Chicken Is So 1997.

Another National Chicken Month has come and gone. I know, it’s sad really.

But not really.

Because I for one am so over chicken. Not so much the food, but the ‘tude.

I'm sick to death of being chicken shit. Scared of silly things.

This occurred to me the other day when talking to a friend about a girl he’s seeing. A girl who is in her mid twenties. He asked me what I thought she was thinking about something. And just thinking back to this time in my life, which honestly seems like yesterday but really was almost a decade ago (yes, I’m 35), I realized I have no idea what she’s thinking. Because I don’t think the same way I did at 26. At all. Thank God.

Because when I was 26 I had it all together. I lived in a fancy house with fancy stuff and drove to fancy work in a fancy car. It was all eyerollingly perfect. Perfectly obnoxious. I looked good. But I had no confidence. And I was freaking scared to death.

In fact, when I think on my 26-year-old self, I can’t even believe it was me. It’s like a book I read or a movie I saw with a leading character, who was somewhat interesting and endearing, but frankly, sad. In a sad way. And in a pathetic way.

Because at 26, I was scared of being myself. Thinking my own thoughts. Making my own decisions. Speaking my own mind. And disappointing anyone. I was completely chicken.

Today, I’m so much more brave and grounded. In reality. And otherwise. I gladly gave up the fancy for the fantastic. To grow. To be assured, confident, resolved, comfortable, happy. All of it. And so much more.

But in some ways, ignorance is bliss. Then, I fretted about stuff I frankly don’t give a crap about now, to the degree I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. But today, I fear different things. I fear things for baby Hurricane. I fear that he’ll never have a sibling. I fear that sometimes I’m not sure I want him to. I fear for people’s health. I fear for highway accidents. I fear we value celebrity more than education. I fear extremists. I fear for our country. I fear. And I fear. And I hate it. Because I’m sick of it.

And I’m over it.

I'm not saying I have any more solutions, guarantees or resolutions for any of it. But I'm resoved to not be so effing scared anymore. Because what the heck good does that do?

So, I'm taking the fear-not to the next level.

For starters, I’m celebrating the last day of National Chicken Month at the beach with my boys. Fearlessly. Fearlessly in a bikini. And I’m declaring October the month of the brave. And the month of pumpkins.

Enjoy the last chicken recipe. Some chicken soup for your fearless soul.

Asian Chicken Noodle Soup
(Or Chicken Soup for the Seoul, as we like to call it around here)

From Cooking Light

The pasta will still have a chewy bite when the chicken is ready, but it continues to cook while the soup stands. Serve with rice crackers and lime wedges.

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 tablespoon bottled minced garlic
1 tablespoon bottled grated ginger
2 stalks fresh lemongrass, peeled
2 cups water
2 (14-ounce) cans fat-free, less-sodium chicken broth
1 pound chicken breast tenders, cut into bite-sized pieces
4 ounces uncooked angel hair pasta
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 green onions, thinly sliced
1 red chile pepper, finely chopped

Heat oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add garlic, ginger, and lemongrass; sauté 3 minutes. Add water and broth; bring to a boil. Add chicken and pasta; cook 5 minutes or until chicken is done. Remove from heat; stir in remaining ingredients. Let stand 5 minutes. Discard lemongrass. Yield: 8 servings (serving size: 1 cup)

NUTRITION PER SERVING: CALORIES 289(17% from fat); FAT 5.3g (sat 0.9g,mono 1.2g,poly 2.5g); PROTEIN 32.6g; CHOLESTEROL 66mg; CALCIUM 31mg; SODIUM 738mg; FIBER 1g; IRON 2.1mg; CARBOHYDRATE 23.9g

You Really Can't Beat a Musical Hook Up.

The fabulous HcQ hooked me up today with a great new release from DJ Shadow called "You Made It." The vocals are by Chris James of Stateless.

It's fantastic. Enjoy.

The Record Girl image was lifted from Empire Waste Designs. If you like it, by all means go there and buy one of their Tshirts. They even have onesies. And if you're over age two and still small enough to wear a onesie, you should really eat a sandwich.

Lloyd Lloyd All Null and Void

There are some people who are like songs. Seeing them, hearing them talk, even thinking about them takes you back to a different time or place. They’re like bookmarks in your life. And inevitably, these people become more like symbols that people.

In fact, sometimes that’s all they are. Twenty-foot-tall symbols of Lloyd celluloid. You don’t know them. At all. But you’ve listened to them say thousands of words. Sometimes you even have their words memorized. Like words to a song you didn’t realize you knew. And yet, even though you’ve never really met them in any kind of reality, they become part of yours. Part of your memories, your past. It’s a little strange.

John Cusack is one of these people. Because he’s been a part of my memory bank ever since Sixteen Candles. (Yes he was in it as Bryce, the nerd. He was no Jake Ryan. But still. I liked him. Felt sorry for him. Would have totally been his friend, borrowed his geometry notes. Potentially kissed him.) Then came The Sure Thing. Liked him more. And then Better off Dead and Lane Meyer. This is when he officially seeped into my brain. Hard.
I think I saw this movie more than 50 times one summer, because to me, at 16, it was beyond hilarious. And somewhere in my subconscious, I know every line said in this entire movie.

Films, books, songs, characters. They’re the soundtracks of our past. Because they get in your head and become you.

So which John Cusack have you become?

Take this test to find out.

It's Not a Party Unless You Go Home with Confetti in Your Underwear.

We had about 75 birthday partiers over on Saturday to celebrate the Hurricane. And I venture to bet that most went home to discover
piñata guts in their undergarments. I know I did.

El Hurricane es Uno.

Hurricane Rita, September 21, 2005, courtesy of NOAA

Sept. 22, 2005: A year ago today we were locked in a hospital. Waiting for all hell to break lose. I was 37 weeks pregnant.

Aug. 29, 2005: Only 23 days earilier, the costliest and one of the deadliest hurricanes in US history had hit just miles up the road, and this one was predicted to be worse.

And. It was heading straight for us.

Sept. 19, 2005: So of course everyone was evacuating. Including my doctor. And we thought, hey, we probably should too. (Maybe. I guess. We have tickets to ACL anyway.) However, I was within the delivery timeframe that you're not supposed to travel. But whatever, I mean, I was still 27 days out from my due date. And my pregnancy had been (thankfully) beyond boring.

That was Monday.

I had two meetings before 10 a.m. and then went straight to my regularly scheduled weekly OB appointment to check in on my growing, kicking, heartburn-producing opus.

Before I left, I didn't even turn off my office computer because I still had some things to finish before my 2 p.m. creative presentation to clients. After the appointment, I was going to run a few errands, check in on the boards, and wrap that all up.

But it didn't happen. Because after the appointment, I never went back to the office. I was officially on bedrest.

Sept. 21, 2005: The news hotties were in a frenzy. And everyone was all ears, mesmerized by their every dramatized word.

We were going to be directly hit by a category-five hurricane, our entire city was going to be destroyed, my blood pressure was suddenly at 180/120. And I wonder why.

The rest of the story is actually a collection of about 7500 different (mostly hilarious) stories (stories including my parents sleeping in the hospital lobby next to 400 lb "Robert the Pot Man")...(which we assume meant he had something to do with the pots in the kitchen)...(the kitchen being the hospital kitchen where my parents volunteered and worked over the next few days because there wasn't enough staff)...(not enough staff in the largest US medical center).

A lot of stories.

Sept. 22, 2005: But the most important thing about that entirely crazed week arrived a year ago today.

We immediately felt like the luckiest people on earth. And we are.

I Come From the Land of Rivers and Pecans

Now that I'm an adult and live in the city, I can't even believe that when I grew up, this was my backyard.

I guess I especially appreciate this slow and easy childhood now that I live with a Hurricane. (I'm not sure why; but that just changes everything, so I feel it must change this too.)

However, where I grew up is known for more than just its lazy rivers, its fantastic kayaking, its movie sets, ranches and city councilmen. It's also known for its amazing pecan trees.
And these said gigantic pecan trees just so happen to grow the best pecans on the planet for the World's Most Famous Pecan Chicken Salad.

The ancient recipe was initially stolen from Shasta, later adapted a bit for my pleasure, and currently coveted by many.

And here it is. For all you friends con queso. In honor of National Chicken Month (and Talk Like A Pirate Day), the recipe that rocks so much Casbah, it has its own zip code.

Martindale Pecan Chicken Salad
3 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts
3 cups water
2 or 3 chicken bouillon cubes
1 pound seedless purple grapes, or more
2 cups pecan halves
1 cup diced celery
1 cup chopped fresh dill*
1.5 cups sour cream
1.5 cups mayonnaise
Salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

*It is essential that you use fresh dill.
No substitutions, exchanges or excuses.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Arrange the chicken breasts in a single layer in a shallow pan. In a separate pot on the stove, bring the water to a boil and add the bouillon. Stir to dissolve. Pour enough bouillon broth in the baking pan just to cover the chicken breasts. Cover with cooking parchment or aluminum foil and bake until cooked through, 30 minutes. Allow the chicken to cool in the liquid, then discard the liquid. Shred the chicken into bite-size pieces and place them in a large bowl. Add the grapes, pecans, celery and chopped dill and toss well. In a separate bowl, mix the sour cream and mayo together. Toss this into the chicken salad. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and refrigerate for 2 hours.
(It's even better if you refrigerate it overnight.)

Enjoy.

My Book Thing

I've been meaning to post this for a while. But then, I've been meaning to finish the four books on my nightstand for a while. And the thing is, I've been reading less lately. Scratch that. I've been reading as much as ever lately. But I've been reading fewer books.

And I used to always read books. A lot.

In fact, it's no secret that the book portion of our Quicken pie chart seriously needed to go on a diet. It was embarrassing. Really. And the bigger it got, the hungrier it got. Hungry for heaps of first editions, served with first printings and a side of signed copies. So hungry, in fact, that it was actually eating up other vital portions of the pie, like, for instance, the poor defenseless shoe slice. That's right. The shoe slice. So I'll admit, the bookless bloggy reading I've been doing has not been bad on the shoe rack.

However, I still don't feel good about it.

In fact, I feel like I'm cheating on my longtime steady boyfriend with my new snazzy iBoyfriend. And that just feels wrong. Sick and wrong. iSick and iWrong.

But the problem is, see, I really like my new iBoyfriend. And I don't want to lose what we've got. And then, on the other hand, I can't give up my books. I mean, we've been together for so long...

So, I'm thinking perhaps we could just all date at the same time. Maybe even all go out together. Call it a threesome. Whatever. I just can't give either of them up right now. Obviously. It's a delimma. And. Until I can decide, I've made a GcQ iLibrary on Library Thing. Call it a compromise.

Let's face it, something always gets lost in a compromise. So, it doesn't represent all of my favorite books. But it shelves my favorite of favorites and my general recommendations. And if all goes well, I'll have more to put up all the time.

That is, unless I get completely sucked into this new relationship, get an 'I Heart iBook' tatoo on my arse, and elope to Nerdsville, never to return. I do realize it's a slippery slope. So please. Someone stop me before I'm that far gone. Please.

Please.

Color Me Pink Nectar

Ever heard of Colorstrology? Me neither. Until I found this site, sponsored by Pantone, at Persimmon and Pink.
I thought it was probably a load of colorful hooey until I discovered that I'm Pink Nectar because I'm talented, sensitive and aesthetic. And now, of course, I totally believe.

What color are you?

We Heart Blogging

The Hurricane Blogging con Queso*

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Hurricane out.

On Love Thursday and everyday, we quite like blogging around here. Well, some of us do. However, last night, someone who lives here might have sent me a link on How To Dissuade Yourself From Becoming a Blogger. Or something.

*Photo taken by the Padrino.

Allow Myself…to Introduce…Myself

Introductions have always been easy for me. Because I am my father’s daughter, I have always been able to walk right up to anyone, even Oprah herself, any day anytime and introduce myself. No problem. But then, please know, that approximately five seconds later, I’ll have no idea what your name is. (Unless we’re talking about you Oprah, cause girlfriend I’ll know your name and your production company backwards and forwards.) But for the rest of yous in humanity, um, well, what can I say? Sorry? No really, you’re important, your name is important, your mom is important, all of it. I just can’t remember who the hell you are.

Because as much as I try to remember new names, they just swoosh in and out of my ears while I’m remembering your new face forever and ever and ever. Well, not your new face (Unless we’re talking about you Michael, cause, well, you’re just scary, my brotha.) but your new face to me. And hey, hey there, before you start in with the foolproof mnemonic devices that work for you, let me just stop you right now and say they don’t work for me. I’ve tried them. They don’t.

So let’s just sum up and leave it at this. I want to know your name. But I can’t for the life of me remember your name. Until I hear it at least five times. Because that’s how I roll.

Yeah.

However, even if I can’t do introductions very well, I like to make them. A lot. And in this case, by introductions I mean set ups. In fact, chances are quite good that I’ve set you up before. (And, before you start, if I were you, I’d make no comments about any of those set ups because odds are good that all parties involved read the con queso from time to time.) So, what am I saying? I’m saying I suck at introducing people. Specifically I suck at setting people up on dates. But, please. That doesn’t stop me from doing it. No sir. I mean, come on. Do you even realize how little I’d actually have to do in life if I let a little thing called ability stop me? That’s right, not so much. On the other hand, the first time I set two people up, they got married. And, ever since, I’ve had the grand delusion that I’m a Grade-A Yenta. I don’t care if all evidence points to the contrary. Because the point is, no matter how bad I am at introductions, involving myself and/or others, I completely dig them.

That’s right. I heart introductions.

They are a beginning. A birth. An opportunity. A potential. And nothing gets me going like a clean slate.

And today I met someone new.

Hello luvah. Where have you been all my life?

The iGods at iApple just introduced all their new iPod Nanos today. And I iLove them. I iMust have an iNew one. iNow.

Now please know, I’ve never actually purchased an iPod. Ever. Because they keep getting handed down to me when new models move into our home. But nothing pink has ever moved in. Because nothing pink is ever purchased and nothing pink is ever handed down. And I think it's time that I introduced myself to the pink.

So Laura, pink iPod Nano, pink iPod Nano, Laura.

I think this will be my second successful set up.

So in honor of my new crush on iTuesday, here are a few songs with very memorable intros currently on my hand-me-down but still much beloved for a little while longer iPod…

• A Song For the Lovers. Richard Ashcroft.
• Are You Gonna Be My Girl. Jet.
• Baby Got Back. Sir Mix-A-Lot.
• Bittersweet Symphony. The Verve.
• Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk. Rufus Wainwright.
• Coffee and TV. Blur.
• Clocks. Coldplay.
• Don't Go. Yaz.
  
• Everyone Wants To Rule The World. Tears for Fears.
• Eyes Without a Face. Billy Idol.
• Fools Gold. Stone Roses.
• Foxy Lady. Jimi Hendrix.
• Heat of the Moment. Asia.
• Hot For Teacher. Van Halen.
• How Soon Is Now. The Smiths.
• I Feel Fine. The Beatles.
• In God’s Country. U2.
• Istanbul. They Might Be Giants.
• Just. Radiohead.
• Owner of a Lonely Heart. Yes.
• Message In a Bottle. The Police.
• Money for Nothing. Dire Straights.
• Pineapple Head. Crowded House.
• Ring of Fire. Johnny Cash.
• Rock The Casbah. The Clash.
• Satisfaction. The Stones.
• She Sells Sanctuary. The Cult.
• Start Me Up. The Stones.
• Some Might Say. Oasis.
• Sunday Bloody Sunday. U2.
• The Tears of A Clown. Smokey Robinson.
• There She Goes. The La’s.
• You Spin Me Round. Dead or Alive.
  

(Added: Yes I realize this is a long list. But there are a lot of good intros on songs currently on my iPod... and I couldn't not list it if it was good. See, if you haven't gotten it yet, I like intros...)

So do you have some favorite intros? In life. In songs. In general.
Please introduce us to them.

Some Days, You Really Shouldn't Wear Mascara.

Sometimes, things just go wrong. No matter how much you plan, practice, anticipate and coordinate, there are days when the juju just doesn't work in your favor. Times when what you want most just isn't meant to be. And even though Mick always warns us about these days, they still tend to sneak up and make you want to chunk your celebration champagne against a wall.

For a couple of weeks now, we'd been planning on going to dinner with some friends at one of my faves, and I was really looking forward to it. You see, I figured, since the Hurricane is almost a year old, my own personal grace period for extra-poundage is up. So I'm officially starting to work my arse off, literally, on Monday. But until then, I'd planned to eat well. And by well, I mean a lot of what I want. Hence, Saturday night dinner plans.

However, what I hadn't factored in was that which everyone else was factoring...the other thing that was happening Saturday night. A game, so hugemongously big around here that everything stops and dinners get cancelled. And so it is, and so it was.

Enter Plan B.

HcQ and I didn't need to watch the game and we already had a babysitter lined up, so we went and saw a movie that we'd attemped to see in previews (getting there earlyish and yet way too late, resulting in us pre-punting) a while ago. It was definitely worth the second attempt.

You should know that I laugh until I cry at least every other day...but...I can honestly say that I haven't laughed as hard as I did tonight in quite a while. And I'm so very glad that I had no eye makeup on.

If you haven't already, you really should see Little Miss Sunshine. The writing and the acting are fantastic, and wow is it funny. In fact, I'm laughing, as I'm typing, just thinking about it. And, as it turns out, tonight we need something to laugh about down here.

After all and amoung other things, this movie reminds us that you're a winner if you show up and try. And that having fun is really just a matter of mindset. So, even if you're an underdog, down by 17, or have to run your arse off to get the bus going or to fit in your favorite jeans, life is still very very good.

Labor of Love

It's Love Thursday. And here's a photo of how we spent our labor day weekend. Laboring over the Hurricane's first birthday party invitations. Cutting, punching, measuring, cutting, punching, eyeleting, bradding, cutting, stuffing.

We're very glad to report that no one was seriously injured in the making of these invites that finally hit the mail yesterday. So we're officially looking forward to our Hurricane party to celebrate the anniversary of our Hurricane's arrival, nicely timed with the Hurricane Rita evacuation. And do not, we repeat, do not attempt to evacuate.

It All Started In 1882 With A Parade.

It seems Labor Day is sort-of a side-note holiday around here. Just one of those official days off in the summer ...which one is it?...the one at the beginning or the end?...oh yeah, the end, that’s right. We don’t even factor it in. And then all of a sudden, it’s here, and it’s a bonus. Kind of like when you think it’s a Tuesday, but then realize to your great delight, no, it’s Thursday, which means tomorrow is Friday. Hooray.
Those are good days.

And that’s how Labor Day usually is for me. A long weekend of telethons, tennis tournaments, and if we’re lucky and stumble upon it, a bit of fun.

But I never really plan for it. And then this year, I missed it. Because this Labor Day, I had to work. Not exceptionally long or hard. And only at my kitchen table on a law firm’s diversity brochure and an architectural firm’s environmental design article. But still. The fact that our family didn’t get to go out and play Labor Day afternoon, well, that was my fault.

So in the spirit of not properly caring about something until it’s gone, this Monday, I reminisced about Labor Days past.

On Labor Day 2005, HcQ went to Montana for a very fun friend’s wedding. And I went to the beach up the street with my parents, for I was oh-so-very with child.

The year before that, I don’t remember. The one before that, um, we were somewhere. Or something. And the ones before that, well, I have no idea.

In fact, I don’t really remember any Labor Days past.

Except for Labor Day 2001. That year, I was in New York visiting some of my favorite friends, who at the time lived in Summit, New Jersey. We spent the Labor Day weekend wandering around the big city and getting into fun. For those of you who know me, you know that generally and overall, my memory is nothing short of dreadful; but two things really stand out about that weekend. First, Mary-Louise Parker in Proof. Amazing. Second, as we walked underneath the WTC on the way to I can’t imagine what, my friends told me of their dinner plans at Windows on the World in the next week or two with some of their close friends; the husband of the pair just so happened to work in the WTC. Seven days later, their good friend didn’t come home.

It’s hard to believe that was five years ago.

Because five Labor Days ago, who could have imagined what was to come? Not me. I might have heard the name bin Laden mentioned once or twice. Maybe. I was nowhere near committing to my husband. And my sweet Hurricane was only a maybe-someday dream. It’s amazing what all has transpired over the last 1,825 days.

Now, whenever I think of the holiday, I’m always reminded of that hot day in the city, when we just happened to walk past a certain building. And I always think about their good friend whom I never knew. I remember him because he simply went to work seven days later. That’s all. He went to work. And I guess that’s what Labor Day is supposed to celebrate. Those who go to work.

So when I think of Labor Day, I think of Todd Rancke and his family. And I say a prayer for them.

And ever since, when September sneaks up on us and we start to celebrate the end of summer, I don’t really care what we plan, or do, or plan to do. I don’t even care if I have to labor a bit. I just want to spend as much time as possible with my favorite people. Because I may not remember the details of any given day, but I’m very happy to spend it wisely or unwisely with those I love.

Thank God, We Can Now All Sleep At Night.

She has two eyes, a nose, a mouth and lotsa hair. She exists. And she's wrapped in swaddling leather. The end. Now please Billy Bush, Katie Couric, Dan Rather, Walter Cronkite, news con queso and the rest of yous, for the love of Suri, talk about something else. Please. Please.

Please.

Look What's Cooking At the Clucking Chicken.

September is National Chicken Month.
And since we’re not vegetarians anymore, I thought, hey, why not?

¡Es tiempo de celebrar pollo!

So in September, we’re celebrating all that clucks.
And of course we’re starting con queso.

Southwestern Chicken con Queso Soup

1/8 cup peanut oil
1 small red onion, diced
1 green pepper, diced
1 tomato, peeled, seeded and diced
1/4 cup jalapenos, diced
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
2 tablespoon cilantro, chopped
1 tablespoon cumin
1 1/2 teaspoon paprika
2 teaspoons oregano
1 teaspoon coriander
4 cups chicken, cooked and diced
3 1/2 c chicken broth
1/4 to 1/2 stick butter
1/3 cup flour
2 1/2 cups cream
3/4 lb grated cheddar cheese

Heat peanut oil in soup pot over medium heat. Add onion, bell pepper, tomato and jalapenos and saute until onion is almost translucent and garlic is golden brown. Add precooked chicken and chicken stock. Simmer over low heat 1/2 hour. While chicken simmers, prepare a roux: Melt butter in skillet over low-medium heat. Add flour and stir to blend. Cook, stirring continuously, 3 to 5 minutes or until flour is cooked and is a very light golden color. Add cream to soup and bring to a rolling boil. Reduce heat to low-medium and whisk in cheese. Slowly stir 1 to 2 cups hot soup into roux. Immediately add back into soup, stirring to blend. Soup will thicken slightly. Remove from heat and serve with tortilla chips.

“Chickens don't praise their own soup”

--Martinican Proverb

You're On Notice!

That's right.

Put them on notice.

Who's on your list?