"He screams and then he eats his hands and then he screams some more."

This is how my sister described my wondernephew Max last week, 4 days after his birth. He's chilled out on the screaming, but he still likes to eat his hands.

I'm currently in Nebraska, hanging out with my sister, brother-and-law, and mom, and my wondernephew. From what I can tell, his two favorite things in the world to do are sleep and snuggle. This is heartbreaking it is so cute. The picture you see here conveys about 1/100th of his insane adorableness.



(Image borrowed from MK and J's blog about Max)

Babies and Facebook

First things first.

Maxwell Brent Gulick, also known as my nephew, also known as the most amazing child the world has ever known, was born this morning in Lincoln, NE, to my excellent sister and brother in law. I am so excited about this kid. Holy crap am I excited.

More details (and hopefully pictures of my wondernephew) here.

Secondly.

I found out about Max's birth this AM because Aa checked FB before I checked my voicemail. My sister had been updating to let her FB friends know she was in labor and had delivered a boy. This was the second time in the last three days I found out about a birth b/c the new mom (or someone close to her) was updating her status on Facebook to reflect what was happening. The other was my amazing friend W, who had twin boys Saturday afternoon.

I'm definitely not judging or anything here - I think it's kind of cool that both my sister and Wendy kept upating their FB status to inform folks. I loved reading everyone's notes of congratulations and comments to each other. In both cases, it kept the excitement and joy going longer than a phone call would, and it probably meant many fewer phone calls for both my sister and W to immediately worry about.

Although I will say that none of the FB updates from either my sister or W got me quite as emotional as the voicemail my sister left early this morning. She sounded a little hoarse, really sleepy, and incredibly happy. I burst into tears as I listened to her. I then played the voicemail for Aa, who also teared up. Then we sat at our kitchen table, over our oatmeal, hugging and teary-eyed and grinning at each other and laughing.

Zack, for the record, totally doesn't care about any of this.

Some Things

Finishing up a couple of things for this Saturday's Weekend America, which is the final show. After like 5 weeks, I am only just now accepting that I got laid off from my awesome freelance gig b/c of the show's cancellation. I kept thinking about everyone else who was being laid off and I sort of forgot about myself. I still have my full-time job. It's not that bad obviously. I just, like, an hour ago, kind of stopped what I was doing and thought, "Wait a minute. This is the last time I will be writing for this show." Gonna miss it.

Earlier today Glenn asked me if I was in one piece and then said that here on DEFCON, I kind of just talk about the times when, as he said, "the world picks you up and spins you around by your ankles". I have been thinking about this. I think I might try to write about...hmmm. About not when the world picks me up and spins me by the ankles.

Waiting for Yertle to make an appearance. Once that happens, I'm purchasing a ticket to Lincoln to meet this certain-to-be exceptional child.

Why do I keep eating Pringles? I always feel like crap after eating them. They don't even taste that good. What's my problem?

Aa is in San Francisco for work this week. This means I have to clean out the little stovetop espresso maker guy for the morning. I love that thing so much. It makes early mornings bearable.

Tropic Thunder is funnier the second time. The shock of watching Robert Downey Jr essentially in blackface has mostly worn off. Also, I just love the end credits/ Tom Cruise dance number. Don't know why. Just do.

Have I mentioned yet that when Zack snores it is the greatest thing in the world? It is. Snore on, little dog.

Goodnight.

A weird dream from a while ago

So, I am helping Omar from the Wire. He is trying to hide from whichever shitty Baltimore drug dealing cartel that wants him dead this week. Omar is used to people wanting him dead, but this is different. It's serious, and he's worried. So, of course, he's come to me.

I am desperately worried about Omar in the dream. It's very important to me that he remain safe. Finally, I come up with an idea. I take him to the Catholic church / school I went to as a kid*. I find my pastor, Father Dubi**, ***. Father Dubi was a radical guy for a Catholic priest - he meditated and allowed girls to be altar servers. I beg Father Dubi to take Omar in - to hide him in plain sight as an altar boy****. "We are running out of time!" I say to Father Dubi. "This is the only place he'll be safe! They'll never look for him here!!" The alarm goes off before I get Father Dubi to agree to help keep Omar safe. I wake up feeling extremely panicked.

*The school was closed several years ago.

**Yes, his name is really Father Dubi. We thought this was hilarious in grade school. Father Dubi was an intense dude. He looked like Jesus and wore Birkenstocks. Studs Terkel interviewed Father Dubi in his book, Will The Circle Be Unbroken?

***Father Dubi hasn't been at St. Anne for a long time.

****I don't know why this felt like a good plan in my dream. In reality it is unworkable on so very many levels.

Puppedential Debates

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Road to the Doghouse - Puppedential Debate

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

An open letter to the state of Nebraska

Dear Nebraska,

How've you been? I notice that lately your weather hasn't sucked too badly. Way to go!! I'm writing to ask you to please keep your weather reasonable and mild for the next several weeks. I have three reasons for asking:

1. My sister, who lives within your borders, will be having her baby very soon. I want the roads to be clear of snow and ice to ensure safe passage for her and this baby, who is certain to do amazing things.

2. I will be visiting you at some point in the next several weeks to spend time with my sister and this miracle baby. I want safe, clear roads during this time.

3. My mother and my brother-in-law's mom will both be making similar visits. Again, I want safe, clear roads for them.

Now, Nebraska, don't take this the wrong way. You have many wonderful things going for you. Like...you have a nice zoo. Your recently-retired Senator, Chuck Hagel, seems like a pretty decent guy. You have more hills than one might expect from a state located on the Great Plains. And I understand your steaks are supposed to be quite delicious. However, your ability to maintain clear, safe roadways during snowy and icy weather leaves something to be desired. Of course, Nebraska, you have every right to decide whether it's worth taxing your residents to pay for snowplows and salt and the like. I'm not trying to tell you how to keep your house. I merely ask that you keep this current, non-snowy and non-icy weather going for a while so I and the people I love can fully appreciate your otherwise exemplary highway and road system.

Oh, and Nebraska? As long as I'm making suggestions - and really, I'm just blue-skying at this point - what if your lovely restaurants had vegetarian options for food outside of Gardenburgers and cheese pizza? Is that crazy? Just thinking out loud here.

I really look forward to seeing you soon and catching up, Nebraska. It's been a while.

Go Huskers,

Jeannie

Hi, 2009

Last night we had our first New Years' party since we left Chicago eight years ago. (Also, HOLY SHIT. We left Chicago eight years ago.) Back then, the party was at Aa's sweet apartment on Barry. Then, our buddy G wore his cruise ship entertainment director guy tuxedo (and name tag!!) to host the shindig. We bought close to 50 champagne flutes at Goodwill. We dressed up (there is a picture of me somewhere in shiny burgundy pants applying lipstick in prep for this party, in fact. This photo is buried, like the Ark of the Covenant, in our basement). After midnight, we all took cabs to The Note and stayed out till 5 am. New Years' Day was spent in a deep hangover with several friends who spent the night. It was exhausting and I'm pretty sure it was fun, but I don't remember much of it after folks started arriving.

Last night, Aaron made mini-horseshoe sandwiches and we wore jeans. Nearly everyone left by 1 am. I had a manhattan and half a glass of champagne, and was in bed before 1:30. I remember all of it - it was definitely fun.

And today, Aaron used the leftover horseshoe ingredients to make a pie for R & H's yearly pie party. I know, just looking at these photos can make you feel like never eating again.




So far, I think 2009 has been pretty good. I'm going for a run tomorrow morning, my first in 5 weeks since my Thanksgiving tumble. Just typing that sentence, "I am going for a run", makes me want to clap. For the first time in my life, I have deeply mundane resolutions dealing with household budgets and organization, and I am thrilled about implementing and fulfilling those resolutions. Aa and I both think 2009 will be a year of big changes for us, and we're excited about that. And personally, I feel more grounded and capable and adult than I think I ever have (leaving aside my ridiculous dietary choices of the last 24 hours). Getting older no longer freaks me out. My youth was my youth, I'm going to be 35 this year, and I'm really excited about that milestone. What's my point here? I don't know if I have one. I guess what I'm trying to say is at some point, my perspective shifted from looking back and being sad about what's past to looking forward and being excited about what's coming. And something about the past few weeks has caused me to recognize that shift in myself, and it's neat. So in short, I had a really great new year's. And I hope you all did too.

Snowpocalypse

So Seattle's been experiencing a bit of a weather anomaly the past week or so. It's been snowing here. A lot. And the snow has stuck around. This effectively has shut the city down. Buses either run really truncated routes or just stop running altogether. People either leave their snowed-in cars alone and walk, or they take their cars out and drive, for the most part, stupidly and carelessly. The city of Seattle, of course, refuses to take any responsibility for the fact that its snow response is woefully inadequate. That's actually boring to me at this point. It's snowed, I think, every winter here for the past 4 years. Even if it's a little bit of snow that only sticks for an hour, it wreaks havoc here. Different degrees of havoc, sure, but havoc nonetheless.

Currently, the falling snow is turning to rain and everything's becoming slushy and sloshy. I was joking with someone earlier today that the Snowpocalypse, as some have been calling it here, will soon be turning into a Slushpocalypse, then a Floodpocalypse. I wanted to get outside and take pictures of all the snowmen people have built in my neighborhood, but I stupidly walked to and from work on Monday and re-injured my sprained foot and have been housebound all day. But it would have been an awesome post. There were amazing snowmen all around, from the little guys my 6-year old next door neighbors made (twins, like them, and about the same height as them) to the terrifying, 7-foot snowman just down the street. The snowman grimaced, as though he were in terrible pain. And across his chest was scrawled "Merry Christmas Everyone!". I think they used red food coloring, but really? It looked like blood. I am pretty sure the people who built the snowman didn't mean for him to be so horrifying, but the thing is close enough to the sidewalk that I've noticed people give it a twice-over and then alter their path to give the snowman a wider berth.

So in lieu of the sweet documentation of now-melting snowmen (I wonder if the scary one is melting red? Creepy!) I offer you a link to this excellent website. Coldtastrophe, indeed.

Merry Christmas!

Headed Home

Tomorrow morning we head home to Illinois for a little more than a week. Nearly all of that time will be spent in central IL, seeing Aa's family (especially his grandparents). It's always fun to go home, and this year I've been home way more than usual (a partial explanation of why most of my friends and family will be getting not a gee dee thing from me this Christmas - because I'm broke. Um, happy holidays!! If you live in Seattle I'll probably end up baking you some cookies anydamnway). But I must admit I feel a little tingle of excitement to be headed back to the state that gave us this: "I've got this thing," ... "and it's [expletive] golden. And I'm just not giving it up for [expletive] nothing. I'm not going to do it." Oh, Rod, Rod, Rod. I actually meant to print out the full 74-page affadavit so I could read it on the plane, but our printer sucks so I'm not going to.

I kind of can't believe this story just broke yesterday. It feels like it happened so much longer ago! This could, of course, be because I have been following this story obsessively since it broke. I can't help it! It's like they added another season of The Wire, only IT'S HAPPENING IN MY HOME STATE. I mean, yes, it's definitely awful and god, what a fucking idiot to have a CONFERENCE CALL about trying to sell Obama's old Senate seat. And, boy, what a great example of Democratic corruption Republicans now have to point at. I know all of these things. Deeply ugly. But, I'm sorry, it's really entertaining too. Would I feel different if I lived in Illinois? I don't think so. I think when someone falls as hard and as stupidly as Blagojevich is falling, you kind of can't help but laugh, even if you feel bad. It's like watching someone take a bad spill on the street. It hurts, for sure. But later, when you're home and you're thinking about that crazy slapstick-looking fall you saw that poor sap take? You're gonna laugh.

zackmas time

and he's watching you.

No, I don't just look for videos of dogs doing funny things all day.

But I can understand why you'd think that.

(wait until around 29 seconds in!!)




Via Dooce.

Portions, Age, and Heat: How i learned to recook the thanksgiving's of my youth

Grandma Starkey (see earlier post for her on rowboat), as she got older, would unknowingly, increase the size of some ingredients in dishes as it became harder for her to see/read things with a high degree of granularity.

On one occasion, this included a pumpkin pie with whole cloves in the mix instead of ground cloves. it was a treasure hunt to eat the pie and pick out the cloves without letting her see you were doing it (she could still see well enough to scold!)...if you missed one of those little nuggets of pain, you had a big hot and spicy surprise in your mouth as punishment. These thanksgivings though, when everyone was still around and alive, are always in my mind every year when I go to cook my own thanksgiving meal. It is a continuum.

Growing up in the midwest, thanksgiving food was always a bit cold, bland and ill timed. Then again, almost all central Illinois food was (is...) always kinda like that....

Anyway, i digress...when Jeannie and I moved to Seattle in 2001, I was sick for two weeks and we were living in crappy corporate housing right near pike place market and i watched the food channel for two weeks straight. (didn't waste money on cable when we lived in Chicago.) A connection was made and it started with seeing all of the crabs at the market...and watching Emirll...i wanted to make crab cakes! (it's still an obsession of mine.)

Fast forward to our first thanksgiving in Seattle later that same year...many crab cakes later. Remember, we knew no one when we moved here...zero friends. But as the year progressed we slowly made connections with a few people, and being that we weren't near our families, we decided to have thanksgiving at our house and invite all of the people that we knew up to that time...which was about 8 people. Inspired by my new found love of making things that i actually wanted to eat...I took it upon myself to create the most perfect of all thanksgiving meals and correct the errors and missteps of the past.

Hot food, timed perfectly, delicious turkey, and real mashed potatoes like i'd seen on TV.

So...that year, i brined a turkey (i'd never even roasted a chicken before) for the first time, bought a couple of used crock pots, small chaffer from the restaurant supply store and proceeded to kick the shit out of myself for two days trying to get everything perfect for our 8 guests. I was exhausted...i used crappy pans, a dull knife, just bad tools...but it all worked. everything was hot, nothing was gummy, there was no jello in the cranberries (not judging!...just wanted to try the real thing!), the sweet potatoes were beautiful, the roasted pumpkin and mushroom soup i'd been reducing for over a day was thick and beautiful..i'd never had soup like that before. I was also wiped out, my legs were killing me, i'd burned my hand in more than one place, sliced my thumb ,and was generally beat down just like the potatoes (although i used a ricer for those)

But the food was awesome (at least that's what they said to my face...) And thus a tradition was started. Since then, every year, we have invited our old friends and new friends to our house to eat dinner and to watch me stress out as I throw down the hardest things I can muster to cook, with the best ingredients I can find. i have wised up a bit though and i do ask people to bring certain things...but every year i also try and find new ways and new recipes and new techniques so that i can experience the exhilaration of doing something i've never done before by creating a meal that our friends (our guest list has more than doubled in size) will walk away thinking that it was the best thanksgiving meal they've ever had.

And the food is always hot and the cloves are ALWAYS removed from the pumpkin pie, when we have it...I, myself, prefer pecan or macadamia nut pie...)

GIANT, ELBOW-HAVING SQUID!

From this post from National Geographic's website. Yes, it seems a little weird / sad / unsettling that this video was captured by a Shell Oil robot, since Shell owns that part of the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, it totally looks like the big guy is fishing. Yes, HE TOTALLY LOOKS LIKE A SPACE ALIEN. Yes, it is really kind of neat that this video was sent out via email from Shell Oil employee to Shell Oil employee. I really like my job, but I never get work-related email like this.

Guess I'll be making skull-OPS for dinner then

Sunday night Aa, our friends R & H, and I went to dinner at Poppy, one of the new restaurants here in Seattle that's been getting a lot of attention. (The chef-owner was head chef at the dizzyingly expensive Herbfarm for several years, and garnered just tons of foodie praise during that time.) It was a meal I'd been looking forward to for a while. And the food was really kind of amazing, like the culinary version of seeing a technically perfect gymnastics routine in the Olympics. Flawless, but kind of sterile. It kind of felt like the food came out of a very clinical kitchen. And the restaurant felt weirdly clinical too. Our main waitress lady talked to us like we were kids and she was our teacher. People kept trying to take H's food away before she was done eating. All in all, I don't know if I'd go back.

But the thing that sticks with me is this odd discussion we had with the runner who dropped our food off. She explained what each little dish was as she came to it. And one dish had shallots in it. Her description: "...and this is the black cod with fried shul-LOTS and peanuts..." At which point everyone at the table started looking confused. Shul-LOT? What the hell is a shul-LOT? One of us, I can't remember who, asked "Is it really prounounced "shul-LOT"? Someone else piped up: "yeah, I always thought it was "SHALL-uht". The runner looked at all of us. "Uh, no. It's shul-LOT. That's how we all say it here." In saying that, it was clear she meant "that's how our superstar chef guy, the reason you're probably here, says it. There's no way he's wrong and you all are right." We were all silent for a moment, until one of us said something like, "well, you learn something new every day!". Then we all chuckled and the runner went away. We mumbled amongst ourselves ("that can't be right"; "seriously? Shul-LOT?") and then went on with our dinner.

For some reason, four days later I am still thinking about this. I mean, I worked in restaurants before, and I can imagine the kitchen staff deciding to mess with the cute, naive young runner. "Yup, it's definitely shul-LOT. Everyone knows that. All serious chefs pronounce it that way." Which makes me feel a twinge of compassion for the young woman. But I think what sticks with me is not how funny that interchange should have been, or should be in my memory (because, shul-LOT? That's funny. It's like saying I had len-TEEL soup for lunch today or something). It's the snootyish certainty the young woman had when she explained the right way to say shallot. I mean, if you look it up it turns out you can say it both ways, but who do you know who says shul-LOT? Thinking about how and why the runner felt so certain about her pronunciation does make the memory sort of funny, and that makes me feel even worse for her...at some point she will realize she sounds like a crazy person when she says shul-LOT. And that singular exchange won't keep me from going back to Poppy. Probably it's the rest of it, the weird hermetically-sealed-clinical-technical-perfection part of it. I like my food with a little feeling, I guess. Kind of slop-PEE.

all i have to say...

All i have to say is that Zack's new name, at least for the remainder of the week is "Stoney".

Stoney the Basenji.

yeah.

Bad Day

This morning, after my shower, I headed into the kitchen to grab my coffee and toast. There, on the floor, was a plastic bag with a bunch of pearl onions Aa'd bought the day before. Zack had clearly taken a couple of big bites out of the plastic bag (he chews plastic when he's worked up about something). What I couldn't tell, though, was whether he'd eaten any onions. Onions, along with garlic, grapes, chocolate, and caffeine, are toxic to dogs. With onions, there is some sort of chemical thingie that happens that basically makes their red blood cells fall apart. The loose hemoglobin eventually causes kidney failure.

I called my vet to tell her what happened. I expected her to tell me that I should watch him for signs of toxicity (the first of which are sluggishness and disinterest, which is basically what Zack is like every morning anyway). Instead, she told me to bring him in immediately so they could induce vomiting. Aa was unreachable, and he had the car. I called a cab, grabbed the Zacker, and headed to the vet. They checked him in around 11 am and asked me to "stay close". So I spent the next 3.5 hours wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood near our vet's office. It was really strange to just walk around, not knowing how my dog was doing, and not knowing what to expect next. I mean, I wasn't even sure if he'd eaten any of the damn onions. But clearly it was serious enough for my vet to want to take immediate action.

Around 2:30, my vet called. They'd used morphine and a water flush to try and get him to puke - no dice. Zack was just refusing to throw up. We needed to decide whether we were going to take him to an animal ER to have his stomach pumped, or if we just wanted to give him some activated charcoal to help move whatever toxins he'd might have ingested through his body. I called Aa and updated him, and he left work to come meet me at the vet. It was then that he asked me if I'd counted the number of onions left over. No, of course I hadn't. My first thought was whether our dog was going to die from onion poisoning.

We picked up our totally high-on-morphine dog after asking the vet to give him activated charcoal as a precaution. The poor guy could barely stand up, and he was leaking black liquid out of his butt. "It's kind of like Ex-Lax", the vet explained, as she handed us some pads and garbage bags to line the car interior. We went home to count some onions and try to devise a method of diapering our dog. As we got in the car, Zack started leaking more aggressively while trying to lay down in the grass. Aa looked at me and asked if I was sure about wanting kids.

So it turns out that Zack ate either no onions at all or a very tiny bit of onion. I can't tell if I overreacted or did exactly the right thing or what. The vet's response made me think I responded the right way. But if I'd dug the grocery store receipt out of the recycling and weighed the onions before calling the vet, I would have known Zack was going to be fine, thus saving Aa and me a day of worry. And, it should be mentioned, saving Zack an afternoon of morphine and charcoal and leaky black butt and Pampers (I totally did diaper him for a couple of hours there). I'm so, so glad he's fine, but I am a little mad at myself that I didn't think about trying another means of verifying whether he ate any onions this morning. So I guess I learned a lesson today? Or something?

Did I mention I got a new library card today? There's a library right by my vet's office. I spent a lot of time there today. That was cool.

Dispatch from Chicago

1. This morning, in the Barnes and Noble (where I was wasting time while my parents watched football, that's right I just don't care about the Bears anymore DISOWN ME NOW HOME CITY I JUST DON'T CARE), the four people in line before me all wanted help finding something with Barack Obama on the cover. Three people were looking for the Sun-Times; they were all sold out. The people all had clearly disappointed children with them, who were told, "Don't worry. We'll keep looking!". The fourth person, a man without children, was looking for The Economist. It was also sold out. When I got up to the counter, I asked why The Economist was sold out. The clerk said, "It had Barack on the cover. I sold the last one last night. We're also sold out of the New York Times, Newsweek, Time Magazine, and Us Weekly. They all had Barack on the cover too."
2. Everyone here calls him Barack. Not Barack Obama, or Obama, like I hear in Seattle. Barack.
3. Monday and Tuesday it was in the 70's here. Today it started snowing at Soldier Field.
4. Yesterday was my sister's baby shower. She got so much stuff (admittedly much of it from my mom and me) her Subaru wagon deal couldn't fit it all. Babies apparently need a mind-numbing amount of things.
5. I have eaten cookies at least twice a day every day since I got here. Paul, Liz, I blame you. It's super easy for my jeans to magically get tighter when I'm home, but you guys are absolute experts at compounding that danger.

President Obama.

President Barack Obama. About goddamn time.

Watching, Waiting

I'm home, listening (of course) to NPR's coverage of the election results and (of course!) drinking a split shot Americano. Earlier I took my dog for a walk. He was wearing his little orange fleece (OF COURSE). So far NPR (and CNN, which the NYT is blogging) is calling Vermont for Obama and Kentucky for McCain. This isn't super surprising. Also, our hardly-ever-used land line has been ringing like crazy the past few days with robo-calls and volunteer calls. Which, I appreciate the effort, but I am not the person you need to talk to here! My mind is so made up.

Voting today was actually pretty fun. It's the last time I'll be able to go to an actual polling place in my county; next election, we're switching entirely to mail-in ballots, like much of the rest of the state. My polling place was a grade school, and I got there just as school let out. Bouncy, shrieky children were everywhere - I remember that energy of finally being done with the school day and NOT HAVING TO SIT IN A DESK ANYMORE. I was surrounded by that elated energy as I went to vote, which felt pretty neat and celebratory. There was a bake sale in the hallway on the way into the voting booths. You had to walk past the yummy baked goods TWICE, on your way in and on your way out. Diabolically clever. I totally bought a cookie.

Dude, Elizabeth Dole might lose her Senate seat? Wow.

OK! Going to our friend W's house. More later. I have champagne. Which I will be drinking no matter what.

Zack's Revenge

And with good reason. Two years ago, we made him dress up like a lobster. This year, we decided to do it again.



He managed to let us know in no unequivocal terms how displeased he was at this. Aa and I turned our backs for about three seconds. And in that time, Zack chewed off one of the lobster arms. I turned around and he was simultaneously trying to rip the costume off his body and eat the lobster leg he'd chewed off his costume. See how bad he wants to eat that lobster leg?