.28 I Love You

I have a thing for the Signo fine-tip pens made by Uni-Ball. I have only ever seen the really fine ones in Asian stationery stores — more of a need to write small and precisely — and had thought .38 was might fine. I have recently discovered a .28, labeled "exceedingly super fine" (more or less) in Japanese. It is awesome. For the $2 (or whatever it cost me) it has made me happier than just about any other daily-use item over the last three weeks.

I write differently with different pens, radically so. I hate Bic ballpoint pens. They make me feel coarse and sloppy. I got a pen recently, as a gift, that has a heavy, bold line. It is the kind of pen that would be great for autographs (hah! as if) and Christmas cards. But the super-fines let me write like I think I should.

I suppose this sounds like an ad. It's not. I just really adore these pens.

Words and Rice

There are now many, probably too many, websites that donate to charity with a click from viewers. Free Rice is new to me, and a fun version: you test your vocabulary and "earn" rice to donate with every correct answer. The words tend to the not-so-useful (bairn?), but those who like word games and have a competitive streak -- it rates your vocabulary level as you go along -- will enjoy while doing good.

My Favorite Quote This Week

From Dustin Pedroia, MLB rookie of the year:

"This game's tough. If you fail seven out of 10 times, you're a pretty good player."

4 Years and 5 Doctors

I changed doctors this morning. I didn't really want to -- we're moving in less than a year, and enduring a mediocre doctor for that long seemed less of a bother than switching. But the nurse practitioner for this doctor screwed a test up at my annual visit six weeks ago, and they called me this morning to tell me I needed to come in to have it redone. Annoying. I asked that this time I be given an appointment with the doctor, and was told that I could get on a waiting list for an appointment in mid-February, with no guarantee that I would actually get an appointment. I said that this would be fine, and then the receptionist/scheduler put me on hold (they called me) only to come back and tell me that she'd have to check with the doctor and call me back.

Three hours later they had not called back.

Mind you, I'm not asking them for anything. They are attempting to rectify a mistake they made. I went online, looked at reviews for doctors, switched my PCP, and now have an appointment with doctor in mid-January. I view this as a completely reasonable wait for a new patient, especially given the upcoming holidays.

I am not a high-needs patient. Other than annual check-ups, in the last four years I have called my doctor about a migraine, allergic reactions, a tendon problem, and a flu shot. The first doctor I had, in another state, was very old and her office staff even older. It was impossible to get even routine information out of them. The next doctor was in some sort of alternative clinic, clearly anorexic, and had halitosis. I left her when I called for a semi-urgent care appointment (the allergic reaction), was told she was on vacation, that she had no doctor to whom she was referring her patients, and that I should go to the emergency room. The next doctor was fine, great, really, but we moved out of state.

Why should this be so hard? My ob-gyn was awesome, my son's pediatricians have been superb. I'm not sure if I have terrible luck, or there's some sort of endemic problem with general practitioners.

(I realize this is a bit of rant, and that I have it better than most. I cannot imagine how those with no or marginal insurance cope. I just need to get this off my chest.)

UFPC*

I had a dream the other night -- or rather, I remembered a dream, something I rarely do -- and it was about UFOs. One man claimed to have seen a UFO, and another man was trying to convince him (in Spanish) of why the UFOs in the US were much weirder than the one he had seen.

Whenever I remember a dream, I try to figure out what is bothering me, what nagging worry caused the dream. I woke up from this dream and knew immediately what had caused it.

Dennis Kucinich.


*Unidentified Flying Presidential Candidates

Picky

As I was trying to fall asleep last night, I started worrying about the Thanksgiving turkey, and the fact that I had yet to order one. So first thing this morning, that's what I did. As it turns out, I could have waited another five days and still gotten a turkey.

On to the next panic.

What to do for sides?

My mother doesn't like spicy food, so the Thai-style sweet potatoes in Saveur are out.

My brother is allergic to nuts. I love nuts, and it drives me crazy to have to avoid them.

My sister-in-law can't have sugar. And isn't much for carbs, either.

My father wants it to be "traditional" -- even if that means a kind of pie he doesn't like. And he wants sweet potatoes.

My husband absolutely must have stuffing and mashed potatoes.

My son is too young to have much of an opinion, fortunately. (Although I know he is in the pro-sweet-potato camp.)

I have learned my lesson about brussel sprouts -- I'm the only one who likes them -- and won't make them again.

I'm hoping the food sections of the papers have some great sides to solve all my problems.

Mysteries of the Universe, Consumer Edition

Why aren't sizes for kids' clothing all the same? I understand the impulse behind vanity sizing for adults, and why that leads to different stores have different senses of what a size 6 might be. But this is craziness for toddlers. Why should Gymboree be bigger than Old Navy? Why aren't all 3T pajamas the same? I have enough jammed into my brain without trying to keep track of which brand's pants will fall off my son, and which will give only a month's worth of wear.

To My Fellow Motorists

Dear sir in the green Mercedes: You may be important, you may be esteemed, you may be rich. It is still a stop sign.

Dear woman making a three-point turn: The point at which your car is perpendicular to the flow of traffic and blocking two lanes is not the point at which to check your cell phone or fiddle with the radio. Thank you.

Dear befuddled driver of the elderly CRX with the "I'd rather be reading Bukowski" bumper sticker: Your strange u-turn and hesitant driving suggests that you have been reading too much Bukowski, and not enough of the under-appreciated genius, Maps.

Dear van driver with "WWJD" fish thing: You are in a left-turn lane. You don't need to think about it when you have the left arrow. JESUS WOULD TURN. I'm sure of it.

Making Nan with a Three Year Old

I trashed my kitchen this afternoon making silk road nan with my three year old. I was inspired by this essay at Culinate, and when I read the recipe for playdoh bread, I immediately thought of this nan. It has several steps that are fun for kids: rolling the balls of dough flat, dimpling with the fingertips, painting with butter (my son's favorite part), and sprinking salt and cumin seeds on top. Flour got everywhere -- all over the floor and table, and my son -- and the butter painting extended a bit beyond what I would have liked. I managed to check my neat-freak-out impulse, and just went with it. After, I set him up with a swiffer, and he pretended to be a street sweeper.

Recipe adapted from Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid's Home Baking. I cut the original in half, correctly judging that my son's attention span couldn't handle more than six breads.

1 teaspoon active dry yeast
1 1/2 cups warm water
3 1/2 to 4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoons melted butter

for topping:
2 tablespoons melted butter
salt and cumin seeds
(could also add chives or garlic here)

In the bowl of a stand mixer, combine yeast and warm water. Stir in one cup of flour to form a batter. Add the salt and melted butter. Stir in two more cups of flour. Then, using the dough hook, put the mixer on 2, and add flour until it forms a kneadable ball of dough. Knead eight minutes, scraping dough as necessary. Remove dough hook, cover bowl, and let rise for at least two hours.

Put pizza stone in oven, and preheat to 500 degrees F. Turn out dough onto a floured counter or board, and divide into six pieces. Form pieces into balls, and flatten. (If child can be persuaded, let dough rest 10 minutes at this point.) Using a rolling pin, roll to roughly 8 inches diameter. Transfer to pizza peel very lightly dusted with flour. Dimple all over with fingertips, brush with melted butter, and sprinkle with salt and cumin. Slide onto pizza stone, keeping child far far away from the oven, and bake 7-8 minutes, or until golden. Cool on a rack, then wrap in a light cotton towel.

Observed

Near campus. A guy, just having parallel-parked his green SUV, which emanates the smell of pot, is sitting in the front seat, rockin' out. To Pat Benatar's "Hit Me with Your Best Shot," at top volume.

Trader Joe's Dinner Hack

Need dinner in twenty minutes? Semi-healthy, almost sophisticated?

1 package Trader Giotto's frozen gnocchi al gorgonzola
1 handful of mushrooms, sliced
2-3 handfuls baby spinach (as much as your kid will tolerate without fuss), rinsed and large stems removed
2 slices bacon, cooked until crisp, crumbled (optional)

Prepare gnocchi according to directions for stovetop. In another pan, saute mushrooms. When the gnocchi is almost finished cooking, stir in spinach and mushrooms. Cover, and cook until spinach wilts. Top with bacon if using. Add a grind of fresh pepper for adults.

The Coming Meat War

There is a battle brewing at my house. My husband, flush with his paycheck, went to three local grocery stores / purveyors of fine adequate food, and stocked up on meat of all sorts.

I bought Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian, and am planning retaliatory shopping. Possibly to include obscure grains and legumes.

(This should have been posted yesterday, but my ancient computer was having difficulty.)

Five

My three year old son is not a great counter. Sometimes he'll do it perfectly -- today he counted wheels on his train -- and sometimes he'll count the same object multiple times until he gets a nice, large number he likes. Sometimes when he does this I think he's just being silly, and knows perfectly well how to count, but it is hard to tell.

Right now, however, he thinks five is a really big number, and uses it the way we would use "a million." Ask him how many of something he wants, and he'll say "five," drawing the word out in this husky voice he reserves for the purpose. Like, I'm asking for infinity, let's see if I can get it. How many jellybeans do you want? Fiiive. Sure, kid, if five seems like the grandest amount of jellybeans you can imagine, you can have that.

Go to your room

For a brief period, I was very entranced with HGTV's "House Hunters." The voyeuristic aspect made it fun, as did guessing which house they would go for. One thing I noticed was how much space people thought they needed -- childless couples, for example, frequently wanted home offices for each party. I rather doubt most people have jobs that would make a home office a true necessity, and suspect that these are spaces where spouses can get away from each other (and probably into the alternative realities of the computer). Others put space for a "man-pit" on their wishlist, or a play room in addition to a room for each child. At some point, we became a nation where everyone needs their own room. Maybe two.

Looking back to how small homes have been in the past, and how small they still are in space-challenged places like Japan, American expectations are astoundingly grand. I grew up in the midwest, in a house neither large nor small, and find myself a bit claustrophobic in some homes on the east coast. In the very near future, we'll be facing a decision about where to live in an expensive urban environment, and we'll have to choose between space and a short commute. Add in a desire to make the greenest choice possible, and we're likely to be downsizing from the space we're in at present. I'm glad there are books like this one to point the way forward.

The Carbon Footprint of Presidential Candidates

I admit I didn't participate in any National Day of Climate Action activities, but this post is my gesture in that direction. I've often thought that it would be nice to find out the carbon footprint of the presidential candidates, and the carbon footprint of their campaigns. A bit of googling did not yield a handy website where someone else has done this, unfortunately. Edwards, Clinton, and Obama appear to have proclaimed their campaigns carbon neutral. They also all get good marks for environmental policy, as do a couple of other Democratic candidates. Not surprisingly, Republican candidates get lower marks. I do find myself wanting more specifics on their environmental commitment, and making public a carbon footprint would be one way of doing so. I know these are people who live in big houses and fly planes everywhere, but it would be useful to know where they stood, and how accountable each candidate was willing to be. A giant house is different from a giant house with carbon offsets purchased, and different again from a giant house powered by solar or wind energy. This should be one of the most important issues of the 2008 election, and it is also the rare issue where candidates can begin demonstrating what they would do now.

(By the way, it appears only Edwards actually attended a Day of Climate Action event.)

Not Knitting

Not far from where we live, there is a nice neighborhood shopping street, with lots of stores for people with disposable income. One is a yarn store offering knitting classes. Every time I walked by, there would be a delicious new sweater in the window, and finally I went in and put myself on their mailing list. I wanted to take a knitting class. I had this idea that I would happily sit in the evening and knit, creating funky sweaters to make my wardrobe more interesting, making holiday gifts, and fuzzy hats for my toddler. I got their newsletter. The classes were offered only at times people with highly flexible jobs could make. I waited, hoping the class times would rotate from season to season. They didn't. But every time I walked by the yarn shop I was convinced I would soon learn to knit.

Then I had a minor epiphany. I'm busy, so busy with my job and kid that I've given up doing things -- like baking -- I really used to enjoy. Why would I take on something new? Rather, I needed a way to return to or expand my old hobbies.

And that's partly what I had hoped for from a blog (and now NaBloPoMo) -- that this would provide me the space to write as a hobby. I write as part of my job, but it isn't always fun writing, and I miss feeling that writing is fun, the way I felt writing stories in third grade. And if I still feel, at the end of November, I need a new hobby, I'm going to sign up for a letterpress class.

Not knitting. I'll have to buy the fuzzy caps.

How to Fail at NaBloPoMo Without Really Trying

It is a quarter past ten and I'm posting now! No brilliance for the first day, that's for sure.
So why am I doing this?
I started this blog a couple years ago.
Posted twice.
Deleted them as too whiny.
Posted again this summer.
Less whiny.
But the habit didn't stick.
So this month is for me to answer the question of whether I need / want/ can actually handle a blog of my own, or whether I should just throw it out like a dead houseplant that's been sitting on the radiator since last January (metaphorical dead houseplant -- we have no houseplants).
We'll see.
Tomorrow, why I haven't taken up knitting.