Bastet

Oh, that was fantastic - thanks for posting!

Nobody had a fake ID until college, so to get booze in high school my friend and I used to hang out in the parking lot of a grocery store, keep an eye out for guys who looked to be around 25-30 years old, and ask if they'd buy us a bottle of [tequila, whiskey, whatever] while they were in there. It is unbelievable how few men we had to go through each time before we'd find someone willing to do it for us -- they were as stupid as we were; what if we were narcs? I suspect it would be harder now; more men would think they were being set up by a hidden camera TV show. In other high school stupidity news, I've told the story elsewhere of the game we played on the canyon road we took home from the pizza joint after football games on Friday nights -- on the straightaways, I'd turn off the car's headlights and drive in the dark. One time, we learned the next day that there had been a murder (execution style) on that road, with a car and the bodies pushed into the canyon. The evidence established a fairly short window of time, and it turned out we had in all likelihood passed by either the event itself or immediate aftermath -- and having the lights off meant we didn't see it, and they didn't see us (or at least couldn't see our license plates).

Those sell-by or best-by dates are largely arbitrary and meaningless (and contribute to the huge amount of food wasted); food doesn't actually "expire" because that date has come and gone. When a particular food item will spoil cannot be predetermined, and depends on a variety of factors.

Oh, we can do family members' stupid antics? Cool. My dad and his closest-in-age sister were playing on the roof, when she jumped off and landed in a pile of broken glass (from what, I don't know). He decided to check on her by jumping into the same pile. And there's a scar on the side of his face that has something to do with pretending to be Zorro and the house sending a rock encased in leather back at him. Then there was the time an uncle threw a dart into my dad's stomach, and when my dad complained my grandpa yanked it out, looked at the tiny puncture wound, and told everyone to get over it. My dad found said uncle hiding in a tree, with just his ear sticking out to give away his position, and nailed that ear with a BB gun; there was a permanent notch. My dad was one of nine, in the mid-30s to mid-40s, in a teeny tiny Oklahoma town; that any of them lived to adulthood (one didn't from choking to death on a peanut as a toddler) was a bonus. So my hijinks always paled in comparison, no matter how stupid. And, really, all my injuries came about from typical freak accidents or negligence; the reckless and intentional acts largely had no negative consequences. At least for me; maybe I should be surprised I kept my friends as a child, as there were quite a few incidents where I came up with a dangerous idea, executed it unscathed, and then saw a friend get hurt upon trying it. It pays to be athletic, I guess. Hills were the frequent downfall; I remember a great bike ride that ended with my best friend in a fire pit (unlit), another campground trail we traversed on our skateboards that wound up with her sliding down a 15-foot asphalt hill on her back ... maybe she was just a klutz. Because she twice severely injured herself on her bike when I wasn't there. Not stupid, but perhaps worth sharing -- When she wound up in surgery from pinning her thumb under the handlebars of her bike, I spent much of the summer hanging out with my best friend indoors since the cast prohibited swimming and other activities. Mere days before I was set to head out with my family on our annual summer vacation - three weeks in the motorhome, with tons of great fun in lakes, rivers, etc. - I laughed so hard in my attempts to cheer her up (as everyone else was in the pool), I leaned too far back while sitting on the edge of her bed and landed wrong, fracturing my clavicle. I spent my summer vacation unable to swim and taking spit baths, because I couldn't lift my arm over my head. Nearly forty years later, we're still best friends, and still laugh about that disastrous summer.

The introduction solidified how much I like both these chefs, and how excited I've been for this finale. I like how Shirley likes to communicate through her food, to share a memory with people, but I have equal respect for Brooke's ability to make a creative twist to turn out the ultimate version of various dishes. So, game on! It was sort of relaxing to know I'd be equally happy with either winner, but as the episode went on I started getting so anxious to see who it would be. I was on the edge of my seat in a great way for most of the episode; this finale was everything I wanted it to be -- I loved Brooke saying regardless of who the judges pick, she's honored to have cooked with Shirley in the finale, and Shirley saying Brooke took the words right out of her heart. I'm glad Shirley's Plan A worked so Brooke could get the pork belly; like Shirley (and like I'm sure Brooke would feel if roles were reversed), I wanted it to be about whose best effort was the tops, rather than someone stumbling due to a mishap. (I know the flan didn't set the way Brooke wanted, but it had other issues, so I'm not putting it in that category.) So, by the editing of the judges' comments at the dinner table (and the diners' comments, but those don't count in judging) and pretty much backed up by the editing of the Judges' Table comments, Brooke took the first two courses, the third was a tie, and Shirley took the fourth. But Shirley really took the fourth. So to me that's an overall tie, and a hard decision that involves lengthy analysis in reaching a decision. Two dishes worthy of the title, as Tom said at JT. As it should be in the finale, as Padma said there. I could not have asked for more. Congratulations to Brooke, and to Shirley. This was a great season, and an even better finale. Maybe the best finale of the series. I'm thankful to all involved for some highly enjoyable distraction when I needed it. Random thoughts: Personal tastes: I wanted Brooke's oyster desperately. (Shirley's crudo looked beautiful; I just don't much care for red snapper, so it did not have me drooling in the same way.) Second course, I again wanted Brooke's dish more, just based on the ingredients. Third course, I wanted to devour Shirley's; I hate beans, so my love for pork belly was not enough to make me want Brooke's. Fourth, neither rice pudding nor flan are my favorites. I like Brooke giving such praise and credit to Sam at JT for those garlic chips. Good grief, Graham Elliot and his stupid glasses can go anyway any time now. What a nice moment for Tom to thank their parents for raising two great people, who also happen to be great chefs. I know they have limited resources to purchase ingredients, with which they must serve a lot of people, but I think dessert is something where I'd buy what I needed for a Plan B if at all possible (like they both did with their main protein). I liked them talking about, in "isn't this ridiculous?" terms, this being only the second time in 14 years the finale has consisted of two women. Chatterboxes normally drive me batty, and maybe Shirley would if I was working alongside her on a regular basis rather than just watching a few minutes per week, but given that level of exposure, I find her endearing rather than annoying. I laughed at both chefs wanting to know who was running the restaurants back home since the Chefs de Cuisine had been flown to Mexico to serve as sous chefs. "Don't drink too much; be ready to cook tomorrow" made me laugh, too. Shirley was cute introducing herself to Brooke's son. Hmm. I really can't get over how much I liked this. No crazy twists. No sous chefs drama. No major missteps. Just two excellent chefs who are also pleasant people cooking their hearts out to create two delicious meals, one of which edged out the other for the win. This, right here, is why Top Chef is one of the only reality shows I watch. I'm rather ridiculously happy right now.

Not wearing a helmet was the only thing stupid about how much time we spent riding our bikes all over the neighborhood; that was good exercise, fresh air (well, as fresh as the air in Los Angeles could ever be), and a fun way to spend time with friends. There was no need to be supervised; various parents would see us pass by from time to time. (To be honest, I still don't wear a helmet, although I hardly ever ride my bike anymore - which is the reason I've never bothered to go get a helmet.) My friends and I used to "dirt ski" down the hill in my backyard, and one time my dad got me just as I was getting ready to slide down sitting on a rubber rubbish bin lid -- my refined grasp of physics at eight or so years old told me I would work up enough speed on the way down to clear all three terraced tiers at the bottom of the hill and land on the grass of the flat part of the yard. My dad and his actual knowledge of physics informed me otherwise. As teenagers, we used to swing across a ravine using a fire hose someone had tied to a tree. We were usually buzzed at the time, so it is a real wonder no one ever slipped off and landed on the rocks 20 feet below. That was monumentally stupid (but a lot of fun). I remember sitting on my grandma's lap in the passenger seat, playing with her necklace. That's just how it was done in the '70s, although I do remember wearing a seat belt when I had the front seat to myself. (I don't think anyone ever wore a seat belt in the backseat then, though.) Nobody I knew had a pick-up truck, but I'm sure we'd have been in the open bed if they had. As someone with horrible motion sickness who gets nauseated riding in the backseat, I must say I'm happy to have grown up before kids had to be strapped in car seats until they hit puberty. I never used baby oil, suntan lotion, or anything like that because I tanned easily on my own, but, yeah, we used to "sunbathe" at the beach all the time, and sometimes just in the backyard. My grandpa always preached about staying out of the sun, but I ignored him and never used sunscreen until probably the early '90s. Now I keep a close eye on all the various freckles and other dark spots on my body and have a dermatologist check me from head to toe once a year. My mom put an ice pack in my lunchbox (and when she made me a tuna sandwich, she packed the tuna separately in a little container so I could put it on my bread at lunch, rather than her making it in the morning and me having soggy bread by lunchtime). Thanks, Mom! And the swing set was properly secured. Thanks, Dad!

Never mind.

I love Dear Kitten. Sometimes when I need a little pick-me-up in the middle of the day, I watch a few of those or a few installments of Simon's Cat.

I may have posted this here before, but thanks to Moonlighting, whenever I hear anyone say, "You could've fooled me," I have to engage in a split-second analysis to determine whether circumstances will let me get away with replying with what immediately became my ingrained response: A gnat with a lobotomy could fool you. I also adopted Maddie's "Stop reasoning with your underwear" for when I need a less crude version of "Stop thinking with your dick." I have a couple of friends equally obsessed with the show, and we break into quotations regularly when we're together, but those are the ones I've made part of my general vocabulary. I've not yet been able to integrate this one, but I yearn for someone to tell me they "want some answers" under circumstances in which I can get away with responding, "Delaware. All of the above. Ninety degrees."

It's a) the main piece in the room the eye will be drawn to, and b) the piece you take your decorating scheme from for the rest of the room. So let's say you have a wood-framed bed covered by a black and white comforter and red throw pillows. You'd put some red accessories in the room. You'd have some wood accents in other places in the room. Etc. You'd keep your general decorating scheme in line with the style of that bed (e.g. rustic, traditional, contemporary). Something that isn't part of a set -- while it somehow coordinates with the rest of the room, it doesn't match anything in it -- but also something that isn't ubiquitous in every department store right now. Something vintage you find in a resale shop, something hand-made rather than mass-produced, something fairly typical in another region but not often seen in your neck of the woods, etc. It doesn't have to be something truly unique; there can be others similar or even exactly like it in the world, but not something common -- if you somehow take a tour of 50 bedrooms in your neighborhood, yours should be the only one it appears in.

I have one like that, and we had one when I was a kid, so I've never peeled an orange any other way. In fact, mine is from the '70s; my mom had two, so I stole one when I moved out: those reviews about "they don't make them like they used to" -- I must have one of the ones made how they used to. It has certainly lasted a long time. I use it to divide the peel into four sections, and then it's so easy to take off.

Whew; I'm glad you were able to have an orthopedic surgeon weigh in. That would have been a good thing even if the ER vet had said, "Based on the x-rays, I think amputation is the best treatment," but "She's old; amputate" definitely warranted a specialist's second opinion. As noted, they do amazingly well on three legs, so although you'll all be a bit unhappy during the recovery period, once that's over life will be back to normal. Poor Zooey; what a freak accident!

I have that, but I don't think I've ever used it as anything other than an immersion blender.

I'm so sorry to hear about Zooey. But I'd strongly recommend consulting an orthopedic surgery specialist before deciding on a surgery. Age isn't going to determine the possible treatments, the condition of the bone is; the bone isn't automatically unable to be surgically repaired just because it's 17 years old. Amputation may turn out to be the only, or at least the best, option, but an ER vet isn't the most-qualified person to make that decision, nor is a primary care vet (unless there's something glaringly obvious on the x-ray). Good luck (and get some sleep!).

Some just like to play with it, some like to get their paw wet and lick the water off of there rather than sticking their head in the bowl (so they don't get their whiskers wet), some seem to be establishing where the water level is (again, so they don't get wet where they don't want to be wet), and it's even theorized that some have learned they prefer the taste of water that has been aerated. They make bowls that are weighted at the bottom, to reduce the risk of spillage by a pawing cat, whatever her/his reasons.

Aw, Judge Wapner. I respected his attitude about The People's Court and his comportment on it, that it may just be arbitration dressed up to look like small claims court for a TV show, but he was wearing the robe and, by George, he was going to conduct himself just as he'd done in his courtroom. I didn't realize until reading an article just now that he and his wife had lost a daughter a couple of years ago, when she was in her 50s. Condolences to his wife (of 70-ish years) and sons, of course, but 97 years? That's great. As for Bill Paxton, I read that the fatal complication was a stroke.

Until U-571 came along and changed the mental association for me, I always thought of him as Chet from Weird Science. I think those two and Titanic are the only things I saw him in (and it took me several minutes to remember who he played in that one; I hated that movie and never watched it again, so I was trying to picture him on the ship before it finally clicked that he was the guy in modern day, hunting for treasure). So I don't have the same association with him so many of you do, but he was one of those actors I was aware was quite prolific, even though mostly in projects I didn't watch. He seemed like one of the nice guys, too. At any rate, 61 is obviously way too young.

I took Riley to the vet this afternoon (routine appointment - she needs her anal glands expressed every four months) and said "Oh, no" as soon as I walked in -- I saw the big crate set up in the corner of the waiting room that means they're fostering some kitties in need of homes. Three senior cats, all Maine Coons, an 11-year-old and her two 10-year-old daughters, in need of a home (together) because their owner died. It just broke my heart, on general principle and because that's how Riley and her four siblings wound up at the shelter -- their owner died and the family didn't want them. I told Riley, "It's a good thing I already have you, or Mommy would be going home with three new kitties today." At least they're not in a shelter. But finding someone who's prepared to take on three senior cats is a tall order. It reminded me how fortunate I am that I have things firmly in place for who will take my cats if something happens to me.

Sorry, I meant that he didn't say it to the woman from whom he bought his "cheese," not that he didn't say it at all (and maybe he did to her and I just didn't hear it). And, yeah, she told him what it was. So I was a little less sympathetic on the language barrier than I otherwise would have been.

Yeah, cats as a species don't have much of a thirst drive, so they're not looking for water sources in nature, and that is because they get their water from their food. But some individual cats, of course, will love to drink water, even if they're eating raw or canned food (and thus getting appropriate moisture content from their food); I've been fairly lucky with that. But my friend has a cat who has never had a drop of water pass his lips other than what's in his food -- he won't drink out of a bowl, a fountain, a flower vase, a dripping faucet, a drinking glass, anything. If he was eating dry food, he'd be a recipe for disaster, but thankfully he loves canned food (to which she adds a little extra water, just in case).

Male cats are prone to these blockages, and sometimes you see signs of urinary distress -- getting in the box but not producing anything, straining or vocalizing when peeing, peeing only tiny amounts, etc. -- but oftentimes the first sign something is wrong is exactly what you observed: lethargy and just all around disinterest. Don't beat yourself up, Jaded; he's now getting the help he needs. Diet is a big factor, yes, and if the blockage was caused by stones/crystals, they'll tell which of two kinds it is, and you may want to adjust for minerals accordingly, but that's pretty hotly debated these days -- they used to just shove the prescription food at you (junk ingredients at gourmet prices), but now many vets are much more focused on moisture content/water intake than mineral composition and urine pH; the best way to keep a urinary tract healthy is to keep it moving (that way, there simply isn't time for excess crystals or mucus plugs to form). Good luck to Captain!

I knew, enjoying all three as I do as both chefs and people, I was going to be sad to lose whoever came in third today, but saying good-bye to Sheldon was sad. Best final three in many moons, and now best final two (watching people lose their shit if Brooke wins would certainly be a bonus since I don't subscribe to the conspiracy theory, but I'm happy with either one). Great competitors, and great to finally have two women in the final again. All three came so close their first time around, and knocked on the door again, however it ultimately turns out; kudos to all three establishing themselves as among the best of the best. And, as always, I love hearing them speak of each other with such respect. Plus that they seem to enjoy each other. Yikes, the judges trying to look for reasons to excuse Sheldon his mistakes; I knew it was an "everyone put out great dishes, and we'll have to nitpick" decision scenario, as it should be at this point. I figured he was the one to go. I loved Brooke's desire that she get to cook with Sheldon in the finale - with no disrespect to Shirley, just past history coming to life - but got the sense it would be Brooke v. Shirley. When Shirley realized it was her versus one of the other two - what a great moment. I grow habanero peppers in my garden - one plant only; it's plenty! - so I enjoyed the QF. I feel for them having a language barrier while shopping for ingredients, but if you want cheese and can't even eke out "queso?" I'm not terribly sympathetic. And anyone having a heavy hand with a pepper even most non-chefs know is crazy hot? Good challenge. But I'm with the cheftestants in saying that for an Elimination Challenge at this stage of the competition to have a gimmick like "only what the Mayans would have had access to" is ridiculous. Granted, it's quite interesting to see how they respond, but I just don't favor that type of restriction in the semi-finals. Brooke had the best fish of the night, and Sheldon beat the hell out of his, so I'm good with the call (and love that the two chefs had such good grasps on where they went wrong). But I'm sad to see him go, as I would have been with any of them. Such a lovely finale. I appreciated everyone's emotion -- the judges making the close call, Shirley and Brooke realizing they emerged as the top two of a powerful final three, and Sheldon learning he came up short again but having accomplished so much.

I didn't see the episode, but assuming she was joking, I love it. I have a friend who was out of work for several years, and she always said, "Thank heavens I have a child; I can spout some 'I decided to take some time with my kid' spiel and not be seen as a loser." And friends who also lived through extended unemployment and lamented the fact they couldn't claim to be staying home with their pets and garner the same respect.

I enjoyed part two of the roundtable even more than the first. It was interesting to hear that for the crazy amount of gun violence they have in New Orleans, they don't have a lot of gangs. It was also nice to hear them talk about how important it is for them to have a full range of equipment, and the ability to practice medicine in the field rather than just being a ride to the hospital. Also some nice, honest talk about all the cardiac patients they have, and how that relates to the local diet (fried everything, and salt for days). And Dan having been a firefighter was a great way for them to naturally integrate the fire sequences (and Dan is pretty much bordering on Most Interesting Man in the World territory at this point). And what wonderful follow-up on that man who got up in the wee hours of the morning to walk to work at Wal-Mart because he had no personal transportation and public transport didn't start running early enough -- people donated bikes, helmets, and even cars. People walked into the Wal-Mart at which he worked, bought a bike and helmet, and said, "Leave this here for the guy on Nightwatch." Like Holly, I find my faith in humanity restored by that (and it's in short supply these days). The Tampa producers are sure in love with their footage from the helicopter, aren't they? I suppose that means the episodes will continue to be so police heavy, blech. The set-up for the carjacking search was pretty awkwardly staged exposition. The "we found the special needs missing person" set-up footage felt equally recreated (not the actual interaction with the missing person, the "this is the call, oh, look - do you see someone in that lot?" lead-in). I know they always do that, create exposition for the footage they caught in real time, but it's not as subtly done on this Tampa series so far. I continue to enjoy Roni and her partner, though. Can you imagine the shit she must have taken in the Academy (and probably still takes) given her size? That's she's a woman, and black, would already set her up, and add in the fact she's tiny? She must have had to work five times as hard just to be taken seriously. I was a fan of the Fire Rescue guy who objected to the use of Velveeta instead of real cheese, right up until he preached to a patient. I hope there was something in their previous interaction that we didn't see that let him know she shared his beliefs, so that it wasn't hideously inappropriate. That was an intense call with the patient whose left lung was so compressed. I'm impressed he only spent two weeks in hospital. The motorcycle accident -- "you can buff it out" -- cracked me up. I still can't get over the font used for the Fire Rescue t-shirts and such; it looks like the title card from a Charlie Chan movie.

That annoyed me even at 15.