Oh, What a Merry Christmas Day

My dad’s skull. ^^^

I went over to Samantha’s for a bit last night to meet her new puppy, Emily. What a sweetheart! Samantha’s Mom told me all about her recent foot surgery; we also ate “bar gun” cookies (!), discussed the merits of Kanye’s 808s & Heartbreak, and took a tour of local neighborhoods all gussied up for the holidays. One particularly well-illuminated home, by the Baldwin Borough Library, won a national award and was featured on the local news. Unfortunately, the wind had blown down a bunch of their decorations and the computerized light show wasn’t running. It was still a sight to behold, though.

I found an mp3 of “Oh, What a Merry Christmas Day” from Mickey’s Christmas Carol — something I’ve been looking for for a few years. (Download it here. Or, just listen here.) It’s a cute, charming song, the kind that needs to be covered by someone who can suss out its potential. I think the rarity of it – it doesn’t seem to be available anywhere (save for this mp3, ripped from an old vinyl by Ian Roegels) – and the fact that it hasn’t been exploited by the Disney machine has further endeared it to me. Hard to believe that the cartoon itself is just a year older than I am. Almost a quarter century of Christmases celebrated. Egad!

I got another free French press, this time with an added thermal glass, via Amazon (rather than Bodum). The details of how I got it are a bit convoluted, moreso than the first time, so I won’t bother explaining. Pretty crazy how these keep falling, like ripe fruit, into my lap.

Has anyone seen Il y a longtemps que je t’aime (I have loved you for so long)? I think it’s playing at the Regent Square Theatre, and has apparently been garnering all sorts of praise. As the only movie in ages that I heard about before it generated a bunch of buzz, I feel sort of obligated to see it. (And it looks good, too.)

Oh and:

Also, check out the menorah mobile I saw on the way to the airport today. For those who aren’t familiar with ‘em, they’ve been all over the ‘burgh for years!

Joyeux Noël!

Kitchen in Ruin

I’m really excited about moving, but I’m getting all saccharine now that about half my stuff is packed! Blasting music had helped alleviate the moody blues upstairs, but the kitchen has been kicking my butt. I can’t help remember the time Rich got wine on the ceiling, or the time he apologized for eating my peanut butter without asking, when Monica and Kate and I had an inebriated late-night dance session, when I discovered Susan used my pristine cake pans to make baked chili, when Jen – clad in a fleece throw – would stand on the vent in the winter, begging for me to bring her foodstuffs, when Jeff and I were removing hardware from the back door and he stepped on an antique nail and bled all over the house.

I’ll only be posting a few recipes until the new year. My trusty food processor is resting in its box, like baby Jesus in the manger. (Ha!) I hope moving to the middle of the Keystone State doesn’t affect my cooking, but I fear it may. No more Strip District for [d]an.

Holly Green, Ivy Green

Hahaha! Rich is going to be so miffed! While he was out today I trimmed the living room with all sorts of Yuletide ornaments. He’s one of those “blah blah Xmas blah blah not before Thanksgiving” types. Doesn’t he know that it’s almost Advent and that means it’s almost His birthday? (Not Rich’s, our Lord and Savior’s, duh.)

The Holy Spirit got in the way of my aluminum Christmas tree photo. Uh! Holy Spirit, git!

All this talk of Noël reminds me of a priest I had, back in the day. He was a recovered drunk, depressed, and would tell horrible stories as homilies. Like how his mother died and how his father only showed affection for him once: the man was moved to tears when, in childhood, the priest sang “O Holy Night” from the choir loft. He’s dead now.

Die, recipe chain letter! Die!

I have received the dreaded recipe exchange chain letter no less than eight (8) times. The first time was back in July; the most recent? Today. Let’s analyze why I hate this letter with a passion bordering on madness!

1. It is a chain letter. It wants me to forward it to 20 of my friends. No. I don’t have 20 bosom friends that would accept this e-mail from me once, let alone multiple times. Also, knock off 8 of that twenty, because did I mention I received this thing 8 times?!
2. It wants me to send e-mails to people I don’t know. Ugh. I’ve sent a few accompanied by charming, yet concise intros. I don’t receive any responses. It’s sending recipes into a void.
3. It wants me to send recipes that are “quick, easy and without rare ingredients”. If someone isn’t willing to work for delicious food I don’t see any reason to go through my rollodex looking for some miracle recipe… for the lazy and unadventurous. Zing!
4. There is a time limit. Five days to be exact. No pressure, right?
5. Guilt, guilt, guilt! “If you cannot do this within 5 days, let me know so it will be fair to those participating. [...] Seldom does anyone drop out because we can all use new recipes.” Um, how about you die in a fire, chain letter!
6. It is impersonal, so no one is going to make all these recipes. They’ll receive 36 if everything goes as planned. Thirty six recipes not tailored to one’s tastes, supplies, or dietary restrictions. Maybe I should only send my garlic escargot recipe to undermine the letter.

My favorite version of the letter, from my sister Jen, is also the most recent. It strips away most (but not all) of the offensive points above and includes the caveat “feel free to delete.” I think the demoniac chain letter will now probably have to destroy her utterly in order to continue propagating.

Devastating Neurological Anomaly Imminent

The library is so quiet right now. I’ve just spent two hours looking at Value Line’s database. (I had to stop.) I have a creeping suspicion that there’s anesthesia in the air.

The sun’s setting. It will soon be dusk. Neurons are firing more slowly. I need caffeine/dinner. I can’t get this song out of my head:

I can’t wait to finish that book of poetry that Rich has been reading.

Bleak

First snowfall of the season for Pittsburgh. I’m feeling blue like mad today so I’ve been trying to keep busy. I think, for the holidays, I will put a full spectrum lamp on the list I send to Saint Nick. [Hey, visit that link in the first sentence!]

Ouvroir de littérature potentielle

My little sister Kate is so cute. Ages ago I told her about the Oulipo (Ouvroir de littérature potentielle), a French writing set that sought to squeeze out their best work by imposing constraints on their writing. The most famous example may be Georges Perec’s lipogrammatic novel La Disparition (A Void), in which Perec never uses the letter e.

I’m not sure exactly where we were, but I insisted my mother be seated after my father by commanding, rather histrionically: “Let his bride go next.” Kate was in stitches, and suggested we use the phrase, which she remembered later in the evening as “Let his bride be next”, as the title of a horror-themed short story à la Oulipo. Her enthusiasm was contagious and I agreed. I didn’t think she would actually follow through, but she really is. Which means that I have to start writing, posthaste! (And stop brushing my hair and drinking coffee. It stimulates the brain, right?)

Right now my story is straight up Poe, Gothic, Cask of Amontillado. I’m not pleased, although I think Kate will like it. I’ve been thinking about ways to make it seem more contemporary and less antiquated… Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have set it in a freakin’ convent! (Yes, it’s “His Bride” not “his bride”. Haha!)