Your welcome, earth.
In other news, here is how I spent the past week:
Vegetables in Thai Red Curry: It surprised me how much I liked this one. The red curry is really easy to make, and then you can throw down whatever veggies trip your trigger. I stuck with the recipe right up to the point where they said "mushrooms," and substituted baby corns. Totally the right decision.
Red Lipstick's Egg Whatever: One of my half-dozen or so roommates in college, Red Lipstick, showed me how to make this one. Butter bread. Cut a hole in the middle. Crack an egg into the center. Cook until egg is done. It's like grilled cheese, minus the cheese, plus egg. So good.
I don't have this often, and obviously it isn't hard. I've learned a few tricks in the years I've spent putting my own touch on this:
1. Use the cap from a spray can of Pam, or whatever pan-unsticker you use, to cut the hole in the middle, in the absence of a cookie cutter.
2. Don't discard those butter circles you remove. They are good for dabbing at the yoke.
3. Make sure you use nonstick spray in addition to buttering the bread.
4. Don't ever make this for anyone, unless you want to make it again and again and again.
5. Make a big effing deal about this on the Internet so everyone knows you are a one-trick pony.
But whenever I have it I think of Red Lipstick. This was perfect because today is her birthday.
Happy Birthday, Red!
Millions Chuck summed this one up pretty well: "This is the kind of movie you're allowed to watch in the gym on the last day of school." Not so hot, but super hokey.
[Rec]: Here is another flick from the Blair Witch hand-held horror genre. This one stars a plucky pigtailed reporter who is doing a series on people who work at night. In this episode, she and her cameraman Juan are following firefighters. Things are slow, and her subjects are playing pick-up hoops or sleeping when they get called to an apartment building where a reclusive old woman is losing her shit. Once they get in, they aren't allowed out. The building is quarantined, and one by one, everyone is attacked by a fresh zombie with herculean strength. Awesome.
The Republic of Love by Carol Shields: Whenever I open a book by Carol Shields, I prepare myself to walk into a folksy Midwest version of The Ya-Ya Sisterhood, starring sassy old biddies who turn scrapbooking a full-contact sport.
I’m not sure where I got the idea that she writes Hot Flash Fiction, but I’m always wrong, and I’ve never been more pleasantly surprised by a book than I was by her 1994 novel The Republic of Love.
Bits of the lives of the two main characters, Fay and Tom, are revealed in alternating chapters. Fay is a folklorist with an emphasis in mermaid-ology, who has recently broken up with another in a long line of longterm boyfriends. She wakes up one day and realizes she doesn’t love Peter anymore, and ends things amicably. She relishes the idea of making just a single serving of toast.
Tom, a popular third-shift DJ, half-assed runner, frequent cafe diner, is thrice divorced, which he blames on a string of bad luck. He’s been attending newly single classes for two years.
Full review here.