All is well. I am running late. Nothing new under the sun. Happy Finkday. Bring on the grandsons, the sunny weather (and almost 50 degrees!), choreography, score cuts, calling guitar players and photographing sweet treats at Kay’s house.

And it’s payday too, thank the gods. I’m all set! Hope you have some fun plans for the weekend.

1. I am being refined by fire. It’s good for me. By “refined by fire,” I mean watching my character (and that of a colleague) be assassinated in an open forum. And by “it’s good for me,” I mean I did not respond to it.  Those who know me best know that it is not at all like me to take that kind of treatment silently. Win.
2. There are those who think I have never suffered rejection or disappointment, so I couldn’t possibly identify with what they are going through. Oh my, the stories I could tell…
3. People who have never spoken more than a few words to me in my life appear to have intimate knowledge of why I make certain decisions. If they were actually correct in their assumptions, it would be beyond cool, ja? It’d be like, I dunno, magic.
4. It is always easier to assume than to ask. Maybe it’s because we are afraid we won’t like what we hear. (I’ve been guilty of this, too.)
5. This will all pass, and the sun will come up, and things will again be good. I have 35 years of experience with this stuff telling me that’s the case.
6. I hate auditions.

What I really want is for someone to get up and make the coffee. Nah, nevermind — I’ll do it. Happy Thursday! I can smell the end of the week…

Yesterday, this lovely assistant arrived in the mail. I had a food processor back in the 90s — a big ol’ honkin’ thing — and just never used it, so it ended up on the garage sale table one year. Well, now that my life is buried in recipes and cooking, I decided to jump on a 50%-off sale at Amazon. Now this cute little thing is on the counter top.

I wonder, though — what do people use it for the most? Do you have one? If so, how is it the most handy? What’s your favorite thing to put in it?

Ready, steady, go. I covet your ideas.

PS — speaking of food, a big thank you goes out to several Finkites who have signed up at TCF to receive an email update when I make a new post. To those who haven’t, no worries — I won’t spaminate ya; I’ll just auto-send a mail when a new post is up, which should be Saturday night — and it’ll be sweet. 

PPS – Hugs go out to our fiend BoomR, who’s down for the ten-count with the stomach flu. XO And here we are, talking about food…

Many Asians regard all cheese, from processed American slices to Stilton, as utterly disgusting—the equivalent of cow excrement.

Hmmm. And I turn up my nose at bird poop soup. Maybe it’s the same thing. I mean really, what is cheese? Rotted, fermented animal juice. And my wonderful Velveeta? The cast-off waste product of rotted, fermented animal juice.

Food for thought.

And speaking of head scratchers, I humbly submit the following for your consideration:

.....?

The stuff of nightmares.

What a silly looking outhouse

The Soooooooooooooousa Train

"...and you'll stand there until you get it right."

Now that is bizarre. There's a barber pole painted on the wall.

Have a lovely day, fiends.

I’ve deleted several sentences right out of the gate this morning. Talking about this film is like spooning up mercury, or herding cats. First, let me tell you what type of movie this is not:

• a date movie
• linear in its narrative
• “feel-good”
• transparent; without deep symbolism
• for the easily bored or impatient viewer

Au contraire, mon frère. This movie takes work. With a 2.5-hour runtime — some scenes going as long as 10 minutes with no dialogue — and a seriously convoluted plot presentation, one has to pay attention. Bigtime.

Amidst back-and-forth scenes from the late 1950s to the present day, we’re shown the troubled life of a man named Jack (Sean Penn), who, while now in his mid-50s, still struggles to reconcile the death of his brother (we’re led to believe during the Viet Nam War) at age 19. Through Malick’s eyes, we see Jack’s choices in life as a comparison to the ins and outs of basic survival from the beginnings of time.

No, really — he shows us stuff from the beginnings of time:  a dinosaur conflict (one dinosaur emerges from a thicket to find another on the shoreline, wounded and unable to defend itself), exploding nebulae, the dawn of the universe, a giant asteroid hitting Earth, the seas forming, prehistoric ocean creatures…he runs the gamut. For a while (during the first extended period of wordless scenes), I thought I was watching a tribute to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Kubrick-like images like this, this and this took over the screen for lengths of time that seemed to push the edge of what the average moviegoer would tolerate. After a while, I became a bit suspicious. Was this going to be one of those pretentious outings by a reeeeeally serious director who just likes to hear himself talk about abstract concepts? Is it one of those movies that’s so weird, people will automatically ooh and ahh and call it art and nominate it for Best Picture? It also won the Cannes Film Festival’s top honor, by the way.

Fortunately, the acting of Brad Pitt saved me from jumping to that conclusion. As Jack’s strict, inventor father, Pitt gathers the pieces together for us. Tragically frustrated (he chose, out of necessity, to be an engineer rather than pursue his love of music), Pitt delivers the perfect picture of a man so driven by his failures, he is determined beyond all else to see that his sons don’t repeat history. The effect on his eldest son (Penn) is profound and long-lasting — as things like this usually are.

So after all these words, I’m still not to the core of the thing. And as it’s 5:54 and I’m running out of time, I won’t get there today. Suffice it to say that if you watch this film, open up your mind and forsake all preconceived notions of storytelling. Enjoy the stellar performances by Brad Pitt and Jessica Chastain, and let other chips fall where they may.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Tree of Life:

Rousseau, at his relaxed happiest at 6:30 this morning…

Snowbathing

I made him come in before I had a bigger mess to clean up

You know, as much as I complain about the weather (and lack of weather on school days when I’d rather stay home in my jammies), winter is very pretty here. Peaceful and quiet.

Until, of course, you get in your car.

Happy Saturnday, fiends — hi ho, hi ho…

1. It’s Finkday. And there was much rejoicing.
2. I’m spending part of the day at beautiful Terra Community College, in a planning session for the proposed Jazz and American Music Festival. Fun.
3. It’s 6:25 a.m., and I don’t have to get ready to leave yet.
4. Basically, it’s a 3-day weekend. Score!

No, not the Patriots — are you kidding? (I’m officially pulling for the G-Men.) Actually, I mean our upcoming New England Odyssey.

Last night, we nailed down the final lodging arrangements, thereby sealing our itinerary in wet cement. I mean, everything’s changeable, but we’re basically sticking with this plan, which is slightly different than our previous skeleton outline. We’ve decided against Canada and Detroit on the way home, and we’ll bypass some points in New York. But bring on all the rest, baby. I am ready today.

We’re especially looking forward to Bangor, Bar Harbor, Cape Cod, and the fabulous scenery on the Cafe Lafayette Dinner Train. Then there’s staying in the historic Hawthorne in old Salem. BoooOoOOooooOo (I understand the Hawthorne is haunted — terrific). Driving through — and stopping along — the countryside towns will be unforgettable, I’m sure. Lots of photography.

Fort Ticonderoga will be fantastic, but I still doesn’t wants to go on the ferry. Hershey, Philadelphia, Atlantic City, Foxwoods:  all fun diversions. Man, snap your fingers and it’s June. Don’t I wish…

But nope, it’s still January, and I’m still going to work. Working all weekend, too. Innat nice? How about you? Any fun plans?

5:30 a.m. edit — Just got the call for a 2-hour delay. Now that definitely makes the list of Things That Do Not Bite.

I have enjoyed January this year, immensely. Pourquoi? Because almost every single school day, I’ve left at 3:15 to go home. It’s the only month of the year I will be able to do so, and as you surely know, January is coming to an end. I’m certain some of my colleagues have seen my skateboard exiting the parking lot post-haste and thought, “Where’s she going in such a hurry?” It’s just me, hittin’ the door runnin’ at quittin’ time, fiends. That’s all. Home to dinner, cooking, baking, blogging, reading, family, and bedtime at a decent hour.

But come the first of February and lasting right up until graduation, all that will be a distant memory, and it’s back to the Old Routine of living at school until 8:00 every night. It’s OK though. I enjoy it (most of the time), because the kids are fun to work with, and I’m not old enough yet to constantly think about getting home to relax and do my other life. I just think about it most of the time. 

There were some years in the not-so-distant past when all I thought about was doing what I needed to do in order to put in 100% at school. I sacrificed much in other areas, to my lasting regret. But recently (I’d say around this moment), all that changed. I’m a different person now. I care a bit less — not much, but some — about what others think of me. I’m having some success in that area. I’m saying “no” more. I’ve found more joy in small things. Does this mean I’ve finally grown up?

I hope not. 

Hey, it’s Tunesday, and I’m trying a new recipe (BoomR’s mom’s “Stay in Bed Stew”). Look for an update on TCF in the near future.

Anyway, part of the conversation included appliances, and how much they’ve changed. Mave told of a fridge she’d seen on TV with an embedded or mounted iPad on the front panel, which could display all of one’s recipes with one touch. Then, last night, I got to thinking about retro design as well. Remember the appliances of old, when your parents and grandparents called a fridge an “ice box?” And what about the ubiquitous mustard yellow and avocado colors of the early 70s? You can hardly find those shades available anymore (probably with good reason).

I found some awesome print ads for appliances at Found in Mom’s Basement. So glad that someone saved these gems:

From the year I was born

Awesome colors from 1966

From 1957 -- I'm sure they wanted the reader to pronounce it "cook" and not *kook*. :-)

I’m not a great George Clooney fan (except of his face); nor do I think Ryan Gosling or Evan Rachel Wood are actors I’d count among Hollywood’s “beautiful people.” In fact, their faces kind of bother me. (Does that make me a bad person?) Still, they gave what I thought were honest and completely believable performances. And Clooney wasn’t really the star; that job fell to Gosling, playing a hard-working assistant presidential campaign manager who truly believes in the cause of the candidate (Clooney).

Early on, Gosling is told by a New York Times reporter/friend, “Don’t believe in politicians. They will eventually let you down.” He vehemently disagreed. He shouldn’t have.

Political films sometimes drag, but this one slaps your face at every corner. And I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet: Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti, playing rival campaign managers. They can steal a scene by simply walking in and looking around the room. I make it a point to see every movie they’re in. Flawless.

Much of the film leaves you wondering what’s going to happen next. You end up in a constant state of analysis — coming up with “if/thens” and “I’ll bets.” When the final intent is at last revealed, it’s a whole new game, but you’re not sure if you want to root for the same people or not. Uncertainty, curiosity, commiseration, pulling for the underdog:  all in Clooney’s plan to string you along to the end.

Speaking of the end…it could have used some work, in my opinion. I think George settled for the tried-and-true as opposed to the let’s-kick-’em-in-the-gut-then-roll-credits approach. Still and all, a great Friday night treat. And the (very smart) inclusion of Giamatti and Hoffman in the cast was a most excellent bonus.

On the Rat-O-Meter scale of five cheeses, I give The Ides of March:

Gotta get back into the writing habit. I think that’s what’s wrong with me. Lately, I’ve been off my pins. And while I’ve really enjoyed getting The Comfort Foodie up and running, and have lots of fun plans, it’s taken more of my brain resources than I thought it would.

So it’s back to thinking, researching, and firing the neurons. It’s part of my morning coffee, and I hope it’s still part of yours sometimes, wherever you are.

While I don’t have time to review it, I’ll tell you that we watched Moneyball the other night. Very good. A solid four-cheeser biopic, even if you don’t enjoy baseball or care a whit about the Oakland Athletics. Brad Pitt: one fine actor.

And now I must fly. The Slip ‘n Slide (aka My Driveway) awaits.

Happy Finkday!!

It’s kind of a recipe file for my family, complete with pictures and my silly commentary. I hope to share it with you as well, so go over and click around — and take special notice of the part where I ask you for your special family comfort-food recipes. I’ve already twisted the arms of Mavis and BoomR to get me started, so I’m good for the next post or two there. Such exciting stuff. I am happy about it, and looking forward to it.

So nom nom, I’m a food blogga. I’d be delighted if you, my wonderful, worldwide readers that number way up into, oh, the 90s, would have a gander. I invite you to share memories and impressions in the comments, and possibly get a recipe together to send to me.

FO

Look for more random neuron firings next week!

If you can complete that lyric (and I know some of you can without any help), you will have guessed the theme of today’s post.

Yes, fiends, I am taking just a brief hiatus from RtB, while I design the main scheme for The Comfort Foodie, my new food blog adventure. Why do I need yet another project, you ask? Well because, as many of you know, I plan to retire in eight years, and I am going to need at least a dozen other income streams — however meager — to supplement my pension. There is some money to be made in food blogging, so I am going to take the next two-three years to see if I might have what it takes. Only one way to find out, right? And even if it doesn’t make the grade financially, I hope I will have something resembling a family food history that I can pass on to my children and daughters-in-law, if they want it. If not, no worries; it will have still been fun to put together.

So please don’t abandon me totally. Have a look at the archives (I do every once in awhile, just for a head shake — I have said some mighty silly things over the last soon-to-be four years), or post here and give me suggestions on how you think I should go about being the next Bakerella. (Nope, I’m not linking to her; she’s now the competition.)

Are we having a great week so far? A-OK over here in Freezingland. See you on down the road…much love.

Fink out (for a bit)