I'm still reeling about the revelation that one of James's killers is apparently being kept in prison at least partially because he keeps admitting to the crime, and it's put him in jeopardy. That's so...wack.
Oh, speaking of w(h)ack, is it "put through the wringer" and nerve-racking is just as correct as nerve-wracking? That doesn't seem right.
Yesterday I read an interesting post by John Scalzi on a gaming metaphor for white male privilege, although I had to get one of the gaming concepts explained for me. Today I notice it was also posted on kotaku, and whoa, nelly! There's a reason I'm not just unstarred but also unapproved on that site. I do not want to share electrons with most of them. It's the largest collection of "Wah! Bad things happen to white men too! Why won't anyone be sorry for me???" I've seen in one place. Jesus.
I bought a book of alcoholic ice cream recipes, and I can't decide--do I make one of the listed recipes first, or do I dive straight into trying to work out a good egg nog ice cream recipe? Here are some of the recipes in it:
- Vanilla with Brandy
- Chocolate with Grand Marnier,
- Cookies and Cream with Vodka
- Caramel with Spiced Rum
- Maple with Bourbon
- Jasmine Tea with Sake
- Manhattan
- White Russian
- Whiskey Sour
- Mojito
- Lemon Drop
- Strawberry Daiquiri
Cannot decide...oh, my sad life.
K-Bug reached her current height when she was in 5th grade.
Wow. When I was in 5th grade the girls were taller than the boys. And I was only average height for a boy.
I had my huge growth spurt in 9th and 10th grades.
•Vanilla with Brandy
That's half way to eggnog anyway.
I knew which Bulger ita_! was talking about.
Also - promos for new CW shows are here - there is one with Mamie Gummer i.e., Meryl Streep's daughter.
K-Bug reached her current height when she was in 5th grade.
I haven't grown a centimeter since 7th grade. Well, not up anyway.
I had a distressing age-related thing happen on Sunday. I was out to supper with some friends, who are all in the 30-38 range. Our waitress asked if I was the mother of any of them. Dude. I am 44. And, until Sunday, I didn't think I even looked 44. Seriously. One of the worst dinners ever.
I haven't grown a centimeter since 7th grade. Well, not up anyway.
My body was still growing when I was 20. I know this because my orthodontist took advantage of that to expand my upper jaw. (I had this little tool I used to expand my upper jaw a little bit every day.)
Our waitress asked if I was the mother of any of them.
Ha! JZ and I went out to a local Thai restaurant with Matilda. Two buddhist monks were sitting nearby and Matilda was getting up periodically and looking around the restaurant. Not causing a commotion and not getting in the way or pestering anybody. Just mildly restless.
The monk smiled beneficently on her and suggested to me that as her grandfather I was obviously going to be way too lenient and not properly discipline her.
To which I did not reply: Fuck you, you celibate non-parental, judgmental, wrong age-guessing bald fuck!
I've been asked if I were Juliana's mom before.
My gainfully-employed-not-obviously-gay-white-dude sob story of reverse discrimination: someone once kidded me in a movie theater about ordering cola instead of a clear drink when I went to see the remake of Shaft. That's the worst thing I've ever had to deal with because of my skin color, gender, or apparent orientation.
Somehow, I have managed to soldier on bravely despite being victimized in such an outrageous fashion.
Also, ita !, a friend of mine has been doing booze ice creams every weekend or so. Here's a few recent ones:
This week's cocktail-based ice cream: Brass Monkey. Orange juice, star anise, vodka, and rum. #RIP MCA.
Aww.
This week's homemade ice cream flavor: Roaring Dan's Rum & Ginger.
That sounds up your alley
For tonight's dessert, Red Wine & Cola Sorbet. Michael Jackson called it Jesus Juice. It's a thriller!
Hmmm.
