So…. John Allen Muhammad was executed on Tuesday (and all good killers go by their full name, natch).  Not a proponent of the death penalty, myself, but it brings up a lot of… stuff for me.  Not emotions, really.  I’m pretty much over the fact that I was living in VA during the DC Sniper incident and that two people were shot in the city I was living in (The Hippy reminds me that people are shot in the city I’m currently living in “all the time,” but I maintain there’s  difference).

Completely unrelated, I’ve been going through my iTunes in order to refresh the music on my ipods (yes, pods… whether I’ll change both of them or not is currently being internally debated).  In order to do this, I’ve been going through the list alphabetically and adding certain songs to an iPod folder.  I’ve been discovering songs I didn’t remember I had.  I’ve also been reminded of certain feelings that songs evoke for me.

It wasn’t until today that I realized why I feel uncomfortable when I listen to certain songs.  Certain songs that I used to love and used to listen to all the time.  Today I realized that there is a certain set of songs–songs I acquired roughly seven years ago–that sounds like fear.  These are the songs that I would escape to when I was safely back within my dorm, hoping my roommates wouldn’t turn on the news.  Some songs have been immune to this, either because I was listening to them long before the sniper incident (although there were two snipers, it’s ingrained to speak of them as a single) or because they are simply pure awesome.

They say that smells provoke the most memories, but I think for me it’s often music.

A couple weeks ago I had a dream.  It was kind of a crap ass dream, and I mentioned it on facebook.  A friend, who is far more of a writer than I am, told me it sounded like the basis for a great story.  I got to thinking she was quite right.  Then I realized November was only a few days away, and maybe I’d consider the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month).

Then I realized that’s not at all possible.  At all.  For starters, I have a hard time focusing on anything.  Secondly, I’ve got a costume to make, because I’m suddenly obsessed with Steampunk, and it gives me a new excuse to make stuff.  But this story refuses to die, which is fine.  I’m not sure I’m the person to give it life, but I did dream it, so I figure I have to try.

Therefore, I’ve decided to rename November for myself: AtToWriSoMo: Attempt to write something month.  And so it begins.  Maybe.  If I can remember how to write.

(lyrics from Shine by Barry Privett/Carbon Leaf)

As a rule, I almost always sing the harmony line of whatever song is playing.  I don’t think doing this was a conscious decision.  I don’t know why I do it.  I tell myself it’s not because I’m like a music snob who has to be a show off.  It could be that.  I think, though, it’s mostly because it’s freaking fun.  I didn’t really think it was weird until a group of friends started singing a song, and I joined in, hitting the harmony at the appropriate moment.  And then I freaked out a little.  What if people thought I was showing off?  It’s certainly not my intention… It’s just the part I’m used to singing.

Photo: Carin Baer/FOX

As a soloist I was… Okay.  Not because of how I sing.  I sing great (not to too my horn…).  What’s missing from solos, for me, is the thrill of the chord.  The Chordgasm, if you will.  I’m a much happier singer in a group, and happier singers make for better songs.

I am forever slated for ensemble singing, and I’m perfectly okay with that.  I mean, ignoring the fact that I probably won’t do a whole heck of a lot of singing outside my truck, of course.  I don’t dream about time in the spotlight.  I do, however, dream about people I could duet with.

Entitled: Self Portrait for the Occasion

I have no clue how I ever manage to make friends.  Or work in retail.  Or function at all.  Because I am terrified of people.  I will sometimes find any excuse I can find not to be with people, even some of my very best friends.  This is pretty much how all my friendships that have ended ended.  Sometimes I’m strong, and I push myself, and I will be honest that that has led to many amazing things (Hi, Wench Posse).  But a lot of times, I am made of suck.

Like tonight.

The Hippy went out to smoke, because he’s gross like that.  I doubt I had even really noticed that he was gone (it happens so frequently…) when I received a text that he was across the alley.  He’s developed a friendship with the guy over there, which is awesome, because it’s nice to have allies…  A few minutes later, he sent another message that I should go over.  Excuse time.  “I just put in a movie.”  Which was, incidentally, true.  I’d just put in The Emperor’s New Groove because recent llama talk got me jonesin’.  But really, it’s a DVD.  I can watch it any time.  I just didn’t feel comfortable going over there.

Just a few minutes ago…  About 2.5 hours from the first time he told me to come out, he came in and told me to come out again.  Again I protested, this time telling him the truth.  He kept saying that the guy was really nice (I don’t doubt that, I’ve met him briefly, and The Hippy has always had good things to say about him).  And I kept saying that I feel really stupid because I never talk and that weirds people out.  It’s not easy to explain to people why I don’t talk.  It’s easier just to say that I’m a fabric ninja.  (As far as I know, there is no real “reason” why I don’t talk.  Mostly I never developed the small talk skill, but fabric ninja is cooler sounding than “I don’t know.”)

So now, I’m sitting in my living room, watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, feeling like an idiot.  I don’t really believe in medication… Something about ignoring underlying problems and just covering things up while poisoning the body….  (Remember, despite his nickname, I’m the hippie around here…)  However, I could go for some anxiety meds about now.

Friday was the first time I hit the Minnesota State Fair.  We had to be there by 10:30 to get seats to Tonic Sol-Fa. They’re a great a cappella group that hails from MN, and seats always fill up fast.  We managed to find seats in the second row, right on the end, which is important with a one year old in tow.  She was able to run, dance, sit without being in the way of too many people.  Mostly just my sister, who had to get up to chase her and dance with her.  Rocketdog actually lost her seat for awhile to a woman who pushed her bags into me and sat down.  It wasn’t until Rocketpuppy tried to come over to me that the woman realized she had taken someone’s seat.  And yet, she didn’t move until the show was over.  Thanks lady.

The rest of Friday was filled with good (great!) food, lots of walking, many jokes, and bad fashion bingo.  We made up cards to cross off whenever we saw such gems as: Tie Dye (a state fair must, apparently), animal print, pimp hats, and too short short shorts.  The too short short shorts prompted BILOSORD to mention that there are a lot of hungry butt cracks at the fair.  I will also never, ever live down saying “I just need camel toe to win!”

Saturday was the only day that brought doom to my birthday weekend.  It’s also the day I almost got The Hippy and myself killed.  I hadn’t slept much the night before, or even the night before that.  I was tired–TIRED–and had spent the entire day on the verge of tears.  Because that’s how I roll.  We had a long drive up to my parents’ cabin–someplace I’d only been once in the last ten years.  Frankly, I wasn’t 100% sure how to get there, but I trusted that my mother had given me good directions.  Which was, incidentally, stupid.  There was apparently a point that I needed to turn, but no one told me that.  The Hippy said he should have figured it out, because we were going west, not north, at that point, but it didn’t occur to him.  I finally said, “I feel like we should have gotten somewhere by now,” and he said, “Me too” and thumbed the map a bit.  And I started crying.  I didn’t know where to turn around, and I was feeling frustrated.  The Hippy, while able to think very quickly under pressure, doesn’t care to have resistance in making things happen.  And I was resisting.  So his voice was rising a little.  It was the classic ‘Yelling isn’t helping”  “I’m not yelling.  You’d know if I were yelling” situation.  So I kept crying.

We finally turned around, we knew where we needed to go, but at that point the crying was completely involuntary.  Also involuntary was my breathing, which kept getting shallower and shallower until I was hyperventilating.  When I couldn’t stop, I started getting really dizzy and thought I was going to black out.  At that point, The Hippy grabbed the wheel and told me to pull over, but I pulled over sooner and much more abruptly than he would have liked.  Much further off the side of the road, and we probably would have rolled.  He kept telling me to get out of the car so he could drive, but I was afraid to move.  The last thing I wanted after almost killing us was to pass out on the side of the highway.  I eventually made it to the passenger side of the truck, and by the time we met up with my parents my breathing was back to normal, but I was spent.  It took a long time to act like a human being, but I was able to pass it off as being overtired (which wasn’t a complete lie).

Sunday was the corn feed.  We ate corn.  It was yummy.  Enough said.

Monday was another day at the fair.  Because I love the fair.  For no good reason.  But I love it.  Before we went to the fair, The Hippy needed to do some homework.  We’d gone out to buy my present on Saturday before going up north (A Kitchen Aid mixer–SQUEE!), and he came groggily into the living room saying “Happy birthday….”  I thought maybe he was going to do a little cleaning up before starting his homework, because he grabbed a piece of brown paper that a framed print had been wrapped in and wandered into the kitchen.  Then he came back into the living room carrying my giant mixer box covered with the brown paper.  “Happy birthday; I got you a present.”  He set it on my lap, and I couldn’t stop laughing.  “Open it!  Open it!” he kept saying.  It was all very cute and sweet, and I actually started tearing up a little.

Since the hyperventilation incident didn’t happen on my birthday, I consider this the first birthday in possibly forever that didn’t suck.  It was actually really awesome.  The only thing I’m disappointed about was missing out on Australian Battered Potatoes at the fair.  But at least I got a crepe this year.  And falafel.  Yum.  I can guarantee I will be making those potatoes.  Yum.  Or num num for my tum tum, as the Hippy likes to say.

Since this is my day off, this is my weekend… Here’s your update:

~Annoying talkative neighbor is moving today.  So sad.  Now I won’t be scared to go out into my own yard!  I don’t like being talked to by people who aren’t my friends.  I don’t do the small talk thing.  I don’t know how I’ve ever actually made friends…

~I’m going to learn sign language.  I’ve wanted to learn ASL since I was a wee beastie, and now I’m finally making it happen.  This actually somewhat goes along with the first bullet.  I’ve always wished I could just sign “Sorry, I’m deaf” when I don’t want to talk to someone.  However, it runs the risk of actually hitting someone who knows sign who then wants to carry on a conversation in sign….  Highly unlikely, but you never know.  Also, I run into so many deaf people at work, that it would be amazing to actually be able to communicate with them effectively.

~My birthday is a week from today, and the closer it gets, the more I dread it.  Not because I’m getting one year older… Screw that.  For starters, I’m not that old.  Secondly, that’s not something anyone can help, so why bother fretting?  No, I’m dreading it because every year something sucktastic happens, no matter how much I try to plan what happens (or if I don’t plan it at all).  Therefore, I have to assume that will happen this year as well.  I’m planning on going to the Minnesota State Fair with The Hippy and perhaps a few friends.  This means it will possibly rain.  Or the Hippy will be sick (again).  Or my friends will decide they hate me.

~The neighbors on the other side are also moving.  I could care less.  They’re annoying, but it won’t be terribly different… Her sister is moving in instead.  Frankly, they don’t bother me as much as the talker.  While they’re noisy, lazy, jobless…. *ahem* They leave me alone.  And leaving me alone is important sometimes.

That is pretty much it.  Yawn.

My name is DK, and I’m addicted to corn.  I especially love corn on the cob, which makes this time of year almost dangerous.  I live in a house of two, yet I cannot buy just two ears of corn.  Not when corn is 6 ears for $2.  At least here in MN, you can’t go past a street corner, grocery store produce section, or farmers market without seeing sweet corn for sale at lovely prices. So, yeah, I end up buying lots and lots of corn.

Tonight I came home with six ears with the intention of blanching them and freezing them.  Apparently they were smaller or my instructions sucked or something because they cooked, not blanched.  Even after only a few short minutes.  No matter; I saved three in the fridge and froze the other three.  I can polish off the first three in no time flat.  In fact, I already ate one…

NOM NOM NOM

Seriously, kids.  I love corn so much that picture almost didn’t get taken.  It was getting between me and my corn.  And I wasn’t hungry.  But the three ears I let sit to cool before freezing them made the whole house (the whole house consists of only four rooms, really, so it’s not much of a stretch) smell like corn.  How could I resist?

I love the spiral pattern on that ear.  It made it a little awkward to eat though.  I’m kind of particular about how I eat my corn.  It must be eaten typewriter style.  I am comfortable biting through three or four rows, but any more or less and I start to feel weird.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still eat it…  I’ll just feel weird doing it.

Also, those cob holders up there?  Awesome.  I won them at a baby shower with my mad word finding skills.  From what I heard, most people were on the second or third word out of ten when I finished.  I rule at word finds and word scrambles (yet I suck at tapwords on my ipod…) so I knew I would win.  Here’s a close up of those puppies:

Photo from Amazon.com

These are the Zyliss Interlocking Corn Holders by name, but I like to call them corn holders from heaven.  It helped that they were free, but even if they hadn’t been, they’re cheap and totally worth the $6.  They lock together, so there aren’t a million little corn holders floating around my drawer or taking up a plastic baggy and poking it full of holes.  The size is on the bulky side, which is really comfortable in the hand.  The pokey bits are long and sort of spread apart, which I think makes it easier for them to hold onto the corn–even on the narrow end.  I always end up losing the holder on the narrow end with most cob holders.  I haven’t lost and ear yet with these, although I did once have one pokey bit poke through to where I was eating.  It was easily remedied, though.

One last thing about corn….  There’s only a mere 10 days before I get my hands on Minnesota State Fair roasted corn and other MNSF goodies.  I’m going on the 4th and the 7th, and I’m going to eat.  Tons.  Possibly more than tons.  I might need to be rolled home.  Both days.  Because my favorite thing in the entire world is the Minnesota State Fair.  I get teary-eyed when I drive by off-season.  I kid you not.  Ten days.

Life is all work work work, play a little, go to the cabin a little, work some more.  The weeks keep flying by, and I have no idea where they’re going.  It’s funny how life at work can seem like it’s going so freaking slow, but then I turn around and the summer is over.  My birthday is in exactly two weeks, and no matter how old I get, that still means school is just around the corner.  Summer has been relatively good to me, though, despite all that working business and the speeding by business.

Bountiful harvest.  I would say that I have more cucumbers than I know what to do with, but I can easily eat on of these in a sitting.  They do not go to waste.  I might, however, end up with more tomatoes than I can handle, but I have some great recipes in mind.  I will have to work fast, though!

There is an airport nearish my house (not only has my official address been the same block my entire life, but I’ve also lived near an airport my entire life.  And a train track.  It’s a requirement), so there is always interesting aircraft flying around my neighborhood.  I made a rare trip outside of my house for something other than work last weekend, and was thankful I had randomly decided to pack my camera in my purse the night before.  As it turns out, I NEVER carry my camera around.  I just don’t ever think to take pictures.  But I managed to get a picture of the Good Year Blimp while I was driving.  I’m pretty sure I took that picture at a stop light, because the ones actually taken while moving turned out poorly.

That lovely vision of shit greets me every time I step out of my house.  My neighbors are absolute rubbish, and their lawn reflects it.  This picture was taken (by the Hippy while I was gone; apparently my camera was more convenient) on a particularly bad day.  Turns out my neighbor and her children are moving!  Hooray!  Oh, but wait.  Her sister is moving in instead.  WTF? (or FTW? if you’re a wench)  So, sadly, it will be the same shit, same people, same nonsense.

Okay, summer has been MOSTLY good to me.  With the exception of the neighbor thing.  I also got a new washer–no pictures, because, well, it’s a washer–for nearly free.  It was in the renter’s side because it was “broken,” according to the woman who sold the house.  Hippy figured out what was wrong, got a $60 part for it, and WHAMO!  Even better washer than the one I’d been using.

I few Fridays ago, Rocketdog and I were watching Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.  Something got me thinking about falafels, and ever since then I’ve felt a strong desire to make them.  I’d like to point out that I’d never in my life eaten a falafel.  I knew they were made from chickpeas, and I love hummus (also made from chickpeas), and I knew they were fried.  And yet, I needed to make them.  So I did.

I very, very loosely followed this recipe.  I usually have a rule of following recipes exactly the first time I try them, but I was lacking some spices and a food processor.  I didn’t have cumin or garlic, so I decided to substitute seasoned salt and garlic salt.  Also, I hate cilantro, so that was just plain out.  I used my potato masher, and while it took some muscle, I think I ended up with a better finished product than I would have if I’d used a processor.  I’d read some other recipes online, and they all said that the falafels didn’t cook well when made with a food processor.

I know from the same reading that falafels can either be balls or patties.  Since I was planning on putting them in pitas, I decided to make patties.  Nom nom, fry-y goodness.

Whole wheat pita, lettuce, falafel, and the yogurt sauce in the recipe above.  And it was ridiculously delicious.  Salty, but delicious.  I bought cumin today, so I’ll be making them again.  Probably tomorrow for lunch.  Because I’m officially obsessed with them.  And I have yogurt sauce to use up.

Spent a long weekend (okay, five days, but in my head it’s still a weekend) at The Hippy’s family’s cabin.  It was The Hippy’s birthday Tuesday, so we Hippy-ed it up.  The best of:

• Shooting stars while I could still look at the sky (also known as: “Oh!  Falling bits of space debris hitting our atmosphere and burning up!  Make a wish, honey!”)
• The Hippy getting a good amount of playtime in with his nephew.  Exhibit A:

The boys watching Clifford

• Geocaching–finding two of four caches we set out to find.  There were a few others we wanted to find but weather, batteries, and an inability to find the right trail kept us from doing so.  We’re convinced the ones we couldn’t find had been removed, damaged, or muggled.
• Four-wheeling, which is eternally awesome.  Flying that a million miles an hour (okay, 25-30) going over bumps and getting great air.  Was going to learn how to drive it, but I ended up getting injured and lost my four-wheeling nerve.  I still rode it, mind you, because it’s freaking FUN, but I didn’t want to do anything more to risk killing myself.
• So, that’s the second time I’ve alluded to injuring myself…  While going over a set of bumps that were way too close together for the speed we were going (oops) my chin became very close friends with The Hippy’s shoulder blade.  For a split second I was certain I’d just dislocated my jaw–I felt it push backward when I hit.  Then I realized all the pain was in my neck and my head.  The Hippy didn’t realize how much I’d been hurt (also used to ATV-ing with his brainless friend), so he kept going, which amplified the pain in my neck and skull.  I finally got him to pull over so I could rest a little.  Thankfully we were almost at the end of the train and would very quickly be on pavement, but the remaining bumps were absolutely killer, even though he was crawling at a snail’s pace.
• Playing cribbage while under the influence of a rather strong painkiller.  Thankfully, The Hippy’s dad was feeling equally as foggy, so I didn’t feel so stupid when I couldn’t remember how to count.  Or use my fingers.  I did feel kind of embarrassed when I would start giggling and not be able to stop, though.  And I still managed to win the second game.
• No amount of painkillers–not even the strong ones–would touch the pain in my neck, so I stopped taking them.  For the most part, I’m able to move my neck without much pain now.  Only when I put my head back does it hurt.  Hence not being able to look at the stars.
• Seeing what we think is the International Space Station (or maybe the latest shuttle) fly overhead on The Hippy’s birthday.  I was able to see it before it went too far behind me.  The times check out, and it definitely wasn’t an airplane or your average satellite.

Finally…  This has nothing to do with my long weekend other than I found this video when I came home…  I remember hearing this song on KDWB when I was a kid; I even called in once to request it.  Because I botched the call so badly (mixed up the name of the song for the artist and had to be corrected by the person who took my call), this song has haunted me long past even remembering how the song went.  Until now, thanks to CrowBiz, even though she is staunchly against any English version.  Enjoy.