I had a BIG fight with my girlfriend this past weekend. However, everything was OK once she realized she was wrong.
I’m joking. I’m also going to pay for that.
I won’t bore you with the he-said, she-said. Suffice to say that I was being a selfish prick, I was FEELING like a selfish prick, but I had no way of avoiding it because it’s part of who I am to feel that way, defend it, and also hate myself for doing it.
Confused? So was I.
A couple of weeks ago, I spent an entire weekend at a soccer tournament watching her daughter play. She’s eleven years old and her team did really well. They took second place in their, idunno, division I guess. The team that beat them didn’t beat them by much, and was constantly rotating five girls in at a time while her team had one substitute. ONE. These girls had played in the cold all day for two days. The fact that they gave this other team such a run for their money says a lot for the heart and determination they showed on the field. They deserve the utmost respect. Also, they have parents who are willing to drive an hour and a half away, stay at a hotel, get up early in the morning and sit in the wind and weather all day to support them. My hat’s off to them, too.
I just really wish I’d been somewhere else. Yeah, I know. "Selfish prick."
Well, sure. I mean, I want to be there for her daughter. I want to be supporting. But, no matter how much I knew I was doing the right thing, I was getting angry. I was getting depressed.
When Erica said that we were going to watch another game on Saturday, my mouth started moving of it’s own accord. I like to call it the teakettle effect. Something builds up, and no matter how hard you try to keep a lid on it, you spout off.
Well, I was whistling long and loud before I could stop myself. I was saying things like, "I would rather not. I mean, of all the things I could be doing on Saturday, I would really, really, Really not want to do that. As a matter of fact, I would rather do just about anything than do that. I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to."
She was not pleased. Girl FRIEND turned into girl FIEND.
Well, I did go down to Maryland and we did end up going to a game. This made me feel even worse, because now she KNEW I was unhappy and felt she had to keep apologizing which made ME feel worse and I felt like I had to keep telling her that it was OK and the whole thing turned into a downward spiral of misery.
It took me a fair bit of introspection before I was finally able to reason out why I wanted to be anywhere else. So, what’s the big deal, Aaron? Why is watching your girlfriend’s daughter play a soccer game so hard? Why is it like nails on a chalkboard? What’s wrong with YOU?!?!?!
Reason: I hate sports. Now, don’t go ape shit. Calm down.
At this point people want to start diagnosing me. "That’s because you never played sports."
Not true. I was in little league baseball and I took first place in shot put during our elementary-school olympics. And, yeah, that’s the last time I played organized sports. I did play paintball, though.
Don’t take it personally. I may hate sports, but I’m not ANTI-sports. There are good things I can say about sports: It teaches kids that you that you win some, you lose some, disappointment is part of life, and it’s a far cry better than sitting and playing with your phone all day. It’s good exercise. You make new friends. You learn respect for yourself and others. So, why does Aaron hate sports? It’s not just because I was the fat kid.
#1 I’m not competitive. Being competitive has never been in me, never been a part of me. This is one of the reasons why I love music: everybody wins. It’s why I love role playing: everybody works together. I even hate it when somebody asks me what my "favorite" anything is. That sounds fanatical to me to choose one song, one band, one movie, one color, or one food over all of the others. A good movie is a good movie. I really don’t see the difference.
I’m of the opinion that competition isn’t good for anybody. If some guy gets a job that I’m up for because he was better, good for him. I’ll get better, or I’ll take my lumps. Why does one have to be "the best?" In real life, who’s keeping score?
I’d rather play well and lose than play lousy and win.
Example: The best billiards game of my life was when I beat the company commander at my A school in the Navy. I really embarrassed him. He didn’t KNOW I was playing the best game of my life. I felt SO sorry for him. I wished the game had been closer; I wished I hadn’t beat him as badly or that I’d simply done well and lost. Was I "better" than he was? No, he was actually a better pool player than me. He didn’t respect me any more after that because he thought I’d suckered him. So, what did I win?
I’m better, today, means as much to me as you’re better, tomorrow, which is not at all. I don’t care that you can throw a ball better than I can. I don’t care that you’re a better shot. I’m still a good shot. You can’t take that away from me so I why do I need to prove it?
Back to the soccer game: So, here I am, sitting at the edge of a field and not caring who wins. I’d shout encouraging things if I knew what I was shouting for. My hearts not in it. My opinion of her is not affected by whether she wins or loses. I don’t care how well she plays soccer. She happens to be very good at it, so she doesn’t need me to pump her up at the end of the game.
That’s another problem actually.
It’s one thing to say, "I don’t care if you win or lose," if she sucked at it. Can you imagine how that sounds when she’s the best goalie on the field!
"Hey! We won!"
"Yeah, but it doesn’t matter."
In truth, I really don’t see the difference. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care if she wins or loses. Why is that a bad thing? I want the best for her, but that has nothing to do with a damned soccer game! I happen to know that there are parents out there who love their children because they’re winners. I could name a few. So, as long as you can love your children when they lose, how dare you place any value on winning at all? Do you just ignore the losses as if they don’t matter while cheering the wins? Absence of cheers has to be noticed. You don’t think the kids notice that? Well, It doesn’t matter to me and I’m NOT apologizing for it.
On a side note, the parents are the most one-sided group of people I’ve ever met, chuckling when our side fouled and got away with it and gritting their teeth when the other side did the same thing. I really don’t see the difference.
My non-competitive natures gets me in trouble. At one point, the other team scored an awesome goal. They did it perfectly and nobody would have been able to stop them. So, I applauded. I was impressed. I soon realized I was the only one from our group of parents. But, come on! A good shot is a good shot! I really don’t see the difference.
#2 I hate watching someone do something. To me, it’s the same watching someone else play a game as it is watching someone else wash the dishes. Actually, I think watching someone wash dishes is more zen. Nobody loses. If you want to play a game, go ahead if it makes you feel good. But, what am I supposed to do while you’re playing? I got nothing. This goes for professional sports as well. I mean, I already don’t care who wins or loses; Why should I care about a bunch of guys I don’t even know?
On a side note: what makes a sports team "yours?"
Anecdote: I once heard a guy (who must have weighed 300 pounds) say, "If the Flyers had won, I would have had three teams in the playoffs, this year." Apparently, his football, baseball, and hockey teams did very well, but one of them had fallen short. Um, you would have had three teams in the playoffs? You can’t even eat lunch and keep your shirt tail tucked in because of your belly getting out of control. And yet, somehow, you’re responsible for professional athletes doing well? I don’t get it. Plus, all three didn’t make it, so, shouldn’t you be taking the blame?
Anywho, back to watching things. Let’s draw a distinction between entertainment events and sports. A movie, was made for no other reason than to entertain me. If I’m watching a band, it’s on stage to entertain.
The athlete on the field isn’t worrying about whether or not he’s doing a good show, he’s focused on the ball and trying real hard to tune everything else out. He’ll do that whether I watch or not.
The movie, the band, the play or the stand-up comedian only exists because I’m watching. They are performing for the audience, first and foremost. Ironically, some of the best movies ever made were sports movies because they are made with the viewer in mind. You are allowed to relate to the protagonist of a drama by being "in the know" as to what his thoughts and feelings are; we find a common truth as part of the human condition.
With athletes, they may love their fans, they may sign autographs for hours after the game, but the fans are secondary to the game, period. With sports, who am I supposed to identify with? So far, it’s the beer salesman.
So, through introspection, I figured out that I have to have something to do. Erica and I talked about it, and we’re going to find some way in which I can be supportive in a more active, rather than passive, way. I have to be engaged. I WANT to be supportive. Give me a function. I’ll make a video. I’ll take pictures. I’ll use a clip board and mark off errors or whatever. Otherwise, my mind starts to wander and I get really, really, really bored. I’ve fallen asleep at games. I’ve gone to my car to read a book. I’ve stared off into space and been hit by the ball. So, if I’m not really there, then maybe I need to be somewhere else.
And, yeah, I know that there are times I’m going to have to "suck it up" for the good of my relationship with the kids, too.
But, I’ll be grumpy about it.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Fight the Pandemic with chicken soup!
The following is the history, ingredients, and recipe for Aaron's Miracle Chicken Soup, as well as WHY it works.
After I worked at the Olive Garden, I started to experiment more with food. I was amazed at how often the cooks would change or simply ignore the recipe cards. Here was a national chain that was supposed to be consistent from one end of the country to the other and we were doing our own thing. I was only a prep cook, but that’s all there was. No chefs. These were guys off the street who were doing what they were told. The line cooks, who were the closest thing to career men, weren’t involved in the preparation, so they had no control over soups, sauces, and ingredients.
But, that’s the weird part, it WAS consistent. Oh, there might have been a little more kale in the zoupa, but it was never anything that a customer would notice. That’s also when I realized that, for the most part, we don’t care about little inconsistencies when it comes to food. We don’t count the crackers that come in a box of Ritz, we don’t examine the percentage of broken chips in the bag, we don’t notice if the sauce is a bit chunkier this time. As a matter of fact, we enjoy it when a dish we enjoy consistently is a bit inconsistent. "Oh, mom, the biscuits are really soft, this time. Cool!" "I have to warn you, I ran out of chocolate chips, so a few of these are a little light." "I made your sandwich with potato instead of wheat, today, hon."
Food, by it’s very nature, is inconsistent. How many times have you heard someone make fun of McDonald’s McNuggets because we don’t know what part of the chicken the "nugget" is? Here is a food that is the same every time you bite into it, so we’ve added a certain mystery to it. Also, I’m sure I’m not the only one who orders at least two different sauces when I get ‘em, am I? We like variety, even in our best-loved foods.
Back when I lived on Locust Street in York, PA, I really started cooking. It was in college, doing theatre practically every night. I usually had several people living with me at any given time. So, when I cooked, I made a lot. Well, it didn’t take me long to realize that sauces and soups were great for feeding a lot of people. Soup bases were cheap at Sam’s Club and they kept forever.
College kids get sick a lot. They’re exposed to a lot of different people on a regular basis who consistently go back home to pick up new germs and bring them back to campus. It wasn’t long before I discovered the equation of the Miracle Soup:
College kids + Sickness + Miracle Soup = College kids - sickness
I’ll be honest with you, I talked it up. I truly believe in mind over matter. I’d tell some poor kid with a red nose and hallowed eyes, "Here ya go! See you at rehearsal, tomorrow!" The strange thing was, it worked! I was simply hoping for the best, but it really worked! I wrote it off, then, because college kids don’t eat very well, especially when they’re sick. Girls are watching their figures, guys are eating crap. So, I just figured the soup, if it had any curative properties at all, was simply giving their bodies a severe calorie overload that they needed to fight off the bug. One girl had been sick for two weeks, and it looked as if she was going to miss an upcoming show. I delivered her soup that night, she was standing in the theater the next morning, singing my praises. Again, I have no problem taking credit, but I wrote it off as another girl who wasn’t eating right.
This is before I cured my self LAST NIGHT.
Ok, a little background. Kristin was sick, and she complained that though she’d known me for over ten years, she’d never received the Miracle Soup, even during the times when we lived in the same house. Ok. Fair is fair. I whipped up a batch and took it over. She had it that night and brought some for lunch the next day. She was a bit achy, but she felt better. I’m pretty sure I know why she was achy, but I’ll get to that in a bit.
More background: When I get sick, I drown when I try to sleep. I missed about two weeks of work, last year, because I was sleeping in a chair and waking up every twenty minutes or so to hack stuff out of my lungs. If I lay down, it’s like being water-boarded. During the day, I’m Ok, so people start to wonder if I’m really sick. But, I have a rule: I don’t drive to Baltimore on little or no sleep. I’ve almost died on the way back several times on a normal day, I’m not rolling those dice when I’ve only had intermittent naps.
So, last night, I went to bed. Around midnight I woke up and checked my phone because I remembered I had turned it off. Went back to sleep. (Keep in mind I was fine, then) At about 1AM, I woke up because someone had shoved a golf ball of phlegm down my throat. It was back! I tried denial, but I knew it for what it was. Just like that, I embarked on another two weeks filled with nights of Hell. I could feel it in my bronchial tubes, with a throat that won’t quite clear and a nose that won’t allow air passage. Dammt! I recognized it because I had been here, before.
I lay there, trying to growl the crap out of me. I remembered that keeping crackers by the bed always helped. But WAIT! I’ve got Miracle Soup! It’s filled with salt, so let’s pour some on this gullet slug. I heated up about half a bowl, ate it, then did it again.
I went back to bed and slept like a baby until morning. Booya!
Now, I’m going to tell you what’s in it and why it works. In this era of Pandemic, I think we need to do all we can.
First Chicken soup itself: A study conducted by Dr. Stephen Rennard of the University of Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha found that soup inhibited the movement of neutrophils, the most common type of white blood cell that defends against infection. Dr. Rennard theorizes that by inhibiting the migration of these infection-fighting cells in the body, chicken soup essentially helps reduce upper respiratory cold symptoms.
Another study by Mount Sinai researchers in Miami looked at how chicken soup affected air flow and mucus in the noses of 15 volunteers who drank cold water, hot water or chicken soup. In general, the hot fluids helped increase the movement of nasal mucus, but chicken soup did a better job than the hot water. Chicken soup also improves the function of protective cilia, the tiny hairlike projections in the nose that prevent contagions from entering the body
None of the research is conclusive, and it’s not known whether the changes measured in the laboratory really have a meaningful effect on people with cold symptoms. However, at the very least, chicken soup with vegetables contains lots of healthy nutrients, increases hydration and tastes good, too. (Source: well.blogs.nytimes.com)
Chicken: amino acids help clear congestion. Chicken is rated as a very good source of protein, providing 67.6% of the daily value for protein in 4 ounces. The structure of humans and animals is built on protein. We derive our amino acids from animal and plant sources of protein, then rearrange the nitrogen to make the pattern of amino acids we require. It’s also a good source of Niacin and B6,
Bacon: yeah, I put bacon in my soup. Two grams of protein, a 150 milligrams of sodium, and thirty milligrams of potassium in every slice. But, let’s not forge t the fat.
I also put a bit of seasalt in: Sodium is important in the distribution of water in the body. It helps in maintenance of fluid volume in the vessels and tissues. This is the one that dried my shit out. With all of that salt in my system, it was like the world’s best antihistamine. This is from watercure2.org: "The best natural antihistamine is salt, according to Dr. Batmanghelidj If we take too much water and don't take enough salt for our water intake, the body will release histamine. You can tell when you get a runny nose or possibly by having some congestion in your throat and lungs. If you are constantly clearing your throat, you need to take some salt." Who knew? This is the reason why Kristin was achy, because salt does that to you.
Broccoli:Broccoli's noteworthy nutrients include Vitamin C, A (mostly as beta carotene), folic acid, calcium, and fiber. Vitamin A is important for the immune system, and it keeps skin and mucous membrane cells healthy.
Oregano: has anti bacterial properties and ounce for ounce more antioxidants than any other food in the world.
Parsley: Long before it was thought of as food, this herb was considered medicine. It’s used to cure everything from baldness to insect bites to bad breath. (It doesn’t work on baldness) The list of it’s benefits goes on and on. It’s high in Iron, Vitamin C, is anti-bacterial, and is an extraordinary immunity-boosting food. Here’s a list: http://www.naturalhealthtechniques.com/diet_nutrition/ParsleyBenefits.htm
Garlic: I thought garlic would be a better benefit than all of the rest, but I was wrong. There are two medical ingredients which produce health benefits in garlic: allicin and diallyl sulphides. Allicin does not occur in "ordinary" garlic, it is produced when garlic is finely chopped or crushed. The finer the chopping and the more intensive the crushing, the more allicin is generated and the stronger the medicinal effect, which is anti-fungal. ( I use powdered garlic) Basically, since we’re not talking about curing athlete’s foot, it’s another anitoxidant, but cooking actually makes it’s medicinal qualities weaker. Diallyl sulphides survive cooking, boosts the immune system, and lowers "bad" cholesterol. It only survives in the body for a few hours, though.
Black pepper: stimulates the taste buds in such a way that an alert is sent to the stomach to increase hydrochloric acid secretion, thereby improving digestion. It has antibacterial and antioxidant effects, and the outer layer of the peppercorn stimulates the breakdown of fat cells.
Ok, here’s my recipe for the Miracle Soup. Feel free to change any part of this. I’m not an alchemist. All of the quantities vary between "a little" and "a shitload." I overdo it on the herbs.
Fry bacon in deep-dish frying pan while simultaneously boiling about 4-5 cups of water in a pot.
In the pot, put chicken base, broccoli, sea salt (pinch), oregano, and parsley. While all of this is cooking, you could be cubing up some chicken breasts (or thighs, they’re cheaper).
Once the bacon is done (crispy but not burnt), remove it to cool, but do not drain the pan. Put your cubed chicken breast in there and add garlic and black pepper.
When your pot boils, add in a bit of pasta; I use egg noodles since they soften quickly. Yeah, I know your broccoli is getting overcooked, but I like it that way. Plus, broccoli stems hurt on a sore throat unless they’re really soft. Remember, this is for sick people. Crumble up the bacon and put that in the pot, too.
Once your noodles are somewhat soft, add a couple cans of Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup. Don’t go generic. Don’t get that "low sodium," or "low fat" shit, either. That’s for healthy people and this is not for them. Mix it up, well. You’re probably wondering why I had you start off with a chicken base and then back it up with canned chicken soup. Stop wondering.
Add in the chicken. The finishing touch is a good handful (or two) of shredded cheddar cheese. Cream cheese will do, and I make it that way more often than not, since I always have some handy. That takes some cooking until that white lump breaks down.
When you’re done, this should be one hot mess of goodness. At this point, it’s OK to play around with flavoring. It’s supposed to be salty, but not so bad that it’s inedible. The consistency should be thick but not chowder-like. You may add water if it’s too gooey, If it’s too clear (see-through) add another can of cream of chicken. What you cannot do is add more pasta, since it’ll never soften in a cream base.
I hope this keeps you all well and I’m perfectly willing to accept any additions to this recipe.
Bon Appetite!
After I worked at the Olive Garden, I started to experiment more with food. I was amazed at how often the cooks would change or simply ignore the recipe cards. Here was a national chain that was supposed to be consistent from one end of the country to the other and we were doing our own thing. I was only a prep cook, but that’s all there was. No chefs. These were guys off the street who were doing what they were told. The line cooks, who were the closest thing to career men, weren’t involved in the preparation, so they had no control over soups, sauces, and ingredients.
But, that’s the weird part, it WAS consistent. Oh, there might have been a little more kale in the zoupa, but it was never anything that a customer would notice. That’s also when I realized that, for the most part, we don’t care about little inconsistencies when it comes to food. We don’t count the crackers that come in a box of Ritz, we don’t examine the percentage of broken chips in the bag, we don’t notice if the sauce is a bit chunkier this time. As a matter of fact, we enjoy it when a dish we enjoy consistently is a bit inconsistent. "Oh, mom, the biscuits are really soft, this time. Cool!" "I have to warn you, I ran out of chocolate chips, so a few of these are a little light." "I made your sandwich with potato instead of wheat, today, hon."
Food, by it’s very nature, is inconsistent. How many times have you heard someone make fun of McDonald’s McNuggets because we don’t know what part of the chicken the "nugget" is? Here is a food that is the same every time you bite into it, so we’ve added a certain mystery to it. Also, I’m sure I’m not the only one who orders at least two different sauces when I get ‘em, am I? We like variety, even in our best-loved foods.
Back when I lived on Locust Street in York, PA, I really started cooking. It was in college, doing theatre practically every night. I usually had several people living with me at any given time. So, when I cooked, I made a lot. Well, it didn’t take me long to realize that sauces and soups were great for feeding a lot of people. Soup bases were cheap at Sam’s Club and they kept forever.
College kids get sick a lot. They’re exposed to a lot of different people on a regular basis who consistently go back home to pick up new germs and bring them back to campus. It wasn’t long before I discovered the equation of the Miracle Soup:
College kids + Sickness + Miracle Soup = College kids - sickness
I’ll be honest with you, I talked it up. I truly believe in mind over matter. I’d tell some poor kid with a red nose and hallowed eyes, "Here ya go! See you at rehearsal, tomorrow!" The strange thing was, it worked! I was simply hoping for the best, but it really worked! I wrote it off, then, because college kids don’t eat very well, especially when they’re sick. Girls are watching their figures, guys are eating crap. So, I just figured the soup, if it had any curative properties at all, was simply giving their bodies a severe calorie overload that they needed to fight off the bug. One girl had been sick for two weeks, and it looked as if she was going to miss an upcoming show. I delivered her soup that night, she was standing in the theater the next morning, singing my praises. Again, I have no problem taking credit, but I wrote it off as another girl who wasn’t eating right.
This is before I cured my self LAST NIGHT.
Ok, a little background. Kristin was sick, and she complained that though she’d known me for over ten years, she’d never received the Miracle Soup, even during the times when we lived in the same house. Ok. Fair is fair. I whipped up a batch and took it over. She had it that night and brought some for lunch the next day. She was a bit achy, but she felt better. I’m pretty sure I know why she was achy, but I’ll get to that in a bit.
More background: When I get sick, I drown when I try to sleep. I missed about two weeks of work, last year, because I was sleeping in a chair and waking up every twenty minutes or so to hack stuff out of my lungs. If I lay down, it’s like being water-boarded. During the day, I’m Ok, so people start to wonder if I’m really sick. But, I have a rule: I don’t drive to Baltimore on little or no sleep. I’ve almost died on the way back several times on a normal day, I’m not rolling those dice when I’ve only had intermittent naps.
So, last night, I went to bed. Around midnight I woke up and checked my phone because I remembered I had turned it off. Went back to sleep. (Keep in mind I was fine, then) At about 1AM, I woke up because someone had shoved a golf ball of phlegm down my throat. It was back! I tried denial, but I knew it for what it was. Just like that, I embarked on another two weeks filled with nights of Hell. I could feel it in my bronchial tubes, with a throat that won’t quite clear and a nose that won’t allow air passage. Dammt! I recognized it because I had been here, before.
I lay there, trying to growl the crap out of me. I remembered that keeping crackers by the bed always helped. But WAIT! I’ve got Miracle Soup! It’s filled with salt, so let’s pour some on this gullet slug. I heated up about half a bowl, ate it, then did it again.
I went back to bed and slept like a baby until morning. Booya!
Now, I’m going to tell you what’s in it and why it works. In this era of Pandemic, I think we need to do all we can.
First Chicken soup itself: A study conducted by Dr. Stephen Rennard of the University of Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha found that soup inhibited the movement of neutrophils, the most common type of white blood cell that defends against infection. Dr. Rennard theorizes that by inhibiting the migration of these infection-fighting cells in the body, chicken soup essentially helps reduce upper respiratory cold symptoms.
Another study by Mount Sinai researchers in Miami looked at how chicken soup affected air flow and mucus in the noses of 15 volunteers who drank cold water, hot water or chicken soup. In general, the hot fluids helped increase the movement of nasal mucus, but chicken soup did a better job than the hot water. Chicken soup also improves the function of protective cilia, the tiny hairlike projections in the nose that prevent contagions from entering the body
None of the research is conclusive, and it’s not known whether the changes measured in the laboratory really have a meaningful effect on people with cold symptoms. However, at the very least, chicken soup with vegetables contains lots of healthy nutrients, increases hydration and tastes good, too. (Source: well.blogs.nytimes.com)
Chicken: amino acids help clear congestion. Chicken is rated as a very good source of protein, providing 67.6% of the daily value for protein in 4 ounces. The structure of humans and animals is built on protein. We derive our amino acids from animal and plant sources of protein, then rearrange the nitrogen to make the pattern of amino acids we require. It’s also a good source of Niacin and B6,
Bacon: yeah, I put bacon in my soup. Two grams of protein, a 150 milligrams of sodium, and thirty milligrams of potassium in every slice. But, let’s not forge t the fat.
I also put a bit of seasalt in: Sodium is important in the distribution of water in the body. It helps in maintenance of fluid volume in the vessels and tissues. This is the one that dried my shit out. With all of that salt in my system, it was like the world’s best antihistamine. This is from watercure2.org: "The best natural antihistamine is salt, according to Dr. Batmanghelidj If we take too much water and don't take enough salt for our water intake, the body will release histamine. You can tell when you get a runny nose or possibly by having some congestion in your throat and lungs. If you are constantly clearing your throat, you need to take some salt." Who knew? This is the reason why Kristin was achy, because salt does that to you.
Broccoli:Broccoli's noteworthy nutrients include Vitamin C, A (mostly as beta carotene), folic acid, calcium, and fiber. Vitamin A is important for the immune system, and it keeps skin and mucous membrane cells healthy.
Oregano: has anti bacterial properties and ounce for ounce more antioxidants than any other food in the world.
Parsley: Long before it was thought of as food, this herb was considered medicine. It’s used to cure everything from baldness to insect bites to bad breath. (It doesn’t work on baldness) The list of it’s benefits goes on and on. It’s high in Iron, Vitamin C, is anti-bacterial, and is an extraordinary immunity-boosting food. Here’s a list: http://www.naturalhealthtechniques.com/diet_nutrition/ParsleyBenefits.htm
Garlic: I thought garlic would be a better benefit than all of the rest, but I was wrong. There are two medical ingredients which produce health benefits in garlic: allicin and diallyl sulphides. Allicin does not occur in "ordinary" garlic, it is produced when garlic is finely chopped or crushed. The finer the chopping and the more intensive the crushing, the more allicin is generated and the stronger the medicinal effect, which is anti-fungal. ( I use powdered garlic) Basically, since we’re not talking about curing athlete’s foot, it’s another anitoxidant, but cooking actually makes it’s medicinal qualities weaker. Diallyl sulphides survive cooking, boosts the immune system, and lowers "bad" cholesterol. It only survives in the body for a few hours, though.
Black pepper: stimulates the taste buds in such a way that an alert is sent to the stomach to increase hydrochloric acid secretion, thereby improving digestion. It has antibacterial and antioxidant effects, and the outer layer of the peppercorn stimulates the breakdown of fat cells.
Ok, here’s my recipe for the Miracle Soup. Feel free to change any part of this. I’m not an alchemist. All of the quantities vary between "a little" and "a shitload." I overdo it on the herbs.
Fry bacon in deep-dish frying pan while simultaneously boiling about 4-5 cups of water in a pot.
In the pot, put chicken base, broccoli, sea salt (pinch), oregano, and parsley. While all of this is cooking, you could be cubing up some chicken breasts (or thighs, they’re cheaper).
Once the bacon is done (crispy but not burnt), remove it to cool, but do not drain the pan. Put your cubed chicken breast in there and add garlic and black pepper.
When your pot boils, add in a bit of pasta; I use egg noodles since they soften quickly. Yeah, I know your broccoli is getting overcooked, but I like it that way. Plus, broccoli stems hurt on a sore throat unless they’re really soft. Remember, this is for sick people. Crumble up the bacon and put that in the pot, too.
Once your noodles are somewhat soft, add a couple cans of Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup. Don’t go generic. Don’t get that "low sodium," or "low fat" shit, either. That’s for healthy people and this is not for them. Mix it up, well. You’re probably wondering why I had you start off with a chicken base and then back it up with canned chicken soup. Stop wondering.
Add in the chicken. The finishing touch is a good handful (or two) of shredded cheddar cheese. Cream cheese will do, and I make it that way more often than not, since I always have some handy. That takes some cooking until that white lump breaks down.
When you’re done, this should be one hot mess of goodness. At this point, it’s OK to play around with flavoring. It’s supposed to be salty, but not so bad that it’s inedible. The consistency should be thick but not chowder-like. You may add water if it’s too gooey, If it’s too clear (see-through) add another can of cream of chicken. What you cannot do is add more pasta, since it’ll never soften in a cream base.
I hope this keeps you all well and I’m perfectly willing to accept any additions to this recipe.
Bon Appetite!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Flog MetLife with a Big Rubber Dick
Fuck MetLife Auto & Home.
Got a call, today, from my credit union. Some chick with a weird accent told me that she was calling because of "all of those letters we sent you." I didn’t know what she was talking about, since A)I don’t recall getting anything from them and B) if it isn’t stamped with red and marked "Urgent" I usually figure it’s some sort of statement, advertisement, or newsletter.
"What can I do for you, m’am."
Turns out, she says that they need proof of insurance. I asked if I could bring her a card, and she said that a card wouldn’t do it, that they actually need the page of the insurance policy with the lienholder noted. I told her I’ve had my truck for over a year, why are you asking for this, now. She said that they were notified on August 10th that I was cancelled. Ok, I said, "I assure you, ma’am, I have insurance and this is just a glitch." Dun dun DAH. I got the fax number, told her I'd be in touch.
I called my insurance company. I did the obligatory conversation with the machine: "Yes. No. Another Matter. Yes." Please wait while I patch you through to a representative.
"Mr. Thompson, I’m showing that your policy was canceled on August 10th for non-payment."
OK. This is how I’ve paid my insurance for the past ten years: I get a bill, I ignore it. I get a bill in a blue envelope and then jump through my ass to pay it before they cancel me. Always a blue envelope, always a payment made. Apparently, I either missed the blue envelope or they changed color on me. There was no phone call, no email.
Now would be a good time to let you all know that I started with Met Life Auto & Home EIGHTEEN YEARS ago. Then, it was called Metropolitan. It was the Fall of 1991, I was in Massachusetts at Ft. Devins. I never had an agent in all of those years. I dealt with the company by phone or by internet. Any time I had a claim I called the 800 number. Any time I made a payment I called the 800 number.
"Ok, ma’am, how do we fix this." The whole time I’m thinking that it’s going to be alright. She patches me through to sales, because it’s been 43 days since I was canceled. I get on the phone with Phil, who’s a really nice guy. He says I’ve only been a member since ‘96, but he still thinks that because I’ve been with them so long, they might be able to reinstate me. I’m on hold for about ten minutes, he comes back. Nope. They can only reinstate me if it was their fault that I got canceled.
Ok, so I need a new policy. He starts crunching the numbers. Two accidents with NO PAYOUT from Met, no tickets, only drive two miles to work, no other licensed drivers in the house, 41 years old and driving since I was 16 . . . $972.00 for six months.
"Uh, Phil, that seems a bit steep. What was I paying before?" Now, I’m pretty sure I was a little under $600.00 every six months, but he doesn’t know because I was cancelled and it shows "premium 0" on my account. I can’t help but think that they have records, though. He explains that it’s a higher amount than what I was paying, but that’s what is going to be the case anywhere I go. Whatever, I screwed up, I’m going to have to pay. Might as well get used to the idea. I mean, the guy already tried to get me reinstated, he looked for discounts with my credit union, my job, etc. He’s doing everything he can.
"How much do I have to pay on the first payment?"
"Unfortunately, because this is a new policy, you’ll have to pay the full amount up front."
This is when the yelling began. "If you’re telling me that I have to give you $972.00 RIGHT NOW then we are DONE. There’s no way I can afford that! I’ll NEVER be able to afford that!"
"Well, I did everything I could. It is what it is."
"Did You Just Say ‘It Is What It Is?!" CLICK!
I HATE that phrase. It doesn’t mean anything; it will NEVER mean anything. It’s just another way to say "Oh Fucking Well!"
I slammed my phone on the desk, went out side and breathed heavily for a couple minutes. Do the math: eighteen years of premiums. I’ve always had insurance which means I’ve always PAID somebody to have insurance. For the last eighteen years, that somebody has been Met. It’s the LAW that I have to pay insurance. If I’m supposed to pay you, and it behooves you that I do, why wouldn’t you make a more conscious effort to let me know that I owe you money? Oh, I know why: SO YOU CAN WAIT TWO MONTHS AND THEN DICK ME. Then, when I call you because I need something, all you want to do is come in my mouth. No loyalty. I’ve been giving you money every three months for eighteen years and THIS is how you treat me?! Like I’m some sort of criminal? A beggar? Somebody off of the street asking YOU for a favor? You should fall down on your knees and thank God for clients like me.
Well, I have to pay that money to somebody, so I decided that somebody would NEVER be MetLife Auto & Home, again. (Of course, it helped that I couldn’t afford it) I did what any self-respecting adult male would do in this situation, I called my Mom.
My mom, who also happens to be an insurance agent. My NEW premium: $579.00. First payment: $200.00. Mom is writing it up, and I’ll drop the money off to her whenever my direct deposit goes through. So much for this being "the case for anywhere I go." Now, I'm really tempted to call sales and rub it in their faces, then call an adjuster and tell them that I HAVEN'T been working at Staples for the past eight years, I've been driving into Baltimore and Look At All That Money I Didn't Give You Because I Lied To Your Fascist Asses. One little lie=Thousands of dollars saved. No accidents in Baltimore, so that would have been waisted money they would have used the commuter excuse to get from me.
The only really funny part about this is when I called Mom and she was running the numbers she asked, "When is Nerva moving out?"
Now, I knew that she was counting her as another driver in the home (even though she has no license), so I said, "She just moved out, Mom."
"Really?"
"Yep. She’s moved out. She’s GONE."
"When did she move out?"
"Right when I called you for insurance."
Got a call, today, from my credit union. Some chick with a weird accent told me that she was calling because of "all of those letters we sent you." I didn’t know what she was talking about, since A)I don’t recall getting anything from them and B) if it isn’t stamped with red and marked "Urgent" I usually figure it’s some sort of statement, advertisement, or newsletter.
"What can I do for you, m’am."
Turns out, she says that they need proof of insurance. I asked if I could bring her a card, and she said that a card wouldn’t do it, that they actually need the page of the insurance policy with the lienholder noted. I told her I’ve had my truck for over a year, why are you asking for this, now. She said that they were notified on August 10th that I was cancelled. Ok, I said, "I assure you, ma’am, I have insurance and this is just a glitch." Dun dun DAH. I got the fax number, told her I'd be in touch.
I called my insurance company. I did the obligatory conversation with the machine: "Yes. No. Another Matter. Yes." Please wait while I patch you through to a representative.
"Mr. Thompson, I’m showing that your policy was canceled on August 10th for non-payment."
OK. This is how I’ve paid my insurance for the past ten years: I get a bill, I ignore it. I get a bill in a blue envelope and then jump through my ass to pay it before they cancel me. Always a blue envelope, always a payment made. Apparently, I either missed the blue envelope or they changed color on me. There was no phone call, no email.
Now would be a good time to let you all know that I started with Met Life Auto & Home EIGHTEEN YEARS ago. Then, it was called Metropolitan. It was the Fall of 1991, I was in Massachusetts at Ft. Devins. I never had an agent in all of those years. I dealt with the company by phone or by internet. Any time I had a claim I called the 800 number. Any time I made a payment I called the 800 number.
"Ok, ma’am, how do we fix this." The whole time I’m thinking that it’s going to be alright. She patches me through to sales, because it’s been 43 days since I was canceled. I get on the phone with Phil, who’s a really nice guy. He says I’ve only been a member since ‘96, but he still thinks that because I’ve been with them so long, they might be able to reinstate me. I’m on hold for about ten minutes, he comes back. Nope. They can only reinstate me if it was their fault that I got canceled.
Ok, so I need a new policy. He starts crunching the numbers. Two accidents with NO PAYOUT from Met, no tickets, only drive two miles to work, no other licensed drivers in the house, 41 years old and driving since I was 16 . . . $972.00 for six months.
"Uh, Phil, that seems a bit steep. What was I paying before?" Now, I’m pretty sure I was a little under $600.00 every six months, but he doesn’t know because I was cancelled and it shows "premium 0" on my account. I can’t help but think that they have records, though. He explains that it’s a higher amount than what I was paying, but that’s what is going to be the case anywhere I go. Whatever, I screwed up, I’m going to have to pay. Might as well get used to the idea. I mean, the guy already tried to get me reinstated, he looked for discounts with my credit union, my job, etc. He’s doing everything he can.
"How much do I have to pay on the first payment?"
"Unfortunately, because this is a new policy, you’ll have to pay the full amount up front."
This is when the yelling began. "If you’re telling me that I have to give you $972.00 RIGHT NOW then we are DONE. There’s no way I can afford that! I’ll NEVER be able to afford that!"
"Well, I did everything I could. It is what it is."
"Did You Just Say ‘It Is What It Is?!" CLICK!
I HATE that phrase. It doesn’t mean anything; it will NEVER mean anything. It’s just another way to say "Oh Fucking Well!"
I slammed my phone on the desk, went out side and breathed heavily for a couple minutes. Do the math: eighteen years of premiums. I’ve always had insurance which means I’ve always PAID somebody to have insurance. For the last eighteen years, that somebody has been Met. It’s the LAW that I have to pay insurance. If I’m supposed to pay you, and it behooves you that I do, why wouldn’t you make a more conscious effort to let me know that I owe you money? Oh, I know why: SO YOU CAN WAIT TWO MONTHS AND THEN DICK ME. Then, when I call you because I need something, all you want to do is come in my mouth. No loyalty. I’ve been giving you money every three months for eighteen years and THIS is how you treat me?! Like I’m some sort of criminal? A beggar? Somebody off of the street asking YOU for a favor? You should fall down on your knees and thank God for clients like me.
Well, I have to pay that money to somebody, so I decided that somebody would NEVER be MetLife Auto & Home, again. (Of course, it helped that I couldn’t afford it) I did what any self-respecting adult male would do in this situation, I called my Mom.
My mom, who also happens to be an insurance agent. My NEW premium: $579.00. First payment: $200.00. Mom is writing it up, and I’ll drop the money off to her whenever my direct deposit goes through. So much for this being "the case for anywhere I go." Now, I'm really tempted to call sales and rub it in their faces, then call an adjuster and tell them that I HAVEN'T been working at Staples for the past eight years, I've been driving into Baltimore and Look At All That Money I Didn't Give You Because I Lied To Your Fascist Asses. One little lie=Thousands of dollars saved. No accidents in Baltimore, so that would have been waisted money they would have used the commuter excuse to get from me.
The only really funny part about this is when I called Mom and she was running the numbers she asked, "When is Nerva moving out?"
Now, I knew that she was counting her as another driver in the home (even though she has no license), so I said, "She just moved out, Mom."
"Really?"
"Yep. She’s moved out. She’s GONE."
"When did she move out?"
"Right when I called you for insurance."
Friday, October 9, 2009
Like, Love, and I hate it when . . .
Since this is my first post on my new blog, I thought I’d start it out with a half rant/half introduction. These are likes, loves, hates, and dislikes. It could go on a lot longer, but I think it’s a good start. It won’t be as funny, because I’ve got other work to do. I promised myself I’d get this blog started, and here it goes.
I like:
Typing. I learned to type so long ago that now it is as natural as speaking. I no more think of the letters I’m trying to type than I do the syllables I’m trying to pronounce. Of course, anyone who has heard me speak will not be impressed by this.
I hate:
That I’m a bad speller. I’m going to go ahead and take the blame on this one. I’ve tried lots of ways to correct this, but spell check has ruined me. It’s especially embarrassing when I only find out that there is a different form of the word "wave" when I use it INCORRECTLY in my Master’s class and it’s pointed out by someone FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY. Shit! I try very hard to do better, even going so far as to type my stuff out on WordPerfect before posting, but mistakes still slip through. PS - Microsoft Word sucks the ass of a dead mule.
I like:
Facebook. I don’t get a face full of metal rapper teeth every time I log on like I did with MySpace, and I’ve actually formed of network with people I haven’t been in contact with for over 20 years. It’s so good at keeping me updated on everyone’s life that now, when I get together with my Jersey pals, we don’t spend half the party catching up, we spend it partying! Also, I can be there for friends who may need me without the bother of a phone call. It seems no one calls anymore . . .
I hate:
Some of my Friend’s friends are stupid. Ok, maybe they’re not, but how can I tell? I don’t know them so I should give them the benefit of the doubt. I really can’t, though, when I see things like, ‘your’ when it should be ‘you’re’, ‘then’ vs ‘than’, and that stupid fucking text speak. If you write like this, sorry, I’m assuming you’re stupid. You may not be, but one cannot argue first impressions. Why would anyone hold up their ignorance for all to see? This is another reason I hate that I’m a bad speller, I don’t want to be seen as an idiot; especially by people I don’t know. Well, people I don’t know that I may get to know sometime in the future and they might remember that they thought I was an idiot. Yeah, them.
I love:
Dogs. They are our angels on earth. ‘Nuff said.
I hate:
people referring to pet owners as "mommy" or "daddy." You did not give birth to the dog. You did not sit on a cat egg until it hatched. It really makes me feel uncomfortable. I guess it’s because my stepmother took this to the extreme and referred to Eric and I as her dog’s "brothers." That’s just wrong.
I like:
Individualism. Because I was born a twin, I was always compared, lumped in, and categorized. We were both even punished when one, just one, did something. Nothing I did was ever judged on its own merits, it was always "they" and "the boys." I’ll take the credit for what I do, thank you, and I’ll take the blame for what I did. That’s maturity. I’m always looking for that "third option." I don’t WANT to do things the way everyone else does it, even if it means it’ll be easier. I want to be new, different, and innovative. Sometimes, it may even be impressive, but I’ll settle for the other three.
I hate:
Being pigeon-holed. I’ve been shoved into the following categories in my life: white, Navy, democrat, liberal, racist, war monger, middle class, non-traditional student, old, fat, atheist, geek, nerd, arrogant, and stupid American. None of these are 100% accurate, and are simply a shortcut to thinking. I especially hate it when I get branded by someone so that they have a reason to stop listening to what I have to say or discounting anything that I’ve said. All of these are at least to some degree accurate, and I will not deny them. Again, I’m not apologizing. These are all aspects of me. If, at any time, you want to place me firmly in either column A or column B, you’d better start a C. Ok, I know what you’re thinking: racist? I think we can be placed great racism slide rule somewhere. I put myself on there simply because of my aversion to the hip hop generation and I really, really hate Canadians.
I love:
Writing. It would be a lot harder if I didn’t know how to type. I type about as fast as I think, and the fingers have something to do while I’m formulating a new thought. Again, those who know me will not be impressed, but the point has been made.
I don’t like:
that sometimes I write too much. I want to be clear, but . . .
I like:
Typing. I learned to type so long ago that now it is as natural as speaking. I no more think of the letters I’m trying to type than I do the syllables I’m trying to pronounce. Of course, anyone who has heard me speak will not be impressed by this.
I hate:
That I’m a bad speller. I’m going to go ahead and take the blame on this one. I’ve tried lots of ways to correct this, but spell check has ruined me. It’s especially embarrassing when I only find out that there is a different form of the word "wave" when I use it INCORRECTLY in my Master’s class and it’s pointed out by someone FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY. Shit! I try very hard to do better, even going so far as to type my stuff out on WordPerfect before posting, but mistakes still slip through. PS - Microsoft Word sucks the ass of a dead mule.
I like:
Facebook. I don’t get a face full of metal rapper teeth every time I log on like I did with MySpace, and I’ve actually formed of network with people I haven’t been in contact with for over 20 years. It’s so good at keeping me updated on everyone’s life that now, when I get together with my Jersey pals, we don’t spend half the party catching up, we spend it partying! Also, I can be there for friends who may need me without the bother of a phone call. It seems no one calls anymore . . .
I hate:
Some of my Friend’s friends are stupid. Ok, maybe they’re not, but how can I tell? I don’t know them so I should give them the benefit of the doubt. I really can’t, though, when I see things like, ‘your’ when it should be ‘you’re’, ‘then’ vs ‘than’, and that stupid fucking text speak. If you write like this, sorry, I’m assuming you’re stupid. You may not be, but one cannot argue first impressions. Why would anyone hold up their ignorance for all to see? This is another reason I hate that I’m a bad speller, I don’t want to be seen as an idiot; especially by people I don’t know. Well, people I don’t know that I may get to know sometime in the future and they might remember that they thought I was an idiot. Yeah, them.
I love:
Dogs. They are our angels on earth. ‘Nuff said.
I hate:
people referring to pet owners as "mommy" or "daddy." You did not give birth to the dog. You did not sit on a cat egg until it hatched. It really makes me feel uncomfortable. I guess it’s because my stepmother took this to the extreme and referred to Eric and I as her dog’s "brothers." That’s just wrong.
I like:
Individualism. Because I was born a twin, I was always compared, lumped in, and categorized. We were both even punished when one, just one, did something. Nothing I did was ever judged on its own merits, it was always "they" and "the boys." I’ll take the credit for what I do, thank you, and I’ll take the blame for what I did. That’s maturity. I’m always looking for that "third option." I don’t WANT to do things the way everyone else does it, even if it means it’ll be easier. I want to be new, different, and innovative. Sometimes, it may even be impressive, but I’ll settle for the other three.
I hate:
Being pigeon-holed. I’ve been shoved into the following categories in my life: white, Navy, democrat, liberal, racist, war monger, middle class, non-traditional student, old, fat, atheist, geek, nerd, arrogant, and stupid American. None of these are 100% accurate, and are simply a shortcut to thinking. I especially hate it when I get branded by someone so that they have a reason to stop listening to what I have to say or discounting anything that I’ve said. All of these are at least to some degree accurate, and I will not deny them. Again, I’m not apologizing. These are all aspects of me. If, at any time, you want to place me firmly in either column A or column B, you’d better start a C. Ok, I know what you’re thinking: racist? I think we can be placed great racism slide rule somewhere. I put myself on there simply because of my aversion to the hip hop generation and I really, really hate Canadians.
I love:
Writing. It would be a lot harder if I didn’t know how to type. I type about as fast as I think, and the fingers have something to do while I’m formulating a new thought. Again, those who know me will not be impressed, but the point has been made.
I don’t like:
that sometimes I write too much. I want to be clear, but . . .
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