Anger Burger

I had ambitions for today, I really did.

They mostly involved getting the last of the spring planting done, making sure that all the stupid planty babies were settled away and doing their thing making me impatient.

Welcome to the outside, planty!

I hope you enjoy beautiful Southern California.

Of course my mom is laughing at this because she got like 10 inches of snow this week, but whatever.  She didn’t innocently decide to walk to the grocery store for Dr. Pepper and toilet paper (true story) just when this bullshit decided to happen.

Gardening really messes with your sense of time.  It feels like months and months since I planted these shishito peppers, and yet they’re still tiny little sprouts without their first real leaf growth yet. The sprouts in the background are all basil and those too are just… sprouts.

And then you have something like nasturtiums, which already outgrew their little peat pots:

They had to go outside and they were one of the last things I planted.  Elsewhere, Mike the Viking went nuts on mint varieties at the garden center and I used up the hand-me-down pots my friends gave me.

Well, along with the rosemary and chives over on the left there.  There’s more mint somewhere around here, I just misplaced it.  Anyway, they can’t go in the ground because if they do the landlord will come by to see how we’re doing someday and discover a giant mint bush where his house used to be.

In addition to the hand-me-down pots, I had to purchase some extra planters, and this time I’m trying out some $2 beverage buckets from the clearance store.  The Viking drilled shot some holes into the bottom with a crossbow so they could drain, and the sugar snap peas seem plenty happy.  Minus the part where they are growing too fast for me to set up a frame for them.

And speaking of growing too fast, after some research of what kind of vine to grow over the back carport/pergola/arbor, we found a lovely passion flower.  I was under the impression that passion flower vines were very invasive and destructive, but it turns out they don’t grow runners or spread at the base at all – where you plant them is where you get them. They are a far wiser choice for screening an area in than say, bamboo.  Also, someday: passion fruit.  Anyway, ours was getting some sun on the south side of the house while I wait another week or two to plant it, when I noticed it had basically doubled in size.

Almost all that greenery at the top of there is new.  I gotta get it planted.  But I’m at my most essential nature a procrastinator, so we’ll probably pull in a few more evenings of Talisman instead:

Talisman is Dungeons & Dragons for people with few friends.  You read that right.  Fewer friends than people who play D&D have. You build up a character over many rounds until they are strong enough to ascend up the game’s difficulty levels.  For three people, it’s about 3 hours of disrupted play (as in, we take short breaks).  The game costs about as much as a new video game, and you can buy expansion packs that change gameplay and character possibilities, so we like it a lot.  I mean, whatever.  I wish we knew a D&D group in Los Angeles to join up with, but we don’t.  Life is a never-ending series of exponentially disheartening disappointments.

Speaking of!  I’d been saving money to buy a new sewing machine, but our terrible, awful, loud, crappy, smelly Dirt Devil vacuum finally told us to fuck off forever, so I had to buy a new vacuum instead.  After much rending of the clothes and hair I found exactly what I wanted cheap on eBay (rarity of rarities!) and became the grudgingly happy owner of a new vacuum that doesn’t disturb napping ladies:

I can’t say with all certainly that I understand what’s happening in this image, but I too would pass out if my man partner actually vacuumed the floors.  PASS OUT.

As much as I’d like to think of myself as a cyberpunkian post-apocalyptic emotionless she-cactus, I’m not.   At all.  I’m a nerd.  A weepy nerd.  So like any good nerd, I’m also filled with shame.

To wit: For my birthday last year my dad gave me a Kindle, and despite my persistent indecision¹ on how I feel about electronic books, I love it.  I think it was nerd-maven Felicia Day whom I first heard mention using their Kindle as a way to hide what they were reading, and the seed was planted for me.  Because there was a book I wanted to read, and I didn’t want anyone to know about it.

That book was Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander.  For a brief period of my life I worked at a bookstore, and it was a book I found myself restocking often.  Until I worked there, I’d never heard of it, but (like many books) after I realized I saw it everywhere.  On every literature shelf in every store, new and used copies.  I remember reading the back while stocking it and thinking absentmindedly that it sounded good, until I realized it was a secret romance novel.

That’s right, secret romance novel. It is “literature”.  It is even sometimes science fiction.  But it is never, ever, romance.  Until you read it.

I could talk about the infinitely complex sub-genres of books for hours and hours, but I think the one that most enrages readers of “real” literature is the romance sub-genre.  The newest new thing is what the industry calls “Urban Fantasy” – a descriptor that I love.  It is such a 90′s era sex toy shop name, it just tickles me to type it out.  URBAN FANTASY.  Anyway, the woman who wrote the books “True Blood” is based on falls into this category, wherein modern, normal ladies are somehow thrust into a world of fantastic, paranormal or otherwise imaginative events (and then those events are thrust into them if you know what I mean and I think that you do).  Basically all the ladies that were watching Labyrinth in the 80′s and wishing they were Sarah are now reading books in which they are Sarah and can finally do what they want to with Jareth the Goblin King.  And before you think I am mocking those ladies — well I am, but only because I’m turning into one of those ladies.  It’s true, I can’t fight it.  I studied literature in college, for fuck’s sake!  I wrote a massive paper about the post-industrial metaphors of Neuromancer!  Oh my god, don’t look at me, I’m a monster.

So: Outlander.  WWII nurse touches a magical stone in Scotland and is transported back to 1743 where she has to have passionate sex with the world’s handsomest Highlander to save her life.  I KNOW.  It’s the stupidest scenario ever written, but Gabaldon is actually a good writer and before I knew it I was frantically downloading the sequel and swearing Mike the Viking to eternal secrecy.  My shame is great, but not so great I won’t tell everyone on the internet about it.  Because my fear of being discovered is destroyed by outing myself.  Like the time I mistakenly told someone I watched all of “The Hills” in a single three-day marathon session and then subsequently hallucinated and believed that television had transcended reality and pushed us closer to the singularity.  And then later the person I told that to shortened it to “Sunday loves ‘The Hills’.”

Okay, that’s all.  I just had to get that off my chest.

¹ I mostly worry about the economics of it, and all the complications therein.  The entire literary industry is collapsing under greed – publishers bet 90% of their yearly income on only 5% of their publications, meaning that they’ve set up a trap for themselves where they can’t afford to publish anything but blockbusters.  To an author they say, if your book isn’t going to move 1 million copies there is “no market” for it.   Enter e-books, which are both brilliant (no overhead costs!) and terrible (wait, you mean we can’t charge the same amount?) for them.  I love the convenience of e-books, but as long as the industry insists on charging $13 for new e-books, they won’t have me as a customer.  And I will still always prefer the aesthetic of a real book, but there comes a point where a reader as voracious as myself has to be realistic: I read several books a month, and I can only keep the ones that are very, very special.

Presenting for your pleasure: bullet points!

• My friend Miriam started making and selling AMAZING hats!  Holy Kobe beef!



They are so alarmingly fetching, I’m not even sure what to say. To make it all even better, the hats aren’t just hot-glued together, she’s using age-old, time-tested haberdashery techniques.



I am a terrible hat-wearer, but I really, really want to see someone wearing that fawn hat around town. It would make my day.

• Planty babies are doing their thing, with the nasturiums suddenly punching through the soil with their little green fists, like zombies rising from their graves:



They truly were one day not there and the next day were sneaking lipstick on after leaving the house and experimenting with cigarettes. But they are just so photogenic, the bitches.



The shishito are still putting on a good show, but the nasturtiums are officially owning it.

• The Viking asked last night what was for dinner and when I said “Fractals,” he just nodded, bless him.



It’s a Romanesco, if you’re interested. It tastes like it looks. Which is to say, like math and cauliflower and broccoli. It’s tasty simply roasted in some olive oil and salt.



The only downer is that it’s expensive. The farmer’s market was selling them for $4 a pound, which meant this one ran me about $6. Which is a lot for a single serving of vegetables. But you know. Gnarl.

I’m grumpy.

• First, Oprah.  I can’t stand her.  I’m one of those people, yes, that wishes that she’d just build her intergalactic starship to take her fans and colonize a new planet already.  Oh wait, they chose this planet.  ANYWAY, I mostly don’t have to deal with her but the last few months of her “last season” bullshit (I think starting your own TV channel is effectively the same thing as continuing the show) has it all ramping¹ back up again — the last 24 hours especially.  In case you missed it and/or don’t live in America, over the last few days there have been teasers running for a new episode where Oprah breathlessly announces (AND I MOTHERFUCKING QUOTE) “The miracle of miracles.”   I know!  Finally!  That cancer wasn’t gonna cure itself.   Oh-ho, but no, not that miracle of miracles, no, instead it’s that she has a half sister.   That sound?  Like crickets and tumbleweeds?  Is me trying to not stroke out.  I mean, I’m sure it’s surprising to discover you have a sibling but just for once, just once, I wish that Oprah was capable of reining in the hyperbole.  I.  Cannot.  Stand.  This.  Woman.

• Last night I made lamb and mint meatpies (from this recipe, but not as shepard’s pies) with unadulterated fancy-pants salad mix salad and it was grand:

We ate while playing a particularly epic round of Talisman, which I felt was appropriate. Well, a little. Thematically sound? “Appropriate” might have been something more along the lines of a gristly sausage roll and some scabies.

• Really apropos of nothing, over the holidays when I was visiting my mom, she gave me this item she found in the old, old storage:

The thing is, I’ve never seen this before, and it’s clearly old. Adding to the mystery is a Disneyland price tag on the back:



The best we can figure is that they bought it for me when I was either too young to write in it, or it was purchased behind my back to be given to me at a later date. We made several trips to Disneyland in my childhood (my grandparents lived nearby), so either of these scenarios fits the timeline. Either way, it was forgotten about until I was 31 years old, at which point I found it indescribably trippy. As you might imagine, as a child I never got those pre-made name items, like bicycle license plates or keychains with names written in calligraphy². And I think about my parents finding this little diary and buying it… it makes me teary for more than one reason.

¹ The spellchecker is trying very earnestly to change this into “raping back up”.
² I did, however, receive more than one pack of “day of the week” underpants primarily to keep the “Sunday” pair.

I didn’t have computer access for a few days, and now I’m out the door to do some medicinal drinking.  Here’s to making it another year, my friends.

Your host,

Sunday

Santa never leaves our stockings hanging anywhere, they’re too heavy.  They slump over the gifts in the morning, like tired and bloated partygoers:

And then there’s the tradition where my mom tries to terrify us, and succeeds:

She makes up for it by her infallible quest to form nests of birds inside the tree.  This is just one:

And deep Pacific Northwest biological randomness:

And back around to the creepy again:

But it always seems to boil down to the peculiar fact that dogs enjoy Christmas a lot:

And also reminds us that:

Things covered in glitter are better than things not covered in glitter.

I hope everyone ate themselves as sick as I did, and also received a candy octopus ball making kit in their stocking from Santa, like I did.  More later.

My mom wanted me to share this anecdotal evidence of the difference between the sexes:

I assure you this was entirely unstaged.

I fly back to my hometown of Olympia tomorrow before the buttcrack of dawn, and my blood pressure knows it.  I’m only a little afraid of flying, but the stress of time constraints makes me wanna hurl.  When the flight confirmation email arrived in my box this morning, I felt a lurch of quease.  Blerg.

I don’t know about you, but when I get stressed I start making lists.  You should have seen the list from when we moved, it was like a nuclear reactor shut-down procedure.  But my traveling lists are embarrassing, because I start listing things that I shouldn’t need to.  Here’s a real example of my list from this morning:

• shower
• make packing list
• birth control pills
• knitting
• wash dog
• snacks

You get the idea.  This is not the portrait of myself I’d like to imagine I’d paint.  It would be more like:

• lingerie for rendezvous with Sam Rockwell
• send horses to the boarding facility
• send dog to cryocontainment facility to she won’t age while I am gone
• tell the pastry chef to have pain au chocolats ready for the morning
• spacesuit
• check-in at transporter facility

Instead I’m trying to decide if leaving the kitchen floor dirty is helping or hindering myself, since I’ll have to clean it again when I get back.  I’m going to go with “hinder”.

The thing where we buy stuff for people.  My ideas from last year still stand, but here are some new ones.  And by “new ones” I mean stuff I mostly already told you about.

1. Epic Rad Handmade Broom:

Again, it’s both functional and beautiful, and who doesn’t need a broom?  If the idea of a plain broom still strikes you as boring, go and look at her more unusual ones, like the cobweb broom or the turkey wing broom.  There’s even a broom for hobbits children, which is a fine idea if you know one of those obsessive compulsive kids.

2. Stromondo Marzipan:

By far my most favoritest marzipan in the world.  I’ve written an ode before, and it still stands.

Stromondo is so finely milled that it is creamy like caramel — I’ve really never found anything else like it, anywhere.  It was unavailable for most of this year for some horrible, terrible reason, but it’s back! It is currently unavailable online, as it often is, but when it shows up you should nab it.  It’s pricey, but I think that’s what part of what makes it a good gift for someone who likes to bake.  Or likes to eat things that are delicious.

3. Play Food From IKEA:

I walked by this vegetable basket at IKEA and stopped dead in my tracks.  You can’t see from the photo,  but the details are spot-on.   The mushrooms are the best, they really look like shiitakes, and there’s a head of garlic hidden in there too.  The leek has little root bits and the outer lettuce leaves detach.  All of this and a sturdy little corduroy basket for $8.  Yep, eight bucks.  I got the veggies for my niece, as well as the equally awesome breakfast set, which was only FIVE DOLLARS.  But here’s the thing: you don’t need to know a kid to get these.  I think the vegetables or the fruit set would look rad in a nice crystal or wooden bowl in the middle of a dining table for adults.  Mike the Viking thinks the breakfast set would look great sewn onto a hat and formally put in a request for one.

The bummer is that they are not currently available for sale online, so if you don’t live near an IKEA you’re out of luck.

4. Uh, Something I Just Now Realized I Can’t Tell You About:

Because I’m getting it for my sister.  Hi Layla! Phew, that was close.  Also: don’t let your daughter see item #3.

5. Tipu’s Chai:

If you’re a regular reader then you’ve already seen the effusive gush of mutual hand-jobbery that went down between Tipu’s Chai and myself.

But the reminder is: it was for good damn reason.  The chai is by far the best I’ve had, and their microgrinding process for making “instant” chai is unparalleled.  If you know someone who likes chai already, this is a no-brainer.  If they are avid tea drinkers, it’s still a no-brainer.  If they’ve never even tried chai, now’s the time to start them on it.  Tell Tipu’s that Anger Burger sent you in the comment field when you order and they’ll refund a small percentage of your payment and try the discount code “chailove” “blackchaifriday”.  (Thanks Maven!).

6. LÄMPLIG cutting board(s) from IKEA:

Again – appears to not be available online, so sorry to everyone not near an IKEA.  But for those who are, and in particular, those who have poor counter surfaces, you are in some serious luck.  At $10 each, I’m not even sure you can buy the pine they’re made of for cheaper at the lumber store.

The boards have a moat/drain on one side and a lip on one edge, but that’s not why I got them for myself.  As you can see, when flipped over they make for a $20 instant farmhouse-style counter top.  The lip catches on the tile edges and hold them more or less in place, and after several soakings in mineral oil the wood is gorgeous and practically waterproof.

It’s probably for the best that you can’t order them online, because when I went to buy these it took me almost 10 minutes to find two that matched in color.  The range of tones and colors was astounding – some boards were almost white, some were almost black, some were even-colored all over, and few, like mine, were a pleasant mix of shades.  They are also HEAVY and hoisting the boards around while I searched for matches was a total pain in the ass.

Do you know someone with tile or otherwise unsuitable kitchen counters?  LÄMPLIG to the rescue.  And you – you’re a good friend.

***

What about the rest of you?  Any great ideas?  Things you can’t live without?  Because I’ve got a few family members I can’t think of gifts for, and it’s killing me.  KILLING ME.  It’s not really killing me, but I’m a little distraught over it.