So this year at work they gave every staff member who has been working there for more than 6 months a free turkey.
My name was on the list, so I got a free turkey!
When I went to pick it up the meat guy said to me: "If I were you I'd take the biggest one."
So I did that and carried home a 3.06kg frozen turkey.
According to the instructions I was supposed to let it thaw in the fridge for 10 hours per kg. About 30 hours, right - I wanted to cook it on saturday at 2 PM, so I transferred the bird from the freezer to the fridge thursday evening at about 6 PM. For a bit of extra time, you know.
Then comes saturday 2 PM and I want to put the fucker into the oven. What did I find? First, the shitbird was still frozen stiff, and second it was to big for my pan.
Well, back in the fridge with you, and thinking about the size I postponed to later.
Attempt #2: On sunday at 2 PM there was still ice on the bird, but only in the middle and not as much. I removed the bag of organs and the neck from the turkey and filled it with stuffing. The oven was already preheating at 375. I squeezed the bird into the pan and covered it with tin foil.
And into the oven it went.
Let me say at this point that this was the 4th turkey I have cooked in my life. The first one for last year's thanksgiving turned out awesomely, juicy and delicious; the second one for last year's Christmas turned out a bit dry, but otherwise great; the third one, last thanksgiving, had to be put in again because it wasn't fully cooked, but adding another hour of cooking time took care of that.
From all this experience I was quite confident that turkey number 4 would turn out pretty well.
At 4, 5 and 6 PM I bastered my turkey, which looked amazing and smelled even better. One leg was sticking out from under the tin foil.
I prepared my vegetables and mashed potatoes and everything, before at 7 PM (after 5 hours of oven time for Mr. Turkey) I took the bird out and started to cut it.
I started with a few slices of meat from the breast. About two slices down I found the meat was still pink. FUCKER! Ah, well, I calmed myself, we'll just have the legs now (the table was all set, after all), and cook it a bit longer.
When I went to cut off a leg I found that the meat down below was still raw. SHITBIRD! ASSHOLE! MOTHERFUCKER!
We decided to have leftover garlic chicken from yesterday instead.
I rammed the fucking shithead assfucker fuckbird back into the oven, where it remained until 10 PM. At regular intervals I would open the oven door, peek in and say: "You fucker are staying in there, shitbird, and you will cook until you're fucking done."
It was nice and brown at 10 PM.
We will eat it tonight.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Mushaway Awesome!
This week I taught some of the supermarket staff some useful German words, words they would most likely spell something like this: mushy, fodza, shissa.
In return for this valuabe knowledge of Muschi, Fotze and Scheiße they taught me an awesome word in Cree, which I would spell like this: mushaway.
It means "fucking", as in: My fucking language skills!
Mushaway awesome!
In return for this valuabe knowledge of Muschi, Fotze and Scheiße they taught me an awesome word in Cree, which I would spell like this: mushaway.
It means "fucking", as in: My fucking language skills!
Mushaway awesome!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Discovery Of Speed
It must be Christmas.
Why?
Because finally some tech guy came in from the city and installed new routers.
And now the internet is fast again.
Some issues remain, though. I'm writing this on my old computer. The XP machine works just fine. My new Win7 system has some problems connecting so far - remember from Vista: it would connect to the network, but couldn't identify it, therefore no internet access.
I have to look into that.
EDIT:
I have looked into it. Amazing, what the new Win7 network problem solver button can do. I just had to click "repair". What a nice feeling to experience the www again on 1900x1200.
Why?
Because finally some tech guy came in from the city and installed new routers.
And now the internet is fast again.
Some issues remain, though. I'm writing this on my old computer. The XP machine works just fine. My new Win7 system has some problems connecting so far - remember from Vista: it would connect to the network, but couldn't identify it, therefore no internet access.
I have to look into that.
EDIT:
I have looked into it. Amazing, what the new Win7 network problem solver button can do. I just had to click "repair". What a nice feeling to experience the www again on 1900x1200.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Today
bad:
-not enough breakfast (out of toast)
-cold winter with blowing snow
-no incoming phone calls
-no incoming email
-fucking super-slow internet connection, possibly caused by falling snow
-ate the last of my soup
-forgot cash at home and had to borrow 10 bucks
good:
-listening to old song Blase fits the occasion less and less
-workday went by faster than anticipated
-only one day until weekend
-incoming mail: letter, postcard, package
-unexpected gift of homemade soup for afternoon coffee break
result:
-myself tired, bored and waiting for phone to ring, will go to bed soon or alternatively play video games
-feel a need to eat Christmas chocolate
-feel a need to eat Stollen
-feel a desire to smoke cigarettes, but don't want to go outside (cold)
-feel a small wish to drink wine
-will drink cold tea instead
-not enough breakfast (out of toast)
-cold winter with blowing snow
-no incoming phone calls
-no incoming email
-fucking super-slow internet connection, possibly caused by falling snow
-ate the last of my soup
-forgot cash at home and had to borrow 10 bucks
good:
-listening to old song Blase fits the occasion less and less
-workday went by faster than anticipated
-only one day until weekend
-incoming mail: letter, postcard, package
-unexpected gift of homemade soup for afternoon coffee break
result:
-myself tired, bored and waiting for phone to ring, will go to bed soon or alternatively play video games
-feel a need to eat Christmas chocolate
-feel a need to eat Stollen
-feel a desire to smoke cigarettes, but don't want to go outside (cold)
-feel a small wish to drink wine
-will drink cold tea instead
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Visualizer
I enjoy my soup accompanied by a fried egg.ps: I cannot use Skype these days, my connection is too slow. The good old telephone will have to do.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Cabbage Soup
I had these almost empty containers of mustard piling up in my fridge. They are designed in a way, that doesn't allow all the mustard to come out, you can shake and squeeze them all you want, it just doesn't come out.
So what am I supposed to do, throw all this good mustard away?
I don't think so. I thought I'll keep it to make mustard sauce or something. But then time flies, and suddenly I was facing not 1, not 2, but 3 almost empty bottles, with a 4th one almost there.
Why do I tell you this?
Because yesterday I was given for free a great big reusable bag filled with:
- 10 lbs of russet potatoes
- 2 nets of onions
- 1 big bag of carrots
- 1 bag of parsnips
- 2 heads of cabbage
Well, what could I do really but to decide to make soup? So I decided to make soup. Cabbage soup. I have never made cabbage soup before.
I cut up 6 big potatoes, 4 carrots, 4 smaller parsnips, 1 head of cabbage, 2 onions and 1 yam (forgotten in the cupboard) and threw it in a pot of water.
Problem: Even if you throw all these fine ingredients in a pot with water and boil it, it might still taste a little bit shallow.
That's where the mustard came in. I rinsed the mustard bottles and poured the resulting mustard-water into my soup. It gave it a nice light-yellowish color and a less-watery texture. Then I added salt, pepper, a bit of Italian seasoning and some Cajun spice for good measure.
I tasted it, and it was okay, but my mother raised me a certain way, so I threw in 10 tablespoons of sugar and half a glass of vinegar.
Perfect.
I enjoy this soup by itself or accompanied by a fried egg.
So what am I supposed to do, throw all this good mustard away?
I don't think so. I thought I'll keep it to make mustard sauce or something. But then time flies, and suddenly I was facing not 1, not 2, but 3 almost empty bottles, with a 4th one almost there.
Why do I tell you this?
Because yesterday I was given for free a great big reusable bag filled with:
- 10 lbs of russet potatoes
- 2 nets of onions
- 1 big bag of carrots
- 1 bag of parsnips
- 2 heads of cabbage
Well, what could I do really but to decide to make soup? So I decided to make soup. Cabbage soup. I have never made cabbage soup before.
I cut up 6 big potatoes, 4 carrots, 4 smaller parsnips, 1 head of cabbage, 2 onions and 1 yam (forgotten in the cupboard) and threw it in a pot of water.
Problem: Even if you throw all these fine ingredients in a pot with water and boil it, it might still taste a little bit shallow.
That's where the mustard came in. I rinsed the mustard bottles and poured the resulting mustard-water into my soup. It gave it a nice light-yellowish color and a less-watery texture. Then I added salt, pepper, a bit of Italian seasoning and some Cajun spice for good measure.
I tasted it, and it was okay, but my mother raised me a certain way, so I threw in 10 tablespoons of sugar and half a glass of vinegar.
Perfect.
I enjoy this soup by itself or accompanied by a fried egg.
Santa Claus Is Coming To Town
To the store, actually.
This year the honour of frightening little children fell to me, and today was the day. They found last year's Santa suit upstairs and aired it out a bit, and then they dressed me up.
Red pants, black boots (which are actually only fake-boot-like-things that go over your own shoes, in my case: blue Adidas sneakers), red jacket, white gloves, black belt, white wig, white beard, 3 bells on a string. And a Santa hat.
I'm not really fat enough, so they stuffed me with a pillow AND a blanket. Nice and warm.
I wasn't aware of how big a tradition this really is in this country. Mothers basically outran each other to thrust their small defenseless children into Santa's lap just to take photograph. All I had to do was say: HO HO HO and jingle my bells a bit while noticing how long the line-up of children was.
Some children had long lists of wishes: a batman toy... and a joker toy... How about a batmobile, I suggested. Yes. And a spiderman suit.
Some children didn't know what to wish for.
Other children really didn't want to be there, so they squirmed and yelled and screamed, to the delight of their mothers, who stood nearby taking pictures of these memorable moments.
Some children were actually adults, one woman said she'd been naughty, and she whished for a man. Another woman said she'd been nice, and she wished for tall man with dark hair.
Most children mumbled. No really, they were really hard to understand.
What's your name? Mmmbvlele. Ah, ok. And what would you like for Christmas? Uhhmm mmmbllbe. Well, we'll see what Santa can do! Smile now! And off you go!
The whole time I felt very insecure about my Santa performance. Jingling bells and saying HO HO HO isn't really much to base a character-performance on. I felt like people were seeing right through me, as if they knew I was not the real thing.
No really, everybody talks like this at the Northpole.
The children seemed convinced enough, tough. What I saw in their eyes was real fear.
I also understand now why they put Santa high up or somehow a bit away from the line-up. It's to prevent the waiting children from hearing that Santa says the same things to every single kid. This way they also can't hear Santa's frequent complaints about how fucking hot it is, and what fucking time it is, and how fucking uncomfortable the fucking beard is, and how the strap is digging into Santa's scalp.
Not that I voiced any of these thoughts.
But I thought them.
Often.
Altogether a quite interesting experience.
This year the honour of frightening little children fell to me, and today was the day. They found last year's Santa suit upstairs and aired it out a bit, and then they dressed me up.
Red pants, black boots (which are actually only fake-boot-like-things that go over your own shoes, in my case: blue Adidas sneakers), red jacket, white gloves, black belt, white wig, white beard, 3 bells on a string. And a Santa hat.
I'm not really fat enough, so they stuffed me with a pillow AND a blanket. Nice and warm.
I wasn't aware of how big a tradition this really is in this country. Mothers basically outran each other to thrust their small defenseless children into Santa's lap just to take photograph. All I had to do was say: HO HO HO and jingle my bells a bit while noticing how long the line-up of children was.
Some children had long lists of wishes: a batman toy... and a joker toy... How about a batmobile, I suggested. Yes. And a spiderman suit.
Some children didn't know what to wish for.
Other children really didn't want to be there, so they squirmed and yelled and screamed, to the delight of their mothers, who stood nearby taking pictures of these memorable moments.
Some children were actually adults, one woman said she'd been naughty, and she whished for a man. Another woman said she'd been nice, and she wished for tall man with dark hair.
Most children mumbled. No really, they were really hard to understand.
What's your name? Mmmbvlele. Ah, ok. And what would you like for Christmas? Uhhmm mmmbllbe. Well, we'll see what Santa can do! Smile now! And off you go!
The whole time I felt very insecure about my Santa performance. Jingling bells and saying HO HO HO isn't really much to base a character-performance on. I felt like people were seeing right through me, as if they knew I was not the real thing.
No really, everybody talks like this at the Northpole.
The children seemed convinced enough, tough. What I saw in their eyes was real fear.
I also understand now why they put Santa high up or somehow a bit away from the line-up. It's to prevent the waiting children from hearing that Santa says the same things to every single kid. This way they also can't hear Santa's frequent complaints about how fucking hot it is, and what fucking time it is, and how fucking uncomfortable the fucking beard is, and how the strap is digging into Santa's scalp.
Not that I voiced any of these thoughts.
But I thought them.
Often.
Altogether a quite interesting experience.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Door Of Perception
I came home today and found my internet connection gone.
This kind of stunned me. I sat motionless in front of my screen, watching the connection meter crawling at -98; I was numbly staring at my non-existing, rarely spiking, quickly fading link to the world. What had been 40 to 60% before (depending on which program you use to monitor it), had crumbled down to 2%.
I stayed in this state of inactivity for about 4 minutes, then I went and got my winter coat.
It was time to adjust the antenna.
The more inside walls and wiring and ducts and equipment and whatnot they put into that unfinished building over there, the worse my connection gets. I had noticed a decrease in signal quality in the past weeks, but I had hoped I'd have more time.
I put my knitted tuque on, I grabbed a wrench, I put my boots on and went outside into the -17 or so degree weather to have a visit with my antenna.
I re-aimed it to the best of my ability to where I believe the source of the signal is (which is kind of hard with a building in the way). I adjusted the angle of the dish by a few degrees, always with a close eye on my screen, where I could see if this did any good.
After a while I managed to get a gain of maybe 5, so now I am back at -92, or 8%, depending on the program, which gives me at least a steady connection again. But it's only patch-work I guess, soon it'll be gone again, and then I will really be out of options.
This kind of stunned me. I sat motionless in front of my screen, watching the connection meter crawling at -98; I was numbly staring at my non-existing, rarely spiking, quickly fading link to the world. What had been 40 to 60% before (depending on which program you use to monitor it), had crumbled down to 2%.
I stayed in this state of inactivity for about 4 minutes, then I went and got my winter coat.
It was time to adjust the antenna.
The more inside walls and wiring and ducts and equipment and whatnot they put into that unfinished building over there, the worse my connection gets. I had noticed a decrease in signal quality in the past weeks, but I had hoped I'd have more time.
I put my knitted tuque on, I grabbed a wrench, I put my boots on and went outside into the -17 or so degree weather to have a visit with my antenna.
I re-aimed it to the best of my ability to where I believe the source of the signal is (which is kind of hard with a building in the way). I adjusted the angle of the dish by a few degrees, always with a close eye on my screen, where I could see if this did any good.
After a while I managed to get a gain of maybe 5, so now I am back at -92, or 8%, depending on the program, which gives me at least a steady connection again. But it's only patch-work I guess, soon it'll be gone again, and then I will really be out of options.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Meta Meta Meta
Something astonishing happened today.
My blog complained in or through itself to me about having to deal with my shit. My blog, utilizing meta-communication, demanded more attention (see comments under post below).
It's nice to be needed.
You know what, blog? FUCK YOU.
I am in charge, and unless you can provide me with proof that you really have feelings that can be hurt, I will not consider posting anything just because you ask me to.
Nor will I stop posting.
Have a nice day.
My blog complained in or through itself to me about having to deal with my shit. My blog, utilizing meta-communication, demanded more attention (see comments under post below).
It's nice to be needed.
You know what, blog? FUCK YOU.
I am in charge, and unless you can provide me with proof that you really have feelings that can be hurt, I will not consider posting anything just because you ask me to.
Nor will I stop posting.
Have a nice day.
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