake...the Sea of Galilee." I suppose I should explain that Danny professed to be a born again Christian and said "God bless you" with every breath. While only God truly knows where his heart is at, his religious views certainly made for a more entertaining day.
We had a couple other minor calls that we responded to and then we got it, the call every ride-alonger dreams of. There was report of a 415 (code for a fight) and we were going code 3, that's lights and sirens baby! The excitement was over by the time we got there, but as they say, it's about the journey not the destination.
So my day ended with a little excitement. I got to see a good mix of a little of everything. I found out that there's no need to get excited when you see about half a dozen cop cars in one location, because no matter what the call is, they pretty much all seem to show up. I also discovered that cops speak an entirely different language. I understood more of the conversation when they were speaking in Spanish to a victim than when they were speaking English to each other. But, more than anything, I learned a lot more about the city I call home and a little about the people who keep it safe.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Fore!
Day 11: Play Golf
Watch out WPGA here I come! After years of nothing but putt-putt golf I felt it was finally time to graduate to the real thing. No windmills, no florescent colored balls, and no twisted labyrinth of pipes and tubes that the ball must be shot directly into so it can wind it's way down into an awaiting cup for an instant hole in one. This was nothing but wide open fairways complete with divots and sand traps and water hazards.
I enlisted the company of a couple of friends (yeah for Anna and Ryan) who's golfing proficiency was similar to mine. We went to the River View Golf course right here in Santa Ana. Before moving into our house Sarah and I lived in an apartment with a view of the green on the second hole, so we saw plenty of golfers tackle the peaks and valleys of this fine course, some with a much greater degree of skill than others. The three of us checked in, payed our fees, got the keys to our carts and we were set. After a quick reprimand over the loud speaker for starting from the wrong tee box we were off and running. It took me a few swings to warm up, but once I did boy did that ball fly...about 50 feet right into a palm tree that it bounced off of and came rolling half way back. It was just another 8 or so quick strokes and a couple balls later and that baby was in the hole!
We didn't exactly play by traditional standard rules, in fact, as the game progressed I developed a couple of new rules that the PGA may want to consider adopting. First, if you yell mulligan (a golfing term that simply means a do-over) loud enough and quick enough, you can use it as many times as you need to, or want to. Second, when necessary you can pick up the ball and throw it and count it as a stroke. This one is a good rule because it combines multiple sports, thus broadening the demographic of golf enthusiasts. Finally, if you get to the ball before it stops moving you can still count it as the same stroke. This rule is particularly handy when putting.
Okay, so Tiger Woods I'm not, but I had fun doing it and that's all that really matters. We only had time to play the front nine. Par for those nine holes was 34. My score was a mere 81, give or take a couple dozen strokes. So with my amateur status firmly in place I would definitely love to go back for the back nine or even a full 18. I can certainly see why so many people love the game. It's a nice way to get out and enjoy a beautiful day. And let's face it, cruising around in a golf cart is just plain fun!
Watch out WPGA here I come! After years of nothing but putt-putt golf I felt it was finally time to graduate to the real thing. No windmills, no florescent colored balls, and no twisted labyrinth of pipes and tubes that the ball must be shot directly into so it can wind it's way down into an awaiting cup for an instant hole in one. This was nothing but wide open fairways complete with divots and sand traps and water hazards.
I enlisted the company of a couple of friends (yeah for Anna and Ryan) who's golfing proficiency was similar to mine. We went to the River View Golf course right here in Santa Ana. Before moving into our house Sarah and I lived in an apartment with a view of the green on the second hole, so we saw plenty of golfers tackle the peaks and valleys of this fine course, some with a much greater degree of skill than others. The three of us checked in, payed our fees, got the keys to our carts and we were set. After a quick reprimand over the loud speaker for starting from the wrong tee box we were off and running. It took me a few swings to warm up, but once I did boy did that ball fly...about 50 feet right into a palm tree that it bounced off of and came rolling half way back. It was just another 8 or so quick strokes and a couple balls later and that baby was in the hole!
We didn't exactly play by traditional standard rules, in fact, as the game progressed I developed a couple of new rules that the PGA may want to consider adopting. First, if you yell mulligan (a golfing term that simply means a do-over) loud enough and quick enough, you can use it as many times as you need to, or want to. Second, when necessary you can pick up the ball and throw it and count it as a stroke. This one is a good rule because it combines multiple sports, thus broadening the demographic of golf enthusiasts. Finally, if you get to the ball before it stops moving you can still count it as the same stroke. This rule is particularly handy when putting.
Okay, so Tiger Woods I'm not, but I had fun doing it and that's all that really matters. We only had time to play the front nine. Par for those nine holes was 34. My score was a mere 81, give or take a couple dozen strokes. So with my amateur status firmly in place I would definitely love to go back for the back nine or even a full 18. I can certainly see why so many people love the game. It's a nice way to get out and enjoy a beautiful day. And let's face it, cruising around in a golf cart is just plain fun!
Cleanliness is Next to Godliness
Day 10: Soap Carving
Soap is quite a multifaceted material. While it is used primarily for cleanliness, we also us it to lubricate, to decorate, to entertain (bubble soap, duh!) and even to discipline. It can be found as a solid, a liquid, and now even as a foam. And don't even get me started on the cornucopia of colors and fragrances. It's no wonder that soap is the medium of choice for many a would-be sculptor.
I always thought soap carving sounded like a fun activity, so once again I figured now would be an ideal time to try my hand at some not-so-fine art. Thanks to my years of traveling for work I had quite the stockpile of hotel sized toiletries, but nothing large enough to be considered a suitable canvas, so I bought my first bar of soap in about 6 years. My research told me that Ivory soap would be the best choice for my skill level due to its neutral pallet and its unassuming size and shape. I also made a stop at one of my favorite retailers, the 99 cent store (the other favorites being Goodwill and of course Target) and picked up some high quality soap carving utensils, otherwise known as a cheap manicure set. I have no idea what half the implements are traditionally meant to be used for but I can tell you they make ideal companions to the basic paring knife to round out my artist's toolbox.
Next I had to decide what to carve. It had to be something basic because, lets face it, I'm a true novice. But I didn't want it to be too simplistic, I still wanted something worth making. Again I turned to my friend the internet for ideas. There certainly is a vast array of extraneous information floating around on the world wide web, but once you filter through the excess it can actually be quite constructive.
After sketching out a basic design on the soap I began the slicing and scraping and scooping and so on and so forth. A little bit here and little bit there and a big pile of shavings later, and voila....
Okay, so I'm no Michelangelo, but I think for my first attempt I didn't do to shabby. I don't think soap carving is going to consume a great deal of my spare time (what little of it I actually have these days) but I wouldn't rule it out as a rainy day standby. So, don't be surprised if you find some fancy new guest soaps next time you come for visit at the Wiser Girls B&B.
Soap is quite a multifaceted material. While it is used primarily for cleanliness, we also us it to lubricate, to decorate, to entertain (bubble soap, duh!) and even to discipline. It can be found as a solid, a liquid, and now even as a foam. And don't even get me started on the cornucopia of colors and fragrances. It's no wonder that soap is the medium of choice for many a would-be sculptor.
I always thought soap carving sounded like a fun activity, so once again I figured now would be an ideal time to try my hand at some not-so-fine art. Thanks to my years of traveling for work I had quite the stockpile of hotel sized toiletries, but nothing large enough to be considered a suitable canvas, so I bought my first bar of soap in about 6 years. My research told me that Ivory soap would be the best choice for my skill level due to its neutral pallet and its unassuming size and shape. I also made a stop at one of my favorite retailers, the 99 cent store (the other favorites being Goodwill and of course Target) and picked up some high quality soap carving utensils, otherwise known as a cheap manicure set. I have no idea what half the implements are traditionally meant to be used for but I can tell you they make ideal companions to the basic paring knife to round out my artist's toolbox.
Next I had to decide what to carve. It had to be something basic because, lets face it, I'm a true novice. But I didn't want it to be too simplistic, I still wanted something worth making. Again I turned to my friend the internet for ideas. There certainly is a vast array of extraneous information floating around on the world wide web, but once you filter through the excess it can actually be quite constructive.
After sketching out a basic design on the soap I began the slicing and scraping and scooping and so on and so forth. A little bit here and little bit there and a big pile of shavings later, and voila....
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVK7Pb22ffDWphV1qKnGJvYZCnlfLK5aXfZiL6y1jyYqoQee2gCR_dRcpWj15b_dvQfvATU-iPNWdI8bpQagdt81AqYvJur-mBZYQeB2qI7grfSpt25p2dSdiePkYWIGFlfRAT0jkbu30/s640/soap+turtle.jpg)
Okay, so I'm no Michelangelo, but I think for my first attempt I didn't do to shabby. I don't think soap carving is going to consume a great deal of my spare time (what little of it I actually have these days) but I wouldn't rule it out as a rainy day standby. So, don't be surprised if you find some fancy new guest soaps next time you come for visit at the Wiser Girls B&B.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
Day 9: Play the Lottery
I can see the headlines now, "Orange County Resident Hits the Jackpot." Today's California Lottery Mega Millions jackpot was at 54 million dollars. I have been know to make reference to someday when I'm independently wealthy. Well, here's my chance. I've played scratchers now and again, but never the honest-to-gosh lottery, and we all know that's where the real money is.
What would I do with all that money you ask? That's an excellent question, deserving of an equally excellent answer. First I would pay off all my debts. No more mortgage, no more school loans, no more car payments. Now that's a life I could get used to! Next I would probably take care of my parent's debts, seeing as how many of them were incurred on my behalf anyway. Now for the fun stuff. Quitting my job would be first on the list, followed up with some serious world traveling. Then, of course, there's the major purchases. A motorhome (to assist in the world traveling), top of the line photography equipment (to document said traveling), followed up with some major home improvements (so I have a nice place to return to from my travels). There would also be some major purchases made on behalf of my close friends and family, but I won't go into detail about that so as not to ruin the surprise.
Now, to win such a large jackpot requires equal parts of strategy and luck. Picking your numbers must be done with a great amount of thought and consideration. My picks were as follows:
3-for my 3 nephews
9-This one's a double whammy. Today is the 9th day of my challenge and my birthday is on the 9th.
18-This is the sum of the digits in the year I was born
21-there are 21 days left till my birthday
37- stay with me on this one, it's the sum of my initials, LAW. If you assign each letter a number based on its alphabetical order, then add those numbers up you get 37
Finally, for my Mega number I chose 30, of course.
That pretty much covered me on the strategy component, so to take care of the luck part. I bought a second ticket with the computer generated quick picks.
After patronizing my local 7-eleven I headed home with my lucky ticket in hand and waited with anticipation for the numbers to be drawn later this evening. Promptly at 8:00 we tuned in to see if I won my millions. The results? Two of my numbers were a match! I couldn't believe it. I quickly went online to see what matching 2 of the numbers wins. My excitement, however, was short lived when I found out that only matching two numbers does not qualify for any prize. So, for now, I will go back to life as usual. My days of being independently wealthy will have to wait. I didn't actually think I was going to win, but it's always fun to dream.
I can see the headlines now, "Orange County Resident Hits the Jackpot." Today's California Lottery Mega Millions jackpot was at 54 million dollars. I have been know to make reference to someday when I'm independently wealthy. Well, here's my chance. I've played scratchers now and again, but never the honest-to-gosh lottery, and we all know that's where the real money is.
What would I do with all that money you ask? That's an excellent question, deserving of an equally excellent answer. First I would pay off all my debts. No more mortgage, no more school loans, no more car payments. Now that's a life I could get used to! Next I would probably take care of my parent's debts, seeing as how many of them were incurred on my behalf anyway. Now for the fun stuff. Quitting my job would be first on the list, followed up with some serious world traveling. Then, of course, there's the major purchases. A motorhome (to assist in the world traveling), top of the line photography equipment (to document said traveling), followed up with some major home improvements (so I have a nice place to return to from my travels). There would also be some major purchases made on behalf of my close friends and family, but I won't go into detail about that so as not to ruin the surprise.
Now, to win such a large jackpot requires equal parts of strategy and luck. Picking your numbers must be done with a great amount of thought and consideration. My picks were as follows:
3-for my 3 nephews
9-This one's a double whammy. Today is the 9th day of my challenge and my birthday is on the 9th.
18-This is the sum of the digits in the year I was born
21-there are 21 days left till my birthday
37- stay with me on this one, it's the sum of my initials, LAW. If you assign each letter a number based on its alphabetical order, then add those numbers up you get 37
Finally, for my Mega number I chose 30, of course.
That pretty much covered me on the strategy component, so to take care of the luck part. I bought a second ticket with the computer generated quick picks.
After patronizing my local 7-eleven I headed home with my lucky ticket in hand and waited with anticipation for the numbers to be drawn later this evening. Promptly at 8:00 we tuned in to see if I won my millions. The results? Two of my numbers were a match! I couldn't believe it. I quickly went online to see what matching 2 of the numbers wins. My excitement, however, was short lived when I found out that only matching two numbers does not qualify for any prize. So, for now, I will go back to life as usual. My days of being independently wealthy will have to wait. I didn't actually think I was going to win, but it's always fun to dream.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Rock On
Day 8: Download Music off the Internet
I've said it all along. I'm a crotchety old woman, stuck in a young (or in 22 days, not so young) person's body. While I have embraced so many wonderful technological advances, my old fashioned sensibilities are still holding out on a few of today's latest fads. I am part of an elite few who prefer a person to person phone call over a new-fandangled text message. As many of you know I only recently joined the Facebook band wagon. And all this tweeting and twittering going on quite frankly sounds to me a little cuckoo. So, when I got a card with 50 free music downloads it didn't really mean much to me. However, besides being a bit of an old curmudgeon, I am also openly lazy and cheap. Those qualities all came together in perfect harmony to create a prime opportunity for me to try my hand at downloading music off the internet for the first time.
I don't really even listen to that much music. Sarah can attest to the fact that the radio in my car is off the majority of the time. Deciding what I wanted to use my free downloads on turned out to be quite the monumentous task since I don't keep a running list of my favorite tunes. Plus, the site that I had the free downloads on was no itunes. It had very limited selections, and once I did find something I liked it was available with "paid credits only." (If you don't understand why this would be a problem let me refer back to my aforementioned cheapness.)
When all was said and done I ended up with quite a varied play-list. I started off with a classic, Chris Isaak's "Forever Blue." This was an album I had a while back (thank you Amy!) that somehow got lost along with all my other CD's and a replacement was long overdue. Next I selected an album from a group called Downhere (yes, it's written with no space in between). I already had one of their albums, so I thought I'd give this one a go. My third full album was "Blast" the soundtrack recording of a musical stage show. Someone in the show once described it to me as "drum corp on crack." It opens with "Bolero" and just keeps getting better from there. Finally, I finished with Tenth Avenue North and their album, "Over and Underneath." The two songs on the album that I really wanted were only available if I downloaded the entire album, so that's what I did.
I am now officially a true member of the digital age. It's only a matter of time before I'm watching live streaming video and downloading movies. I wouldn't get too excited about my new-found technological freedom though. While the vast majority of people would take their newly acquired tunes and load them directly onto their iPod or MP3 player or some other fancy gadget, I will be burning mine onto a good old fashioned Compact Disc to be played in a good old fashioned single disc CD player. Will I download again? Perhaps. If I do, will it be only when it's free? Definitely.
I've said it all along. I'm a crotchety old woman, stuck in a young (or in 22 days, not so young) person's body. While I have embraced so many wonderful technological advances, my old fashioned sensibilities are still holding out on a few of today's latest fads. I am part of an elite few who prefer a person to person phone call over a new-fandangled text message. As many of you know I only recently joined the Facebook band wagon. And all this tweeting and twittering going on quite frankly sounds to me a little cuckoo. So, when I got a card with 50 free music downloads it didn't really mean much to me. However, besides being a bit of an old curmudgeon, I am also openly lazy and cheap. Those qualities all came together in perfect harmony to create a prime opportunity for me to try my hand at downloading music off the internet for the first time.
I don't really even listen to that much music. Sarah can attest to the fact that the radio in my car is off the majority of the time. Deciding what I wanted to use my free downloads on turned out to be quite the monumentous task since I don't keep a running list of my favorite tunes. Plus, the site that I had the free downloads on was no itunes. It had very limited selections, and once I did find something I liked it was available with "paid credits only." (If you don't understand why this would be a problem let me refer back to my aforementioned cheapness.)
When all was said and done I ended up with quite a varied play-list. I started off with a classic, Chris Isaak's "Forever Blue." This was an album I had a while back (thank you Amy!) that somehow got lost along with all my other CD's and a replacement was long overdue. Next I selected an album from a group called Downhere (yes, it's written with no space in between). I already had one of their albums, so I thought I'd give this one a go. My third full album was "Blast" the soundtrack recording of a musical stage show. Someone in the show once described it to me as "drum corp on crack." It opens with "Bolero" and just keeps getting better from there. Finally, I finished with Tenth Avenue North and their album, "Over and Underneath." The two songs on the album that I really wanted were only available if I downloaded the entire album, so that's what I did.
I am now officially a true member of the digital age. It's only a matter of time before I'm watching live streaming video and downloading movies. I wouldn't get too excited about my new-found technological freedom though. While the vast majority of people would take their newly acquired tunes and load them directly onto their iPod or MP3 player or some other fancy gadget, I will be burning mine onto a good old fashioned Compact Disc to be played in a good old fashioned single disc CD player. Will I download again? Perhaps. If I do, will it be only when it's free? Definitely.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Pastoral Appreciation
Day 7: Send a card to my Pastor
My Youth Pastor (what up Hoppis!) had this activity he liked to have us try called Flowers for the Living. He had a theory, and I would tend to agree with him, that we as a society have a bad habit of waiting until someone is dead to tell them how much they mean to us. As we place flowers on the grave we share wonderful memories and generous compliments about a person's life. But it does the person no good at that point. So, in Flowers for the Living the rules were simple, everyone would take turns saying what they like or appreciate about a certain person, and the person receiving the compliments could do nothing except sit there and listen. It was definitely a compelling experience for all involved. What I took from this exercise is that we shouldn't wait until it's too late to let people know how important they are to us. Therefore, for today's new thing I decided to send a card to my pastor. (My current pastor not my old youth pastor, although as I write this I realize it would not be a bad idea to send one to him as well!)
Sending a note or a card of appreciation to my pastor is one of those things that I always had good intentions of doing, but simply never did anything about, until now. In today's digital world I could have just sent him an email, or a facebook message, or even a text message, but those are not my style. I am a card person. I like looking through the racks of hallmark greetings and selecting just the right one for the person and the occasion. Plus, we get emails and messages every day, but how often do we get an unexpected card in the mail. Who doesn't love that?
I filled out the card, addressed it, stuck a stamp on it and popped it in the mail. And that was the end of that. For a new experience there wasn't much to it. But for this particular task I think the significance isn't in the doing but the knowing, knowing that in a couple of days someone is going to get an unexpected surprise that will hopefully lift his spirits and brighten his day and just generally make him feel good. That knowledge is enough to lift my spirits and brighten my day and just generally make me feel good, and make me want to do it again and again and again.
My Youth Pastor (what up Hoppis!) had this activity he liked to have us try called Flowers for the Living. He had a theory, and I would tend to agree with him, that we as a society have a bad habit of waiting until someone is dead to tell them how much they mean to us. As we place flowers on the grave we share wonderful memories and generous compliments about a person's life. But it does the person no good at that point. So, in Flowers for the Living the rules were simple, everyone would take turns saying what they like or appreciate about a certain person, and the person receiving the compliments could do nothing except sit there and listen. It was definitely a compelling experience for all involved. What I took from this exercise is that we shouldn't wait until it's too late to let people know how important they are to us. Therefore, for today's new thing I decided to send a card to my pastor. (My current pastor not my old youth pastor, although as I write this I realize it would not be a bad idea to send one to him as well!)
Sending a note or a card of appreciation to my pastor is one of those things that I always had good intentions of doing, but simply never did anything about, until now. In today's digital world I could have just sent him an email, or a facebook message, or even a text message, but those are not my style. I am a card person. I like looking through the racks of hallmark greetings and selecting just the right one for the person and the occasion. Plus, we get emails and messages every day, but how often do we get an unexpected card in the mail. Who doesn't love that?
I filled out the card, addressed it, stuck a stamp on it and popped it in the mail. And that was the end of that. For a new experience there wasn't much to it. But for this particular task I think the significance isn't in the doing but the knowing, knowing that in a couple of days someone is going to get an unexpected surprise that will hopefully lift his spirits and brighten his day and just generally make him feel good. That knowledge is enough to lift my spirits and brighten my day and just generally make me feel good, and make me want to do it again and again and again.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Incredible Edible Egg
Day 6: Poached Eggs
"How would you like your eggs?" the waitress would ask, to which I would reply, "scrambled," always "scrambled!" I've had them fried. I've had them hard boiled. I've had them deviled, wait, make that stuffed (thank you to the egg man Mr. Bob Harris for that gentle correction) And, of course, I've had them scrambled. But until today the poached egg had eluded me.
I don't really know why I had never tried a poached egg. I suppose the situation had just never presented itself. Growing up we were just always given scrambled eggs. I can definitely see why it would be easier when faced with the task of feeding the hungry mob that is my family, to crack a dozen or so eggs, scramble them and serve them rather than individually poach or fry them all and serve them up one by one. Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming to have been deprived in any way, culinarily speaking (yeah, I'm pretty sure I just made that word up) There were endless variations of the classic scrambled egg. Among my favorites were Bacon in the Eggs, a pretty self explanatory dish with chopped up bacon cooked into the eggs. And who can forget Grandma Eggs. I'm sure everyone has their own interpretation of this dish. For us this meant green onions finely chopped and cooked into the fluffy mounds of eggs, still a delicious combo to this day. However, I think what made Grandma's eggs the most special was when we got to whip them up ourselves with the old hand crank beaters. I gotta get me some of those!
Never-the-less, as delicious as any one of the other egg preparation options would be, I decided today would be the day that I would broaden my culinary horizons. Today I would poach an egg...then eat it.
I knew the basic principle behind poached eggs. It's the contents of an egg dropped into boiling water. However, to make sure I wasn't missing a vital component I did my research online in search of any other tips or tricks that would improve my final product. Aside from using some sort of egg poaching apparatus there was not too much useful advice to be found. I did find something that said to place a mason jar ring at the bottom so the egg would fall into it and thus remain mostly in tact. However, I do not own a lid to a mason jar, nor was I going to buy one on the mere chance that it would work. So what did I do? I did what any sensible person would do. I just decided to wing it.
I got out the pot and got the water almost boiling (but not all the way cause that's what the internet said) The first egg went in, at which point it immediately began to fly apart as partially cooked egg shrapnel went everywhere in a white frothy mess. I used a slotted spoon to scoop out most of the renegade egg bits, and what I found underneath was the remainder of what seemed to be a perfectly formed poached egg!
For my second attempt I thought I'd experiment a little. Perhaps I would be the chosen one, the one to come up with the ultimate user friendly technique for the perfect poached egg. I was not. I tried putting an egg at the bottom of a mug then pouring the boiling water on it hoping the mug would help the egg retain its shape and most of its contents while cooking. However, once the water hit the cold egg the egg did more to cool the water than the water did to cook the egg. Oh well, it was only one egg. No big loss.
My third attempt, however, was pure genius if I do say so myself. I got my water back up to a boil, then instead of cracking the egg directly into the water I put it into a soup ladle, then gently poured the egg into the water. Ta-Da! It worked. Minimal shrapnel, maximum egg magnificence. Don't believe me? Try it. You'll never poach and egg the same way again.
The only thing left to do now was eat them. So I scraped the burnt part off my toast (an integral part of this particular dish as it it necessary for scooping, scraping, and soaking up the yoke) and poured myself a big glass of milk (the most important part of any balanced breakfast.) I would have to say, as an overall impression, poached eggs are not bad. I particularly enjoyed the light and fluffy airiness of the egg whites. I don't know that I'll be waking up each morning to a piping hot breakfast of poached eggs but there is a distinct possibility that I will poach again.
"How would you like your eggs?" the waitress would ask, to which I would reply, "scrambled," always "scrambled!" I've had them fried. I've had them hard boiled. I've had them deviled, wait, make that stuffed (thank you to the egg man Mr. Bob Harris for that gentle correction) And, of course, I've had them scrambled. But until today the poached egg had eluded me.
I don't really know why I had never tried a poached egg. I suppose the situation had just never presented itself. Growing up we were just always given scrambled eggs. I can definitely see why it would be easier when faced with the task of feeding the hungry mob that is my family, to crack a dozen or so eggs, scramble them and serve them rather than individually poach or fry them all and serve them up one by one. Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming to have been deprived in any way, culinarily speaking (yeah, I'm pretty sure I just made that word up) There were endless variations of the classic scrambled egg. Among my favorites were Bacon in the Eggs, a pretty self explanatory dish with chopped up bacon cooked into the eggs. And who can forget Grandma Eggs. I'm sure everyone has their own interpretation of this dish. For us this meant green onions finely chopped and cooked into the fluffy mounds of eggs, still a delicious combo to this day. However, I think what made Grandma's eggs the most special was when we got to whip them up ourselves with the old hand crank beaters. I gotta get me some of those!
Never-the-less, as delicious as any one of the other egg preparation options would be, I decided today would be the day that I would broaden my culinary horizons. Today I would poach an egg...then eat it.
I knew the basic principle behind poached eggs. It's the contents of an egg dropped into boiling water. However, to make sure I wasn't missing a vital component I did my research online in search of any other tips or tricks that would improve my final product. Aside from using some sort of egg poaching apparatus there was not too much useful advice to be found. I did find something that said to place a mason jar ring at the bottom so the egg would fall into it and thus remain mostly in tact. However, I do not own a lid to a mason jar, nor was I going to buy one on the mere chance that it would work. So what did I do? I did what any sensible person would do. I just decided to wing it.
I got out the pot and got the water almost boiling (but not all the way cause that's what the internet said) The first egg went in, at which point it immediately began to fly apart as partially cooked egg shrapnel went everywhere in a white frothy mess. I used a slotted spoon to scoop out most of the renegade egg bits, and what I found underneath was the remainder of what seemed to be a perfectly formed poached egg!
For my second attempt I thought I'd experiment a little. Perhaps I would be the chosen one, the one to come up with the ultimate user friendly technique for the perfect poached egg. I was not. I tried putting an egg at the bottom of a mug then pouring the boiling water on it hoping the mug would help the egg retain its shape and most of its contents while cooking. However, once the water hit the cold egg the egg did more to cool the water than the water did to cook the egg. Oh well, it was only one egg. No big loss.
My third attempt, however, was pure genius if I do say so myself. I got my water back up to a boil, then instead of cracking the egg directly into the water I put it into a soup ladle, then gently poured the egg into the water. Ta-Da! It worked. Minimal shrapnel, maximum egg magnificence. Don't believe me? Try it. You'll never poach and egg the same way again.
The only thing left to do now was eat them. So I scraped the burnt part off my toast (an integral part of this particular dish as it it necessary for scooping, scraping, and soaking up the yoke) and poured myself a big glass of milk (the most important part of any balanced breakfast.) I would have to say, as an overall impression, poached eggs are not bad. I particularly enjoyed the light and fluffy airiness of the egg whites. I don't know that I'll be waking up each morning to a piping hot breakfast of poached eggs but there is a distinct possibility that I will poach again.
Monday, September 13, 2010
This Whole Court is Out of Order
Day 5: Jury Duty
With quotes like "Just the facts ma'am." and "You can't handle the truth!" and "This whole court is out of order!" swirling around in my head in a grand whirlwind of courtroom dramas you can imagine my excitement when my jury summons arrived in the mail. Well, okay, it didn't go exactly that way. Actually, I didn't even know the summons had arrived until I found it stashed away on a shelf (thank you Sarah) and I wasn't exactly excited, more concerned with how jury duty would fit into my schedule, and still allow me to pay my ever present stack of bills. However, once the day to fulfill my civic duty finally arrived I was intrigued to find out more about the process that makes this country what it is.
I was summoned to the Orange County Central Justice Center, which luckily for me is just a couple blocks from my house, so while the 7:45 am arrival time was not a welcome requirement, I was in a much better predicament than many of my fellow prospective jurors. As I followed the crowd of people from the parking structure to the courthouse, I couldn't help but notice I was the only one that didn't seem to mind having to be there, and what's more even be somewhat exited about the experience.
We were checked in, given our orientation (not quite the riveting presentation I was hoping for) then within a short while the first pools of prospective jurors were called and given their courtroom assignments. I listened intently for my name, that is until I realized they were calling people in alphabetical order at which time I went back to my magazine until they got to somewhere around Mr. Van Tran. Then like roll call in elementary school they said, "Lindsay Wiser," to which I replied, "Here" and off I went to my assigned courtroom.
216, that was my official juror number assigned to me as we filed into the court room. It was everything I had imagined, complete with bailiffs and lawyers and a stenographer (I still can't comprehend how they do what they do.) We all rose, got sworn in, sat down, then rose again as the honorable Judge Something-or-Other entered the courtroom. He then proceeded to inform us about the nature of the case.
First he told us it was a criminal case. I immediately got excited, this would be much more interesting than a boring civil matter. Then he stated it would be a murder trial. Wow, even more excitement mixed with a little nervousness. That's a lot of pressure. Finally the judge told us that this was a cold case in which the woman was murdered in 1983 and the courts were now prosecuting her husband for the crime. That did it, this was officially cool and I think I was officially the only one in the room who thought so. While everyone else was trying to come up with their reasons for not being able to sit on the jury of what was expected to be a month long case, I was attempting to figure out some way to make it feasible. But alas, those nagging financial obligations reared their ugly heads and I was forced to claim extreme hardship and get excused from the case.
So now, as I reflect upon my experience of fulfilling my civic duty I am glad to have it behind me, but also delighted by the prospect of future service. Part of me was bummed that is was over so quickly. I couldn't help but be intrigued by all the different people going about their business in the courthouse. I wanted to listen in on everyone's conversations. I wanted to know everyone's story. Why were they there? Were they being tried for something? Do they have a loved one on trial, or are they the family of the victim? For now I will just have to be content with my minor participation in the legal process. I only hope that the next time I receive that infamous beige slip of paper I will finally be independently wealthy and able to fully experience our justice system in action.
With quotes like "Just the facts ma'am." and "You can't handle the truth!" and "This whole court is out of order!" swirling around in my head in a grand whirlwind of courtroom dramas you can imagine my excitement when my jury summons arrived in the mail. Well, okay, it didn't go exactly that way. Actually, I didn't even know the summons had arrived until I found it stashed away on a shelf (thank you Sarah) and I wasn't exactly excited, more concerned with how jury duty would fit into my schedule, and still allow me to pay my ever present stack of bills. However, once the day to fulfill my civic duty finally arrived I was intrigued to find out more about the process that makes this country what it is.
I was summoned to the Orange County Central Justice Center, which luckily for me is just a couple blocks from my house, so while the 7:45 am arrival time was not a welcome requirement, I was in a much better predicament than many of my fellow prospective jurors. As I followed the crowd of people from the parking structure to the courthouse, I couldn't help but notice I was the only one that didn't seem to mind having to be there, and what's more even be somewhat exited about the experience.
We were checked in, given our orientation (not quite the riveting presentation I was hoping for) then within a short while the first pools of prospective jurors were called and given their courtroom assignments. I listened intently for my name, that is until I realized they were calling people in alphabetical order at which time I went back to my magazine until they got to somewhere around Mr. Van Tran. Then like roll call in elementary school they said, "Lindsay Wiser," to which I replied, "Here" and off I went to my assigned courtroom.
216, that was my official juror number assigned to me as we filed into the court room. It was everything I had imagined, complete with bailiffs and lawyers and a stenographer (I still can't comprehend how they do what they do.) We all rose, got sworn in, sat down, then rose again as the honorable Judge Something-or-Other entered the courtroom. He then proceeded to inform us about the nature of the case.
First he told us it was a criminal case. I immediately got excited, this would be much more interesting than a boring civil matter. Then he stated it would be a murder trial. Wow, even more excitement mixed with a little nervousness. That's a lot of pressure. Finally the judge told us that this was a cold case in which the woman was murdered in 1983 and the courts were now prosecuting her husband for the crime. That did it, this was officially cool and I think I was officially the only one in the room who thought so. While everyone else was trying to come up with their reasons for not being able to sit on the jury of what was expected to be a month long case, I was attempting to figure out some way to make it feasible. But alas, those nagging financial obligations reared their ugly heads and I was forced to claim extreme hardship and get excused from the case.
So now, as I reflect upon my experience of fulfilling my civic duty I am glad to have it behind me, but also delighted by the prospect of future service. Part of me was bummed that is was over so quickly. I couldn't help but be intrigued by all the different people going about their business in the courthouse. I wanted to listen in on everyone's conversations. I wanted to know everyone's story. Why were they there? Were they being tried for something? Do they have a loved one on trial, or are they the family of the victim? For now I will just have to be content with my minor participation in the legal process. I only hope that the next time I receive that infamous beige slip of paper I will finally be independently wealthy and able to fully experience our justice system in action.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Can't We All Just Get Along
Day 4: Museum of Tolerance
Sarah and I were watching a movie one day (I think it might have been Freedom Writers, about the kids in Long Beach that wrote a bunch of essays that got published into a book) and the characters in the film went to a place called the Museum of Tolerance where they learned all about the holocaust and what the Jewish people went through. We both turned to each other and said that would be an interesting place to go. So, that night the Museum of Tolerance got put on the ol' To-Do list. You know the one. It's the list of things you say, "we should do that someday!" Only someday never seems to come, and the list just keeps growing with nothing ever getting crossed off. Enter my 30 new things in 30 days challenge. I can now successfully cross one thing off my ever growing list of extra curricular activities.
Unfortunately Sarah had to work so she wasn't able to go with me, so I enlisted the company of a friend (thank you Anna) to join me on my little adventure. The museum is in Los Angeles, so by the time we got there and found the place we didn't have a lot of time to explore. ( For those of you who mistakenly lump together anything south of the Grape Vine as Los Angeles, I actually live in Orange County so there was a bit of drive time involved to get to the museum.) We were able to check out two of the main exhibits, most important of which, and the whole reason for wanting to go there was the Holocaust exhibit.
The exhibit takes you on a journey from the time before the war began and how Hitler rose to power, through to the end with stories of many different fates. It was interesting to learn a little more about the events and history leading up to the Holocaust. Perhaps the most interesting aspect was the way it was constructed. As you walk through the exhibit you are led down halls and rooms and through gates that are replicas of what the victims of the Holocaust would have experienced. The authenticity of it all brings you to a striking sense of the reality of what these people went through.
Overall I would say that the Museum of Tolerance is definitely worth the effort. Even if it weren't for the fact that there is an entire exhibit that I didn't have time to see, it wouldn't take much to convince me to go again. And, as a bonus, it's not that far from Pink's Hot Dogs. If you don't know what that is you're missing out. It's a famous hot dog stand in LA, and it got that way for a reason. It was DELICIOUS. Huge, greasy, fattening and delicious! Now if the decision to fill your body with that type of cuisine is revolting to you well then I say you should just learn to be a little more tolerant.
Sarah and I were watching a movie one day (I think it might have been Freedom Writers, about the kids in Long Beach that wrote a bunch of essays that got published into a book) and the characters in the film went to a place called the Museum of Tolerance where they learned all about the holocaust and what the Jewish people went through. We both turned to each other and said that would be an interesting place to go. So, that night the Museum of Tolerance got put on the ol' To-Do list. You know the one. It's the list of things you say, "we should do that someday!" Only someday never seems to come, and the list just keeps growing with nothing ever getting crossed off. Enter my 30 new things in 30 days challenge. I can now successfully cross one thing off my ever growing list of extra curricular activities.
Unfortunately Sarah had to work so she wasn't able to go with me, so I enlisted the company of a friend (thank you Anna) to join me on my little adventure. The museum is in Los Angeles, so by the time we got there and found the place we didn't have a lot of time to explore. ( For those of you who mistakenly lump together anything south of the Grape Vine as Los Angeles, I actually live in Orange County so there was a bit of drive time involved to get to the museum.) We were able to check out two of the main exhibits, most important of which, and the whole reason for wanting to go there was the Holocaust exhibit.
The exhibit takes you on a journey from the time before the war began and how Hitler rose to power, through to the end with stories of many different fates. It was interesting to learn a little more about the events and history leading up to the Holocaust. Perhaps the most interesting aspect was the way it was constructed. As you walk through the exhibit you are led down halls and rooms and through gates that are replicas of what the victims of the Holocaust would have experienced. The authenticity of it all brings you to a striking sense of the reality of what these people went through.
Overall I would say that the Museum of Tolerance is definitely worth the effort. Even if it weren't for the fact that there is an entire exhibit that I didn't have time to see, it wouldn't take much to convince me to go again. And, as a bonus, it's not that far from Pink's Hot Dogs. If you don't know what that is you're missing out. It's a famous hot dog stand in LA, and it got that way for a reason. It was DELICIOUS. Huge, greasy, fattening and delicious! Now if the decision to fill your body with that type of cuisine is revolting to you well then I say you should just learn to be a little more tolerant.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Nothin' Says Lovin' Like Somethin' from the Oven
Day 3: Make cookies for my neighbors.
We all have them, most of us acknowledge them when we see them, some of us know their names, and a few of us are even friends with them. Neighbors can be one of life's greatest blessings, or one of its worst curses. Out of all the places I've lived I've only known a handful of my neighbors by name, but that hardly counts because half of those people I knew before we moved in (shout out to Arnold and Kari) and another one didn't speak any English.
So, when we bought this house, and the concept of living in one place for an extended period of time was a very real possibility, I decided this would be the place that I would finally get to know my neighbors. I got off to a good start. Within a couple weeks of living here I had met and learned the names of a couple of the people in the houses on either side of us. However, it didn't take long for the first name basis to dwindle to the polite head nod across the yard. And I fear that if things were to continue in their current state of decline even the friendly gestures over the fence would soon be nothing but fond memories.
It was time. Drastic measures must be taken. Okay so maybe a simple gesture like making some cookies and taking them to your neighbors isn't exactly drastic, but it's a step in the right direction.
I decided to make sugar cookies. My reasons for choosing this variety of cookie were twofold. First, the recipe I have is super quick and easy. Second, and perhaps more importantly, the sugar cookie dough is scrumdidlyupmtions! I got them all baked and plated up and ready for delivery. There was nothing left to do now but walk next door and hand over the goods. Would they be home? What would I say? Would they speak English? (not an absurd question if you know my neighborhood)
Good news! They were home. I told them I made some cookies and I wanted to give them some. And, they did speak English, fluently. Furthermore, I learned a couple more names, which I promptly came home and wrote down so as not to forget them!
Overall I would say the activity of making cookies for my neighbors was a superb idea (kudos to whoever it was that suggested it) and one definitely worthy of repeating. In fact I don't think it would be out of the question to say that from now on, whenever I make cookies, there will be a plate of them set aside for my good friends next door. Of course that could be a long time off since about 90% of the times I make cookies they don't actually make it past the dough stage!
We all have them, most of us acknowledge them when we see them, some of us know their names, and a few of us are even friends with them. Neighbors can be one of life's greatest blessings, or one of its worst curses. Out of all the places I've lived I've only known a handful of my neighbors by name, but that hardly counts because half of those people I knew before we moved in (shout out to Arnold and Kari) and another one didn't speak any English.
So, when we bought this house, and the concept of living in one place for an extended period of time was a very real possibility, I decided this would be the place that I would finally get to know my neighbors. I got off to a good start. Within a couple weeks of living here I had met and learned the names of a couple of the people in the houses on either side of us. However, it didn't take long for the first name basis to dwindle to the polite head nod across the yard. And I fear that if things were to continue in their current state of decline even the friendly gestures over the fence would soon be nothing but fond memories.
It was time. Drastic measures must be taken. Okay so maybe a simple gesture like making some cookies and taking them to your neighbors isn't exactly drastic, but it's a step in the right direction.
I decided to make sugar cookies. My reasons for choosing this variety of cookie were twofold. First, the recipe I have is super quick and easy. Second, and perhaps more importantly, the sugar cookie dough is scrumdidlyupmtions! I got them all baked and plated up and ready for delivery. There was nothing left to do now but walk next door and hand over the goods. Would they be home? What would I say? Would they speak English? (not an absurd question if you know my neighborhood)
Good news! They were home. I told them I made some cookies and I wanted to give them some. And, they did speak English, fluently. Furthermore, I learned a couple more names, which I promptly came home and wrote down so as not to forget them!
Overall I would say the activity of making cookies for my neighbors was a superb idea (kudos to whoever it was that suggested it) and one definitely worthy of repeating. In fact I don't think it would be out of the question to say that from now on, whenever I make cookies, there will be a plate of them set aside for my good friends next door. Of course that could be a long time off since about 90% of the times I make cookies they don't actually make it past the dough stage!
Friday, September 10, 2010
Snap, Crackle, Pop
Day 2: Make Rice Crispy Treats
Was it a coincidence that I chose to make a delicious sugary treat for my new activity the day after fasting, possibly. Was is a subconscious decision on behalf of my deeply rooted sweet tooth, probably. Was it a wise choice no matter how I arrived at it, definitely.
Now I know what you're thinking. It is virtually impossible to believe that I have gone almost 30 years without ever making something as simple as a rice crispy treat. It's a childhood right of passage. It's an easy to make, late night indulgence. It's a freakin' rice crispy treat for goodness sake, who hasn't made one! Well, until today the answer to that question would be ME!
So I found the directions online, bought my ingredients (gotta love Target) and dove right in. First I had to decide whether I would utilize the old fashion stove-top method, or opt for the quick and modern microwave way. I chose the stove-top in order to truly be able to enjoy the slow melting gooey fabulousness of the marshmallow mixture. I also decided to use the miniature marshmallows assuming that they would melt down faster and get me to the finished product sooner. While I'm still certain of that assumption, in hindsight choosing standard size marshmallows probably would have provided me with a more captivating marshmallow melting experience.
A little melting, a lot of stirring, pour, scrape, squish and voila I've made my first batch of rice crispy treats...ever. However, did I stop there? Of course not. Batch two: Peanut butter chocolate chip rice crispy treats. No recipe here, just my own mad scientist mind throwing stuff in to see what I could concoct. And now the results...
So here are my final thoughts after all the marshmallowy mayhem is said and done. Traditional rice crispy treats are more fun to make than they are to eat. When you factor in the cleanup process, I'd sooner just eat a bowl of the cereal with a hearty helping of ice cold milk (mmmm...MILK!) My peanut butter chocolate variation, on the other hand, was pure culinary genius. When you combine the improved taste to the fact that it was immensely more fascinating to watch the melting marshmallows swirl into the smooth peanut butter deliciousness than it was when they just melted down on their own into a hot gooey mess, peanut butter chocolate are the only rice crispy treats I foresee in my future.
Now comes the toughest part of the entire process, deciding whether I should go clean up my mess now, or leave it for Sarah to do tomorrow. I think we all know the answer to that!
Was it a coincidence that I chose to make a delicious sugary treat for my new activity the day after fasting, possibly. Was is a subconscious decision on behalf of my deeply rooted sweet tooth, probably. Was it a wise choice no matter how I arrived at it, definitely.
Now I know what you're thinking. It is virtually impossible to believe that I have gone almost 30 years without ever making something as simple as a rice crispy treat. It's a childhood right of passage. It's an easy to make, late night indulgence. It's a freakin' rice crispy treat for goodness sake, who hasn't made one! Well, until today the answer to that question would be ME!
So I found the directions online, bought my ingredients (gotta love Target) and dove right in. First I had to decide whether I would utilize the old fashion stove-top method, or opt for the quick and modern microwave way. I chose the stove-top in order to truly be able to enjoy the slow melting gooey fabulousness of the marshmallow mixture. I also decided to use the miniature marshmallows assuming that they would melt down faster and get me to the finished product sooner. While I'm still certain of that assumption, in hindsight choosing standard size marshmallows probably would have provided me with a more captivating marshmallow melting experience.
A little melting, a lot of stirring, pour, scrape, squish and voila I've made my first batch of rice crispy treats...ever. However, did I stop there? Of course not. Batch two: Peanut butter chocolate chip rice crispy treats. No recipe here, just my own mad scientist mind throwing stuff in to see what I could concoct. And now the results...
So here are my final thoughts after all the marshmallowy mayhem is said and done. Traditional rice crispy treats are more fun to make than they are to eat. When you factor in the cleanup process, I'd sooner just eat a bowl of the cereal with a hearty helping of ice cold milk (mmmm...MILK!) My peanut butter chocolate variation, on the other hand, was pure culinary genius. When you combine the improved taste to the fact that it was immensely more fascinating to watch the melting marshmallows swirl into the smooth peanut butter deliciousness than it was when they just melted down on their own into a hot gooey mess, peanut butter chocolate are the only rice crispy treats I foresee in my future.
Now comes the toughest part of the entire process, deciding whether I should go clean up my mess now, or leave it for Sarah to do tomorrow. I think we all know the answer to that!
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