Diary of a voice unheard, Day 2

To do:

Take out the trash
Attend to the mail
Finish and post report
Begin paper review
Call sis
Gym
See Julia
Read Julia
Baigain bharta – retrieve ingredients and cook
Pick up meds
Gas up car
At least pick up about the house, if not actually clean

Not bad, not bad. Tomorrow I will run around at the gym with extreme vigorous...nous...ity to make up for my lazy weekend.

Working at home is difficult, as there are many, many distraction available. On the upside, if I can force myself to procrastinate by doing chores instead of entertaining myself, it can be an extremely productive exercise overall.

I spent a lot of the day bopping about the house. Turned on His High Purpleness in an attempt to listen to some of those CDs relegated to the bottom of the pile and found that dance-age could not be denied. Bop, bop, pop that hip! 1-2-and twirl! 4-5-and jump! Dancing in the house gives one a freedom to jump around and flail that is not easily found elsewhere. Or maybe my experiences at Zhumba are catching on in real life. Either way, fun!

Read Julia Child’s My Life in France. Even though I’ve never particularly cared for autobiography, this was good, though short on actual recipes. She is an interesting (and tall! Six foot two!) figure that lived a relatable and yet exotic life. It doesn’t have the modern snap and edginess that characterized Heat, the last food experience narrative I read; her voice is the more the mellow calm of a maestro that knows her worth. Even though she’s telling the tale of her learning years, she’s looking back from the vantage point of peerless success, which gives a purpose and surety to even those early, meandering years. Lucky girl.

Watched Being Julia. Annette Bening really is quite marvelous (also, beautiful!) and her character was so deliciously scheming! She successfully revenged herself in high dramatic fashion, as mere plebeian mortals could never hope to do. Today was a much more successful attempt at entertainment. Perhaps I unconsciously selected better material because I knew I better deserved it - this time I was actually taking breaks from being productive.

Ugh, the mangoes that I so hopefully read as both unsulphured and unsweetened were actually sweetened. Thanks, mental transposition - instead of the tangy mango flavor, all I got was some vaguely fruitlike aftertaste once the blast of sugar faded away. Ick! and sadness. Pesky prefix details.

I didn't get around to making the eggplant, though I did have quite a run about town gathering ingredients. The little Indian store was a haven of mysterious and sneeze-inducing, spicy smells. I felt really out of place, as all the young people in the store were extremely tall and thin and well-dressed (do you really need to wear stilettos to pick up a movie?), whereas I, being short, plump, and besweated, was sticking out, painfully thumblike. It was good fun looking at all the spice packets and curry sauces - I found the ginger-garlic paste I needed and picked up a few curries to try. Enjoyed looking at the rainbow of really fresh-looking lentils. None of the small, dusty Goya stuff, here! They had ground coriander, but sold it by the pound, which is not the way to buy new spices. Ducked into H Mart to pick up some veg, but got caught in the Sunday night register jam. Ugh, I thought I was shopping late enough, but I guess I'm not the only one still on standard time! Naturally, they didn't have coriander at all, but did have lots and lots of Maggi spice. What is that stuff, anyway? Shoppers finally had the perfect-sized bottle and for only a dollar! Lovely! Since I was in the international aisle, I picked up some yuca starch and of course, an entire basket full of other "necessities" (chicks, ducks, and bunnies!!! Get 'em while you can!). By the time I got home, it was already after 10. Though on my body clock it was only 9, and thus an eminently reasonable time to cook, the bharta would have taken too long to make. So instead, I made yuca bread. It really is the simplest of recipes and doesn't take hardly any time to bake. Whisk, whisk, whisk and the batter was ready. Mindful of last time when the given proportions resulted in barely tolerable salty rolls, I cut the salt in half. This time I didn't use the same cheese, which was apparently where the extra sodium in the last batch was hiding, so of course, these rolls were ridiculously undersalted!!! Bother. I supposed undersalting is better than oversalting, but it's hard to salt bread and rolls. It's really much better if the perfect balance is already baked inside. Bah! The texture came out just right, though. I, the noneater of bread, simply adore these rolls because they are so tasty and more importantly, gloriously chewy. Chew, chew, and smile.

I will have much trouble sleeping tonight. Though I can't deny that having the sun out until 7 o'clock was pleasant (and weird), tonight is going to be hard, and tomorrow morning, sheer torture. Maybe I'll just go in at noon.