Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: February 2008
Friday Flickr Babe: Odyssey escapee edition
Steamy Cyclops, originally uploaded by rach_thegoat.
I dunno, maybe I just have a thing for Cyclopean females.
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I made La Puttanesca recipe which I listed yesterday. WOW. I used twice the recommended amount of red pepper flakes, which made it spicy enough for Karen and Jake. I would have liked it a bit spicier still. I used the full complement of garlic . . . definitely the right thing to do.
Recommended.
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From PRI The World: vote for the strangest book title of the year.
I Was Tortured By the Pygmy Love Queen is definitely for me*. I must know more! From the Amazon page, I see this one is published by Fem Fist books. Well, that sounds promising. Next, the write-up:
What evils await Captain Henry Mitchell on the island below? A U.S. Navy fighter pilot, he’s forced to abandon his Grumman after battling Japanese Zeros over the Pacific, but soon Japan is the least of his worries. Parachuting into rainforest canopy Mitchell is greeted by a lost tribe of pygmies and their insanely cruel leader, a female, a Caucasian westerner like himself who subjects him to unholy tortures both painful and erotic. How does she control the pygmies to carry out her sadistic punishments against him? What secrets are kept on this island? Secrets which she believes Mitchell has come to take from her? And how does a man deal with being tortured for answers to questions he knows nothing about? One strong man, stripped naked, bound and helpless, versus one female tyrant and her legion of little devils – who will win this battle?
What do you think — should I buy this one just so I can write a fun Smart Bitches Day post?
D.
*If I can stomach the political incorrectness of it all. But Pygmies on a South Pacific island — whaaaat? (Oh — wait — they’re lost. Gotcha.) And apparently it’s a white chick who tortures him. Is that better or worse, from a Political Correctness POV? She “controls” the Pygmies. That can’t be good.
Oh, I’m so confused.
Thirteen toppings for pasta
I’m going to put in a plug for homemade pasta. Is it a pain in the ass? No. (Pain in the hand, actually, since you have to do a bit of kneading.) Does it require special equipment? No. (But you’d have to be a bit nuts to try to do this with a rolling pin!) Does it taste better than store-bought? YES! Better even than “fresh” store-bought.
If you’re stuck with store-bought pasta, my favorite brand is De Cecco.
And now, Thirteen toppings for pasta.
Too much information
One of the problems with being a doctor is, folks think they can tell (or show) you anything. Anything.
I’ve lost count of the number of patients who have bared their breasts, dropped their pants, or lifted their shirts to show me one thing or another. I’m very polite when this happens. I never say, “What part of ear, nose, and throat don’t you understand?” Like the hero of my romance novel, I was once the recipient of a snide, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” and I don’t care to hear that phrase in that tone of voice ever again.
Nevertheless, a few patients have crossed the line. The worst was a woman with a medical condition characterized by freckled lips. She thought her entire digestive tract was full of freckles, and that her poops were freckled, too. And she had the photo album to prove it.
One patient would bring in her used Kleenexes to show to her doctors. Now, 999,999 times out of a million, such displays are TMI. C’mon, it’s not that tough, it’s like the opposite of writing fiction: you can tell me your phlegm is thick and green, you don’t have to show me. “I thought you might be able to use the sample!” they say.
Um, no.
But in this one time in a million, those used Kleenexes helped me make a diagnosis (maybe). She told her doctors she was coughing up crystals, and none would believe her, even if she showed them the proof. Miracle of miracles, I remembered something from med school: Charcot-Leyden crystals, a sign of asthma. To this day, I don’t know if those really were Charcot-Leyden crystals, but I sent her to a pulmonologist, and IIRC, he figured it out.
I’m not the pointiest fork in the drawer, but I do know it’s abnormal to cough up pretty crystals. (On the other hand, I must be a relatively pointy fork, since I was the first doc to take her seriously and send her to a specialist.)
What bugs me the most is when friends or family members tell me stuff that’s (A) way too personal, and (B) way too far from my specialty for me to offer any sort of intelligent commentary. (Sis, don’t worry. I don’t think you’ve ever done this.) I’m not a gynecologist, nor am I a proctologist.
And then there’s the personal stuff. I’ve told you this before — the bizarre habit women have of opening up to me. I suspect it’s the Little Bald Hobbit phenomenon. I’m like a human teddy bear. You can tell anything to your teddy bear, right? It’s not like anyone ever made a teddy bear horror movie —
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Brownie points to anyone who can suggest an EASY Thirteen for tomorrow.
D.
Corn Dog’s Book Meme
Here’s a quickie for you while I make dinner. Or, better yet, read about Corn Dog’s plague of mice. It’s a lot funnier than I make it sound.
Le Meme:
1. Grab the nearest book of 123 pages or more.
2. Open it to page 123.
3. Find the first 5 sentences and write them down.
4. Then invite 5 friends to do the same.
Nearest book? John Gardner’s translation of The Epic of Gilgamesh. My son’s reading it for schoolwork. Here we go:
Column vi
“Enkidu will protect the friend, safeguard the companion:
he will carry his body over pitfalls.
We in our assembly entrust the king to you;
you, in turn, bring him back to us.”Enkidu shaped his mouth and spoke,
saying to Gilgamesh:
“Friend, turn . . .
the road . . .
. . .”
And Gilgamesh said, “Hey. Enki. That doesn’t help much.”
Tagz: how about Darla, who deserves to be memed back, and who certainly has a jillion books nearby; Dean, who probably won’t mind an easy post; Jim Donahue, who probably doesn’t do memes (just guessing, Jim) but I’m curious to know what book he has within arm’s reach; Kate, because Corn Dog forgot to tag her; and Kris, just to see if she still reads me or has put me out of her head forever, sigh.
More later, I hope.
D.
Darla’s Nonfiction Meme
Darla tagged me. Here ya go, babe.
a) What issues/topic interests you most–non-fiction, i.e, cooking, knitting, stitching, there are infinite topics that has nothing to do with novels?
All over the map. Here are some of my recent non-fiction reads:
Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud: I started this last night and is it ever cool. I love the way McCloud deconstructs his art so clearly, so meticulously. I feel like I’m back in Anatomy Lab, watching a prosector do his thing. (Prosector — that’s what we called the folks who did nothing but teach us how to cut up cadavers and not make an unbloody mess of things.)
Crashing the Gate by Jerome Armstrong and Markos Moulitsas Zuniga: Edifying but dull dissection of everything that’s wrong with the Democratic old guard. Hillary’s crash-and-burn vindicates a lot of what the authors say in this book.
Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt: The more I think about this series of memoirs, the more they piss me off. Oh, woe is me, I’m an alcoholic shit but none of it’s my fault. You know what? Watch the Four Yorkshiremen skit, imagine they’re all Irish, and you’ll have much the same experience as you would have reading this book and its sequels.
Other nonfiction books I’ve read in the last 10 years include books about Buddhism, Spinoza, Maimonides, Burroughs (William S.), Robert Graves, Peter Cook, and undeciphered languages.
One great little book I really enjoyed: Foreign Devils on the Silk Road, a history of the race by several nations to explore and exploit Silk Road archaeological sites. Highly recommended.
b) Would you like to review books concerning those?
Um, no thanks.
c) Would you like to be paid or do it as interest or hobby? Tell reasons for what ever you choose.
I already review fiction for The Fix, and I’m damned lazy about that. You think I want more reviewing responsibilities?
d) Would you recommend those to your friends and how?
Would I recommend those what? Those books, perhaps? Clarify, please. But, yes, if you’re talking about BOOKS, sure, I’ll recommend a good book whether it’s fiction or nonfiction.
e) If you have already done something like this, link it to your post.
Mmmm sorry no.
f) Please don’t forget to link back here or whoever tags you.
And to get this meme moving, you have to tag 10 people. I tag:
Yeah, fat chance.
D.
Bless your heart
Corn Dog has been helping me with my Southern dialect. Lisa, the heroine of my WiP, is a North Carolina girl and had damn well better talk like one. I decided today she was going to blow up at Steven Spielberg (not the real one — oh, never mind) and I wanted her to do that ol’ Southern thing of saying “bless your heart” followed by some nasty jab. The one I chose, I pulled off the web, but maybe someone can offer up something better. Here’s the dialog. “He” is Spielberg. Sort of.
He pointed at Lisa. “Get her inside. Let her see her kid, then put her on ice for the night.â€
She blinked a few times, did a mental playback, decided to count to ten, decided three was high enough, then spat fire.
“My kid?†she said, or roared, really, loud enough she was sure she had his attention. “Why, Mr. Spielberg, bless your heart, you must be nuttier than squirrel shit if you think I’m too dumb to use birth control. I’m flabbergasted. You think I’m some dumb crack whore who’s a granny before she turns twenty-eight? Billy Ray is my brother, you hear? And if you and your carnival freak show harm one hair on his head, I’ll make it my life’s work to make y’all more miserable than ticks on a –â€
And so forth. I’m not sure where those ticks would be; thank God Spielberg interrupts her at this point.
Corn Dog sent me this news story about Billy Long, a Tennessee sheriff arrested for extortion. The story and video are fun, but the comment thread is a hoot. I watched the video; I don’t see any people “of color” there, just a bunch of white talking heads. So who does one commenter blame?
My husband is a Chattanooga police officer and there are still good guys that are in law enforcement. The problem is that they are promoted based on who they know and what skin color they have.
So this sheriff is shaking down ethnic Indian convenience store clerks for money — here, let’s make it simple: a white dude in power is extorting brown people — and who’s to blame? The brown people! Different brown people, I imagine, the ones in the police department. But still.
Whoops. Corn Dog tells me I’m wrong: the letter-writer’s husband is probably not white, and she’s complaining about the Department’s policy of promoting white people. Ew. That’s quite a bit worse. I had assumed this was a rant against affirmative action.
Moving on,
THIS CAME AS SHOCK TO ME TO FIND OUT THAT BEHIND HIS BRIGHT BLUE (ALMOST WHITE) EYES, WAS ANY FORM OF DECEPTION. AND THROUGH ALL THIS NEGATIVITY, I WILL SAY “GOD BE WITH YOU AND YOUR FAMILY BILLY”. IF HE IS GUILTY, I HOPE HE HAS LEARNED HIS LESSON. IF NOT, GOD SPEED TO GET HIM OUT. BLESS HIS HEART.
White eyes. How could he possibly be corrupt? And she manages to work in one more “bless his heart” before it’s all over.
Interesting phrase, “bless your heart.” It’s multipurpose, not unlike “fuck.” It can either mean “bless your heart,” or it can be used as a prelude to the lowest of insults.
This was good:
I hope the shady oompa loompa stays in prison. Maybe he can learn propper grammar while he’s in there.
The oompa loompa in question is Billy Long, a white guy. Confusing. But I, too, hope he’ll learn propper grammar.
Buyer’s remorse:
Well so much for YOU CANT GO WRONG WITH BILLY LONG. I did and am now ashamed for it.
Well, I don’t want to spoil the rest of the thread for you.
Darla, I’m still thinking about that meme. Watch the smoke coming out of my ears. See? That’s some hard thinking 🙂
D.
Drunken Sunday reviews
Admittedly, it takes more than a couple fingers of Black Bush to get me drunk —
Is that as rude as it sounds, or is that enough whiskey to get me drunk?
I rented Stardust on Net Flix, and we watched it today. Entertaining enough, particularly since Charlie Cox and Claire Danes are so very very attractive and likable in the lead roles, and the gal who plays Charlie Cox’s mom, Kate Magowan, is so very very striking. WHAT BONE STRUCTURE! I’ll let all the young bucks drool over Claire Danes, provided Kate Magowan will share a cup o’ tea with me.
But, yes, I’ll grant that Claire Danes has that thrilling beauty some actresses have. Reminded me a bit of Cate Blanchett circa LOTR.
Good stuff: The goat guy. Michelle Pfeiffer finally looking her age, bwaahaahaaha. The ancient “wall guard” going ninja on Charlie Cox’s ass. Peter O’Toole. All those dead guys. Charlie & Claire. Bob DeNiro, even if it might not be entirely politically correct to laugh at this stuff.
Not so good stuff: the ending. How TOUGH would it have been to set up Yvaine’s Special Power, rather than drop it in our laps at the very end? Great example of deus ex machina, though, which was on our homeschooling agenda this last week. Thanks, screenwriters.
Speaking of Neil Gaiman (upon whose novel Stardust was based) . . .
Saturday snippet
I axed the snippet. Here’s a great flickr series instead. (Dean, you gotta check these out.)
I was stuck today, and I wasn’t sure why, so I posted the last few hundred words here. Sometimes it helps, seeing my writing in a different format. I see things I’ve missed when I looked at the original manuscript.
Can’t really put a finger on it, but this bit was all wrong.
D.
Bread pudding, the photo blog
It’s been over two years since I gave you this insanely simple, insanely delicious recipe for bread pudding, and how many of you have tried the recipe? Not enough! Because if you had, you’d be writing to me, telling me about my awesomeness!
Well, my wife’s awesomeness, since she came up with the recipe.
Here it is again, updated with a few new tips, not to mention photos I took last night.
Thirteen Valentines to Audrey Hepburn
Only number three on American Film Institute’s top 25 actresses? How dare they!
1. My Fair Lady. See, this is what I love about homeschooling. My explanation of iambic pentameter led to “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” which led to a discussion of the myth of Pygmalion, George Bernard’s play based on Pygmalion, and finally, this video. Jake seemed to find it hilarious. And, truly, there is something very funny about an old-fashioned Hollywood musical. If you’re not used to seeing actors and actresses break out into song, the effect is electric. As in, What the hell . . . ?
2. Sabrina. Here’s Audrey singing “La Vie en Rose” to Humphrey Bogart. (Karen says she lip-synched the singing for My Fair Lady. I don’t know if this is really Audrey singing, or not.) One enduring testimony to Bogart’s greatness is the fact he looks so much older, so much more tired, so much more used than Audrey Hepburn here, and yet he still works as a romantic lead. That’s because Bogart is Bogart. People sometimes forget that about stars: they’ve become far more than their physical selves. Part of the star’s soul is up there on the screen for all to behold, for all to share.
It’s true of Bogart, and it’s true of Audrey Hepburn.
3. Funny Face. Fred Astaire, he’s another one. If you had never seen him dance, what would he be? Some goofy-looking guy, that’s what. None of Astaire’s dancing in this clip, but Audrey’s really singing here (“How Long Has This Been Going On.”)
4. Breakfast at Tiffany’s — the ending. I’ll ruin it for you. In what has to be one of cinema history’s crassest uses of symbolism, Holly Golightly sets her pussy free, then decides her pussy would be happier as a kept item.
And could George Peppard look any more GQ?