CPCP: Death and Taxes and Breaking Up

The return of the Crock Pot Crosspost...several months and a day late.

Death by Text: The Pathology of a Bad Breakup meet Death by Chocolate in a Crock Pot.

Happy reading and bon app!

Dating Badvice

Posted at Persephone Magazine, Buster Blonde's Tried and True Dating Advice.


A Date



Whaaa...That's a THING?!

It's Wednesday, and I've been seriously neglecting this blog, so this really should be a Crock Pot Crosspost, but I have to go to the dentist in a few minutes, so I'm in no mood to think about crockery at this time.

Instead, this will just be a regular variety crosspost. Coming to you aaaall the way from beautiful downtown Persephone Magazine... 10 Things That I Can't Believe Are Actually "A Thing".
Please read moi.

Merci.

I don't know why I'm demi speaking en français. Nevertheless, bon Mercredi.

CPCP: You Have Beautiful Eyeballs

Today's Crosspost comes from Persephone Magazine, my favorite ever online feminist mag. And, yes, I wrote it. We've already addressed the fact that I'm very self-promotional, so get off my beans about it!

Crosspost:

We Try It!: Pickup Lines

Crock Pot Recipe:

What else? Date pudding! (from About.com's Southern Food page).

Happy reading and bon app!

Crock Pot Crosspost: Rock This Test!

I'm taking the Millers Analogy Test tomorrow which means: a) I don't have time to go poking around the webbernets today looking for something neat to crosspost and comment on; and b) I need to get pumped up!

Crosspost: 

In light of both a) and b), I present: the Rock This Test! music video created by the 5th graders of Centennial Arts Academy in Gainesville, Georgia. It's inspirational power speaks for itself, no commentary required.

And I am going to...ROCK THIS TEST! [Insert motivational side kick, WTAAH!]

Crock Pot Recipe: 

Spinach and lentils are two of the brainest foods around. Spinach is rich in Vitamin E and lentils have all that good glucose so Double Lentil, Sausage, Brown Rice, and Spinach Soup from Kalyn's Kitchen makes for the perfect pre-test meal. Who knew your crock pot could make you both brawny AND brainy? That's two Smurfs in one, a very good value. Like test rocking, value shopping is a smart people pasttime.

Happy reading and bon app!

p.s. For those of you who know me in meatspace (I just learned that word so it's still really funny to me, and it makes me picture this) you may be wondering why I am considering applying to graduate school when I already have a doctorate. Well, it's because I want another one. Like the Kanye album says, "You know what keeps me warm at night? That's right! Those degrees."

This CPCP is Filled with Regret...sy

C’mon! I’m only three weeks and two days late with the humpday Crock Pot Crosspost! If you knew me better, you’d know I’ve been waaay later on stuff than that.

Crosspost:

The webbernets have opened up a whole new world of commerce, and this is mostly neat; BUT as I peruse sites like Etsy.com (looking at totally normal things, like Barbie clothes) I often stumble across really crackerjacks items that no one would want…ever.

We were better protected from these items when everyone and son oncle wasn’t free to sell wares online. And though the barriers that kept creators from getting products to market needed to come down, or at least have a few fence posts knocked out, once those barriers were down, they were sooooo down.

Which means, we now have products like this “Steampunk” costume duct-tape dress (for $120.00 US) out there in the world. And we maybe could have done without.

So in the spirit of celebrating(?) what e-commerce has brought us, today’s crosspost is actually an entire website, Regretsy | Where DIY Meets WTF. Please enjoy.

Crock Pot Recipe:

It’s spring, the days are getting longer, we’re drinking more (or I am), so today’s feature recipe is for a cocktail and comes to us from drinknation.com: the Last Night Regret.

Oh, and please give your crock pot the night off on this one! This cocktail should be served Daryl Mitchell. Serving it hot would be more regrettable than that duct-tape dress.

Happy reading and bon app (or rather, tchin-tchin)!

The Cone of Clusterfudge: A Loathe Letter

I didn’t post a Crock Pot Crosspost yesterday. I’m sore ashamed.

I don’t have a good reason, but I do have a reason. I was in a fight with parking enforcement at my place of work for the better part of the day. It was righteous anger I was unleashing, you understand, I couldn’t just turn my back on the noble fight!

So, a day later, the best I can do for you is to try to make up for my blogging malfeasance by posting some of the more salient excerpts from my parking citation email “appeal”(redacted of course). I hope my suffering can bring you some glimmer of entertainment.

The email…

Dear Parking Enforcement Functionary:

I hesitate to submit a written appeal regarding citation #_____ because an appeal suggests that the citation has legitimacy. That’s troubling because the citation referenced above is baseless. That said, if you'd like to consider this email my formal, written appeal, do so. If I’m later accused of not appealing the baseless ticket, I’ll reference this email as my “appeal”.

When I arrived at my car last night I found that two events had transpired: 1) an orange parking pylon (henceforth known as the “cone of clusterfudge”) had been placed behind my car; and 2) a parking ticket had been placed upon my windshield. A “what the fudge?!” moment, if ever there was one.

Inside the ticket envelope I found two things: 1) a parking citation stating I had parked in a “prohibited coned off area”; and 2) a note from a fellow employee who’d been given a similar ticket. I’ll paraphrase the colleague’s note, but it basically said, “WTF?! Are these bizzos crazy? You can’t put a cone behind someone’s car and then ticket that person for parking in a ‘coned off area’; call me to plan our counterstrike.”

My first attempt at a strike counter to your cone of clusterfudge strike was to try to speak to someone in person at the parking enforcement office during regular business hours. I went to the front counter and said to the person I found standing there, “Who do I talk to about this?” as I pointed at my parking citation.

He was immediately confused and said, “Uh….I don’t know what you mean, like, about the parking ticket?”

I explained that, yes, I meant about the parking ticket, which I was still pointing at, and not about some other thing that I was not pointing at.

Like a champ, the low level functionary at the service counter came back with the appropriate perfunctory response, “Um, on the back of the ticket it says how to do an appeal.” Mm. Yes, good then. This will, as I expected, involve a significant wasting of my, maybe not precious but certainly mediumly valuable time.

“I’m not going to do that,” I said.

“Well…but, uh, you should,” said the functionary at the counter.

“Yeah, but I’m not going to. I’m going to talk to someone in person. Who do I talk to?”

Front counter functionary’s backup steps in, “Hi, he can’t do anything about your ticket.”

“Okay,” says me, “Who can? I want to speak to that person.”

The backup functionary to the front counter functionary says to me, “Well, all the managers aren’t here during the day.”

“When are they here?” asks me.

“From, like 3pm to 1am,” says the backup functionary.

I look at my watch: 3:45pm, “Hm. Mm hmm. Good then, I’m here just in time for those totally reasonable hours of business. Who will I be meeting with?”

“He’s not here, um, they’re not here,” says backup functionary. I notice a man wandering around nervously in the background.

“Ok, so I’ll schedule an appointment with one of the managers, then?”

“Um, okay,” responds backup functionary.

“How shall I reach him or them?” I ask.

“Well, you probably can’t meet with him, um, them, but you can give him your written appeal,” she responds.

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that,” says me, “There will be no written appeal.”

“Well, here’s his email address…” backup functionary scribbles down a, let’s for the benefit of the doubt say unintentionally, illegible email address.

Which brings me to my second attempt at a strike counter to your cone of clusterfudge: tracking down your email. I was able to read your first name, success! But with your last name what I had to do was look at everyone in the employee directory with a last name that started with the first three letters of your last name (which I could just barely make out) until I was able to triangulate all candidates with a) your first name, b) a last name that starts with the three letters I was able to identify, and c) a job title that could potentially be relevant to parking. And so I found you!

Now, I was told I was unlikely to be able to get a meeting with you, top ranking parking functionary, but I have decided to put my main beef in this email, with the hopes that it will inspire you to meet with me in the future to discuss the stupidity of your department’s actions. This email is my third attempt at a strike counter to your cone of clusterfudge.

My main beef, for posterity:

I am disappointed, nay, I am profoundly irritated, that when one of your department’s parking enforcement minions came upon my car and saw the cone of clusterfudge that had been placed behind it, said minion came to the conclusion that: I, a person with a parking pass who works and parks here daily, came upon a coned off parking space, stopped my vehicle, got out of my vehicle, removed the cone (or cones) in the area, pulled into the space, got back out of the car, placed a cone directly behind my own car, and then went about my day. Actually, what the parking minion concluded was that, not only was it likely that I had done this, but that another person had taken this same bizarro course of action as well.

What creases me verily, is that the parking minion on duty yesterday failed to recognize that it is far, far, far, FAR more likely that I, and the other wrongly ticketed person, parked in two normal parking spaces where someone later came along to put cones. Why someone later came along to put cones of clusterfudge there? I have no idea. It seems almost as stupid to put cones behind parked cars as it does to ticket people who’ve been retroactively coned, but that’s what happened.

So, top parking enforcement functionary, what you need to do at this time (since you can’t give me back the time and energy I’ve wasted on this clusterfudge and restore me to the position I was in before the cone of clusterfudge ticketing incident), is to dismiss the ticket I have been given and never speak of it again. And, going forward, you should refrain from ticketing people for their inability to foresee the future. Think about it anyway, if employees here were able to go about correctly foreseeing where cones would be placed in the future, wouldn’t they be able to leverage that magical power into a job where parking is comped?

If you’re looking for some sort of remorse from me, here it is: I am very and truly sorry that I am not a clairvoyant. It would be awesome to be clairvoyant.

I expect this situation to be rectified posthaste. And by rectified, I mean your entire department should be terminated….not killed, just fired.

You’re welcome for my time,

Buster Blonde

No recipe today, I’m too annoyed to eat.

Alienation of Affections, Feline Variety

Ever since I adminstered flea medication to my kitteh earlier this week, he's been shooting lasers at me with his eyes. It looks like this:

(Yes, it's possible I'm smelling my cat's head in this pic, it's also possible that you should mind your own cat-smelling business!)

Any advice on how I can get back in kitteh's circle of trust? He's always peowsed off when he gets tackled and medicated, but his ire is lasting longer than usual. I just want to get some cuddles, so I'd like to speed up this relationship recovery process.

Suggestions welcome. 

Crock Pot Crosspost: This Is Nerdery!

If you're a nerd, you may have just taken the Jeopardy! online contestant test like I just did. I think I did pretty well, but this is my first crack at it, so I don't really know what, if anything, "pretty well" gets you in this game show application game. I can assume, based on the fact that there's a Jeopardy! newsletter and numerous Jeopardy! fan sites, that trying out for Jeopardy! is its own nerd subculture, and since I'm already an active participant in several other nerd subcultures that take up a goodly amount of my time, it's not one I'll be joining.

I did have fun taking the test, however, and it got me thinking about the guy who pwned Jeopardy! week after week yet humbly accepted defeat at the hands of a dweeby supercomputer named Watson (which I personally think is a dumb name for a supercomputer, I would have named it something cooler like...Supe...Supey...no, Super Duper...Pooper Shooter the Supercomputer, or Jim), the one and only Ken Jennings. Yeah, I know there are probably, like, two hundred people named Ken Jennings in various phone books throughout the U.S., but you know what I meant.

Ken Jennings is not only a Jeopardy!-slaying beast, he's a pretty funny guy. Which is why today's CPCP is from Ken Jennings' blog, Confessions of a Trivial Mind.

Crosspost:

KJ's blog FAQs, the most Jeopardy!-tryout related work of literature on these united webbernets.

I found KJ's responses to the questions frequently asked of him endearing and clever. And now that I know he does a Wordplay Wednesday feature on his blog, I think I'm becoming a fan. What are Ken Jennings fans called, anyway? Jemmings? Like Jennings combined with lemmings? Or human supercomputer superfans...who area also human? That one's kind of wordy. I don't know what we're called (yup, I used "we", so I think that makes my fandom official) but we're out there! Get used to it! Kick rocks, Watsonites!

Crock Pot Recipe:


In honor of today's game show theme, I present crock pot Cornish game hens as today's recipe, courtesy of Greyson Ferguson at About.com.

Happy reading and bon app!

Crock Pot Crosspost: A Lie is a Lie is a Lie

Nice try, Mike Daisey, but nobody's buying it. You got caught in a lie, excuse me, LIES. And what you should be doing is apologizing, PROFUSELY, to everyone who's integrity you put on the line with your stories. What you're doing instead is pretending like this was all part of some great plan to highlight a "bigger truth".

Bull merde! Pardon my French.

Daisey's attempts at talking himself out of this corner are about as skillful as what I'd expect a middle schooler, who learned about the art of persuasion yesterday, to come up with when caught behind the baseball fields smoking.

First of all, Daisey's current message is inconsistent. If "it's not journalism, it's theatre," then why would Daisey have participated in a program like This American Life in the first place? And why would he have needed to talk with fact checkers at all, or hide a translator from TAL? He could have simply said, "the details aren't important because this is fiction; I did research to create an air of reality for this work of fiction, but it's not intended to be taken as the truth." Taking "a few shortcuts," which he sooo generously admits to, would have been irrelevant, because art doesn't require substantiation. The reason Daisey never said anything like that, of course, is that he never thought of this as theatre rather than journalism, until he had no other choice.

Second, if veracity does matter (which Daisey seems to half believe), who the balls does Daisey think he is to decide what constitutes the "bigger truth"?  What does "bigger truth" even mean? If it's something other than just plain truth, then I've got another word for it. Young children are generally able to grasp that, when it comes to details, there is truth, and there is un-truth (also known as lies). Of course Daisey's "bigger truth", his narrative, is not a truth at all. It's a subjective, steeped in his imagination, significantly fabricated fable designed to fit his premise. When scientists alter their data to fit their hypotheses it's called fraud. Daisey's story, with the lies added in, might be more interesting and titillating for the lies, but clearly, it's fraud.

That a lot of what Daisey presented did pan out, doesn't change anything either. The scientist who has 90% of the data he needs to substantiate his hypothesis but fabricates the final 10% is not forgiven the deceipt because "a lot" of what he presented was true. One drop of poison spoils the soup. And if we really value journalism we'll not make comments about how Daisey said a lot of truthful things too. It's so plain to me that this isn't important. Most dishonest people still tell the truth a lot of the time, but there's no credit for that. A cheater doesn't get credit for all the games where he didn't cheat, a kidnapper doesn't get props for all the kids he didn't kidnap, and Daisey doesn't get credit for the truthful things he included as part of a fraudulent show.

Daisey's attempt to persuade the public that he didn't intend to mislead, or worse, that he's just above petty little things like truthful details, is an insult. And one that would be dangerous, if anyone was buying it. Fortunately, no one is. And it's a relief that in a world where the silver-tongued serpents of industry, media, and politics rely on the pervasiveness of gullibility, there's still no one stupid enough to buy this bridge.

Today's Crosspost:

Mark Baumgarten of City Art's Magazine shares some thoughts on having been lied to by Daisey in At Large: On Getting Duped by Mike Daisey.

Today's Crock Pot Recipe:

Liar's Tomato Soup by Annie at Tastebook.

This soup can be served chilled, so you can give your crock pot the week off if you want to. And if serving the soup hot, you can heat this soup in a saucepan or use your slow cooker, just keep the temp and time in your slow cooker loooow. This soup shouldn't come to a boil.


Remember, friends: shortcuts are just fine in cooking, but not in journalism.

Happy reading and bon app!

You Don't Look a Day Over Cutie-One!

Vintage Dutch Girl is doing a giveaway for her birthday, how fabulous! Spread the word, spread the joy.

Happy birthday, VDG!

I'm In Luuuurv!

The Dizzy Dames Etsy shop is to die!

I'll admit it, when I've got that hankerin' for retail therapy but don't want to spend a buns ton of money on clothes for myself, I, from time to time, buy Barbie clothes. I'm ridiculous, I know.

Dizzy Dames' handmade Barbie clothes are EQUISITE. You would not believe the detailing and styling. And dresses generally cost $5.50, which is about what you'd pay for a store bought Barbie dress of far inferior quality.

This arrived in my mailbox this morning...

Are you kidding me?! Gorgeous. I can now pretend my Barbie is Betty Draper...'cause, that's a normal thing to do...

"I'm as corny as Kansas in August, high as a flag on the fourth of July! If you'll excuse an expression I use, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love..." with a teeny tiny dress.

A Hastily Thrown Together Traffic Rant

Not a crock pot crosspost.

It’s Wednesday. I should be combing the webbernets for a salient post and a savory recipe to share for Hump Day’s CPCP. Instead, I’m too filled with road hatred to focus. Yes, yes, I’m being petty, trite, and tired, and the subject of schmawwwful drivers is nowhere near interesting, but it’s what’s on my mind.

These are the thoughts most rattling around my bean right now:

1.  Sure, it’s daytime, BUT, it’s also pouring down rain and the sun has scarcely peeked through the Seattle clouds in weeks, so you need to PUT YOUR LIGHTS ON, idiots. Your dingy gray car is not visible against the dingy gray asphalt and bummed out gray March sky.

2.  I’m not going to drive like a bat out of What the Heck Fest just because you’re up my car’s buns in a parking garage. It’s a PARKING GARAGE. There are people walking around, cars backing out, sharp turns, merging traffic, this is not the time to pretend you’re in Too Fast, Too Furious Tokyo Takeout Part IV, okay eager Escalade? BACK OFF.

3.  WHHY-YYY (bellowed in the style of Nancy Kerrigan) do people who do nothing but drive all day long (cabbies) have the lowest driving competency of anyone? Speaking of other vehicles being up my car’s buns, when I find myself on a very steep, wet hill, I will also invariably, find a cab up my car’s buns. Because, apparently, either a) they hate me and they want to make it very difficult for me to not bruise my ride; or b) they hate their employers and want to bruise their own rides.

4.  Cross the street already. Crosswalkers, I will stop for you, I always stop for you, I’m a polite Seattleite. But pay it back by walking at a decent clip. I’m not asking you to jog, or even hustle, just don’t drag ace across the street. Unless you’re walking with a cane, then, by all means, do not pull or snap anything. But young people, quit dinkin’ around while you’re in a crosswalk, just get across and move on. Make it a game, pretend the street is hot lava. Because, trust me, if I breath fiery dragon breath at it in a furious rage, it will turn to hot lava.

5.  Do not turn left at an intersection where it will prevent everyone in the left lane from getting anydangthing done, if you can just turn left at a left turn signal at the next intersection. A little advanced planning (like one whole block in advance) will save us all some time and trouble.

6.  Be aggressive, B-E aggressive, B-E-A-GG-R-E-SS-I-V-E! There is no perfect turning moment, it will not come, take advantage of the imperfect turning moments. You’re probably a control freak or something, and I’m sorry if making a move in downtown traffic causes you anxiety, but just toss back a lorazepam and get it done. Okay, maybe don’t do that, you’re probably not supposed to drive on that kind of medication, say an affirmation and get it done.

This hastily thrown together traffic rant brought to you by the people (who drive cars) of Seattle.

Why Talking on a Cell Phone is Not Actually Rude in Most Situations

A couple of days ago I read an article about a weirdo in Philly who brings a cell phone jammer on the bus with him so that he can interrupt the phone conversations of fellow bus riders.

His basic premise is that cell phone talkers have “no sense of just privacy or anything.” It bugs him to have to listen to other peoples’ conversations, and, as a result, he feels he has the right to put a stop to those conversations.

Some folks on the webbernets (not many, but a few) have heralded this butthead as some sort of vigilante folk hero, not supporting his methods, but agreeing that public citizens shouldn’t talk on the phone while going about their daily business.

I have beef with this, big hormone injected beef, because there’s a major flaw with his (and similar) arguments against public cell phone use: people have conversations in public ALL THE TIME. And when it’s in person, it doesn’t seem to bother anyone. Shaming public cell phone talkers is arbitrary.

Assuming the volume and topic of conversation are the same, how is it any different for me to sit on the bus next to my sister and talk to her (which no one seems to mind) than it is for me to talk to her on the phone while I’m on the bus? It’s not. The level of inconvenience to you, which should be none since the bus isn’t the library, is exactly the same. Yet when a cell phone is involved, peops get all in a snit!

The rudeness of cell phone talking has very little to do with the phone itself, and instead has everything to do with the time, place, and manner of the conversation.

A few examples to demonstrate my point:

It is rude to talk on the phone while interacting with a grocery checker, bank teller, or cashier, not because a phone is involved, but because it’s rude to not give a person your undivided attention during an exchange. It would be just as rude to stand face to face with a checker, teller, or cashier and carry on a conversation with the person standing next to you during the exchange. It is not, however, rude to talk at a reasonable volume on a cell phone while waiting in line, just as it is not rude to talk at a reasonable volume to, say, your kid, who’s standing next to you while you wait.

It is rude to publicly talk to your nurse practitioner on the phone about your toe fungus, but not because of the phone, because no one wants to hear about toe jams and jellies while they’re walking around minding their own danged business. It would be just as rude to have this conversation with your NP in person in a public setting. Keep that type of thing at the doctor’s office.

It’s rude to talk very loudly on a cell phone; again, not because of the phone, but because of the volume. You should also not shout to the person standing next to you while having a public conversation in a quiet or semi-quiet space.

It is annoying, if not rude, to say smoopy things to your significant other on the phone while in full earshot of others, JUST as it is rude to do this in person. In fact, in this scenario, the in-person PDA is usually far worse, since it’s generally accompanied by public smooching and canoodling. Gross.

It is rude to talk on a cell phone in the library/movie theater/church sanctuary/opera/lecture hall because, GASP, it is rude to talk in those places period. The phone is irrelevant.

I don’t appreciate arbitrariness, and there seems to be so much of it where cell phones are concerned.

In addition to being miffed about arbitrary phone etiquette, I’m miffed about arbitrary driving laws (in states like mine) that target cell phone use; not because I don’t think distracted driving is a problem, of course it is, but because cell phones are only one type of distraction. I disagree with my state’s prohibition against drivers holding cell phones. Currently, law enforcement is authorized to make traffic stops and ticket drivers for merely holding phones, even when the phone holding isn’t accompanied by bad driving. It’s just as dangerous (perhaps more dangerous) to drive while applying mascara, yet idiots do it, and there’s no specific prohibition against it. If you can manage to put on your mascara while driving safely (which I doubt, but if you can, good on ya!) you won’t be ticketed. But if you’re driving safely as can be with a cell phone in hand, ticketed. You can fumble with a mixed tape while spanking your kid who’s sitting in the back seat and at the same time play a clarinet, but you’ll only be pulled over if you swerve or brake erratically as a result. Meanwhile, cell phone in hand will get you a ticket no matter what. It’s silly. I won’t burrow this distracted driving tunnel too far, since it’s not the main point of my post, but why the cell phone hate?

Cell phones aren’t going anywhere, at least not until we just have receivers implanted in our earballs. So let’s all just chill the fudge out about them, m’kay.

Crock Pot Crosspost: Dear Richies, Silence is Golden…and You Like Gold, Right?

Crosspost:

It’s Hump Day! And you know what that means…no, I’m not talking about business time, I’m talking about crosspostin’ and sloooow cookin’!

Today’s crosspost comes from Cracked.com. David Wong basically nails it with 6 Things Rich People Need to Stop Saying, and that is reason enough for his article to win the coveted Wednesday Crock Pot Crosspost slot, but for the sake of full disclosure, his article also links to a piece I wrote for Persephone Magazine called Don’t EVEN Get Me Started, Mythical Bootstraps College Student.

Despite the fact that today, like many days, I’m feeling a little self-promotional, I hope you’ll nod in agreement and mutter, “Mm, hmm. MMM HMMM. Yes, THIS!” whilst reading both Wong’s and my words. Because we’re right, and stuff.

Crock Pot Recipe:

As you nod in agreement with Wong and me, I hope you’ll take in the rich, savory aroma of braised pork ribs simmering in your slow cooker. To make that happen, check out Christine Cooks’ recipe for crock pot braised pork ribs with whole garlic cloves and fresh rosemary.

You’ll like it. It’s rich and uses plenty of cracked pepper. A feast fit for a Rockefeller. Little known fact, Nelson Rockefeller, like pork, was once called “the other white meat.” True story*.

*Not a true story.

Happy reading and bon app!

Crock Pot Crosspost: Leap Day Magic's All Around As Leap Day William Comes to Town

I'm a sucker for oddball holidays--oddballidays. Waitangi Day is marked on my calendar and I celebrate it by watching Flight of the Conchords (New Zealand's 4th most popular guitar-based digi-bongo acapella-rap-funk-comedy folk duo) videos on YouTube all day.

Given this love for lesser celebrated holidays, you can imagine my excitement when 30 Rock (a show that sometimes feels like a documentary about my life as a woman who speaks German poorly and wears huge cotton underpants) featured Leap Day as the central theme in last Thursday's episode.

Crosspost(s):

If you, like me, hope to celebrate Leap Day with gusto, you'll appreciate today's crossposts: A 30 Rock clip succinctly explaning the rich history of Leap Day through song, and a Huff Post nod to everyone's favorite fictional Leap Day comedy, Leap Dave Williams.

Crock Pot Recipe:

For your Leap Day feast, MomsWhoThink.com has a great crock pot shrimp marinara recipe. A marinara dish is appropriate to the day since marinara sauce means mariner's sauce, and Leap Day William (the patron saint of Leap Day) is a marine figure who resides in the Mariana Trench.

Ingredients:

1 (16 oz.) can of cut tomatoes
2 tablespoons minced parsley
1 clove of minced garlic
1/2 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 (6 oz.) can tomato paste
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1 lb. cooked shelled shrimp
Grated parmesan cheese
Cooked spaghetti

Directions:
1. In a crock pot, combine tomatoes with parsley, garlic, basil, salt, pepper, oregano, tomato paste and seasoned salt
2. Cover and cook on low for 6 to 7 hours
3. Turn control to high, stir in shrimp, cover and cook on high for 10 to 15 minutes more
4. Serve over cooked spaghetti
5. Top with parmesan cheese

Happy reading and bon app!

Crock Pot Crosspost: Parenting, It's Not French Rocket Surgery

Crosspost:

Today's crosspost is a Wall Street Journal essay titled Why French Parents Are Superior. I like the article, though I reject the premise that French parents have cornered the market on good parenting. Every example of good parenting that the essay references is really just an example of classic parenting, French or otherwise.

Mind you, classic parenting might be less common in the US today than it is in France, but it was very common in the US even twenty or so years ago. It's definitely how I was raised.

Growing up, life did not revolve around kids. We were expected to entertain ourselves; and, in group settings, the adults were the focus, not the children. We got plenty of attention, but in its time and place, not non-stop. It's also very clear, looking back, that my parents' withheld things (treats, toys, activities) to shape our expectations. At the time it seemed like they were arbitrarily refusing to give in on certain things, but now it's obvious to me that they were letting us kids know that we weren't in charge.

For more on the benefits of righteously withholding stuff from your kids, read my Persephone Magazine article, The Wet Banana, Shared Phone Line, and Wool Coat of My Youth.

 

Crock Pot Recipe:

To complement today's focus on classic parenting, or French parenting, whichever you conclude it is, I present to you, classic French onion crock pot soup from yummly.com.

Happy reading and bon app!

Crock Pot Crosspost: Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Gone to Pot...Roast

Humpday is devoted to Crock Pot Crossposts. Each Wednesday I'll throw something up on the Buster Blonde blog that's been posted elsewhere on the webbernets AND I'll share a crock pot recipe. It's dinner and a show!

Today's Crosspost:

Real Housewives of Beverly Hills: Abusing the Abused

Today's Crock Pot Recipe:

A housewife favorite, traditional pot roast --

Ingredients:

• 3 lb chuck roast (though this recipe will work with a roast as big as 4lbs)
• 1/2 can of beef broth
• 1 cup flour
• 2 cloves garlic (do not serve this dish to any member of the Cullen family...unless you find them as annoying as I do, in which case, please do)
• 1 medium onion, diced
• 2 tbsp olive oil (though I substitute cooking spray)
• Kosher salt (or truffle salt if you reeeeally want to treat yourself right)
• Cracked pepper
• Garlic powder

What to do:

• Wash roast and pat dry
• Season generously with salt, pepper, and garlic powder
• Coat with flour
• Place floured roast in oiled skilled (cast iron if you've got it) and brown ALL sides (this is key, make sure you use tongs and brown those edges too, my dad says so and he's never wrong about food)
• While you're getting a good brown on that roast, add diced onion to the skillet
• Put roast and onions into greased crock pot and add in the whole garlic cloves
• Pour half a can of broth over the roast and add a dash of salt and pepper
• Cook in a crock pot on low for 8 to 10 hours

If you serve this dish with tatoes, the roast leavings make an amazing gravy. It's good on it's own, or you can add a thickening agent for a fuller gravy.

Happy reading and bon app!

So, This is Blogging

Now that I've thrown two blog posts up here on the Buster Blonde blog I'm feeling awkward. Is this what blogfolk do, just start blogging from nowhere? I think some sort of introduction is in order. So here goes:

I've been writing for Persephone Magazine since 2010. I enjoy the b'heck out of it and since I love writing there so much, I thought it would be fun to start doing a little bloggin' on the side. Also, I tend to jump on trends after they've been around long enough for your mee-maw to have heard of them--you should see the amazing Reebok Pumps I'm wearing right now.

There will probably not be a theme to this blog, but since I don't know what I'm doing, I couldn't say that for sure. I suppose themes will exist insomuch as there are themes to me. Me themes might include: snark, tv, law nerdery, feminism, advocacy, pop culture, music, muzak, tv, ragging on millenials, untested and unapproved style, Barbies (yes, Barbies), weather (who knows, I'm keeping things open...like an umbrella), tv, kittehs, love, social norms, stuff, things, and so on and suchwhat.

If you think you might be interested in what I have to say about stuff and things, stick around. I can't make any promises about whether or not this blog will be any dang good, but I can promise a crisp Vlasic dill pickle to the first five followers (no, I'm not stumping for sponsorship, I just really enjoy a crisp, classic Vlasic, who wouldn't?).

Okay. We're introduced. I feel a little better now. To blogging!

Oh, and your mee-maw does follow me on Twitter, you probably should to.

Advice for Bebé

I have a lot of pregnant friends (I'm at that age). And as these wonderful women prepare to welcome some beebs into this world, I'm compelled to share my favorite advice:

It is better to be interesting than to be accepted.

It is better to be nice than to be right (although being right may be more satisfying).

It is better to be kind than to be cool.

It is better to be wise than to be smart.

It is better to love than to win.

It is better to care than to cure.

The recipe for a good life is simple, "do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8)

Christmas in February - The 1st Annual Blonde Family Christmas Letter

MERRY CHRISTMAS

It’s been quite a year.

Gary Blonde and I kicked January off with matching pageboy haircuts. A great look for Gary but one that just made me appear shorter.  

February ushered in our all-blueberry diet, which brought with it some interesting side effects but nonetheless slimmed us down enough to fit into our series of human-sized hamster tubes. This made our “America’s Got Talent” audition possible, if not successful.

March was dodgy, weather-wise. It rained a lot, which wouldn’t have been bothersome, except that in March Gary and I were both roller skating as our primary mode of transportation in an effort to save on fossil fuels and to tone our calves, thighs, and buns. Fortunately, Gary finished school this same month (huzzah!), which meant no more cross-town commute to school.

In April we founded competing wizard rock (or wrock) bands. This was tense, to say the least. My band, Muggle Rock, received critical acclaim, but not the commercial success that Gary’s band, Gary & The Gryffindors enjoyed. In the end, we were both bested by Harry Potter & The Magical McGuffins, which triumphed over us at the Tri-Wizard Battle of the Bands. This tested our bonds, as you can imagine, but we persevered and have since formed a superband called Mrs. Norris & The Snape Decks. Gary’s rauschpfeife skills continue to improve, though I’ve yet to make much progress with the Scottish bladder pipe, a goal for 2012.

May marked our cat Frances Mittendorf’s 8th birthday. And since he’s currently living at home and is 40-something in cat years, we began encouraging him to look for a job. He says he’s contemplating a year abroad or graduate school in humanities. We just sigh, wondering which is less practical, a year of international loafing or continued classics studies.

We celebrated one year of living in our new home in June and have so far loved every moment of settling in and adapting the home to our tastes. Plus, amateur recreational plumbing is something we both enjoy.

With July came a number of great trips, including our annual Civil War reenactment, where we reprised our roles as Brigadier General Sherman Oakes and the stalwart Bonny Bean, Private, Union Army.

In August we made an attempt at borscht. Never again. The kitchen looked like an episode of Dexter.

September brought the harvest. We have no garden, mind you, but we made a big trip to Grocery Outlet Bargain Market where we purchased off-brand and slightly dented canned goods. Only one word can describe the cheap food harvest we reaped: bountiful.

In October I reached my one-year blogging anniversary. I’ve been writing about stuff and things and suchwhat for Persephone Magazine. One of my snarkier stories went viral, to my amazement, and scored me an interview with Corey Dade from NPR. It was all I could do to keep from shouting to Mr. Dade, “I’m a meme!” I imagine this would have been awkward, especially since I don’t actually know what a meme is. Gary continues to contribute fruitfully to the webbernets using his Zombie Squad moniker. And through ZS he’s also had the chance to participate in some reality TV shoots. These brushes with celebrity brought back memories of April’s wrock debacle (wrockbacle), but thankfully, we each enjoyed only 10-12 minutes of fame a piece, so disaster was skirted.

We celebrated three years of marriage in November and put the finishing touches on plans for our early December anniversary trip: a Caribbean cruise, with stops in Jamaica and Grand Cayman. In Jamaica we visited Ocho Rios, Prospect Plantation, and Dolphin Cove. We were bathed in rum and Red Stripe (not literally) and stuffed with jerk chicken (yes, literally). Then off to Grand Cayman where we spent some time in George Town and also soaked up some good, sweet UV rays on Seven Mile Beach.

We’re now enjoying December’s benefits as we begin celebrating the holidays with family and friends. We look forward to seeing many of you this month; hopefully some of you will entertain us (though preferably not with puppets, I don’t care how hot the Muppets movie is right now), feed us, and ply us with drink.

At that, I’d like to conclude this 1^st Annual Blonde Family Christmas Letter. As you may have guessed, some of the information contained herein is true, some of it is exaggerated, and the rest is entirely fabricated.

Much love as we head into a new year,

Gary + Buster & Frances Mittendorf (mew)