It began on March 21, 2005. It ended at 10:44 p.m. tonight, Wednesday, August 31, 2011. The first disc of the first season of The Practice has to be received by next Wednesday, September 7, and it will be. I'm done. Because of my now-permanent love of reading, I don't need Netflix as badly as I used to. Movies are always available somewhere, such as on Turner Classic Movies, and I may use Redbox for The Beaver, and Friends with Benefits when that comes to DVD. I'm content with those options.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
My Fry Realization
Since the breakup, I've been discovering who I am, what I love, what I want. This won't be the only entry about that.
After watching the second episode of the first season of The Practice after lunch (I need to send the disc back by Friday, even though Netflix gives 7 days to return outstanding discs after you cancel your account, but I'll be done with it by then and I want to get it off my hands), I spent the rest of the afternoon reading Hamburgers & Fries: An American Story by John T. Edge. There was much more about hamburgers than there was about fries, and that's probably as it should be, being that a burger is always the main focus. The fries are an afterthought. "Done with the burger. Oh look, fries!"
While reading about Edge's quest for good fries in Philadelphia, I thought about what kind of fries I like. Shoestring? Crinkle-cut? Thick? Thin? I'm good with any kind of fry, as long as it's crisp enough and doesn't give in easily to the potato interior. Even together, there has to be a separation of sorts between the outside and the inside. Each has to be distinctive.
Then I read this, on page 161, and I immediately knew what I like:
"But the highlight comes at a friend's birthday party, when I meet youngster Ben Robling. He's a staffer at Di Bruno's, the city's premier vendor of fine Italian cheeses. When I broach the subject of fries, I expect him to grab a wedge of Gorgonzola dolce and beat a hasty retreat. But he beguiles me with the story of a night he spent at his neighborhood diner, tucked into a corner booth, drinking a bootlegged bottle of Alsatian white, and digging into an aluminum pail of fries smothered in mozzarella and checkered with bacon. "Everything I've learned about how food and wine are supposed to work together was on that table," he says. "At that moment, you could have offered me a slab of foie gras and a glass of Sauternes and I would've turned you down flat."
I can't eat like I used to. I have memories of my knees hurting often, my feet hurting after very few errands, no real center of gravity. I was top-heavy and gut-heavy. But I also have memories of chili-cheese fries. I'm not sure where, but I remember baskets of them, and I regret to say that I only shoveled them in. I vaguely remember the mild spices of the chili, my joy at the melted cheese, and the weak and soggy nature of the fries under the chili and the cheese. I didn't mind. They were chili-cheese fries!
When fries merely accompany a dish, such as wings at Wing Stop, I use mustard, whenever I can find it, though Wing Stop doesn't have it. But no need for that there, since they have blue cheese dip. But when there's the opportunity to have fries covered in something, I go for it now only if I've been so good with my diet that I can afford one day of transgression.
Nevertheless, when I'm a resident of Henderson and have full access to the Las Vegas area, I want to find a diner or some place that has chili-cheese fries or fries covered with some other tasty combination. But I'm also looking for fries that can withstand a barrage of chili-cheese. I know that if enough chili is dumped on an order of fries, the fries get soggy because of the heat of the chili and the weight of it on the fries. I'm hoping there's a place in Vegas that has a balanceable ratio, and crispier fries that can handle that balance.
I also hope that I'll find some interesting combinations on top of fries. Maybe mozzarella and bacon pieces. I like the exploration that comes with chili-cheese fries, those cheesy crevices, that perfect combination of chili and cheese on top of one fry. This is how I prefer fries, and I will search. I won't search often, for the sake of my weight, but it's going to be fun.
After watching the second episode of the first season of The Practice after lunch (I need to send the disc back by Friday, even though Netflix gives 7 days to return outstanding discs after you cancel your account, but I'll be done with it by then and I want to get it off my hands), I spent the rest of the afternoon reading Hamburgers & Fries: An American Story by John T. Edge. There was much more about hamburgers than there was about fries, and that's probably as it should be, being that a burger is always the main focus. The fries are an afterthought. "Done with the burger. Oh look, fries!"
While reading about Edge's quest for good fries in Philadelphia, I thought about what kind of fries I like. Shoestring? Crinkle-cut? Thick? Thin? I'm good with any kind of fry, as long as it's crisp enough and doesn't give in easily to the potato interior. Even together, there has to be a separation of sorts between the outside and the inside. Each has to be distinctive.
Then I read this, on page 161, and I immediately knew what I like:
"But the highlight comes at a friend's birthday party, when I meet youngster Ben Robling. He's a staffer at Di Bruno's, the city's premier vendor of fine Italian cheeses. When I broach the subject of fries, I expect him to grab a wedge of Gorgonzola dolce and beat a hasty retreat. But he beguiles me with the story of a night he spent at his neighborhood diner, tucked into a corner booth, drinking a bootlegged bottle of Alsatian white, and digging into an aluminum pail of fries smothered in mozzarella and checkered with bacon. "Everything I've learned about how food and wine are supposed to work together was on that table," he says. "At that moment, you could have offered me a slab of foie gras and a glass of Sauternes and I would've turned you down flat."
I can't eat like I used to. I have memories of my knees hurting often, my feet hurting after very few errands, no real center of gravity. I was top-heavy and gut-heavy. But I also have memories of chili-cheese fries. I'm not sure where, but I remember baskets of them, and I regret to say that I only shoveled them in. I vaguely remember the mild spices of the chili, my joy at the melted cheese, and the weak and soggy nature of the fries under the chili and the cheese. I didn't mind. They were chili-cheese fries!
When fries merely accompany a dish, such as wings at Wing Stop, I use mustard, whenever I can find it, though Wing Stop doesn't have it. But no need for that there, since they have blue cheese dip. But when there's the opportunity to have fries covered in something, I go for it now only if I've been so good with my diet that I can afford one day of transgression.
Nevertheless, when I'm a resident of Henderson and have full access to the Las Vegas area, I want to find a diner or some place that has chili-cheese fries or fries covered with some other tasty combination. But I'm also looking for fries that can withstand a barrage of chili-cheese. I know that if enough chili is dumped on an order of fries, the fries get soggy because of the heat of the chili and the weight of it on the fries. I'm hoping there's a place in Vegas that has a balanceable ratio, and crispier fries that can handle that balance.
I also hope that I'll find some interesting combinations on top of fries. Maybe mozzarella and bacon pieces. I like the exploration that comes with chili-cheese fries, those cheesy crevices, that perfect combination of chili and cheese on top of one fry. This is how I prefer fries, and I will search. I won't search often, for the sake of my weight, but it's going to be fun.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Goodbye Netflix
It started out as a birthday present, and as a desire, in 2005. I had heard about Netflix, and was frustrated by my local library not readily having DVDs of The Bourne Supremacy and Before Sunset, both of which I wanted to see badly. And suddenly, March 21, there was my opportunity. Three DVDs at a time. And I could watch those right away.
Now it's the final week I'll have Netflix, and I can't count how many DVDs I've gone through with the service, how many Mom, Dad and Meridith have watched as well, but I do remember that in the last year, we switched from three DVDs to one. Cheaper, and streaming was still included. And I'm cancelling my subscription just like others have. DVDs and streaming in the same plan aren't permitted anymore. They charge separately. And I liked having the convenience of a DVD being sent, because most of what I watched wasn't available through streaming, and I also liked reminiscing about my childhood with such shows as Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and Beakman's World, both available through Netflix Streaming.
My final DVD came down to a decision as well. Two weeks ago, I deleted my entire queue, all 433 titles, as well as the 100 or so that were in my streaming queue. After, the site always implored me to have at least 6 titles in my DVD queue. I didn't need six. I wasn't going to watch that many by the end anyway. I've been Tivoing Boston Legal off of TV Land, and, having regained interest in the writing style of David E. Kelley, I became curious about The Practice, of which Boston Legal was its spinoff. I wanted to see it from the start, so I added the first disc of the first season to my queue. But when I went into my nearly empty queue, I saw that The Beaver, starring Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster, and directed by Foster, was at the top of my queue, and I was curious about that one. So what was it? Satisfy curiosity or delve more into the worldview of David E. Kelley? I still want to see The Beaver, and I will some day, most likely through whatever library in Las Vegas has a copy, but I like to go with what currently interests me, keeping up the momentum. So the first disc of the first season of The Practice will be my final DVD. And I probably won't watch all of it anyway. Tomorrow's the 30th, the DVD comes in the mail tomorrow, though I'll begin watching on the morning of the 31st (I don't spend any time in my room during the day, and that's where my DVD player, VCR, and 46-inch widescreen TV are), and have to get it back out by Friday, since the next billing date is on Sunday. Netflix isn't taking any more money from here.
Technology and the opportunities to watch what you like have changed in 6 years, with Amazon offering new services, Hulu existing, iTunes, and so many other opportunities. Plus, having rediscovered my passion for reading and realizing that that is what I love the most in life, I don't need Netflix as much as I used to. The Beaver is available for rental on Amazon. Maybe I'll do that.
Now it's the final week I'll have Netflix, and I can't count how many DVDs I've gone through with the service, how many Mom, Dad and Meridith have watched as well, but I do remember that in the last year, we switched from three DVDs to one. Cheaper, and streaming was still included. And I'm cancelling my subscription just like others have. DVDs and streaming in the same plan aren't permitted anymore. They charge separately. And I liked having the convenience of a DVD being sent, because most of what I watched wasn't available through streaming, and I also liked reminiscing about my childhood with such shows as Mighty Morphin Power Rangers and Beakman's World, both available through Netflix Streaming.
My final DVD came down to a decision as well. Two weeks ago, I deleted my entire queue, all 433 titles, as well as the 100 or so that were in my streaming queue. After, the site always implored me to have at least 6 titles in my DVD queue. I didn't need six. I wasn't going to watch that many by the end anyway. I've been Tivoing Boston Legal off of TV Land, and, having regained interest in the writing style of David E. Kelley, I became curious about The Practice, of which Boston Legal was its spinoff. I wanted to see it from the start, so I added the first disc of the first season to my queue. But when I went into my nearly empty queue, I saw that The Beaver, starring Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster, and directed by Foster, was at the top of my queue, and I was curious about that one. So what was it? Satisfy curiosity or delve more into the worldview of David E. Kelley? I still want to see The Beaver, and I will some day, most likely through whatever library in Las Vegas has a copy, but I like to go with what currently interests me, keeping up the momentum. So the first disc of the first season of The Practice will be my final DVD. And I probably won't watch all of it anyway. Tomorrow's the 30th, the DVD comes in the mail tomorrow, though I'll begin watching on the morning of the 31st (I don't spend any time in my room during the day, and that's where my DVD player, VCR, and 46-inch widescreen TV are), and have to get it back out by Friday, since the next billing date is on Sunday. Netflix isn't taking any more money from here.
Technology and the opportunities to watch what you like have changed in 6 years, with Amazon offering new services, Hulu existing, iTunes, and so many other opportunities. Plus, having rediscovered my passion for reading and realizing that that is what I love the most in life, I don't need Netflix as much as I used to. The Beaver is available for rental on Amazon. Maybe I'll do that.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Home is So Accessible
There's a company called Just Planes, which specializes in cockpit videos. They show pilots doing walk-arounds of the aircraft before flight, explaining what they're doing, the cameras are there during the preflight preparations, and during takeoff, and during the flight, and landing. Today they're doing a "Hurricane Irene Special Sale!" on certain DVDs: "For a limited time today as the storm is over our area!"
I had to take advantage of this, so I went to the website (First worldairroutes.com, which, when you click on the "Shopping Mall" link, leads to justplanes.net, and the discounts to be seen), scrolled through the "World Air Routes" offerings, and found "Carnival B727", a Boeing 727 flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Newark, which I wanted because in 1994, when my father's grandmother was in the hospital, we flew from Fort Lauderdale International to Newark International on a Delta Airlines Lockheed L-1011, and I wanted to see the route from the vantage point of a Boeing 727. It turns out that this particular program was the first one filmed by Just Planes 20 years ago in 1991 (3 years before my flight). I kept worldairroutes.com open in a separate browser to check the running time of the program to be sure I was getting a decent value, and though this one is a short 55 minutes, I didn't mind paying $10 because I want it for sentimental value.
Continuing my scrolling, I came upon Corsairfly B747 (Caribbean), a program with my favorite aircraft, the Boeing 747, in this case the -400 model. 2 hours for $15? Sold.
It turns out that not only is the company selling some of their cockpit DVDs at a discount, but also their airport DVDs, filming takeoffs and landings at various airports. Looking at that part of the justplanes.net site, the obvious DVDs are sold out, such as New York JFK, Los Angeles, and London Heathrow. But oh lord, what do I see here?! Las Vegas! Regular price is $19.95, sale price is $10. I clicked on the link, and I felt my heart race. A 3-hour program! A total of 340 takeoffs and landings! I don't care when it was filmed because McCarran International is a crucial part of Las Vegas history.
And this makes me love Las Vegas even more. Among aviation enthusiasts who have bought DVDs from this company, the obvious airport DVDs are sold out. But there is my home, so accessible to me. It's always welcoming, no matter in what capacity.
I had to take advantage of this, so I went to the website (First worldairroutes.com, which, when you click on the "Shopping Mall" link, leads to justplanes.net, and the discounts to be seen), scrolled through the "World Air Routes" offerings, and found "Carnival B727", a Boeing 727 flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Newark, which I wanted because in 1994, when my father's grandmother was in the hospital, we flew from Fort Lauderdale International to Newark International on a Delta Airlines Lockheed L-1011, and I wanted to see the route from the vantage point of a Boeing 727. It turns out that this particular program was the first one filmed by Just Planes 20 years ago in 1991 (3 years before my flight). I kept worldairroutes.com open in a separate browser to check the running time of the program to be sure I was getting a decent value, and though this one is a short 55 minutes, I didn't mind paying $10 because I want it for sentimental value.
Continuing my scrolling, I came upon Corsairfly B747 (Caribbean), a program with my favorite aircraft, the Boeing 747, in this case the -400 model. 2 hours for $15? Sold.
It turns out that not only is the company selling some of their cockpit DVDs at a discount, but also their airport DVDs, filming takeoffs and landings at various airports. Looking at that part of the justplanes.net site, the obvious DVDs are sold out, such as New York JFK, Los Angeles, and London Heathrow. But oh lord, what do I see here?! Las Vegas! Regular price is $19.95, sale price is $10. I clicked on the link, and I felt my heart race. A 3-hour program! A total of 340 takeoffs and landings! I don't care when it was filmed because McCarran International is a crucial part of Las Vegas history.
And this makes me love Las Vegas even more. Among aviation enthusiasts who have bought DVDs from this company, the obvious airport DVDs are sold out. But there is my home, so accessible to me. It's always welcoming, no matter in what capacity.
Friday, August 26, 2011
A Perfect Day
I hear about how love can be found when you least expect it, and it's time for me to believe that. I want someone, but at the same time, I'm waiting until my family and I move to Henderson to begin again. But at the same time, I'm also realizing what I truly want, and enjoying how I've found it.
I want someone who feels such happiness when they read a book that they want to jump up, stay there, and fly through wherever they are. For me, yesterday, it was at the Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive, part of a long, but utterly satisfying day that included a proper haircut by a tiny, fascinating woman named Kim at her 36-year-long store next to Caruso's II, the second Italian restaurant of the same name in this valley (Mom and Meridith got their hair cut too, and it happened yet again like it did all the other times, that the good things only come along when we're preparing to move. That has to stop, and thank god for Henderson for that, because the good things are always all around).
At one point there, walking with Mom and Meridith through the air freshener aisle on the food side of that massive elephant of a store, I was so deep into reading How to Bake a Perfect Life by Barbara O'Neal, and I got to the part where Ramona and Jonah are spending an evening at his house, rediscovering each other, and it felt like tears were going to come to my eyes. My heart was swelling so fast, I thought I was going to be pulled up into the air, high above those air fresheners and looking across at the soy milk, wondering briefly if we needed any more of the Silk Very Vanilla milk or the dark chocolate almond milk we get from the same brand.
I loved that feeling. I have it again today as I finish this wonderful, lovely gem of a novel, and look ahead to starting Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson. I want this for all time. I want someone who knows that feeling in books, who lets it overtake them completely.
I want someone who feels such happiness when they read a book that they want to jump up, stay there, and fly through wherever they are. For me, yesterday, it was at the Walmart Supercenter on Carl Boyer Drive, part of a long, but utterly satisfying day that included a proper haircut by a tiny, fascinating woman named Kim at her 36-year-long store next to Caruso's II, the second Italian restaurant of the same name in this valley (Mom and Meridith got their hair cut too, and it happened yet again like it did all the other times, that the good things only come along when we're preparing to move. That has to stop, and thank god for Henderson for that, because the good things are always all around).
At one point there, walking with Mom and Meridith through the air freshener aisle on the food side of that massive elephant of a store, I was so deep into reading How to Bake a Perfect Life by Barbara O'Neal, and I got to the part where Ramona and Jonah are spending an evening at his house, rediscovering each other, and it felt like tears were going to come to my eyes. My heart was swelling so fast, I thought I was going to be pulled up into the air, high above those air fresheners and looking across at the soy milk, wondering briefly if we needed any more of the Silk Very Vanilla milk or the dark chocolate almond milk we get from the same brand.
I loved that feeling. I have it again today as I finish this wonderful, lovely gem of a novel, and look ahead to starting Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson. I want this for all time. I want someone who knows that feeling in books, who lets it overtake them completely.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
What is Satisfaction? It is This.
I spent the late morning and the entire afternoon reading the rest of The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman, and I felt such deep satisfaction, such calm happiness from having become so absorbed in this story about a failing newspaper in Rome and all its inhabitants, editors, writers, reader and publisher alike. Rachman's quiet genius is in each chapter telling the story of each character, while sprinkling the others in as cameos, bringing it all together with what feels like a proper epilogue. And I loved it. I loved the book, I loved that feeling I got from having read something so good that afterward, I went to my priority reading stack and pulled out How to Bake a Perfect Life by Barbara O'Neal. So far, it's good, direct in its approach in this story about a woman taking in her daughter's stepdaughter while she goes to Germany to attend to her severely burned soldier husband in Afghanistan. There's lots of breadmaking involved, and though anything food-related always holds my attention, and I feel so involved again, I want this more often than I had it before. More reading. Lots more. Now if this same, lasting feeling can be found in a relationship, I'm all set.
The Ghosts Have Disappeared
I had a dream during the night that released Lisa completely from my heart and soul. She had vacated my heart early yesterday evening, but I still had brief thoughts of hope that she would eventually find whoever it would be that would make her happy.
In this dream, I was involved in a production of Sweeney Todd that starred Angela Lansbury, and one part of the dream, though not crucial to what happened, was that I wanted to ask Lansbury what she thought about Tim Burton's film of the musical.
The backstage area was this huge, opulent mansion, with deep tile hallways, gold trim on the ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows with cloudy sunshine pouring in, partitioned beds, and very nice buffet spreads. In one part of the mansion, I was running through a tile hallway for some unknown reason, and I spotted three women far ahead of me, two my height, one slightly smaller. They leaped into the air and disappeared.
Who were they? Did they represent what I had liked about Lisa, that she was a voracious reader, a writer, a lover of old movies? Did one of them represent her voice, which had made me melt the first time I heard it on the phone and lasted all the way through to the end? Was one of them representative of how attractive I thought she was? I don't know, and I'll never know, and it doesn't haunt me, because the ghosts have disappeared. That's what they were. I think they did represent her in some way, and that's it. Today, I'm myself again. I'm happy. I've been reading The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman and I had forgotten in those two-and-a-half months how much I enjoy just sitting for hours and reading, especially when the story is as absorbing as this one. I have missed this so much. I'm loving recovering all these parts of myself that I will never abandon again.
I knew I was back to myself when I woke up at about 10:10 this morning and heard "Singin' in the Rain" streaming in from my sister's room across the hall, and wondered if she had Turner Classic Movies on. So I went to her room, found she was still sleeping, but earlier, she had put on a Paddington Bear DVD for our dog Tigger, and Paddington was dancing around in the rain in a raincoat and black galoshes. I have returned.
In this dream, I was involved in a production of Sweeney Todd that starred Angela Lansbury, and one part of the dream, though not crucial to what happened, was that I wanted to ask Lansbury what she thought about Tim Burton's film of the musical.
The backstage area was this huge, opulent mansion, with deep tile hallways, gold trim on the ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows with cloudy sunshine pouring in, partitioned beds, and very nice buffet spreads. In one part of the mansion, I was running through a tile hallway for some unknown reason, and I spotted three women far ahead of me, two my height, one slightly smaller. They leaped into the air and disappeared.
Who were they? Did they represent what I had liked about Lisa, that she was a voracious reader, a writer, a lover of old movies? Did one of them represent her voice, which had made me melt the first time I heard it on the phone and lasted all the way through to the end? Was one of them representative of how attractive I thought she was? I don't know, and I'll never know, and it doesn't haunt me, because the ghosts have disappeared. That's what they were. I think they did represent her in some way, and that's it. Today, I'm myself again. I'm happy. I've been reading The Imperfectionists by Tom Rachman and I had forgotten in those two-and-a-half months how much I enjoy just sitting for hours and reading, especially when the story is as absorbing as this one. I have missed this so much. I'm loving recovering all these parts of myself that I will never abandon again.
I knew I was back to myself when I woke up at about 10:10 this morning and heard "Singin' in the Rain" streaming in from my sister's room across the hall, and wondered if she had Turner Classic Movies on. So I went to her room, found she was still sleeping, but earlier, she had put on a Paddington Bear DVD for our dog Tigger, and Paddington was dancing around in the rain in a raincoat and black galoshes. I have returned.
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