I have to admit, some of the answers confused me and had me asking questions like...
"They know this is wool, right?"
and
"I already felted it..."
Regardless, a winner must be chosen and so choose I shall.
*tick tick tick tick*
*DING!*
As fun as your ideas are, I get the feeling that none of you (dubiously) rational grownups REALLY want this atrocity, so I will award it to the wee ones Alora and Athena because mom is right! Little girls don't care about anything but how BRIGHT and PINK something is. (I like me some bright and pink too, but...jeesh, throw some black in there will ya?)
And also because my name is Alia and I think that a hat shared between us three girls with unusual A names is a good way to pass something on.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
NoMo Noro
Many would call me a yarn wimp.
I am intimidated by yarns. Really. I am. My usual "what the hell" nature is stymied in most yarn stores and I seldom buy more than one ball of any yarn in any colorway.
Right now, my stash looks like the discount bin in the back of the store. Truth be told, that's where I get most of my summa dis/summa dat yarn anyway.
Right now, my stash looks like the discount bin in the back of the store. Truth be told, that's where I get most of my summa dis/summa dat yarn anyway.
I thought to myself one day in mid-March that if I was going to buy only one ball, that it was time to figure out what this Noro stuff was all about and for some reason, I chose a colorway that is indescribable in its hideousness.
I tried. Believe me. I did. I can't help but draw similies in my head for what a yarn's colorway reminds me of and this stuff had me stumped.
I tried. Believe me. I did. I can't help but draw similies in my head for what a yarn's colorway reminds me of and this stuff had me stumped.
Cotton candy on acid. After a hit of heroin. Because it was out of meth.
Skittles vomited by a clown.
A clown vomited by a pink elephant.
A multi-racial Peep jousting event gone wrong.
You see where I am going with this. I had to be rid of it and since I had but little of it and it's colorway prevented a trade, I decided to fulfill my friend Jane's joking request for a toilet paper cover. I would create a toilet paper cover so large as to use every last inch of this obnoxious stuff and then felt it.
What resulted was a baskety shape large enough to hide the jumbo tub of cheese doodles I got for Christmas, but haven't made my way through yet.
After a trip though the washer, I was nervous. It was still big enough to hide a baby in. Hopefully, a blind baby.
The dryer didn't help either. Either Charmin was going to have to come up with toilet paper rolls large enough to wipe King Kong's bum...or I was going to have a hideous, useless, something or other to contend with.
So, I don't know what to do with this atrocity. Maybe some of you can suggest uses. I don't have the heart to foist it on a charity.
The dryer didn't help either. Either Charmin was going to have to come up with toilet paper rolls large enough to wipe King Kong's bum...or I was going to have a hideous, useless, something or other to contend with.
So, I don't know what to do with this atrocity. Maybe some of you can suggest uses. I don't have the heart to foist it on a charity.
Just having it in my possession is slowly bleeding mine.
Sooo....what do I do with it?
Best answer gets it. Leave a comment here or on Ravelry.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Praise Nigel and Pass the Pomegranate
I have a fascination for world religions even I don't understand.
Ever since the third grade when Jessica Whats-her-Name in her green Izod sweater was strong-armed by the evil (and most likely alien) Mrs. MacVane into talking about being Jewish and what Hanukkah was all about, I have been hooked.
No Christmas?? What??? Hell, my parents are atheist hippies but we still had Christmas!!!
What means this word Jewish? Are there more people like that who have no concept of a chimney and how it relates to a squalling brat in a barn somewhere in a place with no snow? I needed to know. There was a shift in my whole concept of the world and now I required data to balance the scales again.
Since then, I have had a sense of wonder about what humans believe, why they believe it, and how that belief system came to be. In short, I am intrigued by what each culture has in its Rule Book. (The Koran, The Bible, The Talmud, and for some...the Hobbit. These are all Rule Books.)
My Encyclopedia of World Religions is more tattered and battered than the vintage copy of the Betty Crocker Cookbook my grandmother gave me as a wedding present and I try to peruse it without judgement. After all, my belief system is based on no other tenet than "It seems to work for me."
When the universe communicates with me it's wearing tattered jeans, a CBGB t-shirt and it speaks with a voice not unlike Anthony Bourdain. Some people may find that alarming and I don't blame them. I'm a little unnerved myself.
Back to the book. The encyclopedia is three inches of history and facts and in my estimation it could probably be summed up in a brochure to be printed and included in the "Welcome to Earth - Please Don't Eat Us" packet the President has in his Emergency Flying Saucer Kit.
We are all colors of the rainbow and instruments in the symphony, but there are basic rules in every Rule Book that are all the same. It's my position that that's how things started until we humans decided we needed to have clubhouses and rules to keep the Starbellies in and the None-Upon-Thars (The Nuts) out.
Yes, humans evolved somewhere along the line into creatures that not only need food, water, air, and light, but we have developed lobes in our brains to meter our level of "feeling special". Oh, wait. According the rule books that part of our brains was not evolution, it was a gift from....(This is the part where I come up with a snazzy acronym for the God /Allah /Jehovah /Spaghettimonster /Tree Goddess /Rockpile that would make everyone happy. Instead, I think I'll just call it Nigel because I like how hard Nigel is to rhyme in a hymn without making it sound like a wet sneeze.)
Anyway...
The Basic Concepts of Religion As I See Them:
1. Be Nice
The Do's and Don'ts are delivered quite clearly very early on in every one's Rule Book. Like the first day of summer camp, Nigel spells it all out in the hopes that each camper will take it to heart.
Be Nice.
It's really as simple as that. With the enormously useful brain Nigel gave us should be able to handle that. But....we aren't. Each Rule Book has had to become a No Human Left Behind Manual that teaches to every one's learning style. Songs, stories, object lessons, word problems, chem labs, it's all in there because we couldn't get the basic first rule. Be Nice.
2. Identify and Exclude the Nuts.
Every rule book has at least a chapter, sometimes entire volumes relating to indentifying the Nuts. That can be boiled down just as simply as "Be Nice" and in just as many words.
You're Wrong or it's natural twin- We're Right.
You're Wrong and We're Right are the Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee of human belief systems. Except instead of a nice new rattle, entire geographic regions have been spoiled when You're Wrong and We're Right resolved to have a battle.
3. Consult the Menu
Every belief system comes with its own menu. Please consult your personal Nigel for today's offerings. A word of caution for those of you who might consider sampling from the menus of other belief systems - Kosher for Passover Cheese Ravioli tastes exactly like you would expect it to.
4. Wear Your Best
Each belief system has its own wardrobe of clothing for worship and ceremonies. Sometimes, this extends to special headgear as well. The standard rule appears to be that you should don your best glad rags when visiting Nigel's house or when you expect Nigel to visit yours. According to some Rule Books, you should be prepared for a surprise visit at any time, but if Nigel's going to knock you up at 3 am, then your pink poodle pajamas are the least of your worries.
Apparently, prayer is more like making a phone call, in which you can be as dressed or undressed as you like and I've even heard of cases where someone else's state of dress has resulted in fervent prayer on the part of the observer. This is hearsay, mind you. I can neither confirm, nor deny.
5. Suspension of Disbelief
The one thing you have to remember when reading the Rule Books is that Nigel used to do some really cool space/time bending tricks. Hundreds of people were fed on a couple of sardines and a bagel. People woke up after being very, very asleep. Nigel landscaped like no one's business, and in the blink of an eye.
It's probably good he doesn't really do that kind of major universe manipulation anymore and sticks to saving newborns caught in tornadoes and making sure footballs get to the end zones. I don't think we'd appreciate the magnitude of the miracles, if he did.
"Anthony Bourdain! The water's turned to wine again! I had a load of whites in, Nigel dammit!" You see what I mean.
So that's really it.
Be Nice.
Identify and Exclude the Nuts.
Consult the Menu
Wear Your Best
Expect Weird Things to Happen.
It really doesn't get any more complicated than that if you boil it all down to stock. At least, it doesn't for me. Your Nigel may vary.
Ever since the third grade when Jessica Whats-her-Name in her green Izod sweater was strong-armed by the evil (and most likely alien) Mrs. MacVane into talking about being Jewish and what Hanukkah was all about, I have been hooked.
No Christmas?? What??? Hell, my parents are atheist hippies but we still had Christmas!!!
What means this word Jewish? Are there more people like that who have no concept of a chimney and how it relates to a squalling brat in a barn somewhere in a place with no snow? I needed to know. There was a shift in my whole concept of the world and now I required data to balance the scales again.
Since then, I have had a sense of wonder about what humans believe, why they believe it, and how that belief system came to be. In short, I am intrigued by what each culture has in its Rule Book. (The Koran, The Bible, The Talmud, and for some...the Hobbit. These are all Rule Books.)
My Encyclopedia of World Religions is more tattered and battered than the vintage copy of the Betty Crocker Cookbook my grandmother gave me as a wedding present and I try to peruse it without judgement. After all, my belief system is based on no other tenet than "It seems to work for me."
When the universe communicates with me it's wearing tattered jeans, a CBGB t-shirt and it speaks with a voice not unlike Anthony Bourdain. Some people may find that alarming and I don't blame them. I'm a little unnerved myself.
Back to the book. The encyclopedia is three inches of history and facts and in my estimation it could probably be summed up in a brochure to be printed and included in the "Welcome to Earth - Please Don't Eat Us" packet the President has in his Emergency Flying Saucer Kit.
We are all colors of the rainbow and instruments in the symphony, but there are basic rules in every Rule Book that are all the same. It's my position that that's how things started until we humans decided we needed to have clubhouses and rules to keep the Starbellies in and the None-Upon-Thars (The Nuts) out.
Yes, humans evolved somewhere along the line into creatures that not only need food, water, air, and light, but we have developed lobes in our brains to meter our level of "feeling special". Oh, wait. According the rule books that part of our brains was not evolution, it was a gift from....(This is the part where I come up with a snazzy acronym for the God /Allah /Jehovah /Spaghettimonster /Tree Goddess /Rockpile that would make everyone happy. Instead, I think I'll just call it Nigel because I like how hard Nigel is to rhyme in a hymn without making it sound like a wet sneeze.)
Anyway...
The Basic Concepts of Religion As I See Them:
1. Be Nice
The Do's and Don'ts are delivered quite clearly very early on in every one's Rule Book. Like the first day of summer camp, Nigel spells it all out in the hopes that each camper will take it to heart.
Be Nice.
It's really as simple as that. With the enormously useful brain Nigel gave us should be able to handle that. But....we aren't. Each Rule Book has had to become a No Human Left Behind Manual that teaches to every one's learning style. Songs, stories, object lessons, word problems, chem labs, it's all in there because we couldn't get the basic first rule. Be Nice.
2. Identify and Exclude the Nuts.
Every rule book has at least a chapter, sometimes entire volumes relating to indentifying the Nuts. That can be boiled down just as simply as "Be Nice" and in just as many words.
You're Wrong or it's natural twin- We're Right.
You're Wrong and We're Right are the Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee of human belief systems. Except instead of a nice new rattle, entire geographic regions have been spoiled when You're Wrong and We're Right resolved to have a battle.
3. Consult the Menu
Every belief system comes with its own menu. Please consult your personal Nigel for today's offerings. A word of caution for those of you who might consider sampling from the menus of other belief systems - Kosher for Passover Cheese Ravioli tastes exactly like you would expect it to.
4. Wear Your Best
Each belief system has its own wardrobe of clothing for worship and ceremonies. Sometimes, this extends to special headgear as well. The standard rule appears to be that you should don your best glad rags when visiting Nigel's house or when you expect Nigel to visit yours. According to some Rule Books, you should be prepared for a surprise visit at any time, but if Nigel's going to knock you up at 3 am, then your pink poodle pajamas are the least of your worries.
Apparently, prayer is more like making a phone call, in which you can be as dressed or undressed as you like and I've even heard of cases where someone else's state of dress has resulted in fervent prayer on the part of the observer. This is hearsay, mind you. I can neither confirm, nor deny.
5. Suspension of Disbelief
The one thing you have to remember when reading the Rule Books is that Nigel used to do some really cool space/time bending tricks. Hundreds of people were fed on a couple of sardines and a bagel. People woke up after being very, very asleep. Nigel landscaped like no one's business, and in the blink of an eye.
It's probably good he doesn't really do that kind of major universe manipulation anymore and sticks to saving newborns caught in tornadoes and making sure footballs get to the end zones. I don't think we'd appreciate the magnitude of the miracles, if he did.
"Anthony Bourdain! The water's turned to wine again! I had a load of whites in, Nigel dammit!" You see what I mean.
So that's really it.
Be Nice.
Identify and Exclude the Nuts.
Consult the Menu
Wear Your Best
Expect Weird Things to Happen.
It really doesn't get any more complicated than that if you boil it all down to stock. At least, it doesn't for me. Your Nigel may vary.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
F*&K You, UTI...Love, Toolbag
I'm doing a lot of waiting, lately.
Waiting to hear about my son's placement into Residential Treatment. It's a long story which can be best summed up by the phrase "That boy ain't right in the head." We'll get him sorted out, eventually, so don't worry too much. Until then, however, we need to keep him out of jail, out of rehab, and off the streets.
Waiting to see what my next temp assignment will be. The last one ended rather abruptly yesterday, so I'm thrown into the world of never being able to plan more than a day ahead because I may be called for an assignment. Such is the life of a professional temp.
To be honest, and I think that maybe you'd be okay with the above as justification, I'm a little bit rundown. A little blue. A little, dare we say, depressed? Depressed in the "I'm rising dough and someone just stuck their finger in my side" kind of depressed, not the "I haven't showered in three days and my idea of a good time is the toast landing on the floor right side up" kind.
At times like these in my life, I return to the familiar for solace. Instead of sitting on the couch watching "16 Candles" or as in other more severe cases, Sesame Street, I went to the library and lost myself for a while.
Rows and Rows and Rows and Rows of other worlds to escape into and things to find out about. Escapism at it's best. And better yet, it's free and...legal...and...won't make you want to eat an entire serving tray of marshmallow and Dorito sandwiches.
After a couple of hours, I found two crochet books I wanted to play with, a fiction book for my son, and a book about the various mathematical and scientific figures who didn't let a little manic depression, schizophrenia, or an unnatural affection for pigeons keep them from doing amazingly brilliant things.
By then it was 2pm and I was hungry. Luckily, the Mall is a scant 100 paces away from the library so I packed up my proverbial troubles and went on over for some lunch. I had Chik-fil-A and then played around with some yarn for a bit.
3 pm rolled around and I decided to go on a walk. A different sort of walk. The kind of walk I used to do when I was a kid. With $2o bucks in my pocket, I used to see what cool things I could bring home having spent as a little as possible. The booty: A backpack from HotTopic for $10. Two journals and a book about American Artists $7. Dairy Queen $2.00
Girl was done with her patient and on her way to get me so I walked over to the window seat near the mall entrance. On the table had been carved "F*CK UTI, Love Toolbag."
I'm pretty sure there's a novel in that. Toolbag, the car mechanic from the wrong side of the tracks and UTI, the Technological Institution that threw him out. He must still hold some affection for the place, I pondered, owing that to is sign off. Maybe he just couldn't spell Sincerely.
I was building Toolbag as a character when Girl pulled up to the curb. Toolbag would have to wait, but I was feeling generally better. That might have been the brief foray into fiction or the medium half and half cone but it didn't matter. When I got home, the temp agency called and asked if they could send my particulars over to a manufacturing company near here.
I happily obliged.
Waiting to hear about my son's placement into Residential Treatment. It's a long story which can be best summed up by the phrase "That boy ain't right in the head." We'll get him sorted out, eventually, so don't worry too much. Until then, however, we need to keep him out of jail, out of rehab, and off the streets.
Waiting to see what my next temp assignment will be. The last one ended rather abruptly yesterday, so I'm thrown into the world of never being able to plan more than a day ahead because I may be called for an assignment. Such is the life of a professional temp.
To be honest, and I think that maybe you'd be okay with the above as justification, I'm a little bit rundown. A little blue. A little, dare we say, depressed? Depressed in the "I'm rising dough and someone just stuck their finger in my side" kind of depressed, not the "I haven't showered in three days and my idea of a good time is the toast landing on the floor right side up" kind.
At times like these in my life, I return to the familiar for solace. Instead of sitting on the couch watching "16 Candles" or as in other more severe cases, Sesame Street, I went to the library and lost myself for a while.
Rows and Rows and Rows and Rows of other worlds to escape into and things to find out about. Escapism at it's best. And better yet, it's free and...legal...and...won't make you want to eat an entire serving tray of marshmallow and Dorito sandwiches.
After a couple of hours, I found two crochet books I wanted to play with, a fiction book for my son, and a book about the various mathematical and scientific figures who didn't let a little manic depression, schizophrenia, or an unnatural affection for pigeons keep them from doing amazingly brilliant things.
By then it was 2pm and I was hungry. Luckily, the Mall is a scant 100 paces away from the library so I packed up my proverbial troubles and went on over for some lunch. I had Chik-fil-A and then played around with some yarn for a bit.
3 pm rolled around and I decided to go on a walk. A different sort of walk. The kind of walk I used to do when I was a kid. With $2o bucks in my pocket, I used to see what cool things I could bring home having spent as a little as possible. The booty: A backpack from HotTopic for $10. Two journals and a book about American Artists $7. Dairy Queen $2.00
Girl was done with her patient and on her way to get me so I walked over to the window seat near the mall entrance. On the table had been carved "F*CK UTI, Love Toolbag."
I'm pretty sure there's a novel in that. Toolbag, the car mechanic from the wrong side of the tracks and UTI, the Technological Institution that threw him out. He must still hold some affection for the place, I pondered, owing that to is sign off. Maybe he just couldn't spell Sincerely.
I was building Toolbag as a character when Girl pulled up to the curb. Toolbag would have to wait, but I was feeling generally better. That might have been the brief foray into fiction or the medium half and half cone but it didn't matter. When I got home, the temp agency called and asked if they could send my particulars over to a manufacturing company near here.
I happily obliged.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Confessions of a Fledgeling Hooker
If you're a yarn snob, stop reading right now before I offend your delicate sensibilities.
I've discovered that I rather enjoy working with one of the cheapest yarns on the planet. Red Heart Super Saver can be purchased for about $3.00 a skein. Now, in my limited experience, that works out to about 2 hats and maybe a skinny scarf. Depending on how big the hats are and how skinny the scarf is. (or how many times you decide to cut bait on any or all of the aforementioned projects and and start over.)
I purchased a couple of skeins, variegated in shades of muted browns, greens, and oranges. Very earthy colored and perfect for a boy considering that I'd seen those shades before on the knees several boys.
Being new at this crocheting thing, I was loathe to waste money on really good yarn only to have my project not work out and have it end up in the trash. Not only that, the blanket was intended for my son who being 13 and impulsive, would more than likely douse it in cereal milk of a Saturday morning when Spongebob held more of his attention than the list to starboard that his bowl of Rice Chex was taking.
I'd be damned if that would happen on a $18 a skein yarn. For his wedding or my first grandchild, yes. Now - in the age of hot chocolate and fruit punch - oh hell no.
At first glance, and feel (that is touching it while still in it's wrapper in the bin at the store) it tends to set your teeth on edge in the same way that accidentally biting your mitten when you intended to just eat the snow on it does or...er... did. I wasn't looking forward to working with it, to say the least...
However, when it's in your hands and you're working with it feels and looks like it's made of paper. It glides around the hook like Torvill and Dean around an Olympic Icerink, especially on a Clover hook. It's stretchy and forgiving.
Finsihed projects feel substantial and aren't itchy and make you feel like you want to squeeze them in the same way that a sea cucumber makes you want to squeeze it. Okay, maybe that's just me.
I've discovered that I rather enjoy working with one of the cheapest yarns on the planet. Red Heart Super Saver can be purchased for about $3.00 a skein. Now, in my limited experience, that works out to about 2 hats and maybe a skinny scarf. Depending on how big the hats are and how skinny the scarf is. (or how many times you decide to cut bait on any or all of the aforementioned projects and and start over.)
I purchased a couple of skeins, variegated in shades of muted browns, greens, and oranges. Very earthy colored and perfect for a boy considering that I'd seen those shades before on the knees several boys.
Being new at this crocheting thing, I was loathe to waste money on really good yarn only to have my project not work out and have it end up in the trash. Not only that, the blanket was intended for my son who being 13 and impulsive, would more than likely douse it in cereal milk of a Saturday morning when Spongebob held more of his attention than the list to starboard that his bowl of Rice Chex was taking.
I'd be damned if that would happen on a $18 a skein yarn. For his wedding or my first grandchild, yes. Now - in the age of hot chocolate and fruit punch - oh hell no.
At first glance, and feel (that is touching it while still in it's wrapper in the bin at the store) it tends to set your teeth on edge in the same way that accidentally biting your mitten when you intended to just eat the snow on it does or...er... did. I wasn't looking forward to working with it, to say the least...
However, when it's in your hands and you're working with it feels and looks like it's made of paper. It glides around the hook like Torvill and Dean around an Olympic Icerink, especially on a Clover hook. It's stretchy and forgiving.
Finsihed projects feel substantial and aren't itchy and make you feel like you want to squeeze them in the same way that a sea cucumber makes you want to squeeze it. Okay, maybe that's just me.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Resolution Revolution
Ahhh a new year....
When people take the opportunity to look back and to look forward. Sum things up and suss things out. Some people make resolutions for the coming year.
It's appropriate thing to do, but I've never been a fan of resolutions. It seems like a whole lot of lip service and pressure that the average human does not need. So...I'm starting a resolution revolution and just making a list of stuff I'd like to try or do this year and see how many I actually get to do...
Glass Blowing - Or, sand art for the overachiever.
Attend a Sci Fi convention - Physical proof that there are in fact people weirder than me out there.
Learn a song and play it all the way through - Physical proof that I'm not a quitter. (even though by the time I actually do learn it, my loved ones will wish that I was.)
Complete a crochet project to my satisfaction - or....actually make what I intended to make, not something that evolved into something else because what I originally tried didn't work out. How many cat saddle blankets can one person make, anyway?
Make a piece of jewelry - already got some designs. Just need someone to show me.
There'll be more...I just needed to get this out of my head.
When people take the opportunity to look back and to look forward. Sum things up and suss things out. Some people make resolutions for the coming year.
It's appropriate thing to do, but I've never been a fan of resolutions. It seems like a whole lot of lip service and pressure that the average human does not need. So...I'm starting a resolution revolution and just making a list of stuff I'd like to try or do this year and see how many I actually get to do...
Glass Blowing - Or, sand art for the overachiever.
Attend a Sci Fi convention - Physical proof that there are in fact people weirder than me out there.
Learn a song and play it all the way through - Physical proof that I'm not a quitter. (even though by the time I actually do learn it, my loved ones will wish that I was.)
Complete a crochet project to my satisfaction - or....actually make what I intended to make, not something that evolved into something else because what I originally tried didn't work out. How many cat saddle blankets can one person make, anyway?
Make a piece of jewelry - already got some designs. Just need someone to show me.
There'll be more...I just needed to get this out of my head.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
More Rice Krispie Treats Please.
I have to admit that my knowledge of fondue is pretty limited.
The word itself, while fun to say, conjures images of polyester leisure suits, avocado kitchens, pet rocks and lawn darts. I used a fondue pot to heat water for tea in my first apartment, now that I think about it having purchased it at a yard sale for a pittance. No! I found it in a box marked "FREE".
Since Girl and I had never been to a Melting Pot, it was decided that we should rectify that in celebration of the New Year. In short, we would fondue.
Sounds dirty doesn't it?
When we arrived, I did as I always do when presented with too many choices. I shut down and placed my trust in my eating partners uttering only the occasional short phrase or random comment.
"The Swiss Thingy".
"I like teriyaki."
"I'd like to try glassblowing."
Boy knew what to do thankfully, and ordered for us. Swiss and Gruyere (I think?) to start, salad to cleanse the palate (or appease our colons - I'm not sure), and a spread of cow and ocean dwellers.
I have no recollection of what our poor waiter said. I saw his lips moving but I didn't hear a thing. I did however watch how he did things very closely...as I expect from Girl and Boy's responses to the offerings that I should probably figure out how to do it.
My favorite part was the meat course.. It was so beautifully presented, in fact, that I only societal taboos prevented me from going canine on the beef. Seafood. Oh yes, there was lobster of which Girl got the King's portion, as it should be. I contented myself with veggies and cow. Yummmm.....
And then..it was dessert. I suggested the flaming turtle, which is some concoction of caramel and chocolate, pecans, into which rum is added and then set alight. Even if they hadn't set the thing on fire, Flaming Turtle is just too fun sounding to resist. Like some sort of Amphibious Off Off Off Broadway production.
The FT was paired with...what? what's that??? Little Rice Krispie treats? Oh yes, and strawberries, marshmallows, and brownies, and cheesecake. There was no holding back on the Rice Krispie treats coated in chocolate. I asked for more, and more came as if I had already asked for my pipe and bowl, and the fiddlers three were clamoring down the hallway at my beckon.
All told, it was a great experience. Thanks to Boy and Girl for taking me. :)
And now, I must google fondue recipes.
The word itself, while fun to say, conjures images of polyester leisure suits, avocado kitchens, pet rocks and lawn darts. I used a fondue pot to heat water for tea in my first apartment, now that I think about it having purchased it at a yard sale for a pittance. No! I found it in a box marked "FREE".
Since Girl and I had never been to a Melting Pot, it was decided that we should rectify that in celebration of the New Year. In short, we would fondue.
Sounds dirty doesn't it?
When we arrived, I did as I always do when presented with too many choices. I shut down and placed my trust in my eating partners uttering only the occasional short phrase or random comment.
"The Swiss Thingy".
"I like teriyaki."
"I'd like to try glassblowing."
Boy knew what to do thankfully, and ordered for us. Swiss and Gruyere (I think?) to start, salad to cleanse the palate (or appease our colons - I'm not sure), and a spread of cow and ocean dwellers.
I have no recollection of what our poor waiter said. I saw his lips moving but I didn't hear a thing. I did however watch how he did things very closely...as I expect from Girl and Boy's responses to the offerings that I should probably figure out how to do it.
My favorite part was the meat course.. It was so beautifully presented, in fact, that I only societal taboos prevented me from going canine on the beef. Seafood. Oh yes, there was lobster of which Girl got the King's portion, as it should be. I contented myself with veggies and cow. Yummmm.....
And then..it was dessert. I suggested the flaming turtle, which is some concoction of caramel and chocolate, pecans, into which rum is added and then set alight. Even if they hadn't set the thing on fire, Flaming Turtle is just too fun sounding to resist. Like some sort of Amphibious Off Off Off Broadway production.
The FT was paired with...what? what's that??? Little Rice Krispie treats? Oh yes, and strawberries, marshmallows, and brownies, and cheesecake. There was no holding back on the Rice Krispie treats coated in chocolate. I asked for more, and more came as if I had already asked for my pipe and bowl, and the fiddlers three were clamoring down the hallway at my beckon.
All told, it was a great experience. Thanks to Boy and Girl for taking me. :)
And now, I must google fondue recipes.
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