Holla Flock,

Please send #sanasas to your beloved reverend. I’ve been sat on my couch in my elegant lounge for the majority of the afternoon after a day in bed. I can’t stop coughing. If anybody asks, I just say I have tuberculosis. Nothing else wrong with me, I just can’t stop coughing and coughing and coughing and coughing…and coughing. It’s tiring. I’m hoping it’s a good exercise, though, because there is no way in hell I’m going to be walking on the treadmill today. I thought about it really hard, but then I coughed and decided making french fries was a better use of my time. Doing good on that ab resolution, LOLz.

Since I’ve given into my disease and spent the entirety of the day watching Netflix and browsing the Internet in the hopes of recovering from this illness that plagues me, I have decided to write about the state of modern technology and why it’s a great gift to us. But, before we get into today’s sermon, please open your hymnals up to Robyn’s “Fembot.”

Ah, Robyn is a pop genius. Giving her a sainthood now. Saint Robyn, that has a ring to it, doesn’t it?

Do you ever scroll through Facebook, rolling your eyes the entire time? Everything everybody says is so stupid. I hate all those dumb pictures and crockpot recipes and posts by people who have no taste when it comes to politics. If I have to look at one more idiotic post about the president not respecting the armed forces, I’m going to puke all over the person who posted it. If I read one more recipe about some giant Snickers bar, I may just dress up in my nicest suit and throw myself off the chicest bridge. I’m thinking the Golden Gate. Why would you ever throw yourself off some common bridge? I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t jump off a bridge, either, that seems a silly way to go if you’re decided on killing yourself. No, I think I’ll throw myself at some wild lions. That’s a memorable way right there. Anyway, the people who post these dumb posts are the same ones that whine about people using their phones all the time or using the Internet instead of going outside. I can’t stand these posts. Do they not understand what a wonderful place the Internet is?

I was both lucky and cursed to be one of the first generations of people to be raised in the digital age. Our house was connected to the Internet when I was in kindergarten and it was a glorious day. I still recall the first thing I looked up — white tigers. My love of big cats is eternal. Having Internet access is the reason I’m the intelligent and handsome young man that I am today. It broadened my mind in ways that I can’t even begin to explain. Imagine having a library in your hands! It’s easy to imagine because we’ve all got one. The Internet can teach us the most insane and wonderful things. Without the assistance of technology, I don’t know where I’d be in the world. I have learned more through the computer than I ever learned at school. I mean this with respect to all the teachers I liked. I learned a lot from you, too, but I could so easily broaden my horizons with the computer.

The computer has taught me how to fold napkins, twerking theory, the reasons behind the current political situation in Egypt, French customs, recipes using lentils, how to properly groom myself, how to better exercise, how to write, how to use proper punctuation, how to sing, how to do a million things — thousands I probably shouldn’t list. It’s also given me so much! I have downloaded scores of sheet music to practice, my iPhone is full of books that I can download for free that I would have absolutely no access to otherwise, YouTube and places like it are full of documentaries and instructional videos that teach us how to install windows and give us the historical background of little-known events. It’s a wonderful place.

The Internet has also enriched me culturally with services like Spotify and Netflix. With Spotify, I can listen to music from around the world. I can listen to modern hits and recordings from the 1920s. It’s an amazing resource. Netflix, too, has changed me deeply. There are so many documentaries on there! There is also one of my favorite programs, Keeping Up Appearances. I shan’t get too deep into this show, because I’d write for ages and ages, but it’s perfect and it is one of the television shows that molded me. If I were to explain who I am, I would be a melange of Keeping Up Appearances, Absolutely Fabulous, and The Simple Life. I have taken the greatest parts of these shows and made myself out of them and I think I’m better off for them.

If I lived in a world without Internet access, like some peasant or pioneer, I would have died of boredom. I need access to information for my overstimulated brain. I’m always in need of an answer to some obscure question, and with my iPhone, I have that power. It’s intoxicating.

So, back to my original complaint: when I see people complaining (ironically on the Internet) about the effects of the Internet, I’m strongly tempted to block them or unfriend them. They obviously don’t understand the great blessing that they are accessing or why it is the triumph of the modern age. We would be in a new dark age if we didn’t have access to this kind of service. We can educate ourselves, we can better ourselves, we can amuse ourselves, and we can forge friendships with people halfway across the world in ways that would have been impossible even a decade ago. The Internet has forever changed us and for that I am thankful.

Go and do some googling, Flock.

LOVE:

The Wendy Williams Show:

I don’t know what I’ve been doing not watching this show all my life — it’s phenomenal! Wendy is my new obsession, and I can’t wait to get home to watch the latest episode. I’m all about sitting around and listening to Wendy throw shade and gossip and chitchat. It’s my life now. All my daytime fantasies revolve around becoming Wendy’s best friend. We’ll go to lunch at the Four Seasons and say, “HOW YOU DOIN?” to the waiter and to the staff and to everybody we meet. What fun we we’ll have! Sadly, there are no tickets to her show available for the time I’m in New York next month — why didn’t I start loving her earlier? — but there are standby tickets and I’m seriously considering waiting in line early in the morning just for the chance to get in the audience and gasp and clap with everybody when she’s dishing out the latest news. It’s going to be the best.

Oeufs en Cocotte:

I had forgotten how much passion and deep love I have for oueufs en cocotte, otherwise known as shirred eggs or coddled eggs. There are many phrases for this delicious triumph of eggy goodness. I think they should be called, “SWEET JESUS EGGS.” They are ridiculously good. Make some tonight. Follow my easy recipe! Slice a tomato into 1/4 inch rounds (preferably a good heirloom one), cover with salt, pepper, brush with oil and roast until dried in a 350-degree oven. Line the bottom of a shallow dish with a few rounds of roasted tomato. Top with any cheeses of your liking. Top this with three or four eggs. Top this with a splash of cream. Top this with salt, pepper, and a bit more cheese. Bake until eggs are puffed like a souffle. Serve with good bread and gorge. When I get around to creating my online cooking show that I was so excited about doing last year, this might be one of my first episodes. You’ll die, you’ll just drop dead. They’re so good.

Baked Eggs:

This is different from the earlier post about eggs. I’m all about eggs this week it seems. I love boiled eggs, but I’m not a fan of boiling them. It’s not that it takes an unreasonable amount of effort to make them, but it’s time consuming. Instead, I’ve discovered a wondrous method of cooking them with the same deliciousness, but tons more ease. Instead of boiling them, the eggs are baked! Put the eggs in a muffin tin and bake for a half hour at 325-degrees. Pull them out and chill. Peel and gorge. I was amazed at how good they were! The eggs even peeled more easily than usual, but this might have just been this carton of eggs. I wanted to make an egg salad sandwich immediately, but I didn’t have the right ingredients and was emotionally devastated. I saw a recipe the other day that called for a mashed avocado instead of mayonnaise in egg salad and I was deeply intrigued. I need to look in to this more. I’m starving.

Stuff You Missed in History Class:

I love podcasts, but I’m always forgetting to keep up with them. All of a sudden, I have thirty unheard episodes and never enough time. When I was painting my new gym (I call it a gym, but that’s only a nickname since it will have a treadmill and a yoga mat in there — the rest of the room will be devoted to my extensive clothing collection. I’m going to get a mannequin and everything.) I started listening to the episodes I had missed of Stuff You Missed in History Class, of which there are many many many many episodes I haven’t heard. I started off with an episode on ancient Egyptian mummification. I thought I knew everything there was to know about it, but I was surprised and delighted to discover many things that I never knew about the embalming techniques used on poorer Egyptians. They don’t take out the organs; instead the stuff the insides of the body with cedar oil and plug the body. After a while, the oil dissolves everything inside and it is then flushed out through the back. Amazing! I love this show, give it a listen.

RuPaul’s Drag Race Season 6:

You all know how much I love this perfect show. I have been talking about it for years. I still recall fondly the first episode I watched. I began at season two, never having heard about it. There was a little snippet in Entertainment Weekly about Kathy Griffin being a guest host, so I made sure I tuned in. My life was forever changed. I was delighted and inspired by those gorgeous creations that paraded down the main stage to the catchiest music ever written. I fell madly in love with Ru and then later on with Michelle and the majority of the contestants. It’s like America’s Next Top Model with a heart and a sense of humor — which is what a drag queen is, incidentally. I adore them. I don’t think there’s anything better in the world than a drag queen. I would eagerly support RuPaul for president, for senator, for Pope, for anything in the world. The latest season just started this week and it’s just as good as ever. Ridiculously over the top and stuffed to bursting with camp! And still, through all the shade and all the tea, it’s still the most heartwarming show on television and each week I feel a little better about the world we live in. Just this week, when Ru tugged on her ear in a Carol Burnett fashion, I choked on a happy sob. It was perfect. She’s perfect. The show is perfect. Watch it, dear reader!

HATE:

Pecorino Romano:

I, like a fool, mistook Pecorino Romano for Grana Padana. The names sound nothing similar and I don’t even know why I made this disastrous error, but I have not stopped regretting it once. I opened up the expensive cheese and broke off a sliver, hoping for crunchy, salty cheese, but was instead presented with a crumbly, pungent, unpleasantly scented cheese. I WAS DISPLEASED. I put it with some eggs the other day and that was fine, still not alarmingly good like GRANA PADANA. I haven’t much to say other than:  I HOPE I NEVER MAKE THIS ALARMING MISTAKE AGAIN! Now, I have to think of some use for the rest of the cheese. Maybe it’ll be all right with pasta?

Inability to Grow a Beard:

[This is about as much of a beard as I will ever grow. This is sad for me. Maybe I will continue to develop a bit of facial hair? PLEASE, BEYSUS??!??!?]

I was never bothered much about my lackluster hair follicles. I’m no fan of shaving. It’s the absolute worst. You cut yourself. It dries out your skin. You look twelve. You’re guaranteed to miss a section that is obvious under the fluorescent lights at work. I’ve taken to just using a trimmer to whack off the growth to a respectable level. Over the past week, though, I grew quite lazy and didn’t do anything and let my rugged masculine looks take over. [Giggle.] I grew the world’s finest beard on my neck and had a decent mustache. Sadly, though, as always, very little grew on my cheeks. I was rather distraught. I’d make a pathetic hipster, which doesn’t bother me any. I do admire their beards and their acetate glasses and their expensive jeans and their flannel, but I don’t care much for their painstakingly hip lives. Too much work to find a shop that roasts their own coffee beans from a small organic farm in some tiny South American country that still has a bit of the rainforest on the property. I’m off topic as always. I want a beard. A scruffy, handsome, ridiculously attractive beard. There are kids I work with that can grow a better one than me. WHERE IS JUSTICE? Can you get hair transplants to your face? Is that a thing. Oh, I hope so. It will be one of my future cosmetic surgeries: follicle transplants, brow bone shaving, and butt injections. Hooray for artificial beauty! By his own admission, though, David Gandy can’t grow a beard either, so I don’t feel half as bad as I did before mainly because David Gandy is perfect. Google him. You’ll never get off Google. Sorry about that.

Wanderlust:

Wanderlust is one of the most awful things in all the world. For me, it ranks up there with depression. I don’t understand people who don’t want to travel or are completely happy staying at home for the rest of their lives. I’d much rather be an adventurer, going from country to country, exploring the sights, learning about the language and culture, and then writing about my new experiences for an audience of readers. This has long been a serious dream of mine. I can try to be humble, but I know for a fact that I would make a remarkable travel writer. All day long, every day, the majority of my mind’s activity is focused on travel. I think about cruising the Nile, exploring the Temple of Edfu, going to fancy hotels, staying in castles, finally visiting Asia and seeing the cherry blossom festival in Kyoto, attending Eurovision, taking picnics in Transylvania, and so much more. So much more. Traveling is what I am good at. I need to make it more a part of my life so that I’m not miserable every day wishing that it were. Somehow it will happen.

Unnecessary Space Heaters:

The lower level of my home is heated, but the upstairs isn’t. Up there, I have a space heater in each room — a tasteful space heater that fits the ambiance of the chamber, of course. Downstairs, there has never been a need for this, but for reasons that are too long and too annoying to list, my father has decided to heat the entire level with a silly infrared heater, you know the ones that are always advertised on the television late at night? It’s the absolute worst. The entire house is frigid, so now there is that monster and an additional space heater in each room to keep it livable. Ridiculous! They’re ugly ones, too that don’t match the ambiance of the chambers! I just want the regular furnace back that works just fine, but he’s so insistent on these dumb things. Oh well. Winter can’t be  much longer can it? LOL, we’ve been in the arctic for about a half month now. I can’t bear it!

Waiting For Europe!:

It’s just a little under four months now until I’m jetting off for Europe again. I’m so excited that I can hardly focus on anything else. Europe is perfection and I love being there more than anything else in the world (aside from my cats, of course, but they’re above comparison). I spend all my time thinking about what I will do, where I’ll go, who I’ll see, what I’ll see, all the things I will eat, all the places I’ll stay, and more and more and more. This morning, I booked tickets to see Dawn French in Brighton. I’m just going to pass out from delight. She’s wonderful, an integral part of my favorite comedic duo: FRENCH & SAUNDERS. I’ve little doubt that I won’t pass out when I finally see her face to face; it’ll be like coming face to face with a deity. A GODDESS OF COMEDY! If I saw Jennifer Saunders or Joanna Lumley, too, I would just collapse into a happy heap of death. DEATH. (What if I see Miranda Hart??? WHAT WILL I DO, READER? I WILL DIE.) It’s going to be a great day. Jessica and I will catch the train to Brighton — only an hour away — and then spend some time at the beach and shops. We’ll go to lunch and dinner and have a few snacks in between. We’ll buy some gorgeous little things. We’ll have a snack on the beach. We will dip our toes into the water. We will sigh contentedly. We will see Dawn and laugh and laugh and laugh. Then, overjoyed with life, we will catch the train back to London where we will surely pop by the pub and then back to our abode. Such fun!

LOVE:

Solving The Père Lachaise Mystery Tomb Mystery:

A few years ago, Jessica and I spent the day exploring nearly every road and alley of Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. It’s easily the most beautiful graveyards in the world and I have every intention of being buried there when my time comes. (Please refer to this post about my death.) When we were there, I was fascinated by a crumbling tomb with an ancient Egyptian motif and a terribly weathered bust of the occupant. The nose was nearly gone completely and the carved name was indecipherable. This image has stayed in my mind for years and years and I often think about it, since it plays a vital role in a future novel I’ve been unsuccessfully plotting for some time! I was going through my pictures yesterday, looking for some new material to post on Tumblr and came across the picture above. When it was nothing more than a thumbnail, I could make out that the first name was Joseph, so I began to furiously Google with delight. I found it! It’s Joseph Fourier. That meant nothing to me, so I began to Google with even more frenzied delight and was absolutely thrilled with what I  found. Fourier was a renowned scientist and mathematician, still respected today. What I found the most intriguing about him, though, had little to do with his discoveries. He had been a part of the Napoleonic expedition in Egypt and had one of the first copies of the newly discovered Rosetta Stone. Back in France, he showed this copy to an enchanted Jean-François Champollion, who was only eleven at the time. Champollion was fascinated with the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics and worked hard to decipher them. Years later, he had made the first correct transliteration of the carved text. In doing so, the ancient mysteries of the Egyptians, unreadable for over a thousand years, were finally able to be understood. And so, unknowingly Joseph Fourier made possible the ability out  read and write the ancient language of the Pharaohs and filled the world with more knowledge than he may have ever expected. Hooray for him and hooray for fun cemeteries.

Ful Medames:

If you have read this blog for any length of time, or even this post from the beginning, you are surely well aware of my obsession with Egypt. This is a passion that has consumed me from the time of my birth and its origins are completely inexplicable to me. There is no reason for me to care so deeply for crumbling rocks and dried up bodies and crumbling scrolls of nearly prehistoric religious matters, but I do. I think that perhaps I had several past lives in Egypt. That would give a logical reason for my deep interest and easily attained knowledge of the subject. (I’m a big believers in past lives, by the way, I think they make worlds of sense.) Though it is not confirmed by any means, I have every intent to try my damnedest and make it to my beloved country this summer. It is obviously far from the opportune time to visit with their political unrest — this intrigues me, though, so all the more reason to visit. Also, it’ll be summer…in a desert. I NEVER SAID I WAS THE BRIGHTEST. I like it hot, though. I’m way off topic now. Weeks ago, I bought a travel guide at the Half-Price Bookstore about Egypt and I was very much taken with the section on food. I LOVE TO EAT. I read about ful medames there for the first time, and while I wasn’t really all that intrigued by the idea of mashed beans and bread, I realized that as a vegetarian, I will be eating a lot of it in Egypt. Fast forward to this past weekend and I found a can of fava beans in my cupboard — Beysus only knows how they got there, and I knew that I had to make some ful! I researched about a dozen recipes and compiled the information that I had garnered, the way I like to do when I’m doing a new recipe. I stewed the beans with onion, tomato, garlic, cumin, salt and pepper. Very basic ingredients, but I was alarmed by how delicious they were when melded together. Orgasmic. One half of this, I had spread over rice, which was excellent. The next night I took the leftovers and spread over a piece of flatbread. SWEET ALLAH! It was one of the finest things I’ve ever eaten. I can’t wait to make it again, I hope it’s equally delicious. I can’t wait to go to Egypt.

“Born Naked” by RuPaul: 

There is nothing better than a RuPaul album, this is a fact that we all know and understand. Mama Ru is queen of the catchy music. Her latest album is another triumph that makes you want to twerk your ass of around the house. I certainly tried. I don’t throw the word triumph around lightly, either. In this album there are a number of duets that are excellent. When Michelle Visage comes on, I weep. When Ru sings, “Can I get an amen?” I throw my hands up to heaven and say, “AMEN.” Tumblr went a bit crazy the other day when the album supposedly leaked. People were downloading it only to find that Ru chatted through each track. This is genius. I need to find the leaked version to listen to for my comedic pleasures. Go get the album off iTunes or Amazon, reader. I’ve inserted the Spotify version, but we need to help Mama Ru get some coins. Even I bought it! I haven’t bought a real album in ages. It’s that good. My only complaint is that I wish it could be longer…so much longer!

MY HATERS:

It seems that all the young people are constantly being pestered by their “haters.” My celebrity friends are also plagued by these demons. I’ve never been a hater and don’t understand the thought process behind being violently angry toward another person or group or idea or thing. I’ve seen the most ridiculous denunciations of iPhones and boy bands. Excitingly enough, I have a hater now! I only have the one, but they’re real and I’m absolutely reveling in it. That’s their message up above! For a few months now, I’ve been posting pictures on my Tumblr of all the trips I’ve taken. I think it’s a very well curated blog. Others seem to agree. My followers are growing steadily, if slowly. I love my followers. THEY GIVE ME STRENGTH. The other day, I posted a picture of Olivia de Havilland’s townhouse in Paris that I visited in order to be near to an icon, two Academy Awards, and to see what kind of exciting life she might have these days. I didn’t see her, of course, but it was nice to know that a Hollywood legend was still alive and well in my favorite city. I posted a picture of the place — well edited with good color and lighting — and the people went mad over it. They loved it! They were jealous of me! We were having such a good time until another Tumblr user created an entire post about me being an invasive stalker! I was in heaven, reader. It read just like a ridiculous tabloid article. They insinuated that I needed a restraining order, that I could expect to be thrown into prison the next time I stepped foot into France, that I was unhealthy, all sorts of nonsense! It was great. Mind you, I can well understand why the person thought these things, but I found it extraordinary that they would take so much time out of their day to write so negatively about a beautiful picture! Remember, this picture is nothing you couldn’t find on Google Maps, which, incidentally is where I found Olivia’s address. It’s not as if this is a great secret. And I do doubt that this icon is inundated with fans pounding at her door. Anyway, I LOVE MY HATERS. THEY GIVE ME STRENGTH. I FEED ON THEIR POWER. Or, something, that’s what all the kids say on the Twitter and Instagram.

Tomato Soup:

There is nothing better in all the world than soup. I love soup. I could eat soup for every single meal and be a happy man. I love potato soup and onion soup and vegetable soup and lentil soup, but more than all, I love tomato soup! Tomato soup is divine. I never thought I would love it so much, but it’s absolutely flawless. The place where I first discovered my adoration was in Paris. My sister and I had rented an apartment and there was a cardboard box of readymade soup in the cupboard. It was late and I was hungry, so I decided to eat it. LORD BEYSUS IT WAS #AMAZE. I couldn’t get over it. Packaged food in France is ridiculously good. It blows me away each time. I guzzled the soup. I slurped it up. I was in ecstasy. Even Jessica was passionately in love with the soup. We ended up eating our weight in Monoprix tomato soup the month we were there. That’s probably why I was so wonderfully thin. I can’t wait to get my soup diet on again this summer! Back in America, it is hard to find a good soup. Finally, I discovered one at Django, and it is probably the best tomato soup in the entire world. There’s no way I could recreate it myself, I can’t get over it. I make a great tomato soup, though, so it’s fine. My favorite to make is yellow tomato soup with fresh tomatoes from my garden. That’s absolutely incredible. I made some soup with canned tomatoes the other night out of desperation. It wasn’t bad, but not as good as fresh tomato soup. I LOVE SOUP. SOUP!

HATE:

Trying to Understand College:

[This speaks deeply to me.]

For some time now, I’ve had a gnawing concern that I should go back to school and accomplish something a bit more highbrow with my life. When I was out of high school, I had no honest idea what I wanted to make of my years on earth, and I’m glad I didn’t spend ridiculous sums of money doing something I may have loathed. Over the ensuing years, it has become more clear what my talents are and what I have the most interest in. I strangely enjoy working with teenagers, so I wouldn’t mind being a teacher. My longest and dearest passion is for ancient Egypt, so I’d also like to pursue that. It has only recently come to my attention that one of the finest schools for Egyptology in the world is six hours away. Why wasn’t I informed earlier? Isn’t it funny how these things are discovered? Life is kind of a black comedy. Last night I started looking into the program and I just wanted to curl up in a ball and weep the night away. How does anybody afford an education. Getting a degree will cost such ridiculous sums of money. I don’t come from a poor family, but it’s still unreasonable. Then I looked at the accommodations and wondered how any student could be happy or productive in a room that looks like a prison cell. Obviously, this is something I’m going to have to research and study more, and I do want to do it, I just really do not want to be poor all my life.

Brylcreem:

Deep in the recesses of my hair product cupboard, I have a tube of Brylcreem. I don’t recall buying it. That’s not unusual, though. I probably picked it up on a whim or ordered it on Amazon so that I could get free shipping. That used to happen regularly before I subscribed to Amazon Prime. It’s an old fashioned styling product that makes your hair a bit shiny and slick and easily sculpted so that you look like Cary Grant or Desi Arnaz. It turns out that this look only appears good in black and white. When I applied it to my head before heading out the door to work, I looked more like a dirty person who’s never been in a shower before. It was awful. In the dim light of morning, all I could see was a sleek hairstyle, something new and revolutionary, something I had never done before! I was rather ecstatic. Sadly, when I arrived to work and spent eight hours under the harsh fluorescent lights, I realized my tragic mistake. My hair definitely looked new, but it looked awful! I couldn’t get over how greasy it appeared and I was so happy when I got home to wash it out. Now, it wasn’t a complete catastrophe; I did receive a number of compliments from the children on my new and exciting look. They are always very straight forward with me regarding my hair, bless them. So, while they might have liked it, I CERTAINLY DID NOT, and will not be repeating that mistake. Who am I kidding, though? I’ll surely do it again. I do have an entire tube of it after all.

GODDAMN BUFFERING:

I love my computer dearly, but last night I about threw it at a wall. This would have been a foolish thing to do since it was not the fault of my beautiful MacBook Pro. It was the fault of LOGOTV.COM! Why do they have such an awful video player? It’s madness! It is the single worst video player in all the Internet. I tried watching on Safari and Chrome and Firefox, but none of them would work. I’d get two seconds into the second episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race and then there would be buffering and buffering and buffering and then a load more buffering. It was literally driving me insane. To pile misery on top of that, the commercials that come on every five minutes (or less) played just fine! I was not having it — I’d had it! OFFICIALLY! (Holla at the Detox reference!) I couldn’t bear another moment of this monstrous buffering, so I found a different illicit site to watch it on. That one worked just fine. I will probably never ever ever use the official website to watch my favorite reality show again. It was just pathetic. They need to get that shit fixed.

Unnecessary Napping:

It has recently come to my attention that I have something of an addictive personality. My current obsession is nothing new, but I thought that I had beat it last year — it’s naps. NAPS! I take them all the time. I’m asleep more than I’m awake and I really don’t know why. I get home, I take a quick nap…or a long nap, I get up, do some work, take a nap, get up, eat something, then go to bed. I’m sleeping all the time. I’m crazy refreshed and I’m almost never tired, but still I nap. When I get home, I’m going to try and not take a nap. PRAYERS FOR ME, please. Instead, I think I might actually accomplish something. I’m full of dreams and goals here at work, but when I get home, the struggle begins. THE STRUGGLE IS REAL. I need to finish painting my “gym” and do some heavy reading, but I never get around to it. Yesterday I actually managed to make delicious tomato soup. That was pretty remarkable, reader. For the past few days, I haven’t been able to muster the energy to do anything but pour myself a bowl of Cheerios. I felt like a damn gastronomic wizard. It was some good soup.

No Time to Read:

I love reading. I love writing and reading and all sorts of things that deal with literature. Every day I read, so the title of this post is a bit misleading. In my email, I receive a segment of War & Peace and The Arabian Nights. (I do not recommend War & Peace, but I absolutely do recommend The Arabian Nights.) Then, I read a chapter of A Thousand Miles Up the Nile every day. So, I am reading, but I don’t ever sit down to read a book anymore. I have piles and piles of books that I’ve been accumulating since my youth. They aren’t children’s books, mind you, I was always a little adult. I have a massive collection of books on Egyptology and English classics that I haven’t even cracked open, yet. On top of that, I have a large pile of books from the library. With my rigorous schedule of having a job and loving naps and a tidy home, I don’t get time to read all these. I’ve books all over my house that I’ve started and never got around to finishing. I look forward to having a day where I’m home ill or something and can just sit in bed with a big pot of tea and a book and read it cover to cover. I probably shouldn’t fantasize about sick days. Perhaps I will carve out some time in my schedule for more reading? I doubt I will get to it, though. Not with my editing and cleaning and vacation research and baking and imminent yard work. Le sigh…I need staff.

LOVE:

Mummies As Cocoon:

Ancient Aliens is one of my favorite television programs, but it’s very hit or miss. Ever since the first two seasons finished, it seems as if they ran short of ideas and many of the episodes were boring rehash of other episodes. Last week’s episode was the first one that’s really made me think for a long time. I’m still blown away by some of the information detailed in it. The episode was about alien insects, which I wasn’t into at all. I don’t do bugs. But, the opening half was all about insects in ancient Egypt, so of course I perked right up. It was just an offhand comment about mummies being wrapped in linen as if they were being put into a cocoon, but it made my brain explode. IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE! I had never really questioned why ancient embalmers wrapped their dead in such a way. I just accepted it as a fact. I could understand desiccating the body for preservation reasons and I can understand a golden sarcophagus, but why wrap them up in such a way? Because the dead body was metamorphosing into something new. Such a simple and elegant concept! I’ve been thinking and thinking about this one since last Friday night. It’s become an obsession of mine. I did loads of Internet research, but didn’t come up with much, which frustrated me. I’ll just have to do more research myself in the future! Maybe if I ever go to school for Egyptology like I dream of doing, I can do a project on this hypothesis. My concept of mummification is forever changed, though. My horizons are expanded.

In London For Pride:

Jessica and I are going to be in London from the 22nd of June to the 29th, which just happens to be Pride week in that massive city. I could not be more thrilled! There is nothing better than a giant crowd of LGBTQI and all the rest, especially drag queens! Drag queens are everything to me! In another life, I would be the best drag queen to ever walk the earth. Who knows, it may happen still. I’ve already figured out my act. It’s going to be such fun to see the parade and the festivities. I’ve already started planning my outfit, but I need to lose about ten pounds first so that I look adorable in a Union Jack speedo. I’ve seen pictures of Pride, I know the dress code! My sister and mother were in Paris one year during Pride and I always laugh at their pictures from then. So much leather! I’ve never seen the appeal of wearing a leather outfit, seems rather hot and restrictive. I won’t knock it until I try it. This summer in West Hollywood, I looked into a fetish shop out of curiosity. It didn’t make sense to me to wear a chain mail outfit, either, but I’m not one to judge. Enjoy what you enjoy. I’ll certainly enjoy my time at the Pride parade. Who knows, it might be even more fun than the Royal Wedding?

The GLORIOUS Weather:

[The snow bank next to my chaise lounge kept my cocktail nice and chilled.]

Today, I had an appointment at the dentist to see what needed to be done with my wisdom teeth. It’s very annoying to suddenly have a new tooth in my face. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it obviously needed tending to. If it moves much more, it’ll get pulled out. When I got back home this afternoon, I was alarmed at how glorious the weather was. I had heard that it was going to be warm, but after an endless winter, I was unprepared for how amazing sixty degree weather could be. I immediately made plans for a late lunch on my boardwalk, which was absolutely divine. The sun shone down upon me and my Indian food and my issue of Martha Stewart Living and my iPhone playing some beautiful Eartha Kitt music. It was easily one of the best moments of my year so far. I grew a bit warm in jeans, so I changed to flip flops and shorts and a short sleeved shirt. Oh that was fabulous. I couldn’t let the day go to waste, so I squished my way through the melting snow to my chaise lounge in the vineyard. I’m currently sipping a rum and coke in my speedo. This is heaven. This is perfection. This is all I ever want out of life. It’s kind of crazy that I let myself go through the misery of winter every year when it’s so detrimental to my mental health. I need to remind myself of this more often so that I get my ass out of here. But for now, I’m going to keep tanning.

“Blood on the Dance Floor” by Michael Jackson:

Michael Jackson will always and forever be one of my favorite artists. It’s a trendy thing now to like him, but I always have. I remember buying all of his albums at the Half-Price Bookstore when I was in middle school and being ridiculed for listening to an alleged pedophile. I never believed in that nonsense, and I’ve never been bothered by what people think of me. Needless to say, I do get rather irritated when people who were once so disrespectful of him become such ardent admirers. Very hypocritical. I haven’t listened to his albums for some time, so last night I decided to revisit one of my favorites, Blood on the Dance Floor, as I was painting in my gym. I was blown away again by what an exceptional album that is; it’s easily one of my favorites. It probably is my favorite. The music is darker and edgier and has an almost filthy edge to it that I think is wonderfully atmospheric. Most of the album is composed of remixes, but the first five tracks are new material and amazing. They’re haunting, really. “Ghosts,” “Is It Scary?, “Blood on the Dancefloor,” and “Morphine,” are all richly unsettling and. They’re flawless. “Superfly Sister” is kind of a weird one off track that’s more fun. They’re all great songs, the album is flawless. Download it today.

Coursera Class:

I’ve decided to go to college at some point. I put it off for years because it wasn’t something I believe is honest or fair, and I still don’t, but I do want to do things that require a degree, so I don’t have much of a choice. To see what I think of online learning, I decided to take a free archaeology course from Brown University. So far, I’ve enjoyed myself tremendously. I started the class about two weeks late, so I’ve had to rush through the first two units, but now that I’m caught up, I’ll be able to stay on target better — except I’ll be in New York for the next unit. Who knew I was so busy? I like the format of these classes — it’s nice to be able to listen to lectures in bed or over dinner, I like taking an online quiz and seeing instantaneous results, I like being instructed by different teachers and students (like the dreamy cuneiform expert — swoon worthy, for real). It’s fun. I think I’d be a good online student because I don’t have any interest in actually going to a physical school — that was never for me. I like being on the Internet because I communicate best through the keyboard. I’m a better writer than speaker. It’s nice to have something to think about, so I’m enjoying myself. (An interesting part of these free online courses is that the students critique each other’s work. This makes sense as an actual professor would never have the time to do their own work in addition to hundreds of assignment critiques. Here, though, I found strong evidence of one of the annoying facts of my life. I’m really smart. I’m knowledgeable on a ridiculous number of topics because I am intrigued and interested in nearly everything. Because of this, I have a hard time being fair to other people. It’s a character flaw, I understand that, but I’m really in no mind to change. The work I critiqued was often laughably poor. I don’t mean to be a bitch — how could I ever be with such a cute face? — but I felt an irritating sense of superiority over my classmates. I feel that this is going to be the case when I finally seek higher education and that worries me.)

Karl Lagerfeld Emoticons:

Months ago, Karl Lagerfeld’s beautiful cat, Choupette, tweeted (yes, the cat has a twitter account, you shouldn’t be surprised, she has her own iPad, too) that her daddy was releasing a line of emoji inspired by himself and his beloved feline companion. The app was finally released and I think I might have been the first person to download it — I was on top of the game. And let me tell you, it was well worth the wait. Now, instead of showing a weeping kitten when I can’t go out to eat, I can use a crying Choupette. Instead of a devil, I can use a Karl Lagerfeld face with horns. Instead of writing out the word Paris, I simply use the Eiffel Tower image that comes in the app. It’s divine. It’s flawless. It’s gorgeous. You should never ever use any other emoticons in your life. Honestly, though, why would you want to?

“Peabody & Mr. Sherman”:

For next year’s Academy Awards, I want to be au courant with all the nominees, so I’ve been to a lot of movies this year — like the wonderfully bad Pompeii. (Not that it’s going to win any Oscars…aside from a couple Best Ab nominations.) Last night, I went to see Peabody & Mr. Sherman and I think it was absolutely fantastic. It’s a film made for children, but in that wonderful way that nods at adult humor. I squealed with laughter for the entire hour and a half. The plot is about Mr. Peabody, a genius dog who adopts a human son, Sherman. When Sherman bites another student, who called him a dog, a bossy bitch gets involved in a moral legal battle. For some reason, she thinks it wrong for dogs to have human children. Maybe in real life, but not in a cartoon! In the cartoon, there is no better father in the world than Mr. Peabody. He has a fascinating time machine and takes his son through history so that he can be better educated. It’s a simplistic movie with a characteristic happy ending, but that didn’t mar my enjoyment of it whatsoever, I loved it.

HATE:

Lindsay Series:

I had been so looking forward to this Oprah powered documentary series, but it was just a massive steaming pile of crap. It was absolutely terrible and I will obviously be watching it every week, but it won’t stop my complaints because there will be many. The premiere was all about Lindsay looking for a new apartment in New York and acclimating to her new environment. The hour passed slowly and I think every viewer wanted to slap Lindsay by the end of it. All she does is complain and whine. She takes no accountability for her life. She seems to loathe her celebrity, yet she insists on keeping up with a celebrity lifestyle. This is something that drives me absolutely mad about many famous people. It seems all they do is whine and shout about how they have no privacy and how their lives don’t belong to them. This is crap. Your life is always your own and if the negatives of your star power outweighs the positive aspects, get out. Stop. Go find a new career. But they never do. They aren’t respectful of their position. Joan Rivers often rants about this and I think it’s a message more celebrities need to hear. THEY ARE LUCKY AND PRIVILEGED AND THEY NEED TO ACT AS IF THEY ARE AWARE OF THIS. I was endlessly frustrated by the sluggish pace of the documentary and Lindsay constantly freaking out about being “tricked.” She does not act like the professional she wants us to think she is. Later in the episode she was shooting a lingerie commercial, and when she finds out that she has to say some lines, she absolutely loses her shit. It’s embarrassing. I was embarrassed for her. It was such a train wreck. I had hopes, but they were in vain.

Not Being A Morning Person:

Someday, I would love to be the kind of person who wakes up in the morning with a smile and hurries to the gym. I’d have a nice breakfast and a cup of tea and then I’d happily be out the door to work. I’ve tried so many times to make this happen, but it’s just not possible for me at this point in my life. I was getting up at three o’clock in the morning for awhile, but I soon gave that up. Going to bed at nine was not for me. Instead, I hit snooze for an entire hour and give myself about thirty minutes to wake up, make an espresso, get dressed, do my hair, and get to work. It’s not a smart system and I’m no fan of it. Edna tried to wake me up this morning by attacking my ass with his dagger-like teeth, but I just brushed him off and continued dozing. I was perfectly awake at 6:30, I don’t know why I didn’t get up, but I just couldn’t be bothered. I was warm and cozy. I must keep trying, I suppose, if I ever want to be like Martha Stewart. That’s all I want, really.

A Return To My Seasonal Depression:

After Monday’s glorious weather, when I bathed in sunlight, I felt energized for about two days. I hypothesized why this might be and I assume it’s because my entire body was basically completely exposed to sunshine (speedos are Beysus’ gift to mankind) and I produced a wonderful amount of Vitamin D. Vitamin D makes me a pleasant person. Over the next two days, I wasn’t tired, I was in a great mood, I didn’t nap, I destroyed my to-do list, I had a great time. I was in love with life again! But then, the weather returned to its more usual patterns of cold and wind and precipitation and after my body finished processing the vitamins, I returned to being gloomy and melancholy. It’s just dreadful, reader. If you don’t suffer the same, I can’t even think of the words to describe the misery of it all. I can’t wait for the spring and the glorious sunshine of summer. It’s necessary to my continued happiness.

Mentally Packing for NYC:

This isn’t something I hate, really, rather it’s just a challenge. I don’t mind a challenge. I leave on Sunday morning for New York and I want to take nothing more than a backpack. In that, I’ll need my technology, a few outfits, some toiletries, and a few other necessities. I’ve managed this before, I’m sure I’ll have no trouble doing it. The struggle really, I guess, is trying to pick out my outfits! I love picking out outfits. I should be a Hollywood stylist…except, I’m not really a big fan of LA. I suppose, though, that if I were a stylist to the stars, I’d have a bit more fun there. Celebrities are royalty in LA, so, working with them would certainly be more fun than just being an everyday person trying to make it in the big, dirty city. Anyway, what is the look in New York? What combinations can I take with me to fit in and look my best in every situation and find a rich husband? If I want to go to a fine restaurant, what will I take to wear? If I want to wait for standby tickets to see my beloved Wendy Williams, what will I take to wear? WHAT WILL I WEAR? Obviously, I’ll take my black jeans. Do I take my oxblood jeans? WHAT SHOES DO I WEAR? Are boots acceptable in all environs? Should I wear a denim coat or a heavy cardigan? This struggle is real, dear reader. I’ll be taking a million selfies. I must look adorable. I’m off to pack.

Monday:

Why don’t you take some time to clean up your DVR? They can so easily become overwhelming. Mine is stuffed to the bursting with old movies starring Joan Crawford, Joan Fontaine, and Marlene Dietrich. I never seem to have time to watch them, but I need to make a better effort to. AND, I need to stop taping some shows. There’s just too much!

Tuesday:

Why don’t you visit your local Trader Joe’s or Whole Foods and stock up on delicious frozen meals? These two shops are the only places in America I’ve found acceptable readymade food. All the rest is absolute shit. You’ll have to try several before you pick the brand you find tastiest. It’ll be so nice to warm up something actually decent for once without cooking.

Wednesday:

Why don’t you sign up for a free online class in a subject that intrigues you? I signed up for an archaeology course on www.coursera.com and am having a delightful time. There is a plethora of different topics to broaden your mind.

Thursday:

Why don’t you go and see every film now playing at your local theater? Perhaps this is something that most people already do, but it’s a relatively new idea for me. I rarely go to the cinema, but it’s rather a good time.

Friday:

Why don’t you upload all of your physical music to iTunes, turn on iTunes Match, and then relieve yourself of the burden of them on your shelves. It’s not as if anybody listens to CDs anymore. I don’t even have a CD player.

LOVE:

Purple Hair:

I’ve gone off on long tangents about my adoration of lavender hair. I think it’s glorious and every single time I see somebody with it, I die inside with envy. Every week I see Kelly Osbourne with her lovely locks and I want them on my own head. I see Tyler Oakley, who seems to be lilac on a whim every once in a while, which confuses me. It’s just the most stunning color of hair in the entirety of the world. Since I’m planning on donating my hair, I can’t do anything too harsh to it — like strip the color from it and add purple. Instead, I did a purple wash thing. I honestly don’t know what it is. It’s by Vidal Sasoon and there are commercials for it all over the television. London something or other. It’s the violet color. I wanted the lilac one, but it wasn’t available at Target the other night when I bought it on a whim. The results were darker than expected. My hair looks black in some light, brown in others, sometimes bright purple, and red in other moments. It’s magical. I don’t understand. I don’t know if this is something I will do again — I definitely like having a lighter hair tone, but this is fun for a while. I never colored my hair growing up, so as an adult, I think I’m going through something of a rebellious streak. Dyed my hair. Got a tattoo. Piercings must be next. [Update: purple hair was awful. I was mistaken. It's gone now.]

Tax Returns!:

I don’t understand taxes. I mean, I understand what they are and what they’re for; I just don’t understand how they’re calculated. I suppose this is something I should learn and I assumed that as an adult this would be something I’d eventually figure out. The older I get, though, the more I realize that this is a silly thought. Adults are just children in a big body. I am, at least. Most of the people I know are. Maybe this is a skill that should be taught in high school? That along with credit cards, credit scores, how to buy a house, how to tie a tie, how to change a tire, how to escape a deranged axe murderer, amongst other essential things. I don’t know what taxes are composed of. All I know is that I pay some lady to do them for me. I never see her and that’s fine by me. Then, a few weeks later, money appears in my bank account! This year was especially good and I was able to pay off the remaining debt I had from New York City! I still have many other things to pay off, but it’s so nice to have that little burden off of my back. I have Europe to pay for now. But that’s going to take me some time!

One Direction:

I’d kind of burnt myself out for a bit. My adoration for the boys became too much. But now, my old love is back with a passion. A passion in my loins, mainly. Look at them. Who can blame me? They are just ridiculously good looking. Who would have guessed they would all turn out so well? They looked so boyish on the X-Factor, but now they’re all dashing and handsome and I want to punch them all in their adorable faces. On my walk yesterday afternoon, I belted out their entire discography for the listening pleasure of the entire neighborhood, I’m sure the new neighbors appreciated my beautiful welcome to the countryside. That’s one of the advantages of living out in the wilderness. You can sing all you want and you can tan naked whenever you please. Not that I do. LOLZ, of course I do. I don’t do tan lines. So, my complete adoration of them has returned and I’m dying because I have to wait until noon to watch their new music video. UGH! I am getting more and more excited to see them in concert AGAIN this August in Chicago. It’s going to be turnt up. They’ll probably fall in love with me all over again like they did in Las Vegas. I can’t help being irresistible.

Sorbet:

Last Saturday, the weather was absolutely dreamy. It was in the eighties and could not have been any more perfect. I was spinning around and around like Julie Andrews on an Austrian mountain. I needed a cool and refreshing treat to devour whilst sitting on the boardwalk, but I didn’t have anything. Recently, I received a copy of the new David Lebovitz cookbook that had a recipe for tangerine-champagne sorbet. I didn’t have tangerines or champagne, though. All I had was a can of pears and a half drunk bottle of white wine. So, I decided to go all Iron Chef and see what I could create. I blitzed the peaches and wine in the blender and then sweetened it with some simple syrup. Turned out quite tasty. So I churned it and froze it and enjoyed it later that evening. Could have used a bit more sweetness, but it was light and refreshing and I was so pleased with myself. The day after, though, the weather turned into absolute shit. Rain and wind. The next day snow. I was beyond pissed off about all that. So, the sorbet is still in the freezer, waiting for springtime to return. Someday it will. It has to, doesn’t it?

DOLLY PARTON TICKETS!:

Reader! Reader! You won’t believe the wonders that have happened to me! This is going to be the greatest year of my entire life so far and I’m saying that with the knowledge that last year I stayed at the Chateau Marmont and sang in San Francisco. When I am in London this June, not only will I be taking afternoon tea at the Ritz and going to see a Dawn French comedy show — I’ll also be seeing DOLLY PARTON in concert at the O2 Arena! Did you die? I’ve died a thousand deaths already since I booked my tickets. (They’re terrible tickets, too, but I don’t give any bothers about that. Dolly and I will be sharing the same air.) I don’t even remember anymore how my love for Miss Dolly began. I grew up listening to country music, but Dolly was never one of the major players in my strange upbringing in the world of country. My mother would take us to Fan Fair every year — this bizarre festival where all sorts of celebrities stood around in booths like animals in a zoo. I gave Pam Tillis a dozen eggs. Leann Rimes waved to me. Shania Twain knew my name. My sister was printed on the front page of a Nashville newspaper being kissed by Wynonna Judd. It was a weird time. But, Dolly was never at Fan Fair, at least I don’t think. We never went to see her concerts. I knew of her, but she didn’t play any role in my childhood. Then, later on, when I became an adult I discovered her — actually started listening to her, I suppose. I adore her. I love everything she had ever done. I watch her movies. I sing her songs. I fantasize about her being my grandmother. I’m jealous that Miley Cyrus is her god daughter. When I see her standing on that stage with her tiny body and big boobs and big hair — I’ll drop dead. It’s going to be the best damn night of my life.

HATE:

End of Archaeology Unit:

When I first started using Coursera, I didn’t think I’d grow very attached to the classes or the assignments or any of it, but this archaeology class has been such a good time for me. It wasn’t the most in-depth look at archaeological practices or history, but it gave a beautifully simple introduction to how archaeology works. I learned way more than I expected to and I’m going to sincerely miss it. This is the last week of the course. All I have to do is write a short essay and I’m done. It really brought my old passion for history back. I was always going to become an archaeologist or an Egyptologist. It’s just a matter of when. I know now, years after high school, that this is the proper route for me to take. Now, I just have the years of schooling to go through! Hopefully most of it’s online. I really like taking things online. Mainly because I have a genuine dislike for other people and a major disdain for getting out of my bed. I like that I can watch lectures on the treadmill and do my homework late at night in my bedroom. It’s the right environment for me. If I don’t feel like doing something, I can procrastinate a bit, which is an absolute blessing. If I do feel productive, I can get an entire lesson done in a day. That’s also a blessing. Online learning is where it’s at! I’m taking other classes now: one about the psychological meanings of Buddhism and another about geology. But they aren’t nearly as fun as archaeology. I’ll sincerely miss it. I’m signed up for a course about ancient Nubia, so that will hopefully fill the void in a few weeks.

“The Apartment” by Greg Baxter:

Even if I’m not traditionally published or anything, I still think of myself as a writer. As a writer, I like to stay abreast of recent publications, their genres, the general storyline. I don’t have the time to read them all, but every so often one of them intrigues me enough to get a copy. The Apartment is one of those. It was highly praised in Entertainment Weekly, a publication wise enough to publish some comments of mine, so I took a look. It’s only two hundred pages and about an apartment hunt in Europe. What’s not to love? I adore Europe and short novels are fascinating to me. So fascinating that I wrote one! (Haskell & Eudora, available now for Kindle!) Enthusiastically, I hopped on the treadmill and got about halfway through before I just couldn’t be bothered to carry on. This is tremendous. I will soldier on through the worst writing, carry on through the dullest narrative, but I couldn’t finish it. There were no chapters. There was no properly formatted dialogue. It was depressing. It was bleak. The main character was a bore. It was just awful. Though it was hard for me to give up on something that had been praised by many reviewers, I just couldn’t. Avoid this tragedy of a “novel,” reader.

Disinterest In Cooking:

I love to cook. I love to bake. I went to France to study the pastry arts. But, for some time now, I can’t bring myself to cook anything. I eat frozen Indian meals and pour bowls of Cheerios. I pop popcorn and munch on bits of cheese. I can’t even bring myself to boil the water to make pasta. I’m pathetic. I’m not even depressed anymore, so I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I think of the time it takes to cook and wash dishes and I just end up rating more Cheerios and Smarties and drinking too much orange juice. I really need to get back to cooking. Maybe it’s because my range isn’t hooked up. I can bake in it to my heart’s content, but the stovetop is waiting for the gas line to be connected. If I could use the burners on my two thousand dollar oven, I’d be cooking all day, I’m sure. Instead, I’ve got some stupid electric thing that sits on the counter that barely gets hot. I HATE IT! I think I just answered my own question.

End of My Cheap Pants:

Reader, I am rather devastated. Around the time I started this blog series, I found these amazing pants at Target that were cheap and fit quite well. They were a bit short around the ankles, but that was the look I was going for. Sadly, now, after a year of wear and washing, it’s time to retire them. The buttons are falling off. The fabric has shrunk. They no longer fit or begin to look attractive. So, when I get home, they’re all going into a bag to either trash or donate. Most of them are so worn that I doubt the homeless would want them. I’m so sad. I’ll have to go buy more pants. I’m not quite so sad anymore.

LOVE:

The Hunt:

My life is forever changed by this app called The Hunt. With it, you can take a picture of an outfit you want but can’t find anywhere online. Then, you upload it to the app and other peasants who have the app look for it and find it for you — for free. I’m obsessed with this concept. I have an entire folder on my laptop of sweaters and pants I can’t find. Now they will all be mine! Oh, reader, I shall look glorious! Jim Chapman wore the most beautiful ombre sweater that I fell in love with. I knew that I would look awesome in it, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. My people on The Hunt found it for me in a few hours, but I can’t afford it. It’s $160! I can afford that, of course, but not with a trip to Europe coming up in less than a month. I think I will attempt to make my own ombré sweater. How hard can it be, really? Y’all should download the app. It’s fabulous.

Olive Garden’s Caprese Salad Topper:

I don’t know why I’ve spent so many years of my life not eating salad at Olive Garden. I don’t know why I’ve spent so much time of my life not eating salads in general. I love salads. I would eat one for every meal now. And I’m not saying that in the annoying way that healthy hipsters do; I actually enjoy salads. Especially ones fresh out of the garden with a nice vinaigrette. Or a giant bowl full of everything at Whole Foods. I think it’s an incredible blessing that I don’t live next door to a Whole Foods — I would never have any money at all! Anyway, Olive Garden now has the option to put a topping on your salad. One is with salami, to which I say, “NO THANK YOU,” but the other is a caprese topper. You get kale and balls of mozzarella and roasted peppers and you’re supposed to get basil, but I never get any basil at all and that’s tremendously upsetting. It’s still delicious, though, and I gorge on it whenever I get the chance. I’ve rarely had a better salad anywhere, and I’ve been nice places, reader. The salad at Ralph Lauren in Chicago is better, I suppose, but these are different realms. Get to the Olive Garden, reader; when you’re there, you’re family.

Basil Gimlet:

Each summer, I take great responsibility in choosing my official drink of the summer. In the future, I like to think that perhaps this will be an eagerly awaited announcement that my fans will be clamoring for. Liquor companies will send me their finest stuffs to sample and mix and the cocktail I choose will become emblematic. In the mean time, I just take simple pleasure in concocting new things and old things and finding what best speaks to me. The summer of 2012 was all about the sidecar, which I still love. I’ve had so many of them, though, that I don’t take the same pleasure in them as I once did. Last year was the year of the gin and tonic, a cocktail that will never truly go out of style and will forever remain my favorite drink. But this summer, after much deliberation and much anguish and much concern, I have chosen the basil gimlet. This is nectar from heaven, reader. When I take a sip, I’m transported to Robertson Boulevard in Hollywood, sipping on one of their crazy expensive drinks as I watch the peasants and celebrities parade last from Chanel to Prada and then back again. Gimlets are traditionally made with limes, but they’re impossible to find these days, since all the lime trees died of the plague or something — I couldn’t follow the story, I was too anguished. Instead, I use Rose’s Lime Juice, a truly delightful concoction that is heartily unhealthy. To make the gimlet, take six basil leaves and muddle them with 1.5 ounces of Rose’s in a cocktail shaker, add 2 ounces of gin and ice. Shake like mad. Strain into an antique champagne glass, garnish with another basil leaf, and enjoy. You can serve over ice if you like and you can add tonic if you choose — all these options are lovely. I adore basil and I think this cocktail is just swell. I will need to plant some more basil in the garden, though!

Neurobiology:

I bet you never saw this one coming. Neurobiology is not something that I would have ever discussed as something I found any pleasure in — I don’t think I really even knew what it was until a month or so ago. I began an introductory course to neurobiology on www.coursera.org and immediately fell rather in love with the topic. I do not claim to be an expert on this at all and find it very challenging, but it’s such a great joy to understand how my body operates beyond the basics that we are all taught in high school — or even just middle school. I never quite realized how miraculous my brain was until taking this course. I didn’t realize all that went into vision. I didn’t understand the difference between the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system. I didn’t know what the different sections of the brain did or what they were called. I didn’t know we all have blind spots! I didn’t know that I was excellent at facial recognition! I didn’t know that it was such fun. I always thought the brain was a murky blob in my head that played some kind of vital role, but I had always regarded it as a very foreign and confusing part of me. I now realize that we know incredible amounts about it and I honestly don’t understand why some of this information is not better imparted to schoolchildren around the world. Maybe it’s just because I went to a below standard school district? I don’t know. I highly recommend you learn more about your brain, reader, it’s fascinating.

Sweet Tea:

Here’s something not everybody knows about me: I’m basically Southern. I spent many months of my childhood in Nashville with country stars and wonderful buttermilk biscuits and Southern hospitality. As a child, I probably personally knew more country singers than other children. I haven’t thought about that for some time, but I think it might be why I’m rather Southern now. My dad grew up in Tennessee in some tiny village where the people have such thick accents you can barely understand them. Some vestige of this must have rubbed off on me and my sister. We speak more slowly, more fluidly, more melodically than the people here. Although I’m a native Iowan, I have always been more of a Southern gentleman. There is potential for a biological explanation to this — allegedly, I have an ancestor who owned a plantation. If this is true, it really explains a lot about me. Mainly my total adoration of countryside mansions, live oak trees, and mint juleps. One aspect of southern life that I never really understood was the obsession with sweet tea. I never tried it, really, but the concept disturbed me. Well, the other day, I decided to give it a go and I’ve since changed my mind. It was very hot outside and I needed a refreshing beverage that wasn’t full of gin. So I brewed a strong cup of pomegranate-black tea, shook it over ice, and topped it off with simple syrup (something I always have in my refrigerator.) It was light and refreshing and I fell in love with it. I have it every day. This might help explain my newfound obesity.

HATE:

Slanted Walls RUINING MY DESIGN:

At my house, I have the full run of the upstairs. I can do anything I like with my design and it’s very nice. I’m finishing up work on the “gym,” which is really just a big walk in closet. I have one more room to do (actually two, but my brain can’t quite focus on that one yet), which I’m thinking of turning into some kind of art studio — I think I’d like a place to work on painting. I’ve always wanted to be a painter, after all, well, I’ve always wanted to have the ability to paint. I think my work would be a blending of Van Gogh and Munch before my own style developed. This post is not about my future painting career, it’s about the goddamn slanted walls that are ruining my life! For reasons I’ll never understand, back in 1880-something-or-other, my ancestors decided to build the most idiotic house in the nation. They made choppy rooms that made little sense on the lower level and then upstairs they decided to have walls that are all slanted. Why they couldn’t have built the house a few feet higher so that the upstairs is actually usable, I’ll never know. I’ve long thought that if I come into money and I still live there, I’ll raise the roof up and fix their error. It’s just stupid. Why not have slanted walls in the attic where nobody goes? It’s beyond idiotic and it has made my interior design rather trying. You can’t hang anything on the walls. They eat up all the space. It’s awful. I’ve managed to work around them so far, but I get so pissed off. I’m easily pissed off.

Neighbor’s Dogs:

I’m the first to admit that I’m not a dog person. Give me every cat in the world, but you can keep the dogs. I have no issue with them. I’ve owned dogs and I surely will again — every year when I go to the State Fair, I fall in love with the greyhounds, and my brother has Pomeranians that are total delights. But, I’ve always been more of a cat person. I love all animals, but I have my preferences. And so, nothing irritates me more than being chased, growled at, followed, and licked by dogs when I am just trying to take a walk. It seems that every one of my neighbors (I hate having neighbors, by the way, I just want to be a hermit) has at least three dogs that roam freely about. This is so rude. Why do I have to be molested by no less than seven dogs every time I leave my house? There are people who actually have fears of dogs. People think that everybody loves dogs and wants to have them around. WELL I DON’T. I don’t want any dogs around and I don’t want to make idle chitchat and I don’t want any kind of interaction with anybody at all when I don’t want it. I’m not the kindliest person, I know.

Poor Vision:

I hate my eyes. I have hated them for ages now. I can no longer recall a time in my life when I could see without glasses or contacts. I can’t imagine the joy that would overwhelm me should I ever wake up one morning fully able to see the world around me. I’d weep openly. I’d weep every day nonstop. I was told that my vision would stop changing so much as I aged, which is somewhat true, but I still notice my eyes getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing year. I can’t see my own hand before my face. It’s really very upsetting. If I lost my glasses, I myself, would be inexorably lost. I hope to someday soon have my vision corrected with lasers so that I can experience for a while the joy of perfect vision. I’ve long been convinced that sometime in my life I will go blind and I want to see all the world before then. I can’t think of anything worse than bad eyes.

Not Having A Place All My Own:

I have very few regrets in my life. I’m not all that old, really. I oftentimes feel that I’m ancient, but that’s so very far from the truth. I can reasonably expect to live about sixty more years — at a minimum. There’s loads of time left to explore and learn. I hope that I won’t be saying that the day before I drop dead. For as long as I can remember, I have had a deep and incredible fondness for property. I’ve long wanted to own a building where I could experiment with my style and different living concepts. In another life, I would have been an architect and interior designer like Frank Lloyd Wright — he designed every last detail of his creations — except I would have more massive windows and much higher ceilings. I hit my head on one of his ceilings once, and that has lingered in my memory ever since. I nearly had a wonderful old brick  building that I affectionately termed the Palazzo, but that’s a tale of woe that I won’t delve too deep into lest I spend the rest of my day weeping. I live out in the countryside in a decent sized farmhouse with acres and acres of land spreading away from me on all sides. It’s all in the family, but it’s not mine. Not yet, anyway. I crave a place where I can escape, where I can do anything I like, where I can turn on as many lights as I want and I can hang whatever art I want on the walls and I can paint the ceilings black. I need something like that. I think it’s very important for a person to be alone. In another life — probably the one before being an architect — I would be a hermit. I would be the world’s happiest hermit. Fingers crossed for my future Transylvanian apartment.

Becoming Fat:

Ummmm, so, why didn’t any of you tell me that I was getting fat? I rely on other people to tell me when my beauty is fading. Ever since I gave up on my lengthy quest for abdominal muscles, I admit that I haven’t been the most dedicated to fitness. It was winter and there was no force on earth that could motivate me to do much more than nap and eat. As spring has arrived, my dormant desires for exercise are slowly returning and I’m walking and running again. I don’t look any different, which makes the revelation of my weight quite a shock. I haven’t weighed as much as the scale told me this morning in ages. I almost don’t believe it. If I looked fat, I think I might be conscious of it. Maybe I do! Maybe I have that mental disorder where you can’t see yourself as you truly are? Oh Beysus, please let me be skinny again!

LOVE:

Nativity!:

I have never been big into Christmas movies. I don’t know why, but when things like A Miracle on 34th Street or Elf comes on, I get annoyed and turn the channel. So, I’m not entirely sure how Nativity! found its way onto my Netflix queue. I have a vague recollection of some mention on my beloved Graham Norton Show, so perhaps that solves the mystery. Either way, I finally got around to watching it after the dawn of the new year, and I absolutely loved it. Not at first, though. I started it and found myself too distracted to pay attention, but when I put my work away, I found myself caught up in the story. It’s cheesy and it’s sappy and it’s silly, but that’s what I love. After all the movies I’ve seen, I’ve discovered that I like the fluff the best. This was fluff at its finest. Martin Freeman stars as an elementary school teacher who is put in charge of the annual nativity play. He is reluctant to do so, since he’s something of a whiny grump. When he meets up with his old friend and current enemy, who is a teacher at a rival school, he decides to lie and say that their old friend, who lives and works in Hollywood, is coming to film his show. He’s going to be famous. It’s a big fat lie, and it soon grows enormous. The children have their hopes up. The school is getting the attention it needs. Everybody is having a great time, so poor Martin has to keep up the lie, which only makes it bigger. The children actors are fabulous and the whole thing is such fun. I’m not going to give any of it away because it’s too charming. Get it at once, doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas or the Fourth of July to enjoy it. I think I’ll probably find myself watching it every year!

Book of Mormon:

My knowledge of musicals is pretty remarkable, but The Book of Mormon has mysteriously not been a part of my repertoire. I don’t think I’ve ever gone to a Broadway play without already knowing the lyrics by heart. When I saw The Book of Mormon last week, I was happy to discover that prior knowledge was unnecessary. And I think it was probably for the best that I had no idea what I was getting into. Most everybody has seen the play it seems, and it earns all the rave reviews it garners. The plot revolves around a narcissistic Mormon missionary and his nerdy companion who jet off to Uganda to convert the people there. They are optimistic at first, but soon discover that the local people are set in their ways and are being terrorized by a warlord and their own misinformed scientific views. That’s a very sterile analysis of the plot, but it’s nonetheless true. When you add delightfully catchy music to it, the show becomes fantastic. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I have been singing it nonstop now, too. There’s something oddly satisfying about belting out at the top of your lungs whist running on the treadmill, “I BELIEVE THAT THE GARDEN OF EDEN WAS IN JACKSON COUNTY, MISSOURI!” Get the cast recording, readers; go to the show! Enjoy the theater!

Free College:

Even though he has not really been allowed to shine the way he should, I have nothing but praise for our president. If the warring factors in Washington would put aside their petty arguments and think of the nation for a teensy tiny bit, I think we could be in a remarkable place. Just look at what we have achieved under President Obama so far — we have the beginnings of a wonderful healthcare system and the economy is heading back in the right direction. We’re like Europe all of a sudden, and suddenly becoming more like them. The President recently announced an idea that I support with every fibre of my being. He proposes that the first two years of community college should be free for students who meet certain academic requirements. This is beyond fabulous. I did not attend college until this week because I was rebelling against the system. It didn’t do me any good, and it certainly didn’t change anything. I just never liked the idea of paying thousands of dollars to take a math class and hundreds of thousands of dollars to get a degree at a nice school. It doesn’t make sense to me and it never will. This new idea is fabulous. Kids can get a start in college now, if this is approved, without worrying about putting themselves and their family on the precipice of financial disaster. College needs to be a system for building optimism, not for drowning in debt. I applaud the president tremendously. Many people disagree, but they should just shut up. Yes, certain people qualify for scholarships that will pave their way, but many don’t. This is only furthering equality amongst the people in our nation. Everybody should have the same opportunities.

Jean Béraud:

This week, I began an art appreciation class, and they already expect me to appreciate modern art. I can’t do it! How am I supposed to appreciate a bunch of colored boxes that allegedly show a representation of a cow? Or a bunch of actual garbage wrapped together with wire? Or a picture of a pipe drawn on money? I just can’t. My brain must not be aligned this way. I much prefer art that looks like something fantastic made by somebody who clearly has more talent than I can ever aspire to have, not a mass of scribbles. So, my artistic side is soothed when I discover new artists. By new, I mean dead, but still new to me. Jean Béraud is my latest find and I am obsessed. I normally prefer Impressionism, but this stunned me. Béraud painted Belle Époque Paris with such precision, feeling, and clarity, that you get the overwhelming sensation that you are there, walking down the Champs-Élysées and stopping before the Grand Palais, hunting down Karl Lagerfeld. In others, it looks just like you’re walking along the quays by the Seine. Perhaps it is just because I adore Paris more than any other place on Earth, but I think he’s absolutely sensational. Look through his paintings. I want to get a mantle and hang one of these masterpieces above it.

Facetune App:

I don’t listen to people that complain about technology. Why do they think they’re morally superior to me for going off of Instagram for a month to “reconnect.” Please! That’s just something to say if you’re boring and have nothing interesting to share. I am sick to death of the assault on selfies, too. Why should people be ashamed of showing their face? There’s nothing wrong with thinking you look hella cute and posting it all over the place. You should never feel bad about having confidence. But, there are certain days when you aren’t feeling on fleek — I’m so young, listen to my language — and so I have discovered the most amazing app. It is called Facetune and it has absolutely changed my life. It’s like Photoshop for your face! You can easily smooth out your skin, get rid of little bumps and lumps, whiten your teeth and eyes, even bring out more details in your irises and hair. It is absolutely fabulous! Look at this heavily edited selfie!

You can go overboard at first, but once you practice, you learn how to subtly enhance your natural beauty. Just don’t click the before button because you will discover that you’re actually a monster and not a supermodel of the world. I love it. I unashamedly use it. Buy it today, readers.

Airport Extreme:

For the past few months, the Internet connection at my house has been getting worse and worse and worse and worse. It became a regular occurrence for the connection to be completely dropped. I relied on my cellphone for my connection to the world. This is not a problem, but I became dangerously close to using all of my data allotted for the month. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I didn’t want to go through the effort of switching providers…yet. It’s a matter of time, though. Instead, I bought a new router. A good and fancy one at the Apple Store. I was so pleased. It was very simple to install, and I soon had a new network connected with a name and password that I liked. Not the nonsensical one that came with the old router. It worked quickly at once and I was so pleased. Unfortunately, there were some issues after setting it up, but this was no trouble because the router actually tells you what to do to fix it! So, I solved that mystery without pulling out what’s left of my hair! Fabulous! Besides that, the machine is beautiful and connects to a hard drive for me to back up everything onto. All the devices that can be are Apple now and I could not be happier. My internet could be much faster, but I don’t blame anybody but my Internet Service Provider. Bless you, Apple.

“Charade”:

I am always amazed when I come across films that I surely should have known about. How did I not know of a thrilling romantic comedy starring Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant set in Paris? I fixed this mistake the moment I learned about it and hurriedly put it to the top of my Netflix queue. I watched it last night as I was doing a bit of preparing for online courses I’m taking, but I soon found my eyes riveted to the screen. The writing was fabulous, the mystery was curious, the outfits were flawless. I have never been enamored of the 1960s, but I can see myself appreciating 1960s Paris. Paris is wonderful in any era. The film is about Audrey’s husband who was murdered because he was in possession of $250,000. This money was stolen from the United States government and they demanded its return. Unfortunately for Audrey, she is being spied upon by more and more thieves who will do anything to get the money. I refuse to tell you anymore about this forgotten gem, but you should immediately watch. I guess it is in the public domain, so it’s perfectly legal to download for free. You have no reason to miss it. I posted the whole thing for you. Just wait for the dramatic chase through the Métro! I was clutching my pearls. And the scene outside the Palais-Royal! I was clutching my cat to my bosom. The movie is divine!  I regret all the years I spent disdaining Audrey Hepburn. I wrongly assumed that all of her films were like that mess, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I am glad to have learned my lesson. And, are we sure that Cary Grant is not really a vampiric George Clooney? They’re twins.

Immersion Blender:

For a good long time, I have wanted an immersion blender, but never bought myself one. Don’t know why. It’s just one of those things on my never ending shopping list. Happily, my sister bought me one for Christmas, and I finally had the chance to use it last night. I was procrastinating something fierce to avoid doing classwork, so I made bread, soup, baked a cake, went running, tidied the house, gilded the cake with 24-carat gold, and whipped up some lemon curd. I mean, I was productive, but I wasn’t exactly doing what I needed to be doing. Whatevs. Yolo and all. I was thrilled to try out the blender instead of digging out the antique one I usually have to use. I was mesmerized as it almost instantly pureed my lentil soup into the perfect consistency. I was honestly astonished and shouted, “HASHTAG BLESSED!” to my cat, who watched on, disinterested. You need this device in your kitchen, readers, today!

HATE:

Fashion Police Reboot:

I’m not happy to admit this, since I was adamant that Kathy Griffin should replace the sadly departed Joan Rivers on Fashion Police. I stand beside this decision and support her, but perhaps the show should have passed away with Joan. It just doesn’t feel right. Kathy was funny and I laughed at her jokes and the insults she hurled, but the chemistry between the four of them put me off. Why is Brad Goreski there? I have nothing against him, I think I dressed up for him on Halloween years ago, but I don’t like him on the show. Where is George? The essence of the show was there, and it felt like the Fashion Police that I fell in love with, but with Joan gone there was no soul. The four of them weren’t really connected. There wasn’t raucous laughter. It was fine. But it wasn’t. It needs Joan. We all need Joan. I miss her.

Boring Illness:

If I’m sick, I don’t want a boring malady, I want full blown ebola. Instead, I just have a cold. What glamor is there in a sniffle, achy body, and upset stomach? You don’t make national news for a cold, and you surely don’t get hopeful notes for your recovery in the mail. There’s no fun. And so, I’m not terribly happy. Every muscle and bone and hair on my body aches, but everybody is currently dying from the flu, so I’m far from unique. Instead, I just sit here, chugging green tea, and hoping for a nap. Le sigh…

Monday:

Why don’t you learn to spell properly? I am routinely appalled at the number of misspelled words in emails I receive from professionals. This morning I had one from a professor, which threw me into a bit of an existential crisis. How can I look at these people as my superiors when I can spell better than them?

Tuesday:

Why don’t you teach yourself to rap and not tell a living soul about it? Then, spontaneously at a cocktail party or at a talent show, start spitting some lyrics and blow everybody’s mind. It’s always nice to have unexpected sides of yourself, after all.

Wednesday:

Why don’t you renew or apply for a new passport with a really gorgeous headshot? It may take a few tries to get it right, but having a stunning picture is so beneficial to your happiness. Then, order a stunning custom made leather passport wallet with your initials embossed in front. Maybe add your family crest? Don’t get nerdy, but be chic. Even if you never plan to leave the country, it’s nice to know you can jet off to Tokyo at the drop of a hat.

Thursday:

Why don’t you send somebody you loathe a package filled with glitter? When it arrives, your enemy will tear it open like the greedy bastard they are, and then, BOOM, glitter all over that bitch’s house. It’ll work its way into their carpet and they’ll never get it all clean. NEVER.

Friday:

Why don’t you whip out your credit card and buy yourself a new Saint Laurent outfit? Everything Hedi Slimane designs is flawless. Besides, you will feel so wonderful walking around knowing your’re in something gorgeous, designer, and worth more than the peasants make in a month.

Monday:

Why don’t you do everything in your power to see one of the iconic celebrities in your life? I went halfway across the country over spring break to see Angela Lansbury and the memories of the outing are priceless. It’s worth spending a bit of money because money can indeed buy happiness.

Tuesday:

Why don’t you buy a bunch of new ice cube trays in a multitude of shapes and sizes? It’d be much more fun to make your afternoon gin & tonic with ice that is shaped like the Titanic. And wouldn’t it be nicer to have a whiskey sour with big balls of ice? (LOL, balls!) It is way more chic and takes up a little space, and you won’t have to suffer the shame and sadness of pedestrian chunks of ice.

Wednesday:

Why don’t you build a shrine in you home dedicated to Zayn Malik? He up and left One Direction this morning and broke hearts the world over. Though I am sad to the core, I am happy for Zayn that he is doing what is best for him, even if it kills me. Mental health is so very important. Perhaps a few little pictures of Zayn with one of his many wonderful hairstyles and an assortment of candles on a table will be the perfect place to sit and reflect on happier days. I love you, Zayn.

Thursday:

Why don’t you order a bunch of used books on Amazon on a particular topic you fancy and create the beginnings of a nice library? You can find books for a few cents and you only have to spend a bit on shipping. It’s fabulous. I now have quite an assortment of Martha Stewart cookbooks and so many others on Egyptology. I need new shelves. I now have stacks of books artfully arranged on the floor. I’m not one for clutter, but I do love books. You should gather some, too. There’s a great comfort in heavy books gathering dust.

Friday:

Why don’t you sign up for a class online about something you’re terribly interested in? Education can be delightful when you care about the subject, but when you don’t it’s inconceivably boring. The Oriental Institute of Chicago is offering a course on ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs for beginners next month, and I am absolutely salivating at the prospect of taking it. It costs a few hundred dollars, but I think it’ll be so worth it. I’m taking lessons using a famed textbook, but it would be so much better to learn from a living instructor. I will surely end up charging it.

Middle School Turn Up Playlist:

BuzzFeed is surly one of the greatest things to happen on the Internet in the entirety of its history. Where else can you find good reporting on the Baltimore protests, pictures of school lunches around the world, and twenty-five facts you never knew about your feet? Nowhere. Well. Tumblr, but there’s a lot of porn on there, too. You search for the most innocent things and you never know what you’ll come across. Anyway, the other day, there was an article about the songs we’d turn up to in middle school. I think I was probably in high school when these songs came out, but that makes no difference. At the bottom of the article was a Spotify playlist (Beysus bless Spotify!) and I have been listening to literally nothing else since. I’d forgotten all about “1, 2, Step” and “Hollaback Girl” and “Rock Your Body” and “Pon de Replay,” but now that they’re back in my life, they’re what I’m all about. Yesterday I was mowing the yard, turnt up with some old school Rihanna, and honestly, I’ve never enjoyed mowing the lawn more. I’m not a nostalgic person for my youth, but there’s something about these delightful tunes that makes me happy and feel hella old. I’ve always felt like an old man, though, so what else is new? I heartily recommend this playlist, which I have kindly attached for you. You’re welcome.

Great Courses:

For the longest time, seven years to be exact, I rebelled against college education. I didn’t want to be a part of a system that I thought was corrupt and overpriced. I finally caved in and took a semester online this year. It was terribly time consuming, but I can’t deny that I feel it was worth it. I have always loved learning, after all, and that is why I love the Great Courses so very much. These are programs (either audio or visual, your choice) made up of hours and hours and hours of lectures on a very specific topic. You might see them advertised in National Geographic or late night television. Seeing these advertisements seems to lessen their glamour, for whatever reason, but you needn’t think that. They’re really of the highest quality and very expensive, but I discovered that with my Audible subscription, I can get an entire course for one credit, so I’ve been doing that and having a marvelous time. The first one I downloaded was twenty-four hours on the history of ancient Egypt with Dr. Bob Brier, and it was beyond fabulous. Rich and informative and eminently listenable. Then I moved on to a course about the history of Victorian England, and I was stunned at how much I never knew I never knew. When you have a lecture series that takes over a day, you are sure to learn something! Lately I have been ashamed of myself for not knowing very much about the Aztecs and the Mayas and the Olmecs and all the peoples of ancient America, so I found a course on this. I started it and already I’m delighted. Did you know that Olmec is just a name for the Olmen people, a modern group who live in the same region? Or that the Olmecs were known to trade in rubber? Or that the Mayas had little to no gold? Or that their hieroglyphic texts had been translated? I didn’t. And I’m only an hour in! Learning is such fun, no matter where you do it.

Bruce Jenner Interview:

I never made fun of Bruce Jenner, but I didn’t take his situation with all the gravity and seriousness that I should have. I am alarmed by this behavior of mine, even though I cannot understand why I did it. There is such a pervasive culture of teasing transgendered people in our society that it seems normal to make a he/she joke. Of course it’s wrong, but I only just realized how complacent I was. As a member of the LGBT community, I should never have allowed myself to act in such a careless way, but Bruce Jenner’s interview with Diane Sawyer last week helped to correct me. I think that was Bruce’s intention, too. I know it was, he said that point blank. He wanted this intensely public discussion about his personal life to be a watershed moment in our culture and one that people could refer back to at a time when transgendered issues are gaining more and more exposure. Beyond the awareness raised, which was enormously important, it was good to see Bruce so content. He’s a person on a mission for good, and that’s incredibly valuable. People will argue that he’s doing it for exposure, but who the hell cares if he is? Bruce Jenner has been in the national spotlight for the entirety of his adult life, he doesn’t need to transition to a woman for attention. What he is doing for himself is courageous; what he is doing for our culture is heroic. Good for Bruce.

Eggs:

[Me.]

I am absolutely, passionately, and madly in love with eggs. It doesn’t matter what form they take; I adore them. Give me a poached egg on toast. A beautifully folded omelette stuffed with feta and onion. Scrambled eggs. Or, most wonderfully, an egg salad sandwich. Oh, there is nothing more divine in the world than a good egg salad sandwich, and I think that I make one of the best. Well, the best I’ve ever yet had the pleasure to taste. I would adore doing a taste testing of all the most highly recommended egg salad sandwiches. Last night was a particular triumph. I made homemade bread using the bread machine recipe that my family has used for decades — and that I had entirely forgotten about — and it was the most amazing thing I’ve consumed in a while. Eggs are the perfect food. I sound like I’m on the Egg Council. I don’t support the crappy eggs you find in the grocery stores with the weak yellow yolks. I’m talking about the amazingly flavorful and lovely free range and organic eggs you buy from local farmers. They’re so much better. Go out and get some good eggs, reader, then transform them. Make them glorious.

End of College Semester:

After many long months of winter, spring is finally here, and as summer approaches, I am finally going to have my life back! Work will be ending at the end of the month, and I’ll be heading off to California with my sister. A great comfort to me is the fact that besides not having work, I will not have any more classes until the Fall term. As I said earlier in this post, I have no regrets about going to school, and I still don’t. I feel as if it has been a worthwhile use of my time, but that’s the problem, time. It took all of my damn time! I work every day and then when I get home, I devote several hours to my classes. With cooking, cleaning, and trying to get the smallest bits of exercise in, I’ve been a zombie. Never enough time, but soon I’ll have hours and hours to spend how I want. I will finally be able to watch a movie or go for a walk longer than an hour or take a guilt-free nap or actually read a book! It’s going to be amazing. Once next week is finished, so is college! HOORAY FOR ME!

LOVE:

“The Librarians” on TNT:

Basic cable Christmas specials with cheesy lines should not make me sob like an infant. But The Librarians did. How did I end up watching the entire season of this show on my couch when I really should have been working on my final projects for this semester? I don’t know, I think it has something to do with RuPaul, but this quote from the show spoken by John Kim, who plays the adorable thief, Ezekiel Jones (and my unexpected new bae)

may help us both understand, “You gotta be the one to help yourself. Do what you want when you want. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life stuck with green Jell-O.” I nodded in complete agreement, even though I’ve never eaten Jello in my life. I don’t plan to either — the whole gelatin thing grosses me out. This fabulously cheesy and low rated cable gem is a spin off of the popular series of Librarian films, which are about a gentlemen who is magically summoned by the Metropolitan Library in New York City to go off on adventures around the world collecting magical artifacts before they can destroy humanity or some other terrible thing. It’s wonderfully old school cable. But for some reason, the entire concept is endearing. The series takes off on the same tangent, but stars an ensemble of librarians who deal with the same issues, but wrap it up within forty-five minutes. It will never win an Emmy for fabulous writing, but the heart of the show is so sweet that I cannot help but find myself falling in love with every episode. As I said, the Christmas special did things to my emotions…I have a great weakness for Christmas specials. I can’t even think about the Laverne & Shirley one. It haunts me. Do look up this show, reader, the first season is on Hulu.

Implanted Contact Surgery:

One of my greatest dreams is waking up with the ability to see. I want to be able to see the far wall with perfect clarity, to pick up my phone without grabbing around senselessly, to admire my sleeping cat’s pink nose without having to fumble for my glasses. I don’t remember a time when I could see without aid. It must have been a hundred years ago. My eyes got worse and worse and worse and I’m at the point now where I have as many glasses as I have shoes, which is saying something truly impressive. I don’t mind wearing glasses, but that dream of mine is something that I want to experience. I’m also absolutely terrified of finding myself in the middle of the Sahara with a broken pair of glasses. That’s a real and true concern of mine. It could easily happen in my life. I don’t want to be lost for the rest of eternity. Not that I would. Egypt is a modern country with optometrists, but it would still be incredibly inconvenient. So, I have long considered LASIK, but something holds me back. The idea of a laser resculpting my eye really concerns me. I don’t understand why, either, since it’s a totally noninvasive surgery now. I decided though that I have to get something done, so I’ll be getting a consultation soon. When I was researching the surgery, I stumbled gloriously on something I’d read about years ago and forgotten: implanted contacts. When I saw that it was available in Des Moines, I nearly wept. This, while a bit more expensive, is the surgery for me. Instead of using lasers, a contact lens is inserted under your iris! It sounds horrible, and the videos of the surgery can be gruesome, but the quality of vision is supposed to be superior. In addition, it’s a reversible surgery with minimal risk. I like the idea of a lens in my eye rather than a laser. I can’t wait to consult a doctor. In the meantime, I’m going to be watching videos of the operation while gasping, screaming, and counting down the second until I can undergo the same.

Finals Week:

Most students loathe finals, but finals fill me with absolute joy. It means I’m so close to being free! I don’t care for the lengthy papers that the professors barely read, and I am not a fan of the timed tests full of trick questions. But whatever, it’s all heading to the end. And I am a huge fan of the end of the semester. I am thrilled to be taking classes, I feel as if I am finally making some kind of progress in my life instead of coasting as a renaissance man, and that is a great comfort, even if I don’t enjoy the classes. This weekend I should be able to complete every single test and assignment due before the semester ends next Thursday. It will not be much of a weekend, but I’m going to spend every minute of it dedicated to getting that demon off my back. I will have so much time when I’m done! I will finally have time to watch a movie without feeling guilty or actually read a book. I might even have a moment to do some intense editing on my novel. I’ve only been spending about twenty minutes a day on it right now, which is fine for making a bit of progress, but it’s not enough time when I get on a roll. There’s a murderous mummy marauding, but I never have enough time to get that little narrative wrapped up. I will next week!

Chanel’s Paris in Rome 2015/2016 Métiers d’Art Show:

I love Chanel. Y’all know that. I’ve stalked Karl. I’ve infiltrated Rue Cambon. I only wear Pour Monsieur cologne. I religiously read every new Coco autobiography. Chanel is in my blood and soul. Most obsessions die out eventually, but Karl’s genius is so…genius…that I can’t help my fondness for the brand and its art. The shows are always a stunning event, but the most recent show in Rome absolutely blew me away. I was squealing with excitement when the set was revealed on Instagram. And then when I finally watched the runway show, I can’t explain to you how magical it was. Karl literally built Paris in a building in Rome.

It felt like you were really in Paris, as if real life was just going on around you. Only it was a more magical version of the real world, it was a movie version of Paris, which is never far from reality. The models emerged from a Métro. The audience sat at little cafés on streets that were actually damp with rain. And there is nothing better than Paris after it rains. I’m glad Karl feels the same way. There was a boulangerie! And there was one of those beautiful green fountains for drinking water that used be all over the city but can now be found only where preservation societies restored them. There was even a movie theater showing a film, Once and Forever, by Karl Lagerfeld. Clever man. Every inch of the clothing and the runway was genius and a triumph and bold and innovative. I’ve never loved Chanel more. And then Karl came out with his godson in hand and Baptiste behind and I died. Karl is just such an incredible inspiration to me. Watching this show was such a treat.

HATE:

“Inherent Vice”:

For this semester of my college courses, I decided to take something I thought would be a fun class that would be beneficial for my writing. I am passionate about detective fiction, as you know, and I want nothing more than to spend my retirement years as a modern Jessica Fletcher who also runs a cat retirement home and spends half the year in Paris. I wrote a mystery novel of my own, so I decided that taking a course on detective fiction would be good for me to shape my work. I was right. And of all the classes I took  over the past months, this has been the one that I actually enjoyed. I thought it was jolly good fun reading about murders on the Orient Express and about mob. I learned a lot about pacing and plot, but then we started reading modern detective fiction, and I lost my shit. Thankfully, I didn’t fully lose it until the last book, Inherent Vice. I have never screamed more at a book. I have honestly never hated a book more, and I’ve read Twilight. I would tell you what it’s about, but after a careful reading, I honestly don’t know. It was garbage. I said as much in my assignment relating to the book. If I don’t get a perfect grade on that, unlike everything else I’ve done in that class, I won’t be ashamed. I will be proud. Stay far away from this excuse for literature. Also, don’t watch the movie. Just avoid the whole thing. Save yourselves. Don’t end up like me, screaming at my Kindle and clutching a bowl full of popcorn. I was a mess.

LOVE:

Coat of Many Colors:

I never thought that Dolly Parton would mean so much to me. I never expected her to be the queen who ruled my heart or a personal hero. I just love her…SO MUCH. Today, she posted a picture on Instagram — and isn’t it adorable to think of Dolly on Instagram? — of herself reading one of her books to children and I nearly wept. I did a bit.

Her organization has shipped nearly seventy-five million books to needy children! Were you aware of her impact? She’s basically a deity. She’s one of mine, and I’m a reverend so I can say things like that. Will any of us ever forget the day Jessica and I went to the O2 in London and watched her sing, mime playing a saxophone, thank us for our money, and make me shudder uncontrollably as she sang “White Limozeen?” I know I never will. Therefore, when it was announced that there would be a series of television movies based on her life and her songs, I lost every last bit of my shit that I hadn’t already lost. (I lose my shit a lot.) The first one was based on her triumphant song, “Coat of Many Colors,” and I couldn’t wait. The line, “One is only poor only if they choose to be,” has always spoken to me on a spiritual level. So I drew a very hot bath, poured out a kir pêche, and deep conditioned my hair as I watched the film in my bathroom theater. (That was one of the dumbest and most genius things I’ve ever concocted. I don’t know if I could honestly live without a large screen television hanging above my bathtub at this point. Why would you want a life without luxury like that?) And the film was marvelous. I was drawn in at once by how everybody was attractive and had perfect makeup even though they were the second poorest family in the county. And the little girl who played Dolly was triumphant, espousing such wise lines such as, “I’d rather be plain ugly than just plain.” She was a sass master! And the parents were charming, even though I never could understand why Dolly’s mother was such a dictatress about her husband going to church. Why should he have to? That was a major plot point. But did I care? NO! I was having too much fun watching this trite and cheesy Christmas special. I was living my best life and so were all the characters on screen. It was great. It was fabulous! It was the greatest thing on network television this year! I hope they make a movie for every Dolly Parton song she ever wrote. NBC, if you’re reading this, here’s the top three I suggest: 1) “Jolene,” for the obvious reasons. So much drama! 2) “White Limozeen,” because who doesn’t love a rag-to-riches movie about Hollywood success? 3) “These Old Bones,” because a movie about a dying witch and her orphaned daughter would be television gold. You better take notice, NBC. PLEASE! And hire me to do anything. I MEAN ANYTHING for the production of these. They should be a seasonal delight every year for the rest of time. Dolly’s immortal after all. Don’t tell me she isn’t.

Jiffy Pop Popcorn:

It’s a miracle I survived to adulthood since I spent the majority of my youth consuming only popcorn. I would have it for lunch and for snacks and I still oftentimes have it for dinner. There’s nothing better with a chunk of cheddar cheese. I guess that’s a weird thing, but it’s always been normal for me. Everybody’s normal is different… I am currently out of my mind obsessed with air popped corn with sea salt and extra virgin olive oil. It’s ridiculously good and I highly recommend it. I love that air popper more than I ever dreamed. I said to myself, “Self. How could I possibly enjoy something cooked with air, something that tastes of styrofoam?” But, I was wrong. So wrong. This post has nothing to do with air popped popcorn, though, it has to do with Jiffy Pop. It’s a miracle. We used to get them once in a while and it was such a fabulous treat. It was exciting to shake the pan for fifteen minutes while our old burner heated up to a temperature hot enough to pop the kernels. It was salty and the kernels were firmer than they were from the microwave, so I was a major fan. But, these cost more than any other kind of popcorn, so they were never anything more than an occasional indulgence. And so, I forgot about Jiffy Pop. The other day, though, I saw it hanging from the shelf at HyVee, so I tossed it in the basket. That night, I turned on Keeping Up With the Kardashians, which has become a ritual, and put my Jiffy Pop on the stove. I have a professional gas range now, so it was heated up immediately. It popped beautifully. It tasted delicious. I’m obsessed. I need to see if I can get it in bulk on Amazon or as a monthly delivery. I’d lose my shit every time.

Ab Fab Film Coming Out:

Most of my vacations are planned around an event like a play or a museum exhibit. It helps to narrow things down because a trip can become far too broad and overwhelming. How could you possibly narrow down everything to do in Paris or London? It’s so much nicer to have an well-edited list of things to see and do. So, imagine my utter joy when it was announced that the Absolutely Fabulous film is coming out in July! I knew it was real, but now it’s really real! Patsy and Eddie are going to be on the big screen! I’ll see them traipse through the south of France and make jokes, and it’s going to be the best two hours of my life. I will die. I’m planning on it now. It will be a happy death, dying with Joanna Lumley and Jennifer Saunders in front of me. What a way to go! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  So, Jessica and I are planning our European jaunt around this movie. I want to go to the premiere and scream until my throat bleeds. I will wear a bird on my head and say, “Will it stay with me forever?” Then I will squeal endlessly as I joke, “Is it a bee?” It will be too much for me. If I get either of their autographs, I will head to the nearest tattoo shop and get their names inked upon me immediately. Jennifer and Joanna are great inspirations to me. I admire those two more than anybody. They are funny and generous and courageous and  Joanna Lumley is one of the only people in the world that I would happily change places with. That’s not an easy thing to admit since I completely enjoy being myself, but I would change with Joanna in half of a heartbeat. I can’t wait for the film. Even if it’s garbage, I’m going to love it. Seeing it with other Londoners is going to be incredible. I’ll cry.

Europe Planning:

I have so many ideas for this summer’s trip out of the country. I mean, you just read the Absolutely Fabulous post. I will go to Europe every year for as long as I’m able. There is no force of adult responsibility that is ever going to stop me from seeing the world. I am an adventurer by heart, and I hope that someday I can turn that into a career, whether it be doing literary research or Egyptological work. There’s no reason to stay at home when the world is waiting for me. I have ideas for this year that range from exploring more of Great Britain, staying in a German castle, catching up with Madame Betty, and riding on the Trans-Siberian Railroad from St. Petersburg to Beijing. I have a million ideas running through my mind. Who knows what I will actually do? I always have vague ideas, and most of them tend to come true, but I don’t have to have anything solidified until spring. Then I’ll decide. A friend was telling me about Singapore, and I am terribly tempted. It’s like California in Asia. What madness is that? I’m crazy about the idea. I want to go anywhere and everywhere. I don’t care where I go. I’d go to the middle of nowhere. I’d even go to to that island of plastic in the middle of the Pacific. I need to see deserts and rainforests and rivers and I’d even go to Antarctica. I wonder where I’ll go?

HATE:

Perfect Scores:

I just finished my semester and I did effing great. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super humble…lolz. I passed every class with an A , even astronomy, which was an incredible shock. I was nearly one hundred percent certain that I would get at least a B, if not lower. But I got an A and I’m still on that President’s List thing that I was bothered about, so that’s a relief…that doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. I don’t know why I get my mind so wrapped up in that competition crap. Anyway, this is a long introduction to say that I received 100% in my Detective Fiction class. My final paper didn’t get one mark. Not one comma was corrected, not one bit of grammar was changed, not one idea was questioned. This bothered me tremendously. In fact, it’s one of my biggest pet peeves. How could I receive a perfect score? Surely there’s something on it that wasn’t quite perfect. I would have been happier getting a 97% with a note on something I could work on. It’s more realistic. Why don’t they just give me a degree if I’m proficient? They need to be realistic.

LOVE:
An Idiot Abroad:

Over the summer, I discovered a new show that I’m utterly obsessed with. By all means, I shouldn’t like it. I have no fondness whatsoever for Ricky Gervais. It’s one of those dislikes that is innate and that I can’t begin to explain. I just find his style of comedy distasteful. However, I am ever so glad that he exists because of this show that aired in England almost a decade ago. It stars Karl Pilkington, who is the stereotypical Little Englander. These are the kind of people we have here in America that don’t ever leave their home state, let alone their country, because they have absolutely no interest in foreign cultures and are highly suspicious of anything new. Ricky and Stephen Merchant send Karl unwittingly into all sorts of situations in foreign cultures and countries and record his reactions. It’s absolutely fabulous to listen to him moan about the trash swirling around the Giza plateau, to watch his disgust at Chinese eating habits, to see his shock at different tribal customs, and just to share in his disdain for the world. I love the world tremendously, so I really shouldn’t take as much pleasure in this show as I do. I should probably be offended by it, actually, but I find Karl’s reactions to his uncomfortable surroundings wonderfully endearing. I think all travelers feel the same. I know that I sugarcoat some of the more unpleasant places I’ve been. Cairo was a nightmare, you know, but for some reason, I look back on it rather fondly. I’m not being totally honest with myself. But Karl is, and I love how real that is. The first season is the best, I think; in the other two, he is too self aware. Get on Netflix or Hulu, reader, and treat yourself.

“Glory” by Britney Spears:

I have wanted so much for Britney Spears for so long. I want her to reclaim her throne as the princess of pop, a living legend, an icon of the dance track. Ever since Blackout, the greatest album of the last decade, her releases have been lackluster. I don’t think that I know a single song off of Britney Jean, which is tremendous, since I’m a total ho for pop music. I don’t think there’s any pop song in the past twenty-seven years that I can’t at least hum. I love Britney, guys. I’ve loved her long before she fabulously shaved her hair and beat a car with a bent umbrella in front of the paparazzi cameras. What a genius publicity move! I idolized that tragic VMA performance. I’ve seen her twice in concert. I’m dying to see her in Vegas. As I child, I had this little music player that was like a little floppy disk that would play only one song. It was the height of technology. It played “Stronger,” in this tinny, distant sound. I loved it. So, when Glory was released, I couldn’t listen to it at first. I was afraid. Finally, though, I downloaded the album, and I hit play, and…I LOVE it! I mean, no Britney album is going to be a Lemonade, let’s get real, but it is some quality pop music at last. There aren’t any real duds on the album, and quite a few good ones. My favorite is “If I’m Dancing,” which contains the nonsensically iconic lyrics, “He plays sitar, three notes so far,” and then she warbles about her chakras. Divine! There’s another song where she’s driving fast through LA, mortified about a man with a new girlfriend who looks just like her. She is technologically perfected. It’s such fun to speed walk through the countryside with Glory pumping into your ear canal. Do it, reader! Support Britney!

ALDI’s Still:

In these dire economic times, and Beysus…they do seem extraordinarily bleak, I take great pleasure in paying as little as humanly possible while still maintaining the illusion that I’m not destitute. I have no reason to complain since I lived like a minor prince for a month and a half this summer in Africa and Europe, but still, it would be nice to have a bit more money in the bank. I’ll complain until I’m a millionaire, though. Life back in America is just shockingly expensive. I’m used to paying like thirty cents for a package of Oreos, not five dollars for organic popcorn. Anyway, I know that I’m not alone in the plight for fiscal solvency, so I must tell you all again about the glories of ALDI. We went over this weeks ago, but now that I’ve returned from my holidays abroad, I am back in love with that fabulous mecca of savings. Tonight I spent all of fourteen dollars and I had a decent haul of cheese, fruit, vegetables, and even cereal. I have lived most of my life, all twenty-seven long years of it, on Cheerios. Never have I ever considered purchasing a generic version. But tonight, everything has changed. I grabbed something called “Toasted Oats.” We shall see, reader. I must admit I’m skeptical about them, but I have never been betrayed by ALDI before. The broccoli is delicious, the asparagus is unreasonable good, the cheese selection is extraordinarily nice for the shockingly low price, and…well, I could ramble on for an eternity, but I won’t. It’s just the most miraculous place. If you’ve never been, I think you’re doing yourself a sincere disservice. I spent years of my life passing it by, thinking it was a place for the poor to pick up damaged goods or out-of-date canned soup. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It’s some of the best stuff. It’s weird. Bless ALDI. Get going. Take a bag, though, so you don’t have to buy one. Better yet, just grab one of the empty boxes around the store and load your shit up. It’s a wonderland. I can’t wait to go back next week. I’m already dreaming up my shopping list

Anne Rice on Facebook:

Anne Rice is one of the writers that I consider a personal icon. I love her florid prose, the way her books read like an old Victorian novel, yet is imbued by modernity. Her vampire novels are masterpieces that outshine the genre they are lumped into. They aren’t “vampire books” or “horror books” they are theologically profound romances. People who read them understand that, but those who never have, assume it’s the usual blood and gore. They’re missing out on a profound literary treat. Anne’s dedication to crafting her own genre has been endlessly inspiring to my own novel crafting. I consider her influence one of the most important on what I’ve written in the recent years. Several years ago, I had the exceptional good luck to meet her at a book signing, and I truly think it was one of those moments that changed who I am. We all have experiences like that, I think that perhaps I’ve had a few more than most. Or maybe I’m just more aware of their impact. I think that’s probably more likely. We didn’t say much to each other, I simply lavished praise on her and the divine novel she wrote, Blackwood Farm. While waiting in line, I had the first inkling of a story. Eventually, it became the novella I published on Amazon, Haskell & Eudora. Nobody has bought a copy in a while, why don’t you get one today?? Please? Those characters came to life for me in a way that has never before happened. Eudora and Haskell and Rosamond are constantly in my mind, crafting new adventures. They have lives of their own, and I can’t properly explain it. Those of us who write, though, will surely understand what I mean. I sat all of this to say that Anne has a page on Facebook, and it is one of the most tremendously helpful places I’ve ever found. To read what she posts on the art of writing is sensational and so enlightening. She doesn’t allow anything to define her writing, she just writes what she feels has to be written. Her methods and style may not work for everyone, and may not even work for me, but to hear such a successful author share these ideas has been a remarkable blessing. Follow her today, reader, she posts on all sorts of fascinating topics. It’s such a treat.

HATE:
Schedule Return:

I only get to live my real life for three months out of the year. I’m working to expand that, but it will take me years and years and years and I don’t yet see the finish line. I’ll know it when I see it, but it’s nothing more than a dream at the moment. When I’m living my best life as my most authentic self, I’m jetting from one continent to the next, exploring the world, and falling more and more in love with the planet each day. When I’m living my usual life, the one that funds my summer self, I’m working every day and then doing college work each night. In the meantime, I try to socialize, move a bit, and eat right. I tend to just socialize, procrastinate, and eat kettle chips, though. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel all that well for those other nine months each year…it’s just so hard to do everything I need to do. I’ve been back to this reality for a week, and I feel like there’s a truck waiting to hit me already. I am feeling slightly hopeful, though. I shouldn’t have any major medical concerns to eat up my time since my multiple sclerosis is under control. With my medication, vitamins, and fitness plan, I should theoretically have much more energy. We will see about that. This year at work is promising to be better in nearly every way, so that’s a blessing. And I’m taking a slightly lighter course load of classes, so here’s hoping I can go to bed at eleven instead of two o’clock in the morning. That nearly killed me. And Thanksgiving break is coming soon and I’m planning on getting out of Iowa for a week. That will keep me motivated, I hope. It should. California is one of those places where I get to be the real Ben. I feel lighter there. Life feels better. That’s probably just all the kale I’m eating when I’m in LA, but still…there’s something mystical about being in those places where you feel your best. I need a dwelling in all of them: an apartment in West Hollywood, a villa on the West Bank of Luxor, and a gorgeous Hausmannian apartment in Paris. When I’ve got them and I’m rotating through them, then life will be as it should be. I can’t wait. I need to open a savings account. In the meantime, back to the grind.

LOVE:

Elvira:

People don’t give her the credit she deserves, but Elvira is a hugely important cultural icon. She’s always been a part of my conscious, but I don’t know why. I remember seeing a cardboard cutout when I was a kid at a mall, and I remember being fascinated that somebody looking the way she did could be so acceptable to a conservative society. I don’t think that’s the usual masculine response, but has that ever been me? Nope. Earlier this week, Cassandra Peterson, the woman who plays Elvira was on Ru Paul’s podcast. She talked about her life, and it was fascinating how many experiences she’s had in her life. She’s one of those people that have had a hundred lives when most have just one. I was utterly charmed by her again, so last night while I was very busy procrastinating, I put on Elvira: Mistress of the Dark and could not stop laughing.

The movie is magnificently cheesy, but the message of it is so powerful. Elvira is unapologetically herself in a world that wants her to conform and be boring and like everybody else. But she never will. She has no interest in it, she doesn’t feel guilt for what she is, and this makes her so important and such a significant icon for those of us that are different. She is just Elvira and everybody else needs to get used to it. Mistress of the Dark teaches acceptance, celebrates diversity, and has a joke in every line. Fabulous film. And she’s a fantastic creation. If you’re never experienced the magic and wonder of Elvira, get on Hulu right now, dear reader. You deserve it.

Olive & Co. Gold Medal Blend Olive Oil:

You know I’m a ho for luxury living on a pauper’s budget. Now that you know how to enjoy champagne without breaking the bank (bless you, André), it’s time to teach you about olive oil. It’s one of the most vitally important tools in your kitchen. I used to buy the biggest and cheapest bottle I could possibly find, and I knew no better. When you’re using it to cook, the olive oil isn’t really the most powerful flavor in your final dish. But, when you drizzle it on top of food, the cheap stuff doesn’t really taste like anything. It tastes like vegetable oil. I just assumed this is what it was supposed to taste like. But then I went to this little olive oil shop in Èze, France, seven years ago, and my mind was blown. Olive oil was supposed to be delicious and flavorful. But when I got back to America, the olive oil was still garbage. All we could get in Iowa was Bertolli. Nobody needs to suffer that way. Finally, though, the food revolution made it my way and you can get literally any gourmet thing in town without too much trouble. In the clearance aisle at Walmart, of all places, I came upon a massive bottle of Olive & Co. olive oil for like five dollars, so it went straight into my basket. Reader, I was terribly impressed with this Chilean olive oil. It is so rich and delicious. I love it drizzled over goat cheese, but it really  shines when it is gently warmed up on freshly popped popcorn. That is an obsession I can’t get over. Olive oil is so much better on popcorn than butter, especially with plenty of good salt. I’m on my third bottle of this olive oil, and I don’t plan on getting another brand. It’s not the cheapest, but it is not expensive. Go get some, dear reader, and treat yourself to something good.

MEH:

Haters Back Off:

Haters Back Off is a Netflix series that is based on the life of Miranda Sings, a fictional YouTube superstar. She is obnoxiously convinced that she’s talented even though she most certainly is not. She thinks she’s a gifted singer, actress, model, magician, and more. She’s really the worst. I have always comedically identified with the character. She’s good fun and there’s nothing wrong with loving yourself. I certainly love who I am. Miranda just takes it to an extreme that nobody should in reality. Her videos, though, are hysterical, and I always get a good chuckle out of her bizarre warbling voice. Example:

Netflix, because they are the wave of the future, decided to make a series about the character. I thought this would be a fabulous idea. (I also have other ideas for you, Netflix. Hit me up if you want fun in the Egyptian desert, mummies, whiskey, Victorian-era costumes, and wit. (Don’t steal my suggestions, Ryan Murphy because these aren’t even my ideas.) Yes, I basically want a Netflix series based on the Amelia Peabody books.) Anyway, I was excited to tune into the show once all eight episodes launched this weekend, but I was rather taken aback at how dark they were. It felt like Napoleon Dynamite and Jerri Blank’s child up there on the screen, which is something that I should totally love. But I didn’t. I didn’t hate the show, but I surely didn’t love it. Miranda had no pathos. She is a character that is begging to be given sympathy and feeling, but her personality makes this impossible. When bad things happen, the viewer is struck by schadenfreude. The character of Miranda Sings works fabulously in short clips online, but it’s harder to palate her in half hour chunks. I didn’t want this to be true, so I soldiered through this weekend all the way to the end. Now, I did laugh, reader, and I still relate to Miranda’s character. Still, as the credits rolled on the final episode, I was left with this strange empty feeling. Sadness. I didn’t appreciate that, but I know that was the point. Miranda isn’t supposed to be loved, she is supposed to be reviled, but it feels wrong. I’m curious what season two will look like. If you have four hours, watch it, or don’t. Or do. It’s really up to you. You’re not missing out either way.

HATE:

Melancholia:

I don’t often share negative things because they aren’t any fun. It’s too dark and too depressing. But I’m grumpy and I’ve been grumpy for days. I don’t know why. Normally I can take a nap and go for a walk and have my chin up, but that’s not working lately. Maybe it’s seasonal depression. I used to be convinced I had that, but I have come to realize that this might not be entirely accurate. (THANKS, MS!) Still, there’s probably some justification to the fewer hours of sunlight and my mood. But then I’ve been super busy with school and my sleeping hours have been cut short. I had been trying to sleep for seven hours a night because that’s when I feel best, but that’s not entirely possible at the moment. So I’m tired. And I have a lot to do and there’s no time for a nap. And I’m whining, and that’s gross. But then to compound my misery, yesterday I received an email from Egypt telling me that somebody I had been rather fond of died unexpectedly. It really has me upset. I had considered her a part of my Egyptian family. When I met Hassan on the ferry dock of the West Bank of Luxor this summer, I didn’t know what a profound impact he’d make on my life. He took me in and welcomed me into his family. His children know me, his wife was utterly charming. She made me gallons of tea, discussed the names she was considering for the child she was carrying, and welcomed me into their home. She made me feel like I was part of the village. And now she’s dead. Communication in and out of Egypt isn’t impossible, but they weren’t well connected with technology. I don’t know how to send my condolences or sympathy outside of an email. I don’t know what to say or do to properly express my sadness for them. I worry about Hassan and the children. His wife was the true backbone of the family. Without her, I have suspicions about the happiness of their future. And so, this is messing with my mind at all times. It’s adding to my melancholy. I just need to take a nap for a month. And I need to go back to Egypt.

Online Professors:

I didn’t go to a traditional college at the traditional time. I scurried off to Europe and made bread. I had a longstanding distaste for the concept of mandatory higher education. Of course it’s not mandatory, but as a very intelligent person, I was expected to go. I get that now. If for some reason I ever have a child, though, they will certainly have a gap year before they go to school. The world taught me more than books ever have. You can’t understand poverty by reading about it. You can’t appreciate art without having seen it. You need to cruise the capitals of the world, see the pyramids, get stuck on a roundabout, walk the English seaside by moonlight. That gives you greater understanding of life. Anyway, I’m off on a tangent. I’m in college now, and I’m about halfway through, which is fabulous. But I tire of the professors. Don’t get me wrong, a great number of them have been thought-provoking and engaging, but so many have been terrible. I have a rotten one right now. None of the assignments are listed correctly, the syllabus doesn’t begin to match the weekly expectations, and she is dismissive when you call her out. She lies. I recently emailed her asking for what pages to actually use for an assignment days before the due date. She had the audacity to respond seven minutes after the due date saying, “I emailed the class earlier this week. Don’t you check you DMACC email?” I responded quite cheerfully, “My DMACC emails are pushed to my iPad, computer, watch, and iPhone. I have dug through all my trash cans and all of my spam folders. I even ran a search and read every email you’ve ever sent me. Didn’t happen to find it. Strange.” I haven’t heard back. I’ve never been so dismissive of a professor in my life, but she deserves it. I loathe that these people sit behind their computers, barely attempting to engage with students, grade things months later, and lack common decency. They get paid more than I will for many years and I work three times harder. I have such a problem with this. I’m going to get off my soapbox now, but her review will be scathing.

It’s that time of the year again, time to buy me things for the holiday season. I celebrate all major gift giving holidays from all denominations of all religions, so there’s no excuse to get me nothing. For your convenience, here is a small sampling of gifts I will appreciate. Cheers. Thanks a lot!

Cooking for Jeffrey by Ina Garten [LINK]

I have been asking for Ina Garten cookbooks since I started making online Christmas lists, and for whatever reason, nobody ever buys them for me. I have to had to buy every cookbook she has ever released all by myself and I never have had one signed in person, and reader, that’s a tragedy. Ina Garten and I are destined to be best friends. Like Martha Stewart and Joanna Lumley and Joan Rivers (rest her blessed soul), we are the same person. Like Ina, I love Paris and will eventually have a home there. I love oversized denim tops. I love a good bob. I love money. I love cooking simple foods. I love being casually elegant. I like being superior but in a cool way. I like sipping tiny bottles of champagne with a straw and giggling my way through the Ferry Building in San Francisco. Ina and I are BFF material. Anyway, this latest cookbook is all about the food she cooks for her RICH and ADORABLE husband, Jeffrey. They have the greatest life. I don’t want there to ever be a Garten scandal as I simply won’t recover from my illusions being shattered. This book looks flawless like everything she does. And I mean this, reader, there is nothing more trustworthy in all the world than a Barefoot Contessa recipe.

Medical Neurobiology by Peggy Mason [LINK]

You might not know this, but I credit Dr. Peggy Mason with saving my life. A year or so ago, I really can’t remember. Yes I can, I was in Paris when I was taking this free online class about neurobiology, so it must have been 2014. Anyway, I have literally no idea why I was taking a free online class about neurobiology, but I fell absolutely in love with the brain and all of its fascinating connections and processes. My brain was studying itself, so I suppose that’s where the intrigue lies, but don’t think too much about that or else you’ll get into one of these weird mental loops with questions you can’t answer. After the class, which I did absolutely fabulously in by the way, I was very enamored of the brain. So, a year or so later when I first had some weird symptoms, I was quite ready to deal with what was going on. I knew that there was an issue that was brain based. It wasn’t a virus or a pinched nerve or a burned retina. It was that damned Multiple Sclerosis! In the time I spent searching for answers, I thought about nerve pathways and synapses that I had learned about, and I determined what it was long before my first appointment and months before my diagnosis. Time proved me right, which I’m annoyed about, but if it weren’t for Professor Mason, I might not be able to walk right now. She really helped me understand how my brain works, which saved me a lot of stress and confusion when things started to go wonky. This book, which is really a textbook for one of her classes, looks brilliant. My brain wants to know even more about itself!

ALDI Gift Card

Y’all know that I’m a ho for ALDIs. We go over this at least once a month, if not more, don’t we? I just can’t get over the suspiciously low prices on food there. By all accounts, it doesn’t make any sense to sell pomegranates for three quarters. And I think what shocks me more than the price is the quality of the goods for sale. I don’t understand why their boxed mushroom risotto is so good. It tastes better than some I’ve ordered in nice restaurants for ten times the price. Their boxed lemon squares are also ridiculous. They’re so easy to make, and they taste just as good as homemade. I’ve been a snob for so long, reader, and I just find this all impossible to understand and even harder to believe. So, dear reader, I need gift cards this holiday season so that I can support my delicious shopping habit. I need to buy several heads of broccoli every week. I’m obsessed with their broccoli. I don’t know if there’s anything different about it, but that shit is fabulous. I need their wine, which I have found to be cheaper than some bottled waters. There is this brand called Winking Owl that makes a rosé that is honestly better than many I’ve had. I mean, I’ve had rosé in the South of France straight out of a Provençal winery that isn’t as good as this dumb wine I bought in Ames. Try to explain that to me? Explain their fabulous cheddar cheese, the rich ricotta, the insanely delicious sunflower loaves of bread. It’s madness, reader. MADNESS. Buy me a gift card. Buy one for yourself. Treat yourself! LIVE.

Fireplace [LINK]

All my long life, I have wanted a fireplace. There are few things in this world that appeal to me more than sitting beside a roaring fire, reading about the early days of Egyptology, and sipping on ALDI wine. I did that this weekend at my mother’s house, and it was just then loveliest experience. Every time I’m somewhere with a fireplace, I’m not anywhere but in front of the fireplace. It’s just the most luxurious, loveliest thing in the world. I don’t have the gas hookups in my house for a fireplace, but I know exactly where I want one. I have a room in my upstairs to update to match the rest of the level, and I can’t really start until I have the right fireplace to design the room around. It’s going to be fabulous, but I need somebody to buy me the fireplace. I mean, I’ll eventually do it myself if I have to, but Christmas is the time for thoughtful gift giving. There could be no more thoughtful gift to give to poor, cold, multiple sclerosis-ridden me. Think of me and my incurable neurological disorder as you wander the intoxicating aisles of Lowe’s and the Home Depot. I only have a couple stipulations. I want a real flame. And if it’s not real, it needs to be incredibly realistic like the one I’ve linked you to. I want to worry that the fake flames can incinerate me if I get too close. Thank you most kindly.

Treadmill

I was devastated earlier this year when my treadmill died. It had served me well for years and years and for thousands of miles. When it passed on into that big gym in the sky, it was summer and I was on my way to Europe and Africa, so I didn’t care one bit about replacing it. I could walk outside whenever I wanted into wonderfully hot, sunny daylight. Annoyingly, winter has arrived, and there is no force of nature that is going to get me out of my house and walking through snow-covered roads in the pursuit of exercise. No way. No how. This is difficult for me since I like to walk about fifteen thousand steps every day. Now that it’s cold and dark and I don’t do it, I notice that I am feeling a bit more sluggish. I need to get moving again. Either walk more outside, move to California, or get a treadmill. The most realistic is the treadmill. I really need it, not only for my mental health, but to help manage my multiple sclerosis. I have found that the more I move each day, the better I feel. It’s almost as if doctors and dietitians and everybody is right and exercise is good for you. I don’t hold with such nonsense, of course, but I have noticed the benefit. So, please get me one for my health. Thank you, kindly reader.

The Legend of Tutankhamun by Zahi Hawass [LINK]

Zahi Hawass and I have long been frenemies. This isn’t exactly true, since I’ve never met the man, but our shared passion for Egyptology incites passionate differences. I dislike his dictatorial attitude over the Ministry of Antiquities in Egypt and also the way he presents himself as if he were Indiana Jones. Many of the archaeologists, Egyptologists, and guides I’ve met in Egypt and elsewhere share similar feelings. I don’t take umbrage with his work, reader, just with his personality. Since he’s been replaced in his esteemed position after the election of President El-Sisi, Zahi has mellowed. This is lovely for him and for all of those enamored of the ancient dead. A year or so ago he released an eBook about the Cairo museum which is a masterpiece. He has released another book, this one is monstrously large and filled with gorgeous photographs of the relics from the tomb of Tutankhamen. I hurried to Amazon to procure a copy for myself, but then I discovered that it was a limited release publication and cost two thousand euros. So, I’d love it for Christmas to add to my Egyptological library if you’re feeling generous! If you’re not quite so generous, then I would love a bound copy of his book, Inside the Egyptian Museum  and Discovering Tutankhamun. Cheers, thanks a lot.

Dr. G’s Brightening Peeling Gel [LINK]

Since I’ve grown ever more crazy about skincare products, I have become obsessive about South Korean beauty rituals. They have an entire culture of masks and creams and expensive serums. So, I’m in love, reader. I recently read about this peel that you can use on your face that sticks to you like super glue and painfully comes off removing every possible blemish, blackhead, and dead skin cell. Sign me right up! I already exfoliate, moisturize with a dozen products, and regularly consider that facial Kim Kardashian had that used her own blood. I want to stay young and beautiful forever since I’m not a vampire and don’t have the comfort of immortality and constant youth. This peel is cheap, too, reader, so it makes the perfect stocking stuffer or Hanukkah gift! I’ll gladly celebrate Hanukkah. You get to eat latkes and light candles and sing about dreidels. How fabulous!

Luxurious Housecoat

Since I started staying exclusively at nice hotels, I have discovered the joy and bliss of housecoats. It’s fabulous to swaddle yourself in terry cloth instead of having to get dressed. I think I love them so much because I feel like an elegant Hollywood actress of yesteryear and because it really plays into my lazy habits. I love nothing more than doing as little as humanly possible. When it comes to things I actually enjoy doing, I’m not lazy at all, but when it something else like housework or homework or exercise, well, this Marlene Dietrich video should explain everything about me

So I want a new housecoat, but this time I want it silky and floral and lovely. My white terrycloth one is gorgeous and fun, but it’s not elegant! I want it to look like a blending of a kimono and that gaudy nonsense that Hugh Hefner wears. Not velvet, though. I can’t find one anywhere, so it’s up to you, dear reader and beloved gift giver. Thanks!

Restaurant Quality Pots & Pans

I really want nothing more than for my home to be a vacation destination. The middle of nowhere in the middle of the state in the middle of the country might not be the most logical place for a vacation home, but I don’t think anybody should have to live like they are in some hellhole. (Even if they are.) You all know that wondrous feeling of freedom when you’re in a vacation rental and everything is perfect and there isn’t too much of it? Well, I do, since I travel so frequently. For years, I have been trying to make my ancient, warped farmhouse feel like a relaxing holiday destination, and though that mission is ages from completion, I think I’m doing a lovely job. My bedroom is sumptuous, my lounge is gracious, my office is orderly, and my kitchen would almost meet Martha Stewart’s approval. I really need to cut back on many of the things in there, though. I have a surplus of pans I never use, and many of the ones that I use are past their prime. I believe in conscious consumption of goods, but sometimes you just have to get rid of ugly things. I frequently use my Le Creuset dutch ovens to cook, and then this magnificent ceramic skillet I bought at Walmart for like a nickel, but I need more than just these few pieces. I want cookware from a restaurant supply store. Nothing extravagant. I love simple and basic, even if I am as pretentious as I am. I want skillets and stock pots and other pots and I definitely need bunches of sheet pans for all the baking I do. Then I can throw everything else away or give it to somebody who wants beat up old Pampered Chef products and I can live the fantasy of being Ina Garten, which is really all I want.

Tuition for Intensive Advanced Middle Egyptian Grammer at the Oriental Institute

I plan on being an Egyptologist at some point. It takes so long to figure out what you really want out of life. Isn’t that tragic? I think it’s one of the great travesties of the world that we expect teenagers to have their entire lives charted when they leave high school. It’s irresponsible and illogical. I always knew that I had a passion for ancient Egypt, but I never knew my interest was as intense or joyous as it is. I find nothing more delightful than broken pottery shards and bits of papyrus popping out of the desert sands. This course, at Chicago’s Oriental Institute is a hybrid course for students all over the world to attend. If you can’t get to the campus, then you can take it online. I would love nothing more than to scream in frustration taking this very complicated class while learning more and more about the hieroglyphic inscriptions on temples and tombs. On my most recent visit to Egypt, my ability to pick out a number of words in the temple of Seti I in Luxor made me nearly weep. Having this skill would be such a gift…so gift it to me. Cheers.

Garment Steamer

I do not like to iron my clothing. I do not like having to pull out an ironing board. I do not like anything at all about it, but I like wrinkles in my clothing even less. I have taken to spritzing everything with that chemical stuff that smells like a dry cleaner’s from Downy. The product works wonders, but it’s probably not the best to be spritzing my clothes with chemicals and whatever else is in there. And it’s probably not the best to be spending so much money on something that is so superfluous. I’m never going to take to ironing at this stage of my life. I’m just too old to be bothered by much anymore, so I’d like a garment steamer, please. I have a huge one that came from a furniture shop and it does remarkably well when I want to remove textured ceilings or wrinkles from my bed skirt, but it’s a bit unwieldy to get out to steam a shirt. One of those little handheld ones would be a treat. Treat me, reader!

Redken Diamond Oil Shatterproof Shine [LINK]

I am always looking for the next best thing to make my hair luscious and radiant and gorgeous, and I think I finally found something exciting and new. I have about a million samples of various products in my cupboards that I pick up from Birchbox, random mailers, shops, and I think half of them just spontaneously appear in my bathroom. The other day, I came across something called Diamond Oil and I wanted my hair to look as if was coated in diamonds, so I applied the serum, or whatever it is, let it dry, and then I was delighted by what I saw. My hair was shiny, but not in a gaudy fashion. It was really quite lovely and I flipped my hair a whole bunch in satisfaction. Buy me this and I’ll flip my hair at you, too.

LUSH Gift Card

As I have so often said, I am on an endless quest to be beautiful. I think that’s my secondary mission in life. Egyptology is of course first, but then eternal youth is a close second. I want all the surgeries and all the creams and if I don’t die looking like Joan Rivers, then I haven’t lived my best life. Before I get into plastic surgery and injections, though, I want to luxuriate with all the LUSH products. When I was in England earlier this year, the LUSH shop in Brighton saved my life. I bought this exfoliating scrub that made me green, and I don’t have a clue what it was called, but after I washed it off, I felt radiant.

I might have looked the same. I don’t know, but I feel that I looked a million percent better. Anyway, I rely on their shampoo bars to give my locks lightness, shine, and bounce, and I’m almost out, so a gift card would be the perfect gift for me! I can get shampoo bars, and face masks, and one of those bath bomb things so I can soak in pretty water, and then maybe even a bar of henna to tint my hair impermanently. You’ll be the one getting the credit for my beauty; is there anything nicer?

Okay. Thanks.

LOVE:
Procreate App:

I was annoyed last week. In the environmental science class I just finished, we had to do a final project instead of a final exam. I love an exam, reader, because I am a very good student and the prospect of writing a wordy essay about zebra mussels or the genetics of passenger pigeons doesn’t daunt me. It would have been easy as pie. What does that mean, by the way? There’s nothing easy about pie. It’s not hard to make, but it’s hardly the simplest of pastries. You have to have the dough just right and the filling just right and the oven temperature just right and you need to store your food processor in the freezer. If not, disaster will inevitably strike. So, when I had to come up with a final project that somehow tied into some aspect of environmental science, I was flummoxed. Sitting and pondering and pouting, I decided that I would do a children’s book, since that had always been an idea of mine. I want to write children’s stories about a cat who is a consummate traveler. She is elegant and refined and can fit in anywhere. She’s basically me, but a cat. Anyway, I made my proposal and it was accepted and then I grew agitated. I can draw, reader, but I really don’t. I very rarely pick up a pencil to sketch. I’m never satisfied with the results. As I’ve made mention in the past, every time I go to Europe, I dream of sitting in a café and sketching the world around me. I tried it once and the result was so horrifyingly mediocre that I tossed the journal into the trash, grabbed a bottle of rosé and went straight to the beach in Nice. I don’t like realizing that I’m not supremely gifted at things. Awful character flaw. So when I realized that I had to draw ten pages of a story, I was so irritated at myself that I simply kept putting it off. This weekend, I had to get it done, so I decided I would draw it on my iPad Pro with the Apple Pencil that I had purchased specifically to sketch with. Never did do that, though. I didn’t have a drawing app, so I downloaded Procreate, which a friend had referred to me ages and ages ago. At first, I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, but as I fiddled with the brushes and pencils and pens, I started having fun. In the end, I was actually delighted with the ten drawings I did. I got them done quickly, and they look very nice. In fact, I’m just going too finish this by inserting images of the book for your viewing pleasure.

I had an inordinate amount of fun.

Green Goddess Potato Salad:

I have been wrong a few times in my life. A few, reader… I admit, though, that when it comes to my tastebuds, I have been frequently wrong. I once believed I didn’t like coffee…lol. The thought of consuming pounds of broccoli happily and willingly would have shocked an earlier version of myself. Egg salad was certainly never happening. And I was perhaps most spectacularly wrong about tabbouleh. I was served this fine and fabulous dish on an airplane heading to Paris the first time I ever visited that dreamiest of cities. Of course, I should have probably remembered that airline food is hardly known for its fine reviews. When I had tabbouleh again years later, I screamed in rage that I hadn’t been eating bowls of it my entire life. It’s now on a regular rotation in my house and in my stomach. Thank god for that. Well, reader, last night I received another shock. There is nothing that would ever make me want to willingly eat a potato salad. Why on Earth would I want to eat chunks of cold potato covered in a dressing? Well, reader, I decided to make some following a Martha Stewart recipe for a staff potluck. And reader…umm…it was so good. It was insanely good. It was a transformation of my tastebuds. Everything I once believed was a lie. All my illusions were shattered. Potato salad was ambrosia. And so, I gorged on several bowls last night before I began to worry that I wouldn’t be able to wake up the next day because of a potato coma. I think that’s a thing. Let’s just say it is anyway. So, that was a lesson I learned the hard way. Just think, I could have spent the past twenty-seven years of my life gorging on potato salad. It’s just silly that I haven’t. The kind that I made was not the traditional type, though, I have been informed. There is no egg or mustard in my potato salad. Here’s what you do. Boil three pounds of red potatoes until tender. Let cool. In a big ass bowl, combine: 1/2 cup of REAL mayonnaise, the juice of half a lemon, plenty of fresh black pepper, a finely minced shallot, and then a cup of the herbs of your preference. I recommend a blend of Italian parsley, basil, thyme, and dill. Chop the cool potatoes into generous sized chunks and toss them with the dressing. Chill overnight. Or five minutes. Or just start gorging right away. Reader, I am absurdly obsessed with this potato salad. I’m having it for lunch and for dinner and I am really not at all ashamed.

Backup Camera:

My favorite feature of my new car is not what I thought it would be. I love the push button start, of course, and I am beyond obsessed with the integration with my iPhone. Are you aware of how delightful it is to ask your car what the temperature is? I can’t get over it. But the thing that had been obsessing me lately is the camera in the back. You don’t have to look behind you and get a kink in your neck. You just put the car in reverse and watch the camera. If it flashes red, stop. It’s easy as that. Reader, you won’t believe what I did yesterday. I parallel parked. Reader, I parallel parked. I’ve done that exactly twice before in my life and neither of those were worth remembering. But yesterday, I used that little backup camera, and I slid my little car into a spot and I felt hella impressed. I’m still in awe. It’s such a great feature that I am sure I will never be able to drive a vehicle without it in the future. Another delightful thing is using it to check my position in a parking spot at the Walmart. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but there is a great joy in using the camera to make sure I’m in all of the lines without having to worry about it when I get out. I panicked the other day because the camera had dust on it and I thought it was broken, and I thought about how sad my life would inevitably become if I no longer had the camera. But then I realized that I had a fabulous warranty and plenty of insurance and then I didn’t care as much. I wish that bodies had insurance like that. You know, you could just switch out a broken or sick part and then everything would just be dandy and I’d just pay a copay and all would be fine. But back to that camera. I’m obsessed. Go buy a new car right now with a rear view camera. Your life will be changed in ways you can’t begin to understand.

DMACC Commencement:

I thought that I was done talking about DMACC and college and stuff for awhile. I was so absolutely thrilled to be done after the years I’ve put into acquiring my Associate’s Degree. I didn’t think I needed anything else. Last year, I was not even sure if I wanted to attend the commencement because I’m a very old man and I was somewhat embarrassed, but when the time came, I decided that I would regret not going. So, I signed up, ordered my robe, and on the day, headed out at some ungodly time in the afternoon. It was irritating from the start. There was traffic everywhere and I had to park in some strange spot with a nonfunctioning meter across the river. It was a quick walk, so I was actually rather delighted with the spot, but this post is not at all about parking spots. Inside Wells Fargo Arena, I put on my robe, slapped on my hat, reveled at how good I looked in royal blue. I was intrigued at how diverse the graduates were, they ranged from pimply youths to wrinkled elders. I fell somewhere in the middle. No wrinkles and no pimples. Wouldn’t it be awful to have both? I was made to sit in a waiting area for hours, surrounded by my peers. They were, I must admit, incredibly uninteresting. This also fascinated me. I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I don’t understand people who fail to be interesting. The girl beside me was apparently mute, the other one wasn’t aware if you were supposed to shake hands with the right or left hand. I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. After plenty of time, we made our way to the floor of the arena and the commencement began. There was a lovely speech by one of the students who was a refugee and had made good. He quoted President Obama, which moved me deeply. Then the guest speaker went on and on and on interminably about her millionaire father, publishing, having it all, and enjoying being in a plane on fire. She struck me as oddly peculiar. I understood her point, though. I’m going to fast forward a million years. I sat there for ages listening to them read off the names and allow the procession. After a decade, I came on stage, I accepted my diploma, I blew kisses to the fans, I was photographed innumerable times, and I waved at friends and family.

It was a right good time. Then I sat in the audience for another million years. It was awful. But as I sat there, looking at the embossed cover that would contain my Associate’s Degree, I felt a pervasive sense of calm. I needed that commencement to be done. I didn’t think I did, but the pomp and circumstance of the occasion was what I needed to feel as if I had accomplished something. I mean, I was starving to death, my ass had lost all sensation, and I wanted my bed, but it was still wonderful. I’m so glad I did this. I’m so glad I’m ready for the next irksome stage of my career.

HATE:

Free Time:

Over the past couple years, my free time has been limited. In the summertime I have nothing but time, but I fill that up with travels. These travels take much planning and thought, and I consider them to be on par with the work I do every day for my career and for my college degree. Last night, I graduated from my two-year university and am getting ready for the next, but until then, I have nothing to do and it’s starting to freak me out. I always dream of having free time, of having a free schedule, of having absolutely nothing to do. But it’s not at all good for me. I need projects and deadlines and things to dream about. At the moment, I haven’t figured out where I’m transferring to and I am not going on a whirlwind vacation for the first time in decades. I decided to attempt frugality and debt management for some ridiculous reason. It was a bad idea. I’m excited to go to California for a spell, but it feels awfully peculiar knowing that I won’t be in dangerous territories, that I won’t be eating Parisian pastries for a month, that I won’t be lost in some horrible city where I don’t speak the language. That is the kind of thing I thrive on. I’m an adventurer and a curiosity seeker and a scholar. Having free time is not conducive to any of this. I go home and I sit. And I used to treasure moments when I could because I was sitting on a pile of work. I knew that I had something to do and the guilt tricked me into appreciating down moments. Now my life is one big down moment. I have a busy week right now, but after that is a hazy void of an empty calendar. It’s making me anxious. Did you ever see Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work? There is a scene in it that I never fully understood until this morning. She looks at a couple empty slots on her calendar and it nearly sends her into a panic. If she’s not working, she thinks, she may as well be dead. I haven’t taken it to this extreme. Yet. I think that I have the type of personality that will. It worries me. So, I’m going to start furiously googling colleges and things to do in America that might be a bit off the beaten path. Maybe I’ll hike the Grand Canyon. Or perhaps I will drive to Mexico City! Or maybe I’ll rent a shack on a beach and write a book? Or maybe I’ll do none of this and learn to enjoy relaxation and the luxury of an empty schedule. I don’t know. We’ll see.

Monday:

Why don’t you add an alert to your calendar to go and buy heavily discounted outdoor furniture at the end of the season? I am longing for benches and pergolas and fences and trellises and more. But it’s all so costly right now. I know that if I wait, I will be able to find it all for half the price when it goes on clearance. So, I won’t have dozens of decadent benches this spring, but next year, my yard will be comparable with a fine park. I can’t wait.

Tuesday:

Why don’t you write a children’s book? I have always had an inkling that I would do a good job at it. I did get an A+ in my Children’s Literature class a year or so ago. I mean, reader, I destroyed my competition in that class. So, when I had to decide on a final project for my Environmental Science, I did a children’s book. It was all about the adventure of a camel named Amelia who was scared to death of global warming. I did all the illustrations. It was delightful. It was adorable. I got a perfect score. Write your own, reader. I’m going to work on one about a cat lost in Paris next!

Wednesday:

Why don’t you be sure to never get sick so that you never have to worry about becoming ill? That’s impossible of course. Before I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, I found it odd that I was very rarely sick. I would have occasional cold, but otherwise, I was in remarkable good health. Ever since that madness, I have been concerned about every lump and every bump and every tingle. I have had this weird rough patch in my mouth lately, and of course I think it’s the worst form of the worst possible disease. It’s exhausting to have to worry all the time. So just don’t get sick. (Turns out it’s nothing. It’s something, I mean, but nothing to worry about.)

Thursday:

Why don’t you not listen to the advice I shouted for about a decade and get a college degree? We shan’t go on and on about my fight against the system, because it’s a sad story. Abridged version: I don’t regret it, but it would have been nice. Last night I graduated and received my Associate’s Degree. I am inordinately proud of it. Now I’m thinking of all the wonderful things I can do next. Do you think I can manage to do student teaching in Cairo? That would be fabulous.

Friday:

Why don’t you buy tickets for a Harry Styles concert? Oh wait, you can’t; that was very rude of me. His show sold out in like a minute. I have tickets, though, reader. I repeat: I HAVE TICKETS. Oh, how glorious this is. How marvelous it feels. It’s on a balcony, but I don’t give two bothers. I am one of only about 3,600 people who got tickets. This is extraordinary. I am blessed. I deserve this for having diseases and an awful president and leukoplakia (in my mouth not…elsewhere) and a rolled ankle and an old phone. I deserve it. You probably did too…but you didn’t get tickets…sad. I did. Don’t forget that I did.

After many months, I’m back. Summer was decadent and glorious. Soon you’ll hear all about it!

Monday:

Why don’t you have a large picture of yourself printed up doing something fabulous and hang it in your home to impress visitors and remind yourself of your past glories? I recently had an image of myself at Abu Simbel printed by Parabo Press. It is four feet wide, three feet tall, and absurdly cheap for the quality. I’m delighted by it. It hangs in my stairwell, and the towering image of myself and the infamous statues of Ramses serves as a constant reminder of my favorite nation and a perfect day. Do the same.

Tuesday:

Why don’t you join me in my constant struggle against a reasonable schedule and take night classes? A few years back I was feeling rather worthless because I hadn’t gone to a traditional college. I didn’t regret choosing Le Cordon Bleu in Paris over a normal education (and I never will), but still I was hella poor. So I went back for my Associate’s Degree, and last night I began my first classes in my Bachelor’s. In a couple years, I should be a fully licensed educator, which I always knew I’d be. It’s all rather exciting, but these night classes have me worn out already!

Wednesday:

Why don’t you spend your entire weekend slathered in coconut oil and lounging in a comfortable robe whilst holding a large glass of red wine? This has been my Sunday routine for a while now, and I think it’s exceptionally important for my mental health. The red wine is full of antioxidants, you know, so it’s for my health. My skin has never been softer. And I smell delicious. After a hectic week of rushing all over the place, nothing is more restorative.

Thursday:

Why don’t you go to Whole Foods and explore the supposedly cheaper prices now that Amazon owns the shop? I went with high hopes of getting an affordable salad, but it was just the same as ever, so I was fairly disappointed. Still delicious. Also, they were out of pizza sauce, so they used pasta sauce on their pizzas. ‘Twas peculiar. Actually, don’t go because that was kind of underwhelming. I also couldn’t find lemonade. I do love those salads, though.

Friday:

Why don’t you go to McDonald’s and eat your body weight in French fries? I can think of nothing more deliriously delightful. I have gone through phases in my life where I’m a health fanatic. I’ll do it again, I’m sure, where I’ll count literally every calorie I consume, but for now I’m thriving and gorging myself sick. Maybe I’m one of those yo-yo dieters like the marvelous Janet Jackson? I love fries so much.

LOVE:

Waffle House:

I would happily drive all the way to Kansas City to enjoy a meal at the Waffle House. This beloved institution gets a lot of crap from the general public, but those that demean and dismiss this gourmet institution are tasteless fools. There are few gastronomic triumphs more deliriously good than the Waffle House. My family used to vacation regularly in Florida, and the opportunity to go to the Waffle House was usually more exciting than the chance to go to Disney World. That might sound sad to you, but I can assure you, dear reader, that it is not. We simply had excellent taste. I recall my sister having not one, not two, not three, but COUNTLESS mental breakdowns when she couldn’t go to the Waffle House. She would fling herself on the bed, she would holler and scream and become completely unruly. I was never so dramatic, but I adore the Waffle House, too, with an unreasonable passion. So when she and I went down to Kansas City for her birthday, we made it our sacred mission to visit as many of these delightful institutions as possible. I believe we made it to three different locations. There were more, so we will return again. Hopefully soon. Reader, if you’ve never gone, then you only know the stereotype of terrible food and violence. Nothing could be less true. The staff are all composed of actual earthbound angels. They greet you with a, “Good morning honey/dear/baby/sweet thing,” and then they place your silverware on the table and smile and make the most decadent chitchat. It’s very southern and absolutely fabulous. I always feel like a regal queen amongst beneficent subjects when I’m there. I always get the same meal: a massive glass of orange juice, two fried eggs, and a heaping pile of hash browns mixed with onions and charred to perfection. Then I gorge myself silly. It’s fantastic. The delightful waiters will check in on you frequently, but never too much, the prices are right, the food is delicious, and when you leave, you feel like you’re leaving a family reunion. The Waffle House is fabulous. When I decide to run for president — because why not? anybody can — I will have tons of town hall meetings in the Waffle House. I will have easily gained twenty pounds from hash browns alone by the time of my inauguration. Will I mind? No. Will I be happy? Yes.

The Shadow Land:

When I was in high school, I checked out the abridged audiobook of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. I was utterly captivated and enthralled by the story’s melange of true history and fabulously elegant prose. It is a tale of vampires, but it doesn’t fall into that category of seedy horror that so many authors craft. This was a beautiful story and it really made me desirous of exploring the wonders of Eastern Europe, of sailing to Lake Snagov, wandering the streets of Istanbul, and exploring mythology in tiny, dusty libraries. It’s really a captivating novel and has been my favorite since I finished it for the first time. I have read it dozens of times now, and I think that it’s the only book that can claim that feat. Of course I delightfully anticipated the next novels of Elizabeth Kostova, but her sophomore attempt, The Swan Thieves, did nothing for me. It was written with gorgeous words and filled with sumptuous detail, but I couldn’t connect. And so, when The Shadowland was finally released, I was filled with a bizarre trepidation. Would I love it? Would I hate it? Would it bore me to tears? I finally cracked the spine and I fell in love the way I had all those moons ago with The Historian. The setting is Eastern Europe again, Bulgaria this time, and the characters are all exquisitely fleshed out with backstories that work tremendously well for them. The prose is once again beautiful. And the mystery, with all its connections and subtleties is decadent. I’ll give you the briefest of synopses, because it is quite impossible to detail it all. A young woman arrives in Bulgaria to teach English. Inadvertently, she comes into possession of the cremated remains of a violinist. This propels her on a quest to restore the dead man to his family. Aiding her is a young taxi driver who has unexpected depth. They travel across the country, seeking the owners, piecing together his history, and finding themselves unexpectedly in a political corruption scandal. That bit sounds tedious, but it is crafted so organically that I found myself enjoying it.  Allow me to type out an excerpt that I loved: “When he played that violin for us, I thought about his stories and the history he talked of, about paintings I had seen and books I had read. His violin made a smoky, mysterious sound. I heard in it the explosions of chestnuts cooking on a brazier at the edge of a river, and horses clopping across cobblestones in Siena and Florence, and also the rustle of leaves that fell on Garibaldi’s troops as they marched. The violin sang “Roma o morte,” and it wailed for the mountains of dead in an American Civil War across the sea, and for Paris glittering with the Second Empire. It rose and fell with voices reading Victor Hugo aloud by whale oil, and it sang about dynamite, about Ottomans and Englishmen falling under their horses in the Crimea, and the feet of crowds shuffling through international expositions. Above all, Stoyan’s violin sang about places—places its maker had been, places the teacher of its maker had been, places its current owner would someday see, and the many, many places he would Sunday perform on it.” At times like this, when I read something that beautiful, I have a great dreary contentment. I wish and hope to someday craft something this marvelous and jealous that I never have. Elizabeth Kostova is a tremendous author. I hope to emulate her someday, but in the meantime, I’ll think on her prose and dream.

“Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You” by Kesha: 

I was absentmindedly doing the dishes this summer in Mexico City. As I grumblingly scrubbed, I listened to some new music, and I had the oddest sensation as a song came on. I knew the words, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t place it. Then, I nearly dropped my pot when I realized it was a cover of a Dolly Parton classic! Kesha was singing Dolly Parton’s “Old Flames Can’t Hold a Candle to You!”

Yassssss, #freeKesha! As soon as I connected the dots, Dolly’s telltale voice emanated from my iPod and I squealed. Y’all know there are few people I love more than Dolly! Need I remind you of the concert Jessica and I attended in London where we fell rapturously more in love with her? I didn’t think so. The song was fabulous, reader, because anything that Dolly touches is the epitome of perfection. I thought it was just the most wondrous coincidence, but I later stumbled upon the history. It turns out that Kesha’s mother is a songwriter, which I know because any loyal viewer of the reality series classic, The Simple Life, is well versed in Kesha’s backstory. If you don’t get that reference you’re a fake fan. Anyway, reader, Kesha’s mother had written the song decades ago when it became a hit for Dolly. Isn’t that fabulous? What a fun connection. I have since listened to this song a hundred times and have decided it’s likely my go-to karaoke jam. Prepare yourself, audiences everywhere.

College:

Quite unexpectedly, I quite like going back to school. Again… This round is probably the last for some time, since I have no idea which exact direction I’ll turn with Egyptology after I acquire my Bachelor’s Degree in education. But for the next two years, I am a student at Upper Iowa University. I was really quite worried about going back to school because I haven’t been in an actual classroom since I was at Le Cordon Bleu back when our blessed Obama was president. That was many millions of years ago, and even though  I work in a school, I wasn’t entirely sure that I would be the best student. I’ve become a bit less studious as I’ve aged, which is a tragic character flaw. Still, being able to identify a problem helps to solve it. And as it turns out, I have enjoyed my reintroduction to academia. The course schedule at UIU is really to my taste. I have been struggling to find a university with an education program that fits my schedule. I cannot leave my work because I am very much in need of money and quality health insurance. I have innumerable blessings from my job. A friend introduced me to UIU, and I knew at once that it was right for me. Classes only last for eight weeks, so the courses are fairly intensive and last for about five hours a night. But because they are so lengthy, I only have to go in for two nights a week. This schedule suits me right down to the ground! And I quite like being in a classroom interacting with peers and educators. I can hardly believe it. When I was taking online courses through the local community college, every day was filled with homework and tedious readings. It was really hard to be a full time student and maintain a life and budding career. The schedule that UIU offers fit my lifestyle perfectly. I feel so much less stressed than I used to do when I was solely online. That could be my age or the antidepressants I take every morning. Who knows? Also, it’s really rather intriguing to be in classes that truly intrigue me. At DMACC, the classes were interesting and mind expanding, but I didn’t give two hoots for about half of them. The courses at UIU all directly apply to my future. How fun. And I’m having a nice time.

HATE:

Summer’s End:

I have probably written a similar post every year since I started doing this blog series. I hate when summer goes away. I thrive when it’s hot outside. I don’t much care for shortened days or chilly nights. I mean, I like a good bonfire and apple cider is delicious and I love wearing a chunky sweater. But I can do all of that in the summer. I think September is one of the saddest months of the year for me. It’s when I used to start noticing the symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I take pills now, so I don’t seem to mind so much, but there is a lingering melancholy about this time of year. I miss laying outside in the sun sipping on an icy gin and tonic. I miss the flowers in the fields and the garden full of ripening vegetables. I miss the endless sunshine. I miss the heat. I miss the lazy days. I miss broccoli on the grill. I miss spending the entire day outside. I miss having free time. Summer is the best time of year, and it will come around again soon I suppose. The arrival of autumn is beautiful, and the changing leaves are grand, but I’d much rather have them green and attached to the trees year round. I’ll need to dig out my sweaters this weekend and air them out. I haven’t missed them. I do look forward to the pumpkins for I truly do love Halloween, but then I’m done. Autumn means that winter is coming, and that I’d certainly the greatest tragedy I know. Well not really, the world is full of tragedy, but cold days and whipping winds and that miserable snow are nearly hell. I’m so annoyed. This post didn’t have much of a point. I’m just a bit depressed.