REB #22: “When baking, follow directions. When cooking, go by your own taste.”

– Laiko Bahrs

Well, I guess I didn’t follow Bahrs’ directions for baking, which are to…er…follow directions.

I was flipping through my copy of my grandma’s cookbook the other day and decided to try to make Chocolate Bittersweets. I think this recipe was actually my great grandmother’s, passed down to my grandmother at some point (and that’s not to say it was an original recipe of hers either, as many of the recipes in the book came from other family members, and a couple were even taken from the sides of boxes). I’ll preface this by saying these things are far from bitter, so the name doesn’t really reflect what they are. I’m also not sure what category they belong in. Cookie? Minicake? Something else entirely? Here they are.

In any case, I noticed that I had all of the ingredients to make the cookie/cake part and most of the ingredients for the icing, but I didn’t have the coconut or cream cheese for the filling. I’m not even sure how that works, by the way: how do you put filling and icing in/on a cookie or cake? Well, the problem was solved when I decided to go ahead and make them with just the icing. But I had to improvise on the icing because I didn’t have chocolate chips to make it. So I used…

And it worked wonderfully.

Does anyone else like to cook or bake? I’m certainly no expert, but I do enjoy it, especially when it’s a recipe from my grandma’s book. What problems do you run into? Do you like to improvise? Because I feel like I do it all the time, sometimes because I don’t like what’s included in the recipe (like the nuts in Chocolate Bittersweets) so I leave that particular item out, other times because I feel like I’d like the recipe better with something else added. In this case, I took a risk using Nutella instead of chocolate chips, because while Nutella is fantastic, it is very different from actual chocolate in terms of taste, and in this case, it is also a completely different consistency (a spread) than chocolate chips (which are hard). Luckily, the chocolate had to be melted anyway, so it worked out. In short: Nutella can be used to make a really great icing, if you’re a Nutella fan. You just have to be okay with a hazelnut taste in your chocolate.

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #20: “As for your fears that I will lose myself in these unknowne large waters, or be swallowed up in some stormie gust: abandon those childish fears, for worse then is past cannot happen, and there is as much danger to returne, as to proceed forward.”

– Captain John Smith (yes, that John Smith)

The Waterfront Promenade was voted Best Place to Run in Baltimore. I had to double-check to make sure I was thinking of the right place, but I was (and maybe the whole of the harbor is considered Waterfront Promenade, but I’m unclear on that). This is the famous Inner Harbor area, where I do, in fact, see a lot of runners. And just last week, I was one of them. I had planned on going to U.B.’s kickboxing class on Saturday but didn’t make it, so I decided to go for a brisk walk/run around the harbor instead.

I had no idea how big the harbor is. The Waterfront Promenade is, apparently, 7 miles long. I don’t know what that includes (is that from the start of the Promenade, at Pratt and Light Streets, all the way around Tide Point Marina and Canton, and back to Pratt and Light?), but anyway, it’s bigger than I had expected. Actually, I didn’t know what to expect.

But when I went for my walk/run, I went up past The Rusty Scupper and into a really nice subdivision area. I don’t know if it’s apartments or condos or what, but they look really nice. I wound up passing the Domino Sugar factory, ending at Tide Point Marina, right by the Baltimore headquarters of world-famous Under Armour. From this marina, there’s an excellent view of the harbor that I can’t even convey with one picture (because it’s so big), but I’ll post one as a teaser.

I wish you could see the whole thing.

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #19: “I thank God I was raised Catholic, so sex will always be dirty.”

– John Waters

Okay, when bulk trash pick-up is voted Baltimore’s 3rd Best City Service – well, I think we need some new services.

Because how boring and gross is that? We might as well call Baltimore itself the world’s biggest trash can because I think that’s what “bulk trash” says to me: big trash, butt load of trash, Crap City. The world’s dump. It’s no wonder you see couches, tires, etc., on the streets of Baltimore every month.

Just below the #1 Charm City Circulator (which is great, don’t get me wrong, but it has its drawbacks), we have single-stream recycling. Okay, in an increasingly greener world, that’s pretty cool. But #3 needs to be something special to counteract all that boring…ness. How about a Metro subway with more than one line? Granted, the Red Line is all but official, but it won’t be here and ready to use until at least 2016, and even then, it’s only one new line. What do we do in the meantime? Apparently, we throw out our appliances and furniture.

I’m just glad rat eradication didn’t make it into the top 3.

P.S. Why is it that, when I do a Google Image Search for “bulk trash Baltimore,” John Waters appears on the first page?

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #18: “Al Qaeda gives you their word.”

– Bekay Harrach, quoted in a CNN.com article

Let me ask you something: when “Al Qaeda gives you their word,” which (ironically) happens to be grammatically incorrect, do you believe it?

No sir/mam, you do not fucking believe it! Because it’s Al Qaeda. Look at everything it stands for and everything it’s done. No matter what happens, no matter what we and Europe do, how can we have any confidence that Al Qaeda wouldn’t renege on the deal? “Trust Al Qaeda” is my new favorite oxymoron, right up there with “Microsoft Works.”

That is all.

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #17: “In this case, kill Marlon. He gets on my tits.”

– Liam Hammond, a poster on the Aaron’s Story blog

According to Urban Dictionary, the phrase “gets on my tits,” which I’d never heard until today, is (1) a “verb used to signify a singular subject that bothers you” or (2) a “verb to describe someone who pisses you off.” It can also be used in the plural (“get on my tits”). The (singular) example sentence is the following: “Senseless violence really gets on my tits.”

Aside from the fact that user “ejito” of Urban Dictionary is technically wrong – it’s a verb phrase, not a verb, and may even have other names as well – I find his/her definition rather intoxicating. It uses the word “tits” in a way that not only evokes the proper mood, tone, and branding of a website called Urban Dictionary but also reminds me that there is a big world out there, with tons and tons of languages, idioms, and slang words/phrases.

Before today, I never would have thought to say or write something like, “He really gets on my tits” – or, to push the definition to its limits, “Geez, would you get off my tits already?” Maybe that’s because I don’t have any literal tits to get on (unlike Michael Moore, apparently), but it’s also because I didn’t grow up with that particular phrase. One reason I love traveling is that I get to see how people talk in different parts of the U.S. and the world. I suppose, in this case, the Internet rendered traveling unnecessary. I was able to sit in the comfort of my own home, on my bed, and read all about how to get on someone’s tits, and then write about it, properly.

Today, I’m a happy writer.

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

Technology Has Me in a Twitter

Until I started reading The Elements of Typographic Style, I never thought about the productivity aspect of why reading from a screen is worse than reading from a printed page. I’ve always thought/heard that the backlighting is killer (and, really, it does harm the reading experience, to an extent, at least any long reading). But it also makes sense what Bringhurst says: when we’re on a computer, we have a different mindset.

With the way technology is advancing, we are constantly looking for speed, speed, speed. For book reading, there is no default speed; it’s whatever your reading speed is. With a computer/iPhone/iPad/etc., there is Internet connection speed and processor speed and RAM and all that junk to worry about. It all affects the speed and enjoyability of the reading experience.

On a computer, we just want to get through as many things as possible, as fast as possible. We want to feel productive. With computers, and technology in general, becoming more and more integrated into our lives, that feeling isn’t going to change any time soon. With each new protocol and website and API and programming language (and so on), technology becomes more useful (or, in some cases, “useful”) and, thus, sucks up more and more of our time. The problem is that some of us (myself included, unfortunately) find ourselves unable to function if we don’t get our fix of political news on Twitter or mass messages on Facebook or TV shows on computer. Or just…whatever.

Technology is amazing, but it’s probably the most frustrating black hole since – well, since the black hole.

On that note, an update on my most recent time sucker: there’s been a bit of a delay on TwitTV, but I’m working on that in the next few days. I’m going with Smallville for the veteran show, and since Lonestar was cancelled (as I predicted elsewhere), my new show to follow will be No Ordinary Family, which premiered to more than 10 million viewers last night, even though the pilot has been online for over a month (I think that’s right, anyway). It may fall like a rock (like FlashForward did last year), but I’ll follow it for the long haul this season, even if that happens to be just a few months (in which case…maybe I could find something new in the spring).

REB #14: “Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie.”

– Jim Davis

Justin brought me Cheez-Its on Saturday, since we ate all mine a week or two ago! These things are awesome – but dangerous because I could eat a whole box by myself.

Does anyone else have any weird obsessions with certain foods? I think, for me, it’s Cheez-Its and hot/spicy stuff. I put hot sauce and/or paprika on almost everything – and garlic. I also love peanut butter. Here’s a recipe for you: next time you make oatmeal, put a little honey, peanut butter, and sugar and cinnamon in it. Yum!

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #13: “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

– Groucho Marx

The Baltimore Book Festival was this weekend. Who went?

If you were there Saturday, chances are good that you saw this guy; chances are even better that you saw his hair. But seriously, Andy Poxon is 16 years old, looks 12, and can shred a guitar like nobody’s business. He’s an accomplished blues singer, songwriter, and guitarist with a full-fledged 13-song album, and he’s not even out of high school yet! You can listen to the songs on his website, download them, or even buy the CD. And I definitely recommend it.

In other news, I walked away from the festival with 4 books for $9. I probably shouldn’t have bought anything because I don’t really have room for any more books, but I couldn’t resist. I got a book of Georgia O’Keeffe paintings (by Nancy Frazier), because of a conversation I had with an acquaintance of mine about the best way to practice painting – copy other people’s work. Over and over. So that’s what I’m going to try to do because I like to paint, but I am so out of practice! I also got John Hedgecoe’s Complete Photography Course, which is a little antiquated because it’s all 35 mm (but I think that’s actually kind of cool!), The Art of Gift Wrapping by Jane Cornell (an awesome and beautiful $1 find), and another book that I intend to use as a gift, so I won’t mention the name, in case that person is reading this.

And that’s about it. Sorry these updates are coming so late in the week; I’ve been rather busy with other school work and with looking for a second job. One more post coming tonight or tomorrow!

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

REB #7: “I see her as a series of marvellous shapes formed at random in the kaleidoscope of desire.”

– The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman by Angela Carter

This kid is nuts, not just because he went from an iPhone on AT&T to a highly unattractive Samsung candy bar on the Cricket network, but also because he gives his phone number out for the world to call/text him. It got so bad that he had to go to an unlimited plan, hence the switch to Cricket.

I suppose, in a way, it’s awesome that we live in a world where this kind of thing is possible. Where we can display our phone numbers for all to see and have a cell phone plan that allows for this without breaking the bank. In the grand scheme of things, $45 a month is a small price to pay for unlimited conversation. In a world where we can communicate via Internet with anyone—from any soil-covered and Internet-equipped corner of Earth—we can also speak directly to them on what is now becoming an old but trusty piece of technology: the phone. Specifically, the cellular/mobile phone.

On the other hand, it takes a lot of guts to put oneself out there like that because…this is a scary world we live in, and ironically, part of the scariness isthe technology itself and what it might mean in the future. Minority Report(which was first the title story in a book of science fiction stories by Phillip K. Dick) is not that far off. Of course, the other scary part is that some people are just plain crazy. Just read anything by Angela Carter, and you may think she was crazy—but really, she was just brilliant—and that was decades ago! Just imagine who’s out there now! On the streets of Baltimore, or Los Angeles, or London. Waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. And mug, rob, threaten. Hurt.

Me, I keep my “purse” close and my cell phone even closer. And it doesn’t hurt to have a bit of pepper spray. Where’s the techno pepper spray, Cricket? You’re certainly no Google Voice.

*NOTE: This blog entry is syndicated from a blog I had to start for my Electronic Publishing class at U.B. this semester. I may or may not delete the extraneous blog when the class is over, but I thought I would at least give my readers the opportunity to read the contents of that blog indefinitely.

“Mooching,” or “Excuse Me”

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted! I got into a bit of a frenzy with finding a place to live, and I’m only just now sorting it all out. I’ve got most of my stuff moved now, and I’m moving the rest, hopefully, by Monday. And classes start up the 30th. This semester, I’m taking Electronic Publishing and Typographic Form & Function. There won’t be as much writing this semester, perhaps the entire school year, so I might try to post more writing on here. This will have to do for today: an on-the-fly (re: hardly edited) piece inspired by my recent excursions from Bolton Hill/Mount Vernon to Downtown, on the free Charm City Circulator. Moving stuff a little at a time. This has been my life for the past two days. Work, eat, pack, move, pack, sleep. Repeat. I don’t expect tomorrow to be any different. Luckily, a friend said she’d help me on Saturday, so we can use her car instead of a bus. Which means I can get almost everything moved. 😉

In any case, without further ado, here’s a quick draft of a potential story I’m tentatively titling

“Mooching,” or perhaps “Excuse Me“

Raindrops in your hair. But the sky’s mostly blue. How can that be? Rain drops in your hair.

Out of the blue, it comes, the inevitable question you’ve been expecting yet not expecting, because who would? “Excuse me—sorry to bother you, but you wouldn’t happen to have an extra cigarette, cell phone, car, dime, or toothbrush, would you?”

You don’t stop. You’ve been practicing.

“Sorry, no,” you say, and continue to walk away. But you know it’s there; it’s all there. Deep in the recesses of your right pants pocket. You chuckle. Pants are underwear in the U.K.

But it’s all there. A lone cigarette tucked into the bristles of a dark, yellowed toothbrush, scrubbing germs and old toothpaste residue into your iPhone’s beautiful multitouch screen, a dime jingling against the metal of your ever-shrinking car—clack, cling, clack. Your baby. Your pride and joy. One day, it’s going to disappear completely and you’ll have to get a new one, but today is not that day.

No. Today, you’re on a mission to find cheap parking—street parking. You hope that dime will be enough to get you started. You don’t usually carry change. Clack-cling, clack. It’s 4:46 on a Thursday afternoon. Clack, cling-clack. As you walk, walk, walk down the sidewalk, you clack, cling, clack. The dime.

If they want cigarettes, why don’t they find a job and buy some? Second thought, you doubt they could afford the cigarettes and the toothbrush, so maybe just the toothbrush. Just don’t smoke. Simple.

You don’t smoke; you’re allergic to the poison. Aren’t most people?

“Excuse me,” they almost always manage to say. That gets you every time. You chuckle; you’re a chuckler. At least they’re polite about the mooching.

You walk.

Walk.

And there it is. The perfect spot. The rain drops away instantly, vanishes as the sun quickly peeks out of wet, metallic clouds for the first time since yesterday. Rays shine on the spot, highlighting it. Bookmarking it for you automatically, like a 3G Kindle. It’s your spot. You look. As you suspected: it has your name on it. Right on the curb. You walk up to the meter: a dollar. Minimum.

But that’s not right. It’s never been that high…has it? You don’t know.

What to do now? Take the car with you. You always take it with you. In your pocket, like a match box. But you don’t even smoke.

A blonde is walking toward you, on a cell phone, and you look up. You look him up—and down. Gucci. He’ll have 90 cents.

“Excuse me,” you say, without thinking, “sorry to bother you man, but—”

He doesn’t look. He doesn’t stop.