Professional dance career somehow leads to a career in cooking.
3 women and one man. Lauren is the danger with a ponytail. She only likes the duck skin. David's father has been making panini since the beginning of time, Mufungo is Ondrea'a's dish. She's not making you a cute little sandwich. She's making Mufungo. Gillie is cooking for her daughter with a very weird accent--super soft and calm. Usually a bad sign.
Zoe says, that's a lot of girls. If they all get chopped, well then, we'll know it's Chopped.
Eggplant, peking duck, biscuit dough, and gooseberries are the basket items.
Scott confirms Lauren's love of the skin. I think Lauren will make it past the first round. Ondrea'a's mean enough to win. She mimics the voice of the gooseberry, "hi, I'm a gooseberry." There's a resounding agreement that Ondre'a's annoying.
I'm worried about the calm Gillie. She can't open the biscuit dough. Her weird accent confirms she was not raised in the land of Pillsbury. She also says the gooseberries will peel themselves. I'm afraid the judges prefer their foods peeled.
As I expected:first complaint, unpeeled gooseberries. Gillie thinks fruit is about surprises. Judges don't like surprises. "Develop what these flavors are," suggests judge Scott. If those were pretzels, she would have been excoriated but because they were precious fruit, she got away with leaving them
Bald judge does not agree with the lack of duck flesh in Lauren's dish. Duck skin is not always enough.
Scott does not defend her. Scott is an ass, but perhaps not as big of an ass as bald judge.
David loves his children more than food. I believe the judges will show
Ondre'a is throwing down the relative-death, her sister. AFTER the judges were mean to her.
Gillie's lack of peeling the gooseberries is called pretentious. I thought the point of Chopped was pretension--along with, of course, taste, presentation, and creativity.
And, as suspected, Gillie was chopped. She threatened more surprises. I think the judges couldn't bear any more gooseberry-like surprises.
Banana leather, cornish hens, concord grapes and gruyere. Really. I give the first round a 2 in difficulty. This too seems so easy.
David thinks Ondre'a is his competition, probably because he heard her mocking his British accent.
On the bone, off the bone--this is the real question. Lauren says that it's too much of a risk that it won't get cooked through. Ondre'a argues she's the brave one, cooking the chicken on the bone. In a pot though--boiled chicken? Not so fancy.
Shallots, bacon and concord grapes would make a great sauce, says peanut gallery member, Scott.
Ondre'a trained at the Cordon Bleu and the James Beard Foundation. Sadly, as she tries to shove a cork down a bottle of wine, no one introduced her to a wine opener. I think I'm distinctly not rooting for mocking-lady.
Oh, but now Ondre'a's in trouble. She put the cooked chicken on the same cutting board she cut the chicken on. Judges show definite signs of concern. It reminds me of the time one chef dropped a slice of meat on the floor and then put it in the pan and served it to the judges. Like that doesn't happen in restaurants all the time.
Ondre'a
Over a million people a year get salmonella poisoning from raw chicken. Then she throws the dead sister story out again! Bald judge (he has a name, I realize), takes Ondre'a over to the kitchen! This is unheard of. I've never seen a judge stand up, let alone go in the kitchen.
They're, of course, in love with the sauce. She put the gruyere directly into the shallot, bacon, grape juice. Genius.
Now David's chicken is raw and the juices ran out onto the polenta. The judges invite him to bring over the pans sans chicken. Surreal chopped.
Lauren pats herself on the back for using the breast of the chicken. They excoriate her for the lack of banana leather flavor. Banana flavoring is always something deeply missed.
Scott agrees with me. This is unheard of Chopped behavior.
This seems totally unfair. Ted argues that David tried to cook his food, he just didn't. Ondre'a's was a thoughtless mistake. I agree with Ted but the judges all thought her sauce was so out of this world that her egregious mistake is possibly more forgiveable. Taste trumps sanitation. Indeed. So why did they make such a big deal about it before. Enjoy your dinner. Suffer your food poisoning later.
They'll probably chop Lauren because her portion size was so small. Desert round can be double-dipped spoon versus double-dipped spoon.
So, whose dish is on the Chopping Block.
Raw-chicken-cutting-board is chopped. The condolences go out for her sister. But, for the first time I've seen, dead-relative does not trump inedible food.
Cheese Crackers, Cherimoya, Jordan Almonds, and Italian Orange Liqueur.
Cherimoya is a favorite Chopped ingredient because Ted gets to say this: "Please know that Cherimoya seeds can be harmful when eaten, so keep them out of your dishes. I'm sure the judges wouldn't want any else inedible in their dishes." Snap.
Lauren thinks she's going to win because he served raw meat but I don't think she realizes how deeply the judges take too-small portion size. Skinny, dancer lady.
Jordan Almonds. They eat them in Italy! I thought it was a Mormon wedding thing! Oh Chopped, will you never stop teaching me about the world?
I don't like them either Lauren.
What are cheese crackers? Cheeze-its? I don't like cheese crackers either but my go-to desert is margarita pie like my mom made with a pretzel-crust. Think of this: Cherimoya, orange liqueur and marscapone filling with a butter-cheeze-its crust. And chopped Jordan almonds. Very my mom and Mormon at the same time.
David's candying orange rinds in the orange liqueur. Ted is highly impressed.
I'm not sure I can go on with this Chopped blogging. It makes Chopped go so fast. It's almost over. Last commercial break. During the dessert round, there is no break before the chopped reveal.
Let's hope no one is poisoned this round.
Brown butter Cherimoya with yogurt and cheese cracker crisps. This is like a soup or a salad. Mix it all up and call it a dish.
Overall, they like the cheese crumble and brown butter. A lot.
David's Zeppole looks pretty amazing. "Strong recovery from the second round" but those Jordan almonds are just on the sides.
And then Almost-Iron-Chef judge got two seeds in her dish. I imagine that's the end of the road for our would-be judge-killer.
Scott disagrees with Almost-Iron-Chef when she says Lauren has been consistent with every dish: "I disagree. She's been inconsistent with every dish. She's gotten better dish by dish by dish." Slam, I-A-C.
And, judge-poisoner is chopped. I think they'll take him back and force feed him Cherimoya seeds. And raw chicken.
And a woman wins! This is the third time this week (in a week of about 5 reruns). I might have to revise my Chopped is so sexist opinion.
Also, I'm now getting ads to take courses at Austin's Le Cordon Bleu school. I was just thinking the other day about how much I missed school.
Now, I'm off to watch the new AMC show, The Killing. The Cylon Leo is the cop's boyfriend. Perhaps I watch too much TV.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
A Strange Lull
Max woke up at 6 a.m. this morning. I guess this counts as sleeping through the night. Personally, I'd rather he would wake up for a bottle at 2 or 3. Then, he sleeps until 7:30 like the rest of the world (aka, Zoe). It's going to be a lot of not sleeping coming up--we're leaving for LA so I can read at Beyond Baroque on Friday and visit my friend Julie's class on Thursday. They charge for readings at Beyond Baroque--$7. I'm thinking of handing out five spots at the door as a kind of financial aid. Please come, Californians. Please. Not being from LA, I can't guarantee any attendees. Maybe Zoe will come. I know Rebecca and Iris who gave me that cool gig at the Hermann Miller blog http://www.hermanmiller.com/lifework/ideal-livework-space-writer-and-professor-nicole-walker/ will be there and my good friend Bek will come. And she's hosting a sweet after party. That's 3 people I'm bringing to the table (plus, the $15 in financial aid packages).
I cannot wait to go to LA. I haven't been to California in like 7 years. Zoe has seen the Adriatic and the Ionian seas but never the Pacific. I think Max will like getting wet (btw, he's asleep now. 6-8 awake awake awake, 8-8:30, eye rubbing, 8:30 to now, sleep sleep sleep. Hence the lull and my ability to blog).
It is good to have a lull this morning though when I look over at my list for the day, grading lurks. Still, after last week, I'm surprised even Max could wake me up. It began last Wednesday (Wayne and Garth dreamhands appropriate now). I woke up before Max to respond to thesis and to respond to grad student poems. I printed out all comments and then packed Max up (who was by then awake. Truly, he woke up ten minutes after I did), took him to school, chaired the last Grad Studies Committee meeting, advised students in the advising center about their degree progress, the lack of graduate literature courses, the prospect of thesis, essays for the end of the semester and other pending apocalypse(s)), met with thesis student, found out in the middle of thesis student meeting (I had to be online to read her electronically sent thesis) that the changes to the creative writing degree plan were due in ten minutes (emailed said changes while student patiently waited), wrapped up thesis meeting, picked up Max, picked up Zoe, filled out AWP book fair contract, helped get an AWP panel together, wrote my 500 words (I try to write 500 words a day. I delete about 250 of those words the next day), made dinner (oven fried chicken and mashed potatoes), cleaned the house, with Erik, including mopping, in time for Erik's parents' arrival.
The next day, finished cleaning in the morning, went running, took Max to school early so Erik and I could film customers/shareholders at the CSA. Erik and I are making a short film promoting the CSA on the off-chance we can win a full share. Erik's an amazing shooter and editor. I think we have a shot although I think the whole thing should be longer. He edits too well, possibly. A problem we do not share. Then, taught poetry class--not particularly well because the interviewing of the people and the unloading of the farm truck made me weirdly exhausted--and then met everyone for pizza.
On Friday, Erik got a call from a Phoenix television station about a potential bomb threat and could he go shoot some footage. He ran off to Cedar Street to film the suspicious package that had been delivered to a state senator. My writing day, mostly canceled (really, not the tragedy I made it out to be), turned into crazy how-can-Erik-download-a-1 gigabyte-file (answer, at the University, not from home). Fortunately, the package was not a bomb but rather a birthday cake. Fortunately, the downloading the 1 gb file worked and fortunately, Erik was with me at school to help me set up for the alumni reading that night.
Amazing alumni! It was an awesome reading that, miraculously, did not go wrong. I had planned for exactly enough chairs--every seat but two were taken. There was enough food--although there is no need, catering services, to slice yellow squash and call it part of an antipasta platter. Still, the food was fine and the caterers helpful and my students helped stack chairs after the reading. Then, the alumni went to the Northern Arizona Book Festival dinner at the Greek Taverna. Distressingly, the Flagstaff Tea Party's party adjoined ours. Our host was outraged. No one had told her about competing parties, especially the tea party kind. She was so mad. I love her most of all now. I wanted to make signs that read "Raise my Taxes" to combat their "No More Taxes' signs. As they were all huffing oxygen, probably paid for by taxes, it was lucky there wasn't a brawl. I took comfort in the fact that there were 50 book-lovers and only 20 tea-partiers. Go books.
I cannot wait to go to LA. I haven't been to California in like 7 years. Zoe has seen the Adriatic and the Ionian seas but never the Pacific. I think Max will like getting wet (btw, he's asleep now. 6-8 awake awake awake, 8-8:30, eye rubbing, 8:30 to now, sleep sleep sleep. Hence the lull and my ability to blog).
It is good to have a lull this morning though when I look over at my list for the day, grading lurks. Still, after last week, I'm surprised even Max could wake me up. It began last Wednesday (Wayne and Garth dreamhands appropriate now). I woke up before Max to respond to thesis and to respond to grad student poems. I printed out all comments and then packed Max up (who was by then awake. Truly, he woke up ten minutes after I did), took him to school, chaired the last Grad Studies Committee meeting, advised students in the advising center about their degree progress, the lack of graduate literature courses, the prospect of thesis, essays for the end of the semester and other pending apocalypse(s)), met with thesis student, found out in the middle of thesis student meeting (I had to be online to read her electronically sent thesis) that the changes to the creative writing degree plan were due in ten minutes (emailed said changes while student patiently waited), wrapped up thesis meeting, picked up Max, picked up Zoe, filled out AWP book fair contract, helped get an AWP panel together, wrote my 500 words (I try to write 500 words a day. I delete about 250 of those words the next day), made dinner (oven fried chicken and mashed potatoes), cleaned the house, with Erik, including mopping, in time for Erik's parents' arrival.
The next day, finished cleaning in the morning, went running, took Max to school early so Erik and I could film customers/shareholders at the CSA. Erik and I are making a short film promoting the CSA on the off-chance we can win a full share. Erik's an amazing shooter and editor. I think we have a shot although I think the whole thing should be longer. He edits too well, possibly. A problem we do not share. Then, taught poetry class--not particularly well because the interviewing of the people and the unloading of the farm truck made me weirdly exhausted--and then met everyone for pizza.
On Friday, Erik got a call from a Phoenix television station about a potential bomb threat and could he go shoot some footage. He ran off to Cedar Street to film the suspicious package that had been delivered to a state senator. My writing day, mostly canceled (really, not the tragedy I made it out to be), turned into crazy how-can-Erik-download-a-1 gigabyte-file (answer, at the University, not from home). Fortunately, the package was not a bomb but rather a birthday cake. Fortunately, the downloading the 1 gb file worked and fortunately, Erik was with me at school to help me set up for the alumni reading that night.
Amazing alumni! It was an awesome reading that, miraculously, did not go wrong. I had planned for exactly enough chairs--every seat but two were taken. There was enough food--although there is no need, catering services, to slice yellow squash and call it part of an antipasta platter. Still, the food was fine and the caterers helpful and my students helped stack chairs after the reading. Then, the alumni went to the Northern Arizona Book Festival dinner at the Greek Taverna. Distressingly, the Flagstaff Tea Party's party adjoined ours. Our host was outraged. No one had told her about competing parties, especially the tea party kind. She was so mad. I love her most of all now. I wanted to make signs that read "Raise my Taxes" to combat their "No More Taxes' signs. As they were all huffing oxygen, probably paid for by taxes, it was lucky there wasn't a brawl. I took comfort in the fact that there were 50 book-lovers and only 20 tea-partiers. Go books.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Dead Blogging
You can't blog Chopped live from Flagstaff because we're Arizonian and have some weird Pacific Time television affiliation. Also, I had to put Max and Zo to bed. Also. There were dishes.
But, this is a re-run anyway and definitely one I've seen. I can tell by the dreadlocks of the one chef and the way Ted over exclaims "And chef, Sammy Davis Jr."
There are two women which means no women will win. If there was one women, she too wouldn't win. I believe the women are subject to a different standard than the men. Over time, I think this will be made clear.
Tamarind Soda, Cocktail Nuts, Haricot Vert and Goat Brains!
Goat Brains! Here's something we all know. You must pre-soak brains in milk. Or, I'd like to think we all know that.
Spring salad and spice nut crusted goat brains.
"I think they're really delicious." This woman chef, Alejandra, is going to cook them in vinegar to "Get the funk out." Vinegar makes it seem like you're going to set that funk in but I know little about the ways of funk and brains.
Aaron, Jeffrey (sometimes spelled Geoffrey) are the judges.
She of the vinegar and brains, Alejandra, seems to know about tamarind soda. She is a woman of the world. And yet this will not save her.
We have a contestant whose mom was on drugs and lived on the street. This might save him. The judges are susceptible to hard-luck stories. Dead parents and single-parent status gets them. Cancer and heart attacks too. I've never seen a woman on here who came back from either a heart attack or cancer. Perhaps they should eat more bacon.
Colin has the dreads has revised his haricot vert puree. Now, there will just be haricot vert. Revision. Always a good thing. "I should have listened to my wife and be more simple," says Colin. He barely gets anything on his plate. There's a reason to listen to your wife.
Salad lady, Samantha, made a salad. Salad is the easy thing to call: throw everything on a plate and call it a dish. Jeffrey gets raw brains. Not good news for Samantha.
Colin, man who failed to listen to his wife, fails to get the sauce on the dish. Smackdown by the judges. "We always say this: get out of your head and put your heart on the plate and you can never go wrong." Until you put your heart on the plate and don't think about what you're doing. The judges flip head for heart back and forth like they're stir frying goat brains.
Alejandra--the funk was removed but the complaint: too much vinegar. What do the judges prefer funk or vinegar? I say vinegar but perhaps funk is the way of the goat.
Commercial break indicated by Ted's ominously hovering hand.
I'm off, during the break, to find out what they call plate toppers.
OK. I'm back. No luck on the plate toppers. Distracted by Facebook.
But no. Is it possible? Colin! His funny goodbye line: It's ironic that a brain beat my brain.
Cream of coconut, baby turnips, wakame seaweed, and fish heads.
Hello. Soup. Isn't this like the Greek Avagolemono Soup? Or, Tom Gha Kai?
Samantha is near tears and threatening to give up. The editing here--they give it away. She will give up.
Sammy Davis Jr. just said, you're probably dead but I wouldn't be here if not for you. Again, this narrative will trump his overcooked his lack of experience of fish heads.
Alejandra has no fear. She's cooking up those fish heads like they were as elegant as crab.
Sammy Davis Jr. hates turnips. He was forced to eat them when there was no other food. But turnips are so delicious. But, I got to choose to eat them.
Flesh is being render from fish heads. Samantha's going for spices. I believe the judges will frown upon her relying on spices twice in row. Sammy Davis Jr. is frying his fish. He fried his goat brains. Range, Sammy Davis. Think range. Also Siracha is a known chopper. But that would leave us with two women, which is unheard of.
Alejandra has made ANOTHER salad. This seems egregious but the judges seem to like it. Except Jeffrey who can find a fish bone in a chicken.
As I suspected. Jeffrey thinks the Siracha is too hot. Aaron, who is MexiCAN (see Chopped All-Stars where Aaron calls himself a MexiCAN and his competitor a MexiCAN't), loves the heat.
Now they're saying nice things to Samantha. Scott, who never approves of the cooking of the pasta, likes the cooking of the pasta. The seafood and cheese MYTH is being trotted out again by the judges. I believe Scott when he says the parm might have over-powered the cod but it's such a knee-jerk response. Cumin and nutmeg. That seems like something to complain about.
Commercial break: Plate covers is what they're called. Boring.
Samantha is Chopped. No surprise there. She got "beat by the ingredients." Um. Yeah. That's the name of the game.
So. Sammy Davis Jr. with hard-luck story versus Alejandra the woman. If history of chopped is any indication, Sammy Davis Jr. has this hands down.
Peanut brittle, marsala wine, wonton wrappers, and Durian.
Ander and Megan were the first to describe to me the horror of Durian. They sad it smelled like rotting flesh. Ted Allen agrees. Alejandra tries a bite. She's trying to like it. To respect other cultures but comes up with: "Tastes like when a baby eats spaghetti and pineapple and then throws it up."
My go to thought for dessert is "cobbler." I would be chopped. French toast is a favorite.
Sammy Davis Jr. is trying to bury this durian which might be good but the judges also might argue that he buried the durian fruit. But Sammy says a nice thing. "She's not the enemy. The war is this basket." This good attitude might be his undoing.
Final desserts look kind of similar. Alejandra: Durian fritters with marsala custard. Sammy: Durian Wonton with marsala sauce. Sammy Davis Jr. is in trouble for frying all three dishes. Aaron jumps in to make Scott stop haranguing Sammy but then Jeffrey must complain about the oversweetness.
Jeffrey thinks the durian is under-muted. But he thought Sammy's was overly sweet (overly muted). You cannot win with Jeffrey. I'm pretty sure he abstains when voting since he's never eaten anything he's liked.
So, my read is that Alejandra's dish was good although there was harping on the fish bones. Jeffrey has retracted his too spicy comment. Scott reasserts his complaint about the three fried things.
By bet: Woman, who had only two mistakes but whose flavors were delightful, will be chopped.
But, Sammy Davis Jr. says Ted, you have been chopped. A total upset. And he's totally upset. He said nothing when asked and just ducked when Ted tried to shake his head. But the moment Sammy said, it's not her that is my competition, it's the basket, I suspected he would be the one to go.
Many tears on Alejandra's part. Much commendation to Alejandra on the part of the judges for knowing how to using all parts and leftovers as food. That is, I think, the underlying premise for Chopped. Even if the women never (rarely) win, and even if assholes tend to prevail, the assignment is a good one. Adapt to bad circumstances and don't excuse your bad behavior when the judges complain that the durian tastes remarkably like durian.
But, this is a re-run anyway and definitely one I've seen. I can tell by the dreadlocks of the one chef and the way Ted over exclaims "And chef, Sammy Davis Jr."
There are two women which means no women will win. If there was one women, she too wouldn't win. I believe the women are subject to a different standard than the men. Over time, I think this will be made clear.
Tamarind Soda, Cocktail Nuts, Haricot Vert and Goat Brains!
Goat Brains! Here's something we all know. You must pre-soak brains in milk. Or, I'd like to think we all know that.
Spring salad and spice nut crusted goat brains.
"I think they're really delicious." This woman chef, Alejandra, is going to cook them in vinegar to "Get the funk out." Vinegar makes it seem like you're going to set that funk in but I know little about the ways of funk and brains.
Aaron, Jeffrey (sometimes spelled Geoffrey) are the judges.
She of the vinegar and brains, Alejandra, seems to know about tamarind soda. She is a woman of the world. And yet this will not save her.
We have a contestant whose mom was on drugs and lived on the street. This might save him. The judges are susceptible to hard-luck stories. Dead parents and single-parent status gets them. Cancer and heart attacks too. I've never seen a woman on here who came back from either a heart attack or cancer. Perhaps they should eat more bacon.
Colin has the dreads has revised his haricot vert puree. Now, there will just be haricot vert. Revision. Always a good thing. "I should have listened to my wife and be more simple," says Colin. He barely gets anything on his plate. There's a reason to listen to your wife.
Salad lady, Samantha, made a salad. Salad is the easy thing to call: throw everything on a plate and call it a dish. Jeffrey gets raw brains. Not good news for Samantha.
Colin, man who failed to listen to his wife, fails to get the sauce on the dish. Smackdown by the judges. "We always say this: get out of your head and put your heart on the plate and you can never go wrong." Until you put your heart on the plate and don't think about what you're doing. The judges flip head for heart back and forth like they're stir frying goat brains.
Alejandra--the funk was removed but the complaint: too much vinegar. What do the judges prefer funk or vinegar? I say vinegar but perhaps funk is the way of the goat.
Commercial break indicated by Ted's ominously hovering hand.
I'm off, during the break, to find out what they call plate toppers.
OK. I'm back. No luck on the plate toppers. Distracted by Facebook.
But no. Is it possible? Colin! His funny goodbye line: It's ironic that a brain beat my brain.
Cream of coconut, baby turnips, wakame seaweed, and fish heads.
Hello. Soup. Isn't this like the Greek Avagolemono Soup? Or, Tom Gha Kai?
Samantha is near tears and threatening to give up. The editing here--they give it away. She will give up.
Sammy Davis Jr. just said, you're probably dead but I wouldn't be here if not for you. Again, this narrative will trump his overcooked his lack of experience of fish heads.
Alejandra has no fear. She's cooking up those fish heads like they were as elegant as crab.
Sammy Davis Jr. hates turnips. He was forced to eat them when there was no other food. But turnips are so delicious. But, I got to choose to eat them.
Flesh is being render from fish heads. Samantha's going for spices. I believe the judges will frown upon her relying on spices twice in row. Sammy Davis Jr. is frying his fish. He fried his goat brains. Range, Sammy Davis. Think range. Also Siracha is a known chopper. But that would leave us with two women, which is unheard of.
Alejandra has made ANOTHER salad. This seems egregious but the judges seem to like it. Except Jeffrey who can find a fish bone in a chicken.
As I suspected. Jeffrey thinks the Siracha is too hot. Aaron, who is MexiCAN (see Chopped All-Stars where Aaron calls himself a MexiCAN and his competitor a MexiCAN't), loves the heat.
Now they're saying nice things to Samantha. Scott, who never approves of the cooking of the pasta, likes the cooking of the pasta. The seafood and cheese MYTH is being trotted out again by the judges. I believe Scott when he says the parm might have over-powered the cod but it's such a knee-jerk response. Cumin and nutmeg. That seems like something to complain about.
Commercial break: Plate covers is what they're called. Boring.
Samantha is Chopped. No surprise there. She got "beat by the ingredients." Um. Yeah. That's the name of the game.
So. Sammy Davis Jr. with hard-luck story versus Alejandra the woman. If history of chopped is any indication, Sammy Davis Jr. has this hands down.
Peanut brittle, marsala wine, wonton wrappers, and Durian.
Ander and Megan were the first to describe to me the horror of Durian. They sad it smelled like rotting flesh. Ted Allen agrees. Alejandra tries a bite. She's trying to like it. To respect other cultures but comes up with: "Tastes like when a baby eats spaghetti and pineapple and then throws it up."
My go to thought for dessert is "cobbler." I would be chopped. French toast is a favorite.
Sammy Davis Jr. is trying to bury this durian which might be good but the judges also might argue that he buried the durian fruit. But Sammy says a nice thing. "She's not the enemy. The war is this basket." This good attitude might be his undoing.
Final desserts look kind of similar. Alejandra: Durian fritters with marsala custard. Sammy: Durian Wonton with marsala sauce. Sammy Davis Jr. is in trouble for frying all three dishes. Aaron jumps in to make Scott stop haranguing Sammy but then Jeffrey must complain about the oversweetness.
Jeffrey thinks the durian is under-muted. But he thought Sammy's was overly sweet (overly muted). You cannot win with Jeffrey. I'm pretty sure he abstains when voting since he's never eaten anything he's liked.
So, my read is that Alejandra's dish was good although there was harping on the fish bones. Jeffrey has retracted his too spicy comment. Scott reasserts his complaint about the three fried things.
By bet: Woman, who had only two mistakes but whose flavors were delightful, will be chopped.
But, Sammy Davis Jr. says Ted, you have been chopped. A total upset. And he's totally upset. He said nothing when asked and just ducked when Ted tried to shake his head. But the moment Sammy said, it's not her that is my competition, it's the basket, I suspected he would be the one to go.
Many tears on Alejandra's part. Much commendation to Alejandra on the part of the judges for knowing how to using all parts and leftovers as food. That is, I think, the underlying premise for Chopped. Even if the women never (rarely) win, and even if assholes tend to prevail, the assignment is a good one. Adapt to bad circumstances and don't excuse your bad behavior when the judges complain that the durian tastes remarkably like durian.
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Blogging Chopped
Since it is the end of the semester and the work is plentiful and yet amorphous (well, it's amorphous and redundant--reading theses, reading GTA applications, giving a reading at Beyond Baroque, hosting alumni reading, getting ready for High Altitude Writers Institute Reading, reading for nonfiction, reading for poetry, reading to prep for first fiction class taught in three years) and I have had a migraine for three days, and I cut my eye somehow--I believe by rubbing it with all the dog hair that flies freely around the house, and I have a meeting and another meeting and possibly fifteen meetings between now and May 7th, and it's snowing in April and it's snowing a foot of snow in April and the dog is still shedding and Max has given up sleeping at night and Zoe likes SpongeBob now after so many years of resistance and people are moving house across the country and other people are sleeping on floors and my mom looks young but isn't anymore, really, and there are books that pile up to be reread and revised or retossed like a salad and since I can't even toss a salad these days without hitting myself in the eye with a tong (perhaps therefore the cut), that perhaps I will blog about the main thing I do in my spare time which is watch Chopped on the Food Channel. Sometimes I even dream about it. Not as much as I dreamt about Battlestar Galactica but almost. Perhaps these will be dreamy posts about Ted Allen (no, he's a chump) or Alex (she's my favorite judge). Perhaps I will just write a long groan.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
A poem
Here is a poem by me and Z, mostly by Z but I imposed the "of pellet of mouse" and "thick bark" and, once she got to rock, I had to ask how rocks and owls went together. And to remind her of the rhyme scheme.
In the Woods behind my House
We like going to look for owls in the trees.
We go after dinner and when it is dark.
The pine needles all around and the bark
Is thick in front of our eyes. My mom teases
Me about the owls going in our house
But I know where the owls really live.
They live in branches and give
Us presents of pellets of squirrel and mouse.
I love my owls because they fly
At nighttime even though I can’t see
Them. I keep a rock with me
In my pocket because although I try
To leave the ground, I’m more like the rock
Than an owl and I stay here on my walk.
By Zoe
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Moving on
I have to stop posting monthly even if only because every post says "this is the worst month ever" as if I'm trying to taunt the next month.
Here's a happy post about Max, Zoe and food.
1. Max won't stay in the house. If we open the door to the garage he crawls at light speed, turns himself around to slide down the stairs, dig his knees in garage juice and turn, when he hits the driveway, and grins so hard his cheeks pummel his eyeballs. Danger. Baby.
2. When Zoe sees friends we haven't seen in awhile, she hangs back for five, four, three, two, one seconds and then catapults her body at her friends' things. If you see Zoe and you know she loves you, plant your feet deeply into the ground or she'll knock you over with her hugs.
3. Erik and I met Ander and Megan in Phoenix. We ate at Cowboy Ciao, a well-recommended restaurant. And yet, ever since, all I've wanted to eat is the nacho cheese dip that we ate by the pool at the Hotel Valley Ho.
Here's a happy post about Max, Zoe and food.
1. Max won't stay in the house. If we open the door to the garage he crawls at light speed, turns himself around to slide down the stairs, dig his knees in garage juice and turn, when he hits the driveway, and grins so hard his cheeks pummel his eyeballs. Danger. Baby.
2. When Zoe sees friends we haven't seen in awhile, she hangs back for five, four, three, two, one seconds and then catapults her body at her friends' things. If you see Zoe and you know she loves you, plant your feet deeply into the ground or she'll knock you over with her hugs.
3. Erik and I met Ander and Megan in Phoenix. We ate at Cowboy Ciao, a well-recommended restaurant. And yet, ever since, all I've wanted to eat is the nacho cheese dip that we ate by the pool at the Hotel Valley Ho.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
This is Hella Boring
But if I don't actually write this stuff down (which I don't usually), I fear I'll forget it. Fearing to forget is more stressful than doing the stuff. And, I have to post it here because I at least know where my blog is. If I just write a list as a word doc or a piece of paper, what's the likelihood I'll check it? But my blog, I check it every day so I can read my blog list. A perfect system? We'll see.
Italics mean it's Done.
Italics mean it's Done.
- To Do March 9th
- · Call Puente de Hozho for Zoe’s 1st
- · Email Graduate Committee spreadsheet
- · Email grad coordinators new wording
- · Meet with Gail Westerlund about electronic admissions
- · Poster for Alumni Reading
- · Call Cline about Reading
- · Email VP research
- · Proposal to dean by March 25
- · Write Quiz
- · Read essay again to write said quiz
- · Ask G for list of students by genre
- · Meet with Khara for thesis
- · Write essay due March 16th
- · Read Lydia’s thesis
- · Email re: letter of rec
- · Write letter instructor position recs
- · Glenn Sobbing’s letter for study abroad
- · Glenn’s request for writing group
- · Tuition Waiver files
- · Poetry responses
- · Final wording for GTA applications
- · Find meeting space for GSC April 13th meeting
- · Get back to Bonita about Degree Progress Change
- · Grade Quizzes
- · Grade comments
- · Get art books from David
- · Check with David about Book arts class—too late for fee
- · Photos of grad poets
- · Email Julie about April Visit
- · Check with Lynzi about posters in LA
- · Posters around NAU? For Beyond Baroque Reading?
- · Karna about film
- · Questions for Rolf, Bruce and Rosy for Monday’s interviews.
- · Email Taysha for tax ID
- · Alpine Receipt
- · Finish Facebook transition
- · Call Beyond Baroque to see if they’ve ordered books for the reading
- · Change litter box
- · Zoe lunch stuff for week after spring break
- · Faculty senate dues
- · Travel certification form
- · Ali’s recommendation form
- · Make pumpkin muffins with Zoe
- Rec for Khara
- Rec for Lizzie
- Financials for Allen
Saturday, February 19, 2011
And then February tried to kill me
Never complain about a month. All the months are friends and if you complain about January, February's going to stick up for her and show you what's what when it comes to months that suck.
On the first of February, Zoe got the croup. One night of barking cough, steamy showers, freezing outdoors. Three days out of school. Then, on that Thursday, Erik said, I feel like I swallowed a Brillo Pad. He was out for a week. Max needed the steam/outside treatment but only one time. There is something lovely about being wrapped on a blanket, sitting on a picnic bench, staring at the stars. And yet.
I also missed AWP which was much harder than I thought it would be. Facebook is an evil temptress and every minute I just wanted to be with my people. I mean, I was happy to be with my here-people but they were sick people and lo though I wouldn't have wanted to leave Erik with two sick kids, I would have very much liked to dine with Dr. Write and HighTouch Mega and the other people I call my people when I'm not referring to my kids. (Shout out to Dr. Write again for taking my spot on the panel and regaling the people with her genius. Thank my good, brilliant friend).
Now, I was pretty sure I wasn't getting the croup. It had been a week since Zoe came down with it. 4 days since Max and Erik were debilitated by it. But on Monday, my ear hurt. By Tuesday, I sounded as much like a barking seal as any shower-sitting, outdoor freezing five year old. This disease was the worst I'd ever had (hyperbole? Maybe. Maybe not). Unlike your average cold, this one got worse every day instead of better. My head hurt. My nose felt like it would fly off with every sneeze. Coughing and just general dysphoria (I don't know if that's the word but I presume it means the opposite of euphoria). I taught my class. I wore my sunglasses whilst teaching. I made almost no sense. I infected my people (other people who are my people--my grad students). I apologize.
Erik, while sick, still tried to complete this living room remodel. He's scraped the ceilings, repaired the drywall, remudded said drywall, primed the ceiling, painted the ceiling, primed the trim. Now, it's just painting the trim and the walls. Maybe next weekend? I have high hopes but it's the project from hell, like all remodeling projects. I had no idea how difficult losing a living room would be. But it's our dancing space, my writing space, Max's please-don't-fall-down-the-stairs space. It's going to be beautiful. One day.
Max is sick again with something that made him wake up every twenty minutes crying last night. It's only been two weeks since he had the croup! I feel so sorry for him but also so sorry for me.
Also. It's supposed to snow 2 feet this weekend.
Work has been assessment, committee meeting, area meeting, thesis meeting, independent study meeting, and marketing meeting. Oh, and teaching assistantship meeting (but that was fun because my fellow assistantship meeting friend and I went out for wine and potato bruschetta after).
Also: bad politics. I'm thinking of starting a PAC called Raise-My-Taxes-Damnit. Assholes. Let me quote from my Facebook" I'm thinking of making bumper stickers.
But, I shouldn't complain so much for fear that March takes offense on February's behalf. I'll end with good news: Erik and I are making a movie. So is he and a friend/former professor of mine. We're having Ina Garten's chicken. There has been almost 500 word a day writing (but many publishing rejections this month. Many more than zero, which is my preferred number of rejections). I was able to run in the woods last week without snow on the ground almost every day and I saw some strange sea-eagle looking bird. Also, I saw a bald eagle on my way to drop off Max at his day care--which I love and also love because she only charges us part-time fees. Also, Zoe and I went looking for owls during the full moon. Also I talked to a cool editor at Milkweed.
Plus, despite the wake-up-every-12-minute-night-to-console-sad-baby (and to swear a bit when I couldn't fall back asleep), today has been highly productive. Grant app for film, conference app for writing, finish 12,000 word essay/part of new project, write thank you letters, go to grocery store, make breakfast, lunch and (see previous paragraph), dinner, and wrote this post, finally. Also. It's almost March. Yay February! Thanks for being so short (see all the nice things I said March. See?)
On the first of February, Zoe got the croup. One night of barking cough, steamy showers, freezing outdoors. Three days out of school. Then, on that Thursday, Erik said, I feel like I swallowed a Brillo Pad. He was out for a week. Max needed the steam/outside treatment but only one time. There is something lovely about being wrapped on a blanket, sitting on a picnic bench, staring at the stars. And yet.
I also missed AWP which was much harder than I thought it would be. Facebook is an evil temptress and every minute I just wanted to be with my people. I mean, I was happy to be with my here-people but they were sick people and lo though I wouldn't have wanted to leave Erik with two sick kids, I would have very much liked to dine with Dr. Write and HighTouch Mega and the other people I call my people when I'm not referring to my kids. (Shout out to Dr. Write again for taking my spot on the panel and regaling the people with her genius. Thank my good, brilliant friend).
Now, I was pretty sure I wasn't getting the croup. It had been a week since Zoe came down with it. 4 days since Max and Erik were debilitated by it. But on Monday, my ear hurt. By Tuesday, I sounded as much like a barking seal as any shower-sitting, outdoor freezing five year old. This disease was the worst I'd ever had (hyperbole? Maybe. Maybe not). Unlike your average cold, this one got worse every day instead of better. My head hurt. My nose felt like it would fly off with every sneeze. Coughing and just general dysphoria (I don't know if that's the word but I presume it means the opposite of euphoria). I taught my class. I wore my sunglasses whilst teaching. I made almost no sense. I infected my people (other people who are my people--my grad students). I apologize.
Erik, while sick, still tried to complete this living room remodel. He's scraped the ceilings, repaired the drywall, remudded said drywall, primed the ceiling, painted the ceiling, primed the trim. Now, it's just painting the trim and the walls. Maybe next weekend? I have high hopes but it's the project from hell, like all remodeling projects. I had no idea how difficult losing a living room would be. But it's our dancing space, my writing space, Max's please-don't-fall-down-the-stairs space. It's going to be beautiful. One day.
Max is sick again with something that made him wake up every twenty minutes crying last night. It's only been two weeks since he had the croup! I feel so sorry for him but also so sorry for me.
Also. It's supposed to snow 2 feet this weekend.
Work has been assessment, committee meeting, area meeting, thesis meeting, independent study meeting, and marketing meeting. Oh, and teaching assistantship meeting (but that was fun because my fellow assistantship meeting friend and I went out for wine and potato bruschetta after).
Also: bad politics. I'm thinking of starting a PAC called Raise-My-Taxes-Damnit. Assholes. Let me quote from my Facebook" I'm thinking of making bumper stickers.
But, I shouldn't complain so much for fear that March takes offense on February's behalf. I'll end with good news: Erik and I are making a movie. So is he and a friend/former professor of mine. We're having Ina Garten's chicken. There has been almost 500 word a day writing (but many publishing rejections this month. Many more than zero, which is my preferred number of rejections). I was able to run in the woods last week without snow on the ground almost every day and I saw some strange sea-eagle looking bird. Also, I saw a bald eagle on my way to drop off Max at his day care--which I love and also love because she only charges us part-time fees. Also, Zoe and I went looking for owls during the full moon. Also I talked to a cool editor at Milkweed.
Plus, despite the wake-up-every-12-minute-night-to-console-sad-baby (and to swear a bit when I couldn't fall back asleep), today has been highly productive. Grant app for film, conference app for writing, finish 12,000 word essay/part of new project, write thank you letters, go to grocery store, make breakfast, lunch and (see previous paragraph), dinner, and wrote this post, finally. Also. It's almost March. Yay February! Thanks for being so short (see all the nice things I said March. See?)
Sunday, January 30, 2011
January high points
There weren't many. I hate to be mean to January since both Max's and the twins' birthdays are in January but January bites. And there were two high-points: Duck fat and white truffle butter. Gifts given to me by those twins in this month where extra fat is the only way to guard against depression.
I don't usually feel guilty about so much fat but it was so cold when we got back from Salt Lake that a couple of days I couldn't run. As you know, my running consists of forest-trotting every day for a half an hour. But the snow that came in December was so thick it just barely started to melt which meant on days when it was over 20 degrees, I had to run on the road. All those housewives watching me run so slow through their frosty windows. Blech.
The high hope that Max would sleep through the night disappeared in the first few days.
The start of school loomed and then it actually started and although I love my students, all the busy-work of my job started even before the actual semester did. Marketing. I did some marketing. I don't really believe in marketing. The university should speak for itself. But I'd like some more poetry students. So I'm sending missives out into the world, asking for some great poets. This isn't bad but it isn't exactly what I'd like to do with my time. Please send some students preferably when its warm and seductive here.
Also. Erik's remodeling the living room. He scraped the popcorn ceilings (no asbestos. We checked). This will be GREAT news in February but right now is very dusty news.
So I'm looking forward to that February because, even if it's just like January, it's shorter. And then, it will be March, when I can begin to pretend it's spring.
I don't usually feel guilty about so much fat but it was so cold when we got back from Salt Lake that a couple of days I couldn't run. As you know, my running consists of forest-trotting every day for a half an hour. But the snow that came in December was so thick it just barely started to melt which meant on days when it was over 20 degrees, I had to run on the road. All those housewives watching me run so slow through their frosty windows. Blech.
The high hope that Max would sleep through the night disappeared in the first few days.
The start of school loomed and then it actually started and although I love my students, all the busy-work of my job started even before the actual semester did. Marketing. I did some marketing. I don't really believe in marketing. The university should speak for itself. But I'd like some more poetry students. So I'm sending missives out into the world, asking for some great poets. This isn't bad but it isn't exactly what I'd like to do with my time. Please send some students preferably when its warm and seductive here.
Also. Erik's remodeling the living room. He scraped the popcorn ceilings (no asbestos. We checked). This will be GREAT news in February but right now is very dusty news.
So I'm looking forward to that February because, even if it's just like January, it's shorter. And then, it will be March, when I can begin to pretend it's spring.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Max was/Max is
100% creature. In early, perhaps extra-sensorily perceiving his would-be Halloween costume, Max started to crawl. But it wasn't a normal crawl. I blame it on our hard tile or wood floors but he had a full-on chimpanzee going. One leg out, one knee forward, he flung himself like a monkey or a wookie or perhaps a one-oared, yet forward-going boat.
A mouth. He's been blowing raspberries for some time now. Most mornings, I wake up to the sound of an outboard motor vrrmming in my ear. Again, it's like boating. But wetter. He likes to stick his hands into your mouth as if counting teeth. He likes to taste everything first--be it food (preferably dog kibble) or magnet or phone. He particularly like my cell phone and it took a knife and some severe pressure to disengage the battery-cover from the back of my Blackberry.
An eater. He likes quinoa and beans and apples, rice, cheese, oatmeal, frosted Mini-wheats, life cereal and yogurt. And yet his not as vegetarian as all that. He likes turkey and chicken and steak. He seems to like potatoes roasted in duck fat. He likes sausage and bacon best of all, just like his sister. And like his sister, he has a sweet tooth. Zoe gave him his first Skittle the other day. Now, if she opens a package, he'll hear it from whereever he is and crawl (now, with all appendages on the ground) cheetah-like to her. He'll clamber up to her on the ottoman and make his "Max noise" which is half whimper, half cry, 100% he knows what he wants.
Opinionated. Max has an opinion on everything. When I should pick him up, put him down, give him some milk, feed him some food, let him play with the water line to the refrigerator, when to sit on my lap and pull the blue mouse-dot in the middle of my computer off. I have found the blue dot in the laundry, in his diaper, in his mouth (of course) and down my shirt. I am lucky to still have a blue dot (although, unlike Max, I don't like the blue mouse dot).
A charmer. He'll turn his head to the right when he see yous. He'll point at you and say "deeth" to say hello. He'll high five and wave and smile this new smile his cousin Cam taught him which is so toothsome and dimple-full (he has an under-eye, upper cheek dimple that is uniquely attractive) and eyesquishing that I'm afraid his smile might make his cheeks pop right off his face. He likes patty cake and when I bounce him and toss him and lean him backwards (over and over again. And then again. Whimper says, "again." See "opinionated").
A laugher. Mostly Zoe makes him laugh but all tickles do, peek-a-boo does, but, back to Z, when Zoe hops, skips, pretends to fall down, hides under a blanket, eats, makes slurping noises. He very much likes it when you put something in your mouth for him to grab. Oh the hilarity there. He mostly laughs whenever you laugh. We laugh a lot just to make him laugh. Which makes us laugh.
A stair climber. It's all he wants to do. He can go up and down now with great ease since it was either learn to turn around and go backwards down or keep crashing on the two steps from the kitchen to the family room. He can even go up and down the steps to the next floor but that is still doomsday what with the two-foot-span railing and all. We're fixing. Soon. Really.
Still not a sleeper. He loves the milk. He's mostly done with the breast. But he still wakes up. Not as much. Maybe half as much. And I shouldn't complain. He's sleeping now.
A good rider-in-the-car. In his one year he has been to Salt Lake and back 4 times, to Torrey twice, to Lake Powell, to Tucson, on a 7 hour camping-spot-seeking-and-failing-adventure, to Phoenix, to Bluff, Utah, and to various and sundry more successful camping-spot-seeking adventures. He can just play and sit and watch and listen for hours. I think he gets at least some of his sleeping done in the car too.
A many-named baby. Zoe calls him bubba. I've mentioned the numb-nuts and succubust here but he's also known as Mr. Squishy, lovebutt, Zuzza, B, Maxa, Maxy, tuddlehead, futzba, bear, magoogally, and buckaroo. I think he'll answer to them all, although I think he likes Bubba and Buckaroo, which his grandpa calls him, best of all.
A smarty-pants. All parents think their kids are the smartest and I am no different. Max has special talents. He can open and close doors and find balls days lost under the couch. He can hand me vegetables when I'm cooking. He knows everyone's name and can make my phone do things I didn't know it could do. He can turn pages of books at just the right time. He's the kind of baby that turns things upside down to see how they work. And then takes them apart. But mostly, he's smart in the opinionated way. He knows how to get what he wants. Maybe that's smarts or maybe that's just because we like him so much and think he's a pretty swell kid. And why not have the blue mouse dot if he really wants it?
A cleaner: As noted on the blog, by my sister Val and by my friend Matt Gephardt, Max likes to vacuum. He'll push the wand back and forth all day. He also mops, but with yogurt, so I don't exactly call it "cleaning." If you give him a rag though, back and forth all day. Z did too. She was more a folder than a scrubber. And yet my house? Not so clean.
A mouth. He's been blowing raspberries for some time now. Most mornings, I wake up to the sound of an outboard motor vrrmming in my ear. Again, it's like boating. But wetter. He likes to stick his hands into your mouth as if counting teeth. He likes to taste everything first--be it food (preferably dog kibble) or magnet or phone. He particularly like my cell phone and it took a knife and some severe pressure to disengage the battery-cover from the back of my Blackberry.
An eater. He likes quinoa and beans and apples, rice, cheese, oatmeal, frosted Mini-wheats, life cereal and yogurt. And yet his not as vegetarian as all that. He likes turkey and chicken and steak. He seems to like potatoes roasted in duck fat. He likes sausage and bacon best of all, just like his sister. And like his sister, he has a sweet tooth. Zoe gave him his first Skittle the other day. Now, if she opens a package, he'll hear it from whereever he is and crawl (now, with all appendages on the ground) cheetah-like to her. He'll clamber up to her on the ottoman and make his "Max noise" which is half whimper, half cry, 100% he knows what he wants.
Opinionated. Max has an opinion on everything. When I should pick him up, put him down, give him some milk, feed him some food, let him play with the water line to the refrigerator, when to sit on my lap and pull the blue mouse-dot in the middle of my computer off. I have found the blue dot in the laundry, in his diaper, in his mouth (of course) and down my shirt. I am lucky to still have a blue dot (although, unlike Max, I don't like the blue mouse dot).
A charmer. He'll turn his head to the right when he see yous. He'll point at you and say "deeth" to say hello. He'll high five and wave and smile this new smile his cousin Cam taught him which is so toothsome and dimple-full (he has an under-eye, upper cheek dimple that is uniquely attractive) and eyesquishing that I'm afraid his smile might make his cheeks pop right off his face. He likes patty cake and when I bounce him and toss him and lean him backwards (over and over again. And then again. Whimper says, "again." See "opinionated").
A laugher. Mostly Zoe makes him laugh but all tickles do, peek-a-boo does, but, back to Z, when Zoe hops, skips, pretends to fall down, hides under a blanket, eats, makes slurping noises. He very much likes it when you put something in your mouth for him to grab. Oh the hilarity there. He mostly laughs whenever you laugh. We laugh a lot just to make him laugh. Which makes us laugh.
A stair climber. It's all he wants to do. He can go up and down now with great ease since it was either learn to turn around and go backwards down or keep crashing on the two steps from the kitchen to the family room. He can even go up and down the steps to the next floor but that is still doomsday what with the two-foot-span railing and all. We're fixing. Soon. Really.
Still not a sleeper. He loves the milk. He's mostly done with the breast. But he still wakes up. Not as much. Maybe half as much. And I shouldn't complain. He's sleeping now.
A good rider-in-the-car. In his one year he has been to Salt Lake and back 4 times, to Torrey twice, to Lake Powell, to Tucson, on a 7 hour camping-spot-seeking-and-failing-adventure, to Phoenix, to Bluff, Utah, and to various and sundry more successful camping-spot-seeking adventures. He can just play and sit and watch and listen for hours. I think he gets at least some of his sleeping done in the car too.
A many-named baby. Zoe calls him bubba. I've mentioned the numb-nuts and succubust here but he's also known as Mr. Squishy, lovebutt, Zuzza, B, Maxa, Maxy, tuddlehead, futzba, bear, magoogally, and buckaroo. I think he'll answer to them all, although I think he likes Bubba and Buckaroo, which his grandpa calls him, best of all.
A smarty-pants. All parents think their kids are the smartest and I am no different. Max has special talents. He can open and close doors and find balls days lost under the couch. He can hand me vegetables when I'm cooking. He knows everyone's name and can make my phone do things I didn't know it could do. He can turn pages of books at just the right time. He's the kind of baby that turns things upside down to see how they work. And then takes them apart. But mostly, he's smart in the opinionated way. He knows how to get what he wants. Maybe that's smarts or maybe that's just because we like him so much and think he's a pretty swell kid. And why not have the blue mouse dot if he really wants it?
A cleaner: As noted on the blog, by my sister Val and by my friend Matt Gephardt, Max likes to vacuum. He'll push the wand back and forth all day. He also mops, but with yogurt, so I don't exactly call it "cleaning." If you give him a rag though, back and forth all day. Z did too. She was more a folder than a scrubber. And yet my house? Not so clean.
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