Zhoug Power!

My youngest goes back to school next week. She is sooooooooooo excited. It's been over a year since she's been in a classroom with her friends. My sweet Pua needs her friends, the outside and a large area to run really fast and far. In the classroom, with her friends is like photosynthesis for her psyche. She needs it to grow and bloom. I have my concerns, my hesitations and my reservations about it, of course, but I am satisfied with the level of care the school district has invested in bringing kids back to school safely.

Anyhow, I went to Trader Joe's today to pick up some snack items for Pua's school lunches. She requested Z-bars, tiny dried oranges, some kind of crackery-type thing and maybe some "triangle cheese" (laughing cow wedges). I got all of that, but because it was going on 1pm and the only thing I'd eaten today was the last few bites of Pua's frozen waffle, I filled my cart with a lot of things I didn't need: a few shots of Mighty Turmeric Juice Shots, a box of Philly Cheesesteak Bao, stuff like that. 

One of my impulse buys was Zhoug Sauce. I'd seen it before, but had never tried it. Today I decided to buy a container. I'm roasting some chicken thighs tonight for dinner. I thought the heat in the sauce would be nice against the fattiness of the crispety skin. 

On my way back to the car I passed the McDonald's and thought that my kids would like a nice surprise. I decided to bring them home Happy Meals. I got one for myself, as well. 

Once home, I was taking some bites of my fries while putting away my groceries. I happened upon the Zhoug sauce and what transpired shortly thereafter was life changing. I put Zhoug Sauce on my Happy Meal Cheeseburger. It was delicious. The spiciness of the sauce, the sweetness of the ketchup, the hot chopped up onion against the cold smooth Zhoug sauce was so good. 

I have to be honest, though. I don't think the pickle slices did itself any favors with this combination. The pickles do provide a necessary taste experience for the Happy Meal Cheeseburger, but should be picked off and eaten separately when adding Zhoug Sauce.  

I can't wait to try it on my chicken tonight.

What's Your Waiting Style?

Do you like waiting in line? I gotta say for me, it depends on the line and the goods or services I will receive once I reach the front. I don't like waiting in line to get into Costco, but waiting in line to get into a concert isn't so bad. I didn't like waiting in line at the Social Security Office, but waiting in line at Mitchell's Ice Cream doesn't bother me a bit.

The kind of line I usually dislike is the school drop off  / pick up line. 

The school across the street from me is back in session. They have both a drop off line in the morning and a pick up line in the afternoon. And boy oh boy, do they have a pick up line in the afternoon. It wraps around a whole city block, the tail end of which is in the street, right in front of my house. Coincidently, the pick up spot is in the parking lot, which is also right in front of my house. The parents picking up their kids have to drive in a circle the size of a city block to pick up their kids. From 2:45pm until just after 3pm there is a constant stream of cars in front of my house. 

I noticed once day that cars start lining up upwards of 45 minutes before the last bell so they could be first in line to pick up their kids.  I wondered, is it worth it to show up 45 minutes early to be first in line? or is it faster to show up a little later when the line starts moving? The benefit or result is the same; picking up one's kid. You don't get to choose the kid you want to take home if you're first and you don't have to take home more kids if you're last. I decided to time the cars in the line. Luckily, among the Minivans and SUVs, and a surprising amount of Teslas, there is a family at the school who has a very large distinctive vehicle. For a whole week I timed how long it took for the dad to go from the street in front of my house, all the way around the city block, and into the parking lot. My suspicion was true. The bulk of one's time in line is spent idling. Once the line starts moving, even though it winds around a whole city block, takes only about 15 minutes to get from the back of the line to the front of the line. 

Are you the type of person who would rather wait 45 minutes just to avoid the line? Or are you the type of person who would rather be in a constantly moving line? I think in this instance I'm the latter. 

Defending Cloris Leachman's Beauty

I've been written up two times in professional career. The first time was sometime in the early 2000s and I probably deserved it.

The second time was so totally bogus. It was around 2011-ish. 

I received a written warning for telling a coworker she looked like Cloris Leachman. Yeah, you read that right. 

At my counseling session I had to defend Cloris Leachman's beauty and how it wasn't at all a slight on my coworker.  When I showed them a picture of Cloris Leachman, my boss did agree that my coworker looks like her, and it wasn't an insult. The coworker grumbled and dropped her complaint against me.  

Rest in Peace, Cloris Leachman

Andrea and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Laundry Night - a true yet pointless story

 I miss my old laundry nights; waiting out the wash and dry cycles on a barstool with a beer in front of me and Cash Cab on closed caption above me, and the occasional conversation from people next to me, perhaps even the friendly dog under the barstool below me. 

Alas, that life is gone. Even when things get back to normal, it'll never be the same. 

Laundry Night may be no more, but I still have laundry to wash. 

I went to the laundromat yesterday. When I got there, I was stoked because there was a parking right in front, the bonus spot where the wifi from the laundromat reaches the car. I'll be able to watch Shark Tank on Hulu during the wash cycles. Good sign, I thought. But I thought wrong. When I went in, all of the machines that use credit cards were taken, leaving only the smaller, coin operated ones. All the good ones, the ones that have a bigger capacity were taken by one person, one person who only filled up her washers half way, one person who hadn't even started her loads yet and was nowhere to be seen. Total dick move and really awful laundromat etiquette.  Earlier in the day I found a $20 in the pocket of a jacket I hadn't worn in a while. Luckily I was wearing that jacket and it still had the $20 inside the pocket. I feared, however, the coin machine would be out of coins because of the coin shortage I keep hearing about. Luckily the machine did have enough coins, but the tray the coins collect into is curved and shallow so I had to pick up the quarters off the floor that spilled out. I had all my clothes in machines and washing before the person who had taken all the good washers arrived. I did a mean thing, One of my washers ended before hers so I quickly distributed all my clothes into 5 dryers so when the rest of my wash was complete, I had access to dryers. What? Sure it was petty, but she was washing area rugs and quilts. There was no freaking way I was going to wait for her to finish before my clothes got to go into the dryer. While my clothes were drying, I went to order dinner on my phone from the burger place right next door to the laundromat, thinking I could order so the food would be ready for pick up in 45 minutes. I ran into some disappointment, however when I realized this burger place doesn't have shakes on its GrubHub menu. I went into the burger place and asked the cashier if I could place an order to pick up in 45 minutes. She said the only way I could do that is to use Grub Hub. I told her that the Grub Hub menu didn't have a shake option, only a soda option. She said that was my only option. To shake or not to shake, that was my option. I ended up ordering burgers via Grub Hub and going to the market a few doors down to buy a pint of ice cream instead of getting a shake. I was bummed, though. One shake is just the right amount of shake split into three servings, the number of people I was feeding. When I went to retrieve my laundry, everything was too hot, because I was all haughty and secured the dryers for myself, I'm guessing. Serves me right, probably. I went home, brought the laundry, the dinner and the ice cream inside. We ate dinner. I dug the sheets out of the laundry bag, made the beds and saved the rest of the laundry to fold the next day. After, we all had a scoop or two of ice cream, watched some Ink Master, brushed our teeth and went to bed.

I guess it could have been worse. 

Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver Trapped in a Chinese Bakery - Book Reviews

When I was a kid we had a cabin in Big Bear. I usually liked going, but also sometimes found it boring. In my opinion, the cabin was really far away from the "cool part" of Big Bear (is there a cool part?) We didn't have a TV. We didn't have a phone. The closest store was about 2 miles away. We had an 8-track player and 4 tapes that I can remember: The Best of Bread, The Best of Seals and Crofts, The Best of ELO and Chipmunk Punk. There was also a bookshelf filled with Reader's Digest, every shelf was Reader's Digest and Reader's Digest condensed novels. But hidden among them were two books that influenced my life. 

Help I'm a Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery by Alan King and Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver by Jack Douglas, published in 1960 and 1961, respectively.  At the time I had no idea who either of the authors were, and to this day, I only know them by name, and not by their bodies of work, save for these books, and Alan King's role as Steven Reign, the bad guy in Rush Hour 2.  I loved these books. They were so weird, so unlike anything I had ever read, with humor that my 10yo self didn't quite understand, other than it was supposed to be funny, and probably had something to do with sex. 

When I was about 18 or 19 years old I went to The Cabin for what would be the last time, and stole them. I still have them.

Over the years, the glue in the paperback books has disintegrated, all the pages falling out. Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver can barely be held together by a rubber-band. I tried taping the pages, reinforcing the spine, but the book's pages just crumbled. Help, I'm a Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery survived, but the pages turned super dark (and gosh-darn-it, that type is tiny). 

Anyhow, for my recent birthday I bought myself a copy of Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver. I have yet to re-read it. I wonder if it will still be funny. I read a few chapters of Help I'm a Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery and it was just some old guy complaining how good things used to be. It wasn't very funny. My guess is that when I start reading Never Trust a Naked Bus Driver, and continue with Help I'm a Prisoner in a Chinese Bakery, I'll find a host of outdated humor, thinly veiled racism and a lot of male chauvinism. 

I'll let you know if the books hold up.

Strawberries - a dream

I don't really like strawberries.  They're OK, I guess. I'll never choose a strawberry laden food, but I probably won't pick them out if I'm served something. I will however, flat out refuse a chocolate covered strawberry. I don't really seem to get the point of them. There are a few very specific exceptions to my feelings of meh concerning the strawberry. When I was a kid we used to dip giant strawberries in sour cream and brown sugar. I liked that, but I think I liked it because of the tangy slurry that was created with the strawberry juice, sour cream and brown sugar. Also, at the Marin County Fair I usually make time to enjoy a Tiger's Blood shave ice. With the addition of watermelon and coconut, the strawberry becomes refreshing on a hot day. And finally, a favorite of my youngest is a quick jam made from boiling together strawberries, sugar, lime juice and a pinch of salt. It's a nice addition to waffles. Two baskets of strawberries will cook down to fill an 8oz mason jar. It's pretty tasty. 

This morning I woke up to a dream about strawberries. 

I had two baskets of strawberries. One was the conventional kind in the green plastic basket. The other basket was a clamshell container filled with strawberries that had to be stored in the freezer. They were very special strawberries that needed to be kept at a very low temperature to remain fresh. They could withstand the freezing temperatures, while never freezing. They were like the Tardigrade of Strawberries. They didn't even taste really cold when you ate them. 

Step It Up - An Open Letter to Bob's (Sketchers)

Dear Bob's Slippers,

When I was a kid, one of the "big ticket" items we'd get in our stockings at Christmas was Totes Socks. I loved getting them. I loved the non-stick bumpy bits at the bottom, preferring a speedbump or zigzag pattern over a Botts Dots one. As much as I loved receiving them, I only loved wearing them once or twice. After that, the original comfy cushion and fuzz is dulled, and all the socks do is make my feet hot. Sure I'd bring them out and wear them on cold nights, but when I woke up in the morning, I was no longer wearing them. I would take them off in my sleep and forget about them, only to rediscover them when I changed my sheets and saw a week's worth of mismatched socks and totes under the sheets.  It still holds true to today; I go to bed with socks on, take them off in my sleep, then wake up barefoot, none the wiser until I change my sheets and find half a dozen mismatched socks.

Not unlike this Earth over the last billion years (give or take), I am not above evolving. This pandemic has changed me. No, I haven't spent all my money on Totes, but I have been spending time with its cousin, the slipper. My thinking and my experiences changed when I embraced the slipper. Because of the slipper, I no longer have errant socks milling about at the foot of my bed under the covers. 

It started a few Christmases ago. Captain Awesome wanted a pair of slippers. I got him some but they sent the wrong size. In my laziness to return them, I decided I would like to keep them and wear them. And wear them I did, into the ground. I wore them so much they turned into but a shell of what a slipper should be. They lasted almost 2 years. 

When they wore out, I bought a pair at Walgreens. They were awesome the first time I wore them, but after about a week of wear, they were no longer comfortable. The squishy had gone away and the fuzzy became scratchy. 

I gave up slipper wearing and went back to my former sock-wearing behavior. 

Then the SIP order came. 

I dug out my failed Christmas gift slippers, quickly realized I should have just thrown them away (so I did). I got out my Walgreens slippers, wore them for a day and realized they weren't going to cut it. I went to Amazon and found some Bob's Slippers by Sketchers. I thought hey, I have Bob's shoes that I bought at Costco on a whim, and they turned out to be really comfy shoes, why don't I give their slippers a try?

Try I did. They were awesome. They stayed awesome from March until this week. This week they officially turned to the uncomfy and on the crunchy side. I have to admit, I did throw them through the wash once a few months ago. Captain Awesome and I were house-sitting for some friends. Knowing I would want to wear slippers at their house, I threw my trusty Bob slippers in the washer and dryer so I could wear "fresh" slippers at their place and not track in any germs from my house or outside. They came out a little shrunken, but stretched out easy enough after a few hours of wear. 

With this pandemic and everyone needing to stay home more, my guess is that slipper wearing is on the rise. And with all that slipper wearing, there is the accelerated slipper wearing-out-ing. Our need for slippers is exceeding the life of the slipper. 

Oh Bob's, comfy slipper maker extraordinaire, slippers aren't just for after work anymore, they are for work. America's slipper needs are changing. We need a more durable slipper. Please help. 

Thank you,

Andrea

P.S. I am not a crackpot

Call Me When You Have No Class

Been watching my share of TV lately. The TV is on more than it is off these days. I've been on a "movie I've seen a bajillion times" kick. I watched Moonstruck, Silence of the Lambs, That Darn Cat, Demolition Man, About a Boy, to name a few, some more embarrassing than the others. 

Anywhoozle, today I watched Back To School. I made my 12yo son watch it with me. It was fun to point out Johnny from Cobra Kai, Dax from DS9, and the best one, Iron Man. "That's not Tony Stark," he insisted. 

When we got to the part were Thornton throws a party and Oingo Boingo is playing, I remembered the following three things:

#1 - When I was 18, the keyboard player (Mike Bacich) used to play in the house-band at The Reef, a restaurant I worked at in Long Beach. They played songs like "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay," "You Send Me," "Old Time Rock 'n' Roll."

# 2 - In the 11th grade I spent a few months in Junior Achievement and the product we made was 45rpm records turned into a clock. I had to make clocks using the 45s of the Dead Man's Party single.

#3 - When I was in 10th grade, I (along with all the other students at my high school, and all the surrounding high schools) spent a good month filling out and sending postcards to local radio station KIIS FM so Oingo Boingo would play a live show at our school. Whichever school sent in the most postcards got a free show. We spent entire class periods filling addressing post cards.  We lost. A school in Fountain Valley won. They sent 1/2 a million post cards to the radio station and they won.  And if I'm doing my math half right, they kicked ass. 4 million cards were sent in, and Fountain Valley High School sent in 500,000 cards. That's 12%. 12% of the cards sent in were from one school. When I was 20 and doing school stuff in Cambridge England, I met a girl who told me it was her high school who won. "Oh, you're from Southern California?" she said.  "Me too. My high school won the Oingo Boingo contest." Through today's lens, I think what a weird thing it was for her to say in the first minute of us meeting, but it must not have been because I distinctly remember being a little bit jealous of her. Still am. 

On Food Security

 

When Pua was about 3 years old I was fresh from filing for divorce and in its initial aftermath of all that horrible-ness, I lost my job and subsequently, spent FOR FREAKING EVER trying to find a new job over the next two years. Every Friday we would go to the playground. There was a pop-up food bank. While Pua insisted on climbing the structures way higher than she was able to get down from on her own, I would watch the food distribution line that was happening across the quad. There was a pop up tent, a few bags on tables, and a lady with a clip board. The people in line were mostly seniors. I never took advantage of this food bank. I thought that although the free fruits and vegetables wouldn't go uneaten or unappreciated in my home, there were certainly people who needed it more than I did.  I felt a bit weird about it. Shortly thereafter, I did find it hard to provide for my family and I did find it hard to feed them. I realized that although there were people worse off than me, I needed help with securing food. I started going to food banks and I got myself a SNAP card. Let me tell you, that was the very best decision to make for my kids and me. With all the worries I was facing, having food for my kids was a worry I no longer hand to endure. Food Stamps and Food Pantries saved me.

Of course I found myself back on my feet, full time job and all, and I stopped going to the food pantry and when it came time to reapply for SNAP, I let my enrollment lapse. I no longer needed food stamps to feed my kids.

Fast forward a few years later to today, I find myself again without a job, this time during a pandemic. I find myself once again on unemployment and using EBT.  (and to top it off, I'm also on MediCal) I visit the SF/Marin Food Bank pick up site near me once a week and I pick up school lunches for the week from SFUSD. More than a few times I got a food bag from a friend of mine. (Another post for another time about how this friend showed my kids and me immeasurable kindness. She truly was/is an angel.) I have to say that as much as I'd rather be working and paying my own way, I'm not at all ashamed for using these valuable resources. It's not wrong to accept help when offered. It's not wrong to ask for help when needed. Unemployment in no way covers anyone's average living expenses. In providing a resource for food, EBT, the food bank, a friend's kindness all fill a needed gap and keep at least one worry at bay. 

The point I'm trying to make is that regular hard working people fall on irregular hard times. It's OK and there is no shame in accepting help, be it from the government or your friends. 

There is help out there. 

Take it.  

Bigfoot and Big Eyes - a dream

Sheltering in place is not all it's cracked up to be. I'm getting a little stir-crazy, as to be expected I guess. I want to leave the house, but the moment I do, even if it's just to walk down to the beach and back, having no contact with anyone save for the smile or shaka to a passing stranger, I want to go back home. We're being responsible, we're trying to stay sane, but dang it if it isn't really freaking boring sometimes.

Anyhoozle, it's no surprise we've been watching a lot of TV. Of course I've been dabbling with Tiger King, but it isn't a series for all of the eyes and ears in my house, and by the time everyone goes to bed, I figure I'll go to bed as well and so the perfect time to watch the show is wasted in favor of my beauty rest. This week we've been going back and forth between Master Chef and Finding Bigfoot. I was never into Master Chef until recently, so I've been getting caught up. I'm on season 4 now. Finding Bigfoot, on the other hand, was appointment television. We watched it all the time when it was first run. Now that it's on Amazon, The Boy has been watching it nonstop.

To that end, I had a dream . . . . . .

I was at a Bigfoot street fair on Oak St. just east of the Panhandle. It was the last day and people were packing up and heading back to the woods. The Finding Bigfoot people were there. I ran into Rene as she was packing up her stuff so I went up to her to say goodbye. She had the sweetest tour bus, trailer-bus type contraption. It was three car lengths. The third car was a tiny airstream no bigger than a tiny u-haul trailer. The middle car was a platform with a jeep on it, like a cross between Lorelai Gilmore's car and the kind you see on  the TV show M*A*S*H, and the first car was a self-driving wood paneled square bus with  bright, crystal clear picture windows all around. Inside was wood paneling kind of like an old F-train. There were shag area rugs and beanbag chairs on the floor and pictures of Big Eye Kids on the interior walls. There were bench seats along the sides, but no seatbelts. We went for a drive down Oak St towards the old freeway entrance, because in my dream it still existed. We had to take a super sharp turn. the middle car with the Jeep and the airstream u-haul hit the side rail and made sparks as we took the turn. She looked at me and said "happens all the time."

Stay safe everybody. Make sure to connect with your friends and family over the phone; skype, duo, zoom, facetime, all that stuff. When you encounter someone, maintain a safe distance, smile and give them a shaka. Shaka spreads only love and aloha, not coronavirus.

Responsibility vs. Karma

You know that sound, the air filled, coffee misted gurgle/hiss of the last bits of coffee in an airpot.

Last week at work I heard the sound.  I heard it because it was me who caused it. I took the last bit of coffee from the pot. Man, all I wanted was one long pull? push? draw? (let's call it draw) one last draw on the airpot. It fills about 2/3 of the coffee cup; the perfect amount of coffee for the amount of cream I like. Dang. Responsibility rings (or gurgles and hisses). My only option was to make a new pot. There was no other next step. Make coffee.

It is your responsibility to make coffee. The next person is depending on it and often times, you are the next person.

There's only one exception to making another pot of coffee. What time is it?
If it were 11:30am and I had just taken the last bit of coffee, I probably wouldn't make another pot. By that time, people are all coffee'd up. They most likely won't have another cup until the afternoon, or if you're like me, you've long switched over to diet coke or black tea. I wouldn't make a new pot at 11:30 am so it could sit around until 2pm. The 2pm people deserve to have fresh coffee just as much as the 9am coffee drinkers.

This morning I carefully avoided the responsibility of having to make a new pot and karma bit me in the ass. My coffee mug was about 1/2 filled and I heard the slight beginnings of a gurgle. I "decided" I had enough coffee in my cup, even though I knew I didn't, poured in some cream and went to my desk. But wouldn't you know it, that 1/2 cup of coffee didn't take and I found myself needing more. I went back to the coffee to get myself a proper cup, figuring surely someone else had made a new pot by now. I was totally wrong. When I pushed down on the pump to draw out the coffee, all I got was luke warm coffee spatter. Dang it.

I told myself "I told you so" and made a fresh pot.

Laughing Without Smiling

I lost a friend just before Christmas.  His name was Ian and I'm going to miss him. I spoke at his memorial yesterday. I felt honored that I was able to speak about my friend. And I was humbled that the group who came to say goodbye listened to what I had to say.

Ian and I became friends in 1991 when he and I, along with two other friends moved into a flat in the Richmond. We lived together in a mostly imperfect harmony for about 5 years. We called ourselves The Bubble Family. It was at that flat where we learned to live together, how to be adults, and how to navigate our new lives in a new city.  Getting to know our new city, and each other, we used to drive to a part of The City we had never been to, park, and then walk around until we couldn’t remember how to get back to his car. We would walk around seemingly aimlessly, getting to know each other, searching for his car. We’d finally find the car, and on our drive home, swear we’d never do that again, and then do it all over again a few days later. I always suspected he knew where we were the whole time and it was me who was the lost one, and Ohmagosh, he had the scariest car. It didn't have a 2nd gear; San Francisco hills, no second gear.

My friend was the most kind-hearted and an unabashedly genuine force. My children loved him. I feel so blessed that he was a presence in their lives.  My little ones loved when he would come to our home to babysit. With Ian, my kids knew they would be allowed to stay up as late as they wanted, eat whatever they wanted, and play video games and watch movies together. I was completely at ease with this, because also with Ian, I knew my kids would be safe, warm, and happy. 

Ian infuriated me just as much as he made me love him and come to think of him as one of my closest friends. He held opinions like no other. Sometimes he would make up an opinion on the spot to argue, just to stay sharp; it wouldn’t matter if he believed it or not.  To that end, Ian and I had a lot of conversations, discussions, arguments, disagreements.  Most of the time these discussions and arguments had to do with Star Trek, comic books, and other nerdy stuff we enjoyed. Sometimes they were of more substance; books we’d read, local news stories, moral concepts.  

One of the things we often talked and argued about was God.  We held a number of opposing viewpoints on the subject. Does He exist? Does He have a purpose? What was that purpose? Where God Went Wrong, Some More of God’s Greatest Mistakes and Who is this God Person Anyway?   (yes, I stole from Douglas Adams there)

But through it all, and despite the disagreements, I always believed Ian was a man of great faith; a kind of faith that science would approve of.  He knew (if I may steal from and paraphrase Richard Feynman) that there are two piles in life, a large pile of unknown and a much smaller pile of known. As life’s mysteries are solved, questions answered, we take from the unknown pile and add it to the known pile. Just as people before us chipped away at that big pile, and just as we ourselves chip away at it today, long after we’ve left earth, that pile of unknown will continue to shrink, someone else will continue the work. We don’t and won’t know everything, but Ian had faith that people would still keep searching. He had faith that this unraveling of facts before us would be continued after his departure. He had faith that that pile would continue to shrink. 

Ian loved Science Fiction and Fantasy. Perhaps he loved it because it is the praxis of this faith, a faith that in spite of the negative things we see around us, there is always someone trying to make things better, there is always something to aspire to. There is always hope for a future that was better than what we have today. 

I will miss Ian. I missed him yesterday. After the memorial we went to our friend's house, ate some food, told some stories, and I'm told, after I left, sang some karaoke. I wish he could have been there He would have really like that. 

Lychees - A True Yet Pointless Story

I saw this article yesterday that there are now seedless lychees. I would like to give them a try. I have a feeling though, that they are going to be just as yummy as a seedless watermelon, in that they will still be good, but something will be missing. Although the seeds do get in the way, they seem to encourage the production of better flavor within the fruit, a necessary evil perhaps.

Anyhooozle, when I think of Lychees I think of this woman I used to work with many moons ago at a company that specialized in selling 6' tall wooden giraffes and had a wall of sample sized foreign snacks. She grew up in China. She said she and her brother would pick bags and bags full of lychees and then their mom would throw them in the freezer and they would have lychees all year round. She had lychees every day. Lychees eaten plain. Frozen lychees. Lychees fresh from the tree. Lychees thawed out. Lychee in bread. Lychee in stir fry. Lychee in dessert. Lychee sherbet. Lychee jello (now *that* sounds really freaking refreshing). OOOH! Lychee Agua Fresca sounds delicious.

If given the opportunity to taste a seedless lychee, I totally would. Until that time comes, however, I will stick to the regular kind with little to no complaint.

My Friend's Potatoes

There are plenty of foods I don't like. (I'm looking at you, Dolmas) That said, I'm pretty adventurous when it comes to eating and will try most anything. I may not like what I'm tasting, but I'm willing to give new things a try. There's a lot of food out there. I'll never get to taste all, so when something new is offered, I'm usually game. I'm a big fan of trying foreign candy and cookies. Today I tried a Matcha Kit Kat from Japan. It was yucky, but I tried it, without hesitation. Now I know that I'm not fond of Matcha Kit Kat and I will politely pass next time it comes around. Another time I tried wasabi Kit Kat. It was foul as well, but still, I tried it.
There was a time, however when my eating habits took a rather snooty turn and I would only eat homemade, nothing from a mix or a box, nothing unnatural, nothing conventional, only organic, and I would try to convince everyone to eat like me, but I admit, in a kind of condescending way. That got old.
Looking back, I could tell my family had it "up to here" with my pinkies-out self. I liken my behavior to how people who follow Paleo, Keto or GFV diets, or Atheists and Cross-fit enthusiasts who always work their eating habits, beliefs and physical activities into every single conversation, even before asked, usually within the first 5 minutes. (I admit, I could count myself among these folks in days past. For that, I apologize.)
Once I was able recognize the eye-rolling I was receiving, and once my pocketbook started taking a hit, I relaxed my pinky and started eating and grocery shopping like a normal person.  I still love my fancy food made with expensive ingredients, but I've mellowed out a bit. Don't get me wrong, I'll eat a brick of fancy pate with overpriced crackers and tiny pickles any day of the week, but I have come to enjoy and appreciate food for what it is, nutrition for my body, enjoyment for my palate and most importantly, the opportunity to sit with a group of people and share a meal with them. I've expanded my palate too, and much to my happiness and betterment. While I draw the line at hot pockets, I make cake from a box, use frozen fruit, serve my kids pop-tarts, buy Costco catering platters, use pasta sauce from a jar and serve it with frozen ravioli and let my kids eat Maruchan Instant Lunch and chicken nuggets. Sometimes I even go to Walgreens to buy a 4 pack of Sutter Home Cab. Needless to say, my eating habits and my view of food has evolved into something everyone can enjoy not hearing about.

That said, I tried something new on Christmas and it was so delicious, I had to make it at home. Captain Awesome and I joined a few friends at another friend's house to celebrate and share a meal. While we all contributed to the delicious menu (brussels sprouts, fancy cheese, sparkling wine, etc.), there was one clear star of the show -- The Potatoes.

They were super simple, really. Red potatoes chopped up into 2-bite pieces, tossed with olive oil and a packet of Instant Ranch Powder, thrown in the oven until someone says "I think I smell something" or "Weren't we making potatoes?" Take them out of the oven and set on the stove to cool.
Serve and enjoy.

I thought the potatoes were so yummy I bought the ingredients to make it this week. I chopped up my potatoes into bite sized pieces, tossed with some Instant Ranch Powder and olive oil. I realized my ratio of Instant Ranch and Olive Oil Slurry to bite-sized potato pieces seemed to be on the overly-seasoned side, so I quartered some mushrooms and tossed them in. Once the slurry to vegetable ratio looked good to me, I threw them on a cookie sheet and in the oven at 400F and let them roast for an hour, taking a moment about 1/2 way through to give them a good turn.

I served it with some tomato soup (my kids LOVE tomato soup, and if I make it from scratch, I can ensure it has lots of veggies in it, because I can't get them to eat veggies save for salad most of the time, so I serve it a few times a week). I also made some really yummy chicken legs, marinated in a slurry (sure, let's keep using that word) of olive oil, garlic, tomato paste, oregano, cumin, lime juice, and threw them in the oven for about 30 minutes.

Oh my gosh, they were so good.

But wait, there's more.

The next day I had about a serving of potatoes left over. I took that, plus the meat from the leftover chicken legs and tossed in a pan until it was all hot and yummy, then fried an egg to put on top, and let the yolk get all oozy over the potatoes. So super yummy.

A quick search of "ranch dressing potatoes" comes up with a whole host of Ranch dressing themed recipes. In my 19 second search for the perfect recipe, I found this one. You should try it.

Who's your Quaaltagh?

For as long as I can remember I've been really conscious about what the first words are that come out of my mouth each day. I don't know when or how it started, but I remember doing it when I was a kid and I continue it today. I want my first words to be positive. It could be really simple like "this is a perfectly steeped cuppa tea" or loving like saying good morning to my kids. I just want it to be positive. It just sort of puts me in the right frame of mind; a best foot forward start to my day. This morning my first words were "hi kitty" followed by a little scratch to Pauly's chin as I walked from the bedroom and into the bathroom.

I learned a new word. Quaaltagh. I'm not certain if I'm pronouncing it properly, though. "QUALLtag" is what I hear when I looked it up on youtube. I've never heard the word used in polite conversation though. I could be wrong. It's a good word, nonetheless, and it's a great complement to my practice of making my first words of the day positive ones.

It's got a Manx and Celtic origin. It was first coined to mean the first person you meet / come across on New Year's Day. It sort of morphed later to the first person you meet / come across on a particularly important day such as Christmas, your birthday, your anniversary, Talk Like a Pirate Day, even Flag day. Now, in everyday usage, the word has evolved to mean the first person you meet on any given day when you leave the house. Now, I don't know if there is a significance to the first person one comes across each day. Does this person set the tone for the day? If my quaaltagh sets the tone for the day, how am I setting the tone for those to whom I am their quaaltagh? That's a bit of pressure. Or does this person solely represent a chance occurrence that has no side effects? Or if they do have side effects, is it all just made up in my head?

This morning my quaaltagh was annoying. Dude wanted my parking spot and was totally guarding it like he was on 14th and Shotwell and the street sweeper was just about to go by. Kind of annoying because we were way out in the Avenues, where parking is pretty darn plentiful, and dude was hanging out in a parking spot while waiting for my spot. My office quaaltagh this morning was a better example of a good quaaltagh. I was greeted with a smile and a good morning, no excessive small talk and no extra work given to me. I know I'm breaking the rules and I can't pick and choose my quaaltagh, but I can choose who or what I'm going to focus my energy on. Today I'm choosing my office quaaltagh.

Starting each day off on a positive note and letting chance dictate what happens once I step outside. Every morning I am presented with potential; intentional practice paired with a random encounter each day.  Lucky me.

Monkey Boxes - All In My Head

When I was in the first and second grades, I went to a babysitter in the morning and afternoon.
I would walk to and from school with a group of kids, mostly the same age as myself. There was this kid, the same kid whose spanking I had to listen to in the first grade. He taught us a a more elevated game of "step on a crack, break your mother's back."

He taught us Monkey Boxes.

Along our route to school in the squares of concrete that made up the sidewalk, a good number of them had a "+" sign in the corner. This kid called them Monkey Boxes. Upon coming upon a monkey box, the only way to pass it, was to jump over it. You couldn't walk around it, you had to jump over it. You could, however, if there was a tree root breaking the cement, jump upon the root to get across, but only with one foot, it was only a stepping stone (stepping root?) to aid you in your passage; it was not a spot to linger.  There was no real penalty to not being able to jump the entire box. You tried your best to jump over and every day tried a little harder to get across; to play the game, you just had to try. Once you did get across, however, you were met with cheers, and hearty slaps on the back.

I grew up thinking (nay, knowing) that monkey boxes were a thing, a real thing. They're all over Long Beach and easy to spot once you set your mind to it.  I also grew up thinking that the knowledge of Monkey Boxes was just as universal in childhood experiences as putting black olives on one's fingers at Thanksgiving. As I got older, however, I realized that Monkey Boxes were a small, localized game that only a handful of kids played, and nobody but me remembers it anymore.

I taught my kids about finding Monkey Boxes. They know where all the best ones are in our neighborhood. We've even found a few Monkey Curbs down by the playground. 

48.50? - A True Yet Pointless Story

Some weeks are so unexpectedly busy. Last week I went to Back-to-School night at Pua's school. I always like Back-to-School night. I love sitting in my kids' desks, leaving them a little note in their desk (You rock! I'm proud of you!). I liked listening to the teacher present the curriculum and watch their style and demeanor. It gives me a bit of insight into the person who is spending a good part of their day with my kid. I like Pua's teacher this year. In fact, I've liked all her teachers thus far.  School events I absolutely dread are General Parent Meetings. At my kids' old school they were mandatory. They were long. They were amusingly boring. I usually sat in the back and listened to music.

Anyhow, when Back-to-School night was over, Pua very sweetly convinced me to spend a bit of time at the nearby playground. Half hour later we were driving home. We had hit that point in my head where I decided it was too late, I didn't have time to make dinner; I'd have to buy it.
We stopped at Lucky on the way home I picked up some fried chicken from the deli counter and a bag of salad. I also took a stroll through the whiskey aisle. I saw that my favorite hooch was on sale, and on close-out. I grabbed a bottle (should have grabbed 2, it was a great price). I had my fried chicken, I had my bag of salad, and I had my deli ham for the kids' sandwiches today (sorry I forgot to mention the ham before).

Checker scans my stuff. Scans the whiskey and it doesn't register.
Checker: It isn't scanning, do you know how much this was?
Me: $28.98
Checker nods and starts pressing buttons. No dice. Checker presses more buttons, shrugs and grunts.
Checker (to himself): $48.50, that sounds about right.
Me: Um, no, it was $28.98
Checker: ugh, OK. $28.50

I bought my fried chicken, bag of salad, whiskey (for $28.50), my deli ham, an oh yeah, a box of store-brand pop-tarts and went home.

We didn't get home until after our regular dinner time, We ate our chicken and salad. I had a glass of whiskey, and I didn't accomplish anything I had planned to do.

School Lines and Traffic and (Cal) Bears - OH MY

The new school year has finally started for my kids, and with this school year, life changes just a little bit, making it a bit easier in some parts and harder in others; that's life, I guess.

The first day of school is exciting. As a kid it was exciting because it was full of hope; you were coming into a new year with a new teacher, and maybe a new student or two. And new school clothes; I remember rocking a sweet-ass pair of pink Jordache Jeans on the first day of 7th grade. As an adult I always enjoyed the first day, seeing how the kids have grown over the summer, being able to take a breath because for the next few months the schedule will be mostly predictable.

My little one is a big bad First Grader now. It's so exciting watching her learn, and seeing her talents. She is great at math, wants to join the chess club and loves painting. We're on a squishy toy-crafting kick right now thanks to her favorite you-tuber Moriah Elizabeth.
My first grade teacher was named Mrs. Koontz. I remember she handed out a lot of candy and was married to the school custodian. I remember the first two friends I made in 1st grade; Rita and Michelle. Michelle liked to hold hands and Rita liked to eat chicken noodle soup on hot days. One time in first grade, they made us listen to a kid getting spanked in the hallway as a deterrent from being bad. It was a really awful thing to make a 6 year old listen to. I always felt bad for that kid. I can still hear him sniffling and that awful evil voice of the principal, Mr. Scott asking him if he'd had enough yet.

My middle one just started 6th grade. Where we live, 6th grade is Middle School which is weird to me because although I went to a K-9th school, the public Junior Highs (started in 7th grade). He's at a brand new school this year, learning a whole new routine. I'm excited to report that he picked up the Baritone Horn. Last night he told me his teacher thinks he has the lungs for it.
My 6th grade teacher was Mr. Anderson. Aside from the 1 day I had a male substitute in the 2nd grade, I had never had a male teacher before. I don't know why I was so freaked out about it. He turned out to be a really nice guy. I was mortified when my dad told me he told my teacher that I was apprehensive about having a male teacher. Gawd Dad. All is forgiven, though.

My big one just started her junior year at UC Berkeley. I'm so proud of her, going to such an amazing university. People say "Good Job Mom" when I tell them where she's going, but I have to say, she did this all on her own. Whatever my contribution was, her own driving force was the leader of this endeavor. Although I'm sure she'll encounter plenty of obstacles, as we all do, she will meet them and conquer them with her own grace and style.
Like her, I transferred from a community college to university (SFSU) my junior year. I took a longer route to get my degree, however, and unlike I was, she is motivated to knock out her undergrad swiftly. My favorite professor my junior year (and senior year) was Dr. Heather. He taught political theory and politics in literature. I learned a lot from him. I also enjoyed Dr. Feldman. She and my friend Pasu became friends IRL and addressed each other as Comrade when they took smoke breaks together.

Every school year, every new grade, every new adventure, I think back to my own years and the experiences I had. Times are different now, but a lot of the things I looked forward to (and dreaded) seem to remain constant in modern times.

Tower of Song - Thank You to the Teacher Whose Name I Forgot.

Have you ever had a teacher who influenced your life when you were a kid in such a positive and impactful way that you are facebook friends with them today; y'know, the kind of teacher whose name you use when answering security questions like what's your mother's maiden name, who was your favorite teacher, and what was the name of your first pet? Conversely, have you ever had a teacher who so totally had it in for you and who was a complete and total jerkface to you right to your face; a teacher who smacks you in the face and tells you you are being a smartass when you ask what it was you did to get in trouble because you truly didn't know, but you had to stay inside for recess and pick up trash without even being told what your supposed crime was?

We've all had those. But what about the teacher who taught you something that you'll always remember, but you don't really remember much about that teacher or the class otherwise? This post is for him, whatever his name was.

I had a political science class of some sort at CCSF. The teacher had hair like Ted Danson (Ted Danson today, Smirnoff / The Good Place Ted Danson, not Ted Danson of yesteryear, Cheers / Made in America Ted Danson.) One day the teacher came into class with the verve of Agent Cooper after having a damn fine cup of coffee saying he'd been up all night listening to Leonard Cohen, and he'd seen the future and it was murder. I had no idea what he meant. I was 21. I still thought ordering a pina colada or Chardonnay was the proper thing to order at a dive bar. I had never heard of Leonard Cohen. I stopped at Tower Records on Market and Castro (I don't think it's there anymore, is that where the Pottery Barn went or am I thinking of something else?) and bought Leonard Cohen's Greatest Hits.

I hated it. But, just as I hated coffee when I was little and enjoy it now, maybe my musical palate wasn't ready for LC yet. Then one day I was watching PBS, maybe 10 years after the future-modern day Ted Danson was my teacher, and a Leonard Cohen concert came on. I watched it and loved it.

I've been listening to a lot of LC lately. I'm enjoying it like Dale Cooper loves Cherry Pie.

Thanks teacher whose name I don't remember or what class you taught.

Candy for Gordon - A Dream

If someone I know is traveling abroad I ask them to bring me back one of two things; their extra coins or candy. 

I have tons of coins. My favorite coins are Yuan from China that have a hole in the middle. I also really love the 20p piece from England. I'm sorely lacking in Francs, Lira, Lats, Kroon, Marks, Escudo and Peseta but have a large amount of Drachma, Guilder, British Pounds and Kwacha and Euros.  I'm not really interested in paper money. I think non-US money is very interesting and colorful, but I'd rather have the kind that jingles, rather than the kind that folds.

For candy, just as I don't want the more valuable paper money, I don't want the fancy candy. If I get fancy candy, I'll most likely appreciate the box more than the candy inside. I want to try the mass market Hershey, Nestle, Cadbury, Mars type candy. I don't want fancy.  I want the kind that kids want to eat, the kind they buy themselves at the corner market. I want Flake Bars, Aero Bars, Violet Crumble, Crunchy Bars, Caramello Koalas, Cherry Ripe.

I had a dream.

I was at Sunset Super, which is a grocery store in my neighborhood that serves the Chinese community.  I was showing Gordon Ramsay around the store, We spent a little bit of time looking at  the giant tank of geoduck clams next to a giant ice bed of whole fish with bright shiny eyes. As we were walking around the store, we happened by the candy aisle. I walked him through every single candy, and made him try everything. He was amused but a bit annoyed at my persistence and insistence that he try everything. Candy wasn't really his thing, but he was a good sport.