La Entropista

The past couple of nights I’ve been having some very weird dreams. I’m sure its partly due to the constant construction that is going on outside my window beginning at seven am every day- backhoes and jackhammers in addition to the garbage trucks throwing glass around, and partly due to the fact that I stay up until three am not wanting to get off the phone and then reading for a while because I just can’t wind down.

The first one was pretty disturbing, because I haven’t felt this aggressive in a long time: I was in a swimming pool and a woman ran into me underwater. I pulled her out (she was short, plump and pale, with dark hair and dark lipstick), crossed her arms over her chest, pushed her up against the side of the pool and started to yell at her. I then grabbed her arm, pushed her underwater, and stood on her armpit to hold her head down. I felt like I didn’t hold her down long enough.

The second one was just weird: A big brown turkey can over to my house and acted all friendly, letting me pet it and sleeping under the piano like a puppy. Later I find out the turkey was spying on me. It was a spy turkey.

Someone told me that the people in my dreams are really myself, which is plausible. I like the gestalt analysis approach myself, but I still can’t explain the turkey.

I slept well last night, because the construction crew doesn’t work on Saturdays, and awoke to coffee-just-right and a dozen krispy kremes. And now I have the place to myself, so clearly I’m going to use my precious alone-time making tea and grading papers in my underwear and socks. Wish you were here to participate.

Tragic news from Deutschland, as Sattva points out. The pommes may be shrinking in size, but my real concern is that the texture of the frite may be adversely impacted- if there isn’t enough water in the potato because of the drought, then the fry won’t be able to steam itself sufficiently during its tenure submerged in oil, possibly changing the cooking time, thus disrupting the delicate balance of tender fluffy interior to properly goldgelb crispy exterior. On the other hand, maybe the potatoey flavor will be intensified with a lack of water, like dry farmed tomatoes, to counterbalance the frying/steaming issue. Just thinking about it stresses me out; I’m going to go have an otter pop. Anyone care to weigh in?

Is it bad that I want to only half-heartedly look for a job in September so that I can go back to Germany in the Fall?

I was wondering why you can get desayuno fuerte at both Hugo’s and Highland Grounds and then I saw that they were related. Doi. Through advanced data collection and experimentation we found that the desayuno was mas fuerte at Hugo’s. I liked that the eggs were poached perfectly instead of fried and reminded me of giant globs of sour cream that would have gone wonderfully with the huevos, that the sauteed spinach was fresh and garlicky, and that the Kartoffelpfannkuchen were crispy and dense.

Kartoffelpfannkuchen

The only thing missing was listening to funny little Australian guys talk on the phone: “hold on, I’m getting a call on the other line… you are no longer important, goodbye.”

The other thing that seals the deal about Hugo’s is the Scharffen Berger Hot Chocolate. Don’t ruin yours with a shot of espresso. Drink it straight, then hand the cup to a pretty girl and tell her to spoon out the melted chocolate from the bottom. She will loves youse forevahs.

I sincerely hope you don’t do this

If you don’t have a car and you are living in the giant public transportation suckhole that is the OC and you have no more food left except drygoods and condiments, then try this:

Cook equal parts black lentils and wild rice mix, let both cool. Chop up tons of onions and garlic (I said LOTS) and some left over roma tomatoes that you find in the back of the fridge (de-seed first) and any kind of green herbaceous thing you might have (I used basil, italian flatleaf parsley would be good).  Combine all together then dress with olive oil and a little rice wine vinegar, then a little balsamic to balance, then forget about it and use Annie’s sesame shiitake vinegarette instead. Mixy mixy, then let sit in the fridge for a couple days while you have fabulous singing Thai Elvis food again. Come back home and eat straight from container with fork. Yum.

Also, if your guts are in distress over the aforementioned Thai food, then eat a bowl of jasmine rice with soy sauce and irish butter. You will feel much better after.

From the Philippine provinces to this:

51 Beech Street                      backyard has seen better days                 a real cellar

penny candy fix at the corner store        7th grade at St. Aloysius         Miss Debbie’s dance studio

Lincoln Elementary                                            Duck and Shed in PA

The Cup is famous for its Texas Tommy.

More giant container restaurants here.

Better on the floor than on the plate.

from Lisa via Mike

I’m kind of partial to the bierschinken, myself.

Also, I make no apologies for my horrendous grasp of german spelling and grammar. I prefer to call it developmental german. If you scoff at my Milschkaffee propositions then you can take your gruener tee and steep it all by your lonesome. *Küsse*

In a little over two days I’m calling my ob/gyn and telling him to IUD me. I’ve been thinking seriously about this option for two years now, and the time to be definitive has arrived, as GSHIP is ending in September. To make the most of what’s left of my insurance I am shelling out the three hundred dollars plus to have a foreign object mucus up my cervix for the next five years. No babies for the next five years. What a bargain.

Is this the wisest thing to do at my age? I hope not. I’d like to think that the constellation of desire and opportunity to procreate will come together before I’m well into my thirties. I can take it out after a year or two, it’s true. I shouldn’t think twice, but I am and that surprises me. I was resolute in this decision until a couple months ago. My current state of indecision may be the product of two things: first, feeling safe at a very deep level with my current situation, and second -the idea that disturbs me the most- fear of failure/fear of success as I transition out of this indulgence of grad school and into the world of work and productivity. Baby as an escapist fantasy of not having to establish myself as an adult again? BAD.

What is clear is that the urge is there, and maybe all that clock-ticking talk and family pressure that I have dismissed for years is starting to take its toll (eh, I don’t think so). What is clear for sure, as I have been reminded, is that babies are expensive, more expensive than my IUD. And I am not prepared to take care of a little one by myself. I am not prepared to be dependent on someone else so that I could take care of one with another. I’m not prepared to settle down or get married or dismiss my career or any of those things that one is supposed to do before or after.

I guess at this point I’m going to have to comfort myself with the thought that, well, there really isn’t anything to comfort myself with. I’m going to have to deal. Reality. Life choices. The ‘career girl’ of the family (with hopes she isn’t a lesbian). My baby is my thesis. I will coddle it and love it as my own. And in a few weeks I can give it away and never have to look at it again if I don’t want to. It will live a life of its own in dutch cyberspace and on the dusty shelves of the department library, wherever that might be. People will ask me what I did with my young life and I can show them my statistical analysis. They will coo and ahhh over my well adjusted R-squared and exclaim at how robust my correlation is and how teenie tiny my error term looks. I’m so proud. At a significance level of alpha = 5% (or more).

P.S. From the offical website:

You would think that they could come up with something a little more reassuring besides, WE DON’T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW THIS THING WORKS, BUT LET’S SHOVE IT UP IN THERE ANYWAY AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Pho 54, on McFadden and Brookhurst. Number 13 with brisket and rare beef. Fresh basil and sawleaf, bean sprouts, lime, hoisin and sriracha. Lychee smoothie. Correct pronunciation here, from the same people that bring you urban cartography, strangely enough.

Itching for breakfast at the Sugar Shack, or a garlicky desayuno fuerte, as soon as I get my head gasket replaced. C’mon Kelly, I need to be mobile again.

Freud Inventory Test Results