Marshmallows

Today, by candlelight, my girlfriend and I roasted marshmallows. This was no easy feat. The original plan was to have an open fire (on logs) and (not roast chestnuts, but,) roast marshmallows - just as a small romantic and tasty gesture. We were going to do this the day we got back from Passover break but it had rained.

There's a fire pit in the backyard of my apartment and so it would've been nice to utilize it for this little foray but alas nature intended to delay our plans. Then we were going to take a try inside using a candle I have but it was scented and my girlfriend was concerned we would a) get all the chemicals into the marshmallows (not good) and b) it would taste bad from the chemicals.

Our plans were therefore further delayed. And finally yesterday, I went to the supermarket and got some supplies: a lighter, unscented candles and a small shot-glass-sized container to hold the candles in.

The candles were those tall 10" candles meant for romantic dinners, but they didn't have any other kinds (like the convenient cylindrical ones) that came in unscented. Tall candles meant I had to get the container.

The container was the most difficult part of the whole equation. On top of getting the aforementioned items, I was also getting cereal, pre-made cookie dough stuff and a couple other things but because I hadn't planned on what I was getting, I was just holding everything in my hands.

I was essentially The Cat In The Hat but without the grace and poise he's capable of. I went to the front of the store, to return a huge freshly baked loaf of bread I picked up solely because it was on sale for cheap. I was right next to the baskets, but of course didn't think to get one. That was a mistake.

As I get about five paces from the baskets, the candle holder, made of glass, drops, not for the first time, mind you, but from the greatest height so far, and it crashes to the ground and simply shatters all over the place.

I stand there, looking dumb and helpless, searching for someone a little more prepared than me. Finally an employee gets a co-worker to come help me out.

His opening remark to me: "You know we have baskets right over there."

"Yeah... I..." I began and trailed off.

I made my way, wearily, to the baskets and put everything I was carrying inside. Certainly did make it easier. I nodded to the employee in thanks and went for round two with that candle holder.

I went and got the same kind, put it in my basket, lest I am forced to contend with another gravity mishap. I made my way to the self-checkout and scan everything. At this point I realize that the candle holder I have, the second one, has no bar-code on the bottom - I decide to ignore it and just pay with my card.

I hit credit and then it asks for my PIN. I don't use the card a lot so I forgot my PIN and just put in common numbers I use and hope for it to work out. First time it doesn't work. Second time I try new numbers and it doesn't work again. Now I've got the attention of the attendant and I ask her to just cancel my order because after several cursory glances at the line I didn't want to waste any more of their time.

I tell her I can't get my card to work so she prints out the receipt for everything and brings me to her little stand. She scans it in and says maybe now I can get my card to work. I know it wasn't really a problem with my card it was a problem with my memory but I tried anyway.

She figured out that I wanted to pay credit and pointed out that when I got to the PIN screen I should just hit cancel. Finally it worked out - so if some day that checkout lady reads my blog: THANK YOU!

Now that I got everything worked out, I try for round three with that candle holder and finally this time I know not to precariously balance it on 10 other things, and to make sure it's got a bar-code.

I go to pay for it and I know to skip passed the PIN screen but then it asks if $2.15 is the right cost and I figure, eh, I'll bump it up $20 and get cash back, so I say "No" and enter $22.15. Now the machine sees an opportunity to prolong my experience more and tells me it can't give me cash-back so I just go through the whole process again, say "Yes" to the $2.15 charge and just get out of the store.

Then last night my girlfriend wasn't in the mood for the marshmallows so I had to wait some more for this little romantic excursion to come to fruition.

This morning I wake up and it's raining and apparently been raining for a little while. I'm not exactly pleased with nature at this point.

But things work out because the rain lets up and drys up a bit. By 9 in the afternoon (not a reference to the song) we get the stuff ready and go have our marshmallows. Earlier we picked up some wooden chopsticks to put the marshmallows on. First we soak them in water, then we went out.

There was a slight breeze (maybe a quarter mile an hour) which the flames exaggerated.

It took some difficulty but we managed.

At one point I had a roasted marshmallow on the end of my wooden chopstick, which had been scorched some, when suddenly the chopstick broke. The marshmallow, et al, fell to the table and I quickly retrieved it.

Somehow in the couple seconds that had passed I had forgotten that I had dropped the marshmallow on the table and offered it to my girlfriend.

She was disgusted at the prospect because it had just hit the table where there was old rain water and who knows what else - and she pointed that out to me.

Of course I had forgotten that it had dropped, I don't know how I had forgotten in those moments, so I just popped it in my mouth.

Just before I chomped down I remembered. I deplore germs when it comes to food so I instantaneously spew it from my mouth while my girlfriend laughs at the face I made in my realization - probably a cross between shock and horror and disgust.

I went to the bathroom, washed my hands and my mouth, then went to the water fountain and washed my mouth out again before returning to the table for some more marshmallows.

I dropped one more marshmallow, that I had been working on for about 5 minutes and was just perfect, but fortunately I thought before I went for it and just threw that one out.

In the end the evening was a success other than that one lapse in memory. The marshmallows were delicious.

Alone For The Night

In Burlington, Vermont, a week before Thanksgiving, I sat in a nearly vacant building, where normally 200+ people made their lodgings. I had signed up for a flight home on Sunday because it was cheaper. I was at college, in my dorm, alone, because I wanted to save money [and *spoiler alert* I didn't save money, I spent more than had I gone on Friday like everyone else].

Apparently I was way behind in the news but you weren't supposed to stay in the dorms after Friday afternoon. I intended on staying till Sunday afternoon so clearly the school and I had different expectations about how my weekend would play out and neither of us were right. I thought I'd stay in my dorm that I paid [/parents paid] an astronomical amount to sleep in for a semester. My school thought I'd go home on Friday because they gave me a week off [me and everyone else at the college - no preferential treatment though my ego tells me I deserve it].

What ended up happening went something like this:

Thursday, I'm hanging out with my friend, let's call her Alli for simplicity's sake [because that is indeed her name or nickname], and she asks me what I'm doing for the weekend since I'm not going home right away on Friday like the other 10000+ people on campus who got the message.

"I'm going to stay in my dorm" was what I thought was the obvious answer, why would I waste money doing something else?

This is when I find out that they're closing the dorms Friday, but maybe I can find a way to stay an extra night if I smooth talk my way into it because the forms were due 2 weeks before.

Pretty soon thereafter I was on the other side of campus pleading with The Room & Board administrator and finally she let up and gives me the form after I proved that I was pretty screwed since I had no living arrangements anywhere within 250 miles of the school [this wasn't a request I had to prove - I just had to show her my later-date plane ticket - it's just the way it was].

The form says I can stay till 10 AM Saturday and I figure, they can't force me out of the room, as long as I'm sneaky, I can probably stay the whole weekend as long as I stack up on food and never leave my room (until of course I needed to get on the plane).

Friday night I video chat with my girlfriend, as I did every day and come to the realization that I'm one of maybe a hundred people on this enormous campus and within my own building, I'm one of maybe three, aside from maybe two or three RAs who were left behind to check the rooms the following morning.

By 10AM Saturday I have all my stuff together and I chicken out on the whole: sneak-through-the-building-and-stay-the-weekend plan.

I head to the library and decide to kill a few hours by borrowing a book or two and surfing the web. The night before I had found a motel with the cheapest/least-dirty combo and it was several miles away and while I could walk it, I decided a bus was more feasible because anyone who's been as far north as Vermont, a month before winter starts, knows that it can get pretty chilly.

After five or six hours at the library it was time to get on the bus and I got to the stop about 30 minutes early. I kept seeing buses from the same company and followed them hoping to get onto that bus and just wait the extra loop out because at least I'd be warm - this following vehicles that go 10 times faster than you plan didn't really pan out and instead I missed my bus and ended up waiting an hour.

It wasn't absolutely frigid because at least it was noon and the sun was high in the sky but the wind wouldn't let up. Once on the bus everything fell together smoothly.

I got to the motel, signed in, went to my room, watched hours of TV only to stop for food/bathroom breaks or to go to the vending machines. Night-time rolled around and I called my girlfriend, we talked, I watched more TV and then I went to sleep. The following morning I had to leave at 11 because that's sign-out time at the motel and I didn't want to be charged an extra night.

Finally it's Sunday, the day of my flight. I'm cheap, of course, so I didn't want to waste my money on any extra costs and so I decided to walk the three miles, luggage et al, to the airport.

The walk wasn't too bad, but it was a tad exhausting. I let Google SMS lead me to my destination and fortunately it got me there safe and sound.

Of course my flight wasn't until the afternoon so I had to wait at the airport a while - hours. I had no laptop at this point in my life so this meant: No internet or TV to entertain me, but I had the books. The problem was I am easily distracted by noises so about two hours/3 pages into the book I gave up and just toughed it out.

I went to the restaurant in the airport and got a burger, my food of choice, and watch some TV in there for a while.

Then it was finally the time to get on my flight and I go through security, which of course when I'm in no rush, takes 5 minutes, maybe less.

I sit in the waiting area where two other people are waiting for their flight. As the next hour or two passes more people seep in, until a sizable number of the seats get filled.

You'd think, I'm finally at the airport, everything's good now; but you'd be thinking wrong.

When the plane comes in, there's some problems with the plane. This is of course annoying time-wise but also terrifying - no passenger wants to hear their plane has 'problems'. Eventually, an hour later, they get that resolved but alas that's not the end of it.

Now the head-winds are getting too strong and it's unsafe for planes to fly in the inclement weather so we have to wait more.

Another hour passes and the people start telling us we might not be able to take the plane that night - disconcerting since I already did all this waiting, but still I tough it out.

Eventually they determine it's okay to board the plane, so finally we get on the plane. You'd think everything's fine, I'm on the plane, 30 minutes and I'll take to the air, but alas you'd be wrong again.

At this point the UN has let out and everyone in the UN building has to take a plane to their native country or something along those lines and that means no commercial flights can be in the air. They figure, after 9/11 that all commercial flights in the air are probably impossibly equipped with missiles and technology to allow them to go faster than the jets that the UN members get to use - and of course that our little commercial flight, with all these modifications must also have a deep desire to destroy an international symbol of peace.

A couple hours later we get to take off and finally everything goes according to plan and I get to go home.
Yay!

PS I wrote this late and a tad rushed so sometimes the tenses (past/present) get a little messed up, I tried to fix it but I'm sorry for any errors like that.

Drawing

Every once in a while I get convinced that if I really put my mind to it, I can be the next Leonardo Da Vinci or Salvador Dali. The problem is: I expect to be as great as them, within 20 to 30 minutes of practice.

That is what I want (minus my comments).

This is what I get:

Admittedly you can probably notice a number of similarities between the two pieces and some may even argue that my version is better, but it doesn't capture quite the same emotion I feel that Da Vinci manages. 

Eventually I give up on my passion for art, realizing that if I pursued a career in it, I'd either put all other artists to shame or my true genius wouldn't be recognized till after I'm dead and I'm not that patient (See the second sentence of this post).

Some time passes...

More time passes...

Eventually I realize that if I really put my mind to it, I can be the next Leonardo Da Vinci or Salvador Dali.

Haircut

I have learned, from personal experience, that haircutting should be reserved for those with training: be it in styling or directly in haircutting - or at the very least, to those who've lived more than half a decade.

When I was five, I was hanging out with my friend. We were watching my favorite movie - The Land Before Time [or one of its many sequels]. I could watch this movie, enjoy it more than an old man finally finding true love, and then rewind it and re-watch it with equal enthusiasm. I probably watched the movie enough to have memorized it, if it weren't that I managed to instantly forget everything that happened while I was rewinding the tape.

Anyway, I was sitting there with my friend when my mom had to step out to run some errands. We weren't alone, my dad was still home in another room, tending to his own business (probably had enough of The Land Before Time - or maybe even movie watching in generally for at least a few days).

As I sat there, I felt compelled to go to the bathroom - not out of a necessity to utilize its facilities in the most common sense, but just to go there in general. Once in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I realized why the bathroom had beckoned me.

Something was wrong with my hair.

Of course, in reality, my hair probably looked fine, but I knew I had the capacity to make it look absolutely amazing - unearthly, Godly even. I decided my hair needed fine-tuning and I was exactly the perfect person to do it.

Having experience with the plastic scissors that can hardly cut paper, I figured I was as prepared as anyone could be for the job. The mirror, by which I saw my soon-to-be perfect hair, opened to reveal some small metal scissors which would have to do.

Scissors in hand, I grabbed a clump/fist-full of my bangs with my available hand and cut.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

When I was done and satisfied with the product of my work, I had removed my bangs, but nothing else. At this point I suppose I should describe what my hair looked like before, and what it looked like now.

Before: The epitome of a nerdy hairdo, I had my hair styled in the simplistic fashion that involves placing a bowl on my head and cutting the hair that escapes from the bottom. Essentially I had a sheath of hair, thick and all equal in size around the parameter of my head to let people know that I was a nerd who was too cheap to let professionals cut my hair.

After: Essentially the same hairdo, except without bangs and a lot more ridiculous.

I've made a correlation graph here:

As you can tell from the graph my hair was pretty ridiculous. 

Anyway, I went back to watching the movie and my friend was none the wiser (probably too engrossed in the movie).

Albeit, when my mom got home, she did happen to take notice - somehow more observant than my five-year-old friend. We went to the SuperCuts right away to see if my hair could be salvaged but alas, I had to get rid of it all. Apparently they couldn't appreciate my creative skills with the scissors.

Soon I was a bald five year old who looked like he just went through radiation therapy to get rid of cancer.

My friend Joel, ever devoted to me in Kindergarten saw my hair the first day I came in and was in awe of my awesome Natalie Portman look and the following day came in bald himself!

For your viewing pleasure: 

Impressed?

Waiters

Some waiters (and waitresses, but for the sake of this post I'll call them both waiters) should really be called "hoverers" and not because they possess the power to levitate - something much less cool.

I understand that to get a good tip, waiters need to be attentive and available, but some seem to believe that pretty much camping out at your table will mean an exponentially better tip, though you'd think experience would teach them otherwise.

Your sitting down at your booth, unless the place is filled and your forced to contend with the infinitely less comfortable chairs and regular tables, and your waiter comes around to see what you'd like to drink. Sometimes you're ready with an answer right then about what you want to drink, sometimes you need a little time (some people come into the restaurant already knowing what they want to order which is basically a way of giving yourself a cooty shot to prevent hoverers from being able to, well hover).

If you know what you want, you're pretty much immune to hoverers, but not necessarily. Sometimes the hoverers think they know a better option for you and will try to awkwardly pressure you into ordering their option instead.

If you don't know what you want, they'll really own up to their name and just stand there, breathing down your neck until you're forced to blurt out something just to get them away. Of course as they do finally leave you'll think of something you'd rather have but you don't want them back until you're ready with your food order.

When it gets down to choosing what food you want matters can get worse.

Often the hoverer won't care if you're ready to order. Proud at having memorized the specialties, which are probably also listed on a blackboard or something within plain view, the hoverer lists all the specialties the restaurant has, from soup of the day to their drinks. I'm sure if you let them, they'd list the dozens of items on their regular menu that you just went through.

The worst is when you want a suggestion from these hoverers because they either think everything is good and therefore requires long listings of menu items you probably could care less about or that the nastiest thing on the menu is what they personally highly recommend and if you don't pick it you're probably a baby torturer who would try to chock a unicorn with a rainbow.

If you don't get a pushy hovery waiter, you'll probably just have someone like that in your family/group of friends. "But you always get a burger" they'll insist. But you remember that not last time, or the time before, but 7 times ago you did get something else, maybe a grilled chicken or something and it was horrible. From then on you knew never to betray the delicious savoriness of a burger again.

Fire Cat

I've noticed, almost all popular blogs or web comics eventually comes around to the topic of cats. Perhaps I'm jumping the gun and making a comic about cats too soon, but just in case, I'd like to ensure my route to success and so here is my cat-based post.

For Christmas, Santa brought a cat to my house. The cat, Vlad, was a gift to my brother, who named him. I've also learned from experience and from noticing the trend on a few other blogs that animals that come in pairs tend to have one less-than-smart animal in the set.

We originally had a cat named Tonks and Tonks was a nice cat that we rescued from our backyard. Not that our backyard is a particularly dangerous area, where the tabby cat gangs come to hang out and hassle other innocent suburban cats and whatnot, but nonetheless, we took Tonks in from our backyard.

We've had Tonks for over a year at this point and when Vlad came into the picture, it became apparent that the trend I have noticed would hold true. Tonks was an average-intelligence cat so that leaves Vlad.

Being that we got Vlad in the winter, we had a fire going in the fireplace, to help heat the house without relying too heavily on the heater. As the day went on it became apparent that Vlad had some identity issues. Like a fly attracted to the light, Vlad became consumed by the lustrous burning logs - specifically the fire created by the burning logs.

Don't jump to conclusions just yet - Vlad didn't jump into the fire and burn in the first day we had him, but that's not for lack of trying. Fortunately for Vlad's sake, the fireplace is surrounded by a metal netting that was apparently heavy enough to keep him from meeting a warm demise.

That brings to mind a joke my girlfriend told me: light a fire for a man, he'll be warm for a night; light a man on fire and he'll be warm for the rest of his life.

Fortunately Vlad didn't have to endure the punchline part of that joke and was saved by that netting, but some sparks did fly in his direction. He'd snap back from the smut but he'd always return.

This pyromaniac of a cat also enjoys candle-lit dinners, watching the sunset and I don't know about long walks on the beach. Candle-lit dinners amuse him because a pass-time of his is walking on, near or over fire and so whenever we lose attention of him for a moment, he'll find his way to a candle and proceed to walk right over it. Sunsets he'd probably also enjoy simply for the sake of watching a ball of fire move across the sky. He'd watch it like a lost lover that he hopes to rejoin with some day.

Expect future cat posts to satisfy a superstition about popularity in blogging.

Watches

Back before cell phones became popular, watches still existed and served some purpose (historians suggest they were designed to inform the user what time it is). I constantly wanted a watch and this isn't because I didn't get watches it's because I always got silly watches that I became obsessed with, for about a week, and then lost. Eventually I didn't need to have a watch, because now I'm never more than 20 feet from an electronic device with time-telling capabilities.

Regardless, when I was five, I was with my step-dad and he was dropping me off at my pre-k/kindergarten class (I can't remember which, it's been a while) and then he proceeded to change the time on his watch. Fascinated, I stared - bewildered. This man that my mother had found, had within his power the ability to set time back (or forward!) an hour. The POWER this man had was not that of mere mortals - I knew that at age five. I was quite pleased with mom's pickings from her plethora of suitors (as I'm sure the case was).

He needed to practice and hone in this skill, so twice a year he'd go about managing time in this fashion. Once setting time forward, once backward. It was positively amazing. I'm sure as you are reading this (my massive following of nobody) you are seething with jealousy and contempt, but alas not everybody can have family members so close to them with this power.

It wasn't like he just changed his single watch's time - this was a virtually global event. He changed all the clocks in the house and whatever he changed them to: it was recognized around the world as the correct time. Pretty freakin' awesome, huh?