Cultural Revolutionary

Morgan loves watching The Food Network. I readily admit that I despise cooking so I am hopeful that her interest in the subject works out well for her. Don’t get me wrong… I love food and I can cook. I just hate doing it and would much rather do about a million and one other things. But, I digress… Back to Morgan and Food Network. There are some shows she watches religiously and even records on DVR. Most of these shows, I have seen before. Occasionally though, she watches Food Network while a different show/series is on. Such is the case today.

I had heard of Barefoot Contessa and I even recall seeing some of her cookbooks. I had never watched her show though. I am completely disgusted by it. First of all, throughout the damned thing she talks about “Jeffrey” who I assume (and Morgan confirms) is her husband. “Jeffrey” apparently works a lot and travels extensively. I am led to believe from my one experience with the show and from questioning Morgan that Barefoot Contessa stays home and cooks for him. At the end of the segment, he arrives home and they spend a nice weekend together shopping (another ICK) all while he continues to say that he has “no idea how she’s going to have time to make dinner”. Then she rushes home to impress him with how quickly she can cook his favorite dinner (much of which was prepared the day before) all before the show ends. She continually tells us how easy and quick the whole process is but any idiot can see it’s just taken her two+ hours for one meal and about 90 steps. She finally exclaims (direct quote), “honey, dinner is ready” and they dine al fresco on their ridiculously expensive patio furniture overlooking the other neighborhood mansions. I learn from her website that she and “Jeffrey” split their time between their home in the Hamptons and their place in Manhattan. Uh huh… really normal folks, huh?

All the while Barefoot Contessa (her real name is Ina, also learned from her website) is cooking, she is doing so in a kitchen larger than most people’s houses. She, like most TV cooks, has every kitchen gadget known to man at her disposal and her pots, pans, serving pieces, etc., cost more than a new small car (honestly… I just looked them up and you can buy a Kia for less). Seriously, this is NOT normal. Even Martha, who gets made fun of ruthlessly, is more reality based than ole’ Barefoot. Rant over… And I won’t be watching Ina again.

With moving I have had to buy several items that I wouldn’t have guessed I would need. And then there are other items that I simply refuse to buy used. Some have been on my exception list for sometime and others haven’t.

Here are some examples and explanations:

-A new queen size mattress set. A couple of years ago I bought an absolutely huge memory foam mattress set and platform bed in California King size. The thing is awful. It’s too big for normal bedrooms (unless you live in a McMansion) and it’s not even comfortable. Sheets are hard to find for it on the East Coast. So, I decided not to burden my new (to me) bedroom with such an albatross. Sleep is important to me. There was no way in hell that I was buying a used mattress set though. The thought made my skin crawl on a number of levels. So, I broke the Compact and bought a new set…

-New underwear and socks for Tony. These are more items that I just refuse to buy used. I realize that they can be washed and made clean. But, something about that idea just creeps me out again. Plus, whenever you are going through the process of potty learning with a four year old boy with some remaining vestiges of autism, super hero undies are welcome bribery.

-Building Materials. I have repurposed as much as possible during this renovation process. For instance, the front porch that I had originally planned to rip off and rebuild completely was able to be saved with some minor repairs and paint. The kitchen cabinets that were hideous were saved with a coat of paint, the addition of some tile that I had leftover from a past project, and a few repairs. I resisted the urge to replace a slightly damaged door to the 4th bedroom (yes, the house is larger than I would have typically chosen but it really works for us) because the damage will only be seen from the inside. But, some things just had to be purchased new. Unfortunately, the selection of used/salvage building supply places isn’t as good here as in Charleston. And, when it comes down to it, some things are 100% necessary… like a solid, secure, and lockable front door. Luckily, I was able to find a local source that carried many of the same items as the big box retailer and even a few they didn’t carry. Some things I just couldn’t find at a mom and pop. So, unfortunately, my Lowes receipts are also plentiful.

To be continued….

If I didn’t know better, I would think my platelets were really low again and/or that I was also extremely anemic. The truth is that I am a lot healthier right now than I have been in quite awhile. That makes it clear to me that the stress I was enduring on a daily basis before June 07 was really making my ITP much worse. Anyway, even though I am quite healthy (for me, at least) right now, I am still simply exhausted. I have been working my butt off both literally and figuratively. Plus, my virus monkeys keep bringing dreadful illnesses home with them. Of course, as usual, I have been catching every malady that crosses my path. It’s all OK though… Life is good even if I have to go to bed at 9pm every night.

Somehow I am still able to smile today. Granted, I would have every right to be grumpy. I got very little sleep last night. The renovations on the new house are over budget. Morgan is still sick with some strange virus. My close friend who is acting as my general contractor is leaving for a week long cruise on Saturday (lucky bastard) and there are still lots of small things that need to be completed before we can move in. Unfortunately, work will slow substantially while he’s gone.

But, it’s Valentine’s Day. As I type, Tony is having his first Valentine’s party at school. He was ecstatic about the mere suggestion of a party. It was my “job” to bring the candy for the party and I even resisted the urge to buy the healthy stuff and loaded him up with the good junk. After filling out 28 or so little Valentines for his classmates (some of whom have names like Amariona and several others that I can’t pronounce or spell so it took me multiple attempts) and then folding them, adding the Spiderman tattoo to each one, and lastly sealing them with a heart shaped sticker, I was exhausted. But, I was still happy. After all, my severely autistic kid has now been fully mainstreamed and is pretty indistinguishable from his typically developing peers. There were times along this journey that I had no idea if I would ever get to see him enjoy something as simple as a childhood party. So, I smiled as I made out each and every card and as he told me about his “girlfriends” Valerie and Sabrina.

The reason I slept so little last night couldn’t be attributed to anything bad either. I was sleeping soundly when I heard my cell phone alerting me that I had a new text message. A quick glance at my watch told me it was around 2am. Of course, there are very few people who would text me at that time. And even fewer that I wouldn’t be pissed about receiving a text from at 2am. Luckily, it was a Valentines message from Rick. He’s still in Norway for a few more days and therefore he’s still 6 hours ahead of me time wise. His text showed that he cares enough to make sure he wished me a Happy Valentine’s Day before he started his busy day. That means a lot! Maybe next year he’ll be home and I can have all of the traditional Valentine’s Day treats (candy and champagne come to mind since both are consumable and Compact friendly). At the very least though, he thought of me first thing in the morning and that’s as important as anything.

I have been getting a TON of SPAM comments here lately. Seriously… over a hundred a day! Most of them are completely vulgar and include links to stuff that is past just raunchy or kinky and enters into the land of sick and quite possibly illegal.

Thankfully, there are good SPAM filters included in the Word Press software. And, I am closely moderating all comments these days for this very reason. So, luckily, anyone reading my blog will never have to see that crap. But, anyone who submits a real comment (of which I get too few… hint, hint, hint) will have to wait awhile to see it posted.

This is another one of my sort of non-posts. Nothing of real value… Just a chance to remember the untimely deaths of three musicians on February 3, 1959. Did they change the world? Maybe or maybe not…

Continue to RIP Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson.

In the words of Don McLean (1971)…

A long, long time ago…
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.
But february made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.
So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock ’n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?
Well, I know that you’re in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.
I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.
I started singin’,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.
We were singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.
Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.
And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
And they were singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
They were singing,
“bye-bye, miss american pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that I die.”