Stuff I Don’t Like: Super Shuttle

On paper, the Super Shuttle is a great deal. For under twenty bucks you can get from LAX to a variety of locations, including Disneyland and surrounding hotels. (And vice versa, of course; with the proper reservation, Super Shuttle will even pick you up at your very own home and bring you right to your gate.) After paying the modest fee of sixeen dollars online, I was feeling quite secure that I’d make it to my Anaheim hotel in a timely manner last night.

And all signs were looking positive. Everyone I’d spoken to on the phone (for some reason my reservation wouldn’t complete online, so I had to make my purchase with the help of a real live person) was friendly and informative. I called ahead from Baltimore when I knew I’d be arriving late, and a very nice operator assured me that would be no problem. I followed the colored signs (after yet another call, because where I thought I should go turned out to be slightly wrong; this operator, while she sounded a little tired, was still nice and perfectly informative) and met up with the trip coordinator, who took down my confirmation number and pointed me at a van marked “Disneyland Express.”

Now, I thought I knew the meaning of the word express. I’ve used it often in my daily life. I feel comfortable using it. When I’m on a train running express to Forest Hills, for instance, I know that this means the train will not stop until it reaches Forest Hills. It means fast. It means non-stop. It means speedy.

But that is not what it means on the Disneyland Express.

Looking Like That

In my very grad school class, at some point a woman asked me, “So when you’re a school librarian, are you going to fight for librarians to be able to look like you do?”

At this point I really can’t remember if I even had the presence of mind to ask what she meant—I can’t remember what I said at all. I think I was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt and imagine that she was thinking of the fact that I was probably in jeans and a hoodie at the time (as I am so often at school—it suddenly dawned on me mid-spring semester that I probably seemed like I only owned one outfit, since I wore the same jeans and black sweatshirt every Saturday), and maybe she was making some comment on casual versus formal work attire. (But come on, give me a break—it’s school. I dress like a professional the rest of the week; I’m going to get comfortable for classes.)

The more I think about it, though, the more I’m convinced she was actually (even if unconsciously) commenting on the fact that I’m a big ol’ homo. And that irks me a bit.

Recipe for disaster

A list of the calories consumed in a 24 hour period yesterday:

Medium decaf vanilla coffee
Dunkin’ Donuts bacon, egg & cheese on a plain bagel
DD hashbrowns
½ cherry danish
Starbucks chicken caesar salad
Orange Gatorade
4 peanut butter crackers
½ cup purple VitaminWater (warm)
1 package honey cashews
1 small container of pizza flavored Pringles
1 cranberry juice
1 packet airline pretzels
Cup of bloody mary mix (on ice)
1 stick spearmint gum

Recipe: Eggplant Paper

I actually adapted this recipe for eggplant “jerky,” but because I did mine in the oven it shriveled and quickly gained the consistency of, well, paper. With a few tries I finally came up with a version that’s delightfully burnt and crispy around the edges, a little chewy in the middle.

2 medium eggplants, sliced thinly
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1 clove garlic
1 tablespoon suger
1 1/2 tbsp fresh ginger
seasoned salt, to taste

Remove the stem end and quarter the eggplants. Using a cheese slicer, make as many thin slices of eggplant as you can, discarding the outer skin section. (Too chewy. You could also use a mandolin if you’re cool enough to have one. The Sig Fig would like to try thicker slices, since they end up so tasty but the consistency of paper, but I like this thin slicing method. Also, I really like slicing things other than cheese with my cheese slicer.) Put into a large container with a lid.

In a blender (or a food processor, I suppose), combine garlic, olice oil, vinegar, and ginger. Pour it into the eggplant, turning to coat. Marinate for at least 8 hours. (I cheated and pulled them out at 7, which I think turned out okay, but today’s bath, which sat overnight, was even better.)

When you’ve had your fill of marinating, slap those puppies on a baking sheet and put them in a 375º oven. I find that it’s good to salt the strips before they go in, but I forgot on a couple batches and they were just fine salted after. The orginal recipe calls for 20-25 minutes, but really you should just keep an eye on them; sliced so thinly, they can get burnt in a hurry. I’d look for slightly blackened edges.

A note on my modifications: the “jerky” consistency comes from a dehydrator, which the original recipe calls for, but I don’t have one of those. We thought the slightly crispy slices could go nicely on a pizza. I didn’t use chili pepper, though I can see that a little zing might be nice. I also went ahead and used sugar instead of agave–the original recipe calls for 3 tablespoons raw agave.

I think these would take well to a variety of marinades. Teryaki might be nice on a pizza with pineapple. I plan to try a mixture of tamari and sesame oil next; I suspect that it’ll take less sesame oil than I used olive oil, since that stuff is potent.

Review: The Baconator

A disclaimer: I don’t eat at Wendy’s all that often. It’s not that I really have something against Wendy’s, although a good friend of mine used to work there in high school so I certainly avoid certain menu items (like the chili. Please, do not order the chili. You shouldn’t anway, but please, just don’t). I just don’t consider it in the top tier of fast food. The fries (always so salty!) and the Frosty are the main standout items, and that doesn’t make the most balanced meal. I’ve had burgers with lettuce that tasted like chlorine, and yet I keep coming back.

Review: Bennigan’s

Just please, for the love of dog, do not order a Monte Cristo.

Review: Ruby Tuesday

The first important thing about this restaurant chain, which the Sig Fig so accurately called a Crap On The Walls Restaurant: if the laws of a particular state forbid the selling of a certain menu item, I think the menus in the restaurants in that state should really not include that item. It’s just disappointing for a diner. Damn you, blue laws!

What I’ve Been Reading

So distressed today to find that my local branch library doesn’t have Saturday hours during the summer. What the eff!

Leonardo’s Shadow: Disappointing. I’m not sure if it was because I started this one so shortly after I Am Rembrandt’s Daughter (perhaps I was just burnt out on historical fiction about famous artists?) but I didn’t even finish this. (Which, as faithful readers will know, is very rare for me–I usually feel obliged to slog through, even if I’m not really enjoying myself.) I was drawn in at the beginning, but by about fifty pages in I no longer really cared to find out who the servant boy truly was or what the medallion could mean.

Train Time: Another non-finish, but one I’d like to come back to eventually. This is a title by my favorite college professor and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it sometime, but I decided my brain didn’t really feel like academic writing. I should note that his work is extremely accessible, though–even if you’re not into theory or academia, it’s entirely possible that you’ll love his off-beat topics and the amazing depth of his research.

A Thousand Splendid Suns: Truly stellar. Certainly up to the caliber of The Kite Runner. Just beautiful prose, great characterization, and a shot of very contemporary history in there for good measure. I’ll also add that the early pages of this one contain a perspective on the burqa that was totally new for me, and made me think a bit more on the subject that’s gotten so much press in western feminist circles.

A Wolf at the Table: Overall, disappointing. I love everything else I’ve read by Augusten Burroughs, and this one just really isn’t up to snuff. It’s clear that his issues with his father run deep and perhaps this book was something he desperately needed to finally write, but this simply isn’t writing on par with, say, Running with Scissors. I will say that he pretty accurately captures the infallible self-centeredness of being a child, but after a point he just seems really whiny. There are some chilling passages where the reader ges a glimpse of just how scary that father was, but sadly you’re a little too bored with the kid to even care that much.

I really must insist that you kids get off my lawn.

That’s it, hipsters. I used to tolerate your presence. At times I even found you an amusing diversion. Yes, some of our fashion tastes overlap slightly, but I buy my western shirts at actual feed supply stores in the West, and the only bandanas I’ve ever purchased are used by my father. Who blows his nose on them. And we may share some of the same taste in music, but I’m also unashamed of my more mainstream tastes.

At first I thought you were harmless, hipsters. Oh, sure, your fashion sense and tendencies toward the mullet have sadly infiltrated some of the (previously) attractive lesbians my age, but really that only hurts my tender sensibilities. I can even forgive your taste in beer, because you’re supporting the sagging American economy by keeping Pabst Blue Ribbon in business.

But then I came home at eleven last night to a cringe of hipsters* on my front stoop, and I knew something had gone horribly wrong.

*Pod of whales, murder of crows, herd of sheep… cringe of hipsters.

Stuff I Like: Bank of America Customer Service

I don’t want the title to imply that I don’t like Bank of America in general. I do; I’ve been banking with them for about a year and a half, and aside from being a vast improvement over my old bank, I’ve been extremely happy with them. Their online banking is wonderful, I’m saving money without even trying thanks to Keep the Change, and they have branches pretty much anywhere I’d want to go, including where I live and work.

It’s their customer service, though, that has made me particularly happy in the past couple of weeks. This is a lengthy, fairly boring story, just to warn you. I emerge triumphant in the end.