Self-awareness

Mom waited through an extended summer for someone to play "Settlers of Catan" with her. Brad finally caved the weekend before going back to school and made Mom's whole summer by playing not one but two games with her. And how did Mom repay Brad's kindness? She beat him twice and gleefully rubbed it in. Your Mom has many wonderful qualities but being a good winner is not one of them. It was painful to watch.

Not content just to lord it over Brad, Mom sent this message to the family text chain at 8:37 p.m. that evening: "Just whooped up on Brad twice in settlers. First one was 13 to 3. I'm pretty sure the second one was 13 to 5." I guess after sleeping on it Mom realized what a bad sport she'd been, because she texted this message out at 9:07 a.m. the following morning: "It's no wonder nobody wants to play settlers with me." Ya think? Oh well, it only took Mom 12 hours to achieve some self-awareness, which is always a good thing, unless you're Skynet.

*********

Minionship

Poor Brad and Cass. Neither of them has come up with an internship for the summer, so Mom is now threatening to make them do a "minionship" with her instead. As in, Brad and Cass would be Mama Gru's minions at her beck and call while they're home from school next summer. If that's not enough to get you out looking for a summer job, nothing is.



(Did you catch the reference to tighty-whities in the trailer?)

*********

The DMV, am I right?

The last time UaKS traveled to the DMV, I channeled my inner Joe Schultz and taught Mom how to say "shit" and "fuck" in all their possible combinations,[1] while she and Cassie spent nearly five hours rotting at the DMV. Not long ago, I had to make my own trip there to have Grandpa Guy's car re-registered in Virginia. I stood at the end of a long line in a cold rain for about 15 minutes, waiting for the doors to open. Once I was inside, it was literally less than 5 minutes before someone behind me in line stumbled and retched, emptying the contents of her stomach all over the floor near me. Welcome to the Virginia DMV, motherfucker.

When I finally got to the triage—er, information—desk, the woman at the counter told me I needed Mom's signature on one of the forms. Shitfuck. But not to worry, when I got back to the DMV, I could go back to the same woman at the desk and she'd get me a good number to be served quickly. So off I went from Pantops all the way to WMS, where I obtained Mom's signature, then drove back to the DMV. By that time, however, the woman I had spoken with was no longer on duty at the information desk, so it was back to square one in the triage line. Fuckshit. I worked my way through the line again, got my number, and sat down to wait for a little over an hour. Once I finally got to the counter, it went relatively quickly, so it was only a little over 3 hours' worth of DMV pain in total.

As part of the process of re-registering the car, I canceled the New York insurance on it. About a month after cancelling the insurance, I got a note from the New York DMV addressed to Grandpa Guy saying he'd violated the New York Vehicle and Traffic Law by allowing the insurance on his vehicle to lapse. So I called the DMV in Albany to let them know the situation. For one of the very few times that I've had to talk to anyone about something involving Grandpa Guy, I got no condolences, just a brusque, "Well, you still have to send the license plates back." Welcome to the New York DMV, motherfucker. I was tempted to ask what they were going to do to Grandpa Guy if I didn't send them the plates, but instead I took a breath and thought of the dharma as I jotted down the address in Albany. I sent in the plates, with a note again explaining what happened, including that the car had already been re-registered in Virginia, and figured I was done with that annoyance.

Until two days ago, when I got another piece of mail addressed to Grandpa Guy from the New York DMV, which says that they received and destroyed the plates, but that, due to the insurance lapse, they have suspended his registration for 41 days,[2] pursuant to section 318.1(a) of the Vehicle and Traffic Law. It's just another pointless act by some pencil pusher, but what it really amounts to is, Sayonara from the DMV, motherfucker.

---------
[1] Only Uncle Bob can truly understand the humor in this.
[2] Why 41 days? I have no idea. It would've been so much better had it been 42 days, which is, of course, the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

*********

My other self, episode III: another item for my collection

Close readers of my blog (you know who you are) will remember my excitement at the "best present ever"—a pair of sexy Paul Ferrer underwear with a note from my other self. This doesn't rise up to that lofty standard, but Mom did bring me some excellent apricot jam from the Paul Bakery in D.C.

You guys are always making fun of how old I am, but even you know that I haven't been around "depuis 1889," right?

*********

The howling fantods, or, a parent's life

Orin's special conscious horror, besides heights and the early morning, is roaches. There'd been parts of metro Boston near the Bay he'd refused to go to, as a child. Roaches give him the howling fantods.

                    --From Infinite Jest (1996) by David Foster Wallace

At the beginning of 2017, I vowed that this would be the year I checked off two items that have been on my bucket list for about 20 years: (1) running the whole Rivanna Trail around Charlottesville, and (2) reading Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. In the words of George W. Bush (or "the Shrub," as DFW called him), "Mission Accomplished." I tackled the Rivanna Trail in February, then took up Infinite Jest in June and finally finished it today.

The final kick in the pants to get on Infinite Jest was when Dylan started reading it after Andi's wedding, which is sort of funny. While he was in C'ville that week, I tried to get him to take an extra copy I have of Consider the Lobster, which is a great collection of DFW's "creative nonfiction" essays, including the one about the Shrub's run against John McCain in the Republican presidential primaries in 2000, but Dylan was having none of it (so many books stacked up already, so little time). Except Joan then told him what a great book Infinite Jest is, and Dylan was 300 pages in before you know it. Yeah, that's how it is when you're a parent. But as long as you get there in the end, that's what matters.

Anyway, Infinite Jest was well worth the time and effort, a real tour de force as they say. It was really interesting reading it 20 years on, finding bits of things that showed up later in his work. The "howling fantods," which became something of a Wallace catchphrase, appears a few more times in addition to the quote from page 45 above. The parable at the center of his famous 2005 Kenyon College commencement address (later reprinted as the book This Is Water) is right there on page 445 in nearly identical terms. And the Zen-like message underlying the address is also encapsulated later in the novel, in the thoughts of Don Gately lying in his hospital bed:

He wonders, sometimes, if that’s what Ferocious Francis and the rest want him to walk toward: Abiding again between heartbeats; tries to imagine what kind of impossible leap it would take to live that way all the time, by choice, straight: in the second, the Now, walled and contained between slow heartbeats.

Other bits struck me for different reasons: the reference to "fake news" on page 385, 20 years before Donald J. Trump (on his way to shoving the Shrub off the bottom rung of the bad presidents' ladder) came to prominence for something other than being The Donald; Lenz saying he had to "piss like a racehorse," just like De taught me to say in law school; and, best of all, the description of the A.F.R.s (and later John Wayne—the tennis prodigy, not the actor) as "com[ing] always in the twilight, implacably squeaking, and cannot be reasoned with or bargained with, feel no pity or remorse, or fear," which is almost exactly how Reese describes the Terminator to Sarah Connor in T1, which DFW was a big fan of.

*********

Making amends

After all the grief I've given Cassie recently for telling me I have a bald spot (allegedly), I had my own lapse this week when I ran over her foot with my car. My bad for sure, but if you're old enough to have a bald spot (allegedly), you're old enough not to realize when someone is still getting their bassoon out of your car. Fortunately, Cassie wasn't hurt at all, and now I know to put my car in park when I'm dropping Brad and Cass off at school in the morning.

So I may not be making much broccoli pasta any more, but Cassie did get one of her favorite meals as a goodwill gesture.

Salmon with Hoisin Barbecue Glaze

Adapted from The Cook's Illustrated Cookbook (2011)

Time: ~30 minutes

Glaze
35 grams (2 tablespoons) ketchup
30 grams (2 tablespoons) hoisin sauce
30 grams (2 tablespoons) rice vinegar
25 grams (2 tablespoons) light brown sugar
17 grams (1 tablespoon) tamari or soy sauce
13 grams (1 tablespoon) toasted sesame oil
10 grams (2 teaspoons) chili-garlic sauce such as Huy Fong (substitute sriracha or sambal oelek)
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger

Salmon
1 teaspoon light brown sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon cornstarch
1½ to 2 pounds salmon, cut into 4 fillets of about the same size
freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon oil

    1. For the glaze: Weigh or measure the ingredients into a small saucepan (which you hopefully own a cover for). Whisk everything together, then place the pan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer until thickened, about 3 minutes. Remove from the heat, cover, and set aside until step 4.
    2. For the salmon: Heat the oven to 300 degrees. Combine the brown sugar, kosher salt, and cornstarch in a ramekin or small bowl. Pat the salmon dry with paper towels and remove any pin bones. Place the salmon flesh side up. Grind some pepper over the top, then sprinkle the brown sugar mixture evenly over the top. You may not use it all. Rub the mixture gently into the flesh.
    3. Heat the oil in a 12-inch ovensafe nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Place the salmon in the skillet flesh side down, and cook until well browned, about 2 minutes. Use kitchen tongs to flip the salmon over, then cook it on the skin side for another minute.
    4. Remove the skillet from the heat and spoon or pour the glaze evenly over the salmon. Place the skillet in the oven and bake until the salmon is just set and still translucent in the very center, about 7 to 10 minutes depending on the thickness of the fillets. You can take a peek using a paring knife. The flesh should be firm, not flimsy, but it should not flake apart—that's overdone and the fish will be rubbery. You can also check doneness with an instant-read thermometer if you have one. The middle of the thickest part of a fillet should register 125 degrees when the salmon is done. Serve immediately with white or brown rice, which is tasty with some of the glaze spooned over it. Serves 4.