Happy birthday to me. I have officially entered my late twenties.
Things are actually looking up, yo.
1. On Friday morning, I found out that I was accepted to the GPPI. So at least now I have one back-up plan for when I'm unemployed at the end of the summer. I'm under consideration for a scholarship, which means I have to write another essay on why I want to go there, though. I suppose I shouldn't complain, but, y'know, grr.
2. Early on Saturday morning (4:15 AM), I completed major combat operations on my dissertation. I'm going to do a final read-through with fresh eyes tonight, pdf it, and send it out. I went down to campus on Sat. just to print the thing out and look at it. I'm not elated, or proud, or depressed or anything. It's just weird to look at the damn thing and be able to (well, after I pull a couple pieces out to submit for publication) move on to something else. I defend on March 3, at 9:30 in the morning.
3. Sunday was my friend Sarah's going-away-forever party (she's moving back to Calgary). It was more than a bit weird and awkward. First, we were sort of sharing a party that her landlady was having for her kids and their friends - so there were twelve-year-olds and cookies underfoot for most of the time, and only a few adults. Second, after the kids went to bed and we moved downstairs to Sarah's apartment, and her other friends left, some guys I'd never met (who were older, and apparently work for DoD, and very conservative... they were politely but stonily silent as M talked about her work on emergency contraception, even after we cleared up their confusion and explained that EC wasn't a euphemism for RU-486, which *is* an abortifacient) showed up. As it turns out, one was a guy that Sarah'd met at a new year's party, and who she wouldn't hook up with, but was still holding out some hope of nookie, apparently (despite the fact that she leaves town today). The other was his friend. Now, the first fellow seemed pretty bummed out that nothing was going to happen with Sarah. Initially, I felt a bit bad that M and I were operating as flashlights,* but then I thought: "Dude, don't bring a wingman to a party happening in a studio apartment!" The other part of the story is that, had things gone slightly differently, I may very well have been dating Sarah now rather than M, but that's a story for another day (and no, folks, I don't regret the way things went in the slightest).
4. Yesterday was V-day, so I decided to cook "pot-au-feu" (braised short ribs and such) from my French Laundry Cookbook, which turned out to be the most difficult meal I've yet attempted. Fortunately, though I didn't feel that I totally nailed the meal, most of it came out yummy (we only had peanut butter truffles for dessert, though, as my jellies were a disaster, for reasons I am still investigating - I think it's either that I tried making them Shiraz-flavored, and the alcohol screwed up the chemical reaction, or I wasn't using the right kind of pectin). But let me say this: frying bone marrows is FUCKING HARD. Basically, you're trying to fry some fat in some more fat, with only a think layer of salt and flour there to prevent the interior fat from escaping the wheel of rebirth and rejoining the great nirvanic ocean of exterior fat. Still, they came out as I think they were supposed to. Tasty on bread, at least. And M got us a fantastic Burgogne to drink. I'd gotten red sheets for the bed, but after eating a meal of fat braised in fat garnished with fat fried in more fat and fat dipped in fat for dessert, M zonked out on my lap while I watched Family Guy.
Things are actually looking up, yo.
1. On Friday morning, I found out that I was accepted to the GPPI. So at least now I have one back-up plan for when I'm unemployed at the end of the summer. I'm under consideration for a scholarship, which means I have to write another essay on why I want to go there, though. I suppose I shouldn't complain, but, y'know, grr.
2. Early on Saturday morning (4:15 AM), I completed major combat operations on my dissertation. I'm going to do a final read-through with fresh eyes tonight, pdf it, and send it out. I went down to campus on Sat. just to print the thing out and look at it. I'm not elated, or proud, or depressed or anything. It's just weird to look at the damn thing and be able to (well, after I pull a couple pieces out to submit for publication) move on to something else. I defend on March 3, at 9:30 in the morning.
3. Sunday was my friend Sarah's going-away-forever party (she's moving back to Calgary). It was more than a bit weird and awkward. First, we were sort of sharing a party that her landlady was having for her kids and their friends - so there were twelve-year-olds and cookies underfoot for most of the time, and only a few adults. Second, after the kids went to bed and we moved downstairs to Sarah's apartment, and her other friends left, some guys I'd never met (who were older, and apparently work for DoD, and very conservative... they were politely but stonily silent as M talked about her work on emergency contraception, even after we cleared up their confusion and explained that EC wasn't a euphemism for RU-486, which *is* an abortifacient) showed up. As it turns out, one was a guy that Sarah'd met at a new year's party, and who she wouldn't hook up with, but was still holding out some hope of nookie, apparently (despite the fact that she leaves town today). The other was his friend. Now, the first fellow seemed pretty bummed out that nothing was going to happen with Sarah. Initially, I felt a bit bad that M and I were operating as flashlights,* but then I thought: "Dude, don't bring a wingman to a party happening in a studio apartment!" The other part of the story is that, had things gone slightly differently, I may very well have been dating Sarah now rather than M, but that's a story for another day (and no, folks, I don't regret the way things went in the slightest).
4. Yesterday was V-day, so I decided to cook "pot-au-feu" (braised short ribs and such) from my French Laundry Cookbook, which turned out to be the most difficult meal I've yet attempted. Fortunately, though I didn't feel that I totally nailed the meal, most of it came out yummy (we only had peanut butter truffles for dessert, though, as my jellies were a disaster, for reasons I am still investigating - I think it's either that I tried making them Shiraz-flavored, and the alcohol screwed up the chemical reaction, or I wasn't using the right kind of pectin). But let me say this: frying bone marrows is FUCKING HARD. Basically, you're trying to fry some fat in some more fat, with only a think layer of salt and flour there to prevent the interior fat from escaping the wheel of rebirth and rejoining the great nirvanic ocean of exterior fat. Still, they came out as I think they were supposed to. Tasty on bread, at least. And M got us a fantastic Burgogne to drink. I'd gotten red sheets for the bed, but after eating a meal of fat braised in fat garnished with fat fried in more fat and fat dipped in fat for dessert, M zonked out on my lap while I watched Family Guy.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
2. Double congratualtions!
3. Er, um, hey look! "Abortifacient." I learned a new word!
4. You should have SEEN the stuffed chicken breast I made for mine last night.
And oh, yeah, happy birthday!