We have a delightful culinary tradition here in Maryland. It is best appreciated by those who are native to the state, and after witnessing it recently, I am more proud than ever that I come from the midwest.
This tradition is known as "eating crabs," but could also be described as "making a disgusting mess, and paying a disgusting amount of money to do it." The general gist of it is that one applies a hammer to a dead crab, repeatedly and often with great force, in an attempt to make the crab give up whatever it is hiding in that little shell. Each crab being roughly the size of a full-grown cow's eyeball, there can't be too much in the way of meat hiding in it, but by the way people attack the crabs you'd think they were after the treasure of Tut-ankhamen. You'd get far better results, with much less effort, by banging a refrigerator against your head.
But then you would miss out on all the sensory experiences of eating crabs. During the typical crab feast, for instance, there is a great deal of ripping of crab body parts, cracking of shells, and crunching of teeth. You must wear protective gear, as at any time, without warning, an antenna could come sailing across the table and land on one of your body parts. It is also advisable to keep your drink well out of harm's way, by which I mean in the next room.
To be truly Maryland style, the crab must be adorned with Old Bay Seasoning, which, although billed as a hearty blend of spices, appears to the uninformed observer to be jarred mud. Sprinkled liberally on the crab, it gives the crustacean the appearance of being in its natural habitat, not unlike the appearance of those deceased persons about whom it is said "He looks so natural." There is a great emphasis in this society upon making things seem natural which are nothing of the kind, although it comforts us to think so.
Joe says, however, that I am ill qualified to judge the tradition of eating crabs. I eat frog legs, and to him that is more disgusting than just about anything. But at least I have never, in all my frog-leg-eating years, been responsible for any frog parts landing in someone else's water glass.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
A personal matter
I hesitate to approach today's topic, as it is somewhat graphic, but then that has never stopped me before. And this is really bugging me.
When I took this new job, I knew there would be a lot of adjustments. Actually having to produce work, for one thing. Working in Cubicle City, for another. Not being able to hold a private phone conversation, or even a private conversation with myself. Having co-workers sneak up on me when I am trying to address topics of a serious nature on this blog.
But as bothersome as all of that is, it is not what is really bugging me. I refer to the matter of sharing a multi-stall restroom with one's co-workers. I have never been in this situation before. Spoiled I may be, but my past jobs have all included single-user restroom facilities, which, while admittedly allowing for the possibility of public embarrassment after one exits, at least offer some privacy during Acts of Personal Emittance.
But multi-stall restrooms offer no such privacy. It is like being in a public restroom, only worse, because at least the people in public restrooms -- fellow shoppers, Disney-goers, what have you -- will most likely never see you again. But in a work setting, it is more than a little disconcerting to have your assistant, or your manager, or your manager's manager's manager be present during your Acts of Personal Emittance.
If you're extremely lucky, no one else will be in the restroom when you need to perform these Acts. In my limited experience, however, this is about as likely to happen as getting a raise after working only a week. Probably even less likely. And so some very difficult decisions must be made.
You might, for instance, proceed with your Acts in a manner of supreme indifference, in the belief that, as the popular book for toilet-training toddlers notes, "everyone poops" and that there should be no shame attached to it even when an entire office may be privy to it. At the other extreme, you might forego partaking of anything at work that might cause these Acts in the first place, which basically means no eating or drinking for several hours.
Or you might choose to pursue what is probably the most common course. This is the course wherein you attempt, with varying success, to time your Acts in accordance with a) another toilet being flushed, b) the water in the sink being turned on, c) the hand dryer going, or failing any of those, d) the emission of an extremely loud and prolonged cough -- all in an effort to disguise the fact that you are -- well, you know.
If all these efforts fail, the only way to salvage your shredded dignity is to wait until everyone has left the restroom before you venture out of the stall. When you do, it is best to adopt a manner of innocence, as if Personal Acts were the last thing on your mind at the moment, and make your escape quickly, without looking ashamed, before anyone else comes in and is able to associate you with that peculiar aroma in the air.
And change your shoes often, in case anyone might recognize them later from having seen them under the stall.
When I took this new job, I knew there would be a lot of adjustments. Actually having to produce work, for one thing. Working in Cubicle City, for another. Not being able to hold a private phone conversation, or even a private conversation with myself. Having co-workers sneak up on me when I am trying to address topics of a serious nature on this blog.
But as bothersome as all of that is, it is not what is really bugging me. I refer to the matter of sharing a multi-stall restroom with one's co-workers. I have never been in this situation before. Spoiled I may be, but my past jobs have all included single-user restroom facilities, which, while admittedly allowing for the possibility of public embarrassment after one exits, at least offer some privacy during Acts of Personal Emittance.
But multi-stall restrooms offer no such privacy. It is like being in a public restroom, only worse, because at least the people in public restrooms -- fellow shoppers, Disney-goers, what have you -- will most likely never see you again. But in a work setting, it is more than a little disconcerting to have your assistant, or your manager, or your manager's manager's manager be present during your Acts of Personal Emittance.
If you're extremely lucky, no one else will be in the restroom when you need to perform these Acts. In my limited experience, however, this is about as likely to happen as getting a raise after working only a week. Probably even less likely. And so some very difficult decisions must be made.
You might, for instance, proceed with your Acts in a manner of supreme indifference, in the belief that, as the popular book for toilet-training toddlers notes, "everyone poops" and that there should be no shame attached to it even when an entire office may be privy to it. At the other extreme, you might forego partaking of anything at work that might cause these Acts in the first place, which basically means no eating or drinking for several hours.
Or you might choose to pursue what is probably the most common course. This is the course wherein you attempt, with varying success, to time your Acts in accordance with a) another toilet being flushed, b) the water in the sink being turned on, c) the hand dryer going, or failing any of those, d) the emission of an extremely loud and prolonged cough -- all in an effort to disguise the fact that you are -- well, you know.
If all these efforts fail, the only way to salvage your shredded dignity is to wait until everyone has left the restroom before you venture out of the stall. When you do, it is best to adopt a manner of innocence, as if Personal Acts were the last thing on your mind at the moment, and make your escape quickly, without looking ashamed, before anyone else comes in and is able to associate you with that peculiar aroma in the air.
And change your shoes often, in case anyone might recognize them later from having seen them under the stall.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
No speak Spanish, but I sing
Having finished categorizing my paper clips at my new job and made my final selection of Post-It notes (Neon Fusion, 4x6 lined), I moved on to a truly impressive assignment -- one that, of all the skills I have acquired over my years of work, used none of them. I refer to the student manual of Spanish 1A, which, fortunately, I was not required to actually understand for this particular assignment. I couldn't help, however, becoming deeply interested in the scintillating conversation students at this level are learning. Here is but one fascinating excerpt (shown here only in English, as I forget what the Spanish translation was):
"You like to sing."
"You do not like to sing."
"Do you like to sing?"
"He/she likes to sing."
"He/she does not like to sing."
"Does he/she like to sing?"
To which I mentally added the following:
"Would he/she/you/SOMEONE please sing already, and be done with it??"
They never tell you the really useful phrases in other languages.
Besides singing, the book contained an inordinate amount of phrases having to do with going to the movies, leaving one with the impression that either a) there is little else to do when one visits Spanish-speaking countries, or b) visitors possess an uncommon interest in the movie habits of those residing in Spanish-speaking countries ("Do you like to go to the movies? Do you like to go to singing movies? How do you feel about foreign idiots inquiring about your movie preferences?...Oh, yeah? Well, here's what I think about your foreign country...!").
On second thought, categorizing paper clips isn't such bad work, if you can get it.
"You like to sing."
"You do not like to sing."
"Do you like to sing?"
"He/she likes to sing."
"He/she does not like to sing."
"Does he/she like to sing?"
To which I mentally added the following:
"Would he/she/you/SOMEONE please sing already, and be done with it??"
They never tell you the really useful phrases in other languages.
Besides singing, the book contained an inordinate amount of phrases having to do with going to the movies, leaving one with the impression that either a) there is little else to do when one visits Spanish-speaking countries, or b) visitors possess an uncommon interest in the movie habits of those residing in Spanish-speaking countries ("Do you like to go to the movies? Do you like to go to singing movies? How do you feel about foreign idiots inquiring about your movie preferences?...Oh, yeah? Well, here's what I think about your foreign country...!").
On second thought, categorizing paper clips isn't such bad work, if you can get it.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
I'm stuck on the new job
My first two days at the new job have been very busy, productive, intense days. No easing into this job! No, sirree, they put me to work right away on very important tasks, such as picking out Post-It notes from the supply catalog. My head reeled from all the choices: 1x2, 2x1, 3x3 unlined, 4x6 lined, Super Sticky (guaranteed to never come off the cube it came on), Tropical, Aquamarine, Ultra, Neon Fusion, latte, decaf...whoops. Got carried away there. After poring over 6 catalog pages of sticky notes, I had to go fortify myself with a donut.
So that was pretty much the morning. In the afternoon, I geared up for yet another vital work project: lining up my paper clips in order of size and according to whether they have little ribs on them. You probably didn't know that some of your paper clips have little ribs on them. After this project -- which by the way required an impressive amount of brain power and additional donuts -- I can tell you that approximately 78% of my paper clips have little ribs on them.
I did make one major gaffe on my second day. As I was eating lunch in the company's "cafe" (French for "place where co-workers enjoy watching new employees make major gaffes"), I noticed my co-workers pulling out various sizes and shapes of reusable, environmentally friendly glass or plastic containers with lids. These containers held grapes, tomatoes, and other small, nutritious foods. I had small, nutritious foods in my lunch, too, but I hadn't packed them in glass or plastic containers. Mine were all in plastic baggies. And worse than that, each type of food was in a baggie of its own. I probably had enough to clog up the nearby landfill for a couple of hundred years. No one said anything about my obviously anti-environmental tendencies, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone anonymously puts a Tupperware catalog on my desk sometime, with little Post-It notes on the pages showing the snack containers.
The only question is, will the notes be in Aquamarine or Neon Fusion?
So that was pretty much the morning. In the afternoon, I geared up for yet another vital work project: lining up my paper clips in order of size and according to whether they have little ribs on them. You probably didn't know that some of your paper clips have little ribs on them. After this project -- which by the way required an impressive amount of brain power and additional donuts -- I can tell you that approximately 78% of my paper clips have little ribs on them.
I did make one major gaffe on my second day. As I was eating lunch in the company's "cafe" (French for "place where co-workers enjoy watching new employees make major gaffes"), I noticed my co-workers pulling out various sizes and shapes of reusable, environmentally friendly glass or plastic containers with lids. These containers held grapes, tomatoes, and other small, nutritious foods. I had small, nutritious foods in my lunch, too, but I hadn't packed them in glass or plastic containers. Mine were all in plastic baggies. And worse than that, each type of food was in a baggie of its own. I probably had enough to clog up the nearby landfill for a couple of hundred years. No one said anything about my obviously anti-environmental tendencies, but I wouldn't be surprised if someone anonymously puts a Tupperware catalog on my desk sometime, with little Post-It notes on the pages showing the snack containers.
The only question is, will the notes be in Aquamarine or Neon Fusion?
Monday, May 5, 2008
The Prissy Princess gets a job
Ah, well. Life can't always stay the same. Blog entries this week may be a little unpredictable as the Prissy Princess makes the transition to a "real "job, one that involves starting work considerably before her usual 11 a.m., and where the wearing of pajamas is strongly discouraged. But the Princess is happy, because she will have more people than just herself to talk to all day AND because she gets a new wardrobe. The Hero is happy, too, particularly because the Princess will now have co-workers to write about instead of HIM.
So please be patient...if you don't see any stories one day, come back the next. There might not be any that day, either, but eventually there will be.
So please be patient...if you don't see any stories one day, come back the next. There might not be any that day, either, but eventually there will be.
Friday, May 2, 2008
The Gallant Hero and the Escalating War
Boom-boom! Boom! Boom-boom! The noise thumped the castle in rhythmic waves. After a few minutes, the Gallant Hero asked if it was thundering.
The Prissy Princess cocked her head and said, "No, I think the neighbor is playing video games."
The Hero frowned and tried to apply himself to his studies. But the relentless booming would not let him concentrate.
Finally, he said, "I think I'll go play a video game downstairs."
Uh, oh, the Princess thought. The War has begun.
The Hero and The Man in the Neighboring Castle were not enemies. In fact, when there were no noisemaking apparatuses involved, the two were very friendly, often trading tips for making improvements to their respective castles. But The Man (whose own wife describes him as "very loud"), frequently engaged in activities that caused the Hero to abandon his usually placid nature, setting off a War of Ever-Increasing Decibels.
So for the next half hour, the Princess listened as the booming on both sides of the walls grew louder and more terrifying. Suddenly the noise from her basement ceased, and minutes later she heard pounding. The Hero was at his latest castle improvement project, making bookshelves for the castle's library. The pounding drowned out the booming from next door.
A few minutes later she felt the castle shaking a little, and a different booming issued from next door. His video games outnoised, The Man had turned on his AMP7083462 stereo system.
The Hero stopped pounding and turned on his power saw.
The Man turned the bass louder.
Finally, the Hero came upstairs and said to the Prissy Princess, "It's time. Let's bring It out."
The Princess trembled. "Are you sure?" she whispered, totally ineffectively now that the bass from next door had nothing to dull it. She yelled, "Are you sure? Think of the consequences...!"
"We must," the Gallant Hero said soberly. "The time for diplomacy is over. This is war. We must do whatever necessary measures it takes, though harsh."
The Princess did not remember that there had been any time of diplomacy, but maybe she had missed that part.
And so the Hero and the Princess began preparations. She covered the windows with cardboard to protect them should the glass shatter. He tied down the furniture. Finally, they both donned the Thunder HTX37925 Multiple-Position, Head-Encirculating, Total Noise Control Earmuffs.
When they were ready, the Hero brought It out: 70 pounds, 240 amps, 670 decibels of Hoover WindTunnel Supreme Cyclonic Tornadic Upright Vacuum Cleaner. And he turned it on, opposite the wall where the Man's stereo was still thumping.
Even with the Thunder Earmuffs, the vibrations tore through their bodies. The Hero left the WindTunnel on for only the minimum time needed; to do more would be irresponsible.
When the Hero turned It off, there were no further sounds from the castle next door.
The Hero shook his head grimly, knowing he had done the only thing he could have. The Princess began to remove the cardboard from the windows. At least this time, nothing had shattered.
Epilogue: Sometime later, in a totally unrelated development, the castle next door went up for sale. At least, the Hero and the Princess are pretty sure it is unrelated.
The Prissy Princess cocked her head and said, "No, I think the neighbor is playing video games."
The Hero frowned and tried to apply himself to his studies. But the relentless booming would not let him concentrate.
Finally, he said, "I think I'll go play a video game downstairs."
Uh, oh, the Princess thought. The War has begun.
The Hero and The Man in the Neighboring Castle were not enemies. In fact, when there were no noisemaking apparatuses involved, the two were very friendly, often trading tips for making improvements to their respective castles. But The Man (whose own wife describes him as "very loud"), frequently engaged in activities that caused the Hero to abandon his usually placid nature, setting off a War of Ever-Increasing Decibels.
So for the next half hour, the Princess listened as the booming on both sides of the walls grew louder and more terrifying. Suddenly the noise from her basement ceased, and minutes later she heard pounding. The Hero was at his latest castle improvement project, making bookshelves for the castle's library. The pounding drowned out the booming from next door.
A few minutes later she felt the castle shaking a little, and a different booming issued from next door. His video games outnoised, The Man had turned on his AMP7083462 stereo system.
The Hero stopped pounding and turned on his power saw.
The Man turned the bass louder.
Finally, the Hero came upstairs and said to the Prissy Princess, "It's time. Let's bring It out."
The Princess trembled. "Are you sure?" she whispered, totally ineffectively now that the bass from next door had nothing to dull it. She yelled, "Are you sure? Think of the consequences...!"
"We must," the Gallant Hero said soberly. "The time for diplomacy is over. This is war. We must do whatever necessary measures it takes, though harsh."
The Princess did not remember that there had been any time of diplomacy, but maybe she had missed that part.
And so the Hero and the Princess began preparations. She covered the windows with cardboard to protect them should the glass shatter. He tied down the furniture. Finally, they both donned the Thunder HTX37925 Multiple-Position, Head-Encirculating, Total Noise Control Earmuffs.
When they were ready, the Hero brought It out: 70 pounds, 240 amps, 670 decibels of Hoover WindTunnel Supreme Cyclonic Tornadic Upright Vacuum Cleaner. And he turned it on, opposite the wall where the Man's stereo was still thumping.
Even with the Thunder Earmuffs, the vibrations tore through their bodies. The Hero left the WindTunnel on for only the minimum time needed; to do more would be irresponsible.
When the Hero turned It off, there were no further sounds from the castle next door.
The Hero shook his head grimly, knowing he had done the only thing he could have. The Princess began to remove the cardboard from the windows. At least this time, nothing had shattered.
Epilogue: Sometime later, in a totally unrelated development, the castle next door went up for sale. At least, the Hero and the Princess are pretty sure it is unrelated.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Q&A: Anniversaries
Okay, so the Princess needs more practice than she realized with putting pictures on this blog. It came to her attention that no pictures appeared in yesterday's entry -- or, in some cases, that they disappeared as the day went on -- which was not her intention, although it may have seemed so. Fortunately, the Gallant Hero never met a computer problem he couldn't solve, and he graciously condescended to rescue the Princess from her embarrassing dilemma. So please take a minute to reread yesterday's entry, or at least peruse the pictures, which hopefully are still there.
We now return to the Dear Prissy Princess column, featuring questions that have absolutely nothing to do with either Holly or Joe.
Q: Dear Prissy Princess,
Our anniversary is coming up in, uh, sometime this month. A few weeks. Like the 21st, I think, or, no, that's someone else's anniversary. We'll be married 2 years, or is it 3?
-Married in May, possibly
A: Dear Possibly Married,
Are you asking me when your anniversary is and how long you've been married?
Q2: No, no, I want to know what I can do to make our anniversary really special for my wife.
A2: Well, for a second or possibly third anniversary, I would suggest a treasure hunt. Write out several riddles and leave them around the house for your wife to find. Make each one a clue to finding a gift you have hidden somewhere. (Remember that gifts must not consist of vacuum cleaners or any other appliances.) I would suggest recording some special songs on a new iPod for her.
Q3: Actually, I already did all that for her birthday.
A3: All on your own? Even the iPod?
Q4: All on my own. Although the iPod recordings didn't really record, so I have to do that over again.
A4: Well, I must say I am impressed. Your wife is one lucky woman. Unfortunately, you have set the bar pretty high, and now you're going to have to come up with something really spectacular for your anniversary.
Q5: I know! I'll take my wife to a great sushi restaurant, where they serve things that, technically, are not food, because they're not completely dead yet. And then we'll go home and watch all 977 episodes of "Lost"!
A5: I see we need to work on the concept of "spectacular." Good thing we have a couple of days, or maybe a couple of weeks.
We now return to the Dear Prissy Princess column, featuring questions that have absolutely nothing to do with either Holly or Joe.
Q: Dear Prissy Princess,
Our anniversary is coming up in, uh, sometime this month. A few weeks. Like the 21st, I think, or, no, that's someone else's anniversary. We'll be married 2 years, or is it 3?
-Married in May, possibly
A: Dear Possibly Married,
Are you asking me when your anniversary is and how long you've been married?
Q2: No, no, I want to know what I can do to make our anniversary really special for my wife.
A2: Well, for a second or possibly third anniversary, I would suggest a treasure hunt. Write out several riddles and leave them around the house for your wife to find. Make each one a clue to finding a gift you have hidden somewhere. (Remember that gifts must not consist of vacuum cleaners or any other appliances.) I would suggest recording some special songs on a new iPod for her.
Q3: Actually, I already did all that for her birthday.
A3: All on your own? Even the iPod?
Q4: All on my own. Although the iPod recordings didn't really record, so I have to do that over again.
A4: Well, I must say I am impressed. Your wife is one lucky woman. Unfortunately, you have set the bar pretty high, and now you're going to have to come up with something really spectacular for your anniversary.
Q5: I know! I'll take my wife to a great sushi restaurant, where they serve things that, technically, are not food, because they're not completely dead yet. And then we'll go home and watch all 977 episodes of "Lost"!
A5: I see we need to work on the concept of "spectacular." Good thing we have a couple of days, or maybe a couple of weeks.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)