I am a man that enjoys food. Not in the 'I love wings and hotdogs and lite beer' sort of way that men normally enjoy food. I love cooking food, exquisite menus and unprocessed, whole foods. I love the different tastes and textures and colors and smells. I love the process of turning different ingredients into one amazing meal.
And I love doing that with friends.
This past weekend, me and two of my closest friends got together and cooked dinner for our significant others. We all love food, and we all love creating and cooking food together. Each of us are food snobs in our own way, which makes the menus we come up with intriguing.
This collaboration of foodies took place in a house out in the country where we set up a table for six outside under the sky - which was amazing. One of my foodie friends decorated the table with several miniature pumpkins and strawberry maize. We began the meal with hot apple cider, infused with cinnamon, cloves, and lemon - traversed into a delicious butternut squash soup - proceeded onto broccoli-and-cheddar-stuffed chicken with sweet potatoes and sauteed broccoli - continued with slow-cooked apples stuffed with pecans and raisins and covered with brown sugar and apple cider accompanied with vanilla ice-cream - and finished with home-made hot chocolate.
The night was gorgeous and the moon was bright, so we talked and laughed and ate and ate and ate. Stuffed, we collected ourselves, cleaned the kitchen, collected our belongings, and made our separate ways home.
Food is magnificent - food with pleasurable company is something else entirely.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Oh Good, You Made It! Oop... Sorry, No You Didn't.
I know... I complain about formal education A LOT. So here's more!
When I chose my major (Health Science), I thought, "Hey, the health care field is really a great thing to get into right now. I mean people always get sick, right?" And I was right, health care really is a great place to find a job. That being said, a health science degree is NOT a good way to get into the health care field.
"What?" you may ask, "how can a degree in 'health science' not get you a job in health care? I mean, you must be able to be a Medical Assistant?"
"No."
"An opthamologist assistant?"
"No."
"Dental Assistant?"
"No."
"Hospice Care Assistant?"
"No."
"Pharmaceutical Technician's Assistant?"
"No."
"Well, surely you can be a lowly phlebotomy technician."
"No, I cannot."
"Well, at least you can work behind the desk answering phone calls for the lowly phlebotomy technician."
"No, I cannot. While they do not require a degree, they do require two years of experience as a phone answerer."
"You reeaalllly picked a bad major."
"I know. Hey, will you drop me off by that new Full Monty club so I can drop off this application to be a stripper?"
When I chose my major (Health Science), I thought, "Hey, the health care field is really a great thing to get into right now. I mean people always get sick, right?" And I was right, health care really is a great place to find a job. That being said, a health science degree is NOT a good way to get into the health care field.
"What?" you may ask, "how can a degree in 'health science' not get you a job in health care? I mean, you must be able to be a Medical Assistant?"
"No."
"An opthamologist assistant?"
"No."
"Dental Assistant?"
"No."
"Hospice Care Assistant?"
"No."
"Pharmaceutical Technician's Assistant?"
"No."
"Well, surely you can be a lowly phlebotomy technician."
"No, I cannot."
"Well, at least you can work behind the desk answering phone calls for the lowly phlebotomy technician."
"No, I cannot. While they do not require a degree, they do require two years of experience as a phone answerer."
"You reeaalllly picked a bad major."
"I know. Hey, will you drop me off by that new Full Monty club so I can drop off this application to be a stripper?"
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Prostrate to the Higher Mind
The college that I attend requires every student to partake in an exit examination before they are allowed to graduate. So, I called the testing facility and made my appointment. When I arrived to take my test, I was told that I had to leave my cell phone in a little cardboard box in an administrator's office. I was then led to a huge empty room that could fit 200 people, was told to leave my bag by the door, and was given a test and a #2 pencil. I asked if I needed a calculator for the test and was told, "no." I sat facing a giant, wall-sized 2 way mirror; the kind you would expect to see in an interrogation room "downtown" at the police department.
I filled out all the first page of the exam with little bubbles that are required in standardized tests like these (Name - J. o. n. a. t. h. a. n. *bubble bubble bubble bubble*, et cetera). I opened the exam and discovered that the so called "College assessment exit exam" was nothing more than opinions rated 1 - 5 (1 being strongly disagree and 5 being strongly agree) of questions like "Has this college provided you with an adequate level of interaction with various groups of people?"
My favorite question was "Has this college increased your creative capacity and individuality?"
"So," I thought, "what you're asking, on your standardized test (that you dispense in a large, empty, 2-way mirrored room that doesn't allow any personal belongings) that you force everyone to complete by filling in bubbles and rating questions as 'strongly agree' or 'strongly disagree' instead of actually allowing people to express their opinions, is 'have we cultivated individuality and creativity'?"
In order to answer this question to the best of my ability, I trekked back throughout my college career....
I remember American Literature opinion papers that told me to express what I thought about the novels that I read; I also remember how my teacher told me that I was incorrect in my opinions. I remember in Art Appreciation how my teacher told me that what I thought was a beautiful piece of art was, in fact, NOT art, but instead a huge waste of money. I remember every test question that I answered correctly but was marked as incorrect because, instead of regurgitating exactly what the book said, I actually learned the material and explained it in my own terms.
I remember teachers telling me how to write, think, believe, dress, walk, eat, socialize, drink, feel, listen, read, sit... I remember every unique, individual characteristic being devolved into a processed, mechanical, bland version made to resemble every teachers opinion of what it means to be correct.
I thought about the Indigo Girls and what they say about higher education:
I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.
I filled out all the first page of the exam with little bubbles that are required in standardized tests like these (Name - J. o. n. a. t. h. a. n. *bubble bubble bubble bubble*, et cetera). I opened the exam and discovered that the so called "College assessment exit exam" was nothing more than opinions rated 1 - 5 (1 being strongly disagree and 5 being strongly agree) of questions like "Has this college provided you with an adequate level of interaction with various groups of people?"
My favorite question was "Has this college increased your creative capacity and individuality?"
"So," I thought, "what you're asking, on your standardized test (that you dispense in a large, empty, 2-way mirrored room that doesn't allow any personal belongings) that you force everyone to complete by filling in bubbles and rating questions as 'strongly agree' or 'strongly disagree' instead of actually allowing people to express their opinions, is 'have we cultivated individuality and creativity'?"
In order to answer this question to the best of my ability, I trekked back throughout my college career....
I remember American Literature opinion papers that told me to express what I thought about the novels that I read; I also remember how my teacher told me that I was incorrect in my opinions. I remember in Art Appreciation how my teacher told me that what I thought was a beautiful piece of art was, in fact, NOT art, but instead a huge waste of money. I remember every test question that I answered correctly but was marked as incorrect because, instead of regurgitating exactly what the book said, I actually learned the material and explained it in my own terms.
I remember teachers telling me how to write, think, believe, dress, walk, eat, socialize, drink, feel, listen, read, sit... I remember every unique, individual characteristic being devolved into a processed, mechanical, bland version made to resemble every teachers opinion of what it means to be correct.
I thought about the Indigo Girls and what they say about higher education:
I went to see the doctor of philosophy
With a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knee
He never did marry or see a B-grade movie
He graded my performance, he said he could see through me
I spent four years prostrate to the higher mind, got my paper
And I was free.
So, I decided that this institution had not cultivated me to be an individual or to be creative in any way. I would NOT stand for this, not this creative, unique individual! So, with a flick of my pencil, I marked down a very dark bubble under "1 - Strongly disagree."
.............
'Did this college provide you with adequate opportunities to become involved in extra-curricular activities, such as sports or clubs?'
*5 - strongly agree*
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Stormclouds of Happiness
Most people describe their favorite day as a bright, sunny day on the beach.
Not me. I don't favor the sunny days. Sure, I love to see the sun when I'm in the mood, but if I had to choose a favorite day, it would be a rainy, dark, cold, windy day. I would sit in front of the fire place (if I had one), drink coffee and then read a book, watch a movie, and play board games. Or I would go to a coffee shop and sit by the window with my laptop and pretend I'm a famous writer who gets really inspired by rainy days.
I know why people like sunny days. You can go outside and play or go to the beach, or have a cookout, or do just about anything. But I like rainy days because people get really depressed and leave you alone to do just about whatever you want because they are too angry that its raining to try and regulate your life anymore. I love the clothes that you can wear when its raining: boots, scarves, hats, coats, jeans... especially if its cold, too. It seems like the world isn't exposing you like it normally does with that huge bright sunshine that shows every nook and cranny that you're trying not to disclose.
Its like rainy days give you a chance to walk among the world unseen for a change. People are hidden under big umbrellas and jackets and they are too worried about getting wet to pay you any attention.
Those days are my favorite. And I've got my book, a board game, and my coffee... so let it pour!
Not me. I don't favor the sunny days. Sure, I love to see the sun when I'm in the mood, but if I had to choose a favorite day, it would be a rainy, dark, cold, windy day. I would sit in front of the fire place (if I had one), drink coffee and then read a book, watch a movie, and play board games. Or I would go to a coffee shop and sit by the window with my laptop and pretend I'm a famous writer who gets really inspired by rainy days.
I know why people like sunny days. You can go outside and play or go to the beach, or have a cookout, or do just about anything. But I like rainy days because people get really depressed and leave you alone to do just about whatever you want because they are too angry that its raining to try and regulate your life anymore. I love the clothes that you can wear when its raining: boots, scarves, hats, coats, jeans... especially if its cold, too. It seems like the world isn't exposing you like it normally does with that huge bright sunshine that shows every nook and cranny that you're trying not to disclose.
Its like rainy days give you a chance to walk among the world unseen for a change. People are hidden under big umbrellas and jackets and they are too worried about getting wet to pay you any attention.
Those days are my favorite. And I've got my book, a board game, and my coffee... so let it pour!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Quite a day in Hobbiton
Happy birthday to Frodo and Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.
Its the last day of Summer and the beginning of Fall. I could use a nice big hobbit-style birthday party full of seed cakes, raspberry jam and apple tarts, Mince-pies and cheeses, bacon, chicken, coffees, and ales. That Bilbo always could throw a party.
So enjoy today, the day of the Baggins's birthdays.
Its the last day of Summer and the beginning of Fall. I could use a nice big hobbit-style birthday party full of seed cakes, raspberry jam and apple tarts, Mince-pies and cheeses, bacon, chicken, coffees, and ales. That Bilbo always could throw a party.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Not Thoroughly Thoreau
Some of the most influential men had the most impressive rooms in which to work. Mark Twain had a small, octagonal "writing hut" on the edge of a mountain that allowed him to see for miles. Hemingway had a writing studio on Key West filled with mementos from his adventures around the world. Thoreau had his cabin in the woods, Thomas Edison his library, and Darwin his study; with books that reach from the floor up to the ceiling and then spill over onto the desks and floor.
I do not have such a magnificent space, but, then again, I do not do such work that is deserving of it. But I do have somewhat of an office, which is quite posh, indeed.
Before this luxury, I would come home from school, sit down and try to do homework. The only trouble was that my current residence consists of only one room, with a small loft above half of the space. I would work downstairs, which means I would perpetually get distracted by other things, like doing the dishes, playing with my daughter, or talking to my wife. Often I would wander the kitchen, scouring the cupboards for food. "We'll, this won't do," I decided after the second week of classes. So instead of coming home from school, I would walk to the college library and do my work there.
That was effective for a while, but it was cold and I was forced to sit in a 2x2 make-shift cubicle. It was quite silent, though... except for all the conversations from other students, the janitors in the bathroom yelling about what a mess people make, and all the general bustling of a college campus. Worst of all, I can't watch Doctor Who in a library without feeling like someone is watching right over my shoulder (What? I can't take a break? C'mon...)
So, today, I have established myself a brand new office space in the loft of my lodgings. The loft is also a workout room, storage facility, and closet; but it is quite a fantastic upgrade, none-the-less. My desk chair (a converted workout bench) faces the upper window, which provides a fantastic view of the trees, a nice breeze, and a window sill for my cup of coffee. My back faces the majority of the house, which allows me to work without distractions.
Ah, yes... now I can finallywatch Doctor Who get to work.
I do not have such a magnificent space, but, then again, I do not do such work that is deserving of it. But I do have somewhat of an office, which is quite posh, indeed.
Before this luxury, I would come home from school, sit down and try to do homework. The only trouble was that my current residence consists of only one room, with a small loft above half of the space. I would work downstairs, which means I would perpetually get distracted by other things, like doing the dishes, playing with my daughter, or talking to my wife. Often I would wander the kitchen, scouring the cupboards for food. "We'll, this won't do," I decided after the second week of classes. So instead of coming home from school, I would walk to the college library and do my work there.
That was effective for a while, but it was cold and I was forced to sit in a 2x2 make-shift cubicle. It was quite silent, though... except for all the conversations from other students, the janitors in the bathroom yelling about what a mess people make, and all the general bustling of a college campus. Worst of all, I can't watch Doctor Who in a library without feeling like someone is watching right over my shoulder (What? I can't take a break? C'mon...)
So, today, I have established myself a brand new office space in the loft of my lodgings. The loft is also a workout room, storage facility, and closet; but it is quite a fantastic upgrade, none-the-less. My desk chair (a converted workout bench) faces the upper window, which provides a fantastic view of the trees, a nice breeze, and a window sill for my cup of coffee. My back faces the majority of the house, which allows me to work without distractions.
Ah, yes... now I can finally
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Death of Gnomes
I love gnomes. I love that they are peaceful, protect nature and are less than two feet tall. My wife and I have had 4 gnomes since we've been married. None have survived.
Its probably our fault, bringing them into our world and asking them to protect our pots of herbs and flowers. They aren't meant to live in such close proximity to humans as ours have.
The first three that died were brothers, Bodley, Dink, and Finkle. Bodley was in charge of protecting our mailbox when we lived in Newnan, Ga. He was taken from us, stolen by humans while at his post - we never heard from him again.
Dink guarded the maple tree and bird bath. He was attacked by fire ants and eaten from the inside out until he crumbled to pieces.
Finkle survived the move from our first home to where we live now, but due to an "outdoor furniture tragedy" he was broken in half.
The fourth was named Gerome. Gerome the gnome was my wife's gnome before we were married, so he was used to the mountain that we now live on. He traveled from my wife's home to our first home together in Newnan to where we live now. He surveyed our entire house from a little hidden spot on our deck. Only his eyes and red hat were ever fully visible. He looked after our little pots of herbs and made sure all the little chick-a-dees and bluebirds stayed fed.
I don't know if you are aware of this, but the only known enemies to gnomes are trolls. Trolls are smelly and evil and you don't want them living around your house. Gerome had been battling trolls around our house for a while and successfully kept them at bay. That is, until we left our house to go deliver our daughter 5 weeks ago.
We were gone for a week and Gerome the gnome was left to defend our cabin all by himself. He stayed by his post and put up a good fight. But when we returned to our little cabin in the woods and went out to introduce Gerome to our daughter, this is all we saw:
A troll tore off his head. His little red cap stayed intact on his poor little body-less, bearded head. His body, cold, as his little fingers still grip his garden hoe. He died a noble death protecting our herbs and little mountain birds from trolls - but he was only one gnome.
Good-bye, Gerome.
Its probably our fault, bringing them into our world and asking them to protect our pots of herbs and flowers. They aren't meant to live in such close proximity to humans as ours have.
The first three that died were brothers, Bodley, Dink, and Finkle. Bodley was in charge of protecting our mailbox when we lived in Newnan, Ga. He was taken from us, stolen by humans while at his post - we never heard from him again.
Dink guarded the maple tree and bird bath. He was attacked by fire ants and eaten from the inside out until he crumbled to pieces.
Finkle survived the move from our first home to where we live now, but due to an "outdoor furniture tragedy" he was broken in half.
The fourth was named Gerome. Gerome the gnome was my wife's gnome before we were married, so he was used to the mountain that we now live on. He traveled from my wife's home to our first home together in Newnan to where we live now. He surveyed our entire house from a little hidden spot on our deck. Only his eyes and red hat were ever fully visible. He looked after our little pots of herbs and made sure all the little chick-a-dees and bluebirds stayed fed.
I don't know if you are aware of this, but the only known enemies to gnomes are trolls. Trolls are smelly and evil and you don't want them living around your house. Gerome had been battling trolls around our house for a while and successfully kept them at bay. That is, until we left our house to go deliver our daughter 5 weeks ago.
We were gone for a week and Gerome the gnome was left to defend our cabin all by himself. He stayed by his post and put up a good fight. But when we returned to our little cabin in the woods and went out to introduce Gerome to our daughter, this is all we saw:
A troll tore off his head. His little red cap stayed intact on his poor little body-less, bearded head. His body, cold, as his little fingers still grip his garden hoe. He died a noble death protecting our herbs and little mountain birds from trolls - but he was only one gnome.
Good-bye, Gerome.
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