supererogatorarily yours

Thanks to everyone here and on #predicate who had suggestions, especially electroboy_esq and kristinemigh. This morning I built a hill of soil and compost and transferred half my seedlings from the containers to the hill. So now I have three Autumn Golds and two Spookies in the hill, and the same in two [what I assume are] 5-gal containers. I'll let those carry on a bit and see how they do, and then cull it down to two in the hill and one in each of the containers.

And then there will be pumpkins! Or should be, even though I got them going way late. I germinated in the first week of July, so I figure that gives me 120 days until October, which ought to be enough time to get one jack o' lantern out of the Autumn Golds. I don't need the Spookies, really, until we're closer to pie time.

Speaking of which, anyone local like pie? Because my husband, for all the many qualities he has to recommend him, can not abide pumpkin pie. So someone else will have to come over and rejoice in pie with me. Takers?

My kid is a G.

I was planning to grow pumpkins in containers, mainly because I needed the containers to block off the edge of my plot from the depredations of my dogs. Now I come to read that pumpkin roots can go two to five feet deep. My container is not two to five feet deep. Fuck!

I can try transplanting them into the soil; I've got room. But I'm worried the transplant process might kill the poor little guys, and I've become pretty attached to them [so much so that I'm having trouble with the idea of culling the seedlings]. And would I want to put multiple ones in a hill together, or am I better to just go with one each [I'm growing two varieties]? What should I do?

Step Zero: Proper recipe. [reg. req. and it won't kill you]

Step One: Use Nancy Silverton's personal private meat mix [described herein] instead of ground sirloin and chuck.

Step Two: Fuck the quarter-cup tomato juice. Substitute 1 T tomato paste, 1/8 or so c. demiglace, and complete the measure with water, because A] that's better and B] that's what you have. Who the fuck has tomato juice?

Step Three: Figure on making pommes whatthefuck out of Bourdain's Les Halles Cookbook, but use the potatoes the night before and so have a quarter-pound of prime Gruyere going begging. Substitute for the Monterey Jack called for in the recipe, partly because you're a decadent bastard but mainly because you're a lazy fuck who can't be arsed to go to the grocery store.

Seriously. This is the best meatloaf ever.

The really ridiculous dance party happened in the following bout, where I sat on the bench for all but one jam of the second half and decided that, if I was going to be relegated to cheerleader, I would be the best fucking cheerleader the league had ever seen! This was my first ever bout clad only in hotpants, and I'm kind of pleasantly surprised at how well the look worked out.

I didn't even know Juliette Lewis was there. Durr.


Photo copyright RinkRat, who rules ass from way up on high.

I love playing Mario
I love Spiderman bubbles
I love my mommy
And she loves me too
I love the whole world and to swim in water
Boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada

I love more things
I love playing Sesame games
I love my daddy
And my daddy loves me
I love the whole world and I love eeeeeeeverything
Boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada

I love to ride my bike
I love my Like-a-Bike
I love roller skating
I don't love falling down on my butt
I love the whole world and I love walking in land
Boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada, boom de yada

(I actually DO like falling on my butt!)

An hour or two's work, a handful of blisters, ab and back strain I don't doubt I'll be feeling for two days, and I've almost got a hole that's almost big enough to not quite bury myself in.

Was going to post about dinner at Gordon Ramsay last night, but dogofthefuture beat me to it and was funnier and more descriptive than I would have been anyway.

When I was a kid, I didn't understand why orchestral music didn't have words [any more than I understood why anyone bothered to write a book without including pictures]. So I made some up. ["It's the Eight-teen Twe-helve OOOOverture, the Eighteen Twe-hellllve Overture!"] Turns out John Williams does it too. Go fig.

[via inlovewithnight]

I saw a casting notice for this go out to my league, though I don't recognize any of the skaters. After watching the video, I'm kind of hoping nobody I know is in it -- partly because I don't want my friends tainted by the pervasive, all-encompassing stank that is Anti-Flag, but also because the video's no good for derby.

All the casting notice I read said was the name of the band and the name of the song -- which was enough to get one of my leaguemates, a USAF vet, up in arms at once. While I didn't see it that way [free speech is patriotic], I would have had a lot more to say against it had the notice mentioned the job required representing derby as nothing but violence and fake fights, and as the punch line of a simile about the worthlessness of nationalism. Once you realize that the story of the video is "America is just as dumb as roller derby," how long before you ask yourself, "If I love derby, why am I participating in this?"

Now that I think of it, I think I recognize one skater, and I assume there's another I know in there because she posted the video on her MySpace page. And I get that they probably thought, "Hey, a music video. No money, but what the hell, this will be a good time." And it probably was. I'm not all that bothered by the fact that they sold out everything our league has worked for in terms of legitimizing our sport. Under other circumstances, I might make that choice too. But I wouldn't do it for free, and I sure wouldn't do it for a shitty band like Anti-Flag.

Back now. What'd I miss?

Back to school for a couple weeks and change. No loud parties while I'm gone.

Actually Day Three, if you count his true natal anniversary, which was celebrated three days before with meat loaf and frozen corn and his friend Lucy giving me stomach flu. Again, click through for the series.

The weekend's festivities are now documented on Flickr. Photographic record of my crippling stomach disorder is not included. Click through for the series.

But the adorable photo comparison post is impossible owing to somebody not liking his picture taken. But here are two of my favorites, just the same:




Happy birthday, love.

[and also to grammarwoman, of whom I have no photos whatsoever]

Happy birthday, big man.