Thanksgiving Day Eve

It’s Thanksgiving Day Eve, and what a celebration we’re having at Le Café Witteveen. This entire week has been great. Sunday night we ate sushi with my brothers in law, Michael and Jason. They say, “Hello” by the way.

I was profiled in this magazine article this week. How cool is that?

Monday night, Tina and I dined at another sushi joint with my cousins Pete and Erin, Erin’s son Diego and Erin’s ex-husband slash husband slash friend Javier. It had been a long time since we saw them. We caught up a little and I trounced Diego in a game of UNO. I know you’re supposed to let kids win, but damn it’s fun to see five year olds cry.

Last night, I cooked, which I do almost every night of the week. Tina and I attempt to eat fresh as often as possible. When I get a craving for something like McDonald’s, I try to make myself a meal that will satiate that wish without leaving my kitchen. I won’t use nearly the butter, oils, salt or mystery ingredients that might come off the floor at a restaurant, and it helps me to hone my hope to be an amateur, untrained chef.

I tend to cook recipes found from 30-minute meals found in magazines or books. Right now I’m working my way through America’s Test Kitchen 30-minute Suppers. Kind of like this one.

The worst thing about 30-minute recipes is that it takes about an hour to an hour and a half to cook them. It’s only after cooking them two or three times that I could maybe get the time down to 30 minutes.

Last night, I made steak tips with red wine-butter sauce with a side of garlic-parmesan potatoes. The potatoes were awesome, and the meat was okay. The sauce was excellent. I need to make it again. I took a picture, but I wasn’t happy with it. I’ll show you anyway.

Today, Tina has client meetings until 3:30, so I fended for myself for lunch. I had a craving for a hamburger and french fries. So I settled on a grilled ham and cheese with a recooked version of last night’s potato recipe. One lesson I learned while studying in France was the best hashbrown-type potatoes are made from day-old cooked potatoes. I ran out of cheddar cheese, so I added some mozzarella. It may not be entirely great for me, but I justify it by telling myself, “It’s better than going to McDonald’s.”

I took a photo of lunch, too.

Tonight we’re off to the circus with Tina’s family. There will be six kids (seven including me) and seven adults (six not including me). Tomorrow we will spend Thanksgiving in Tinley Park at Tina’s cousin (practically sister) Kelly and her husband Brian.

If we can’t take Talulah with us (because sometimes people don’t get that dogs can’t be left alone all fucking day), we’ll be heading home early from Kelly’s house so we don’t force Lou Dog to hold her pee until her bladder bursts. It takes a little over an hour to drive one way, so we use up two hours of Talulah’s pee-holding time in the car.

We asked if we could bring her, but Kelly’s worried about the house full of people. Whatever.

The one thing I encourage at family events is soak up the family who are there. If there’s a game that someone wants on, put a TV only to check scores. If it’s got to be on, press mute. For goodness sakes, what’s the harm in having a conversation with people you only see once or twice a year? The other wish I have is not to let kids commandeer the entire conversation. Maybe the adults can get about 30% of the attention this holiday season.

So go soak up your family. Ignore the kids. And stuff your faces. At the dinner table, be sure to instigate the “What are you thankful for” conversation.

You haven’t succeeded at Thanksgiving until the top button on your pants is open and the tryptophan kicks in. Although, the whole tryptophan thing is likely a old wives’ tale. The body naturally becomes tired while it digests food. And since you probably just ate a small child at the dinner table, you get really tired. In fact,tryptophan could likely aid in treating depression and MS.

But blame it on the tryptophan. Blame everything on the tryptophan … especially the flatulence.

Bon appétit!


The 48 Laws of Power

This is not the 48 laws of Power Puff Girls, nor is it the 48 Laws of Power Rangers. This is the 48 Laws of Power. Period. I’m going to link to them below.

I found The 48 Laws of Power after I read a brilliantly disturbing post off of this blog. I am going to link to the story in question here. But wait! It’s not safe for work and it’s not safe for all readers. I’m telling you that you might not appreciate it at all. It’s a well-crafted inane story about a guy who found something in a lover’s privates. He kept it, and he dissected it later. Includes pictures. You might find yourself nauseous.

And telling you all this goes against The Law 4 of POWER: “Always Say Less Than Necessary”

Some of you may know that I’m constantly searching for bizarre stories, which is why I love Chuck Palahniuk so much. If you have bizarre stories, I want to hear them.

Regular reader Xina tends to be full stories that are mind blowing. I wish I had a pipeline to her noggin so I get to her stories before she does.

But back to The 48 Laws of Power! There are many good ones. Like:

Law 26: Keep Your Hands Clean

You must seem a paragon of civility and efficiency: Your hands are never soiled by mistakes and nasty deeds.  Maintain such a spotless appearance by using others as scapegoats and cat’s-paws to disguise your involvement.

There are several that I could really use, so that I too can become powerful.

How about this one:

Law 27: Play on People’s Need to Believe to Create a Cultlike Following

People have an overwhelming desire to believe in something.  Become the focal point of such desire by offering them a cause, a new faith to follow.  Keep your words vague but full of promise; emphasize enthusiasm over rationality and clear thinking.  Give your new disciples rituals to perform, ask them to make sacrifices on your behalf.  In the absence of organized religion and grand causes, your new belief system will bring you untold power.

The list is a good one (or it’s bad) depending on how you look at it. I mean, I don’t agree with all of the list. For instance:

Law 34: Be Royal in your Own Fashion:  Act Like a King to be Treated Like One

The way you carry yourself will often determine how you are treated; In the long run, appearing vulgar or common will make people disrespect you.  For a king respects himself and inspires the same sentiment in others.  By acting regally and confident of your powers, you make yourself seem destined to wear a crown.

If I have to lose my vulgarity to become powerful, fuck it.

How does this list appear to you?

Help me write the 49th law of power, won’t you? Let’s start with the sweaty muscles in the palm of your hands. Type something out. I’m curious.

Oprah invites fans to be buried with after she dies

Harpo Studios announced yesterday that Oprah is inviting her fans to have an opportunity to be buried alongside her after her death. She’s building a gigantic pyramid in Chicago complete with sarcophagi for you and your loved ones who LOVE Oprah. I’m going to stand in line today to get a ticket for my mom and sister! It’ll be the ultimate Christmas gift that will trump anything my brother and sister in law could dig up.

Woo hoo!

Via Cynical C

Sarah Palin, makin’ rocks look brilliant since 2008

Keep up the mind-numblingly disastrous work, Sarah Palin. At this point, with a reality show under your belt, a freakish daughter on Dancing with the Stars and the complete delusion exhibited in the video below, you are America’s Queen of Embarrassment and Master of all that’s Redneck.

I know people who have defended Sarah Palin. They blame the media for painting her into a two-year old’s finger painting. They blame liberal TV writers for making jokes of her on their shows.

She is the Jennifer Lopez butt of all jokes. She makes it way too easy.