1. Comic-Corn!
I was so excited about Comic-Corn that I forgot to eat Comic-Corn last night. (I ate regular, non-entertaining food after dark, though.) Tonight, I will probably eat at work, so ol’ chicken scratch gets another reprieve. And, at this rate, it will potentially never get eaten (along with Fudge John Hodgman, meowroboros, Cyclops-tarts and other Fridge-located projects.) “Peanuts on urCornnuts.”

    Comic-Corn!

    I was so excited about Comic-Corn that I forgot to eat Comic-Corn last night. (I ate regular, non-entertaining food after dark, though.) Tonight, I will probably eat at work, so ol’ chicken scratch gets another reprieve. And, at this rate, it will potentially never get eaten (along with Fudge John Hodgman, meowroboros, Cyclops-tarts and other Fridge-located projects.)

    “Peanuts on urCornnuts.”

     
  2. Though technically discontinued, the local KMart presents a blueber-resurrection on the tall guy shelves.

    (This aisle also seems to encourage autophagy, so I don’t know how much I trust them.)

    I probably should know better than to hunt for groceries before a 9PM breakfast, but I did end up impulse buying a cereal so bulked with fiber that it might as well have been named “A.M.azing? No: B.M.azing”. So much fiber!

     
  3. Everyone knows milk is good for you.  But it’s not cool to drink milk.
A thankfully, although maybe excessively, high percentage of my time is spent scratching my own informational itches.
Whether physical eczema relates to intellectual eczema is a question for a different type of doctor than the ones with whom I deal.

    Everyone knows milk is good for you.  But it’s not cool to drink milk.

    A thankfully, although maybe excessively, high percentage of my time is spent scratching my own informational itches.

    Whether physical eczema relates to intellectual eczema is a question for a different type of doctor than the ones with whom I deal.

     
  4. Non-Canonical McNuggets?!? on Flickr.This was like a black swan in my standard censusing workflow. And I saw black swans about a week ago in real life, though I can only presume this McNugget is not necessarily Chicken. 
But!
Either the quality control on deep fried garbage out of Chicago O’Hare’s Concourse C Franchise is not quite there, **or** there is something awesome going on these days in international mcnuggetry science.

    Non-Canonical McNuggets?!? on Flickr.

    This was like a black swan in my standard censusing workflow. And I saw black swans about a week ago in real life, though I can only presume this McNugget is not necessarily Chicken.

    But!

    Either the quality control on deep fried garbage out of Chicago O’Hare’s Concourse C Franchise is not quite there, **or** there is something awesome going on these days in international mcnuggetry science.

     
  5. I take cookies SUPER seriously.

     
  6. image: Download

    Sometimes I don’t know how my parents made it work out.  Their respective origin countries literally could not be further apart in a force ranked list of countries by protein content in local “Big Mac”.
I think it is possible that I have never eaten a Big Mac.  Both because of life-long suspicions regarding a sauce only publicly characterized as “special”, and an equally psychologically weird distaste for the idea of the EXTRA non-top/non-bottom bun.  
Ohman, this article is even better because of Chinese weight units.
足三両 I worry I would feel cheated when a sandwich showed up with less than three patties when the name clearly has a 3 patty meat-stack in it.

    Sometimes I don’t know how my parents made it work out.  Their respective origin countries literally could not be further apart in a force ranked list of countries by protein content in local “Big Mac”.

    I think it is possible that I have never eaten a Big Mac.  Both because of life-long suspicions regarding a sauce only publicly characterized as “special”, and an equally psychologically weird distaste for the idea of the EXTRA non-top/non-bottom bun.  

    Ohman, this article is even better because of Chinese weight units.

    足三両
    I worry I would feel cheated when a sandwich showed up with less than three patties when the name clearly has a 3 patty meat-stack in it.

     
  7. image: Download

    I am not full on furious that—because someone 4.7 thousand miles away didn’t check a part a month ago—the day I left in my itinerary for possible science crises *or* bobbing around in the Mediterranean is mostly going to be spent waiting around in canned air in a clinical lab in Tuscany.  Partially because it happens: sometimes Santino’s words are unheeded and the gun is not planted behind the toilet and you have to pull up your pants and grit your teeth and twitch through the rest of dinner with the Commissioner (a weird alternate universe “Padrino” twist).  Partially because, when you leave yourself a plan for a worse case scenario (not the worst, but not the best of all possible scenarios) and then kind of find yourself putting it in action, there is maybe a teensy sense of the awful (but satisfying in a “I don’t *want* to say I told you so…”) kind of boyscouty self-satisfaction. It is also surely why pessimism is so popular: you are either right all the time, or good things are constantly happening. But probably mostly because I kind of maybe already saw the best thing on Sunday at the “Square of Miracles”.  International Sandwich Monster!  (ital. ¡Panini Mostro Internazionale!)It seems churlish to complain. The view from the lab is nice.  The wireless is better than the hotel’s.  And the lab espresso robot is pretty solid. Mostly I worry about a sentiment I expressed a few years ago when people would ask me, clearly with the implication that it was awful, how I found living in the South.One town is very like another when your head’s down over your pieces, brother.Oh (Bill) Murray Head. It struck me later that one could probably enjoy places more.  I did buy a banjo and I still sometimes miss the night sky.

    I am not full on furious that—because someone 4.7 thousand miles away didn’t check a part a month ago—the day I left in my itinerary for possible science crises *or* bobbing around in the Mediterranean is mostly going to be spent waiting around in canned air in a clinical lab in Tuscany.

    Partially because it happens: sometimes Santino’s words are unheeded and the gun is not planted behind the toilet and you have to pull up your pants and grit your teeth and twitch through the rest of dinner with the Commissioner (a weird alternate universe “Padrino” twist).

    Partially because, when you leave yourself a plan for a worse case scenario (not the worst, but not the best of all possible scenarios) and then kind of find yourself putting it in action, there is maybe a teensy sense of the awful (but satisfying in a “I don’t *want* to say I told you so…”) kind of boyscouty self-satisfaction. It is also surely why pessimism is so popular: you are either right all the time, or good things are constantly happening.

    But probably mostly because I kind of maybe already saw the best thing on Sunday at the “Square of Miracles”.
    International Sandwich Monster!
    (ital. ¡Panini Mostro Internazionale!)

    It seems churlish to complain. The view from the lab is nice. The wireless is better than the hotel’s. And the lab espresso robot is pretty solid. Mostly I worry about a sentiment I expressed a few years ago when people would ask me, clearly with the implication that it was awful, how I found living in the South.

    One town is very like another when your head’s down over your pieces, brother.

    Oh (Bill) Murray Head. It struck me later that one could probably enjoy places more. I did buy a banjo and I still sometimes miss the night sky.

     
  8. image: Download

    A while back, I had stumbled upon this recipe when trying to figure out how to recreate the spinach at my favorite meat-shack here in town.  (St Elmo’s Steak House is useful for taking customers to and notable for (1.) Tasty Cow Bits, (2.) Shrimp Cocktails*, (3.) probably other things, but when I went there with my little brother it was the first time I had ever consumed “Creamed Spinach” and it was kind of magical.  *The cocktail sauce is pretty great too: so much horseradish it might be more accurately stableradish (?), but focusing on the Spinach.) 
Every once in a while I will still phone in an order to the next door sister restaurant and pick it up, but I am generally put off by my own knowledge of the delicious/heart-stopping tradeoffs.    Anyhow:
replaced the butter with a little Olive Oyl,
replaced the sour cream with fat free sour cream,
replaced the heavy cream with…more fat free sour cream,
replaced the Parmesan cheese with the “Reduced fat grated Parmesan” food product that was in my fridge,
went generic with the Tabasco sauce,
didn’t add any sugar,
and was a little fast and loose with the measurement exactness while keeping the ratios approximately the same.  (36 lbs of spinach is a little much for me, given impending travel.)
[While analytical enough for international troubleshooting, I was never *particularly gifted in chemical synthesis*.] 
And, while I did turn the heat off, I mixed everything in a wok while still on the range, because I wanted to reduce the spinach a little bit in order to get everything to fit well into the single giant generic tupperware container it (was going to hang/is hanging) out in. 
I have been portioning it out into that same sour cream container for microwaving, and 2 minutes does get it toasty enough. 
(The sour cream was the primary ingredient I used that I had to go get, which may have been why I wanted to be using it all instead of thinking about modifying my fridge organization.  Yeah, I can see that reads crazy.)
Anyhow, YMMV and certainly the real thing is super tasty, but even in its attenuated and bastardized form per the above modifications:  Experimentally, NEITHER terrible NOR health-anxiety inducing at any time of day.  Breakfast spinach!  Lunch spinach!  Dinner spinach!   You might love it!  
xo,Rough House

    A while back, I had stumbled upon this recipe when trying to figure out how to recreate the spinach at my favorite meat-shack here in town. 

    (St Elmo’s Steak House is useful for taking customers to and notable for (1.) Tasty Cow Bits, (2.) Shrimp Cocktails*, (3.) probably other things, but when I went there with my little brother it was the first time I had ever consumed “Creamed Spinach” and it was kind of magical. 
    *The cocktail sauce is pretty great too: so much horseradish it might be more accurately stableradish (?), but focusing on the Spinach.) 

    Every once in a while I will still phone in an order to the next door sister restaurant and pick it up, but I am generally put off by my own knowledge of the delicious/heart-stopping tradeoffs.    Anyhow:

    • replaced the butter with a little Olive Oyl,
    • replaced the sour cream with fat free sour cream,
    • replaced the heavy cream with…more fat free sour cream,
    • replaced the Parmesan cheese with the “Reduced fat grated Parmesan” food product that was in my fridge,
    • went generic with the Tabasco sauce,
    • didn’t add any sugar,
    • and was a little fast and loose with the measurement exactness while keeping the ratios approximately the same. 
      (36 lbs of spinach is a little much for me, given impending travel.)

    [While analytical enough for international troubleshooting,
    I was never *particularly gifted in chemical synthesis*.] 

    • And, while I did turn the heat off, I mixed everything in a wok while still on the range, because I wanted to reduce the spinach a little bit in order to get everything to fit well into the single giant generic tupperware container it (was going to hang/is hanging) out in. 

    I have been portioning it out into that same sour cream container for microwaving, and 2 minutes does get it toasty enough. 

    (The sour cream was the primary ingredient I used that I had to go get, which may have been why I wanted to be using it all instead of thinking about modifying my fridge organization.  Yeah, I can see that reads crazy.)

    Anyhow, YMMV and certainly the real thing is super tasty, but even in its attenuated and bastardized form per the above modifications: 
    Experimentally, NEITHER terrible NOR health-anxiety inducing at any time of day.  Breakfast spinach!  Lunch spinach!  Dinner spinach!   You might love it! 

    xo,
    Rough House

    (Source: books.google.com)

     
  9. image: Download

    "Day ~500*: An Argument for Preservatives"
(or, “Day 500: An Argument Against Preservatives”)
Either way. 
*cf. 1 (wrong color for a heart),       2 (champions of breakfast),       3 (D144).

    "Day ~500*: An Argument for Preservatives"

    (or, “Day 500: An Argument Against Preservatives”)

    Either way. 


    *cf. 1 (wrong color for a heart),
          2 (champions of breakfast),
          3 (D144).

     
  10. (Ohman, I’d almost forgotten about this!)

    In Germany — and this particular bakery was, appropriately enough, in Mannheim — they maybe forgo the idea of blog-to-book deals for pod-to-bake deals.  Of all comfortable enough notions turned establishments that I’ve walked into, this was easily the best smelling.

    AND, since there was a bread slicing machine by the door, one could easily draw direct comparisons to sliced bread.  (You can parse slightly more accurately when I was there by nearby cross-timeline action.) I sat by it for about a half hour and missed a train waiting for someone to buy and slice a loaf.  And, just before I hit the level of disappointed acceptance that would make me give up on the hope of seeing it in action, someone did and it was pretty special.  And then I caught the next train.  Flexibility as regards a plan is probably one of the easiest traits to cultivate toward enabling the enjoyment tiny weirdly magical moments.  Anyhow: freshly sliced bread; I can see how it would be a sort of standard best thing, even if brotschneiden ist kinderleicht!

    (I did not buy bread.  I could have just bought and auto-sliced a loaf, but it felt like it would have been a weirdly fraudulent thing to do, like going to the zoo INSTEAD OF hunting down kangaroos in the wild (, although I am historically okay with doing both).  I did buy a Coke Light (which is what Europe calls a Diet Coke) and 2 pairs of fingerless gloves from the place across the way. They were a gambit and, while I wouldn’t say I regret nothing, they are pretty cute and enable me to roll up my sleeves AND maintain dexterity WITHOUT exposing my forearms.  Which would seem simultaneously like both my most American of semi-conscious mannerisms and maybe my most un-American of weird subculturally ingrained hang-ups.)

     
  11. Likely because of the subconscious association with the impending duty of spreading word of national technological hegemony overseas, I woke up with "The Spirit of America" stuck in my head today.

    A song I heard a couple times, (it was a relatively long parade that came around a couple times, I think, over the course of the day) though all pretty much in that one day. In 1988, on a magical family adventure in Orlando.

    (If memory serves—and maybe it’s an international family thing—we enjoyed EPCOT; I think in the weird pseudohome/comforting way that the Egyptian exhibit at the local children’s museum is like a statistical average of every Arabic speaking house’s living room I played in as a kid. We also rode the Star Tours thing like 8 times. Maybe in a hopeful pseudofuturehome way. We all do like robots.)

    It’s been here all day. Brains are weird.

    [Off to Deutschland. If I somehow end up traumatically pooped on, I will probably not tell y’all; even if you sense my shame and ask about it; and particularly if I like it (eep! I think the likelihood on that would be super-spectacularly low, but entertaining even improbable notions is an important exercise.) If anything else happens: standard travel rules apply.) Don’t bother breaking into my apartment. I still mostly have cardboard box furniture and there are dudes here, guarding the place (and fixing the ceiling, hopefully).]

     
  12. image: Download

    Despite never eating there, this was by far my favorite establishment in the Belgian town we stayed in.  
(Time delayed photodump.)

    Despite never eating there, this was by far my favorite establishment in the Belgian town we stayed in. 

    (Time delayed photodump.)

     
  13. Inadvertently made eye-contact with the giant dead eyes of the Subway® anthropomorphic sandwich monster.  If pop-cultural memory serves, I believe I now have 7 days to consume (and flush) one foot of sandwich or else I may die.  (One may have the option of pushing one sandwich monster into a well, but that seems like it would be trickier and maybe a worse end if I am wrong.)

    I think this is doable, but everyone always seems to think that at the beginning of the film.  Anyhow, if anything happens, take care!

     
  14. American Sign Language: “pizza”

    Opinions on the best sign for PIZZA are as varied as opinions on who makes the best pizza in town and what toppings are the most delicious. The fact is there are several popular variations for this sign.

    …also, the most delicious topping is anchovies. Even adolescent turtles who lived in sewers* would have told you that, despite the fact that in graphical and toyetic renderings of their tales, covering a large pie in reddish disks was clearly easier to do.

    C’mon, don’t be dumb.
    (^^ Ohman ^^ new worst moment. I can consign myself: 4 days, dungeon.)

    Here is an indication of how off I have been.

    *Here’s me utilizing the archive: I haven’t had pizza since March 8.

    (Editorial note regarding the pizza consumed March 8th: It was SUPER gross.  Mostly because of the cheese, the avocado I may have scraped off and eaten on its own: that part was pretty tasty.  Food blarrg.)

     
  15. Fudge John Hodgman
While it is sometimes a relief to have an idea out of one’s head, there is often a price to pay. And that price is the three (3) dollars of fudge that were consumed in getting this onto the back of a napkin.
(All comments on projects like this can be accompanied by an implicit “so…how’re the pending manuscript edits coming?” and I’d settle into a gentle sadness.)

    Fudge John Hodgman

    While it is sometimes a relief to have an idea out of one’s head, there is often a price to pay. And that price is the three (3) dollars of fudge that were consumed in getting this onto the back of a napkin.

    (All comments on projects like this can be accompanied by an implicit “so…how’re the pending manuscript edits coming?” and I’d settle into a gentle sadness.)