Notes from Tom

Background information:

1.  I am from Westminster, Maryland, which is about 40 minutes outside Baltimore, and is the town where the Ravens hold their training camp.  People in Westminster are VERY into the Ravens.  Many of these fans go bananas on Facebook griping about Shittsburg and giving the play by play of each game.  It gets pretty annoying.

2.  My brother is one of these fans.

3.  I like to torment my brother.  So does my sister.  We will, on occasion, bomb his Facebook page with tormenting comments, which usually elicit some response from him like, "Well, if it isn't my bitchy sisters."  He especially likes it when we call him Darryl, which is what he was almost named.

4.  I think Tom Brady is handsome.

5.  On Sunday, Jordan's Facebook status read, "Tom Brady's a punk!"  Today, after the Ravens lost to the Patriots, Jordan's Facebook status read, ". . .he's still a punk."

6.  The Super Bowl is on February 5, Jordan's birthday.

This afternoon seemed like the perfect time to bomb ol' Jordan's page again.  We took turns posting some handsome pictures of Mr. Brady to Jordan's page.*

I just love the internet.  Think about how long it would have taken to harass little Jordy-Pooh without the wonders of Google and the book of faces!

*Matt would like me to note that he had no part in this torment.

Candied Bacon Ice Cream

So, this one time, when I was 15 and Jordan was 11, we were standing outside in my grandma's driveway, and Jordan was bugging me.  So I cooly (at least it felt cool at the time, like everything when I was 15--rainbow nail polish, Calvin Klein t-shirts, and the crush on that one-eyed Jehovah's Witness) sauntered back to the house, saying, "Well, that's fine. I'm just gonna go get a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

After I took about six steps, Jordan realized what I knew already: that there was only enough Cinnamon Toast Crunch for one more bowl.

So he ran.

And so did I.

And we met at my grandma's storm door, wrestling away, fighting for the last bowl of tasty, delicious, brand-name cereal.

But here's the thing.  Jordan's big.  Like 6'5".  And I'm not slight by any means, but even at those ages he pretty much owned me physically*.  So we wrestled and fought.  I might have thrown a knee or accidentally bit him.  But he was winning.

And then my elbow went through the door.  Through it.  Like glass everywhere through it.

Mmm hmmm, we broke Grandma's door.  Shoot.

The cut I had was so deep that I probably should've had stitches, but we didn't roll that way in our family, so I got a bandage and some ice and I cried.  I cried partly because I had a cut on my elbow that was about 1/2" deep and it hurt like a sombitch.  But mostly I cried because, as I nursed my wounds, I looked over to see that jerk of a brother of mine sitting at the table, eating the last bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Now, 15 years later, I have sweet revenge, because I discovered David Lebovitz's (I bow to you, Mr. Lebovitz!) recipe for Candied Bacon Ice Cream.  And it's pretty much the greatest thing that's ever happened.  And it tastes like the breakfast that they would serve you on a farm in heaven.  Except better.  Because there's whiskey in it.

And bacon.

 Candied bacon that is basically like caramel corn bacon.

Every bite tastes like the best breakfast you've ever had.  Except that it's ice cream, so you can totally eat it whenever you want.  Does it get any better than that?  Nope.  I pretty much just want to make buckets of this ice cream and then run up and down the streets of Savannah sharing it with everyone.

Except for Jordan.  I kind of hold a grudge.

*Which is totally why I resorted to evil mind games.  I'm good at them.  Just ask Matt.  Or my students.

David Lebovitz's Candied Bacon Ice Cream

For the candied bacon;
5 strips bacon
about 2 teaspoons light brown sugar

For the ice cream custard:
3 tablespoons (45g) salted butter
¾ cup (packed) brown sugar (140g), light or dark (you can use either)
2¾ (675ml) cup half-and-half
5 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons dark rum or whiskey
¼ teaspoon vanilla extract
optional: ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1. To candy the bacon, preheat the oven to 400F (200C).

2. Lay the strips of bacon on a baking sheet lined with a silicone mat or aluminum foil, shiny side down.

3. Sprinkle 1½-2 teaspoons of brown sugar evenly over each strip of bacon, depending on length.

4. Bake for 12-16 minutes. Midway during baking, flip the bacon strips over and drag them through the dark, syrupy liquid that’s collected on the baking sheet. Continue to bake until as dark as mahogany. Remove from oven and cool the strips on a wire rack.

5. Once crisp and cool, chop into little pieces, about the size of grains of rice.

(Bacon bits can be stored in an airtight container and chilled for a day or so, or stored in the freezer a few weeks ahead.)

6. To make the ice cream custard, melt the butter in a heavy, medium-size saucepan. Stir in the brown sugar and half of the half-and-half. Pour the remaining half-and-half into a bowl set in an ice bath and set a mesh strainer over the top.

7. In a separate bowl, stir together the egg yolks, then gradually add some of the warm brown sugar mixture to them, whisking the yolks constantly as you pour. Pour the mixture back into the saucepan.

8. Cook over low to moderate heat, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom with a heatproof spatula, until the custard thickens enough to coat the spatula.

9. Strain the custard into the half-and-half, stirring over the ice bath, until cool. Add liquor, vanilla and cinnamon, if using.

10. Refrigerate the mixture. Once thoroughly chilled, freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the bacon bits during the last moment of churning, or stir them in when you remove the ice cream from the machine.

Oh, What Happened?

Okay, so I have a quick minute here to share something kind of fantastic with you.  Grandma and I have a big list of errands to tackle on my last full day in the ABQ (I mean, I haven't even met a meth cooker yet), so I can't share too much right now.

BUT!  I was just showing her how to use the scanner (why are scanners so awesome?) and we used this as our first picture.

Oh yes, that's me and my kid brother Jordan circa 1985.  And it makes me very, very happy.  I don't think kids get much cuter than Jordan was.

But time has been cruel, hasn't it?

Shoooooot.

What Is Normal, Anyway?

Take a quick look at my brother's Facebook profile picture.

And at my sister's.

(She's the one on the left.)

And tell me I'm not the normal one.  Or at least the closest.

Happy weekending, y'all!

Father of the Year

So, as part of our Sunday Funday, Matt and Collin and I went to the movies (read: I joined them on their weekly movie date) to see Get Him to the Greek, starring the British guy from Forgetting Sarah Marshall as the same character he played in Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  Now, I wanted to see the movie as soon as I heard that he'd be Aldous Snow again, but I wanted to even more when Matt pointed out that the reason that the preview probably didn't make the movie seem that great was because of how offensive and crass the movie was going to be.  Sold I was.

 We got there early, bought our tickets, got our bucket-sized drinks, and headed to the theater.  And there we sat for a while, bitching about how stupid people are, and mocking the ridiculous previews.  There were previews for Prince of Persia, and for a bunch of other awful looking science fiction stuff.  So we sat there, confused, until Matt had the inspired idea to check his ticket to make sure we were in the right theater.  We were not.  Instead, we were in the theater for Just Wright, Queen Latifah's new flick. This one.



Fortunately, we caught our mistake in time, and made it over to the correct theater across the hall before Get Him to the Greek started.  And it was funny.  Really funny.  Really inappropriately and offensively funny.  And I was loving it. . .until I realized that there were three kids--about nine years old--sitting two rows in front of us.  Collin and I noticed it at the same time, when there was some [very inappropriate for a nine-year old child] banter about mind fucking, and we heard a child's laughter break out.  From that point on, all I could think about was the three kids in front of us, and their piece of shit dad who was sitting with them, looking at his Blackberry and ignoring the fact that this was--next to porn itself--the most inappropriate film he could have taken his three young children to see today.

At some point, I left the theater to use the bathroom, and when I returned I saw that the signs for the two movies had been switched, which accounted for our original confusion.  Matt was happy to hear this, since Collin and I had been laughing for over an hour about how Matt had lead us astray and tried to make us watch some crappy basketball movie.

After the movie was over--and after the asshole dad left his drink in its cupholder; I guess he was just too busy with the Blackberry to think to be courteous and throw it away--we saw the kids out in the hallway pointing out that the signs had been put back where they belonged.  It seemed that they'd made the same mistake that we had, except that their dad wasn't paying enough attention, or didn't care enough, to fix it.  Stellar.  Mom's going to have a fun time explaining to the kids all about fellatio, and the clap, and why people but heroin up their butt.  Father of the year, I tell you. 

Anyway, you (if you're over 18 and are not named Chloe) should go see Get Him to the Greek.  It's hilarious, and it's awful, and I want to go to an Aldous Snow show.  Just don't take the kids, unless you want them to one day be putting heroin up their own butt.**



**Today's episode reminded me a little bit of the time my mom was out of town for the weekend, and my dad went to Blockbuster to rent movies.  I was about 11 and Jordan was 7, and my dad got Boyz in the Hood and Silence of the Lambs.  He, at least, had to good sense to make us leave the room for Silence of the Lambs.  To date, neither Jordan nor I have put heroin up our butt, which is even more remarkable because we went to a high school that was nicknamed "Heroin High."  More on that later.

Trix Cupcakes: a Dream Come True

The other night I was lying in bed, reading my Google Reader on my phone. I came across a Trix cupcake. Then I fell asleep, and had a dream about Trix cupcakes. (I go into REM sleep about 30 seconds after falling asleep.) Not wanting to actually get out of bed, and fearing that I would forget about this new fantasy of mine, I emailed myself, from my phone, "don't forget trix cupcake."

The next morning I was a little confused. (And, in case you're wondering, boxed wine actually had nothing to do with this saga.) But I was also excited about this blast from the past.

I needed to figure out the perfect combination, though, and who better to talk to about it than my brother, a kid I've had physical altercations with over breakfast cereal. (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, to be exact. One day, after realizing that there was only enough CTC for one more bowl, Jordan and I raced each other, fought at my grandma's glass storm door, and fought until my elbow broke through the glass. While I nursed my wound--one I still have a scar from--Jordan ate the last bowl of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Asshole.) When I mentioned the idea of a Trix cupcake, Jordan was interested. We brainstormed, and then agreed that a lemon-flavored cake would be good. And we decided that vanilla icing would work, too.

So I set out to find good recipes. And boy did I!

I give you, the Trix cupcake, a dream come true.

(This baking endeavor also allowed me to use one of my favorite kitchen toys, my lemon juicer, a gift from Matt's mom. Thanks, Sue!)

(For about a third of the cupcakes, I folded Trix into the batter, thinking it could be like some awesome funfetti cake. I thought I'd experiment. But when they baked, the Trix got too chewy. I wouldn't recommed it.)

And while the cupcakes baked, I got started on the icing, trying my best to match the icing on the Old Fashioned cupcakes at Back in the Day Bakery. This recipe was actually pretty close.

And then I went a little bonkers with my neon blue food coloring.

And it was so pretty on the cakes! I was afraid that I'd ruin them with the cereal.

But then, as a result of my ghetto-rigged pastry bag, my kitchen table started to look like a scene from my 10th birthday party. Ahhh, silly string.

And then I took the plunge. Well, the cupcakes did at least. And look at them!

F'ing beautiful.

Lemon Cupcakes (adapted from Martha Stewart's Lemon Cake recipe)

Ingredients
Serves 12
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pans
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled), plus more for pans
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon lemon zest
2 cups sugar
2 large eggs plus 3 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 cup low-fat buttermilk

Directions
1.Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour two 8-by-2-inch cake pans, tapping out excess flour. In a medium bowl, whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and lemon zest.
2.In a large bowl, using an electric mixer, beat butter and 1 1/2 cups sugar until light and fluffy. With mixer on low, beat in eggs and yolks, one at a time. Beat in 2 tablespoons lemon juice. Alternately beat in flour mixture and buttermilk beginning and ending with flour mixture; mix just until combined.
3.Divide batter between pans; smooth tops. Bake until cakes pull away from sides of pans, 32 to 35 minutes. Let cool in pans 10 minutes. Run a knife around edges of pans and invert cakes onto a wire rack.


Sassy Pants Vanilla Frosting (adapted from Martha Stewart's Fluffy Vanilla Frosting)

Ingredients
Makes about 4 cups
2 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature
3 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

Directions
1.With an electric mixer, beat butter on medium-high speed until pale and creamy, about 2 minutes.
2.Reduce speed to medium. Add the confectioners' sugar, 1/2 cup at a time, beating well after each addition and scraping down sides of bowl as needed; after every two additions, raise speed to high and beat 10 seconds to aerate frosting, then return to medium-high. This process should take about 5 minutes. Frosting will be very pale and fluffy.
3.Add vanilla, and beat until frosting is smooth. If not using immediately, frosting can be refrigerated up to 10 days in an airtight container. Before using, bring to room temperature, and beat on low speed until smooth again, about 5 minutes.

Happy Monday to you!

Serial Killer Whale

A phone conversation with my brother, Jordan:

Me: Oh man, did you hear about that whale at Sea World who killed that woman?

Jordan: Yeah man. And that whale has been involved in the deaths of like three other people, too.

Me: Really?

Jordan: Yeah, saw it on the news.

Me: It's a SERIAL KILLER WHALE!

[silence]

Me: Did you hear me? I said, "It's a SERIAL KILLER WHALE!" I feel like you're not acknowledging how funny my joke was just now.

Jordan: Yeah, I heard it.

[more silence]

Even though this was over the phone, I know the face he was making. It was this one.

And that's part of what brothers are for, isn't it? To tell you when your jokes aren't funny--or at the very least to refuse to laugh.

Hello, 2010.

Deepest apologies for the lack of posts lately. I've been spending my days perusing the inventory of each Gap in town, working to pay for the shopping, hosting our friends Brian and Maureen who are here for some good times, and basically moving from the couch to my bed back to the couch. It's been pretty great. So here's some random stuff for your reading pleasure:

• Wow, how mean of me to leave up the post about my stinky feet for you to click on over and over. Sorry about that. Next time I abandon the blog for a week I'll leave up a picture of a cute puppy or something.


• I want a puppy. I know that I don't, and I know I shouldn't tempt fate because I already havea the greatest pup on the planet, but I just love them. It's a bad decision, though, and I know that. Deep breaths, no puppy. More deep breaths.


• Maureen and Brian are huge fans of Family Feud. Brian's comments during the show are nothing short of philosophical, and the commercials that air during the show demonstrate that we are NOT the targeted demographic, and won't be for another 45 years. A few more days of sitting around eating pounds of Mexican food and wearing my Snuggie, though, and I just might need that special stick tool to help me put on my shoes. Seriously. That's a real thing. But what I really want is the mechanical chair to get me up the stairs. Or maybe the rubber band to put around my stomach to get me to lose weight.


• And while we're on it, I'm not making any New Year's resolutions. I never do them. That's actually a lie. I've followed through on my resolutions 3 times: 1.) When I was in third grade and vowed that by the end of the year I would beat Super Mario Brothers 2. Check. 2.) When I was in 10th grade and was determined to teach myself to raise one eyebrow. Check. 3.) When I was a senior in college and, with my friend Becky, decided that we would "let ourselves go." Like in a fat and sloppy kind of way. Check. (Maybe that wasn't the smartest resolution to make?)


• Maybe I should do the reverse psychology resolution? Like, I'll resolve to gain 50 pounds. Then, if I don't follow through, great. If I do, I'll be overweight enough to get that stomach band that's advertised during Family Feud?


• And, finally, last night I got a call from my brother Jordan, who said that he'd gotten a call from our father asking if he was okay. Apparently, someone called my Grandma Carol and Grandpa B, and told them that their grandson (Jordan's the only grandson) had rented a car to get to a wedding in Toronto, and had somehow landed himself in prison and therefore needed money for bail. (I believe this is a somewhat-common scam.) My grandparents didn't think too much of it, fortunately. Jordan, though, told me, "Man, I must've been really drunk because I don't remember that AT ALL. . .I just hope I don't have some Canadian warrant out for my arrest. I mean, I'd be just, like, sitting at a bar having a beer, and all of a sudden some Mounties would come in and arrest me."

Happy New Year!

Drinking and Driving

Saturday night, after feasting on another huge and indulgent meal and self-medicating with a magnum bottle of Sauvignon Blanc (you would understand if you knew my family), I meandered into the living room where Chloe was playing Mario Kart on the Wii.

Now, when Chloe visits, she spends approximately 85% of her time on the Wii playing Mario Kart, and she boasts about how good she is. She loves to challenge us and act very unsportsmanlike when she wins.

In the race I was watching, Chloe was doing terribly. She kept falling off the edge, and she was driving like a damned maniac. I demonstrated my maturity by laughing at her and mocking her each time she made a mistake--especially since this terrible driving was so out of the ordinary for her.

So, finally, Chloe said that I should drive since I thought I was so good. Since I was about five glasses of wine deep, I had too much confidence (kind of like the time I did the 30-day Shred with Cassie after consuming large quantities of wine). When it was time for me to pick out my track, though, my confidence began to wane and I selected Mushroom Gorge, only because that one is easy, I know it like the back of my hand, and I felt like I would suffer the least amount of embarrassment if I drove that particular track.


But something was off. Way off.

I kept falling off the edges. I didn't know where I was going. I was dying left and right. When my instincts told me to turn right, I really should have turned left, and so on. Throughout the race I was commenting about how this should serve as a lesson about why we shouldn't drink and drive (teachable moments, you know). It was awful. I came in 12th place and was a full lap behind 11th. I just couldn't understand how I'd done so badly.

I walked into the other room and, in all seriousness, stressed to Matt the importance of being sober while driving. I told him about the race and was freaking out. What if I had been driving a real car? What if I drove a real car off a cliff or a giant bouncy mushroom? I could have killed myself and other people!

And then my brother and sister (both of whom are THE DEVIL) came into the room laughing. Apparently they'd unlocked some mirror feature on the game, and the track was actually backward. So it wasn't me or the booze, it was just that my siblings are evil. What a relief!

Moral of the story: you can drink and drive on Mario Kart, but not in real life.

Also, never trust your siblings. At least, never trust mine.

"Total Eclipse of the Heart"--Literal Version

One of Matt's favorite songs is "Total Eclipse of the Heart." If you get him in just the right mood, he'll do a dramatic interpretation of the song for you. But it's got to be just the right mood.

Chloe once commented that "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is the perfect song for ice skating. (She then proceeded to guide her Bratz dolls through an ice-skating routine.) Jordan, our gigantic brother, responded,

"Yeah, it's what I do all my ribbon dances to."

Yay. Of course, this was during wedding preparation time so we had a ton of ribbon on hand. We tied some to a spatula, and Jordan entertained us all, gracefully ribbon dancing throughout my grandmother's kitchen. I laughed until it hurt, and it was one of the happiest moments of my life.

Later, we came across the literal interpretation of the video. If you haven't seen it before, you're in for a treat. If you have, watch it again. After all, it's Thanksgiving. What else do you have to do?

My Brother Jordan

During our first decade together, my brother and I had an antagonistic relationship. He was four years my junior but almost always as big as me (and could really pack a punch!--I remember a chicken fight where I ended up with a bloody nose), and for a long time I resented that he'd robbed me of my only-child status.

We tormented one another in the usual ways: stealing each other's stuff, copying what the other would say, looking at the other one too long. I was really mean to Jordan when we were kids.

I stole his beloved blanket, Woobie, and pretended to sell it.

The day he got a fish hook stuck in his face (after practicing casting in the driveway), I insisted on taking pictures of his hookeye before I would call our mom to tell her what happened. For years later I referred to him as "Hook," and used the pictures as blackmail.

I would paint his nails and dress him up in tutus, opening him to ridicule from his friends and from our uncles (who were only five years older than me--they're the ones who taught me all of these malicious tricks).

But then something happened. Something named Chloe.

When I was fifteen and Jordan was eleven, our sister Chloe entered our lives. You may remember that we'd had a family meeting to decide whether we should get a dog or a baby and we unanimously decided on the dog.

Chloe's arrival turned our worlds upside down. We'd recently moved from South Florida to Maryland, and Jordan and I didn't know many people. All of a sudden we were allies instead of enemies, and we joined forces to torment Chloe (and our parents).


There were still plenty of times that I didn't like Jordan, and probably plenty more that he didn't like me. Let's be honest--Jordan was annoying and I was a bitch. But as we got older we really did begin to enjoy each other's company more. We would make videos to mail to our friends in Florida (the one that really sticks out in my mind featured a 12-year old Jordan in a curly rainbow wig doing a dramatic lip synching to No Doubt's "Don't Speak"), and we would dare each other to do reckless things around the house (many of which involved trees, roofs, and trampolines, and many of which ended in trips to the hospital).

As I've gotten older, I've really started to appreciate Jordan. Nobody can make me laugh the way that Jordan can. We suffered through childhood and adolesence and our crazy parents together, and we understand one another in a way that nobody else does.

Tonight I was on the phone with Jordan, shit talking several of our family members and laughing hysterically, when the conversation took a turn for the worse.

J: Oh man, that was one of the most retarded things I've ever done in my life.
M: What'd you do?
J: You wouldn't believe me if I told you .
M: Yeah I would. Tell me!
J: So, uh, I'm sitting here, right. And I have a beer in one hand and my phone in the other. I reached back to pull up my pants and I poured beer right down my asscrack.
M: I'm putting this on the blog!
J: Oh man, now it looks like I've crapped myself. Right down the crack of my ass, too. Like a funnel.

I love this kid. But what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't share his beer-down-asscrack foibles with the world?

Thank You, Goodyear!

While I was out running errands today, I noticed for the 75th time that I am overdue for an oil change. I passed my favorite oil change place, Goodyear, about five times, each time thinking that I should stop and just do it already.

But I didn't because I had groceries in the car and I was in the middle of a very entertaining conversation with my brother (who just might be the funniest person in the world).

So I procrastinated.

And it's a good thing I did.

Because when I got home, I looked at our foot-high stack of mail, and right on top was this:

Hells yeah!

This experience should serve as a lesson about the benefits of procrastination.