Passionate Critters

I didn’t know there was such a thing as faceblindness.

While looking around for some cat pic (as one does) I tripped over Andrea’s Blog and what she posted was rather interesting, so I figured I’ll drop a link here.

What do you mean you have no idea what I’m talking about?

“Gimme a bottle of anything. And a glazed donut. To go.”

Yep, it’s musical nostalgia time.

Man, he was so soooooooooooooo hot. I ran into him in person at Castle Donington once. Shirtless. Grinning directly at me.
*eyes roll back in head*
But I digress.

Paul has been infected with the MP3 bug. And he went to track down the old records. And we spent the evening listening to Yankee Rose, Just a Gigolo, I’m easy, Stand Up, Elephant Gun, Tobacco Road, Ladies Night in Buffalo… and and and.

We sat there, reminiscing, reliving “The Glory Days” of when we did all the things that… we get annoyed about now. LOL!

How DARE those kids drive down the road at top speed, windows down, legs hanging out of the window, music blasti— uh. Wait.
But they run motorbikes outside, racing in the pa– uh. Nevermind.

I wonder if people still “Park” where we used to uh… yeah. Nevermind! TMI!

But yeah, listening to things like “Goin crazy (from the heat)” brought back those times we drove to Cornwall, the hot summers on the beach there, the body boarding… The fact that Paul (and I) had hair down to our backsides and that hairbands were cool.

I can only recommend digging out the stuff you used to listen to… and sit down together and remember. It’s fun and it reminds you why you love the person you’re with, because sometimes… we forget.

I spent the eight days of my vacation looking like Bozo the Clown with a bad skin disease. The heat and humidity and pool and ocean water turned my hair into a frizzy mop. There wasn’t enough anti frizz serum in the world to help it. And I’m allergic to the sun. My daughter is, too…we both broke out in a horrible blister-like rash all over our arms and legs after two days in the sun. But did that stop us? Ho, no! Bring on the SPF 50.

My husband and kids decided they wanted to try parasailing. Holy mother of God. The problem with having an imagination is that I could envision every possible scenario of doom that could happen. As they floated through cloudless blue skies over the Pacific Ocean I sat on the sand drinking tequila and having a small nervous breakdown.

Good times.

But don’t think it was all bad! There were truly some blissful moments- the utter joy on my kids’ faces when they swam with the dolphins; seeing the whales flip their tales beside the catamaran we sailed on; the chartreuse iguana strolling along the sand, looking exactly like a little dragon; the friendliness of the Mexican people, especially one taxi driver who spoke perfect English and quizzed my kids on the ten provinces and three territories of Canada (he knew them all!); the power of the Mayan dancers who entertained us one night, their bodies and faces painted with primitive designs, their feathered headdresses bobbing and dipping as they whirled and twirled and stomped; the pride when a Canadian girl won the beer drinking contest at the pool one afternoon. (Could she drink beer! She reminded me of my roommate in university, who won every boat race on campus because she could open her throat and pour the beer down it!!) Americans and Canadians faced off in pairs, and the Canadians kicked butt! When the girl from Ontario beat an American guy it was such a moment of national pride. ? (Although I did turn to my husband at one point and ask, “What kind of entertainment are we exposing our children to?” Our kids are 15 and 17 and probably wished they could enter the contest! They were hooting and cheering on the drinkers and having a blast watching the losers sexy dance in the shower!!)

The sunsets every night on the beach were another beautiful memory, every one different as the sun set into the Pacific – sometimes very fast in a blazing ball of orange, other nights slower with clouds painted mauve and gold, the ocean turned to liquid silver and foam. One night we saw dolphins in the distance playing. I even boogie boarded!!

Because our kids are older, we had two rooms, so my husband and I had our own little vacation. The teenagers were on a different schedule than we were – they like to sleep late and we can’t, so we’d have breakfast, drink coffee on the balcony, go down to the pool – one day we went whale watching, and another day we went for an early morning walk on the beach looking for turtles (yes we saw some!). At night, writhing on the sheets – oh, but that was just me rubbing against the bed clothes seeking relief from the insanely itchy rash.

It was a great trip.

Are you a “foodie”?

I’m still not exactly sure what that term means, but I was told that’s what I am. You see, I like to cook. And EAT. A lot.

Today, I’m in the process of cooking dinner (at 2 in the afternoon) because I’m making something that requires a bit of time, but is oh, so good. What is it? Parsnip Puree.

Hey! Ouch! Who threw the shoe?

I’m serious. Parsnip Puree is delicious. And ten times better for you than mashed potatoes. Okay, actually I’m not too sure of last statement, but it’s definitely less fattening. And tastier, too.

So here’s the recipe (courtesy of chef Sara Moulton–who got it from Julia Child) Use it in place of mashed potatoes.

Parsnip Puree:

2 lbs parsnips -peeled and sliced

salt to taste

2 TBsp butter

fresh ground pepper

Place parsnips in pot with cold water to cover. Bring to boil over high heat. Reduce heat to med-high and simmer until tender (25 or 30 min). Drain and reserve cooking liquid.
Set parsnips aside and return liquid to pan and boil over high heat. Boil until liquid is reduced to 3/4 cup.
Return parsnips to pan and add butter.
Working in batches, empty contents into a food processor and puree until smooth. Season with salt and pepper.

YUM! And you’re adding an extra vegetable to your diet.

I hope people would just STOP using the term “pre-published” to describe their “unpublished” status. So many unpublished writers use it, like it somehow makes them more special or something to call themselves “pre-published”.

Pre-published is a very specific word describing a very specific situation in publishing. Nephele Tempest, a literary agent, explains:

Pre-published implies that an author has sold a book, but it hasn’t actually hit the shelves yet.

I don’t understand why people think that calling themselves “pre-published” when they’re really “unpublished” is affirming and positive.

Do you call your friends on diet “pre-thin”? Do you call your single friends “pre-wives” or “pre-husbands”? Do you call people with cancer or other terminal illnesses “pre-dead”?

Surely not.

Calling yourself pre-published when you’re not only makes you sound pretentious and stupid, like you don’t know what the word really means.

May 2008 bring you everything you desire.