Wordless Thursday?

So, today is going to be awfully busy.  And I'm terrible at staying one day ahead of this blog, cause when I'm ahead, I think to myself...hey, cool.  I can take it easy and not write anything.

Then I get behind.

So for these two reasons, I'm gonna make this a wordless Thursday.  While it doesn't have the same alliteration, it does serve the same sort of purpose.

 

This is the wife's idea of a legitimate sun-hat.  Dumb, I know.

Enjoy the weekend, because tomorrow is #BlogBoycottDay!  I'll try desperately to keep up with you guys on my crappidy-crap-crap phone that doesn't tweet well, but I'll hope to see you there!

Guest Posting at It's Blogworthy!!

Today, I have the unique pleasure of being dubbed, "Blogworthy". 

The very sweet and always funny Amanda Blogworthy asked me to guest post over at her place today, and I have a beautiful tale of my inter-cultural wedding waiting for those of you awesome enough to make the jump.

Amanda is also the brilliant creator of the Celebrity Weekly Round-up, which is an always hysterical review of the week's happenings in the world of the glitter-azi.  No, I don't mean homosexual German fascists, I mean...well, I was never really clear on what glitter-azi meant.  But it has to do with celebrities.  And glitter.

She does a much better job than I do, which is why her blog is Blogworthy!

When Slinky-Spine Comes in Handy

I love my in laws dearly.  But I've got a confession to make.  Despite my undying love for them, they do, unfortunately, have troubles with tact.  

Take, for example, our recent trip to PF Chang's in Baltimore.  These dear, lovely, and incredibly intelligent people tend to not do too well within the confines of an eating-oriented establishment.  It might be the terribly expansive menu, or the (legitimate) stomach issues my MIL has, or the stress that comes with having to make decisions under a time constraint.  Or perhaps they're simply trying to optimize the preference curve that exists in the relationship between the most varied and delicious cuisine choices vs. the ever-present fight for the lowest cost.  

My in laws are math geeks like that.  Or is that economics?  

Not important.  What IS important, however, is when my MIL pointed to one of the menu choices, and asked the waiter, "Tell me, Is it delicious?"

The other Russian couple we were with ordered their drinks with one single word, "Ginger!"  When the poor, sweet, and unbelievably patient African-American waiter wasn't entirely sure what that meant, they repeated, annoyed, "GINGER!"  They then commented to each other decidedly NOT under their breath about how black people are so stupid they can't even take drink orders.

My FIL is actually pretty good about these things.  He will actually not insult anyone when ordering.  He sits, silent, and points to the item he'd like on the menu.  The entire exchange between himself and the waiter is usually absolutely silent unless he'd like a shot of vodka.  I remember one time, the people at the restaurant said that they don't serve straight shots.  He then said, "Vodka on the rocks, no ice".

And just this past weekend, my wife was ordering a cocktail.  My MIL asks her what is in the cocktail.  My wife says vodka, schnapps, a little fruit juice.  My MIL wonders aloud if she should get one.  My FIL replies that she drinks too much, and is an alcoholic (which she definitely isn't).  My wife says that if she'd like one, she should get one.  My MIL then tells my FIL that if anyone in the family should stop drinking, it's him.  This exchange goes on for five or ten more minutes.

The waiter has still not yet finished taking our order, and is looking near comatose.  Or he's seizing.  Whatever it is, there's foam coming from his mouth.  (do these things happen with comas/seizures?  Please excuse my insensitivity/ignorance, also - my dear aunt sally {MATH JOKE!}).  Kapow!

I guess the point here is this.  Perhaps there is a Russian Emily Post?  Emilia Sergeivich Postova?  As much as I love them, my spine is starting to hate me from all the slinking under the table I've been doing at restaurant dinners with them.  I love them dearly, but perhaps we'll just get take out from now on.

Gulag-Vlog #1

Against my better judgment, here is my first vlog ever.  

I should have taken Jessica at My Time As A Mom's advice and had a couple stiff shots before I did this.  But then you never know, no one would have understood anything I was saying.

So without further ado:

 

So...I looked up "virulent".  This is what Webster says.

1: a : marked by a rapid, severe, and destructive course <a virulent infection> b : able to overcome bodily defensive mechanisms : markedly pathogenic <virulent bacteria> 

2: extremely poisonous or venomous

3: full of malice : malignant <virulent racists>

Nicely done, bill, nicely done.  Note to self: refrain from engaging in "the act" with this guy.  Might get rabies.

I think I meant something along the lines of prowess.  But after close to 20 takes, I was honestly kind of annoyed and didn't want to redo it another time.  Sorry guys, I've got perfectionist qualities, but only to a point.  Then laziness takes over.  And with laziness come malapropisms.

Speaking of malapropisms, it reminds me of one time when I went to a country club with KLZ from Taming Insanity.  It was a super-swanky country club, and when I came in and saw how beautiful everything was, I said something about how the place was the utter definition of ostentatious, thinking it was a nice thing to say.  But she and her husband are super sweet, and probably chalked it up to my being an idiot.

What I meant to say was "opulent".  This is why I do much better in writing than in speech.

Next time, I'll get drunk - just to see if there's a difference in how well I do in front of the web-cam. You know, as a scientific experiment, or something.

The Best Forever

My wife is putting Sammy to bed - it's her night tonight.  I stand in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and half-listening to the story she's reading.  I turn around, and move to watch from the entryway of the bathroom.

She sits sideways on a tiny black stool with one elbow resting on top of the crib.  She is reading one of her favorite childhood stories to him animatedly. Her book is turned towards him so he can peer into the book and wonder what the pictures are.  He concentrates.  For the first time all day, he is awake and motionless, trying to figure out the connection between Mama's voice and this flimsy square colorful thing she is holding in front of his face.

Her voice vividly impersonates the characters.  She makes sound effects the amplify the story, and whenever she does, Sammy will flash the faintest smile of comprehension.  He loves her so dearly.

And in this moment before bedtime, there is so much ecstasy oozing out of everyone in the room - Sammy ecstatic to be spending time with Mama, my wife ecstatic to be interacting with her son for one of the first times ever, and me...

I'm ecstatic watching the two of them feed off each others' happiness. I'm ecstatic that we've been blessed with such a beautiful son.  That we've been able to stick together since the beginning of our relationship - six and a half years of some of the most difficult but amazing times in both of our lives.  I'm ecstatic that my wife agreed to marry me, and that we'll celebrate it tomorrow.

Though we've only been married two years, it feels like we've known each other forever.  The best forever one could hope for.

AAOADHD

I can't study anymore.  I think I've got acquired-adult-onset ADHD.  That is, AAOADHD.  I just pronounced that out loud and audibly giggled.  At work.  Yes, folks - it's sealed.  I'm a victim of AAOADHD.

Take last night, for example.  My wife and I have papers due on Friday, and my wife had thoughtfully scheduled a couple hours where my in-laws would take the little guy so we could write our papers. 

She finished in LITERALLY FIFTEEN MINUTES.  Please allow me to reiterate that.  She wrote three pages single spaced about the inter-workings of a Canadian firm's ENTIRE IT department in less time than it takes to play one round of Pictionary.  I went to make a cup of coffee and she had finished it before it started along its journey to percolation. Fifteen effing minutes.

She then picked up the paper, put her feet up, and began reading the paper.  Just to be a punk.  Look, wife, no one reads the paper anymore.  You're not fooling anyone.  You purchased this newspaper with the explicit purpose of rubbing in my face the fact that you are studious. I think I'll buy you a monocle and a train ticket for your birthday.  So you can be all studious and judgy somewhere else.  While...seeing things...with only one eye.  Whatever, psh.

In the fifteen minutes that it took her to write her paper, I was catching up on twitter.  I can't read it, or even participate effectively at work, because I'm using a phone from the 1870's, and the touch screen is prohibitively stupid.  When she told me she was done, I was lost in thought - thinking about how awesome it was that Eratosthenes used stadia to calculate the circumference of the Earth.  Seriously, look up the story.  It's fascinating.

But when she told me, I was so shocked and devastated that I literally fell onto the floor and crawled around writhing dramatically.  And I'm using "literally" correctly here.

And just this morning, while I've been trying to write one goddamn post for today, I've actually written three.  One that was a stream of consciousness in the style of James Joyce's Ulysses.  But then I googled Ulysses, and started reading about its critical reception, and then I got into Irish literature and Oscar Wilde, and then Gay Pride, and Old Navy, and before I knew it, I had only three or four sentences written and I was bored with the idea of a stream of consciousness.

Then I wrote one of those six word stories but was supremely unhappy with it.  Especially when I took into account that I spent nearly 45 minutes thinking of six...stupid...words. 

And then, in frustration, I decided I was diseased.  With AAOADHD. 

I just said it aloud again.  And laughed.

Someone please help.

Anatomy of a Russian BBQ

I wanted to write a post about how to properly create the delicacy that is "Shashlik".  But with the research, all the different kinds, all the very important stipulations and rules surrounding its proper creation, I'd probably not only be writing for a week and a half straight, but I'd bore you to tears.  Because no one can make cooking meat THAT funny.  Seriously - there's a russki-rule against it.  Only slight chuckles allowed.  Belly laughs strictly forbidden.

So instead, I wanted to give you just one tiny slice into how one family prepares it, as literally EVERY family does it differently. 

And not just a little bit differently like with burgers.  You put cilantro in the ground beef, you say?  Putting butter on the bun before grilling?  Whoa - shakin' the foundation here.  You're still using beef, right?  In a circular patty?  Psh.

No, I'm talking WAY different.  For example, my family only chooses the highest quality meat: pork ass.  Apparently, my FIL thinks that the fat that's contained within that sweet swine rump soaks up the marinade so much better than anything else out there.  But other families prefer the juicy tenderness of veal or lamb or even fish. 

Sometimes I'm glad we don't live on a farm, because I could seriously imagine my FIL there in the pig pen, eyes closed and face pressed closely to the ass of the pig, and rubbing it lovingly.  Best Jew ever. 

The next most important part of my family's unique Shashlik tradition is the marinade.  Apparently, this needs to be done the night before the grill gets fired up so that the fat can sufficiently soak up the juices.  Again.  VASTLY different methods exist. My FIL describes some people who marinade with seltzer, or with yogurt, or with a crazy Milk/yogurt mix called Kefir.

My family opts for just vinegar, onions, salt and pepper.  This way the taste of swine butt can REALLY come through.  Then you're supposed to put the meat under pressure by placing a huge weight on the pot where they're marinading.  This aides in the soaking up of the juices. Don't ask me how this works.  I know it's counter intuitive.  You wouldn't squeeze the sponge to get more water in it, but apparently this is how it is with meat.

Ok, now you're ready for grilling.  No, don't even THINK of using gas.  People have been killed for using propane for shashlik.  And hands off the charcoal briquettes.  You have to use wood based charcoal.  This way it makes the meat taste as if you really just cooked it in the middle of the woods.  Never seen wood based charcoal before?  Hmm, strange.  Because it's the ONLY charcoal sold in the Grocery Store.

Oh god, I'm drooling just looking at this picture from last weekend

Notice anything strange about the skewers?  They're not some wussy round skewers purchased to cook stupid crap like eggplants or peppers.  These are home-effing-made flat skewers specially designed to sear the ass of all pigs they come into contact with.  They also double as fencing epees, though, in a pinch.  Or javelins.  Tent stakes.  Ear piercing mechanisms.  You get the idea - they're sharp.



Seriously, I'm having hunger pains just thinking about how delicious the picture looks. 

Best summer tradition ever.  The first time I ever had shashlik, they were so delicious I ate three or four pieces at once.  They got stuck in my throat and I had to lie down for thirty minutes because they wouldn't dislodge themselves.  I think it was the second time I met my wife's parents.  It was at that moment that my FIL knew I was the one for him.

Happy summer everyone, and welcome to Shashlik Country.