Boy, nothing like being linked to from a new blog (Hi, Gamy! Hi, Piccolo!) to light a fire under the ass. Especially since there's this gadget on her site that's equipped with a helpful public reminder of how lazy I have been about this. Yes, this post is being written solely so that gadget can suck it.
So it has been a pretty chaotic month. On Nov. 30, I peered ahead at the calendar and realized that due to various parties, programs, dinners, deadlines and shopping trips, there would be zero chance of squeezing in some exercise. And I can't very well head into Christmas break feeling like a fatass, not when I'm guaranteed to feel like one when it's over. So on Monday, Dec. 1, Sal and I began doing something crazy. Every weekday morning, we wake up at 5 a.m., and drive to the gym for a workout. Well, I get up at 5 a.m. to prepare breakfast and pour coffee, and only then will Sal get up, and I am perfectly OK with this because OMG, do you know Sal? If you do, then you know that getting out of bed in the middle of the night, in the pitch-black and freezing darkness, TO GO TO THE GYM, is nothing short of pure torture for him. Yesterday he came in from getting the newspaper, glared at me and said through gritted teeth "Did you know there are STARS AND A MOON OUT THERE?!"
Also this month, I ate grasshoppers. Grasshoppers! With little legs and little antennae, all piled up on each other in a little glass bowl. This was at a stylish new Oxacan restaurant in downtown San Jose called Mezcal, where the deep-fried bugs are served like pretzels. The owner was urging me proudly to try one, and even as I stared down at the little beasts, my heart began to beat faster and faster. I couldn't even fathom TOUCHING them, much less actually putting one in my mo- Oh god I can barely type that. OK, so first I had a beer, followed by a shot of Mezcal. Then I sat there at the bar and thought about a wonderful book I read this summer called "Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper," a memoir about a woman named Fuchsia who traveled through China alone, talking her way into the kitchens of aristocrats and peasants alike to learn their recipes and culinary secrets. And every time I feel scared to eat something new, I think of Fuchsia and her wonderful food adventures, and I force myself to try just a little. Trying just a little is why I love sushi now, and red onions, and while grasshoppers won't be a snack I pack in my purse, the taste wasn't so bad. The hard part was actually putting my fingers on the bug, and raising it up to ... well, you know. And then I just closed my eyes and popped it in. Once it was in my mouth, it had the consistency of beef jerky. Sorta dry and fibrous. It tasted like salt and lime, and I chewed it up and swallowed it. Then I ate another, just to show who's boss.
We're getting ready to hit the road on Saturday, the big driving trip to New Mexico. Remember how awhile back I wrote about Chickens hating the car ride in his crate? Next we tried a booster seat, which worked better for about four minutes until I realized Chickens cannot lay down anywhere until he has spun around in a circle at least four times. Meaning the leash that tethered him to that seat would get all tangled up in his legs. BIG failure. So now we're back to the crate, which we have strapped securely into the seat with special belts. I plan to put his little bed inside, in the hope that he'll just curl up and go to sleep instead of barking and crying for 1,300 miles. EACH WAY.
The thought of Chickenbone being so anxious and miserable that long breaks my heart, so I am really, really, REALLY hoping that it will somehow click in his little pea brain that there's nothing to be afraid of in the car. That the vibration under his feet won't kill him, and that mom and dad are right there in the front seat having a jolly time, so maybe ol' Chickens can just settle down and enjoy the ride. And I have promised him that if he can do this, when we finally get to Clovis, he can eat my mom's cat.
So it has been a pretty chaotic month. On Nov. 30, I peered ahead at the calendar and realized that due to various parties, programs, dinners, deadlines and shopping trips, there would be zero chance of squeezing in some exercise. And I can't very well head into Christmas break feeling like a fatass, not when I'm guaranteed to feel like one when it's over. So on Monday, Dec. 1, Sal and I began doing something crazy. Every weekday morning, we wake up at 5 a.m., and drive to the gym for a workout. Well, I get up at 5 a.m. to prepare breakfast and pour coffee, and only then will Sal get up, and I am perfectly OK with this because OMG, do you know Sal? If you do, then you know that getting out of bed in the middle of the night, in the pitch-black and freezing darkness, TO GO TO THE GYM, is nothing short of pure torture for him. Yesterday he came in from getting the newspaper, glared at me and said through gritted teeth "Did you know there are STARS AND A MOON OUT THERE?!"
Also this month, I ate grasshoppers. Grasshoppers! With little legs and little antennae, all piled up on each other in a little glass bowl. This was at a stylish new Oxacan restaurant in downtown San Jose called Mezcal, where the deep-fried bugs are served like pretzels. The owner was urging me proudly to try one, and even as I stared down at the little beasts, my heart began to beat faster and faster. I couldn't even fathom TOUCHING them, much less actually putting one in my mo- Oh god I can barely type that. OK, so first I had a beer, followed by a shot of Mezcal. Then I sat there at the bar and thought about a wonderful book I read this summer called "Shark's Fin and Sichuan Pepper," a memoir about a woman named Fuchsia who traveled through China alone, talking her way into the kitchens of aristocrats and peasants alike to learn their recipes and culinary secrets. And every time I feel scared to eat something new, I think of Fuchsia and her wonderful food adventures, and I force myself to try just a little. Trying just a little is why I love sushi now, and red onions, and while grasshoppers won't be a snack I pack in my purse, the taste wasn't so bad. The hard part was actually putting my fingers on the bug, and raising it up to ... well, you know. And then I just closed my eyes and popped it in. Once it was in my mouth, it had the consistency of beef jerky. Sorta dry and fibrous. It tasted like salt and lime, and I chewed it up and swallowed it. Then I ate another, just to show who's boss.
We're getting ready to hit the road on Saturday, the big driving trip to New Mexico. Remember how awhile back I wrote about Chickens hating the car ride in his crate? Next we tried a booster seat, which worked better for about four minutes until I realized Chickens cannot lay down anywhere until he has spun around in a circle at least four times. Meaning the leash that tethered him to that seat would get all tangled up in his legs. BIG failure. So now we're back to the crate, which we have strapped securely into the seat with special belts. I plan to put his little bed inside, in the hope that he'll just curl up and go to sleep instead of barking and crying for 1,300 miles. EACH WAY.
The thought of Chickenbone being so anxious and miserable that long breaks my heart, so I am really, really, REALLY hoping that it will somehow click in his little pea brain that there's nothing to be afraid of in the car. That the vibration under his feet won't kill him, and that mom and dad are right there in the front seat having a jolly time, so maybe ol' Chickens can just settle down and enjoy the ride. And I have promised him that if he can do this, when we finally get to Clovis, he can eat my mom's cat.
1 comment:
Can't you just sedate him? Like with some Benadryl or something? This is why I'm not a parent...
Post a Comment