drank scheduled beer with unscheduled friends.

resisted the urge to buy new undercrackers.

was finally rewarded for pointing out to Dano that all of my finish line photos feature him looking at his watch instead of doing jazz hands.

bought the only five Spice House products I don't already own and replenished the three I ran out of in the last week.

have a renewed desire to scan my photos from Europe because of this building.

missed sunrise but watched the sunset from north of Garden Prairie.

(Friends and family, many more photos on Flickr.  Mike, I'll be burning you a CD with the photos I took at the finish line for you to pass along.)

Sent from my Sweet Mobile Internet Robot.

Sent from my Sweet Mobile Internet Robot.

I finally got around to purging the spam comments I've gotten in the last week.  This is a regular thing I must do, as the really old entries get a lot of spam that are caught in the filter and have to be deleted.  Lately, all of the spam contains a joke, and because I love stupid simple jokes, I'm going to share them.  I think the last one is my favorite.

• Why do bees have sticky hair? Because they use honeycombs!!
• What kind of tree has hands? A palm tree.
• What kind of bird can write? A penguin.
• What lies at the bottom of the ocean and twitches? A nervous wreck.
• Did you hear about the dentist who married a manicurist? They fight tooth and nail!
• What do termites do to relax? Take a coffee table break!!
• Why is a bell obedient? It rings only when it is TOLLED!
• Who would I blame if California fell into the Pacific Ocean? Geologist: It would be San Andreas fault.
• What do you call a knife that cuts 4 loaves of bread at a time? A four-loaf cleaver.

No, really.  I laughed at all of those.  I think it might be a remnant from teaching preschool - the sillier and simpler the joke, the more I will laugh.  Go ahead, tell me that one about the talking muffin again.

In summary:  Girl with too much to say now says it in different ways in two different places.  Besides here.  And the other place.  I'll pause while you yawn.

Follow me on Twitter here, FB friend me here.  If I don't know you that well, it may take some interaction before you get to see my full profile. 

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There is a door on the pantry in my kitchen.  There's no pantry behind the door yet, but there's a new door.  It's like that old saying: "every time God closes a window, he installs a door in a random spot in my house."

The picture in that link blows my mind.  I can barely remember when the kitchen looked like that.

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I've been talking about my late Grandpa a lot lately, and it has everything to do with the Yankees in the World Series.  There is a very strong connection for me between Grandpa Curt and the Yankees, something that will be with me for the rest of my life.  So if I don't take it very well when you harass me about being a North Dakota-born, Illinois-resident Yankees fan, try to understand why.  The Yankees aren't a baseball team to me.  They are a big chunk of my family lore, one more story in the mythology of a man I'm not sure anybody really knew that well.

I think of him often on Election Days too.  Specifically, that time we were standing at the gravesite of another, and Grandpa put his arm around me to comfort me, leaned close, and whispered "He was a good man . . . for a Republican."

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I have a side project in the works that I'm wicked excited about launching, but will need a few weeks before I can really advertise it here.  It's racing related.  And more importantly, it's fun as all freakin' hell.  I'm having the time of my life with it.

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Also in the racing category, I'll be present at the IMIS show, the Rumble in Fort Wayne and Thursday through Saturday of the Chili Bowl.  If you'd like to meet up, please let me know!

(Chili Bowl.  Yes indeed.  Hell really has frozen that far over.)

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This week, years past:

2008:  I was in Grant Park for the Obamafest.

2007:  Minica and Buddy Christ played a little foosball.

2006:  I answered questions posed through Google search results that led people here.  Did you enjoy that?  TELL ME NOW.

2005:  My brother talks out of his ass.

How's that for progress?

By Marc

Hello readers! With Halloween behind us, we're officially past the halfway point of the fall semester.  It seems like just yesterday I was trying to grift a parking pass for this semester from an unsuspecting graduate assistant.  I used to run a game of three-card Monte in the alley between the law school and the Shaw parking ramp.  The lesson here, readers, is that you should never test your con game prowess against someone who's taking logistics courses at the business school; they know how to track transportation!  Anyway, as my loyal readers have likely figured out by now, I'm kind of a big fan of meat.  Pork, beef, chicken, or fish; if you've got it, I'll cook it.  As someone who loves to cook, however, I'm constantly trying to expand my horizons (not to mention my readership).  So it is with great pride that I announce a new venture: meatless cooking. I know, my fellow porketarians; I'm sorry that I have let you down like this.  We can do this though, with a lot of help from our best friend: cheese (Sorry, vegans; I just know that I could never appease your daunting dietary restrictions).  So, without further ado, I present vegetarian spinach and pesto lasagna!

Now readers, I know sometimes I write about some recipes that take quite a few kitchen wares to make the magic happen.  This recipe, however, is quite elegant in its simplicity.  All you're going to need today is a 13x9-inch baking dish, a sheet of aluminum foil, 2 mixing bowls, a kitchen spoon, potholders, and a kitchen knife to cut the lasagna.  Let's start our pre-assembly preparation.

First off, mix together 3 cups of ricotta cheese and 1 cup of shredded parmesan cheese.  Note that I call for shredded parmesan cheese here and not the grated kind that you might usually sprinkle atop your pasta dishes.  Season the cheese mixture with salt and pepper, and then add 1 egg and stir it into the cheese well.  Next, take 2 10-ounce packages of frozen chopped spinach, thawed, and mix them together with 7 ounces of pesto.  This will probably take a little patience, as the spinach can be a little difficult to break apart for mixing.  Now that you've got our fillings, you can begin assembling the lasagna.

Take that baking dish we talked about earlier, and brush or rub the inside of the dish with some olive oil so that the lasagna doesn't stick to the bottom.  For the assembly, you're going to need 12 no-boil (you're welcome for the headache I just saved you) lasagna noodles from an 8-ounce package and about 5 to 6 cups of your favorite chunky pasta sauce.  Take 1.5 cups of sauce and spread it across the bottom of the dish; note, however, that the area you need to cover is only the width of 3 of the lasagna noodles, so it doesn't have to cover the entire dish.  Now take 3 of those noodles and lay them across the bottom of the dish on the sauced area.  Take about 1/3^rd of the cheese mixture and spread it across the noodles, and then take about 1/3^rd of the spinach-pesto mixture and place spoonfuls of it evenly on your cheese-covered noodles (psst, meat eaters!  Yeah, I'm talking to you!  Don't let the vegetarians hear us.  Now would be a good time to sneak some sort of meat, like Italian sausage or some pepperoni, into the lasagna.  I'll distract them with more instructions.  Meat team, go!).  Hey!  Nice job!  Go ahead and take a 5-minute break; I'll watch the lasagna for you.  When you come back, repeat the sauce, noodles, cheese, and spinach-pesto layering two more times.  Finally, top it off with your remaining noodles, and cover that in your remaining sauce.

Did I mention you should have preheated your oven already?  Silly me.  Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.  While you wait for that to warm up, take your aluminum foil and cover the baking dish, making sure you seal the edges well.  Oven still not ready yet?  How about cleaning up some of the mess you made with the cheese and the spinach-pesto mixture?  No, I didn't realize you have a dishwasher; must be nice.  Don't accuse me of being snarky, I just really think that is must be nice to have a dishwasher!  I already told you I don't know why there is an empty package of sliced pepperoni in the garbage.  Did you ask your roommate?  Well maybe you should!  Oh, oven's ready.  Yeah, I'm sorry too.  Our blood sugar is probably low; let's get this thing in the oven already!

Put the lasagna in the oven and let it bake for about 40 minutes.  Then, very carefully, take the lasagna out of the oven with your potholders and remove the aluminum foil.  Cover the lasagna with 2 cups of grated mozzarella cheese (or Fontina, if you're fancy).  Carefully place the lasagna back in the oven and let it bake for another 15 minutes, or until the sauce is bubbling and the cheese on top of the lasagna has melted.  Finally, carefully remove the lasagna from the oven and let it sit for about 10 minutes.  Now you can cut up your lasagna to your liking and serve!  Enjoy!

The original version of this sadly meatless (wink wink) recipe can be found at Epicurious.

For the record, this is also his Christmas outfit this year.  There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Christ.

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I'm going to see Warren Miller's Dynasty tonight.  Very excited.

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One of my best friends lost a parent last night and I'd appreciate it if you could all send up a prayer or good vibe for her today.  I feel like there's nothing I can say or nothing to do that will ever come close to being enough, so I'm just hoping to surround her with a strong concentration of love and support and beams of light from the deity of your choice.

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Last night when I got home from work, I was standing on the deck fumbling for my keys when I heard this strange crunchy chewing chirping sound that seemed to be all around me.  I turned around and scanned the lawn, looking for some kind of animal inside the fence.  Nothing.  It got louder and more frightening.  I looked up.  On every branch of every tree in our entire yard sat at least one squirrel, cracking open a walnut.  It was a symphony of hungry squirrels, each one making the tiniest noise, but all together it was disturbing.  And I think they knew I was disturbed.

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Minica survived another kidnapping attempt on Tuesday night.  The person who kidnapped her from me had a car burgled and Minica was the only witness.

I floated the idea that she should be considered a suspect.

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I'm on the Google Wave now.  Except I don't know anybody else there.  So if you're there, find me.  Wave at me.  However it works.

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This week, years past:

2008:  Mom turned 50 and we partied, I learned how to get dead down wind, and Duke planned his Too Soon Halloween Costume. 

2007:  I became one of those people who preserves stuff in jars.

2006:  Wrecks posed and I gave a tour of my favorite Halloween costumes I've worn.

Jane:  So you should probably never keep more than $196.  I'm usually good for $4.

Duke:  They won't cover a nuclear explosion.  But they will pay for any fire damage resulting from nuclear explosion. 

Jane:  So if the nuke plant in Byron goes, we light the house on fire on the way out?

Duke:  Falling objects:  "Damage to contents of house are not covered unless wall or roof is first damaged".  What the hell?

Jane:  They are saying that they won't pay for spacecraft damage inside the house unless the wall or roof is penetrated by the spacecraft or damaged enough to cause damage inside.  Sounds reasonable enough.

Duke:  But what if it hits your car?

Jane:  Oh, I see what you're saying.  What if it goes through the deck?

Duke:  Nothing is going through that deck.

(Pictures of the deck coming soon.  Or just as soon as we get something resembling sunlight.)

Are you in on this plot?  Seriously?  The plot I wrote about yesterday, where Annoying Top 40 Radio, the government, and the US auto industry break into my car when I'm not around and jack with the station to embarrass me and make me think I'm losing my mind?

Because today on my way back to work from a very satisfying lunch break at home, "Sundown" was queuing up just as I turned the key in the ignition.  On a station that doesn't normally play anything older than the last 6 months, if they ever venture out of the current Top 10 list at all.

And then there you are.  One of my childhood favorites.  Somebody I don't even think of as country music.  A 35 year-old song.  What the hell man?  You're all just fucking with me now, aren't you?  I'm warning you, Gordon.  If I leave my car radio on the house music channel tonight and then drive to work tomorrow listening to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald", I'm going to have to . . . okay, well, I'll probably have to sing along.  And then likely go home and get my guitar and play along.  And then I'll probably dig up a CD or three and listen to you all day.

But I won't be happy about it.

Sincerely,

Jane

Hey, what's up?  I think the last time I wrote you was many many years ago, probably around the time of "Do You Want Fries With That?" So what's new?  How's life?  How's the family?  Good, good.

Well, I'm doing okay.  I had a minor setback last night when Duke and I went out for dinner.  We took my car.  When the radio turned on, it had been left on a country station, and your "Southern Voice" (lyrics and video) was the current song, and it was right at the part in the bridge where you say "Jesus is my friend, America is my home" and there's just . . . something . . . about that particular portion of the song.  The inflection in your voice.  I dunno.  There's something.

Anyway, so Duke would not stop laughing at the line, then the song in general, then country music in general, and then of course, at me.  Because when you break it all down, it was my car, my radio, and I'd left it on that station.  Except that I don't ever really choose to leave it on that station, it just happens.  Most of my driving is done to CD or mp3 player, so the rare country, pop, or any type of Top 40 radio listening happens in the 3 minutes when I drive back and forth to work, or the radio ends up there when I pop a CD out.  It's kind of like that time that Dano got into my car and the radio was tuned to a NASCAR race.  I don't even watch NASCAR on TV, Tim, so why would I listen to it on the radio?  You believe me, right?

So I have this theory.  I think that somebody or something out there enjoys listening to me stammer and explain away the stupid things on my radio in that first 30 seconds when the car is started, and sneaks into my car when it is parked.  Or sends some kind of wireless signal to my radio, changing the station.  The local radio conglomerate may even be involved.  OR it might be retaliation from the entire U.S. auto industry to get back at me for that time at the Ford assembly plant tour when I demonstrated that it only took 5 seconds of logical thought to bypass the fancy little childproof radio that won't work without seatbelt use, by putting on my seatbelt, starting the car, turning on the radio, and then removing my seatbelt.  It's THE MAN, Tim.  THE MAN IS OUT TO GET ME.

Yeah.  So.  Ummm.  Anyway.  What I'm really writing about today has nothing to do with "Southern Voice" so much as I was just curious about whether or not you'd made a decision about running for public office yet?  No?  Okay.  I would just like to remind you, again, that I'd really appreciate it if you'd do that before Toby Keith throws his hat in the ring. 

Okay, great.  You keep in touch, okay?  Whenever you feel like chatting, I'm here.  If you're not so into the letter-writing thing, I'm on the Twitter and we could be Facebook friends.  Whatever works for you, Tim.

Sincerely,

Jane

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I have been listening to The Avett Brothers and Taylor Swift exclusively this weekend, which is a fun WTF juxtaposition. 

Taylor Swift is music I've recently succumb to, after years of disliking her rather vehemently.  The only way I can explain it is that I spent a long time failing to connect with her music as 28 year-old me.  But there's a 15 year-old me that still has a little life left in her, and Taylor is the single example of an artist out there who really 100% captures that early teen feeling without trying to grow up really really fast.  She is what I should have listened to in middle school instead of trying to be 28, so I'll listen to her now, when 28 doesn't feel so awesome.

The Avett Brothers, I can't explain so succinctly, because on first listen, I wasn't a fan.  But that's how it always goes with music where I end up falling in forever-love.  On first listen, I gong it.  Perhaps it's situational, the time and the place and the feeling.  Or perhaps I've gotten over my apathy towards grungegrass.  I'm not sure.  I am resisting the urge to go on and on and on about their earlier, less mainstream, unrecognized stuff, because I did not discover them early and follow them to the spotlight.  But if you dig I And Love And You, do head backwards a bit in their catalog.

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I finally found cane sugar birch beer in a grocery store in Rockford.  You've failed me, Woodmans.  We'll be having a chat about this.

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Three pictures from my Saturday, found on Lou this morning:

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On this very day, four years ago, I posted this quote from Scott Adams:

When I see news stories about people all over the world who are experiencing hardships, I worry about them, and I rack my brain wondering how I can make a difference. So I decided to start my own blog. That way I won't have time to think about other people.

I'd like to dedicate that to the driver of the race team I work for, as of yesterday, who fears that my NaNoWriMo book is going to cut into my devotion to him.  Heh.

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I took my to-do list from digital to paper this morning.  A sign there's too much on it, when I feel the need to touch it and get a more tactile sense of accomplishment from crossing things off and eventually wadding it up and throwing it away.  Sigh.

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I believe I'm finally read for my first (of likely several) tattoos.  Now taking recommendations for a parlor/artist in Rockford or Chicago or somewhere between.  Save your breath if you're going to suggest a place in Rockford with multiple locations that starts with an E.  It's owned by my garbage can thieving neighbor, and I'm pretty sure that wouldn't end well for me.

Hurry 2010. I'm ready, even if the cars aren't.



Sent from my Sweet Mobile Internet Robot.