tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176041232024-03-07T07:57:38.737-08:00I'm just sayin'Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-35520351361323586012008-01-31T16:19:00.000-08:002008-01-31T16:32:16.266-08:00Baby namesIf you’re in the process of debating baby names like Melissa and I are, you might be interested to know about <a href="http://thebabynamewizard.ivillage.com/parenting/">this blog</a>, which is surprisingly interesting. For example, I learned that we both appear to be “<a href="http://thebabynamewizard.ivillage.com/parenting/archives/2007/08/congratulations_its_auh_oh.html?dst=rss%7Cpp_babyname">fashionable traditionalists</a>” about baby names, and that <a href="http://thebabynamewizard.ivillage.com/parenting/archives/2007/07/where_all_boys_end_up_nowadays_1.html">boys' names ending in “n” have skyrocketed recently</a>. Fascinating, no?<br /><br />Most people are either enthusiastic about our name ideas or, if they seem not to like them, politely reserved. But my Grandma never holds anything back. She HATES Peter, our pick for a boy, mostly because of “Peter Peter, pumpkin eater.” She tells me she can live with our current girl name--Sally--but would prefer Marie (which is on our short list). Incidentally, all of our best name ideas came from Melissa, who, fortunately for me and our future kid(s) and notwithstanding my Grandma’s opinions, has good taste in names.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-56492799914959088782007-08-15T13:39:00.000-07:002007-08-15T15:55:09.881-07:00Things I recently learnedMy folks just visited us for about a week and while they were here I learned a few things:<br /><br />1. A 21-foot-diameter redwood isn't as impressive as it sounds, especially after a six-hour drive to get to it.<br /><br />2. The best part about visiting national parks is getting your <a href="http://www.nwpubliclands.org/store_passport-to-your-national-parks_02810.html">national parks passport book</a> stamped.<br /><br />3. Ukiah, California, is the center of the white trash universe. Who knew?<br /><br />4. My dad loves getting breakfast at Denny's and starts talking about it two days before he is scheduled to go.<br /><br />5. My mom loves it when the flight attendant gives you the whole can of pop. (Although, who doesn't love that?)<br /><br />6. I hate oysters. I ate one for the first time while Marcy and my parents egged me on. I almost ralphed in their faces--that would have showed 'em!<br /><br />7. I have become an expert at spotting the <a href="http://www.wildparrotsfilm.com/">wild parrots of Telegraph Hill</a>.<br /><br />8. I am tired of small towns with quaint shops and restaurants.<br /><br />9. Alcatraz is still cool after five visits.<br /><br />10. My mom never outbids anyone in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hasbro-Rook/dp/B00000IWD6/ref=pd_bbs_sr_2/105-1798331-4403649?ie=UTF8&s=toys-and-games&amp;amp;qid=1187210804&sr=8-2">Rook</a>, no matter how good her hand is.<br /><br />11. I am also tired of hobos.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-2774148656400689902007-08-06T16:19:00.000-07:002007-08-06T16:21:32.786-07:00Harry Potter eventually gets really good, right?After I read that Stephen King was standing in line at midnight to get the last Harry Potter book I finally decided to stop being a snob about it and get on board. I finished book one a couple nights ago and thought it was fine, but not totally awesome or anything, although wizard chess seems pretty cool. Anyway, I'm withholding judgment until I get to book three because I understand that's when everything gets good. Right, Carly, Kacy, and all you other Harry Potter freaks out there?Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-29847241038977795372007-08-03T11:31:00.000-07:002007-08-03T11:59:30.902-07:00That's amoreI always wished I was Italian American. Instead I'm a boring old Scandinavian/German American. No big extended-family Sunday pasta dinners, no Cosa Nostra, no cool names like Corrato Soprano or Santino Corleone, no cousins-who-I-love-like-a-brother. But at least I can get my groceries at Lunardi's, which is where your grandmother would shop if she immigrated from Italy to the Bay Area, and at least I can eat mortadella sandwiches, which I've decided I love. I hope I never find out what's in mortadella because that might ruin it for me.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1154384325479506542006-07-31T15:13:00.000-07:002006-07-31T15:18:45.490-07:00I'm into Gilmore Girls nowHave you ever had the experience of being sucked into a TV show despite yourself? Well it's happened to me with Gilmore Girls. I used to laugh derisively whenever I saw Michael's picture (now gone) on <a href="http://ckpblog.blogspot.com/">Hoss</a>'s sidebar, with a caption about how he and Hoss were watching the entire series on DVD. But the last laugh is his. I like to think I'm a sensitive, new-age guy. For example, I recently made a batch of brownies for my wife to take to her book club (I totally support women's literacy). But even I couldn't take Lorelai and Rory at first, when Marcy started taping reruns of season 6. All the self-conscious cuteness was just too much. Yet somehow it sucked me in, and now that we've just finished watching the season 2 finale on DVD, I'm dying to find out if Rory will dump Dean for Jess (I should say when because she is so going to dump him), and when will Luke and Lorelai finally admit that they are in love with each other?Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1152296611636994472006-07-07T11:16:00.000-07:002007-08-03T11:19:41.688-07:00My weekend in UtahA few highlights from my four-day weekend in Utah:<br /><ol><li>French toast stuffed with cream cheese (<a href="http://ckpblog.blogspot.com/">Hoss</a> rules the griddle).</li><li>Bubba Burgers (look for them in your local supermarket’s frozen food section).</li><li>Watching <a href="http://mgp2.blogspot.com/">Marcy</a> clean everyone’s clock in air hockey.</li><li>Listening to my grandma insist that I write a novel about her life. And her preferred pseudonym for the book is “Mrs. Gotrocks” (got-rocks). Don’t ask me where she came up with that. Oh, and the Breathsavers she started sucking on because her saliva is drying up give her really bad gas so she doesn’t go to church much anymore. Just FYI.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/1600/Grandma.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/320/Grandma.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a></li><li>Squatting with my siblings in the park so the photographer can get a nice “head shot” of us all.</li><li>Three consecutive days with one-hour-plus naps.</li><li>Wearing shorts around for the first time in almost a year.</li><li>Discovering Warren’s fries and fry sauce near my parents' house.</li><li>A little Apple Beer.</li><li>Waiting at a road block while the cops, with their guns drawn, took down a Suburban full of hoods two lanes over on the way home from the airport Tuesday night, with 4th of July fireworks in the background. </li></ol>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1149877409955987532006-06-09T11:12:00.000-07:002006-06-09T13:44:27.516-07:00Thursday is farmer’s market dayThe best thing about being a professor is keeping professor’s hours.<br /><br />The best thing about living in San Francisco are the farmer’s markets.<br /><br />The result of these two facts is that every Thursday morning I am at the Daly City farmer’s market. I’m pretty sure I’m the only thirtysomething, unaccompanied, non-professional-chef male who has ever been to this (and maybe any) farmer’s market. So I feel a bit conspicuous when I go, but I still love it. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/1600/Raspberries.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/320/Raspberries.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />And I usually get a little carried away. This week I came home with:<br /><br />Tomatoes<br />String beans, both green and white<br />Apricots<br />Nectarines<br />Peaches<br />Raspberries<br />Lemon cucumbers <br />Herbs: rosemary, dill, thyme, parsely, basil<br />Green onions<br />Snow peas<br />Fresh eggs<br /><br />It seems weird to have a produce shopping problem.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1149724449804165752006-06-07T16:51:00.000-07:002006-06-07T16:55:26.466-07:00Tiny camera dayI have been obsessed with tiny digital cameras for a few months now. Historically, two or three times a year, I become obsessed with a particular gadget until I somehow get my hands on one. However, I confronted my addiction a while ago and have been clean since my September ‘04 “birthday-gift-to-myself” iPod purchase. But I fell off the wagon last week and ordered this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/1600/exilim.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/320/exilim.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I’ve been tracking it and UPS will be delivering it tonight, by my estimate, around 7:10 pm. In my own defense, I have to say that Marcy has been egging me on (reason #113 that I have the world’s best wife, by the way), although I think she just wants me to take secret spy pictures of all the <a href="http://mgp2.blogspot.com/2006/05/bald-streetwalker-swims-in-our-pool.html">neighborhood freaks</a>.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1149631002232990222006-06-06T14:53:00.000-07:002006-06-06T14:56:42.243-07:00Bay Area Ribs, LLCM. and I are mourning the end of Jimmy’s Rib Shack. We went there on a whim a while ago, even though (or maybe because) it looked totally seedy and is in the bad part of town. Jimmy, this retired-truck-driver guy from Louisiana (I think), made us the best pulled-pork sandwiches we ever had. The secret ingredient? Love. The place was a bonafied dive with lots of charm. On the wall was this cool painting of two dudes in the parking lot of Jimmy’s laughing and eating ribs. It had photos up of Negro League teams. Etc. But when we showed up on Saturday, Jimmy was gone and a new, beady-eyed money grubber had taken over the place. It was like buying ribs from a used car salesman. The best was when someone asked if they could substitute cobbler for a side, and he said “Of course! I always say, money talks.” Translation: Nope, it’s extra but I want you to think it's not until it's too late and you've already ordered. Two days later, just when I thought I was ready to move on, I pulled out the receipt from lunch to record it in my register and saw listed at the top “Bay Area Ribs, LLC.” Don’t advertise a BBQ joint as an LLC! Stupid yuppie. I hate him.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1149546842441079172006-06-05T15:29:00.000-07:002006-06-05T16:37:33.360-07:00Still bloggin'It’s funny that I still think of this as a blog, since I haven’t posted for like 8 months. But I’m keeping the dream alive over here. I got engaged and married to <a href="http://mgp2.blogspot.com/">Marcy</a> since my last post. This might be my favorite photo from our wedding:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/1600/Wedding.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3689/596/320/Wedding.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />It captures the best moment of the day--our first trip to our awesome wedding buffet. Anyway, Marcy was a beautiful bride, just about all our close friends and family were in attendance (either in UT or TN), and everything went great. <br /><br />That was in January. Now, five months later, I’m ready to add blogging back to my routine, so stay tuned for the occasional post.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1131782357344832672005-11-11T23:44:00.000-08:002005-11-12T07:30:41.506-08:00Don't mess with ThanksgivingI love Thanksgiving. I love it so much. I love it because (a) I’m a wannabe foodie and no other holiday is all about food, and (b) it’s not all sentimentalized and commercialized like Christmas. I feel sorry for people who haven’t learned to savor Thanksgiving, but instead whip out their Christmas decorations the moment the Thanksgiving dinner table is cleared. I think Thanksgiving should be a multi-day holiday. At the very least, there should be a Thanksgiving Eve. My dream is to become the king of Thanksgiving. Someday I hope to be serving up legendary Thanksgiving feasts that people talk about for months after. I want people to leave my Thanksgivings thinking “Christmas? Eh.” That is my dream.<br /><br />I’ve cooked, let’s see, at least 7-8 Thanksgiving dinners. Each year I improve a little bit, and I thought I’d pass on a few simple tips to any of my many readers who might be cooking dinner this year for family or friends.<br /><br /><ol> <li><a href="http://www.freep.com/fun/food/brine17_19991117.htm">Brine</a> your turkey. It’s easy and it virtually guarantees that your bird will turn out great. And if you don’t brine, at least try using an oven bag if you haven’t already. Oh, and please cook a fresh turkey instead of a frozen one. That’s a no brainer.</li> <li>Don’t bother to stuff the turkey with stuffing. It doesn’t really add any flavor to the stuffing and it’s kind of a salmonella risk. Just cook all the stuffing in a baking dish. It’ll be great.</li> <li>Make your cranberry sauce from fresh or frozen cranberries instead of using canned cranberry sauce. Just buy the Ocean Spray cranberries in the bag and follow the recipe on the package. It is very simple and much, much better than canned. Also, you need to be eating cranberry sauce on your turkey if you aren’t already. I grew up not touching it because I thought it was some sort of quasi-Jello salad, and I think my family still suspects that it is even though I try every year to get them to put the cranberry sauce on their turkey when they eat it.</li> <li>Press a thin layer of pulverized store-bought ginger snaps into the bottom of the pumpkin pie crust before adding the filling. It helps keep the crust from getting soggy as it bakes. </li> <li>Two new tips I’m trying this year: keeping the mashed potatoes warm in a slow cooker (set to low) as I prepare the other dishes and using a thermos-style coffee carafe to keep the gravy warm on the table.</li> <li>Be sure to have an indulgent but not overly filling breakfast (don’t ruin your appetite for later), like a chocolate-chocolate chip muffin or a big cinnamon roll. Remember, Thanksgiving is one of only four days during the year when you can eat whatever you want without any reservations at all, so take advantage of it. The other days are: your birthday, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve.</li> <li>Finally, with Thanksgiving just 13 days away, you need to get some buzz going about your feast if you haven't already.<br /></li> </ol>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1130733917522580132005-10-30T20:41:00.000-08:002005-10-30T20:45:17.533-08:00Old School P.E.The starkest sign of a generation gap between me and, say, my youngest sister (she’s 25, I’m 36) is my experience of junior high P.E. versus hers. I’m surprised I’m not a Nevernude after junior high P.E. Our facilities and “Coach” were both straight out of the 50s. We had to wear uniforms (white t-shirts with navy trim, navy polyester shorts), of course, and we spent all kinds of time “crabwalking” up and down the gym floor and hucking medicine balls to each other. And, we were warned, if any of us got out of line, Coach Nichols would deliver a swift, size 13 kick in the butt. Sound bad? It gets much, much worse. Every Monday was swim day. And that meant we all had to strip down, shower up (communal showers, of course), and line up naked in the showers waiting for Coach to hand out these hideously ill-fitting brown trunks that we had to wear. I’ll never understand why we couldn’t wear our own suits. Don’t forget—this was junior high, so there was a nice mix of pre- and post-pubescence going on, just to add another layer of misery. My youngest sister, on the other hand, took aerobics in junior high. And no uniforms.<br /><br />Twenty-three years later, I thought I’d left the Middle Ages of P.E. behind, but now I’ve gone back in time. My university has a completely decrepit gym and locker room but I got a faculty locker anyway so I could go lift weights on MWF. Going in there gives me serious flashbacks, but the worst is, one day I showed up and this dude, probably 30 years old, big, African American, totally dressed in street clothes, was just hanging out on the locker room bench, four feet down from my locker, leaning back against the wall and marking up some article he was reading while he munched on Fritos from his backpack. He wasn’t going anywhere, so I reached back to junior high, swallowed my modesty, and stripped down to change. It was seriously unnerving. Then two weeks later he was back!! I don’t get it. If he shows up again, I think I need to confront him, even if it means getting a size 13 kick in the butt.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1129741496783340302005-10-19T10:01:00.000-07:002005-10-19T10:06:38.670-07:00Car talkI trusted my mechanic Hasaan. My theory was, since 9/11 and the subsequent stigma of being Arab (not from me of course—I’m a sensitive, New Age guy), he would never ever screw any of his customers over because that would be it for him. So when it came time for my 100,000 mile tune-up, right before my 3,000 mile drive from DC to San Fran in August, I happily headed down to Hasaan’s shop only to find that he had been bought out by the Guatemalans! My mind raced. Can I trust these guys? Let me do a quick mental check of my racial stereotypes for any useful information. Just kidding. (Maybe.) I took the plunge. $900 and four new tires later, I was rolling home in my little Mazda wondering if I just got screwed. At least they didn’t tell me I needed a new Johnson Rod. (Carly, that Seinfeld reference is for you and you better get it or I’ll be disappointed.) They fixed my car’s long-standing stalling-out problem by jacking the idle speed up to 2,000 rpms. So now when I pulled up to a red light, everyone thought “Take your foot off the gas when you push in the clutch, moron.” But I thought everything was cool with my car, basically.<br /><br />Four weeks after I got to San Fran, I finally got around to getting my car registered, or, I should say, making my first attempt at registering my car. As I write this six weeks later, I’m still driving around with Virginia plates. My first stop: Speedy Lube for my requisite Smog Check. “You’re idle is way too high. We reset it and now you have to drive for a week so your car’s ‘puter can gather more emissions data.” A week later, I stop by Speedy again. My car has zero emissions data stored after a week of driving. My soon-to-be-bud Lewis takes me aside in the waiting room: “Take a nice long drive down the Peninsula, then up into the hills over by the ocean. Then come back and we’ll check the ‘puter.” I do as I’m told. Still no data. Lewis connects his monitor under my dashboard, hops in the passenger seat, and we’re off for another drive. Along the way, Lewis informs me that California is great if you’re gay or an avocado. Hahahahaha. Oh, and still no data. I get to go back into the garage with my new bud and watch as he sprays carb cleaner all over the engine while it idles and thus discovers that I have a vacuum leak.<br /><br />So it’s off to the Mazda dealership because only they can fix it. And now I have a new friend: Pine the Samoan. Two weeks ago he hooked up the smoke machine to my engine and we both watched together as wisps of smoke leaked out of my faulty “resonance chamber.” Parts and labor: $275. But the part had to be special ordered and now, two weeks later, I’m sitting in the dealership waiting room at 7:00 a.m. listening to Michael McDonald on the radio as they install my brand new resonance chamber. Will I be able to pass my Smog Check now? I doubt it. But I’m treating myself to a chocolate-chocolate chip muffin later and I’ll raise my milk to toast the friends I’ve made along the way: Hasaan, that one Guatemalan guy, Lewis, and Pine. Don’t spend all my money in one place, guys.Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17604123.post-1128752601516293642005-10-07T23:18:00.000-07:002005-10-08T08:58:58.556-07:00So it’s come to this<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Inspired by the likes of <a href="http://mgp2.blogspot.com/">Marcy</a>, <a href="http://ckpblog.blogspot.com/">Carly</a>, <a href="http://kasm.blogspot.com/">Kacy</a>, and <a href="http://cfaulconer.blogspot.com/">Christian</a>, I’m throwing my hat into the blog ring. Think of my blog as a place to go to cleanse your palate between visits to other, more amusing blogs. Like when people at wine tastings munch a saltine before moving on to a new wine, or so I heard once.<br /><br />A question to start things off: If you hail from Utah or southeastern Idaho, how do you pronounce the word <i>warm</i>? Because I just found out that I’ve been saying it like a Utah hick* for my whole life (no offense if you say it like me). And I have tried so hard to rid myself of all my Utonics. The worst part is, I can’t imagine saying it any other way and don’t think I’ll ever change. Apparently I have 19th-century St. Louis-ians to thank for it.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;" >*The way I (and other hicks) say it rhymes with <i>arm</i>. If you say it like <i>war</i> with an <i>m</i>, you’re doing fine--enjoy being a non-hick.</span>Neilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05369188879562476073noreply@blogger.com11