Okay, so if you haven't figured it out, there are about a million ways to tick me off. We've covered some of them here already, and I never look back, so you're on your own if you missed the lesson already. Next lesson up on deck is voice mail.
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Okay, so if you haven't figured it out, there are about a million ways to tick me off. We've covered some of them here already, and I never look back, so you're on your own if you missed the lesson already. Next lesson up on deck is voice mail.
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Voice mail, according to the gurus at wikipedia.org (donate money, they're worth it for the number of bar bets they solve) was invented by both IBM and Xerox when I was 2 years old. I'm 35, people, so we're not talking about new technology. Not even close to new. And sure, people started out with earlier versions of message machines, where they'd leave torturous family greetings like, "Hi, You've reached the Obama's - Barack, Michelle, Shasha, Malia and Bo (someone tries to get the dog to bark here) can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message and we'll call you back!" And then finally the dog barks. You remember those. Sure, you haven't heard THAT greeting, but you remember that answering machine. Where the longer the beep was, the more messages were already on the tape.
So now, we're modern. We're high tech. Everyone has voice mail on their cell phones. And if they don't have it there, for sure they have an answering machine at home. Because we're all so damned important that we MUST be reachable, twenty four hours a day, in mediums other than the internet spam we get. (No, thank you for the offer, but I do not need any medication for my erectile dysfunction as I do not have a penis to W*O*W her with.)
We get our new phone and we set up our cool ring back tones (HATEEEEEEEEEEEE) and our custom ringtones for each of our callers. Generic ringtones aren't enough. Nope, we have to download that crap from the wireless carrier du jour at some insane rate that never really seems like a problem... if you stop at one ringtone. But no one ever stops at one. Just ask the guys over at Frito Lay who are shipping those potato chips like they are going out of style. Betcha can't eat just one. It's the same with the ring tones.
So you get this phone, and you customize it. And you leave a near incomprehensible message for the caller because you just can't make it to the phone at that particular minute. For instance, "hey yo this is B I can't get you now so hit me back wit some'in an' I'll get wit you." I believe that translates into, "hello, caller, this is Barack and I can't take your call right now. Please leave your number and a message and I will return your call as quickly as possible." Mind you there is some incredibly loud, annoying music track playing in the room, too, or sports center, blasting away while the telephone owner leaves said greeting, which makes it all the harder to translate to comprehensible language.
All that is annoying as hell. But that's not what ticks me off!
Be quiet. You know I make a long story long, and if you didn't like it, you'd have deleted the email by now.
What ticks me off is this:
I call you. I get your greeting. I wait for the beep and I leave you a thorough and complete message, thus negating the need for you to call me back. And you, you stupid idiot, decide that you should have actually answered that telephone call who's number you didn't instantly recognize on your caller ID... and you call me back.
Don't do that!
Don't call me back instantly. Unless you know me personally and know me well, don't call me back. Just check your damned voice mail. Because the next time I call 197 kids in 1 day to remind them of their lifeguard training, and they choose to call me back to find out what I wanted... I'm going to tell them to check their voice mail. And then I'm going to hang up on them.
Seriously. What's the point of having voice mail if you aren't going to bother to listen to the message.
"I saw you called. What's up?"
"Did you listen to your voice mail?"
"Nahhh, I haven't bothered to check that."
That, right there... that's where I'm hanging up on you.
I understand your time is precious. So is mine. That's why I left you a voice mail. To cut down on me calling and calling and calling until I got you on the phone, I instead chose to take advantage of the technology you presented to me for my use, and I left you a message. Because I do NOT have time to talk to 197 voice mail systems, and then talk to 197 people live, when they decide to call me back instead of listening to their message.
I mean hell, I even use my announcer voice when I leave these messages, so they're entertaining and informative, all at the same time.
Technology... use it, don't abuse it
....disclaimer.... Story Hour is in no way endorsed or read by President Obama or his family, but I sat in traffic for 2 hours and moved 4 miles, so I'm really freaking tired and stressed out, so I couldn't come up with another family who I could actually remember all their names. At least I'm politically aware, right? Right?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Told you so
There's a fridge in the garage. It's full of beverages. Sure it costs a fortune to run a fridge in the garage, but damnit, we like our drinks cold and the ice maker in the indoor fridge just can't keep up. So be it.
Anyway, I've been visiting the garage fridge for, ohhhhh, we'll call it "forever." But tonight, when I wanted to get a drink... several hours after the sun went down, I opened the back door. And stood there, looking right, then left, then right, then left like I was about to step off the curb to cross the street, cementing the fact that I am a moron.
No really, I am a moron. Because I'm barefoot, in boxer shorts (hawaiian print, thank you very much) and a sweatshirt (don't criticize my after shower attire, okay?) looking around for the stupid raccoon. I've already mentioned I've gone to the garage a kajillion times in the past month alone, and now, suddenly, the night we set the humane trap, I'm all skittish to go get a pepsi. Apparently I thought that my unusual technique of multiple traffic checks would protect me.
The good news is that I made a safe, successful journey to get my caffeine fix. (No, it does not keep me awake at bedtime. Enough with the stupid questions already.) The bad news is that I alerted my parents before I went outside, for fear I'd have a run in with the critter. Really, they were sitting on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune on the DVR. What did I think they were gonna do for me?
Because when I WAS out in the garage, before I opened the door (seriously, it's a household style door and not the roll up door. Didn't I tell you about stupid questions?!) I thumped it a couple times, and then let it swing into the wall behind it, to let whatever was there know I was coming. In case they hadn't paid attention at the traffic signal.
And then I heard the chittering sound. I stood still for a bit and listened, then turned around and trucked back inside all "come to the garage, right now, come to the garage right now come to the garage right now." Vanna was turning over some wicked letters though, and it took them about a dozen more iterations of me all "come to the garage right nowwwwwwwwwwwwww" before the parents got up. Of course I probably sounded like a squirrel on amphetamines I was talking to so fast, and it's almost tax day (Poor Dad. Hang in there! You're almost done being accountant for the masses!) so they were pretty much done moving around.
But they got up.
And trekked out to the garage, where I was waiting again, with my finger over my mouth in that librarian shushing gesture, and we all listened. More chittering. Lots more.
We've got a familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy up there.
Which changes the whole ball game.
So now we'll take the can of tuna out of the trap and wait out moving day for the coons. No sense trapping the mom when the babies would just die, and then cause the need to rip out sheet rock, as well as throwing away everything in the garage.... wait. Yeah. Not even worth it for a clean garage. I hollered up to the raccoons and told them they had until June to find a new apartment, as I would not be held hostage for my midnight caffeine fix any longer than that.
Freaking raccoons! We live in the city! Over four million people, and still, we end up with raccoons in our attic. Vaughn, Brian, Bryson... you all can definitely say "told you so."
Anyway, I've been visiting the garage fridge for, ohhhhh, we'll call it "forever." But tonight, when I wanted to get a drink... several hours after the sun went down, I opened the back door. And stood there, looking right, then left, then right, then left like I was about to step off the curb to cross the street, cementing the fact that I am a moron.
No really, I am a moron. Because I'm barefoot, in boxer shorts (hawaiian print, thank you very much) and a sweatshirt (don't criticize my after shower attire, okay?) looking around for the stupid raccoon. I've already mentioned I've gone to the garage a kajillion times in the past month alone, and now, suddenly, the night we set the humane trap, I'm all skittish to go get a pepsi. Apparently I thought that my unusual technique of multiple traffic checks would protect me.
The good news is that I made a safe, successful journey to get my caffeine fix. (No, it does not keep me awake at bedtime. Enough with the stupid questions already.) The bad news is that I alerted my parents before I went outside, for fear I'd have a run in with the critter. Really, they were sitting on the couch watching Wheel of Fortune on the DVR. What did I think they were gonna do for me?
Because when I WAS out in the garage, before I opened the door (seriously, it's a household style door and not the roll up door. Didn't I tell you about stupid questions?!) I thumped it a couple times, and then let it swing into the wall behind it, to let whatever was there know I was coming. In case they hadn't paid attention at the traffic signal.
And then I heard the chittering sound. I stood still for a bit and listened, then turned around and trucked back inside all "come to the garage, right now, come to the garage right now come to the garage right now." Vanna was turning over some wicked letters though, and it took them about a dozen more iterations of me all "come to the garage right nowwwwwwwwwwwwww" before the parents got up. Of course I probably sounded like a squirrel on amphetamines I was talking to so fast, and it's almost tax day (Poor Dad. Hang in there! You're almost done being accountant for the masses!) so they were pretty much done moving around.
But they got up.
And trekked out to the garage, where I was waiting again, with my finger over my mouth in that librarian shushing gesture, and we all listened. More chittering. Lots more.
We've got a familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy up there.
Which changes the whole ball game.
So now we'll take the can of tuna out of the trap and wait out moving day for the coons. No sense trapping the mom when the babies would just die, and then cause the need to rip out sheet rock, as well as throwing away everything in the garage.... wait. Yeah. Not even worth it for a clean garage. I hollered up to the raccoons and told them they had until June to find a new apartment, as I would not be held hostage for my midnight caffeine fix any longer than that.
Freaking raccoons! We live in the city! Over four million people, and still, we end up with raccoons in our attic. Vaughn, Brian, Bryson... you all can definitely say "told you so."
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Time to Move
No, not me. I'm not moving. I'm too poor to move right now. So I'll stay with the parents. But that fat bastard of an uninvited, unwelcome house guest is getting kicked to the curb.
Immediately. If any one of my past, present or future boyfriends was in town, I'd have one of them do the honors. They'd love this job.
You see... there's a thieving bastard in the strawberry patch. And I just know he'll keep it up, too. So he has to leave.
You can see by his remorseless expression that he has been plotting the downfall of the garden since it went in last month. And I for one will not have it. Not at all.
What is worse though, is that this dude is living in the garage attic. It would be one thing if he'd clean the joint up, and pay rent, but he's been kiting checks and trashing the joint. I think he and the squirrels have had more than one keg party, too, given the state of the garage attic.
I do have to give him points for agility though, because he's like an acrobat each time he comes and goes from the attic apartment. See, we have an open beamed back porch. Since the last porch roof had been finished, and it leaked, and rotted, and a whole bunch of other crap no one would care to remember, the new porch roof has exposed rafters. It's these rafters he tiptoes across, after scaling a 4x4 to get up there in the first place. Up is easy, but he also goes down headfirst. That's what gets him the points.
Brazen.
And all I can say is this better be a male. And he better be single. Or homosexual. Because any pups, kits, babies or whatever the hell you call them are not welcome here. Not having it. Not at all.
Eviction will be swift. And it better be painless. At least on my part.
Anyone who wants to come and handle this matter better be here by Tuesday.
Immediately. If any one of my past, present or future boyfriends was in town, I'd have one of them do the honors. They'd love this job.
You see... there's a thieving bastard in the strawberry patch. And I just know he'll keep it up, too. So he has to leave.
You can see by his remorseless expression that he has been plotting the downfall of the garden since it went in last month. And I for one will not have it. Not at all.
What is worse though, is that this dude is living in the garage attic. It would be one thing if he'd clean the joint up, and pay rent, but he's been kiting checks and trashing the joint. I think he and the squirrels have had more than one keg party, too, given the state of the garage attic.
I do have to give him points for agility though, because he's like an acrobat each time he comes and goes from the attic apartment. See, we have an open beamed back porch. Since the last porch roof had been finished, and it leaked, and rotted, and a whole bunch of other crap no one would care to remember, the new porch roof has exposed rafters. It's these rafters he tiptoes across, after scaling a 4x4 to get up there in the first place. Up is easy, but he also goes down headfirst. That's what gets him the points.
Brazen.
And all I can say is this better be a male. And he better be single. Or homosexual. Because any pups, kits, babies or whatever the hell you call them are not welcome here. Not having it. Not at all.
Eviction will be swift. And it better be painless. At least on my part.
Anyone who wants to come and handle this matter better be here by Tuesday.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
My DVR makes me feel guilty...
Can I really be the only person with this problem? Up until a year ago, when I wanted to watch something on television, I got myself there at the time it was schedule. Or I simply didn't watch it. Because there are always summer reruns, as a great chance to catch up on watching all the stuff I missed. And if that didn't work, well hell, I could drop it into Netflix and make it happen that way.
I actually caught up on a lot of TV when I was in Iraq, that way, now that I think about it. There was a place where I'd fall asleep with a season of something or other in the dvd player next to my bed. It was either that or listening to the stupid computer generated announcements coming out of the command post all morning until I finally fell asleep. Bones and House were a much better choice.
Anyway, now that I'm home, both from the sandbox and from North Carolina, I've got a DVR. So I program it to record a bunch of shows I would formerly have tried to squeeze into my evening. Not a ton, though I could totally be a TV junkie, if I let myself, but about one show a night. And this is good. This is convenient. This is awesome.
I can have my life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and a DVR full of stuff I intend to watch.
No really, I do.
Of course I said that four months ago, too, when I started recording.
Meanwhile, the damned thing just makes me feel guilty. I find myself turning the tv on when I have a couple hours free, but not really free, and trying to power through some shows. High speed, blow through the commercials, and then enjoy the show.
Or in my case, turn something on, get distracted by life, and end up walking away, only to find out the tv shut off the program for me. I swear I use the sleep timer more during the day on my tv than I do at night.
So, what's on my DVR right now....
I'm totally going to watch Home Alone with my nieces, I swear. Just as soon as they start having more than a half hour free. And maybe when it gets cold again, so the Christmas carols they'll be inspired to sing make sense. Or maybe not. Who cares about making sense.
Ace of Cakes - awesome. So awesome I've got 6 episodes on there. It's CAKE, you idiot - delete the damned show and just look at the pictures online of their latest cake creations. Hell, Bakerella at least makes cake pops. I love me some fat, chubby, Jewish baker dude, too, but obviously not that much if I've let this many episodes stack up.
It's right next to Unwrapped, too, which proves I might have an unhealthy obsession starting with the Food Network. Does anyone really need to know the secrets of fiery food, anyway? I'm pretty solid the secret to making things hot when you're cooking is to add some sort of spice. Usually in the form of a pepper, be it fresh, pickled, dried or ground.
And to round out the trifecta of shit I won't actually watch unless I'm awake at 2 am again and bored.... Diners, Drive ins and Dives. Buddy, your name is Guy Ferry. After the boat. Not some trumped up version of whatever you want to call yourself now, on those stupid TGI Friday's commercials that annoy the hell out of me. Fiiieedty is what it sounds like. And it sounds bogus. Besides, how much fun is it really, for the rest of the world to watch you eat? That show is totally coming off the record schedule.
Oh, sweet! A Muppets Christmas movie! You're jealous. I'm jealous. Christmas in April... that works, right? Although right now is probably not the best time to listen to Miss Piggy, Kermit is totally my buddy. It's not easy being green....
Some of this stuff just makes me wonder why I ever recorded it, anyway:
Shanghai Noon - seen it
John Pinette: I'm Starving - he's funny as hell, but I have a CD of his already, and a DVD he autographed and gave to me over in Iraq.
Undercover Blues - seriously, I don't even remember what that's about....
Two If by Sea - Dennis Leary and Sandy Bullock argue about stealing stuff that doesn't belong to them.
Juno - if I haven't bothered to see it by now, I probably never will. Teen pregnancy - woooo
Runaway Bride - Julia Roberts' oversized lips can leave my recorder now, thank you very much
Hitch - because Will Smith being a matchmaker is soooo believable. The man fell in love and got married when he was what, twelve?
America's Sweethearts - oh look Julia Roberts is trying to take over my DVR. Denied!
Bewitched - when Will Ferrell plays the straight man we're all in trouble. And if you haven't seen his HBO special salute to George W. Bush, it's worth signing up for the channel now. Run, don't walk. Seriously.
Man of the House - Tommy Lee Jones takes on college co-eds. Uh huh. That's believable.
Taking Chance - *sniffffffffffff* You can stay.
The Waterboy - You can leave
Love Stinks - yes it does, and so does this movie
Always - or until you die and go to heaven and have to help me fly a plane full of water over my smokejumper boyfriend I replaced you with
Made of Honor - McDreamy has to do something in the off season.
Nim's Island - I'll catch this one, I swear. Might take me 6 more months, but I'll watch it.
Ghost Hunters and the X-Files - I must have been whacked out on sinus medication when I started recording these.
Burn Notice - yessssssssss. Burn Notice is still fun, thank you USA network.
Big Love - Polygamy is fun, yayyyyyyyy!
The Pacifier - that's it, I must be recording this stuff in my sleep. Vin Diesel (what the hell kind of made up name is that, anyway) as a Feebie playing a babysitter. Uh huh.
House - a smart assed, sarcastic, sardonic person who usually turns out right, and doesn't admit it when he's wrong. I'm in love with House.
Kings - I thought I'd give it a shot, but really, a crown of butterflies? You're going off the schedule posthaste.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - I have no idea, but I figured I'd give the Botswanaian detectives a shot. Even if it is made up. On HBO.
No more will I feel guilty because of my DVR!
Retarded, sure, for each time I forget I'm actually watching a recorded show and fail to fast forward through the commercials, but never guilty again!
*mutters* stupid DVR is supposed to make my life easier, not harder....
I actually caught up on a lot of TV when I was in Iraq, that way, now that I think about it. There was a place where I'd fall asleep with a season of something or other in the dvd player next to my bed. It was either that or listening to the stupid computer generated announcements coming out of the command post all morning until I finally fell asleep. Bones and House were a much better choice.
Anyway, now that I'm home, both from the sandbox and from North Carolina, I've got a DVR. So I program it to record a bunch of shows I would formerly have tried to squeeze into my evening. Not a ton, though I could totally be a TV junkie, if I let myself, but about one show a night. And this is good. This is convenient. This is awesome.
I can have my life, liberty, pursuit of happiness, and a DVR full of stuff I intend to watch.
No really, I do.
Of course I said that four months ago, too, when I started recording.
Meanwhile, the damned thing just makes me feel guilty. I find myself turning the tv on when I have a couple hours free, but not really free, and trying to power through some shows. High speed, blow through the commercials, and then enjoy the show.
Or in my case, turn something on, get distracted by life, and end up walking away, only to find out the tv shut off the program for me. I swear I use the sleep timer more during the day on my tv than I do at night.
So, what's on my DVR right now....
I'm totally going to watch Home Alone with my nieces, I swear. Just as soon as they start having more than a half hour free. And maybe when it gets cold again, so the Christmas carols they'll be inspired to sing make sense. Or maybe not. Who cares about making sense.
Ace of Cakes - awesome. So awesome I've got 6 episodes on there. It's CAKE, you idiot - delete the damned show and just look at the pictures online of their latest cake creations. Hell, Bakerella at least makes cake pops. I love me some fat, chubby, Jewish baker dude, too, but obviously not that much if I've let this many episodes stack up.
It's right next to Unwrapped, too, which proves I might have an unhealthy obsession starting with the Food Network. Does anyone really need to know the secrets of fiery food, anyway? I'm pretty solid the secret to making things hot when you're cooking is to add some sort of spice. Usually in the form of a pepper, be it fresh, pickled, dried or ground.
And to round out the trifecta of shit I won't actually watch unless I'm awake at 2 am again and bored.... Diners, Drive ins and Dives. Buddy, your name is Guy Ferry. After the boat. Not some trumped up version of whatever you want to call yourself now, on those stupid TGI Friday's commercials that annoy the hell out of me. Fiiieedty is what it sounds like. And it sounds bogus. Besides, how much fun is it really, for the rest of the world to watch you eat? That show is totally coming off the record schedule.
Oh, sweet! A Muppets Christmas movie! You're jealous. I'm jealous. Christmas in April... that works, right? Although right now is probably not the best time to listen to Miss Piggy, Kermit is totally my buddy. It's not easy being green....
Some of this stuff just makes me wonder why I ever recorded it, anyway:
Shanghai Noon - seen it
John Pinette: I'm Starving - he's funny as hell, but I have a CD of his already, and a DVD he autographed and gave to me over in Iraq.
Undercover Blues - seriously, I don't even remember what that's about....
Two If by Sea - Dennis Leary and Sandy Bullock argue about stealing stuff that doesn't belong to them.
Juno - if I haven't bothered to see it by now, I probably never will. Teen pregnancy - woooo
Runaway Bride - Julia Roberts' oversized lips can leave my recorder now, thank you very much
Hitch - because Will Smith being a matchmaker is soooo believable. The man fell in love and got married when he was what, twelve?
America's Sweethearts - oh look Julia Roberts is trying to take over my DVR. Denied!
Bewitched - when Will Ferrell plays the straight man we're all in trouble. And if you haven't seen his HBO special salute to George W. Bush, it's worth signing up for the channel now. Run, don't walk. Seriously.
Man of the House - Tommy Lee Jones takes on college co-eds. Uh huh. That's believable.
Taking Chance - *sniffffffffffff* You can stay.
The Waterboy - You can leave
Love Stinks - yes it does, and so does this movie
Always - or until you die and go to heaven and have to help me fly a plane full of water over my smokejumper boyfriend I replaced you with
Made of Honor - McDreamy has to do something in the off season.
Nim's Island - I'll catch this one, I swear. Might take me 6 more months, but I'll watch it.
Ghost Hunters and the X-Files - I must have been whacked out on sinus medication when I started recording these.
Burn Notice - yessssssssss. Burn Notice is still fun, thank you USA network.
Big Love - Polygamy is fun, yayyyyyyyy!
The Pacifier - that's it, I must be recording this stuff in my sleep. Vin Diesel (what the hell kind of made up name is that, anyway) as a Feebie playing a babysitter. Uh huh.
House - a smart assed, sarcastic, sardonic person who usually turns out right, and doesn't admit it when he's wrong. I'm in love with House.
Kings - I thought I'd give it a shot, but really, a crown of butterflies? You're going off the schedule posthaste.
The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency - I have no idea, but I figured I'd give the Botswanaian detectives a shot. Even if it is made up. On HBO.
No more will I feel guilty because of my DVR!
Retarded, sure, for each time I forget I'm actually watching a recorded show and fail to fast forward through the commercials, but never guilty again!
*mutters* stupid DVR is supposed to make my life easier, not harder....
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Crack Dip
I got an email from Belle the other night saying "If I didn't have to work in the morning, I'd drive down for some crack dip." Bold words, since she's in Colorado. But really, crack dip IS that good.
A long time ago, when I was a relative rookie to packing boxes for the deployed military, I made some new friends here in Houston. We got together, formed our own little group and did some huge fundraising and donation drives, all the while calling ourselves "Show Some Love Houston." Catchy name or not, it worked. We shipped thousands of oreos across Iraq, and made our own cookbook, too. I've got some of those around here somewhere, I'm sure. Well, actually they're probably in storage, along with most everything I want at the time. That's a whole other story though.
So we'd have planning meetings for our big drive. And one day I stopped at Chuy's, because I needed an Elvis fix. Okay, no, that's not true. I needed a Chihuahua fix. Okay that's not true either. I'm sure I was suffering from a salsa and chip imbalance after training lifeguards in the morning, so I stopped by Chuys, visited the Chihuahua bar while an Elvis impersonator did his thing, and ordered chips, salsa and creamy jalapeno dip.
That would be the official name for crack dip. The one it's recognized by in the the restaurant.
But that name doesn't get the job done, for such a good, holy moly trip for your tastebuds. Which is why Belle wanted to drive down from Colorado and Kim wanted to come up from the beach.
Seriously, crack dip is a combination of cool and creamy and hot and spicy. There are jalapenos to reach up, grab you by the collar and smack you around. There is cilantro to make you blink back into the world with it's fresh, bright citrus taste. And then the steady, dependable creamy ranch dressing flavor comes in to make peace in your mouth. Add a super thin, crisp, warm, slightly salted tortilla chip and it's an orgasm of food flavors.
My Mom, who has the wimpiest mouth in the world, and cannot handle a single thing hotter than paprika, loves this stuff. She cannot get enough. When we do happen to go Chuy's to eat, she won't even place her drink order until bowls of dip are on the table in front of her. And then she can't stop eating it, but it's so hot to her that she's slugging back a frozen margarita with it, like a beer chaser. It's awesome to watch, too, because she gets all flushed from the spices, but won't stop eating it.
Anyway, since most of you don't live near an awesome Tex-Mex restaurant called Chuy's, which serves an Elvis Presley Memorial Combo that has NOTHING to do with a fried pb & nanner sandwich, I thought I'd give you the recipe. Try it. No, really. Try it.
Crack dip:
16 oz sour cream - your choice on regular or light - but Elvis don't do light, lite, or anything else low fat, so make your choice
1 packet powdered Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix - don't wimp out - use the real stuff instead of the store brand
1 bunch Cilantro or Chinese Parsley, if you live in a strange, strange world. And even if you think cilantro tastes soapy, give it a try. You'll thank me.
4 oz - diced jalapenos
Get out your blender. Dump in the sour cream and the ranch mix. Blend until mixed well. Separate 1/4 to 1/2 of the cilantro leaves from the stems. Throw the stems at the kids, the dog or the trash. Put the lovely, little green leaves into the blender. Blend in 10 second bursts. It will start to thin out the sour cream a bit, and add some green color to it. You'll see flecks of green, in addition to the greenish white color. Open up your can of diced jalapenos. Don't be a wimp. Dump in the juice and all to the blender. (Fine, if you're a wimp, pour off some of the juice and then add everything else to the blender. But know that I am disappointed in you and your wimpy tastebuds.) Blend again in 10 second bursts just until mixed. The jalapenos will mince up a bit, but if you blend too long, they'll disappear into the dip and become ghost spices that make your lips twitch for no apparent reason. That could be good if you don't like the people you're serving it to, but otherwise it makes for a boring dip. Pour it all into a bowl and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. If you can wait that long. Toss your tortilla chips in the microwave for 30 seconds or so, to warm them up, and chow down.
A long time ago, when I was a relative rookie to packing boxes for the deployed military, I made some new friends here in Houston. We got together, formed our own little group and did some huge fundraising and donation drives, all the while calling ourselves "Show Some Love Houston." Catchy name or not, it worked. We shipped thousands of oreos across Iraq, and made our own cookbook, too. I've got some of those around here somewhere, I'm sure. Well, actually they're probably in storage, along with most everything I want at the time. That's a whole other story though.
So we'd have planning meetings for our big drive. And one day I stopped at Chuy's, because I needed an Elvis fix. Okay, no, that's not true. I needed a Chihuahua fix. Okay that's not true either. I'm sure I was suffering from a salsa and chip imbalance after training lifeguards in the morning, so I stopped by Chuys, visited the Chihuahua bar while an Elvis impersonator did his thing, and ordered chips, salsa and creamy jalapeno dip.
That would be the official name for crack dip. The one it's recognized by in the the restaurant.
But that name doesn't get the job done, for such a good, holy moly trip for your tastebuds. Which is why Belle wanted to drive down from Colorado and Kim wanted to come up from the beach.
Seriously, crack dip is a combination of cool and creamy and hot and spicy. There are jalapenos to reach up, grab you by the collar and smack you around. There is cilantro to make you blink back into the world with it's fresh, bright citrus taste. And then the steady, dependable creamy ranch dressing flavor comes in to make peace in your mouth. Add a super thin, crisp, warm, slightly salted tortilla chip and it's an orgasm of food flavors.
My Mom, who has the wimpiest mouth in the world, and cannot handle a single thing hotter than paprika, loves this stuff. She cannot get enough. When we do happen to go Chuy's to eat, she won't even place her drink order until bowls of dip are on the table in front of her. And then she can't stop eating it, but it's so hot to her that she's slugging back a frozen margarita with it, like a beer chaser. It's awesome to watch, too, because she gets all flushed from the spices, but won't stop eating it.
Anyway, since most of you don't live near an awesome Tex-Mex restaurant called Chuy's, which serves an Elvis Presley Memorial Combo that has NOTHING to do with a fried pb & nanner sandwich, I thought I'd give you the recipe. Try it. No, really. Try it.
Crack dip:
16 oz sour cream - your choice on regular or light - but Elvis don't do light, lite, or anything else low fat, so make your choice
1 packet powdered Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix - don't wimp out - use the real stuff instead of the store brand
1 bunch Cilantro or Chinese Parsley, if you live in a strange, strange world. And even if you think cilantro tastes soapy, give it a try. You'll thank me.
4 oz - diced jalapenos
Get out your blender. Dump in the sour cream and the ranch mix. Blend until mixed well. Separate 1/4 to 1/2 of the cilantro leaves from the stems. Throw the stems at the kids, the dog or the trash. Put the lovely, little green leaves into the blender. Blend in 10 second bursts. It will start to thin out the sour cream a bit, and add some green color to it. You'll see flecks of green, in addition to the greenish white color. Open up your can of diced jalapenos. Don't be a wimp. Dump in the juice and all to the blender. (Fine, if you're a wimp, pour off some of the juice and then add everything else to the blender. But know that I am disappointed in you and your wimpy tastebuds.) Blend again in 10 second bursts just until mixed. The jalapenos will mince up a bit, but if you blend too long, they'll disappear into the dip and become ghost spices that make your lips twitch for no apparent reason. That could be good if you don't like the people you're serving it to, but otherwise it makes for a boring dip. Pour it all into a bowl and let sit for 15 minutes before serving. If you can wait that long. Toss your tortilla chips in the microwave for 30 seconds or so, to warm them up, and chow down.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Family = Food
At least around here, family equals food. It's math that even a toddler can count on. Fortunately, our youngest child left the toddler years behind about five years back, but still, she knew she could always count on tons of food whenever there were dozens and dozens of kneecaps at her eye level at Grandma's house.
A few weeks back, I got an email message that was setting up a treat for my Dad's impending birthday. I went downstairs, quietly confirmed a few details, and got back a reply. Next thing I know, I've got an email from my Aunties saying they are arriving on Friday, to celebrate, and surprise us all.
Naturally, I went downstairs and said "I've got a secrettttttttttttt. Clean the house."
Because I'm like that.
And then I walked away.
Mom starting figuring stuff out, and come Friday, Dad was so excited he was twitching, but he didn't really know who was coming down. He had a suspicion, but just waited out the confirmation rather than making a guess. Because either way, he was going to eat.
Because Mom - she puts on a spread when we have guests. It's a dead giveaway something big is going on.
The variety of food is an inverse proportion to the importance of the guests, too. Important to us, that is. So if the Pope were to stop by, he'd be offered up a wedge of cheese and some crackers, with a nice white wine. But the Aunties... they got the full on sixteen variety meal, five different meals. I'm hoping to start eating some time tomorrow, but in the mean time, I'm still full.
Seriously, the menu covered several pages, and involved trips to Sam's Club, Kroger, Walmart, HEB, and then back to Sam's. Fortunately I was working, so I missed the actual trips, and just got home in time on Friday to start cooking. I entered the kitchen and didn't really leave it at all, until Sunday afternoon.
I'm not complaining, but when Mom started fretting she didn't have enough buns for sandwiches on Friday night, I called my brother. He and his family were on the way over, and they'd already been called five minutes earlier about getting tomatoes and lettuce, to make good sandwiches. So Chucklehead and I are on the phone and I'm telling him we're having a meltdown about not having enough buns, even though there was a nice bread, also, and he asks "should I get buns or not?" He cuts to the chase, that brother of mine. I told him it was up to him, but it looked like Mom was trying to feed the entire 4th Infantry Division, and so she said 8 buns wasn't enough. Needless to say, he brought buns.
We had ham, we had chili con queso, we had strawberries & blackberries. We had creamy jalapeno dip. We had romanoff sauce, for the fruit. We had stuff I can't remember. And we had shoestring onion rings, which were damned fine. Oh, yeah, deviled eggs. We had those, too. Saturday started off with breakfast tacos, and the food never went away, but just morphed into lunch. Which morphed into dinner. Dinner was brisket, homemade potato salad, more stuff I can't remember but I'm pretty sure I cooked or stirred. And ice cream cake. God bless Carvel and their cakes. Although I do NOT recommend trying to wait out the last "60 seconds" of an NCAA playoff game, if the cake is out of the freezer. Just set the DVR and catch up on the game, because the cake was melting everywhere, even before the candles were lit.
There was a boatload of food moving through this house this weekend. Two full jars of mayo, the big ones, are gone. Ditto for the mustard. Something like 4 dozen eggs, in all their cholesteroly glory moved through the kitchen, too. And none of them died a Humpty Dumpty death, either, but thanks for asking. But everyone who came through this house gained another ten points on their bad cholesterol reading.
Seriously, it was awesome this weekend. Dad, Mom, the Aunties, Chucklehead and his family, and best of all, Rio and his son stopped by, too. Fabulous. But if someone came and snatched all the leftovers, I'd be quite pleased. Ham sandwich anyone? Brisket sandwich? Potato salad? Queso? Creamy jalapeno dip? Anyone? Anyone?
A few weeks back, I got an email message that was setting up a treat for my Dad's impending birthday. I went downstairs, quietly confirmed a few details, and got back a reply. Next thing I know, I've got an email from my Aunties saying they are arriving on Friday, to celebrate, and surprise us all.
Naturally, I went downstairs and said "I've got a secrettttttttttttt. Clean the house."
Because I'm like that.
And then I walked away.
Mom starting figuring stuff out, and come Friday, Dad was so excited he was twitching, but he didn't really know who was coming down. He had a suspicion, but just waited out the confirmation rather than making a guess. Because either way, he was going to eat.
Because Mom - she puts on a spread when we have guests. It's a dead giveaway something big is going on.
The variety of food is an inverse proportion to the importance of the guests, too. Important to us, that is. So if the Pope were to stop by, he'd be offered up a wedge of cheese and some crackers, with a nice white wine. But the Aunties... they got the full on sixteen variety meal, five different meals. I'm hoping to start eating some time tomorrow, but in the mean time, I'm still full.
Seriously, the menu covered several pages, and involved trips to Sam's Club, Kroger, Walmart, HEB, and then back to Sam's. Fortunately I was working, so I missed the actual trips, and just got home in time on Friday to start cooking. I entered the kitchen and didn't really leave it at all, until Sunday afternoon.
I'm not complaining, but when Mom started fretting she didn't have enough buns for sandwiches on Friday night, I called my brother. He and his family were on the way over, and they'd already been called five minutes earlier about getting tomatoes and lettuce, to make good sandwiches. So Chucklehead and I are on the phone and I'm telling him we're having a meltdown about not having enough buns, even though there was a nice bread, also, and he asks "should I get buns or not?" He cuts to the chase, that brother of mine. I told him it was up to him, but it looked like Mom was trying to feed the entire 4th Infantry Division, and so she said 8 buns wasn't enough. Needless to say, he brought buns.
We had ham, we had chili con queso, we had strawberries & blackberries. We had creamy jalapeno dip. We had romanoff sauce, for the fruit. We had stuff I can't remember. And we had shoestring onion rings, which were damned fine. Oh, yeah, deviled eggs. We had those, too. Saturday started off with breakfast tacos, and the food never went away, but just morphed into lunch. Which morphed into dinner. Dinner was brisket, homemade potato salad, more stuff I can't remember but I'm pretty sure I cooked or stirred. And ice cream cake. God bless Carvel and their cakes. Although I do NOT recommend trying to wait out the last "60 seconds" of an NCAA playoff game, if the cake is out of the freezer. Just set the DVR and catch up on the game, because the cake was melting everywhere, even before the candles were lit.
There was a boatload of food moving through this house this weekend. Two full jars of mayo, the big ones, are gone. Ditto for the mustard. Something like 4 dozen eggs, in all their cholesteroly glory moved through the kitchen, too. And none of them died a Humpty Dumpty death, either, but thanks for asking. But everyone who came through this house gained another ten points on their bad cholesterol reading.
Seriously, it was awesome this weekend. Dad, Mom, the Aunties, Chucklehead and his family, and best of all, Rio and his son stopped by, too. Fabulous. But if someone came and snatched all the leftovers, I'd be quite pleased. Ham sandwich anyone? Brisket sandwich? Potato salad? Queso? Creamy jalapeno dip? Anyone? Anyone?
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