Monthly Archives: November 2007


Friday Flickr babes: the fine nurses of the intertubes

I keep trying to convince the nurses of St. Mammon’s (my hospital; not necessarily its real name) to put together a “Nurses of St. Mammon’s Calendar,” but they act like I’m kidding. Come on, y’all. I’ll bankroll it! I’ll even help take the pictures! Proceeds will go to my favorite charity, The Ear, Nose, and Throat Early Retirement Foundation.

Let’s see if I can find any likely candidates at Flickr.

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I did it!

Yes indeed, I didn’t miss a single day for the month of November.

(Not an accomplishment, you say? Sssshhhhhhh! The NaBloPoMo judges don’t know that.)

The disembodied cat head reminds me of the wife in this story. She’s a patient of mine, you see, and in the old days she used to come to my office wearing, pinned to her sweater, a ferret head. Or perhaps a cat head, but a very small, very ugly cat head. It was all any of us could do to keep from pissing ourselves with laughter. To whomever convinced her to deep-six the ferret-head brooch: thank you.

Still to come: today’s Friday Flickr babe.

D.

Thirteen things I hate about TV

Admit it. Hatred is more interesting than love, snark trumps warmth, evil beats good hands down. Would you really want to read “Thirteen things I love about TV”? I didn’t think so.

Thirteen detestable things from the box . . . below the cut.

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A public apology

To my nonagenarian patient:

Ma’am, when you asked me, “I want to know how long I’m going to be here,” I truly believed you were being existential. Hence my shocked reply, “On this planet?”

It’s not my fault. You were my third GOP* for the afternoon, and I didn’t think I could be that unlucky.

Back to work on the Thursday Thirteen, folks, or what may soon be the Friday Fourteen.

D.

*Grumpy Old Person. Like the fellow today who, in reply to my usual opening question, “What can I do for you today?” said, “I don’t know. What can anyone do for me anymore?”

Tiramisu variations

I must be feeling better. After finishing my cases today, I lifted weights for twenty minutes, stewed in the sauna for ten, went grocery shopping, came home, and spent three hours in the kitchen.

Oh so cleverly I split some of my ground beef, using some for burgers (tonight), some for meatballs (tomorrow night). Mostly, though, I made Karen another tiramisu. My plan is working: thanks to this calorie-loaded confection of mascarpone cheese, whipped cream, eggs, espresso, and pound cake*, my wife has gained three pounds. If I can get her into the low nineties, my job is done.

(Yes, I realize I’m not doing her lipid profile any favors, but cholesterol will only harm her decades from now. Falling on an unpadded butt, that could happen any time.)

What’s a patissier to do? She doesn’t like cheesecake, so tiramisu is the most fattening dessert I can make (440 calories for a typical serving; but hey, I wonder if she’d like spaghetti carbonara?) She’s finally getting a bit sick of the same old same old, so tonight I used Amaretto for the liqueur, omitted the cocoa powder and shaved chocolate, and topped it with powdered sugar, cinnamon, and shaved/toasted almonds.

She’ll tire of this version soon enough. Here’s one for crespelle (crepes) stuffed with a tiramisu/zabaglione mixture and topped with berries, but it omits the espresso. Ignoring the essential question of whether tiramisu is tiramisu without the coffee, would Karen cringe at a version lacking that necessary caffeine kick? Probably. But my main objection is storage: those crespelle are going to go stale fast. I like a tiramisu which can last several days in the refrigerator.

From that same website, here’s an attractive recipe for parties: Duomo Tiramisu. It doesn’t look any more difficult than the standard recipe, but it sure would wow the guests.

Here’s a compendium of tiramisu recipes. Most of these are tiramisu trifles, the standard recipe taken in the berry direction or the chocolate direction, but there are a few unique items, like tiramisu pizza, peach brandy tiramisu, and for the coffee-hater in your family, root beer tiramisu. Of these, the peach brandy version sounds the most interesting. They don’t omit the espresso, which leads me to wonder how well the peach and coffee flavors will meld.

One of the joys of googling: you can test your imagination. Does banana tiramisu exist? Oh, yeah. Peanut butter tiramisu? Apparently so. Tiramisu erotica? Yuppers.

By the way: Tiramisu Toffee Trifle Pie might sound good, but any recipe calling for instant coffee granules and “mascarpone or cream cheese” — or cream cheese, are you fucking kidding me? — should suffer culinary kareis**.

I think I need to sleep on it. That shall be my goal: a novel application of basic tiramisu principles, one which preserves the caffeine and calories yet takes tiramisu into an altogether new direction.

Tiramisu hand roll, anyone?

D.

*Ladyfingers are traditional. We prefer the flavor of pound cake, pound cake is readily available in the grocery stores (not so, ladyfingers), so pound cake it is.

**One of those nasty punishments from Leviticus. I think it means “premature death.”

Belief

I suppose my son should be considered Pope of his own Church, the Church of the Lucky Penny. I’m sorry, Jake, but I cannot bring myself to pray to the Lucky Penny, not when the Flying Spaghetti Monster makes so much sense.

Been busy reading some of your suggested books. Made it about 100 pages into The Lies of Locke Lamora when Pat’s suggestion, Towing Jehovah, showed up in the mail courtesy of Paperback Swap. This particular book has had an interesting past: it used to belong to the Georgia Public Library, but they discarded it! Now, what could make them do a thing like that? The spine isn’t broken. No one has defaced the pages. The plastic-protected dust jacket is in top shape. No reason that I can see for the Georgia Public Library to discard a novel about the towing of the dead body of God to His final resting place in the Arctic Circle.

Like anyone who wants to believe, I would prefer to believe in pleasant things. Especially in light of yesterday’s rejection from the folks at Ellora’s Cave, I don’t want to believe in anything to gloomy or too doomy. Thenceforth, I shall believe in fortune cookies. I had two in today’s lunch-cookie (truly an auspicious sign, all by itself):

You will be rewarded for your efforts within the month.

The month of November, or a thirty-day interval? Please be more specific.

There will be many surprises; unexpected gains are likely.

Since I expect to get picked up by an agent or publisher, this last one could only mean that a movie deal is imminent.

I like my Church of the Fortune Cookie.

D.

PS: Really, really apropos: Catholic League’s William Donohue has his edible thong in a twist over the upcoming release of Golden Compass, the movie.

Netflix Picks from John Waters

In case you missed NPR this morning, the man who brought us Pink Flamingos, Pecker, and Hairspray shared some of his favorite lesser-known movies, including Baadasssss! and Sins of the Fleshapoids. Read about it here. Of the listed films, the only one I’ve seen is David Cronenberg’s Crash — not one of my favorite Cronenberg films, but I understand why it’s one of Waters’s faves.

D.

Flickr Follies: a slippery trail of because

Chemistry, not astronomy, because
Mattresses are a poor reason for career choice.
Biology, not chemistry, because
Solvents reeked
Those boats looked nice
And the math was getting too tough.
Medicine, not biology, because
Mice would not cooperate.

School, not honor, because
If you had the chance, you’d take it, too
And the sky was so very blue
And I was free
And we had all the time in the world.
Honor, not comfort, because
The truth? I missed the honor.

Crappy poetry, not a post, because
Like her host
The muse has a head cold, too.

D.

Bet you always wondered what we keep beneath those lab coats.

Listen. Publishers. To sweeten the deal, I have arranged for my own cover art.

Yes, I know my heroine needs to make an appearance on the cover. Perhaps my publisher would be kind enough to photoshop her in?

D.

Sleepy Saturday

I spent the morning making tiramisu and cleaning the kitchen. Afterwards, I took a trip to the grocery store for some much-needed kitty litter. Got home to find Karen asleep, and she’s still snoozing, two hours later.

A nap sounds nice right about now. Instead, I forced myself to do some brainstorming on a new-old project. Or is that an old-new project? It has been my “intended next” for the last three years: a novel using grown-up versions of my characters from “The Mechanic.” First thing that happened, my muse decided to scrap the idea of Russ and Carl in their 30s. (Leave that for the sequel.) If I stick to my source material, they cross paths again when Russ is 23. This would put him in the third year of med school — a clinical year, conveniently enough.

Russ isn’t really a sociopath, nor is Carl. They both have their own code, and in Russ’s case, his rules are anything but Hippocratic. He’s loyal to friends, old and new, even to the point of committing murder. A mercy killing, really, one which pulls Russ into the middle of Norteño vs. Sureño gang warfare.

Yup, I think I’m going to have Russ euthanize one of the Norteños respected elders, their poet laureate, at the old guy’s request. I wonder if I need to change all the gang designations? Wouldn’t want to walk in Edward James Olmos’s footsteps, after all.

So Russ runs afoul of La Eme, and maybe someone else on the medical staff has figured out what he has done; I have in mind a troublesome girlfriend, too, but that’s all very nebulous. Since Russ’s friend Carl has always been the more clever of the two, Russ brings him in to help fix the mess.

I have in mind something which begins funny and poignant, and ends with a lot of bloodshed.

Live-blogging tonight, maybe. If I’m completely exhausted, I can use the laptop’s camera; that way, I can live-blog from a nearly horizontal posture.

* * *

Eh, forget it. I’m too wiped. Check back tomorrow!

D.

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