Great pasta and other things

I think resolutions of any kind are counterproductive for me. Some time around the end of September, I had been journaling and blogging fairly regularly, and it was a good exercise of the writing muscle, besides all the intangible benefits. It was going well, so I decided to make a resolution to journal every day and blog every week. Ahem... My journal's last two entries are dated 9/26/07 and 12/12/07. And you can read the dates on my blog entries.

So no talk of new year's resolutions for me. Cindy does great with them - in 2007 she read at least one chapter of Proverbs every day except for the TWO days she missed. A 99.45% success rate is not too shabby. My wife makes me depressed sometimes. But then I buy her a box of Fruit Gushers candy and watch them disappear, and I feel better. Petty? Yes. Spiteful? Certainly. Sadistic? Now, now, let's not venture into hyperbole.

On another topic, I sometimes can't believe how materialistic I really am. I feel an inordinate protectiveness and affection toward my iPod and other gadgets. Large speakers and beefy amplifiers make me grin like a mean kid who's just been handed a BB gun. I even have a shamefully unmanly soft spot for our pots, pans, and dishes. But here's the worst one - I hoard random audio and video cables, adapters, and sundry computer-related doo-dads like Nixon hoarded hair pomade. If I go help someone hook up their new computer or DVD player or TV, I use the minimum number of the cables that came in the box, and then casually say, "Well, it's ready to go. You got any use for these extra cables?" I try to modulate my look and tone artfully so as to indicate that these "extra cables" are certainly NOT something they have a use for now, and are highly unlikely to be useful to them at any time in the future. I also try to communicate with my body language and other appropriate means that "these extra cables" are not only an unnecessary inconvenience to them, but are also likely to become a dangerous hazard to pets and small children, and might even be forming a union and plotting the overthrow of the management structure of the home. My subtlety is usually rewarded with a "Oh, no, I don't need them. Do you want them? And can you let go of my shirt collar now?" At which point I invariably begin to feel a Gollum-like sense of possessiveness toward the widget in question. Whenever anyone needs to borrow something, I narrow my eyes at them. I give the hardened, distant look of a seasoned veteran of many battles with electronics, and I exude a heavy skepticism that this rookie standing before me really has a need for the serious adapter firepower I have to offer. Ideally, I send my supplicant off with an admonition to make do with what he already has. But in some cases I do decide to loan the requested whoozit. I slowly open my cables-and-adapters-and-widgets drawer. I carefully remove the desired item from its nest, but with many a doubtful glance at the requester, as if mulling his pedigree with distrust. I hand it over slowly, hesitating just as he starts to reach for it. I pull back for a moment, a look of fond nostalgia in my eye as if recalling the time that very cable fixed the bad connection in Bono's microphone receiver just before he went on stage at Live 8. Then, with a resigned wilt, I release my treasure into the care, nay, the stewardship of this person who has had the audacity to occasion a breaching of the sanctity of my cables-and-adapters-and-widgets drawer. With any luck, next time the guy wants a stereo RCA cable, he'll go to Radio Shack and pony up the $2.79.

I'm also ridiculously fond of backpacking gear, but that's another story.


In other news, Cindy made some amazingly good pasta the other day. It was from the Quick Recipes magazine my sister gave her, in their section on the best ways to prepare leftover turkey after Thanksgiving. It's called Next-Day Turkey Primavera. Cindy approaches recipes like a jazz musician approaches a music score, so she substituted grilled chicken for the turkey, whole-wheat rotini for the penne, and green peppers and broccoli for the asparagus. She also monkeyed with the sauce a bit, but she can't remember how. It was amazing.

Speaking of food, if you're in Nevada, MO any time soon, find the Cherry Street Grill and eat there. Any of the pastas will make your day, but if you're feeling saucy spend a little more and get a steak or some grilled mahi-mahi. And if you're lucky the owner (who fits the word "jolly" better than Kris Kringle does) will walk out in his puffy chef hat and offer you free seconds on your soup. It's pretty standard procedure. And the atmosphere has both classic charm and hipster cool. In a place like Nevada, MO, that's a rare find.

Lastly, if you're not familiar with Car Talk, I'd recommend that you check it out. Even if (or perhaps especially if) you're not a car person.