The Devil's Eggs

Cooking this evening is not going well. This is not surprising, as my cooking anything that isn't made of pasta or chicken (and, really, the chicken is also frequently fraught with the possibility of disaster) tends to wander into the realm of cuisine that I like to think of as "Blair Witch Dinner". I coined this term in the dining hall at my old job, where every once in a while the evening selection on the dinner line wouldn't be turkey or chicken or beef, but would instead be something that caused teenagers to stare in mindless wide-eyed horror shrieking "What the fuck is that?" while sobbing, like the kids in the second half of the "Blair Witch Project" screaming into the forest.

At any rate, tonight I was going to make a recipe I saw in a food magazine called Ham and Cheese Croquettes. The idea of croquettes, tiny crunchy fried fingerfood with yummyness inside, seems kind of quaint and old fashioned, like an appetizer they might have served on the Titanic. Beyond that, how could anything fried with cheese inside be bad? At some point during the day, though, I decided that leaving the house was just too much to contemplate, and that I would just make something else since the only ingredients for the croquettes that I had here were cheese and flour. Not only that, but the recipe called for the croquettes to be fried in three inches of boiling oil, and I might not be up for that ever.

Already defeated before I turned the stove on, I opened the refrigerator to peruse the goods.

"Oooh, we have eggs. How about scrambled eggs? We could use up that bacon, too."

"I'm confused by the 'we'. Have we become plural? Or British royalty?"

"Shut up. We can't make scrambled eggs. We're out of milk."

"Egg salad maybe? Egg salad sandwiches with bacon. On toast."

"Then we'll have all this egg salad left, and by the middle of the week you won't want it anymore."

"Deviled eggs! It'll use up all the eggs, and... oh! Let's cook the bacon and crush it and put it in the deviled eggs!"

"I love you."

"I love you, too. You really should have gone to the grocery store, though."

"Shut up. I hate you."

Empowered to cook but now completely lacking in self-esteem, I loaded up my Clucky the Chicken chicken-shaped egg cooker with seven eggs. I noticed almost immediately that Clucky was leaking a little of the water the eggs were supposed to be boiling in, but I've had that egg cooker since 1998 when I got my first apartment and I love boiled eggs and I refuse to accept any suggestion that Clucky might be wearing out. Instead I put a dishtowel under Clucky and went to get the bacon out of the bacon keeper in the bottom of the fridge.

"Hey, is bacon supposed to be gray?"

"Shut up."

"Are there any other groceries rotting in secret in the bottom of the fridge that you'd like to try to eat?"

"Shut up."

I was all hung up on the idea of bacon and deviled eggs, though, so I decided to use bacon bits. I'll be on "Semi-Homemade" with Sandra Lee frosting a Kwaanza cake any day now, I'm sure. While I was grinding the bacon bits in the mortar and pestle because I decided they were too big and I like my deviled eggs smooth and creamy ("You're insane. You know that, right? Fully, completely insane." "Shut up.") Clucky started beeping. I pulled the eggs out, dropped them into a bowl of ice water, and started loading up the food processor with the filling ingredients. Ready to roll, I peeled the first egg, and noticed immediately that it seemed a little soft. Worried, I cut it in half and sure enough, the middle was soft and gross.

At this point I was ready to give up and start drinking, but I decided to load up Clucky again and try double boiling the eggs. And, thank God, it worked. I don't know that I could have taken more mental verbal abuse.

Oh, and just in case you're curious:

Bacon Horseradish Deviled Eggs

6 hard boiled eggs, peeled and sliced in half
2 teaspoons prepared horseradish
1 teaspoon horseradish mustard
6 teaspoons light Miracle Whip
1 handfull of bacon bits

Pop the yolks out of the eggs, put the whites on a plate, and throw everything else in the food processor. Process until smooth. Spoon into ziploc bag, seal bag, cut off the corner, and pipe filling into eggs. Pipe extra filling directly into open mouth from bag. Chill and eat, or just eat.

They're delicious.

My Visit With Loco

It was derby time in town again this weekend, but this home game was the best one ever (out of the three that I have to choose from) because my friend Loco Chanel, who skates for both the Midwest Mega Team and the Hell's Belles team in the Windy City Rollers league, came to town to lay some smack down on our Hard Knox Roller Girls:



She's not really a full head taller than me. That's after both bouts, and she still has her skates on. Also, you should click that picture so you can see her awesome glittery Loco Chanel helmet logo.

Anyway, before Loco's team got to play, we had an opening bout against the R.O.C.K., the Roller Girls of Central Kentucky. Based on the number of times they hit the floor, it went pretty well:





Granted, our girls fell a few times, too:



but we still won.

It was our last win of the night, sadly.

It started out kind of even:



It became clear fairly quickly, though, that even with half their team in the penalty box (Loco's at the head of the line, waiting to get back in):



we still couldn't score. Our girls tried really hard, but the Midwest Mega Team was an unbreakable wall, a metaphor best symbolized by this shot of one of our girls bouncing off of Loco and hitting the floor:



I don't remember the final score, but at one point in the bout they had three times the points that we did. I did get three friends to go, though, which was the most people ever, and everyone claimed to enjoy it.

After we sent Loco to the after party, I met up with her and Karmageddon this morning for breakfast at the Market Square Kitchen:



followed by posing with local statuary:





Before they headed out and I headed to work.

As a side note, look how baggy my damn jeans that used to be tight are! Bye bye, morbid obesity!

Oklahoma, Tauntiest State in the Union

I have this book my mom gave me back in 1999. If it wasn't mad of cardstock, it would probably just be a pamphlet, but instead it has firm covers with plastic holders on the inside for you to press state quarters into.

I didn't ask for this book. I thought it was kind of lame, actually, but my mom gave it to me and she'd already put a couple quarters in the slots and really, how hard could it be to pick quarters out of your change?

It turns out to be pretty hard. I've been carrying this book around since 1999. I have lived in three different cities and had three different jobs in that time. I've also had three cars, earned a degree, moved off campus, and the whole time I've been presing quarters into this book. I carefully analyze every handful of change, and this morning I was wildly excited to discover New Mexico.

Finally, I can stop pushing quarters in my little book. I ignored the friends who told me that there were quarters for Guam, or Washington, D.C., or Puerto Rico. My book says "50 States Quarters", and I now have all fifty states. Screw you, territories, protectorates, and districts.

When I got home, before I even took off my work shoes, I went straight to my bookshelf and got down the quarters book, and took out my New Mexico quarter, and made a shocking discovery:



I never had anything bad to say about Oklahoma, ever, before now. They have that musical, the people were friendly when I visited, it's the only state I've ever purchased a pornographic magazine in; until today I had nothing bad to say about them.

Now I wish the whole state would secede. Then I wouldn't need to fill that last slot.

busy week at school

It's been a busy week at school.

On Monday I had to stay really, really late at work to get a few hundred freshman contracts out. I was really cranky and ragey when I got home, but these things happen, and the next day I was perked up by the Spring Ceramic Sale:



Every semester the students have a sale to raise money for art scholarships, and usually I go over and look around without actually buying anything, but this time I saw the cutest little cup:



It matches some antique Asian ceramics I have on my bookcase, and it was only a few dollars, so I used some of my Easter money on it. (It's totally normal for people over thirty to still get Easter money from their parents. Shut up.) When I was paying, the girl who wrapped it up for me explained that she made it during her summer internship at Woodstock, and it was the only piece with that glaze that she was selling.

After I left she probably took another one just like it out from under the table and readied her story for the next rube. The cup was a few dollars, but my lack of faith in humanity is completely free.

The RA banquet on Wednesday night, though, made me smile again. Not only were there awards and clapping and hugging, but there was cake:



Delicious lemon and blueberry cake.

After the week I've had, that was enough to make everything ok.

Happy Easter!

Oh, Easter, most confusing of American Christian holidays, when we mingle pagan tradition with what's supposed to be the holiest of days. Granted, Christmas has a dash of the pagan thrown in:



But Santa is at least based on St. Nicholas, so they're trying to keep the holiday properly religious on some level.

Easter, though, is pretty much full-out pagan once you get home from church. Colored eggs, magical rabbits, the goddess Estre, sugar-related gluttony... they're not even trying to keep it clean.

I'm not judging, really. I'm just amused by the inherent contradiction in the way America generally chooses to celebrate the holiday.



How can a holiday with electric blue coconut not be amusing?

Smackdown in K-Ville!

Last Saturday, filled with great excitement, I attended roller derby again. Our girls have been on the road for the past month, playing away games (or away bouts; I'm still not clear on all the terminology), but they were finally back for a double header, so Bryan and I went and convinced our friend George to go, too.

Over our pre-bout dinner, George asked if I like to watch girls hit each other.

"I like to watch anybody hit each other."

It's true. I get bored watching baseball, tennis, golf, soccer, and any number of other non-contact sports live. I'll show up to a game if someone I know is playing, even more so if the concession stand has nachos or alcoholic beverages other than beer and someone else is driving, but for the most part I like my sports visceral and violent. I will sit through hours of hockey, boxing, and derby, although I will not make an effort to explore the psychological ramifications of this. We'll just say I like to watch people hit people and leave it at that.

Since the last time we saw our Hard Knox Roller Girls, so things have changed. For starters, we now have a mascot:



That's Sphere This, our mascot. She's really enthusiastic, and, you know, she's trying. God love her for trying, and for not being as scary as the Atlanta Sake Tuyas mascot:



She's... also trying. Really hard. I love enthusiasm, but mascots, in general, creep me out a little.

One of the the other things that's changed since last time I saw the team was that we got really aggressive. This wasn't terribly apparent during the first bout, against the Soul City Sirens:



but by the time we started the second bout, against the Atlanta Sake Tuyas, our girls in green were clearly in the grip of murderous rage.



BAM! No score for you, jammer!



BAM! BAM! Two girls down at once!



BAM! Say goodbye to winning and to pants!

We beat the hell out of them by over seventy points, and a good time was had by all, even George, who found a sign next to his chair:



Hella Kitty's sister came and took the sign later, so that she could wave it, but it was fun while it lasted.

Next home bout is in May, against TBA. I look forward to more hitting.

Hannah Montana and Entropy

Time waits for no man, not even Hannah Montana.

I saw this sticker in the parking lot, stuck to the asphalt:



I'm not sure why it was there, but I checked on it every day, just to see how long it would last. In between, I saw trucks with school spirit:



I took Jeannie to P.F. Chang's for her birthday dinner:



We met up with her husband, Brian:



I checked on Hannah:



I got excited for derby this weekend, a guaranteed good time:



The dogwood trees bloomed:



The flowers started to die:



Mavis attempted to sell me some bread:



And then I checked on Hannah again:



Time has erased her, as it will someday erase us all.