Archive for September, 2006

1. I threw my back out this morning in an attempt to mimic the Fartlek training I had started at the hotel fitness room in Austin now that I’m back in my gym at home. Not all treadmills are alike, I’ll say that much. While naturally inclined to enjoy anything with the word “fart” in it, I also think this interval-style training will be good for building my endurance, should I participate in a long race again. I’ve been setting my own paces, just to get a feel for what I can do. Looks like I found one thing I can’t do…

2. Colombian TV show “Yo Soy Betty la Fea” is being repackaged for the American set as Ugly Betty and will air on NBC this Thursday. I’ve already decided to stay home and watch it, and in a larger leap of tough decision-making, I may also change my Halloween costume from school girl to the brace-faced Betty. Hey, gotta use ’em while I got ’em!

3. I really love Tetris, so I really love this video.

No, I’m not talking to the residents of my new home, I’m talking to Flavor Flav’s #1 bitch in the house, New York. This is old news to the real TV gossipers (old = a week ago?), but having just watched the series-defining episode last night, I feel I must commment.

New York made an appearance on “Flavor of Love 2” after losing a head-to-head competition with Hoopz in the first Flavor of Love series. Because VH1 couldn’t track down Bridget Nielsen, a clearly better, more dynamic character, they grabbed the big-mouthed skank from last season, who unabashedly reveals she still has a thing for him.

Of course, being Flavor Flav, he’ll be into any girl who has the good taste to be into him. So, all of New York’s screaming and crying and pointing and bitching won her a spot in the competition.

My question: Why is she happy about this?

She had a chance to win his heart in the first competition and she didn’t. Then, when things went sour with Hoopz, instead of simply calling up New York and offering her sloppy seconds, he puts her through the agony of “helping” him judge eliminations in episode 6. Even worse, she has to endure competing with a new batch of other women who want to be with him all over again. How far would any sane person go for a man?

The bitch is crazy, and not in a fun way. I actually enjoy watching her antics on television, very very far away from her, but being anywhere around her seems like a total nightmare. Regardless, you’d think this primadonna would say, “Enough!” and make him chase her for awhile. She’s putting up with an awful lot of his shit for someone who expects to be waited on hand and foot.

Sorry New York, you’re fun to watch, but you need to bark up some new trees before you’re eliminated a second time and your 15 minutes is up for good.

Tomorrow morning I will fly home to New York after spending two weeks in Austin. I’m not sure what I was expecting to gain from this trip, besides a 3-day pass to ACL Fest, which I discussed in the Music Blog, which I’m sure is the only blog on the internet less frequented than this one.

I got to see most of my friends, and that was nice. I didn’t get to work from home though, and when you’re used to working at home, that is not so nice. I don’t like hearing 50 different conversations while I try to learn a new product, I don’t like being passed over for lunch invites, I don’t like having to park a million miles away from the door, I don’t like freezing my ass off because I can’t control the thermostat…

Yeah, I’m ready to go back to my little east side apartment and act like a miser for the next few months. I won’t be able to expense my bottled water and fancy dinners, but I’ll have the luxury of a few moments’ peace in my own house whenever I want it.

Congratulations, KATHERINE A. TAYLOR, you may have already won a bench warrant for your arrest!

This all started several months ago when I got pulled over and falsely accused of running a stop sign by an asshole jungle cop hanging out in some trees. Since there isn’t any real crime in the area where I work (actually, there isn’t much of anything in the area where I work), I got a huge ticket, which I promptly crumpled up and jammed into the glove compartment.

I expected to receive a notice to appear in court so I could fight the ticket. Instead, much much later, I got a notice saying I didn’t show up to a court date that they didn’t tell me about, so there is a bench warrant out for my arrest. What’s really neat about bench warrants is that not only do you get automatically arrested if you come into contact with any law enforcement for any reason, you will also receive an unscheduled visit from law enforcement with the sole purpose of arresting you at your home (no big deal) or your place of employment (BIG DEAL!).

Had I not just begun a two-week trip to Austin to take care of some things at the office, I’d have probably put this off a little longer. Life is short, and sometimes you get lucky.

Anyway, I made the call that I needed to make and things should be getting taken care of this week. But meanwhile, I’ve been making sure that I am properly prepared to get arrested, should the occassion arise.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to get arrested. I don’t even want to accept that I might be getting arrested. I have a lot on my plate at work right now and need every second at the office I can possibly get. Also, I have some other personal, administrative-life stuff that I must take care of while I’m here.

However, I have to be realistic and I have to be prepared. Introducing PlatKat’s Tips for Making the Best of Your Arrest:

1. Carry a sweater or sweatshirt with you at all times. No matter where they pick you up, they’re not going to let you stop and collect your stuff before they shove you in a car and haul your ass away. Jail is really fucking cold, and you can usually plan on spending several hours waiting to get booked. I would advise against keeping a jacket or coat on hand in lieu of the sweater or sweatshirt, as the former garments contain pockets, so they’ll likely make you remove them.

2. Tell some friends what’s going on. That way, when they don’t hear from you for a few days, they know where you are (and hopefully, are coming up with a plan to get you out).

3. Memorize the phone numbers of your friends with land lines. You can’t make collect calls to cell phones, and if you’re like me, 99% of the phone numbers you know are for cell phones. If you don’t have any friends with land lines… make some.

4. Think about telling your boss what happened. After all, he didn’t fly you all the way back to the Danger Zone just so you could get thrown in the slammer. Then, remember what a ridiculous idea that is and just tell some coworkers instead. He doesn’t need to know something might happen. He just needs to know when something does happen.

5. Have several thousand dollars in an account that someone close to you can access, just in case the fuckers won’t release you on your own recognizance.

6. Read The Book of Questions and memorize your favorites. You’re about to have a lot of time on your hands to sit around and talk to a bunch of people you don’t know. And if you’re reading this post, you’re probably a lot smarter than most of your potential cell mates. (Don’t get all high and mighty now; you still weren’t smart enough to keep your ass out of jail.) You’re going to want to keep things interesting without getting the shit beaten out of you. So talk about what you’d do with a million dollars or the person you’d most want to be with on a deserted island. Keep in mind that this tip only applies to jail, not prison. If you’re in prison, keep your head down and shut the hell up for the next twenty-five years to life. Your days of keeping yourself from a burning hell of pyschological torment are over.

7. Eat a big delicious meal. (I’ve done that several times today.) You won’t want to eat whatever they got in there, trust me. Also, make sure you’re getting at least the US RDA of all the essential vitamins and minerals (so eat some veggies) to make up for the fact that you’ll be willingly handing over your nasty food to some fat chick with a weave.

8. Don’t listen to a lot of music. If you’re filling your ears with noises and are suddenly surrounded by uncontrollable silence, you’ll go through a withdrawal so miserable, even the babies crawling on the ceiling are scared to show up. Don’t believe me? Try it.

9. Stay well groomed. Most people do this anyway, but I’ll admit that I slack in a few departments. Not when it comes to basic hygiene, you meanie. Just the tweezing and the shaving and straightening and the polishing. You’ll have none of the tools once you’re in, so try to keep yourself from feeling skanky as long as possible by staying in top condition while you’re out.

10. Act normal. Sure, you’ll be surprised when they come to detain you. You may also be mad, scared, worried, pissed, helpless, creeped out, confused, annoyed, horrified, naseous, enraged, anxious, upset, achy, dumbfounded, indignant, sad, clumsy, weak, cowardly, defiant, idiotic, and befuddled. Right as you are to have these emotions, making a scene of any kind will only solidify the event in your mind, and those of everyone around you. Keep it graceful, and you’ll be remembered as tasteful.

Addendum: I touched on, but did not thoroughly cover, what one should do while in jail. That information was purposely omitted, as were obvious tips such as “Ditch the drugs” and “Don’t do illegal shit.”

In conclusion, life throws some harsh stuff at you sometimes. All you can do is be ready, and look really really good when the shit hits the fan.

I haven’t seen black ass in awhile. I’ve seen a lot of Latin ass, some white ass, and even the occassional Asian ass, but black ass is really special. And today was a special day, because I saw black ass on my way to the spa. Some junkie was stumbling in front of me, so skinny his pants were gonna fall right off.

Then they did!

I don’t think he even noticed. Unfortunately, he’d traded his drawers for that can of PBR he was holding, so I got a big eyeful of dark, skinny, hairy black ass. I think that’s enough to last me through this life and the next.

I keep thinking I should carry a camera on the two times per week that I leave the house. It will probably only get stranger.

I totally geeked out and watched State Fair. The whole movie. God, I miss Texas.

19 more hours till I get on that plane…

Go ahead, keep laughing.

I was left up to my own devices yet again and needed a diversion from the tedious work before me and the maddening thoughts thundering around in my head. I was feeling Thanksgiving today, and since some of our culinary odds and ends made it up here with us, I decided to act on it. Happy Fake Thanksgiving, everyone!

What I had: Canned cranberry sauce, canned pumpkin, canned green beans, canned mushroom soup, instant mashed potatoes, pie crusts, some other stuff…

What I needed: Fried onions for the green bean and mushroom soup casserole I’m obviously making, and a turkey. Duh. Little did I know, there was more…

I normally shop at the Food Emporium just a block down from me, but I’ve been meaning to try out some other stores that are near here. (Near = Less than four blocks away. I should just go to Trader Joe’s, which I love, but that’s all the way on 15th and I didn’t want to deal with that rif-raf today.) So, I took a walk up to 52nd just for the hell of it (even though I could have walked to Trader Joe’s) and looped back around to end up at D’Agostino, which I call “Dag Yo.”

Dag Yo had my little turkey bits and also the fried onions I like, which surprised me. Not surprising though, were their comparatively high prices for everything. I had thought that my move to NY would be similar to my move to the Bay Area, where I shopped at the Safeway for a month until I found out that lots of stuff was way cheaper at Albertson’s, no such luck here. I also don’t like how Dag Yo has deals where you need to have earned so many points on your Dag Yo card to get the discount. You should be able to get every discount just by having a card, I think. Anyway, I wasn’t digging the Dag Yo vibe, so I bought my stuff and left.

When I got home, I was hungry, so I made some instant mashed potatoes. Anticipating my bout with braces, I bought more boxes of instant mashed potatoes than any one person could eat in a lifetime. Potatoes are no match for ice cream, so I made my first batch of potatoes today. They provided sustinance, but were kinda dry. I normally wouldn’t care, and Gus rarely complains about the food I make (only because he’s very, very patient), but I decided to get some gravy. It’s Fake Thanksgiving Day, I shouldn’t half-ass it.

I also happened to notice that my can of pumpkin was not pie filling. It was just pumpkin. What the hell? There’s a picture of a pie on the front of it. All the stuff that goes into the pie should be in the can! Luckily, there was a recipe on the back, so all hope was not lost. The recipe called for cinnamon, which I had three or four half-full (half-empty?) bottles of, and some other annoying spices which normal people don’t have just lying around, like cloves and ginger. I also needed condensed milk for this, so I photocopied the writing on the can into my brain and walked to the Food Emporium.

As most people know, I am hopelessly addicted to ice cream, and thought about getting some to go with the pie. On this fateful Fake Thanksgiving Day, I saw numbers that I’ve never seen in an ice cream aisle before. No wonder every girl in this city is a size two; ice cream costs an arm, a leg, and three dress sizes here. Bah, the pie will be okay alone, forget it.

That’s actually more of an assumption than an assertion, as I had decided to forego the half-teaspoon of cloves and ginger. Cloves are too expensive and too much ginger once ruined an entire Saturday night for me. I like cinnamon and had a lot of it, so I ended up using all of what was left of one container.

When I got back, I set everything out to make the pie. Bloody fuck. I need a tin for this thing. I seriously considered trying to make it in a frying pan before I gave up and went to Gristedes, which I call “Grizzly’s.” Grizzly’s is just a block past the Food Emporium, which I didn’t want to return to because I was just there. I also wasn’t sure if Food Emporium would have the tins because it’s kinda small.

Grizzly’s had the pie tins. Let me break for a moment before I go on.

You can probably already tell that I’m somewhat of a cheap bastard, but here’s the part where I get Just-Moved-to-New-York Syndrome: FIVE BUCKS for a set of pie tins? What the fuck?? In Austin, I could go to Wal-Mart and buy TWO PIES for that price! Why do they need to sell these things in sets anyway?? I just want one! ONE for the ONE time in a several-year time span that I am going bake a pie. NO ONE in New York is going to bake six pies. No one!!! I might as well throw away or find other uses for the stuff I have to make this pie and just buy a damn pie because it will be more cost-effective than trying to make one! Arggghhhh!

Okay, I’m done.

I grabbed the tins and headed over to the spice aisle to see if I could find some cheaper/smaller portions of the spices the recipe called for. Nope. I just stood there, holding my over-priced pie tin for awhile.

Who am I kidding? This pie is going to taste like crap, so I need to get some ice cream to go with it. Once again, ice cream is insanely over-priced. This time, it doesn’t matter.

Finally, I have all the shit I need to make my pie. The box says it makes two pie crusts, or one covered pie. I opted for the covered pie, but didn’t have enough “cover” for the entire thing, so I built a little wall around the outside for extra crusty goodness. Somehow I ended up with more filling than necessary and it leaked over the walls and onto the oven. Gross. The fact that I had to move two giant beer mugs out of the way to get to the sugar and that I mixed my dry ingredients in a tumbler should have been two clues that things weren’t going to go right.

I should have said more about those little fried onions because I was munching on them all day. With half a can safely lodged in one of my arteries, I had just enough for the green bean and mushroom soup casserole. That went pretty well, I think.

Now for the turkey. Everyone makes big turkeys, but I just had two pounds of turkey meat. I didn’t know how long or at what temperature you should cook a turkey, so I turned to the intarwebs for some help. It turns out the turkey is supposed to be 180 degrees. The turkey, not the oven.

I originally stuck the turkey in after the pie, which was baking at 325. After about 10 minutes, I was like “Oops” and turned the oven down to 180. After about 30 minutes, I was like “This should be done,” but it wasn’t. The oven was actually at the correct temperature to begin with. I hate when I mess up once, but when I mess up twice, I’m 100 times madder at myself.

Anyway, I caught my mistake before Gus got home and Fake Thanksgiving Day was a success. When I look at all the stuff I made, it seemed like a lot of work for something that I could easily pay someone else to deliver to me. I can’t believe wives in nuclear families did/do this kind of shit on a daily basis. I left out a lot of parts to this story, but this dinner took a really long time. And sadly, it’s the biggest project outside of work that I’ve undertaken and completed in awhile. I think it’s time to cut all my hair off, go shopping, and start hallucinating like a normal New York wifey-poo. (Devil’s Advocate)