why kitchen chalk boards are rad

 because they allow two ghosts in the same house to tie one on without the hassle of looking for the sour mix... word.

barley water? say what now?

i get that gross boiled cereal water isn't necessarily a great topic of interest, but i feel the need to share this discovery: gross boiled cereal water is delicious. really, really delicious. 

the cereal in question is in fact barley, champion of the brewing world but ugly stepsister to more sought after breakfast delicacies like oatmeal or gritz. now oatmeal and gritz are great, but i wouldn't take gin with either one of them. this is where barley shreds the competition:

  

barley water with gin!

1 cup pearl barley

8 cups water 

juice of 1-2 lemons

juice of 1 orange

1/4 cup honey 

lotsa gin (i used tanqueray 10)*

1. bring the water and barley to a boil. reduce the heat and let it simmer for about 30 minutes

2. strain out the pearls and either toss them (but why?) or set them aside

3. mix the warm barley water with the citrus juices and the honey

4. put the barley water in the fridge and get the gin ready

5. ice + barley water + gin. drink up that golden honey flavored goodness. yay! 

*if you don't enjoy copious amounts of booze, fine. don't put booze in your barley water. you'll still have a refreshing beverage treat. but you won't be as cool.

now what to do with all that barley you cooked and forgot about? well, you can put it to it's most common use and feed it to some cows. or goats. or whatever.

or you can be awesome like me and eat the pants off that cereal! i went the savory dinner route and made a pasta free risotto with barley pearls, roasted acorn squash, grated parmesan, bacon bits and arugula. don't forget the butter, heavy cream, salt and pepper.

bomb.

chicky débutantes

well, we've finally managed to name the little buggers, and just in time, it seems. they're quickly abandoning their "adorable downy balls of fuzzy goodness" phase for the less pleasant "gangly awkward lumps of stinky feather/frizz mash-up" phase. plus their learning to fly, which really translates into a lot of wing flapping and crap flinging in their too-small rubbermaid paradise. 

nevertheless, all hail the ugly, awkward teenagers. introducing, in no particular order: 

Clementine (aka Fatty) 

Pot Pie

Harriet 

Duckie

 

i wanted to name them after adorable old ladies, but they all seemed a little too conspiratorial and ornery to really do justice to names like Posy, Olive or Hazel. Clementine was as close as i could get, but since we call her Fatty all the time, it doesn't really count.  Harriet i suppose got off easy. it's a fairly normal name; perhaps i'm the only one who assumes the connotations of a slightly stupid, bitchy valley girl-esque type personality. you know, the kind of chick who ends every sentence with a question mark? 

it remains to be seen if Harriet will wallow in her name or rise to the task of owning it. for now, she just keeps getting beat up by Pot Pie, the giant and overbearing bully of the brood.  at least Fatty has taken to her name with zeal, eating constantly and with an obvious enthusiasm. the fact that she remains the smallest of the bunch doesn't stop her from cramming into her gullet every piece of flotsam that gets near her face. 

Duckie at least comes off as the only civil creature among the cretins, and i can't help but be reminded of John Cryer as Duckie in Pretty in Pink, one of my personal favorites out of the great mind of John Hughs (we can all ignore Maid in Manhattan and Beethoven's 3rd, 4th and 5th...) our Duckie is a bit of a loudmouthed loner, always dressed to the nines in her finest 80's stripes and bolo tie. she hasn't fallen for any crazy selfish redheads yet, but she is only a month old. give it time. 

and that, folks, sums up my flock of bitches, as i so lovingly refer to them. 

enjoy.

this is an incredibly romantic moment, and you're ruining it for me.

 

screen printing is the bomb

i enjoyed my first screen printing class today with the AS220 print shop. and it was the bomb. really. here's my very first print:

sheep ectoplasm

you want one? $500. 

ok $250.

they're heeeeere

babies. 2 weeks and rollin' deep.

if you had asked me, even last year, where i saw myself in twelve months, i can honestly say the answer would not have included anything about providence, rhode island or keeping peeping, shitting baby chickens in a rubbermaid tub on my dining room table. i'd even scoff at ownership of a dining room table. but here we are. 

dan and i drove out this morning to a little poultry farm and rescue in foster, ri. we met up with the owner, jen, a lovely and very knowledgeable chicken breeder, who gave us a tour of the grounds and offered exceptionally helpful pointers as how best to not kill our chickens. then we manhandled the girls into a cardboard box, hopped in the car to a great deal of peeping protests, and were soon sitting at the table, enthralled by the veritable poop machines before us.

right now, they're all wishing they weighed about 200 pounds and had shark teeth

we're not even 12 hours into this endeavor, and we haven't named the little buggers yet, so really, the only information i can offer is:

1. (from left to right) we have a Barred Plymouth Rock, an Ameraucana, a Black Australorp, and a Buff Orpington. The last two were chosen purely because their names are really fun to say. 

2. chicks shit. a lot. 

3. baby Barred Plymouth Rocks and Black Australorps really look like diaper wearing penguins.

other than those three very important facts, i can't really say what having chicks is all about. right now i'm just thinking of names and trying not to kill the poor things. expect updates soon, but for now, if anyone has any advice on names or keeping baby chickens alive, do let me know.

Oh, Comicon

so. there's not much to say, other than yes.

yes, i went to Comicon.

why would i do such a thing?

perhaps to enrich and deepen my knowledge of the sometimes nerdy and always misunderstood underworld of Star Trek, Star Wars, the X-Men, and every other comic and sci-fi related phantasm of pre-pubescent longing. 

also, i was forced.

oh, and also i was promised William Shatner.

and yes, maybe promises were broken, but was it fun?

absolutely, in a mildly traumatizing way.

would i do it again?

yes, but only if i could see more storm troopers on crutches.

so now it's time to let the photos tell the rest of the story. i will say that $70 for an autograph session with Bill was a bit much, but suffice it to say, as that escalator whisked me away to the higher reaches of Comicon's many bizarre visual delights (and the guys from the Boondock Saints) the Shat and i locked eyes across a sea of storm troopers and Queen Amidalas, and, well now i'm pregnant. great.

enjoy everybody!

it all feels so right, until suddenly, the crowds part... and you remember where you are!

the true, die-hard fan

clever? or creepy? or both?

so much money... so much time

hey, ghetto teenage mutant ninja turtle? meet creepy hooters guy

smile. or i'll blast you with my super secret, pure-love powered rollerblade wrist guard!

this guy's hobby is that guys job

he was almost too super for the camera. almost.

Dr. McNinja! I kinda sorta know of that guy!

batgirl is on high alert, as well she should be

obey the hat.

Indie and... Lara?! what... what happened?

no words

what the hell??  my personal favorite

peachy goodness

the best boots that ever were.

 

 my new favorite find from the rhode island antiques mall.  we missed james woods peddling his wares, but the lamp was a good runner up. plus he's a little scary.

plus it really ties the room together.

chasing the january blues

january sucks. that's right. i said it. and there's nothing i'd rather be doing than sitting on the couch under a pile of blankets, eating, watching crappy tv and feeling sorry for myself. unfortunately i don't actually own a tv and netflix doesn't have Rosanne yet on Watch Instantly, so i must be contented with other, less lazy activities. 

like going to ikea. that's one hell of an activity.

ummmm... soft serve...

did you know they have soft serve there? so technically, you can eat AND go to ikea! they also have a wednesday rib night. i found this out the other day during our recent outing. unfortunately i was too busy stuffing my face with said soft serve to fully comprehend the meaning of ikea rib night. it wasn't until i got home and had a little chat with dan that i decided it was the most horrible yet amazing thing in the world and that i needed to plan a field trip immediately. 

rib night. wowwie.

if i can man up and make the trek, details to follow.

on a side note, i'm very proud to admit that we did survive our swedish shopping experience, and we made it out without a bag of meatballs and only one helping of soft serve... and... well ok we bought a cactus also. but everyone needs at least one cactus in their lives. introducing Dr. Thornberry.

Dr. Thornberry

 

he's like a dog that doesn't crap or bark or need water or any attention whatsoever. he does, however, bite like a son of a bitch. i'm almost 28 years old and i still can't resist touching things that i inherently know will hurt like hell. it's the same with bad smells. i found rotten yogurt in the back of our fridge the other day and took a good long whiff, knowing full well it was gonna be bad. i don't doubt that i then proceeded to grimace and say something along the lines of "jesus! this smells like death! smell this..." i hate when people do that to me, and yet, here we are.

quickly, for those of you who do have a tv or the complete box set of Rosanne (jealous), and are very far indeed from the nearest ikea wonderland, here's a burger idea that will make the couch look even more cozy and less depressing, especially with a nice cold beer by your side. 

burger madness

 angus hamburger (yum!)

carmelized onions    

arugula

extra sharp cheddar

peach preserves or jam

warm country bread

i'd like to think that everyone knows how to make a burger, so no instructions necessary, right? RIGHT??  throw in a bottle of Left Hand Brewery's incredibly delicious Fade to Black smoked baltic porter, and you'll be in heaven, just as i was... and those january blues will just slip away. and if they don't, have another beer and see if that helps.

snow crush

nighttime in the backyard

in seattle, snow is great, because no one has to go to work and eveyone's happy and we all go out to the bar and get drunk and ride mattresses down big steep hills until 3 in the morning.

garage

heaps & heaps

fallen branches

happy headstones

in providence, snow is a pain in the ass, because everyone still has to go to work and they're all really grumpy and their cars get towed because of the parking bans, and if they don't get towed they get side swiped by the plows, and no one goes to the bar because they're all working and there aren't really any big hills to go down, with or without said mattress.

nighttime tree

empty street

late night

at the very least, i can be happy with the knowledge that snow is still awesomely beautiful no matter where i am. the magic and silent wonder of a snow day in a terrified and unprepared city like seattle may be lost to the constant grating sound of shovels on asphalt, the screeching of plows and blowers, the grumblings of locals, and the inevitability of going to work in the chaos, but at least i don't have to go to work, not today anyway. instead, i can sit around and drink hot toddies and frolic in the snow and throw balls of ice at my boyfriend's head. and truly, isn't that what a snow day is really all about?

hope artist village