Friday Flickr Babe: candid camera
43637, originally uploaded by seeview9 from Outer Space.
I wonder what she’s doing. Carrying something heavy? Riding a bicycle? Such a look of concentration.
Anyone have fun plans for the weekend?
My goal: catch up on lost sleep. That, and laundry.
D.
Comfort food for Dean
Dean has beer pancakes, but no waffles.
CNE Hot Ice Cream Waffle, originally uploaded by Squeakyrat.
The waffle of my dreams. I had never, ever imagined sandwiching vanilla ice cream with two hot-off-the-iron waffles, but the idea is compelling. Certainly beats the usual dress-up with strawberries (yucky frozen berries all soggy and nasty and dripping with strawberry blood) or bananas or name your fruit.
But a well wrought waffle needs no ice cream. Maple syrup, yes. Yes indeed. The well wrought waffle should be light, yeasty, a little salty, a little sweet. It should dissolve in your mouth with minimal mastication.
How to leaven your waffle:
A. Yeast. Great flavor, but the preparation is time-consuming, and if you’re not careful, you’ll develop the gluten, too. Tough waffles.
B. Stiffly beaten egg whites folded into the batter. This makes for a crispy, light waffle. One of the best strategies.
C. Double acting baking powder. Fast, reliable, but if you’re not careful, you’ll have bitter waffles. Also, unlike options A or B, baking powder adds no flavor to the finished product.
My favorite: combine options A and B.
I tried to find a photo of Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles, but Flickr didn’t have one. Yes, Google undoubtedly does, but I’m going to ask you to use your imagination.
A pile of waffles.
A big ol’ hunk of fried chicken.
Syrup.
Gravy.
A heart attack from this lipid-laden dish is, well, not unlike dying in the arms of your dream boff. Trouble is, the heart attack usually arrives long after the chicken and waffles have exited. Which is why you should always have some chicken and waffles frozen away. In case of heart attack, take one aspirin, call 911, thaw out the chicken and waffles in the microwave, and eat ’em up on the ambulance drive into the hospital.
D.
The Idiot’s Guide to Getting Girls, Chapter 3
Here’s my commentary on Chapter 3. I think it came out well, although the video feed glitched at around 3 minutes. Bear with it — the kinks* work themselves out.
If you’re coming into this conversation late, here’s Chapter 1, and here’s Chapter 2.
Enjoy.
D.
*Bwaahahahahahaaaa!
Will someone please tell me
why, with my Great Brain, I can’t figure out a less stressful way to make a living?
Perhaps I’m identifying with the wrong Fitzgerald. Perhaps I have less in common with T.D., he of the titular brain, and more in common with J.D., he of the little brain. The data are compelling. J.D. likes to write; I like to write. J.D. has a little brain and doesn’t have T.D.’s capacity for moneymaking; I have a little brain, too, as witnessed by the fact I clean wax and snot for a living*.
I have a bipolar self-esteem. Sometimes I’m a shoe-scraping, sometimes I’m a national treasure who deserves to be paid for his existence. The truth is, I suspect, somewhere in between. Like: I’m a shoe-scraping who deserves a fair wage for cleaning yuck out of people’s ears.
Maybe I need to live a simpler life. On Colbert last night, he had on some fella who has written a book about the happiest places on Earth. Turns out you only need $15,000 per annum to enjoy life. More money does not necessarily equate with more happiness. But it’s not like we’re filthy overindulgent consumers at Chez Walnut. The mortgage is our only fiscal hemorrhage. True, the ferret food is astronomically priced, but $10 a box isn’t that bad in the great scheme of things. Is it?
*WELCOME CROOKS AND LIARS READERS*
Bet you’re wondering why Mike sent you here. Well, you’ll get no enlightenment from me!
D.
*Observant readers will wonder what’s so stressful about cleaning yuck out of people’s ears and noses. Well, you’re right. 98% of my work is dull. It’s the 2% — those times when I’m on the spot for one potential disaster or another — that gets me down.
Connecting to Server
Please Wait.
Recording Will Begin Soon.
That’s what YouTube says. Sneaky bastards, I bet they’re waiting for me to pick my nose before they start recording. Sure, I could edit the video afterwards, but they’re betting I’m too lazy to figure out their interface. And they would be right.
Nothing for it but to come back a few minutes later.
Nope. Still nothing. Guess I’ll go look at nudes over on Flickr.
Below the cut: um. Not safe for work?
Wastelands
If post-apocalyptic stories* float your boat, check out The Fix’s review of Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse. There are some big names among the contributors, if that matters to you.
See if you can guess which reviews were written by yours truly.
D.
*I’m still partial to one old novel, Earth Abides, which I remember well after all these years.
Celebrity look-alikes
It’s human nature to see similarities where none truly exist. For example, not for one moment do I believe The Artist Formerly Known as Prince intentionally chose his symbol to resemble the Aneros prostate massager,
but there you have it.
Some similarities are undeniable. Take two people I like — celebrity blogger Wil Wheaton and Air America Radio host Rachel Maddow. Twins separated at birth? You be the judge.
Below the cut: a few more look-alikes for your perusal.
(more…)
Life without Benadryl
Okay. I left a couple of halfway decent comment’s over at Kate’s place, so perhaps my brain is working well enough to write an honest-to-God post. It helps that (A) I’m drinking my coffee — and here at Chez Walnut, the coffee will put hair on your chest. The depilatories are starting to give Karen quite a rash. (B) It’s early morning, so the world has not yet had a chance to crush me like a snail on an elementary school playground. (C) I got a good night’s sleep last night.
Yes! I did! And I didn’t even need Benadryl*.
Friday Night Pooty
Interested, by Tabergid.
Lately, I’ve been so exhausted that I don’t even regret not working on any fiction. So the ability to write goes first, then the desire, then the anguish at what has been lost.
My opinion of January thus far: it sucks.
D.