Go Herbie!!!

Okay, so I don't really give a hoot one way or the other, but I'm just glad of all the nominees, Herbie Freakin' Hancock won the Grammy for Best Album. Why am I thrilled? Because it proves how ridiculous and out of touch the Grammys are. Mind you, I myself am ridiculous and out of touch, so at least we have that in common - but anywhere that Kanye West gets applause and not jeers for being a total douche, that's not a place I want to pay tribute.

Seriously, WHY is that man such a huge wad? That's the perfect argument for what my mother calls an abundance of positive feedback. Her entire argument against kids today is, "Who told these kids they're so damned special!? I never told you you were special!" Well, of course she did, but what she meant was that I was never told I was infinitely more special than all other living breathing creatures on the planet. Which is apparently the proper way to raise children now. I'm going to make sure my kids don't go around thinking they're better than everyone else. Just because their mother is, that doesn't mean they are. (Ha! I kid! Or do I...? Probably depends on who you ask.)

We went to Ikea for the first time this weekend. And then for the second time. Yeah, it's pretty much heaven on a concrete slab. I got a full-blown wood (not particle board) desk for $138. Thank you, Scratch & Dent department! And it was already put together! Sure, there was a nick in the wood at the back of the top of the desk, but by the time we'd ripped the leg off getting it upstairs, hell, you wouldn't even notice that scratch! Heh. (We fixed it.)

Yesterday, except for our second Ikea adventure, I was in the kitchen solid the whole day. Sauteed zucchini and summer squash, baked acorn squash with pecans and blue cheese, roasted asparagus, roasted brussels sprouts, black bean tortilla pie, potato and mushroom gratin, moonblush roasted tomatoes, pan-fried capers, fried calamari, sauteed calamari in wine and lemon, a few dipping sauces, and...yeah, I think that's all. Oh, and threw some ribs and chicken into a two-day marinade, going to roast those up tonight for Travis. So yes, there will be no, "Do we have anything to eat?" cries in my home. And just as I reached the home stretch, I somehow managed to get the mother of all jalapenos to spit fiery evil venom into my right eye and both nostrils.

Have you ever felt like you were bleeding from every orifice in your whole head?

I've never been in such acute and sudden and unceasing pain in my LIFE. I've been in pain, but not sheer excruciating will-this-ever-end pain for 20 straight minutes. Travis didn't react right away to the severity, either, and seemed to have an almost eye-rolling get-over-itness to the situation. (From a man who weeps at the mere glimpse of a white onion.) Turns out he just didn't grasp the level of franticness I was exhibiting right away. Since the inception of All Day Cooking Sundays, he's used to the sight of me dabbing at my eyes after a whole day of chopping onions, so he didn't really notice the difference - and he spent the rest of the night apologizing. The final stage of my complete toxic-seed-and-rib-induced breakdown had me standing in the shower, having managed to not even partially undress before just leaping in and sputtering under a spray of freezing cold water which I was trying desperately to force into my nasal and ocular cavities. The thought of just prying my own eye out did briefly occur to me.) This has happened to me before, but never to such effect. I mean, it's a damned jalapeno, not a scotch bonnet. Since when do jalapenos = pure death of vision? It was clearly the Devil's Pepper.

I'm convinced it was because I wasn't nice enough to the Jehovah's Witnesses who dropped by right when I started sauteeing garlic. (DON'T LET THE GARLIC TURN BROWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHATEVER YOU DO, said the recipe. I might have been a bit, uh, brisk with the unexpected visitors.)

And for those of you who feared for the safety of my jalapeno-laden creation - I returned and managed to finish chopping and the tortilla pie came out fine, with jalapenos intact. Though I didn't quite get around to cutting up that second jalapeno for the sour cream. My epicurean sacrifice only extends so far.

With that, I sign off. No pictures, no knitting, no spinning, nothing. What the hell is that about? (I promise something knitting related someday....)