BBQ!

K and I are both certified KCBS BBQ judges. In order to compete KCBS style, you need to provide four entries for judging: pork shoulder (pork butt), beef brisket, pork ribs, and chicken. If you’ve ever watched one of the BBQ reality shows and wondered what it’s like to compete without a few hundred thousand dollars to drop on a rig, here you go:

We headed down south for some fun with the in-laws and a combination MBN and KCBS BBQ competition. I realize that every part of a BBQ competition can be met with a 12-year-old’s sense of humor, so when you’re laughing at “meat inspection” and “smoking meat,” know that I did too.

We competed on my brother-in-law’s team last year, so we had a decent idea of what was going on, but this was our first solo competition. We started the trip out with two goals. One, do better than last year. Two, place in the top half. Half of achieving your dreams is having low expectations, so I tailored my own goal: Don’t come in last.

Two people makes for a pretty small team, so we kidnapped our closest friend and put him to work. He proved to be smarter than both of us, as he had a cot/tent overnighted to my in-laws’ house. While I slept at a 90-degree angle on wet, hard plastic in the back of my car, he was happily sprawled out in his seven-foot bed for the weekend.

We packed up the car, drove the nine hours down after work on Wednesday, and arrived shortly after midnight. My mother-in-law greeted us with boxed wine and a smile, so we were off to a good start. I set her up with an e-cig, and she was happily vaping with one hand and smoking with the other when I went to bed.

We got up early on Thursday to set up our competition space. We invested in a port-a-potty for the weekend, borrowed two tables from the VFW, and set-up our smoker. We brought one pop-up tent with us, but had to purchase a second one when the hurricane-style rain hit. One of my friends from Texas posted a nice picture of the storm, which stretched from Mexico to Canada. Our ambassador was kind enough to acquire/steal some cardboard so we could craft a “floor” in the muddy parking lot.

The first night featured a fish fry and chicken wing competition. We didn’t place in the top five in either category, but that’s not the point of entering. For auxiliary events, the contest provides the meat. So, we got 10 pounds of free chicken and fish to “compete with” and then eat/share with everyone around us. Delicious and economical.

We hit up the local liquor store for some discount rum and presented HB with a gift for joining us. K and I opted to sleep on a real mattress for the first night and left HB in his rum-scented tent to guard the port-a-potty.

K and HB attended the 0800 meat inspection on Friday, which I felt entitled to skip out on. I showed up at noon and pretended to be interested in prepping the pork shoulder and brisket. Meanwhile, the next-door RV battery shorted out in the rain and partially electrocuted one of the competitors. Luckily, K used to work for a battery supply company in town, so he took the man of the RV over to the warehouse to pick out a new battery.

K and I went to the head cooks’ meeting at 1600, where we heard some inspiring quotes such as, “You can’t have a BBQ competition without teams.” Then we picked up our gift baskets, which consisted of 70-ish pounds of free charcoal, moonshine, soda, beer, sauces, T-shirts, apples, aprons, rubs, key-chain razor blades (yes, you’re reading that correctly), and notepads. We already felt like winners.

We finished prepping the chicken thighs and ribs (gross) and setting up for a long night of smoking meat (hehe). After a rousing game of meat tetris, we accepted that it wasn’t all going to fit on the smoker and decided to add my father-in-law’s Weber grill. He also brought us the industrial-style florescent light from his shed to help with the nighttime cooking. It worked. You can see that thing from space.

Once everything was prepped and we had a timeline set up, we took the opportunity to check out our competition. Some of their rigs cost more than my house, but I have to admit they do look really cool! After confirming that the VFW team was already shithouse drunk, we returned to our homemade setup, ready to win.

My brother-in-law stopped by to inform us that the VFW team had called in back-up cooks, but even they were starting to slur unintelligibly. My father-in-law used to be a competitor, and has many great stories of teams that were unable to get a single category turned in on time due to alcoholic difficulties. This competition was starting to look up for us.
We feasted on chili dogs as we prepared hundreds of dollars worth of meat for our anonymous judges. The waste is always concerning to me, as each judge will take a tiny bite of the meat and the rest is thrown away. It not as though we enjoy wasting good BBQ. I was told in judging class that if you only take a small bite of each competition piece, you can expect to eat two pounds of meat in one afternoon.

After ensuring all of our gauges were reading correctly, we retired to our respective sleeping arrangements. Around 0500, I gave up on “sleeping” and began to clean the prep space and set up for the day’s events.

Everything made it to the grill/smoker at the appropriate times. HB began designing the turn-in boxes with the tenacity of an Adderall-fueled housewife. Every piece of parsley was specially chosen and carefully laid to enhance the appearance of the meat. Box design is an art, with only certain types of greenery allowed in competition. Then again, you have to trust that your judges can distinguish curly leaf parsley from arugula.

HB’s dedication to vegetable arrangement scored well in all categories. After everything was turned in, we did shots of tasty, tasty whiskey with the neighbors in exchange for local wine.

HB and I headed back to the house to shower and change before the awards ceremony. While he was in the shower, I sat down to rest. I woke up late that night, confused and still reeking of BBQ. We’d missed the awards ceremony, but I’d successfully caught up on 3 days of sleep.

We headed home the next day, with our gift basket in hand. K’s already preparing for the next competition, and I’ve been buying more salads.

Some Observations on Work

I'm aware that getting a graduate degree doesn't guarantee career success. Luckily, I didn't tie my degree to my economic success. I went for the degree I wanted, and left my career to my experience.

However, now that I'm knee-deep in my thesis, I can honestly say that I feel for those liberal arts majors who don't have the luxury of the GI Bill.

Before you embark on a graduate degree, consider how much it's going to cost you. I can say with personal experience that no one gives a shit if you have an MA in Humanities. Just this week I was commended on how hard I was working and told to hurry up and finish so that I could start working for just above minimum wage.

I'm lucky to be graduating without any debt, but if you're going to rack up a ton of student loans to finance your education, consider whether your future career will pay off those loans. Look at career projections and expected earnings for your area. You may have to move in order to find work, so be prepared for that.

I realize we're in a recession, but I can say with certainty that there are plenty of low-paying jobs available. It may not be your dream career, but it will provide you with some cash to pay down some loans while you look for something related to your degree. Take anything. You'd be surprised how much fun you can have (and how much you can learn) from something you weren't expecting to do. I wouldn't classify myself as a professional florist/art instructor, but I've learned a lot about customer service and people in general. Below are just a few of my observations.

1. Consider the intelligence of the average person, and then realize that at some point, you're going to come in contact with the bottom 50%.

The best example I can give is the fact that everyone loves delivery, but not everyone knows their own address. This is doubly so in rural areas, where people feel the need to describe the buildings around them in order to tell you where they are.

2. Everyone has a different pet peeve, and you won't know what that is until you piss them off.

Things that might not bother you will cause a complete stranger to flip the hell out. You will consider their outrage to be insane, until some other service worker pisses you off. I've had people lose their minds because they weren't sitting where they expected to be. If they're clearly insane, their friends will inevitably tip well to compensate you for the inconvenience, which is nice.

3. Every job has things that are less than ideal.

Maybe your coworkers are complete idiots, but you get as much vacation as you want. Look at the pros, and balance them against the cons.

4. High salary doesn't necessarily guarantee career satisfaction.

See every post from last year.

5. Your passion might not be everyone else's.

Want to build a website devoted to your deepest interests? Make sure that at least one other person on earth shares your passion. Otherwise, buy a journal and save yourself a lot of time and money.

6. Not everyone tips, but everyone has an excuse if they don't.

In cases where I wasn't expecting a tip, it just makes it awkward when you say something along the lines of, "So…you rock, but I don't have any cash on me..." Just smile and say thank you instead.

7. Some people are having a bad day. Don't take it personally.

I keep this in mind when people are raging over their funeral flowers. They're living the worst day of their life. If they need to take it out on me, I get that. It's better they let loose on a florist than venting their frustrations to their equally miserable family members.

8. Whatever you do, stay out of management.

I've never been so happy to not have a management position. It's so freeing to say, "Let me get my manager," and step away from the situation. My apologies to J; I understand how much your position sucks.

9. Know what works for you.

You might find out mid-degree that you hate people. If you're on the fast track to be a psychologist, it might be time to consider other options before you push through to the end.

10. As long as you're happy, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

There are plenty of people out there who think I've lost my goddamn mind. That's fine, because it's my life. I'm the one who has to get up everyday and decide whether or not I'm happy with my circumstances. The same fact is true for you. Your definition of happiness might be living in a vamper and working as a parking attendant. It might be moving to a foreign island and making a living as a bartender. It doesn't matter, as long as you're ok with your decisions. In the words of Thoreau, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." Find your path and own it.

Calling a Florist Doesn't Have to be Scary

Now that Mother's Day is over, I'm sure you all remembered to send your mom a nice floral arrangement or at least a card. If not, you might want to get on that.

For next year, allow me to explain how the floral industry works. Most of you probably logged onto one of the many online sites that promises to deliver some god-awful arrangement for the low-low price of $75 or more.

Here's the thing: online sites source to local florists. So you're paying a massive processing fee for one of these sites to send your order to a local florist. That florist may or may not have what you want in stock, hence that whole "substitutions" clause. If we have the exact flowers, they might be the last of a bunch, which doesn't guarantee that they're the freshest flowers we have.

Instead of paying a mark-up to get something close to what you want, just call the florist yourself. Maybe you know what flowers you want; mention those (i.e. iris, tulips, roses, etc.) By doing so, you're guaranteeing the freshest flowers and saving yourself a ton of money. The florist knows exactly what you want, and can tell you whether their lilies are fresh or close to death.

Another idea is to opt for a blooming plant. Then you know your mom will enjoy the plant for years to come, and she won't have to clean the wilted mess off her counter top the following week. In either case, by contacting the florist directly, you'll have a better idea of what you're getting, and you'll get personalized service at a discounted price.

Florists want you to have a positive experience and to enjoy your arrangement. We can't guarantee that if you choose a product we don't have in stock. You'll only know what we have if you call. Also, consider calling early. Then we can order the exact flowers from our wholesalers, and have them on time. There's nothing we can do if you call at 2:00 pm on Valentine's Day. We understand your plight, but it's on you to plan ahead.

If you're totally at a loss for what you want, mention your mom's favorite color. She likes purple? I can do a kick-ass purple arrangement. You don't have to be an expert--that's what we're here for!

The Joys of Being a Landlord

The good news: we got our house back! The bad news: unpacking is still a nightmare.

We scheduled our movers and U-Haul well ahead of time and picked an unseasonably warm weekend to move. Then the blizzard happened. We managed to get everything loaded into the U-Haul and only slipped on the ice a few times. Then we realized there was too much snow to get the truck out of the parking lot. Giving up, we decided to spend another night at the apartment.

Me: Um, if the mattress is in the U-Haul, where are we going to sleep tonight?

K: It'll be just like camping!

We were able to get the truck to the house the following day and “unpack,” which means we dumped everything in the garage and called it good. The last few weeks have been devoted to moving boxes into the house and attempting to create some sort of order from the chaos.

We’ve moved 6 or 7 times in as many years, so it’s not like we’re new to this. We’re just a bit burnt out. I’ve decided I’m going to die in this house, because I’m never moving again. After too many international flights in the cargo hold, I think the cats are in agreement with me. Although I do enjoy the labels that are stuck all over their carriers:

Fail

One of the joys of unpacking is that you start to notice all of the little things that happened to your house in your absence. For example, we can’t plug the TV into its normal spot because someone decided to cut the cables. Also, someone ran off with the remote for my lights. It’s not that I need a remote to turn on the lights (I’m not that lazy yet), but the remote is the only way to make the dimmers work.

I’m fairly laid back when it comes to damages, because I understand that crazy shit can happen to anyone. That being said, it’s been an interesting few weeks.

I understand not being able to pay your rent from time to time. I don’t understand racking up thousands of dollars worth of damages and unpaid rent before finally getting evicted.

I understand misplacing things. I don’t understand running off with my light bulbs, showerheads, sink faucet, and the batteries from the dead bolt. I’ve pulled batteries from TV remotes in moments of crisis, but I generally replace them afterwards.

I understand putting a hole through a wall after a long day at the office. I would expect the hole to be somewhere around shoulder level. I don’t understand how a hole made it through my bathroom door six feet off the floor.

I understand not noticing a leaky toilet for awhile. I don’t understand how you could miss that until the garage ceiling started caving in.

I understand the occasional scorch mark in the kitchen. I don’t understand how it happened in the laundry room.

I’m generally amused by the things I find in the house, and all of the damages have been easy to repair. We did luck out with our last tenant, who gifted us a cord of firewood and a nice grill for the backyard. As I sit amongst the boxes and freshly painted walls, it’s good to be home.

The Pen vs. The Sword: An Update

After a month of calligraphy class and six weeks of fencing, the sword is mightier than the pen. I say this because the worst thing I encountered in calligraphy was stained fingertips, whereas I left fencing class to spend most of my Saturday morning in the local ER. The staff were friendly and helpful as usual, but that was probably due to the fact that everyone wanted to come see what a “saber injury” looked like.

I should probably include some backstory. Fencing is one of those sports that attracts people who wouldn’t normally be considered “athletes,” myself included. Granted, there’s a lot of very athletic people, but there’s also an eclectic mix of those who just like swords, for various reasons.

I mentioned LARPers before, but I never really explained that acronym. LARPing (as done by LARPers) is Live Action Role Playing. Basically, you dress up in costumes and reenact scenes. If you think back to being a kid, what’s the one thing that everyone wants to “reenact?” Fighting! If you’re going to take the time to find/create a kick-ass costume, you may as well add a sword.

The sport of fencing also carries over to Renaissance faires, pirate fairs, conventions of all types (Comic Con, Combat Con, etc), and pretty much any other situation where it’s socially acceptable to carry/use a sword.

From the very first day I saw this one particular guy in our class, I recognized a perfect storm of geeky hobbies, physical strength, and social awkwardness that was only going to mean one thing: this guy was going to take a beginner’s fencing class way too seriously.

And so it began that I learned to hate fencing against this guy. We’ll call him “Kyle,” because that’s his name. He’s a very sweet kid, and it’s easy to see that fencing is way more than a recreational sport to him.

Anyway, every time I fence against Kyle, I find myself trying to stay the hell out of the way and praying to whomever might save me. First, he’s a solid foot taller than I am. Second, he has a certain “intensity” when he’s fencing, and by that I mean he looks like he actually believes his life is in danger. This will be an excellent advantage in competition, not so useful in a Saturday morning community college class.

In this particular class, we were using sabers. In saber, you can score points by either “stabbing” the opponent with the tip of your blade, or by “slashing” and hitting with the side of the blade. In either case, you’re using your wrist to move the blade, so although you will feel the attack through your protective jacket, it’s unlikely to leave more than a slight bruise if anything.

I fenced against Kyle as usual, but for some reason I decided to go in for a hit. To do this, you lunge forward with your blade, and hopefully hit the other person’s jacket with the end of your saber.

In a perfect world, Kyle would’ve parried my attack (knocking the blade out of the way and then returning the attack) but instead he went straight for a counter attack, by bringing his blade down directly across my outstretched forearm. His “intensity” caused him to put his back into it instead of using his wrist. As I said before, sometimes I think he believes this shit is real.

I immediately believed in the reality of the situation as well, and discovered the meaning of the phrase “blinding pain.” The worst part is that he made me cry in fencing class. There’s no crying in fencing, dammit! I finished out the final 10 minutes of class but I was pretty sure that something was messed up because I couldn’t hold my blade straight.

At the ER, I didn’t even have to put the Vicodin in my own mouth. The kindly nurse did that for me. The service was impeccable at that place! The good news is that it wasn’t fractured. Seeing as I prefer to use my right arm to teach painting, this is excellent news for my job. The bad news is that I have some beautiful crushing of the deep tissue, and I get to wear this sweet arm brace and sling.

Naturally, I returned to fencing that afternoon sporting my new get-up. Kyle started out by telling me what I did wrong in class and why I got hit, but I think he can also recognize rage and decided to leave me alone for awhile. On the prompting of my adventure partner, he bought me a botanical G&T after class and all was forgiven. Apologies are good, but apologies with liquor are better. The best part about a fencing injury is that everyone wants to know how you hurt yourself, and saying “I got hit with a saber” sounds way cooler than “I slipped on the ice.”

This week I’ll be learning how to fence with my left hand, so that should I encounter this problem again in competition, I’ll be able to finish the fight. I also get to wear these cool black leather arm guards under my jacket, that will look awesome at the Ren faire this spring. I’m looking forward to becoming ambidextrous, and I still think that fencing is the coolest sport in the world. But that could just be the painkillers talking.

Is the Pen Mightier than the Sword?

In our quest to answer this age-old question, we’ve signed up for calligraphy and fencing. Calligraphy is pretty cool, although I keep having flashbacks to learning cursive in Catholic school. There seems to be less yelling, Jesus, and missed recesses in calligraphy, so I imagine I’ll be fine.

Fencing, however, is awesome! I’ve never found a sport where I felt so immediately at ease. I’ve wanted to try it for a long time, but I finally took the chance and got up at the ass crack of dawn to drive the 45 minutes to class. When my alarm went off, I couldn’t figure out what to do with this loud, shrieking device, so I handed it to my adventure partner and went back to sleep. Luckily, he’s much better at functioning in the mornings, and ensured we made it on time.

As soon as our instructor put the foil in my gloved hand, I felt the spark. Everything made sense, and the lesson flew by. My shoulder is aching and my legs will probably be irritable tomorrow, but it was worth it.

My legs were still a bit sore from my earlier adventure this week—roller-skating. I haven’t been roller-skating since I was a kid, but it’s like riding a bike. After a few shaky laps, I felt like I’d never stopped.

All in all, it’s a great start to the new year and I guarantee we’ll have plenty of new adventures to share.

Apocalypse: Best Diet Ever?

So here's the thing about eating after the apocalypse: the food is great. However, I've learned a very important thing about myself. If I can't order it or make it in a microwave, I rather just not eat.

It's not like these are complicated dishes to make. You just have to boil water and dump the stuff in the pot, stirring occassionally. I can cook, but much like work, I kind of have to be in the mood to make it happen. You'd be suprised how infrequently that happens. So aside from the bag of chocolates my mom sent me for Christmas that I DID NOT OPEN EARLY and the case of Diet Coke in my fridge, I haven't really had anything.

Last night I made broccoli cheese soup and today I made mashed potatoes, but seeing as I'll have to wash our one pot in order to make more provisions, I'm probably not going to make much else today. The freeze-dried broccoli and fruit is pretty good straight out of the can though.

Thanks for leaving me out in the cold, Twinkies. Apparently you were my only shot at survival. At least now I know that a month's worth of food will last me at least three months.

The End is Here!

Our doomsday supplies have arrived! We were starting to wonder if they would make it before disaster struck, but by the power of Fedex it looks like we’re going to be able to survive. It’s a Christmas miracle!

My adventure partner unloaded all 150 pounds of supplies into our house while I offered helpful suggestions such as “Be careful,” and “Don’t drop it!” Once middle management, always middle management.

We unwrapped the first box and stared at our supplies in all their majesty:

"Emergency Storage" just adds to the excitement!

The box proudly proclaims that unopened, they’re good for 30 years. I’m still under the impression that everything good in life dies when it turns 30 so it’s reassuring to see that a doomsday prepper company embraces my life view.

Upon inspecting the box, I quickly realized that I am unprepared for the apocalypse. Even after living in England, where I developed the glowing complexion of a pre-glittered vampire, I’m not white enough to be a part of this family:

All of our friends and loved ones are dead! Smile!

I can only assume they bathe in the dehydrated potato soup mix to be that pale. Also, what happened to the little girl in this picture? Is she actually bearing witness to the end of times during the photo op?

I brushed aside the inevitable nightmares that picture will bring while my adventure partner unpacked the goods in our bunker.

So many options!

We started off the day with potato cakes, which were surprisingly not bad. Also, they sit heavy in your stomach. One serving was more than filling, and once I drank my glass of Chocolate Morning Moo’s I immediately regretted cleaning my plate. But it’s the apocalypse, dammit! There’s no time for wasting food! Seriously though, I feel like a bird full of wedding rice.

At any rate, we’re off to a good start in our safe house and I’m going to work on a paper now, just in case the world doesn’t end.

Insight Meditation

One of the meditation styles I practice is insight meditation. “Insight” refers to looking into the true nature of reality, or seeing things as they really are. One way of doing this is to focus on your breath and the sensations in your body as you meditate.

One of the very first things you’ll notice is that everything is in a state of change. The breath changes, your mood changes, and random thoughts come and go. If you feel tension in your back muscles and bring your attention to it, the pain will shift and change. It will become a sensation of warmth, or it may move to another section of your body entirely. You are not your pain, or your thoughts, or your emotions. These are things that pass and change.

It was during one of these practice sessions that I had my favorite insight. Out of nowhere came one, clear thought: It doesn’t fucking matter. This thought may not seem very insightful, but it wouldn’t be my thought if it wasn’t slightly off-color.

We waste so much time focusing on things that don’t matter. Ruminating about the past, worrying about the future, wondering if we’re good enough or if we sounded stupid earlier.

Being stuck in the past leaves us depressed, and worrying about the future leaves us fearful. Take a moment to look around, and notice what’s happening right now, in this moment. Chances are you’re sitting comfortably at your computer, and nothing tragic is happening. Bask in the lack of chaos for a moment.

Yes, there is value in reflecting on the past and learning from your experiences, but there’s a limit. If you’re marinating yourself in old memories and past pain, you’re not opening yourself up to the present. Maybe you’d be better off today if things had been different in your childhood, but you can’t change that now. Work with what you have. You can’t grow if you’re continually rehashing the past. It’s like trying to drive while staring exclusively in the rear-view mirror. As someone who has driven her car into the back of a tow-truck, I can say with full authority that you should pay attention to what’s happening in front of you.

If we never thought about the future, we’d be wandering around aimlessly without goals. We’d also probably blow through our savings accounts by 3:00 pm. So I wholeheartedly agree that it’s important to plan for the future, but know that your best-laid plans might not pan out. Conversely, the worst-case scenarios that you replay over and over probably won’t work out that way either, so stop stressing about it so much.

Yes, there’s a chance you might blow that big project and everyone will think you’re a loser and you’ll get fired or kicked out of grad school and have to live in a cardboard box behind the truck stop where you’ll inevitably die friendless and alone, but it’s highly unlikely. Thinking that you’re going to fail can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Nothing has ever turned out as badly as I have pictured it in my head, but that doesn’t stop me from panicking.

Now that we’re focusing on the present for a few minutes, here’s a few tips on how to relax and just enjoy today.

Someone, somewhere, doesn’t like you.

And that’s perfectly ok! If everyone loves you, you’ve either never stood up for anything in your life or you’re only associating with people who think just like you. Either way, you’re not going to grow or learn if you’re spending your time being a people pleaser. Vanilla is fine, but no one is passionate about vanilla the way they are about mint chocolate chip or rocky road. If you love vanilla, then love vanilla, but don’t get down on yourself if everyone else doesn’t agree with you. You’re not wrong for being different.

Some people will love you, some people won’t, and for the most part, people won’t even notice you. Everyone else is so wrapped up in their own lives that some minor mistake you made isn’t even likely to register on their radar.

Don’t be perfect.

No one is perfect, and if they were, they’d be exceptionally boring. Every bad decision can result in an awesomely funny story for later in life. Perfectionism is exhausting because it exists on a pinnacle. It's hard to balance on a point; one wobble and you'll fall to the bottom. Being "good enough" is a bell curve. There's plenty of room to move around and if you slip, you have space to catch yourself.

If you’re focused on being perfect, you’re less likely to take a chance at something new. If you take up a new hobby, you’re probably not going to be good at it right away. Success feels awesome, but you’ll learn more from your mistakes.

You have to make a lot of mistakes before you paint the next Picasso. I know how to destroy a painting, but because of that, I also know how to breathe so that my hands don’t shake the brush. I made a god-awful rosary before I learned how to correctly make a beading loop.

It's worse in person.

For the record, making a rosary is way worse than saying a rosary. If I’d had to make rosaries after every confession in Catholic school, I’d probably be a much more moral person.

Have weird interests.

And then be passionate about them. If you love Star Wars, by all means dress up and camp outside the theater for 4 days to buy tickets. I met some really interesting people that way, and I only had to stand in line for 12 hours. One of my friends has some of the most off-the-wall interests of anyone I’ve ever met, and I love him for it. If I ever have a question about Buffy fanfic, he’s the person I’ll turn to. If you love something, even if no one else does, own it. Life should be fun, and you’ll be a more interesting person for embracing whatever weirdness floats your boat.

Do something new, or do something differently.

If you want to gain insight into yourself, you’ve got to try new things. Nothing will change if you keep doing the same things the same way. Try a new restaurant, get lost, take up a new sport, or meet someone new. As I mentioned in a previous post, I signed up for fencing, because why not? (After I signed up for the class, I went back and read the class description just to make sure it wasn’t a class on how to put up fences. We are in farm country, after all.)

If you don’t know what you’re passionate about, you’re not going to find out by sitting on your couch. Get out there and try something new. Some new experiences will suck, but you’ll quickly learn that you hate (and I mean hate) hot yoga. Or you might find out that cranking the heat to 100+ degrees and trying not to pass out during downward dog is your new thing.

Do little things everyday that make you smile.

Sing in the car. Dance. Go out with friends. Watch a funny YouTube video. Get dessert. Read a book. Color a picture. Play on the swings. Go swimming. See a movie. Whatever you do, do it because you want to do it and it makes you happy. It’s your life. If you’re not enjoying it, find things you love and do them everyday.

When you listen, really listen.

There’s no point in having a conversation with someone if you’re not going to listen to what they’re saying. Listening is an art. You can’t listen if you’re thinking about what you’re going to say next or internally tearing apart their opinion. Just listen. Then, when it’s your turn, demand the same respect. This is how you learn about other people and in turn, learn about yourself.

Similarly, listen to your own thoughts. All of those odd thoughts that keep popping up are trying to tell you something. The more you try to ignore that inner voice, the louder it gets. It’s like telling yourself not to think about a white elephant. As soon as you say it, it’s all you can think about.

True insight comes from listening to yourself and being able to determine fact from fiction. Not every thought is going to helpful, but occasionally your mind will remind you that it doesn’t fucking matter, and you will smile. For every big catastrophe in life, there are a thousand other little successes. Delight in the small things, and the big things with fall into place.

Preparing for a Twinkie-less Apocalypse

In retaliation for making him watch Honey Boo Boo, HB talked me into watching a god-awful show about apocalyptic preparedness.

It was exactly what you'd expect.

As is the case in all good stories, one thing led to another and we decided to investigate these pails of freeze-dried food that will supposedly sustain a single person for an entire month. Bonus: they have a shelf life of 30 years unopened. Have you figured out where I’m going with this yet?

Yeah. We’ve ordered three pails. So, in honor of the Mayan apocalypse, our next adventure will involve trying to survive for 30 days on a 39-pound pail of freeze-dried meals. I guess “pail” isn’t the best word, as we researched several options and eventually voted on a version that comes in a box, because we’re classy like that. In the interest of full disclosure, when he sent me the link of options to choose from, I did utter the phrase, "This is going to be awesome!" My definition of "awesome" may be slightly skewed...

Honestly, I’d rather try to subsist on a 39-pound box of wine, but that would negate our other adventure. I’ll let you know when it arrives and will write up a full review then. This isn’t my first foray into vegetarianism, but it’s definitely the most unique attempt.

I should preface this by saying that I absolutely loved MRE’s, so I’m not anticipating too many complaints about the quality. However, I do predict that I’ll be experiencing palette fatigue after only a few days. I always assumed I’d be riding out the rapture with a crate of Twinkies, but this should be a close second. We've also signed up for a fencing class, because if I've learned anything from this show, it's that you can never be too prepared.

Turkey Day

Yesterday marked one of the greatest Thanksgivings in history for us. It started out rather stressful, but resulted in sweet, sweet victory. Winning tastes even better than homemade apple pie.

We agreed to be at the Thanksgiving party at 3 pm, but first we had to stop by HB’s house to 1) make the food and 2) bring HB and said food to the party. We needed to bring rolls, a green bean casserole, a pumpkin roll, and an apple pie. Simple. At 1:45 HB texted and asked us to bring a rolling pin and an apple corer. K immediately texted back, “You haven’t started baking anything yet?”

Then began a frenzied panic of buying groceries and assembling dishes. We made it to the party at 3:15, because we are awesome.

We celebrated Thanksgiving by mowing through an ungodly amount of food with some close friends. This was quickly followed by making shrinky dinks with the kids, and then watching some Family Guy while the kids were distracted with their new toys.

Still amused by the afternoon’s cooking session, we restarted a Words with Friends game with HB. K informed me that we were down by about 70 points. “Well,” I said, “there’s only one thing we can do. We’re going to cheat our asses off.” Sixteen hours and 300 points later, we were the clear victors.

This year I’m thankful for great friends, wonderful food, and Scrabble apps that let you enter in the best word combinations to crush your friends. I don’t even know what half these words mean, but I know I played one on a triple word score and it was glorious. Happy Turkey Day!

Into the Woods

Some people assume that I watch a lot of TV since I’m at home during the day. Seeing as I don’t have cable, that would get boring pretty quick. The truth is that I spend an inordinate amount of time in the forest. Granted, most of my day is spent at my computer (just like everyone else) but I’m drawn to the woods like a moth to a flame. I value my solitude more than most and I don’t typically get lonely. I enjoy the company of others, but I prefer to seek it out myself.

This photo is from my favorite spot in the forest. The city is just close enough to see it, but not close enough to hear. Perfect.

Although I don’t typically see many people in the forest, the woods themselves are full of activity. I can’t remember a time when I went into the woods and didn’t see an animal. Normally I run into deer, squirrels, snakes, and turkeys. They’ll disappear if they hear you, but if you sit long enough, they all come out in their own time. If you don’t move, the deer are especially tame. They’ll stare at you long enough to determine you’re not a threat, and then they’ll wander closer.

I’ve always enjoyed being outside by myself. The thing I like best about going home is being completely alone in the fields. I could spend hours out there, just walking and thinking. There are points on I-94 where you can park your car at night and not see a single light, from any car or house. It’s a little eerie, but absolutely awesome. Bonus points if you’re parked on a night with some Northern Lights.

I think everyone has a secret back up plan, should everything go completely awry. That fantasy where you pack everything up and move to the beach. My backup plan has always been to simply retire into the mountains of Colorado with my books.

The weirdest part about going back to working with other people will be the lack of privacy and time to just be alone. I might miss that more than not having to wear dress clothes. So no, I can’t tell you the first thing about daytime TV, but I can tell you everything about the woods.

The Drive-Thru Won

My adventure partner and I decided that the best place for lunch today would be Don & Millie’s. We actually agreed on Chick-fil-A but their drive-thru was backing up traffic for two blocks, so I set aside my need for a hate sandwich and a Christian side hug. I’m kidding—I wanted a spicy chicken sandwich with no pickles, because pickles are nasty.

At any rate, I decided to get the Cheese Frenchee at Don & Millie’s, because I’ve lived here for years and never tried one. Essentially, it’s a deep-fried cheese sandwich, which checks every box on my must-try list.

Mmmm....greasy.

As you can see from the picture, I went with the combo meal because really, if you’re going to eat a deep-fried cheese sandwich, why not get the fries too? It tastes exactly like you would expect. It’s brilliant in theory but awful in practice. I only made it 3/4 of the way through, and I like all kinds of weird food. I’ve been known to crave Easy Cheese on spicy pork rinds. One of my favorite meals is haggis followed by a deep-fried Mars bar (I love you, Scotland!) but the Cheese Frenchee won this battle.

The bread absorbs a lot of oil, so it tastes like a slice of American cheese (yum) layered between everything else they’ve fried that day (ew). As the cheese makes up comparatively little of the sandwich, there’s no way it can compensate.

Party Games for the Non-Drinker

As I round off two months of alcohol-free entertainment, I’ve noticed that I’ve become a drink counter. Not mine, mine are pretty easy to count. Always 0. Yours however, are becoming increasingly interesting to me.

I don’t do it to judge you or because I particularly care how many you have. It’s just one of the many games I play to occupy myself when I can’t come up with adequate conversation. I like to wander into a room, guess who’s going to hit the bar the hardest during a set period of time, and then wait to see how my prediction plays out.

If you’re new to this game, you might put your money on the guy who’s wearing fake boobs filled with liquor. These boobs conveniently have taps for nipples, so I could see why you might pick him. You would be mistaken though. Flexibility won’t allow the average drinker to suckle his own taps, and by the time he drains a boob, he’s going to be confused as to how to refill it. 

The key to winning this game is to think outside of the box. Unless that box happens to be a box of wine, in which case all bets are off. It’s a bit voyeuristic, but at least I’m putting my critical thinking skills to good use.

I prefer to play this game with complete strangers, as it adds an extra degree of difficulty and I don’t feel like an ass when I guess correctly. The best location is a restaurant at happy hour. Everybody loves a bargain.

Another game I like to play is trying to match you drink for drink with cans of soda (diet, I’m not crazy). I’m not as good at this game. Considering my years of intensive training, I thought this would be an easy one. Near as I can tell, the diuretic effect of alcohol gives you an advantage. My kidneys aren’t as motivated to process a 12-pack of Fresca.

After one party, I decided to investigate dealcoholized wine, which is not the same as grape juice. Dealcoholized wine is wine that has had the alcohol removed after the fact, so it retains the complexity of flavor.

There is a God and He loves me!

I think it’s pretty good, although I prefer the Merlot to the Chardonnay (which is not the case with “normal” wine). After his first sip my adventure partner said, “Mmmm….Manischewitz…” but he went back for thirds and found this article, so I assume he liked it.

One of our friends mixed his Chardonnay with Sugar-Free AMP and dubbed it a “ghetto sour” so I can vouch for its versatility. I prefer my Manischewitz/Merlot neat, partially for the flavor, but mostly because I still have standards. L’chaim! 

For the Love of Reading

The man who won’t read has no advantage over the man who can’t. –Mark Twain

I’ve always been a reader. It’s one of my greatest pleasures in life. I read mostly nonfiction, but the genre honestly doesn’t matter that much to me. Fiction, nonfiction, technical manuals, magazine articles, blogs—if it’s out there, I’ll read it. Aside from the occasional fix at the office supply store (Damn you Office Max and your awesome supply of notebooks!), there’s no place I’d rather be than in a library. If "used book store" was a perfume, I'd wear it.

The written word can travel to every corner of the earth and more importantly, through time. There’s a special place in my heart for biographies, because it’s like interviewing the past. I may not be able to sit down for a day with the great thinkers of history, but I can still learn from their experiences. To quote Socrates: "Employ your time in improving yourself by other men’s writings so that you shall come easily by what others have labored hard for." I’m enough of a slacker to appreciate that idea.

I think that's why this article bothered me so much. The authors are proud to report that 8 in 10 Americans under the age of 30 have read a book in the last year, as compared to 7 in 10 of adults in general. I can't imagine not reading a single book in the last year. Hell, I can't imagine not reading a single book in the last week. It's such an important part of my life that I want to share it with everyone. I feel like an evangelical reader--I want to share the good news and save souls through books.

Words written centuries ago can reach through time and etch themselves in my mind. They can make me smile, or cry. They can change my opinions, expand my thinking to encompass another point of view, and educate me. I’ve traveled further and more intensely through a good book than by physically standing on another continent.

I can see the world through my own eyes, and by reading, see the same world from a completely different perspective. By opening myself up to a different way of thinking, even if it’s not one I agree with, I have instantly broadened my understanding.

For me, a good book is one that I finish with sigh. By reading it, I have affected my mind and grown as a person. Every now and then, I find a book I can get lost in. I care about the characters as though I personally know them, and when I finally look up from the pages, I’m startled to discover that hours have passed. That is the mark of great book.

Americana Awesome

There’s certain things about your neighborhood that you don’t notice until you’ve been away for awhile. Little tidbits of your surroundings that have always been there, but they no longer blend into the larger picture quite as easily.

I couldn’t help but notice the prevalence of St. George's Cross when we were in England. It’s prominently featured outside the pubs, which makes sense. I, for one, have fallen out of many a pub door and wondered what country I was in. It wasn’t until I came home that I realized just how many American flags we fly. If we see an open space, we're going to put a flag on it.

We own the moon.

I drove past one house that was proudly flying the flag in the front yard. They also had a flag hanging from the door, which was partially blocked from view by the massive flag hanging from the deck. This impressive display of patriotism was enhanced by the two flags flanking the property, courtesy of the city. It was as though they were trying to protect their firstborn and ran out of lamb’s blood. Whatever their rationale, I can assure you the terrorists haven’t won at that house.

Another thing we love in this country is decorating our front lawns with animal statues. Cows, eagles, deer, flamingos; really, it doesn’t matter. We love our plastic wildlife. It reminds me of the tackiest thing my mom ever put in our front lawn: a Holstein cow with a tail that doubled as a sprinkler. As much as it pains me to say this, I loved that cow and if I found one at Menard’s, I’d totally buy it.

I did see one lawn that took this idea to a whole new level of awesome. Imagine a miniaturized Venus de Milo lawn ornament. Now imagine they've covered her with a T-shirt that reads “Keep it Cool.”

No tits on the front lawn! It's indecent!

I would say “Stay Classy, America,” but I love the fact that you’re not. It just adds to your charm.

Eight Days at Veggie Camp

I recently attended a meditation instructor course at a residential retreat. I showed up fully prepared for 14 hour days of intense personal development (or so I thought).  Instead, I quickly discovered how far out of my element I really was, and learned that it’s necessary to step out of my comfort zone if I want to experience positive change.

When I arrived, the retreat brochure assured me that I was in hippie heaven. I heard phrases like “peace and harmony,” “expanding awareness,” and “awakening the inner self” everywhere I turned. I was excited to see plenty of dreadlocks and tie-dyed ponchos, and felt instantly cooler by association.

I became slightly wary when I noticed an outhouse labeled “compost loo.” I began forming a mental list of dings against my certified hippie card:

1. Any place that composts their own shit is a step too far for me.

Little did I know, this would be the start of many new realizations.

The effects of the vegetarian diet showed me the second reason I can’t be a fully-fledged hippie: After a childhood full of Little Debbie cakes and Hamburger Helper, my body is ill-prepared to handle “all-natural.”

By Day 3, I was overcome by muscle cramps, an angry tummy, and a very unpredictable mood. I felt like I was dying, but death just wouldn’t come. I called my adventure partner and told him to pick me up. He declined the opportunity to drive another 7 hours to rescue me. When I called on Day 4 he agreed, but we would’ve been unprepared for the movers to pack up our house the following day. I was stuck.

Our instructor (who was amazing) assured us that any negative emotions or physical symptoms we might be experiencing were the result of our bodies resisting change. Change is new, and new is scary. He also helpfully added that it could be due to the detox process of adjusting to a healthy diet. I immediately understood what I had to do if I was going to survive this week: It was time to retox.

One trip to Tesco for vodka, a Cajun chicken wrap, and some peperami sticks later, I was back in business! For the record, I didn’t just spell “pepperoni” incorrectly. Peperami is a British snack stick that’s like pepperoni but with less meat and more ‘rami. It’s the third cousin of the Slim Jim. If you’re going to retox, you can’t go wrong with fake meat sticks and vodka.

It tastes about as good as you would expect.

Fully loaded with preservatives, liquor, and an ungodly amount of sodium, I attacked the week with new enthusiasm. My trip to Tesco wouldn’t have been possible without the assistance of two wonderful women, which brings me to my next realization of the week:

3. You can survive anything if you have good friends.

I met some of the most interesting, warm, and welcoming people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing that week. They in turn introduced me to some of the strangest things I’ve ever heard of. Words like “chakra” and “aura” were thrown about with reckless abandon, and it seemed everyone had a more exciting past life than I did.

As a solid skeptic with an affinity for the scientific method, I found that I had nothing to add to conversations about souls, spiritual essences, or energy fields. I decided to suspend all judgments, and luckily for me, my fellow companions accepted me as I was.

At one point, one of the coolest chicks I met told me about bioenergy feedback sessions. The part of her explanation that stuck with me involved the removal of negative entities. As a former devout Catholic, the first thing that came to mind was exorcisms.

Sleep well!

Later that night as I slept in a 19th century stable block, I had a nightmare involving her pulling a demon out of my friend Magic Muskrat’s chest. The demon flew across the room and brushed against my leg, causing me to feel a cold chill. I awoke in a panic and realized that my leg was freezing in real life. I flipped out. Then I realized that I had my window open, it was a breezy 50 degrees Fahrenheit in my room, and my leg wasn’t under the duvet. In short, I’m an idiot.

In order to sleep the following night, I watched a live session. At no point did any demons appear, and I slept like a baby.

The rest of the week flew by, and my introverted self couldn’t help but be dragged into the enthusiasm of the group. I experienced every emotion under the sun. I laughed until I couldn’t stand and sobbed my eyes out on a new friend’s shoulder. I learned to trust people and not be so guarded. After two straight years of wanting to get the hell out of England, I finally had a reason to miss it.

I still have more requirements to complete before I become a fully certified meditation instructor, and I may not be as much of a hippie as I thought I was, but I can say with full conviction that my week at veggie camp has changed me for the better. So thank you, from the bottom of heart, to all of the wonderful people I met at this course. I’m blessed to have met each one of you.

The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread

No one in Croatia says “the best thing since sliced bread.” This is because they don’t have sliced bread. K says that we could make a fortune by bringing over sliced bread, fitted sheets, brooms, and peanut butter.

Tell me a swiffer wouldn't blow their minds.

It’s not that we’re bashing on Croatia, because we love this place. However, if there’s one thing traveling will do, it’s remind you of everything you miss from home.

I should start by saying that I’m suffering from some overwhelming homesickness at the moment, as I missed an important family event last weekend. Additionally, I’m taking an upcoming trip to my adventure partner’s home of origin, and the excitement of seeing our friends and family is about to kill me.

I feel incredibly blessed to have the opportunity to travel and see the world through the lens of other cultures. There’s nothing quite as cool as experiencing the way another country navigates through life.  I can also appreciate the things that other countries have embraced that I wish America had (roundabouts, open air markets, and free healthcare, anyone?) However, that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten all of things that make my home special.

With that in mind, I dedicate this post to things that I miss about America.

1. Convenience. This doesn’t just mean the convenience of being able to buy ammo, a pregnancy test, bacon, and a lawn mower at two in the morning. Convenience is an all-encompassing phenomenon in the states. I can get anything I need, at any time, and I can probably get it from a drive-thru.

The biggest convenience I miss at this point is a washer and dryer. A full-size washer and dryer, not that 2-gallon combination piece of shit that Europe has embraced. I don’t want to say that I’m tired of washing my clothes in a mop bucket and stringing them around the room, but there’s probably more artistic ways to decorate a kitchen.

2. Grocery stores. Yes, every country has grocery stores, but not in the way that we know and love. This goes along with my comments on convenience. Grocery stores are not open at a time that would be conducive to anyone with a job. Even the ones that boast “24 hours” are only open from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Sundays. This means that everyone is trying to cram into the dairy aisle on Saturdays, and no one is enjoying themselves. Tesco is the most hostile place I’ve ever been.

Additionally, each country organizes their store in a different way, and it never makes sense. For example, you would think that cinnamon sticks would be in the aisle with the rest of the spices, right? No. Cinnamon sticks are located next to the flour, which is near the bakery, which is on the other side of the store.

Eggs should be in the refrigerated section next to the milk and butter, but instead you’ll find them on the shelf next to the canned hot dogs, because why the hell not? As an aside, canned hot dogs are surprisingly delicious. Desperation is an ugly animal.

3. Street signs. The first step to getting where you need to go is knowing where you are right now. I’m not even trying to be cute and metaphorical there; I seriously have no idea where the hell I am most of the time. You know those green signs with clearly printed white letters that tell you what street you’re on? Yeah, no one else does that.

Roads that are wide enough to accommodate two cars simultaneously are also a bit of an oddity. It’s much easier to build one lane, label it as 60 mph, and then put up a warning sign. Problem solved!

I could probably create an entirely separate blog about roads and all things automotive related, so I’ll limit this rant to one more thing: grid patterned streets. Miss your turn? That’s cool! Take the next one.

I understand that most of the roads in England are older than my country, so it makes sense that they would follow whatever plan was laid out centuries ago. However, they continue their eclectic patterns of squiggles and loops in their new developments, presumably so that it will blend with the rest of the area.

4. Familiar foods. I can’t belittle the culinary delights of the places I’ve visited. Every country has its own amazing dishes, from sushi in Japan to fresh feta in Greece. I love food, LOVE it, and the variety of flavors has been one of the most rewarding things about living and traveling abroad.

I wouldn’t trade the delicious food experiences I’ve had for anything, but everyone has their favorite foods from home. I make a list of specific things I have to eat each time I visit the states, and none of them could be considered culinary masterpieces. Red Lobster cheesy biscuits, Dairy Queen’s chicken strip basket (God help you if doesn’t have the country gravy), eggs benedict, and that bowl thing from KFC that has their entire menu swimming in mashed potatoes. Don’t act like you don’t know which one I’m talking about! None of these things could hold a candle to the homemade ricotta and balsamic vinegar I had in Italy, but I still miss them!

I miss them because they taste like home. They taste like happy memories at familiar places, and no amount of moussaka in Crete can make up for that (although God knows I’ve tried!) Which brings me to the most important thing I miss about home…

5. Friends and family (and friends that ARE family). It doesn’t matter how many wonderful people I meet on my travels, no one will compare to my friends and family back home. Yes, you make look around at your family and think they’re all bat shit crazy (because they probably are) but they made you who you are today. They’re irreplaceable.

One of the driving forces behind a love of travel is the fact that you can be anyone you want during your trip. No one knows who you are. They don’t know your history or the fact that you still sucked your thumb all the way through kindergarten and are hopelessly uncoordinated. For all they know, you’re whoever (and whatever) you say you are.

At home, there are people who watched you puke all over your desk in Mr. B’s freshman science class, and they love you just the same. As cool as it is to be whoever you want to be for a week, there’s nothing quite the same as knowing that there’s people out there who love you unconditionally. No matter how much I see and how far I travel, these are the people that make me want to come home.

But I seriously need a washer and dryer.

Relaxing in Bologna

If you’ve been reading K’s four part special on our Italian food tour, you know that we had to get up crazy early to stand outside and wait for our ride (who was late). The single gulp of coffee I was able to choke down before running out the door was scalding hot on the back of my throat, and I was in a fairly pissy mood.

As we drove to our destination, I noticed all of the angry drivers laying on their horns and realized that it was a Monday morning. Glancing at my watch, I saw that only two weeks before, I would’ve been driving to work. Now I was watching the sunrise over the Tuscan countryside on a highway to Milan. I continued to stare out the window, seeing the tiny villages give way to vineyards dotting the hills, and couldn’t help but smile. Never again will I start off my week with that commute.

We originally decided that we would stay in Bologna and day trip out to Florence and Pisa. On the day we wanted to go to Florence, we stood in four different lines at the train station, looking for a ticket machine that would accept cash since our American credit cards are pretty much useless here. After 30 frustrating minutes, I turned to my adventure partner and said, “I’m just going to throw an idea out here, and you can throw it right back. What if we just said ‘fuck it’ and stayed in Bologna for the day?”

He quickly agreed and after a few minutes of walking, we ended up at this amazing park over looking the city. I was surprised how many people were in the park, considering it was a Tuesday morning. For the most part, they were sitting around on the benches, chatting with each other, and smoking cigarettes.

The scene reminded me of Spain. Our tour guide in Barcelona had explained that unemployment amongst young adults in the city is at 52%, so they have some free time on their hands.

Whether in Barcelona or Bologna, no one seemed to be in a hurry to get anywhere. After an hour or so, we wandered from one end of the city to the other, and ended up at a different park. Same story. Loads of people sleeping in the sun, picnicking, and chain-smoking their way through another long afternoon.

I thought to myself, ‘When in Bologna,’ and sat down next to the pond. I watched turtles, fish of all sizes, ducks, and geese splash in the water. I played 15 games of Sudoku (the difficult ones, IN PEN!!). I drank two cups of espresso and ate some salami from the co-op. I spent another hour people-watching. Pleather is making a huge comeback here.

I returned to the park today, where I read a book for an hour and drank a beer in the sun. Then I lay in the grass and watched the clouds for a while. I think the last time I watched the clouds was when I was a child, and I’ve been missing out. When I was kid, I would think to myself, ‘That one looks like a marshmallow!’ My adult brain is much more creative. ‘That one looks like a three-legged Welsh Corgi laying on a throw pillow next to Charlie Sheen!’

My brain can only focus on cute things now.

My ever-pragmatic adventure partner says that the last two days should’ve demonstrated to me why the European economy is in the toilet. For now, I’m choosing to ignore that fact. Maybe it’s the sun or that I’m just not as stressed out from continually hating my job, but my time in the park has been some of the most relaxing few days of my life. I’ve finally had a few hours to simply sit in the grass and think. I didn’t worry about what I had to do next, and for once I wasn’t in a hurry.

I might not be able to maintain this lifestyle forever, but I hope that when I return to “normal” I’ll still take the time to watch the clouds, if only to see what shapes emerge. Most of all, I hope I can cling to my newfound ability to slow down and (literally) smell the roses.

More Coffee!!!

This is a guest post from K and a follow-up to N's "Coffee!!"

4chan is an English-language imageboard website. It has been around for almost a decade and has been the source of many internet memes. It is also believed to be the site that spawned the hacktivist group Anonymous. They are known for creating the "rules of the internet." Of note is Rule 34 which essentially states: if it exists, there is porn of it. I think this idea can actually go a step further and I posit that "if you like something, there is a fanboy for it."

Take for example coffee. We all love coffee right? I know I do! As you know from N's post, you realize we love the stuff. While I am not a fanboy, I do research the subject. If you look through the forums of CoffeeGeek you will see some interesting comments regarding how coffee should be made for that perfect cup. Honestly, I don't really care; I think Two Buck Chuck tastes good, so I'm in it for the flavor, not the process.

That being said, coffee is something that can raise much debate. As an American, when I think of coffee, I admit that I think of this:

Starbucks has nothing on this!

There are other alternatives that many American's are used to. For example, in N's office they were going through so much coffee each day that her office opted for the industrial option.

An office of ~5 went through two of these!

But the thing about coffee is that each country has their own take on things. When N bought our first drip coffee maker in England the clerk asked, "oh, is this a gift?" Why? Because nobody in England drinks the stuff! For some reason, unknown to me, England prefers freeze dried coffee…just add hot water!

Doesn't that look yummy?!

Of course in many parts of Europe, you are likely to have a French press brought to your table while dining out. Of course it isn't called that in places that dislike the French, so you may know it by the name cafetiere or coffee press.

I bet Congress renamed it to "freedom press."

Then there is the Italian coffee pot that N just wrote about. It's almost a percolator, but not quite. I thought I was having espresso, but because there is a certifiying authority for espresso, which requires water pressure of 9 bar (± 1) for "true" espresso. The moka pot can only obtain a max of 1.5 bar. I know you're probably bummed out by this fact, but it still tastes good, so don't worry too much.

If you're interested in more details of your coffee options, lifehacker did a nice piece last year on some of the options covered here. My advice though, drink what tastes good to you, don't worry about what the "experts" think.

Well, while I've been writing this, N has been dancing around making another cup, so I'm off to enjoy some more moka pot coffee. I will leave you with another Jenna Marbles video because I've never used one (N doesn't want to use them in every post.)

Ciao for now!