(Apologies in advance for the downer nature of this post, but this was
one of those days. All attempts at humor have been scrupulously
maintained and enhanced to maximize your amusement at this blogger's
expense. Thank you.)
From: scrappiecesofme.blogspot.com
Some days are just bad. Some books are just stale. Some
meals just don’t turn out quite the way you think they should. Sometimes no matter
how good your intentions, things are just a go to hell. On a Monday. When you
have half a field of hay cut and the mower breaks. And there’s rain in the
forecast. And the baby won’t stop crying. And a ewe is lambing. And you’re out
of coffee and chocolate. And your book sucks. And you’re walking in the rain
after your boyfriend kicked you out. On your period. Without tampons.
From: custombuttons.pro
Ok, so maybe Monday wasn’t that bad. (The tampon thing for
instance. Stories like that are why I love working at the post office. Someone
is always having a worse day than I am.) But by the end of the day I did lay in
my STC’s lap, curled up in a fetal position, letting him rock me while we
watched Brain Games. It was less a
day that everything went wrong, and more one where nothing went right. The baby
was restless and wouldn’t stop fussing, I was exhausted and there wasn’t enough
coffee in the world to put me to rights. And Dad did break down, to the point
that we’re going shopping for a new mower conditioner today. Of course, our old
one had cut hay through military conflicts in Vietnam, Egypt, Somalia, Granada,
the Persian Gulf, Libya, Desert Storm, Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan so maybe it’s
time to retire the cranky old bitch.
We did find the missing Cowardly Dog, who’d run off over the
weekend and managed to get himself picked up by a good Samaritan, who almost
hit Cowardly Dog in the middle of the night. Cowardly Dog being cowardly like
he is, someone opens a truck door and he jumps inside. Cowardly Dog made himself
right to home at the Samaritan’s, and
seemed in no desperate state to come home. He probably got more attention at
his weekend retreat than he does at home, and with a swamp right next to the
house, Cowardly Dog was in heaven.
Heeler dogs.
I’d had great plans for dinner, had a recipe and everything,
planned on actually cooking for the STC, instead of him cooking for me, as per
usual. But like everything, it went awry. Not bad, just not right. The recipe I
began with (get it here) called for New York Strips. I substituted loin. In a
pan, grill each steak (or steak substitute) 2-3 minutes per side (or if you
like your meat more done, go a little longer. Trust me. Meat will be just
medium rare at 2-3 minutes). Remove meat from stove top and let rest in a
marinade. We tweaked the marinade as well, by using a 9x13 pan and layering the
bottom with a generous amount of cracked red pepper, salt and pepper (be
generous with the salt, especially if you go with rice at the end), fresh
chopped cilantro, olive oil and basalmic vinegar. Let steak rest 2-3 minutes
per side in the marinade, then remove to cutting board and slice into strips.
(Go with bite size strips. Again, trust me.) After all the steak rested, we layered
home-canned tomatoes on top of the marinade and added the steak drippings from
the pan for flavor. Our meat is really thin, so fat isn’t much of an issue.
Layer in the steak strips in the 9x13 with the marinade and tomatoes and cook
under broiler for a few minutes until all is heated through and steak is
desired level of doneness. (Use your own discretion here. I don’t mind my steak
a little purple, so long as it’s warm through. STC likes a little less moo to
his meat. So it’s up to you.) We served it all up with seared asparagus and
bread. If we did this recipe again, we’d add brown rice, after its cooked about
40 minutes, then mix it in and let it finish cooking with the meat and tomatoes
under the broiler. We were a little heavy on the spice, but thought brown rice
would level it out. So while the meal was good, it certainly wasn’t what I
started out trying to make.
From: sumthingnnothing.wordpress.com
We ate and it was getting dark, so I drove across to shut
poultry in. They were all in except for the tom turkey. He and I had an, erm, altercation, so to speak and, well, let’s
just say I can’t decide if I’m more upset over losing to a turkey or that he
wasn’t eaten by coyotes on his night out of the coop.
(It was after this that found me curled on the STC’s lap.)
Despite barely surviving Frustration By Turkey, what really
rounded out the day was since I had fiction off my desk and no book reviews
pending, I had a chance to “free read,” as they called it when I was in school,
meaning read what you want, baby slapping you in the face optional. It seemed
like every book I touched, even one by an author I like, was just bad. Whoever
puts a steak (wood, not beef) through the heart of the book idea “wise-ass
sarcastic hero/ine inherits mystical powers that s/he doesn’t understand but
everybody and their tom turkey does, then hero/ine becomes embroiled in magical
shenanigans while trying to save the world/ master their powers/ solve a murder”
gets a big kiss from me. It’s gotten ridiculous. Like Shaun of the Dead ridiculous.
Some really solid writing advice I read the other day from Remittance Girl was
that if your characters don’t want to have sex, making them have sex is akin to
literary rape. Too often in books like these, the character just wants a stiff drink
and a hot shower. Running them hither and yon, battling ancient forces, with old
contacts stuck to their eyeballs just feels like literary abuse. Even Buffy
liked saving the world from apocalypse at one point or another. There’s no joy
in these stories, just formulaic banter that too often feels forced and
miserable. If these characters hate life so much, what the f*&% do they
fight for? At least give them a motivation, like they want to get that macaroni
necklace from their incarcerated lesbian girlfriend who calls the girls from “Fora good time, call…” (Good movie, by the way.) Something. When I’d rather read
Goodnight, Moon by myself after the kid’s gone to bed than suffer through one
more page of moaning urban fantasy hero/ine, there’s something seriously wrong with
the writing process somewhere.
And yes, I realize I sound like a whiny bitch but trust me,
the day was just rough. So here’s to a better tomorrow and hoping this chai tea
turns into a whiskey and coke.
The meal I’m looking forward to next? Not sure what it is,
but our one true ingredient will be turkey.
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