...Pain.
I know this. Yet, I would REALLY like to have just ONE day without pain. I would probably fall over dead from the sudden lack of input from my body and mind, though...
Migraine follows me everywhere. It's nestled in at the base of my neck, close to my spine, a little demon with dull teeth. Even when he's not OUT I know he's there, just waiting.
Sometimes I can feel his fingers at the base of my skull...tapping impatiently, or stroking lightly, sneakily.
Little questing fingers that dabble at my consciousness...
sometimes he's able to get into my brain and steal whole chunks of knowledge, like he did this afternoon, when I got into my truck and was completely unable to remember where the hood release is.
He's doing it to me now, even as I type, getting bolder and stealing words, whole thoughts, even my knowledge of CSS and HTML.
No homework will be getting done tonight--I am going to throw some blues at him.
They're no longer blue--the pharmacy changed to a different generic years ago a plain white oblong, but by then ttk and I were so used to calling them "blue pills" that the name has stuck, as has the term "blue pill babble."
Hey demon--catch!
He'll still be there, just less able to get to me, so he'll slink back to his crevice in my skull until he thinks he can come out again.
Which is way too frequent.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Scope Creep...
a very useful phrase that describes the phenomenon that occurs when I am trying to work on a project. TTK coined it and it fits me perfectly...
Friday, November 17, 2006
I Love that Man...
...but he's insane. I just got a call from him:
Him: "This is kind of embarrasing. I let myself run out of gas...I'm somewhere near Ignacio...but everything's all right, I'm just calling you while I catch my breath to walk back."
!
[boggle]
Me: "Honey, WHY didn't you call Triple A?"
Him: "Because I only have like one call left this year!"
Me:"HON, there's ONE more month left of the year! You don't need to save it!"
Him: "Oh. Now I feel stupid."
Me: "How come you don't call me BEFORE hiking to a gas station? I could have told you about the full gas can in the trunk!" <--I'm evil.
Him: "You're kidding!"
Me: "Yes, I am. But, you wouldn't have known either way until now...did you buy a can at the station?"
Him: "No, I just filled an empty water bottle."
Me: "That's what, less than a quart? So you'll pour it in your tank, and drive a quarter of a mile before running out again and having to walk back."
HE IS INSANE!
So now, he's walking down the highway at night carrying a plastic Arrowhead bottle filled with gasoline. Let's hope he doesn't forget and try to take a swig, like he did with the lamp oil.
(We now have a bottle in the kitchen, wrapped in duct tape with the words "FUCKING LAMP OIL!!!" on it.)
Him: "This is kind of embarrasing. I let myself run out of gas...I'm somewhere near Ignacio...but everything's all right, I'm just calling you while I catch my breath to walk back."
!
[boggle]
Me: "Honey, WHY didn't you call Triple A?"
Him: "Because I only have like one call left this year!"
Me:"HON, there's ONE more month left of the year! You don't need to save it!"
Him: "Oh. Now I feel stupid."
Me: "How come you don't call me BEFORE hiking to a gas station? I could have told you about the full gas can in the trunk!" <--I'm evil.
Him: "You're kidding!"
Me: "Yes, I am. But, you wouldn't have known either way until now...did you buy a can at the station?"
Him: "No, I just filled an empty water bottle."
Me: "That's what, less than a quart? So you'll pour it in your tank, and drive a quarter of a mile before running out again and having to walk back."
HE IS INSANE!
So now, he's walking down the highway at night carrying a plastic Arrowhead bottle filled with gasoline. Let's hope he doesn't forget and try to take a swig, like he did with the lamp oil.
(We now have a bottle in the kitchen, wrapped in duct tape with the words "FUCKING LAMP OIL!!!" on it.)
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Winter's Coming.
Sigh. It's that time of the year again...the first bloody nose last night. You'd think that with it so rainy and wet, and COLD, that I wouldn't have a problem, but no, it doesn't work that way.
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
Hair
Boy, you know it's bad when NO ONE comments on your new hairstyle...
I mean, I went from all over brunette to a really badly patchwork bleach-blonde highlights that are more "chunklights."
Heh.
Since I'm swimming twice a week, I can't do a temporary color like I usually do, so I'm not sure what to use to "fill in" some of the blond sections.
And in other news, I've been geeking forever today.
At school.
And I don't want to leave because my hip and back are NOT hurting.
Have I mentioned my "desk" at home is one end of the couch?
And not even a real couch, either--it's my old (OLD) bed-into-couch futon frame with two different futons on it, one for the back and one for the butt.
Geek geek geek...but I'm getting hungry...geek geek geek...
I mean, I went from all over brunette to a really badly patchwork bleach-blonde highlights that are more "chunklights."
Heh.
Since I'm swimming twice a week, I can't do a temporary color like I usually do, so I'm not sure what to use to "fill in" some of the blond sections.
And in other news, I've been geeking forever today.
At school.
And I don't want to leave because my hip and back are NOT hurting.
Have I mentioned my "desk" at home is one end of the couch?
And not even a real couch, either--it's my old (OLD) bed-into-couch futon frame with two different futons on it, one for the back and one for the butt.
Geek geek geek...but I'm getting hungry...geek geek geek...
Friday, November 3, 2006
almost.
Sitting in my computer class yesterday, I was discussing website development and bemoaning the fact that a website I've agreed to create has no CONTENT (which is the number one thing you need, BEFORE layout, and cute graphics, and rollover buttons!) and I said "I can do the code, but I can't _write._"
That struck me:
I used to write.
I used to write well.
Then a chunk of my brain decided to grow all wonky, and after 14 hours of surgery and months of confusion, dizziness, and migraines, I discovered that something was missing.
A lot was missing. What wasn't missing was damaged.
My hearing.
My balance.
My memory.
I used to hear music in the center of my head--I loved loud music and live concerts...now it's all on one side and kind of flat.
When I read poetry I could hear it, like music, in my head. Incredible depths and far off whispers, and a sense of something greater than the words alone.
When I wrote, I could reach that level, where as I wrote I could hear the different stories and worlds building. I could _feel_ it, I could direct it.
I no longer read poetry. Even stuff I loved, before.
Now it's like sensing something just beyond the edge of the light, something huge and ponderous and incredible, but never being able to see it.
It's like remembering how music _really_ sounds.
It's like seeing a photo of yourself, and having no idea when it was taken or what you were doing.
My writing is like that, now.
I can feel it almost becoming music, but I get lost in trying to get the words out of my head and the tune falters, dies.
Even this whole entry disgusts me--it's _almost_ what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it, but that's like saying a little melody is _almost_ an orchestral score.
.
That struck me:
I used to write.
I used to write well.
Then a chunk of my brain decided to grow all wonky, and after 14 hours of surgery and months of confusion, dizziness, and migraines, I discovered that something was missing.
A lot was missing. What wasn't missing was damaged.
My hearing.
My balance.
My memory.
I used to hear music in the center of my head--I loved loud music and live concerts...now it's all on one side and kind of flat.
When I read poetry I could hear it, like music, in my head. Incredible depths and far off whispers, and a sense of something greater than the words alone.
When I wrote, I could reach that level, where as I wrote I could hear the different stories and worlds building. I could _feel_ it, I could direct it.
I no longer read poetry. Even stuff I loved, before.
Now it's like sensing something just beyond the edge of the light, something huge and ponderous and incredible, but never being able to see it.
It's like remembering how music _really_ sounds.
It's like seeing a photo of yourself, and having no idea when it was taken or what you were doing.
My writing is like that, now.
I can feel it almost becoming music, but I get lost in trying to get the words out of my head and the tune falters, dies.
Even this whole entry disgusts me--it's _almost_ what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it, but that's like saying a little melody is _almost_ an orchestral score.
.
Wednesday, November 1, 2006
New Meds
The doctor's appointment went fine--it was just a chat, really, not an exam...she says that it is most likely that I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome on top of (or would that be in conjuction with) the Ulcerative Colitis. Oh joy. Basically that means that my body has gotten used to the pain and movement, and so though the inflammation is trying to subside, the rest of my system is still in turmoil and fighting. (Remember your basic biology classes? "-itis" means "inflammation of..." so laryngitis is inflammation of the larynx. Bronchitis is inflammation of hte broncheal tubes. And so on. )
So now I get to try Lomotil too see if we can slow the momentum and calm the system.
By the way, have I mentioned that I have a feces issue?
I cannot deal at all with discussing this in person...I can write this here because, well, almost no one reads this.
I know this because I installed a statcounter...the people who read this already know me, or have navigated here through blogger's "next blog" button.
Statcounters are great...they remind you that though anyone can read your public pages, that doesn't mean everyone does.
Since I have so little traffic, I use http://www.statcounter.com/ for my stats--it's free, if you only want to save the 100 most recent hits. You want more, you gotta pay...but with those 100 hits, you get to use EVERYTHING--the landing page, the exit page, the search they used (if they used one), where their ISP is hosted, all sorts of interesting stuff. Go play--you'll like it, I think.
It's definitely a lesson in humility if you only have a few hits a week, and if you have lots then your ego gets a boost.
Boy, talk about changing subjects in an entry!
So now I get to try Lomotil too see if we can slow the momentum and calm the system.
By the way, have I mentioned that I have a feces issue?
I cannot deal at all with discussing this in person...I can write this here because, well, almost no one reads this.
I know this because I installed a statcounter...the people who read this already know me, or have navigated here through blogger's "next blog" button.
Statcounters are great...they remind you that though anyone can read your public pages, that doesn't mean everyone does.
Since I have so little traffic, I use http://www.statcounter.com/ for my stats--it's free, if you only want to save the 100 most recent hits. You want more, you gotta pay...but with those 100 hits, you get to use EVERYTHING--the landing page, the exit page, the search they used (if they used one), where their ISP is hosted, all sorts of interesting stuff. Go play--you'll like it, I think.
It's definitely a lesson in humility if you only have a few hits a week, and if you have lots then your ego gets a boost.
Boy, talk about changing subjects in an entry!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Crepuscular
American Heritage Dictionary -
cre·pus·cu·lar /[kri-puhs-kyuh-ler]
adj.
1. Of or like twilight; dim: “the period's crepuscular charm and a waning of the intense francophilia that used to shape the art market” (Wall Street Journal).
2. Zoology. Becoming active at twilight or before sunrise, as do bats and certain insects and birds.
cre·pus·cu·lar /[kri-puhs-kyuh-ler]
adj.
1. Of or like twilight; dim: “the period's crepuscular charm and a waning of the intense francophilia that used to shape the art market” (Wall Street Journal).
2. Zoology. Becoming active at twilight or before sunrise, as do bats and certain insects and birds.
Doctor Time
Well, I get to go back to see my gastroenterologist, Dr. M. Last time I saw her was 3 months ago, and was NOT fun.
Now I get to go in and tell her that the drugs aren't working.
Who knows what evil meds she will give me next...
Now I get to go in and tell her that the drugs aren't working.
Who knows what evil meds she will give me next...
Friday, October 27, 2006
Surprise!
So I'm about to go outside and check the laundry.
There's this white towel that is just outside the back door, whose reflection through the glass looks almost like a snake.
I open the door, and there's...
a big white snake!
It's the cornsnake that got out back in MAY! Just lookin' up at me, like, "let me in! It's cold out here!"
Heh.
He's incredibly healthy looking--a few new scars, including what looks like a bite mark, but otherwise perfectly okay!
Woo!
There's this white towel that is just outside the back door, whose reflection through the glass looks almost like a snake.
I open the door, and there's...
a big white snake!
It's the cornsnake that got out back in MAY! Just lookin' up at me, like, "let me in! It's cold out here!"
Heh.
He's incredibly healthy looking--a few new scars, including what looks like a bite mark, but otherwise perfectly okay!
Woo!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Food We Eat
It really says a lot about the food you're eating when you give the dog a *tiny* sliver of meat and she promptly pukes. Luckily the newspaper was there on the floor so I could hold her over it--burying the sex offenders article in a copious amount of I don't even want to describe it.
I've been slightly nauseous all day, and when ttk almost dropped the newspaper, he almost had a hell of a lot more mess to clean up.
I've been slightly nauseous all day, and when ttk almost dropped the newspaper, he almost had a hell of a lot more mess to clean up.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Daisy 199?-2006
She's gone.
My vet gave her a small injection in her hip. She stopped her frantic, constant movements and relaxed into my hands. She licked her nose, yawned a few times, and then just kinda went to sleep. Truly, just to sleep. She was relaxed and no longer intensely desperate. I felt her little heart beating in my palm as the doctor went to get the syringe of drug that would stop her heart.
The first vein he tried was too hard to find. He tried the other leg. A backwash of blood into the syringe, and the clear pink drug slid into her system. Her heart beat steadily, then stopped. No flutter, no hesitation. Gone.
I thanked him, for being able to do that for her, for us.
We brought her little body home, so light now, and curled her up in her tiny bed that came with her when we adopted her so long ago. She loved that bed, and would prefer to curl up in it rather than snuggle in the copious amounts of bedding I had provided.
She hated all other ferrets in life, and would savage them while screaming at the top of her lungs, but in death she curled into the same tin with little Miranda.
When our first ferret died, we interred her in a metal tin
gaily colored with a christmas scene
since we wanted to bury her in our own land, and not some soon-to-be-forgotten rental. Her sister followed soon after, and fit next to her. When Fatboy died so suddenly, we found another tin
this one gold with fluer-de-lis on the top, both once held butter cookies but are somehow well suited to their new task
for him, and for Azrael when she passed.
We have three of these tins now, lined up in the front yard like some sort of eccentric art.
We know what's in there, why they're there, though others don't.
Tiny crypts.
My vet gave her a small injection in her hip. She stopped her frantic, constant movements and relaxed into my hands. She licked her nose, yawned a few times, and then just kinda went to sleep. Truly, just to sleep. She was relaxed and no longer intensely desperate. I felt her little heart beating in my palm as the doctor went to get the syringe of drug that would stop her heart.
The first vein he tried was too hard to find. He tried the other leg. A backwash of blood into the syringe, and the clear pink drug slid into her system. Her heart beat steadily, then stopped. No flutter, no hesitation. Gone.
I thanked him, for being able to do that for her, for us.
We brought her little body home, so light now, and curled her up in her tiny bed that came with her when we adopted her so long ago. She loved that bed, and would prefer to curl up in it rather than snuggle in the copious amounts of bedding I had provided.
She hated all other ferrets in life, and would savage them while screaming at the top of her lungs, but in death she curled into the same tin with little Miranda.
When our first ferret died, we interred her in a metal tin
gaily colored with a christmas scene
since we wanted to bury her in our own land, and not some soon-to-be-forgotten rental. Her sister followed soon after, and fit next to her. When Fatboy died so suddenly, we found another tin
this one gold with fluer-de-lis on the top, both once held butter cookies but are somehow well suited to their new task
for him, and for Azrael when she passed.
We have three of these tins now, lined up in the front yard like some sort of eccentric art.
We know what's in there, why they're there, though others don't.
Tiny crypts.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Ahhh, technology!
How's this for good use of combined technology:
TTK calls an his cell phone and says traffic just went to a dead stop, in Novato.
I go to 511.org and pull up the map.
Downed powerlines and car accident, and brushfire blocking ALL northbound lanes...they "suggest alternate route" so I googlemap the nearest offramp for him, and figure out how to get him home (there's all of one other way and it goes waaaay east, but it's better than sitting in a parking lot for an hour.) from where he is.
I give him directions...he'll call me when he reaches Petaluma or is hopelessly lost (fingers crossed for the former!)...
TTK calls an his cell phone and says traffic just went to a dead stop, in Novato.
I go to 511.org and pull up the map.
Downed powerlines and car accident, and brushfire blocking ALL northbound lanes...they "suggest alternate route" so I googlemap the nearest offramp for him, and figure out how to get him home (there's all of one other way and it goes waaaay east, but it's better than sitting in a parking lot for an hour.) from where he is.
I give him directions...he'll call me when he reaches Petaluma or is hopelessly lost (fingers crossed for the former!)...
Friday, October 6, 2006
interlude #145
conversation with my sister (her youngest just turned 1 last month)
Her: Owp! Hold on...
[running and small child googly noises in the background]
Her (picking up the phone, out of breath): Sorry! She headed into (her brother's) room...and he's asleep.
Me: She's toddling now?
Her, flatly: Toddling? NO. Not toddling: she's running. Full on, as fast as she can.
heh.
Her: Owp! Hold on...
[running and small child googly noises in the background]
Her (picking up the phone, out of breath): Sorry! She headed into (her brother's) room...and he's asleep.
Me: She's toddling now?
Her, flatly: Toddling? NO. Not toddling: she's running. Full on, as fast as she can.
heh.
Thursday, October 5, 2006
Working...
I'm still at school, in the computer lab.
My brain is melting.
My final project isn't even close to being finished.
I have no color sense.
I take that back--I have a poor color sense.
I am trying to come up with a workable palette of colors for this damn website that I am creating, and everything is either boring as hell, or makes my eyes bleed.
And we're supposed to code it using tables, although tables as layout is old school. Can you say frustrating?
And as I am trying to do this, things that I can simply type up in code, I am searching all over the Dreamweaver program trying to find the button, lever, or switch that should insert said style directly into the page all easy and shit. The easy part is just typing it in, but since I am trying to learn this software, I am doing it the hard way: assuming I have very little hand-coding HTML skills.
Bleah.
OW, my brain.
What I really need, really really, more than an exercise class or a computer class, is a GOOD, ERGONOMIC work area!
This whole "end of the couch" thing has got to go--3 years of this, and my back is like broken tinker toys.
Ow, my brain.
Yes, I am repeating myself. You wanna see my lame project?
Well, too bad--I am not posting the link here until it's all done, so nyeah.
But, you can take a look at my origami page that was homework #4:
here
Enjoy.
I'm going home, if I can find my car.
TTK, you want me to bring home a chicken?
Heh.
My brain is melting.
My final project isn't even close to being finished.
I have no color sense.
I take that back--I have a poor color sense.
I am trying to come up with a workable palette of colors for this damn website that I am creating, and everything is either boring as hell, or makes my eyes bleed.
And we're supposed to code it using tables, although tables as layout is old school. Can you say frustrating?
And as I am trying to do this, things that I can simply type up in code, I am searching all over the Dreamweaver program trying to find the button, lever, or switch that should insert said style directly into the page all easy and shit. The easy part is just typing it in, but since I am trying to learn this software, I am doing it the hard way: assuming I have very little hand-coding HTML skills.
Bleah.
OW, my brain.
What I really need, really really, more than an exercise class or a computer class, is a GOOD, ERGONOMIC work area!
This whole "end of the couch" thing has got to go--3 years of this, and my back is like broken tinker toys.
Ow, my brain.
Yes, I am repeating myself. You wanna see my lame project?
Well, too bad--I am not posting the link here until it's all done, so nyeah.
But, you can take a look at my origami page that was homework #4:
here
Enjoy.
I'm going home, if I can find my car.
TTK, you want me to bring home a chicken?
Heh.
Wednesday, October 4, 2006
Just Another Day at the Ranch
How many people do you know would be happy to have this happen:
I'm geeking, and I hear the neighbor call "Hellooo?".
I open the door, and Bob is standing at the gate, all grubby and gloved...
I open the gate, and he hands me...
a HUGE dead gopher.
"Here, I thought you might want to feed this to one of your critters."
Me--"Oh, Thank you! Man! That's the KING gopher!"
Him: "Yeah, it's been eating well. Too well."
Heh!
I don't know which was more weird: that my neighbor knew me well
enough to present me with a corpse, or that I was pleased about it....
I'm geeking, and I hear the neighbor call "Hellooo?".
I open the door, and Bob is standing at the gate, all grubby and gloved...
I open the gate, and he hands me...
a HUGE dead gopher.
"Here, I thought you might want to feed this to one of your critters."
Me--"Oh, Thank you! Man! That's the KING gopher!"
Him: "Yeah, it's been eating well. Too well."
Heh!
I don't know which was more weird: that my neighbor knew me well
enough to present me with a corpse, or that I was pleased about it....
Friday, September 8, 2006
Interlude #50
Me: I think that potato soup has gone bad...smell it.
Him: It smells...funky!
Me: I'll give it to the chickens.
Him: ...and we'll see if _they_ die.
Me: They eat all sorts of shit, it won't hurt 'em. Hell, they eat Pocky's shit...which is a little too much recycling for me.
[note: Pocky eats the chicken's shit, hence the recycling. -- Ed.]
[I always wondered who Ed was when I'd read that...]
Him: It smells...funky!
Me: I'll give it to the chickens.
Him: ...and we'll see if _they_ die.
Me: They eat all sorts of shit, it won't hurt 'em. Hell, they eat Pocky's shit...which is a little too much recycling for me.
[note: Pocky eats the chicken's shit, hence the recycling. -- Ed.]
[I always wondered who Ed was when I'd read that...]
Thursday, September 7, 2006
No Swimming for Me...
..today, because Wednesday I was in so much pain I was crying by evening...between my back and my gut, I feel like I just can't get a breath without pain.
On a good note though...
Woo! Baby sand boas!
8 little tiny copies of their father!
--the mother is anerythristic, and the father is a normal, so all the babies are orange and brown like dad and not black and grey like mom...but, they are all heterozygous for anerythristic (blogger's spellchecker is freaking out on me, heh.) so if THEY are bred to anerys, then THEIR babies will be black and grey. Dontcha just love this genetics stuff?
My other female sand boa is gravid, too...all boa species are live birth, what is known as ovoviviparous: meaning that the eggs develop inside, with a soft membrane rather than a shell, rather than being laid and hatching later.
I have yet to see them give birth--they are SAND boas, after all, and live in sand...buried, I should say.
Oh, and one lone cornsnake egg hatched. There's still another, but it's stubbornly staying eggish and not even pipping.
On a good note though...
Woo! Baby sand boas!
8 little tiny copies of their father!
--the mother is anerythristic, and the father is a normal, so all the babies are orange and brown like dad and not black and grey like mom...but, they are all heterozygous for anerythristic (blogger's spellchecker is freaking out on me, heh.) so if THEY are bred to anerys, then THEIR babies will be black and grey. Dontcha just love this genetics stuff?
My other female sand boa is gravid, too...all boa species are live birth, what is known as ovoviviparous: meaning that the eggs develop inside, with a soft membrane rather than a shell, rather than being laid and hatching later.
I have yet to see them give birth--they are SAND boas, after all, and live in sand...buried, I should say.
Oh, and one lone cornsnake egg hatched. There's still another, but it's stubbornly staying eggish and not even pipping.
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Steve
Steve Irwin has died.
I keep hoping it's all a bad joke, and they're gonna call it off any minute now...I felt this same way when Jim Henson died: Like we just got ripped off--the creativity and changes he made to this world have been pinched. Yeah, there's all the stuff we already have, but there's not going to be any more--no more wondering what he's going to come up with next, no more awe and joy at what he does come up with.
Ach--I'm not saying this well at all.
Normally I find the concept of the Rainbow Bridge to be sappy and maudlin...but this post is fabulous: An interesting day at the Rainbow Bridge.
The Internet is completely glutted with stories, comments, and pictures about Steve and his life, and his death.
Opinions range from "he brought it on himself, tormenting the creature" to "he's a hero!" while facts are being repeated, rumored, misquoted, created, and basically mangled. It's hard to find an accurate, objective news story...some are reporting that he was filming for one show, then another, then that he was filming coral, filming stingrays, that he was attacked, that it was an accident, on and on.
I trust the CNN versions more than the People Magazine or USA Today versions...but here's a few:
Steve Irwin's death clogs Web sites
and another:
http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2006-09-05-irwin-mourned_x.htm
http://news.google.com/news?num=30&hl=en&ned=us&ie=utf-8&q=Steve-Irwin
And let's not forget an article on Stingrays:
http://www.potamotrygon.de/fremdes/stingray%20article.htm
I keep hoping it's all a bad joke, and they're gonna call it off any minute now...I felt this same way when Jim Henson died: Like we just got ripped off--the creativity and changes he made to this world have been pinched. Yeah, there's all the stuff we already have, but there's not going to be any more--no more wondering what he's going to come up with next, no more awe and joy at what he does come up with.
Ach--I'm not saying this well at all.
Normally I find the concept of the Rainbow Bridge to be sappy and maudlin...but this post is fabulous: An interesting day at the Rainbow Bridge.
The Internet is completely glutted with stories, comments, and pictures about Steve and his life, and his death.
Opinions range from "he brought it on himself, tormenting the creature" to "he's a hero!" while facts are being repeated, rumored, misquoted, created, and basically mangled. It's hard to find an accurate, objective news story...some are reporting that he was filming for one show, then another, then that he was filming coral, filming stingrays, that he was attacked, that it was an accident, on and on.
I trust the CNN versions more than the People Magazine or USA Today versions...but here's a few:
Steve Irwin's death clogs Web sites
and another:
http://www.usatoday.com/life/people/2006-09-05-irwin-mourned_x.htm
http://news.google.com/news?num=30&hl=en&ned=us&ie=utf-8&q=Steve-Irwin
And let's not forget an article on Stingrays:
http://www.potamotrygon.de/fremdes/stingray%20article.htm
Monday, September 4, 2006
Chai...Masala Chai
Chai means Tea in Hindi.
SO know that you sound like a dork ordering a Venti Chai Tea Latte...try to learn what the terms mean, okay?
Chai = Tea
Masala = Spice
Garam = Pungent/Hot/Fiery
A great site I found whilst trying to find a recipe for Masala Chai is a hindi translation page: http://www.wordanywhere.com/.
So anyway...
If you do a search for a chai recipe you will find about a thousand different versions...basically, it's black tea boiled with a combination of spices--usually cardamom, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, and cloves. Let's not forget some sugar/sweetness, to bring out the robustness of the spices...
Since it's all about taste, and everyone has a slightly different spice preference level, you pretty much are left with personal trial and error to get to a spicy chai you like...
As I brewed my chai today, TTK had to bail to the front yard to get away from the profuse aroma--he went into a severe headache reaction...when he tried my chai last week, his tummy got so upset he had to take Pepto.
To me, the house smells heavenly...
I think I used too much cardamom, though--it's easy to do since cardamom is so powerful if it's fresh.
SO know that you sound like a dork ordering a Venti Chai Tea Latte...try to learn what the terms mean, okay?
Chai = Tea
Masala = Spice
Garam = Pungent/Hot/Fiery
A great site I found whilst trying to find a recipe for Masala Chai is a hindi translation page: http://www.wordanywhere.com/.
So anyway...
If you do a search for a chai recipe you will find about a thousand different versions...basically, it's black tea boiled with a combination of spices--usually cardamom, ginger, black pepper, cinnamon, and cloves. Let's not forget some sugar/sweetness, to bring out the robustness of the spices...
Since it's all about taste, and everyone has a slightly different spice preference level, you pretty much are left with personal trial and error to get to a spicy chai you like...
As I brewed my chai today, TTK had to bail to the front yard to get away from the profuse aroma--he went into a severe headache reaction...when he tried my chai last week, his tummy got so upset he had to take Pepto.
To me, the house smells heavenly...
I think I used too much cardamom, though--it's easy to do since cardamom is so powerful if it's fresh.
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