Gee, I really can't decide who won the debate after all that rigorous foreign policy talk.
Nucular...
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
Friday, September 24, 2004
Debriefing
My second apple pie is not quite as tasty as the first. I got the amount of apples right (the other pie was miniscule in overall thickness), but I used a different recipe this time for the buttermilk filling base. You see, I follow a book recipe for buttermilk pie, and then fold my own apples in. The first one used a bit of lemon juice and a tablespoon of butter; this one used an actual full stick of fucking butter (I used margarine since my father couldn't locate the butter in the deep freeze underneath all the squirrels, snakes, a kitten, etc.), which made my product far too oily. Also, my mother suggested I use Red Delicious apples this time over Granny Smith (she said the last pie was too tart), but I found them to be really kind of boring and flavorless.
My original problem with the first pie was that it was too liquid; it was a cream pie with some apples floating around in it. I'm going to base my next invention upon the first recipe, since it uses much less butter, but I'll put in only the amount of lemon juice required to keep the apples from oxidizing. I plan to use slightly less buttermilk in order to thicken the mix a bit, and I'll use the same amount of apples I did for the second pie. I want the buttermilk "custard" to simply fill in the cracks between the apples and give it a light, sweet flavor, not exist as the sole contents of the pastry. Less sugar is in order, too--the first recipe calls for two damned cups, and I'd like to have an apple pie rather than an angel food cake. At the end of this I hope to have my own recipe which combines my personally adjusted buttermilk pie with a certain amount of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Despite the dissatisfaction at my second recipe's result for the filling, I think I've finally figured out the crust. I did it the night before, a difficult single crust recipe with not much shortening (I still can't find butter in my damn house), and put it in the refridgerator until the next day. It dried up considerably, but with some extra moisture it finally rolled out, and I even got it into the pan without making some sort of misshapen omelet. I've been pretty happy with the crusts, as they're just the way I want them: flaky and not crunchy like a blackened pecan pie.
My original problem with the first pie was that it was too liquid; it was a cream pie with some apples floating around in it. I'm going to base my next invention upon the first recipe, since it uses much less butter, but I'll put in only the amount of lemon juice required to keep the apples from oxidizing. I plan to use slightly less buttermilk in order to thicken the mix a bit, and I'll use the same amount of apples I did for the second pie. I want the buttermilk "custard" to simply fill in the cracks between the apples and give it a light, sweet flavor, not exist as the sole contents of the pastry. Less sugar is in order, too--the first recipe calls for two damned cups, and I'd like to have an apple pie rather than an angel food cake. At the end of this I hope to have my own recipe which combines my personally adjusted buttermilk pie with a certain amount of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg.
Despite the dissatisfaction at my second recipe's result for the filling, I think I've finally figured out the crust. I did it the night before, a difficult single crust recipe with not much shortening (I still can't find butter in my damn house), and put it in the refridgerator until the next day. It dried up considerably, but with some extra moisture it finally rolled out, and I even got it into the pan without making some sort of misshapen omelet. I've been pretty happy with the crusts, as they're just the way I want them: flaky and not crunchy like a blackened pecan pie.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
I sure am glad I don't know any standleaders.
To a lot of people I must be a walking contradiction. I can put on an outfit that varies from black only in an orange cat hair or two, and come to school looking like I've been hit by a train full of Nyquil, and then sing uplifting gospel/jazz music.
Tribes 2 is a good game. Gamespy gives you a free CD key now, and I happen to have the Gillespies' CD left over from long, long ago, so I've been giving it a shot. It's really the same old junk with better graphics, but I am absolutely in love with the vehicles. I was in Tribes 1--my skill at piloting Scouts is mind-boggling, in that I often fly underneath miniscule bridges in order to drop bombs or fire rockets at unsuspecting Starwolf--and now I am able to actually enjoy the grav cycles, bombers, mobile point bases, shrike turbogravs and the like without playing some god-forsaken unbalanced mod that looks like ass and plays like a fucking Dragonball Z episode. A teammate will frantically rant of an incoming bomber, and I am able to jetpack towards the practically indestructible vehicle pad in time to intercept such a threat with an agile fighter, which allows me the enjoyment of watching ejected Tribesmen fall to the ground like pathetic ants--along with the charred rubble of their craft. I can park an assault tank in a ravine thousands of meters away from the enemy base, and constantly lob mortars blindly into turrets, inventory stations, and people. It's the first different and enjoyable gaming experiences I've actually bothered to have in awhile (besides playing Doom 3 at Sterling's), and makes me actually consider investing in a graphics card less than six years old.
The Breakfast Club is a badass movie.
To a lot of people I must be a walking contradiction. I can put on an outfit that varies from black only in an orange cat hair or two, and come to school looking like I've been hit by a train full of Nyquil, and then sing uplifting gospel/jazz music.
Tribes 2 is a good game. Gamespy gives you a free CD key now, and I happen to have the Gillespies' CD left over from long, long ago, so I've been giving it a shot. It's really the same old junk with better graphics, but I am absolutely in love with the vehicles. I was in Tribes 1--my skill at piloting Scouts is mind-boggling, in that I often fly underneath miniscule bridges in order to drop bombs or fire rockets at unsuspecting Starwolf--and now I am able to actually enjoy the grav cycles, bombers, mobile point bases, shrike turbogravs and the like without playing some god-forsaken unbalanced mod that looks like ass and plays like a fucking Dragonball Z episode. A teammate will frantically rant of an incoming bomber, and I am able to jetpack towards the practically indestructible vehicle pad in time to intercept such a threat with an agile fighter, which allows me the enjoyment of watching ejected Tribesmen fall to the ground like pathetic ants--along with the charred rubble of their craft. I can park an assault tank in a ravine thousands of meters away from the enemy base, and constantly lob mortars blindly into turrets, inventory stations, and people. It's the first different and enjoyable gaming experiences I've actually bothered to have in awhile (besides playing Doom 3 at Sterling's), and makes me actually consider investing in a graphics card less than six years old.
The Breakfast Club is a badass movie.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Eureka!
My first pie is complete. Despite misproportioned amounts of ingredients (too much buttermilk, not enough apples), it is a pie worthy of tasty pie praise. I have, therefore, written a techno short entitled "Tasty Pie". IM me to get it. IM me for the picture too, I can't get fucking picasa to work so no pictures on my blog for awhile.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Apple Pie; Baseball; Scholarships
From now until March 5, 2005, I will take on a new ambitious mission: to become a master of apple pie. I will bake, and bake until I bake in my sleep, and then I will continue to bake until I feel that my buttermilk apple pie is a masterpiece worthy of Chairman Kaga. I will be able to simply walk into my kitchen blindfolded, find ingredients, and make a pie on gut instinct when I am finished.
The purpose is to enter the CIA's (Culinary Institute of America) All-American Apple Pie Contest. I must forge a beautiful work of art in the fires of my Jenn-Air oven worthy of professional photography, send the CIA a picture, and write an essay which pours out my otherworldly passion for food. The first pie will be made tomorrow, using vegetable shortening for crust, as I will be focusing on the pie filling itself first, and the perfection of a flaky crust later (any pie guru will tell you that both filling and crust must be in complete harmony for a truly glorious pastry). I intend to keep a photo diary of my progress.
The purpose is to enter the CIA's (Culinary Institute of America) All-American Apple Pie Contest. I must forge a beautiful work of art in the fires of my Jenn-Air oven worthy of professional photography, send the CIA a picture, and write an essay which pours out my otherworldly passion for food. The first pie will be made tomorrow, using vegetable shortening for crust, as I will be focusing on the pie filling itself first, and the perfection of a flaky crust later (any pie guru will tell you that both filling and crust must be in complete harmony for a truly glorious pastry). I intend to keep a photo diary of my progress.
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Friday, September 17, 2004
Man, stuff sure is going great. I think it has quite a lot to do with Hawaiian coffee in the morning, which I am very, very proficient at brewing. I take pride in the elitist art so very much that I actually parade around the school exclaiming that one must use only purified water, and grind the beans for 15 seconds; no more, no less. It is shameful and it is good.
I find that I like people quite a bit, contrary to popular belief. All they have to do is be mature about things. In fact, this year I am far, far friendlier in general. I think it's because I feel healthier and more awake in the unholy hours we are forced to give to Klein High School. There isn't any significant burden of academic work at all, so I can concentrate on the things I like to do, like singing, and actually acquiring some relatively useful knowledge in a few of my classes without unproductively practicing for a new version of the same test I've been taking since first fucking grade. I can just sort of enjoy things, and communicate with my fellow semi-humans. I do believe this is what confidence feels like...
So Sterling and I have almost distributed flyers throughout every street in Memorial Northwest. Our last day of agony for the time being is tomorrow, and then I can collect the modest paycheck which will most likely serve as an insole for my shoes. My feet are tired as they have never been before; I feel as though I have been trekking through the desert for weeks, except my feet have been falling on concrete and dry, rock-hard soil instead of sand. It always amazes me on these outdoor expeditions that I have the ability to drink literally gallons and gallons of water, but the necessity to relieve myself of any excess fluid is relinquished completely for periods of five hours or greater.
My bench has increased to 155. I am a weightlifting addict, though I refuse to down spoonfuls of horrifyingly concentrated protein supplements. Lots of people do it and say it's great, but I prefer to stick to my more natural curriculum. Besides that, I really don't think I want to look like the guy on the can of PROTEIN POWER SHIT 2000. I don't mind being all buff, but I prefer to keep as many of my veins and arteries well below my skin as possible, and you really don't need to see every individual muscle fiber through my shirt. The whole idea that I am pretty strong, especially compared to my virtually glorious days as Ianaman the Level 50 Cleric, is enough for me.
You know, I think the physical exertion--working out, doing the flyers, mowing lawns, and doing grunt work for neighbors--that I've done this summer and continue to do is a priceless thing. It's not even that important because of the money, but I truly believe that if you go into the real world after your childhood and teenage years without really knowing the feeling of struggle, even if it's something you voluntarily do, you're doomed. When you're panting and running around in your third hour trying to get stuff done, or barely getting that bar back onto the bench while feeling your muscles start to lock up, or just sweating and knowing you won't stop sweating for quite awhile, you really get a sense of what it is to be human. I don't know, maybe it's just masochistic, but I do it all to better myself physically and mentally.
While we're on ideals, a guy at district choir auditions (which I got seventh at, by the way) told me that it's good to raise kids with a religion because it teaches them a set of values, morals, etc. to become good people by. My opinion was (and is) that you should never "raise your kids Catholic" or "raise your kids Baptist" or some junk like that, but that you should just raise your kids. You tell a three year-old that there's a god, and there's no way he can deny it, but as he matures and begins to observe his surroundings more deeply all the time, he may begin to doubt that. So many are hurt because they begin to question their faith at about our age, and hate themselves for it because unfaithfulness/godlessness is such an ultimate sin.
So, that takes care of my gullability theory on the whole matter. What I'm really getting at is that you don't need to bring a kid up along a set of religious commandments just to teach him the difference between right and wrong, because to be honest, I consider that relatively close to brainwashing. I wasn't raised with any sort of religion--it was never really even mentioned in my household. My parents taught me what to do and what not do do because, well, that's how it was--they didn't teach me to be a complete asshole. I don't consider myself a morally unsound person, or even a morally loose person. I use my own sense of judgement in ethical decisions, and I think I do pretty well without trying to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. I looked at religion a lot as I aged and tried it, didn't believe, didn't think it was for me, etc, with no help from anyone else, which I am incredibly thankful for.
I find that I like people quite a bit, contrary to popular belief. All they have to do is be mature about things. In fact, this year I am far, far friendlier in general. I think it's because I feel healthier and more awake in the unholy hours we are forced to give to Klein High School. There isn't any significant burden of academic work at all, so I can concentrate on the things I like to do, like singing, and actually acquiring some relatively useful knowledge in a few of my classes without unproductively practicing for a new version of the same test I've been taking since first fucking grade. I can just sort of enjoy things, and communicate with my fellow semi-humans. I do believe this is what confidence feels like...
So Sterling and I have almost distributed flyers throughout every street in Memorial Northwest. Our last day of agony for the time being is tomorrow, and then I can collect the modest paycheck which will most likely serve as an insole for my shoes. My feet are tired as they have never been before; I feel as though I have been trekking through the desert for weeks, except my feet have been falling on concrete and dry, rock-hard soil instead of sand. It always amazes me on these outdoor expeditions that I have the ability to drink literally gallons and gallons of water, but the necessity to relieve myself of any excess fluid is relinquished completely for periods of five hours or greater.
My bench has increased to 155. I am a weightlifting addict, though I refuse to down spoonfuls of horrifyingly concentrated protein supplements. Lots of people do it and say it's great, but I prefer to stick to my more natural curriculum. Besides that, I really don't think I want to look like the guy on the can of PROTEIN POWER SHIT 2000. I don't mind being all buff, but I prefer to keep as many of my veins and arteries well below my skin as possible, and you really don't need to see every individual muscle fiber through my shirt. The whole idea that I am pretty strong, especially compared to my virtually glorious days as Ianaman the Level 50 Cleric, is enough for me.
You know, I think the physical exertion--working out, doing the flyers, mowing lawns, and doing grunt work for neighbors--that I've done this summer and continue to do is a priceless thing. It's not even that important because of the money, but I truly believe that if you go into the real world after your childhood and teenage years without really knowing the feeling of struggle, even if it's something you voluntarily do, you're doomed. When you're panting and running around in your third hour trying to get stuff done, or barely getting that bar back onto the bench while feeling your muscles start to lock up, or just sweating and knowing you won't stop sweating for quite awhile, you really get a sense of what it is to be human. I don't know, maybe it's just masochistic, but I do it all to better myself physically and mentally.
While we're on ideals, a guy at district choir auditions (which I got seventh at, by the way) told me that it's good to raise kids with a religion because it teaches them a set of values, morals, etc. to become good people by. My opinion was (and is) that you should never "raise your kids Catholic" or "raise your kids Baptist" or some junk like that, but that you should just raise your kids. You tell a three year-old that there's a god, and there's no way he can deny it, but as he matures and begins to observe his surroundings more deeply all the time, he may begin to doubt that. So many are hurt because they begin to question their faith at about our age, and hate themselves for it because unfaithfulness/godlessness is such an ultimate sin.
So, that takes care of my gullability theory on the whole matter. What I'm really getting at is that you don't need to bring a kid up along a set of religious commandments just to teach him the difference between right and wrong, because to be honest, I consider that relatively close to brainwashing. I wasn't raised with any sort of religion--it was never really even mentioned in my household. My parents taught me what to do and what not do do because, well, that's how it was--they didn't teach me to be a complete asshole. I don't consider myself a morally unsound person, or even a morally loose person. I use my own sense of judgement in ethical decisions, and I think I do pretty well without trying to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. I looked at religion a lot as I aged and tried it, didn't believe, didn't think it was for me, etc, with no help from anyone else, which I am incredibly thankful for.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Well, seventh in district. That's one better than last year. I'm going to make region, and be able to say that I made region three years in a row without practicing at home once. Anybody think it's funny that John Gallagher graduated and then I moved up a rank? I dunno, I made 18th last year at region, and the cutoff for pre-area auditions was 17th. I'd like to be able to give that a shot this year.
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Flyers job is done. Eighty bucks is in the bag. May have been a pain in the ass, but a well-justified one.
Man, everything feels better now that I've got that crap done, too. It was really beginning to bother me. I think that walking so many miles in the sweltering heat just causes depression, not to mention having to convince dubious homeowners that you're really not there to rape their kids or steal their TV while they're mowing the lawn.
So I went to Ninfa's last night with Emily, Sterling, and Kathy. My love for Mexican food is, I think, unparalleled. Asian food is wonderful, sushi and the lot, but there's something about good beef and spicy stuff that just gets you really feeling alive. I think sushi is really a more elegant and subtle pleasure. I don't even know. God, I love food. And deep house music.
Man, everything feels better now that I've got that crap done, too. It was really beginning to bother me. I think that walking so many miles in the sweltering heat just causes depression, not to mention having to convince dubious homeowners that you're really not there to rape their kids or steal their TV while they're mowing the lawn.
So I went to Ninfa's last night with Emily, Sterling, and Kathy. My love for Mexican food is, I think, unparalleled. Asian food is wonderful, sushi and the lot, but there's something about good beef and spicy stuff that just gets you really feeling alive. I think sushi is really a more elegant and subtle pleasure. I don't even know. God, I love food. And deep house music.
Saturday, September 04, 2004
So I come across this blog, just while looking at ones randomly, that is titled, "Brainwashed Drone of the Imperial Satan".
His top post is ten paragraphs trying to convince me that John Kerry aided the Vietcong during the Vietnam war.
I shit you not.
End hypocrisy, vote for the guy that'll be on the back of my t-shirt next week!
His top post is ten paragraphs trying to convince me that John Kerry aided the Vietcong during the Vietnam war.
I shit you not.
End hypocrisy, vote for the guy that'll be on the back of my t-shirt next week!