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04 februari 2006
Fritz The Cat On A Hot Tin Roof Rusted!
All my references are melting together like glue. Or goo.
Maybe it's too much TV. Or TV + vicodin. Or maybe just the need to be functional under the under-the-radar influence of the gabapentin and difficulty in punching through to less hazy waking times.
Jinkies.
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Posted by jeff at 11:36 pm | Comments (4) | TrackBack
02 februari 2006
Hand Me a Trowel
Cake!
Yeah, on that kick again. Well, shoot me. I have the time, and the box mix, and it's one of the few physical things I can do to any sense of completion, so I made another cake. This one is a yellow “butter recipe” cake with chocolate frosting.
So I had to go for a 13x9 cake than a layer cake because, well, easier. Helloooo.
Those are easy to frost because you really just need to drop all the frosting in the middle of the cake and spread it out to the corners. Also quick. And easy.
Except this is where “easy” gives out to “gay” (just when you thought “easy” and “gay” were complementary!). I simply had to swirl a pattern into the frosting. I was always trying to get my mom to make layer cakes instead of 13x9 cakes and when I did manage to convince her to buy the round pans and make the damn thing, I'd try so hard to get the frosting to look like the box that I'd end up tearing up the cake by the time I was done. Leading to never using the round cake pans again and going back to 13x9 pans until the tragedy was forgotten and then, well, lather, rinse, repeat (which reminds me, I once did sit through the first Lord of the Rings movie).
So I empty the can of chocolate frosting into the middle of the box cake (oh, how I relish that imagery) and spread it out to get even coverage using the knife in just one direction to avoid ruining the cake (a gay boy learns a lot from his earlier mistakes, at least in baking), and then I'm swirling a certain pattern into just the surface of the frosting before I know what I'm doing. That done, I dragged the knife around the entire perimeter making a flat border.
Then it hit me: I had just fashioned into that 13x9 rectangle the same design that my father Jack, the stone mason, fashions into each concrete form he pours. He makes a sort of squiggle pattern across a slab of concrete using a nylon-bristled broom and then uses a special type of rectangular trowel called an edger (brotherman Sam will correct me on that term if I'm misremembering it) to frame each sidewalk with a flat surface.
I bet you didn't know there was a sort of signature to poured concrete sidewalks. Next time you're walking down the street, just look down! (well, unless you're in San Francisco, because they only pour small squares everywhere with nothing interesting about them).
So the cake tastes ok, but as soon as I took the first bite I remember why my mother never went in for the “butter recipe” cakes. They taste, well, like butter. Once again, the wisdom of Marie trumps the superficial application of cultural faggotry.
Maybe that's why we shun box cakes?
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Posted by jeff at 11:19 pm | Comments (8) | TrackBack
01 februari 2006
Cosmic, Accident
I was sitting in Joe the Barber's waiting for Sam to get done with his haircut. I'd already gotten mine (and if you've never had your head shaved with a straight razor, you haven't lived) and I was reading gloss. gloss is a small-format, local periodical that's made up almost entirely of ads for dance clubs and choir-preaching editorials, but it's better than nothing (well, arguably).
[beat]
Ok, right now Joan Rivers and Shannen Doherty are on an episode of The Graham Norton Effect and I uttered to Sam words that I never thought I'd say: Poor Shannen Doherty. Joan is telling her trademark two-part tasteless jokes and Shannen is mortified. Nuff said.
[beat]
Anyway, I was flipping through gloss and near the back were the horoscopes (or, given that it's gloss, whore-oscopes?). I read mine, and for the first time, I felt like I couldn't even try to apply this or any horoscope to myself. It made assumptions of mobility and participation and ability. I mean, how was I going to keep my life on track when it's not on track now? Have you ever noticed that horoscopes don't ever answer that type of question?
Then again, am I so desperate that I'm insisting that a gloss whore-oscope come through for me? Then again, I'd missed a couple of doses of neurontin, so my brain was [mis?]firing again on all cylinders.
Then again. Stir crazy. Yeaaah.
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Posted by jeff at 12:01 am | Comments (5) | TrackBack
31 januari 2006
Hour of the Wolf
Siiiigh.
I could say I've been losing sleep, but it's more like I haven't found it. I end up up very late until it's very early and then I just collapse into a slumber that's more like unconsciousness by fiat instead of true sleep.
And the nights are as run-on as my sentences.
The relativist Catholics have done away with Limbo, ostensibly it was either because it was time to lay off the unbaptized babies who died (thinking death was probably a good-enough punishment already) or because they needed a kinder, gentler story for their membership drives in lands where infant mortality is quite high.
So is Limbo in Limbo? Or have they just sent it here to sit up with me through the long nights?
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Posted by jeff at 04:32 am | Comments (2) | TrackBack
30 januari 2006
I Like Cake!
Last week, I got a craving for cake. Just plain ol' cake. You know what I mean. The kind of cake that you bought or sold at a marching band bakesale in high school. From a box. Topped with frosting from a can.
Do you know how hard it is to find cake in San Francisco? I didn't, until I started looking. Sure, you can find croissants and muffins and fruit breads and squares and triangles and bars, but not just cake.
So I did what any red blooded American male would do: I baked! It was from a mix. I could blame it on my convalescence or my own laziness, but really? The need for speed. So I bought the box of cake mix and a can of frosting, and, about 40 minutes later, cake!
Turns out, the expediency paid off. The taste of bakesale cake really took me back. And? At the risk of starting a gay-card recall from those who read my humble little blog? I liked it.
So much so, I made another one. This one was made with white cake mix, but I couldn't be bothered to separate the egg whites.
Time is the enemy who stands between you and your cake, chil'ren.
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Posted by jeff at 01:08 am | Comments (8) | TrackBack