The DVR and Christmas Fowl Up

The onus is on my DVR

I am addicted to the DVR.  There is one in the living room, one in the bedroom, and one in my son’s room.  Two DVRs have recording capabilities.  One is set for CBS, NBC, and FX; the other is set for ABC, TNT, SYFY, and USA.  I miss NOTHING.

Sometimes this can get out of hand.  For example, I was suddenly faced with equally 14 episodes of PSYCH, BURN NOTICE and a near number of DETROIT 1-8-7.

Good Cop

Uh-Oh.

I decided to start with DETROIT 187 the other day as I had a ton of laundry and what a perfect excuse to stay a willing prisoner in my bedroom.  Besides I'm completely fascinated by Michael Imperioli's nose.  It affects me the same way as The Nose of Harold Ramis.  Anyway, once the laundry was finished, I still had time to change the sheets, paint the whole room, make curtains, a bed skirt and knit an afghan ... that finished up all the shows.  After that immersion, I was ready to become either a Dumb Criminal or a Serious Cop.

Me, as Gabrielle Anwar

Similarly, when a friend and I watched two seasons of TRUE BLOOD over the course of two Saturdays,  I had a little legal trouble when I went about the neighborhood biting people in the middle of the night.

Moving on to BURN NOTICE the next day,  I starved all day, vowing to become an anorexic because Gabrielle Anwar doesn’t just look good, she can also detonate anything with just gum and a toothpick.  I was going to be so hot.  That lasted until I got into the mashed potatoes.  And the pie.  And the cornbread.  Okay, so being a svelte spy was out.  So was looking like Jennifer Garner.  Sigh.

I decided I needed something REALISTIC as I felt I was becoming out-of-touch.  I went for PSYCH.  14 episodes later, I was doing the The Clue Face. I was the All-Too-Cautious Guster  (complete with screaming).  I was sighting UFOs.  I managed to get NOTHING done that day in the house.  Who can leave PSYCH for even a minute?  Later that day I applied for an SBA loan to open my own psychic detective agency.  Call me--I’m in the book.  Wait.  I already know your number.  I'm psychic, remember?

Which brings me to the Christmas Fowl Up.

Lovely Coupon

As I had yet to buy any grub for The Dinner, it occurred to me that I’d better hidey-ho to the grocery store and what with Fortune Smiling Upon Me, having just seen the VONS ad on TV:  TURKEY!  $5.00!...  how could I resist??  Such a deal!!!  I hummed to myself with shopping shrewdness.

Taking my meager unemployment check, apportioned into: so much for dog food, so much for cat food, so much for fish food, so much for bird food………and the “leavings” for us, I jumped gaily into the car.  Having picked up a bag o'spuds at Smart & Final, celery, and a few other bulk-cheap items, it was time to stalk Vons in search of the GIGANTIC-EST bird I could get for FIVE BUCKS!  Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Very empty

Into Vons, I ventured, straight to the meat section.  Upon immediately not espying the bird of my dreams, I sought out the butcher, caught his eye and pried him from a gaggle of women who needed Cooking 101  regarding a pork chop.  He scuttled over eagerly because I was wearing My Imperious Face. 

“Hi, where are the $5.00 turkeys?  I can’t seem to locate them….are they in another area?  Oh, just PLEASE tell me you’ve pirated away a few in the back.  I’ll take any size, any shape, I just need a turkey!”  I begged him to help me look for the elusive bargain.  I was so excited I couldn't take a breath.

“Oh, we don’t have any of those.”  He replied somberly, and not the least bit snotty.

“Can’t you find me just ONE?”  I whined while batting my eyelashes furiously.

“No, I’m sorry, they’re all gone.”  He seemed sympathetic, so I felt undefeated and somehow encouraged to continue, in SPITE of just having heard "NO" not once but TWICE!

“But”, I cried, “I just saw the ad on the TV.  It was Vons and the ad said five dollar turkeys…I can’t remember if it was with or without a $20.00 purchase…”  I trailed off, looking in vain at the rows and rows of turkeys some as high as $2.49 lb.

Ever so nicely, the butcher confirmed that an ad WAS run (on TV) for five-dollar turkeys.  However, it was at THANKSGIVING, not for today.  My mind was racing furiously.  Was I insane?

I stood there dumbfounded, ready to go to battle.  Then it hit me.  I had just come off watching shows that were MONTHS and MONTHS old.  The ad was, indeed, from November.  The last show I watched of PSYCH aired in November, but I had JUST WATCHED it this VERY morning.  This particular morning being DECEMBER 23.  Thanks to the Infamous DVR, I was reduced to a blithering knucklehead.  How could I extricate myself without looking like a total idiot?

“Hey, on second thought,” I said, "I’m sick of turkey.  Point me to the prime rib.”  He obliged me.  I picked up the most expensive one. 

It's now sitting somewhere on Aisle 8.

HO. HO. HO.

COMFORT FOOD

You need to use this season to INDULGE yourself.  Don’t ask permission from the uppy-ups.  You are just ASKING to be smacked down.  Eat.  Smoke.  Drink (do not drive).  Have a joint, if that’s your bailiwick.  Pick yer poison.

COMFORT comes in many colors but it looks like most of them are blond!

Comforting, but inedible

This all comes down to The Peanut Butter Sandwich, Macaroni & Cheese, Mayonnaise, White Bread, Waffles, Spaghetti, and a U.S.D.A  Idaho Spud!  [Truth be told, if you choose the latter of the poisons in the first paragraph, you COULD add Cake Batter to this list….but that’s another story for another time.]  Come to think of it, a Pillow is white but you dare not eat it.

Ol' Paint

What IS it about visual stimuli?  It’s sooooooooo hypnotic!   I am immediately thrust backward, into childhood, whenever I see my waffle iron.  The feet are broken and have to be shimmed so the thing doesn’t tilt (even though the sight of batter oozing from one side is fascinating to watch).  The knob is gone and I have to use a screwdriver to turn it….but that was years ago and the accumulation of goop has rendered it “turnless” these days.  That the iron has that sticky, gummy residue all over it bothers me not; it’s just a testament to the workhorse abilities of the little machine.  Its brand, new silver-ness is a thing of the past but there’s something about that weather-beaten, burnt down exterior that just SCREAMS: I am a loved little appliance.

  

Feet of Yeti

This season, I have been waxing nostalgic ad nauseum.  I made crostoli (this little “Italian” cookie-ish thing has many names: Bow Knots, Crispelles, etc.).  I was awash with memories of my Grandfather one day.  He had this girlfriend (one of a multitude), a little round dumpling of a thing named Mary Pascuzzi.  She had four words to her English vocabulary, “Hello, Honey” was one set.  The next set began with, “You Granfadda…” followed by a litany of Italian words, all a scathing indictment of his erroneous ways told to me as she flung those knots into the hot oil.  HOWEVER, she made these crispelles that tasted like heaven on a cloud.  She worked tirelessly kneading this sweet dough into eventual thin knots, which she would fry, drizzle with honey, and then sprinkle with powdered sugar.  I hold her personally responsible for last week’s 5lb weight gain because I made them.  Once I tried to make calzones:  they looked like I made Feet of Yeti for dinner.  

Of course, I had to give the first four batches to the squirrels here.  Memory seems to be a LOT different when you get older.  YOU can go home again; but your taste buds canNOT. 

    

Manwich

But what can you do to a Peanut Butter Sandwich on White Bread.  I hid the Orowheat Light Wheat Bread in the freezer and started a weeklong trek into my past, yet again.  What IS it about Skippy Creamy and soft, dreamy white bread?????  I do NOT eat ESSENCE of Peanut Butter Sandwiches either.  The fact is a peanut butter sandwich must be made to completely remove all ability to speak once you have taken a bite.

Start

This brings us to Macaroni & Cheese.  The Great American Food.  Five minutes to throw together, one hour of taste bud ecstasy and satisfaction.  Of course, if you REALLY want to do it up right, you throw in sharp grated cheese (a ton, of course) and throw it in the oven for a while so it gets crusty on top and gooey in the middle.  Ahhhhhhhhhhh, sated again.

Finish

While I’m on the subject of macaroni…  Take your chi-chi penne (which is just about mostaccioli only shorter and skinnier).  For God’s sake, people, these fancy names for stuff we eat are just about to kill me.  So throw down a plate of spaghetti, cover it with sauce or serve it up douched in Olive Oil and Parmesan Cheese and dig in.  Oh, the “blondness” of it all!

"...it's O-S-C-A-R"

And lest we forget:  Mayonnaise.  I recall a mayonnaise sandwich or two, back in the day.  If I HAD to, a piece of Oscar Mayer B-O-L-O-GNA, again on pure and pristine white bread slathered with Ye Olde Mayo, could go a long way when I felt down in the dumps.

El Magnifico

And FINALLY:  The Staple of all Staples:  MR. POTATO.  What can I say?  If EVER there was a little beast that just begged to be eaten, it is the potato.  I'm sure it actually quivers with excitement and anticipation when the toppings (or not) are prepped to be-crown this majesty of food.  A fat baked spud, drooling with real butter, suffocating under the tremendous weight of real sour cream and, what say you? chives? bacon? broccoli?  Oh, the Wonder of a Potato.  That fluffy (blond) center, steaming and gorgeous........that crisp peel........  I'm in love.  I need a minute to collect myself.

So, you go ahead and self-comfort, because the government sure isn’t going to help you out while you’re down in the dumps, but good ol’ Mother Nature (and a little bit of science) sure ain’t gonna hurt.

  

Here's smoking at you, kid

If we leave every decision up to Legislators to decide whether or not: we’re either too fat or too skinny, (and THEY set the bar), whether we can or cannot smoke here or there, if we’re too gay to serve our country, if we should drill offshore (thankfully recently rescinded), if we should not tax the wealthy *http://abcnews.go.com/Business/Tax/ge-exxon-paid-us-income-taxes-09/story?id=10300167, we’re in deep doo-doo.  There are reports that the government of Afghanistan is corrupt in spite of alllllllllllllll the U.S. dollars being funneled into “fixing” it.  Big business, here, with the permission of our government, engages in felonious misconduct as the result of that same government’s lack of serious oversight, all to the detriment of the American People.

How many gays who fought for us
are interred here?

Well, we’ve only spent http://costofwar.com/, while the United States is going to hell in a hand basket, and FAST.  That Congress Lets Unemployment Benefits Expire (during this CHRISTMAS season) http://egpnews.com/?p=22169 defies intelligent comprehension about The Peoples’ (that’s you and me) decision to vote some of these men and women into offices of power.  Furthermore, not every State in the Union declares animal cruelty a Felony.  Ok, personal feelings aside on the animal cruelty issue….

So, while we sit here and let felons run rampant in our streets using what-all kinds of guns to snipe us on the highway but spend countless dollars enacting all kinds of this-a’s and that-a’s to keep us from smoking (WHEN is the last time you saw a drive-by cigarette shooting?????), I think we need COMFORT (see beginning of this article).

This beautiful 6-year old was a drive-by victim.
Someone's beloved child is gone forever.

Maybe you’d rather sit there, stupefied into apathy by The Real Housewives of Atlanta (or Orange County) and waste your life watching them bitch-slap each other, because it’s easier than working an Abuse Hotline.  On the other hand, perhaps you’d like your senses dulled by Jersey Shore, justifying watching it because it SOMEHOW got a People’s Choice Award so it MUST be good, intellectual TV, right?  Then, again, it beats working at a Teen Center, trying to help disadvantaged youth.  You may prefer The Bachelorette where everyone and anyone can and will be humiliated.  One of The Bachelors took his own life last month (uh, that would be Real Life).  Gee, work a suicide hotline?  Hmmmm, there’s a thought.  While these shows are stuffed down your throat, suffocating you into malaise and denial, I suggest you devise a way to somehow fight against the machine.  Start by watching Network and Wag the Dog and get a grip on your manipulators!!!!

Chill

I think I’d better go make a margarita.  Maybe two.  They’ll make me feel better about my unemployment benefits being cut off.  Don’t worry, I can’t drive after I drink: my new car was repo’d after I was laid off.  GM has no sense of humor.

I ran a spell check on this and it said I write like an eighth grader:  as if I give a kwap.  Let it spell check KWAP! 

I’LL decide whether or not I spelled it right or wrong.  Meanwhile, I'm going to go make some pancakes (blond, of course!).

 What a world, what a world………