Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Over on the other blog, I try to post one Bad Culinary Idea per week. You know what's a bad idea? Homemade ceviche. Food poisoning usually garners some sympathy, until you tell everyone you ate raw fish that hadn't been flash frozen. "Isn't that how your husband got dysentery?" people say.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I'm proofreading all our plant lists for this year- eventually, I started listing all the foods found in common names. (Bored.) I was scanning one list when my brain alerted me that a specific entry contained a new food item. I stared at "narrow leaved owl's clover" for almost a minute, trying to decide if I had been thinking of owls as a tasty snack, clover as something other people ate, if leaves actually counted as a food name, or if I had read "narrow" as "marrow". Eventually, my brain explained that the new food was "eggs"- that the alternative common name for this plant is butter n' eggs.

I've been reading scifi about the theory of consciousness- and let me tell you, my Parliament is a sight smarter than the queen.

Monday, December 6, 2010

C has an e-mail devoted to junk. That is, when he buys something and they request a valid e-mail for a.) shipping problems and b.) spam, he has a special e-mail for that. One of the benefits of being his spouse is that I can use it too.

Unless I want to buy him gifts.



I believe that everyone should have a fantasy career. It doesn't have to pay well, it may not be half as emotionally fulfilling as one's real career, it may be truly soul sapping and unpleasant. But everyone has three or four things that they really dislike about their job- it's healthy to fantasize about a world where these peeves are absent.

For instance, I hate poison oak, sleet down my neck, lots of driving, and unreliable implacable scheduling. When I am cursing my fate, I say "I should have been a dental hygenist." I would never have to skip Pilates matwork because my knees are solid bruises. I could go to farmer's markets on my lunch break. I could scrape gunk off of peoples teeth, natter on about plants, and they wouldn't be able to talk back. Or escape.

C daydreams about the carefree life of property management. My coworker imagines her life as a flight attendent- pouring endless ginger ales in a clean blouse and pantyhose, every single day. We dream small, beset with the irritations of our everyday lives.

Last week, I got an e-vite to a career related meet-and-greet/social. I've gone to these in the past. Botanists are new to career building- remembering someone's name and having a business card is considered impressive go-getter evidence. Thus, everyone there is thinking the word "mingle" over and over again, hoping that networking conversations will magically happen. It's dreary. I really should go and practice my groupthink skills.

The Google ad for this e-mail is "Become a Dental Hygienist. Dental Hygiene programs near "

Well played, Google. Well played.