Other People's Crap, Now Online!

Darlings, imagine my thrill in discovering thrifting has entered the internet age. Yes, Goodwill now has a site where you can browse other, slightly more sane people’s discards to your heart’s content and bid on said discards. Is this not the best of all possible worlds? Of course, you miss out on that dusty, funky aroma of true junk shops, but on the upside, you get to read the Goodwill employees’ brave attempts at spelling really tough words like “mandala,” “potpourri,” and “cloth.” Go here now and bid on crap you don’t really need but cannot live without. But hands off the “Fine Gold Metal Memo Holder,” bitches. It’s MINE.

Calling It In

Yes, I'm still sick. No, the thought of what that Harridan, MJ, from Infomaniac would say has not kept me from posting anything. Well, maybe a little. Mostly it's due to Saki having gotten so accustomed to bossing me around while I'm home all day that he now stands guard over the keyboard so I can't type anything. It is so Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. I suppose I'll be having rats for lunch next.

Fabuless

Thombeau, the zany empress of Fabulon, has decided to close up shop and shut down the site. Am I bummed? Yes, I am totally bummed. A trip to Fabulon is the highpoint of my day, and I adore the old darling. Still, I’m sure coming up with the breathtaking scope of images he does every single day must be tiring, to say the least, so I suppose he deserves his break. I just hope he returns soon.

Please note the entire absence of jokes about gender reassignment, rehab, and/or Nicole Richie here. I am restraining myself.

More of Them Dutch Babies

Turns out when you google images of Dutch Babies, you get pictures of baby Dutch bunnies.

It is adorable to the point of overload. Can you stand it?

Miss Janey wins for actually asking for the recipe of Dutch babies. Yay J. The rest of you are ok, but Jason and MJ will be kept after class for general snarkiness.

Dutch Babies: a haiku of sorts

425 degree oven

10 inch skillet

3 eggs

1/3 cup sugar

teaspoon vanilla

salt

2/3 cup flour

2/3 cup milk

4 tablespoons butter

Whisk eggs, sugar, vanilla, and salt together.

Whisk in flour and milk until smooth.

Melt butter in skillet. Before it turns brown, pour in batter. Bake for 20 minutes until puffed up and the center is lightly browned in spots.

Serve with fruit (thank you Jason. Bitch.) Raspberries and peaches are really good too.

Look out for the stupid pan handle because it will be hot as a motherfucker.

File Under "Babies, Dutch"

The lovely Diane left us with a recipe for Dutch Baby, which, alas, is not a sex act between some blue eyed, rosy cheeked blond and an illegal Turkish immigrant in an Amsterdam toilet, but rather, a morning pastry rather like a big ass popover. You make a very simple batter with eggs, milk, flour and sugar, sort of like one for a crepe, melt butter in a skillet, carefully pour the batter in and shove it in a hottish oven for about twenty minutes.

The best part is announcing it's ready by careening through the house shrieking "WHO WANTS BABIEEEEEEEEEES?" Plus, it's terribly tasty.

Mesmerizing

You know what the greatest line in songwriting is? It's the lyric in "Lust for Life" where Iggy Pop is singing about love and makes the transcendent metaphor that it is "...like hypnotizing chickens."

Research into this fascinating concept reveals there is, naturlement, a Wikipedia page on Chicken Hypnosis

Insights like this are a weighty burden. I’m just glad we’re able to share them here. Also, I’m glad to share this buttchop picture:

It's like hypnotizing ass chickens.

Manflu: It's Better than Pigflu

MJ the Infomaniac accuses me of having the Manflu and does so as if that were a bad thing. Get you, that’s what I say. The Manflu appears to consist of taking to one’s bed and whining (the name would imply People with Vaginas never indulge in such behavior, to which I reply “Midol.”)

I have no problem admitting to my genius in both categories. I inherited my talent for sleeping from my dear mother who would sleep for 16 hours at a stretch if the goddam kids would just let her. In turn, I am no slacker either; if remaining unconscious were a sport, I would qualify for the Olympics. Our friend Ehsen takes a nap in the evening and only gets up to go to bed for the night. I am awed by such commitment and have taken to imitating him.

As to whining, surely the most cursory glance at this blog would prove my devotion to the art.

Why MJ thinks I need an excuse for either is beyond me. Being sick, Manflu or not, only provides me with a focus for both, but at the same time distracts me from my top form. This just in: being sick sucks. The houseboys, led by Zieglus Manitobus here, have started a nonstop novena in their best underpants on behalf of my recovery, which both I and the priest at Our Lady of the Sacred Secret Place both appreciate, but it doesn’t seem to be helping yet.