Because, ladies and gentlemen, I received my grades. A-minus on the final, overall grade for the class: A. I guess I was more anxious about the class to be over with than the actual grade. I think I've said that about a thousand times.

***
Becky asked me to entertain her just now. The last time I did that I ended up doing the running man and that one dance where you grab your ankle and put your other hand behind your head then you kick your knee back and forth while still holding onto your ankle and hopping on the other foot and bringing your elbow and the opposite knee together and of course that makes perfect sense so quit looking so confused. This time? This time, I performed an interpretive dance of "Making Pies." Boy, I can sure charade rolling out a pie crust. But get this: I was holding a bowl of pasta while doing this dance. I've gotta hit the road with this act.

***
I've been listening to quite a bit of Meg Hutchinson. I kept trying to think who she reminds me of. I thought of Patty Griffin. Then Damien Rice. Then Dar Williams. And Gillian Welch. Then I checked out her MySpace and read her inspirations and who she sounds like. Then it all made sense. 

***
At the farmers' market I stopped by one of the booths that sold greens. A girl was behind a table holding a video camera. She held it down and looked down onto the monitor. She was very obviously filming. I know what a girl filming unassuming bystanders looks like. I've found myself in her position many, many times recently. I took a few steps forward and happened to be in the camera's path. The girl didn't look up. I looked right into the lens and couldn't help but smile. I totally knew what she was doing. I looked at the girl's face and saw she was smiling at my smiling. I continued on, wondering how her video might end up.

Beautiful day at the farmers' market. I ran down to Union Square. Picked up some potatoes ($1), basil and mint plants ($2 each!), apples ($3) and a beautiful jar of honey ($5 for five pounds). I almost picked up a bell pepper plant. The old lady selling them? So, SO cute.

This week's recipe is another stew. I needed to use the rest of the cabbage. Onions, cabbage, potatoes, chick peas, cayenne, coriander, turmeric, tomatoes, salt, lemon juice. I had never cooked with coriander nor turmeric. These are my newest friends, to go along with cumin. Cayenne and I are definitely old friends.

I need to go to sleep. I've really enjoyed my Saturday. Thank my rabbits for letting me cuddle with them.

You know what that's for. Well, this past week was commencement at BYU; maybe that's the hubbub, bub.

Today I decided to take a survey of how many people I am taller than. Of course I counted children, because you know a six-foot 8-year-old would totally count all the adults taller than him. Today, I was taller than 10 people. I saw only one this morning. Child, about 5 years old. Then I saw five more on the subway during lunch. Two babies in strollers, three toddlers. Then I saw an Orthodox Jewish family with four children on my way back from lunch, near Broadway and Cortlandt, around 2pm. I love short people.

Let me explain lunch. I went to Union Square. My plan was to buy some flip flops. They need to be cute. And comfortable. Those are some pretty tough criteria. Anyway. The farmers' market was up, so I walked through. I picked up a slice of zucchini bread for $1. Then I went into the store, which happens to be my favorite sporting goods store here in the city. I looked at the flip flops, and I almost got a pair, but then I let myself look around, and I almost picked up a new shirt and a pair of culottes, which I absolutely did not need. But boy, they were hellacute. So I walked out of the store with empty hands and half a slice of zucchini bread in my jacket pocket. I love zucchini bread.

The little sprouts have extended their stems even more and were leaning pretty severely toward the window to soak up some sun. When I got home, I turned around the planter, and now the sprouts are standly nearly straight up. I love phototropism.

Heading off to the Living Room. Will I love Meg Hutchinson?

From the last batch of homework:

From Assignment 9 -"You write exquisitely! And analyze/observe equally well."

From four blog entries I turned in - "You write extremely well - even 'correctly.' And the writing is most engaging - and the ideas perceptive."

Well, the professor did a great job at inflating my ego. This is not what I need. Because all I'm doing now is rereading my assignments and the comments and memorizing every single word and red mark. So, that helps. The assignments aren't pristine. A few comma splices, a few omissions. The red ink is validating. Focus on the red ink, May. Keep the ego at bay. Do you hear what I say? Are you okay? No, you cannot play. Hey. Now, go your own way.

Today is the first day of spring. It was hella windy. It would have been a comfortable 48 degrees if it weren't for the gale whipping everything about. Including me. And I can't go around making Wizard of Oz references all the time. I've got a job to go to every day. I have a blog to maintain.

I found a compromise. About milk. I can drink cow milk just fine. I mean I'm slightly lactose intolerant, but I stand behind the fact that I weaned from mammal milk before I was two years old. I like soy milk just fine. And I think almond milk is good, but it gets quite pricy. So I was in the store the other day looking at the alternative milk options. And then I saw it: almond soy milk. And it didn't cost as much as almond milk. I picked up a quart on my way to work. I let it chill in the refrigerator. I had some raisin bran. Almond soy milk is delicious. Try it: you might like it, too.

For those of you visiting in the next couple of weeks, it looks like we'll see highs in the 50s. Dress however you deal with 50-degree weather. Also, plan on having a legitimate blast. We're gonna have so much fun. You're gonna wonder if it's legal to be having the amount of fun we'll be having. We'll be obeying the law though. You don't have to worry about that.

Just now I came from the bathroom, and my roommate was awake and standing at her closet, dressed in brilliantly mismatched pajamas. She seemed to be looking for something to wear to work. As I got to her door, she saw me. I put a single finger to my lips and made the universal sign for SHUSH. AS IF SHE WERE STILL ASLEEP. SO AS NOT TO WAKE HER. She nodded understandingly as I left the room and closed the door behind me.



This is the last bowl of kettle corn I made. I made it on Monday, a whole day after I made my very first bowl on Sunday. You see, Sunday's batch I burned slightly, because I added too much sugar and the fire was on medium high and the beautiful sound of the pop-popping in that blended-steel pan over the gas flames mesmerized me, even while I was stirring the sugar into the corn and the lid wasn't on and kernels were shooting at me. So it ended up with some overly dark, caramelized sugar. Hard candy stage, but burnt tasting. And I served Sunday's bowl to people after dinner, because we didn't have anything on hand to make or serve as "real" dessert. I would not normally watch other people consume something I burned. But I did not burn it all, and the dinner guest said it was good and expressed being impressed that I could make popcorn on the stove. I ate most of the somewhat burnt stuff to leave the good stuff for the others to eat. I had forgotten to add salt, so the whole contrast of salty-sweet didn't even happen. During the entire post-dinner conversation I obsessed (to myself) about how differently I would make the next batch. At my midterm on Monday, I thought about perfecting the kettle corn. At work, all I could think about was trying to make a great batch of kettle corn. On my commute home, I got so very excited to make some kettle corn. When I got home, I almost didn't take off my coat. I got out the oil and washed out the pan from the night before. I measured out a quarter-cup of kernels, about a quarter-cup of sugar. I heated the oil over a medium-high heat. I put single kernel in the oil as a tester for when the oil was hot enough. After a few minutes, I heard the "ping!" I added the rest of the kernels, then I immediately added the sugar and stirred everything together. Then I put on the lid and listened to the sweet music that is popping corn. Corn jumping for joy! Corn bouncing off the walls! A mosh pit of corn! I took the pan off the heat sooner than the night before. This batch looked SO much better. I poured it into a bowl and added some salt and tasted it. I knew right then that I had arrived. If I had messed up that batch, you know I would have not stopped popping corn until I got it right. Ladies and gentlemen, behold the wonder of kettle corn.

I like cookies. I mean, I really like them. I made some oatmeal ones Sunday afternoon. Four (4) dozen. They're almost gone. I mean, they're on the table for anyone to take, and I'm glad they're almost gone. I've probably eat a dozen of them. A baker's dozen. I'd eaten one for breakfast with a half glass of orange juice (word, Sarah) before I head out the door for seminary. Then I'd cancel out the cookie with a bowl of raisin bran once I got to work. Or a bowl of oatmeal, which is just like cookies, except without all the sugar and butter and that one egg. 

I like all sorts of cookies. I'll eat the shortbread ones that come in tins you get at Christmas. Buttery goodness, and totally bad for you. Also not a interest to take up if you don't plan on balancing it with exercise and veggies. I don't think a cookie exists in the world that I won't eat or at least try. They're the perfect finger food. You control the portions. If you don't control the portions, however, you can end up eating hundreds, even thousands at a time. Good thing I made only 4 dozen cookies.

I'll often go for the animal crackers in the vending machine at work. They're 60 cents, which is more than the 50-cent chip varieties, but those bags of chips are a bum deal.  You get 3 chips and 3000 calories. With the animal crackers, you get 20-30 substantial cookies all for under 200 calories. It totally satisfies my late-morning munchies, especially when I don't feel like paying 85 cents for trail mix.

I also like caramel. If fudge and caramel were ever going to fight or participate in some sort of competition, I'd root for caramel. Underdog tendencies. Fudge seems to get all the attention. And caramel? It's pretty much exalted corn syrup. Add a little butter and heat and sugar, and you get heaven. Heaven times infinity. Caramel is eternity. See how that syllogism works? Caramel. I don't say it the same way all the time. CARE-ah-mell. Carr-mul. It's delicious any way you say it.

I don't want to be unfair to chocolate though. I do really like chocolate. I mean, it has a lot of the same elements as caramel, and it goes really well with caramel. Dark chocolate has those antioxidant properties, and I used to remark that if you ate enough of it, you'd probably die of a heart attack, but at least you wouldn't have cancer. Chocolate is also pretty versatile. You can watch Iron Chef and see how true that is. Those are believable foods, too. Dessert is the most common form of chocolate. Cookies, with caramel. In ice cream. Chips. In liquid form for intravenous administering.

So today, around 11:00, I went to the break room to fill up my water bottle and see about getting some animal crackers. Someone was at the vending machine when I got there, and I didn't stand too close behind him, and I didn't want him to feel like I was spying on his vending choice. I did see that he got a snack from the "C" row, so I know he got some sort of chip variety. I waited a few seconds for him to push the little door and reach his hand in the snack depository pit thing to grab his mysterious chip variety. I waited for him to leave the break room, because for some reason I'm embarrassed to buy animal crackers.

I offered my money to the vending machine. The vending machine accepted and allowed me to push "A" and "1" for my selection. The coil holding my animal crackers rotated, and that blue cellophane bag dropped within my reach. When I stuck my hand in Mr. Vendy's mouth, not only did I pick up my animal crackers, there was also a little golden-foiled package of Twix. The guy before me didn't see it? Was he only focused on his chip variety? Was this my lucky day?

You know by now how much I like cookies. And caramel. And chocolate. You probably have a good idea what I did.

Every day I check into a certain news network website to see what the headlines are. Today, around noon, the main story was about Heath Ledger's autopsy. Off to the side, in a link in smaller font is the headline of 5 million having died as the Congo reaches their peace deal. Heath Ledger is fantastic. I like the work he did, but I'm not too sure he gets bigger font than the country who's lost 5 million of their citizens, mostly women and children. Later in the day, I checked the site again. A different headline to the developing Heath Ledger story, and this time, the Congo headline moved to the bottom of the page, under World News. Hmm. Well, at least Heath's on the other side listening to Congans' stories, and they're probably shaking their heads in disappointment at us. Will we even get close to getting it right?

***
I have a short list of things that are funny to me that shouldn't be:

Swearing, especially when people have been pranked. The editorial bleeping on some television shows is hilarious.

Friends casually flipping the bird at each other. I saw it today on the subway, and I almost laughed out loud right there in front of the friends.

Farting. I'm kind of a 10-year old boy. My diet lately has been conducive to ... musical digestion? Today for lunch, I had a veggie burger between two pieces of quinoa bread spread with hummus.  Here are the ingredients to the burgers:




Carrot, Onion, Stringbeans, Soybeans, Zucchini, Oat Bran, Peas, Spinach, Expeller Pressed Canola Oil, Broccoli, Textured Soy Flour, Corn, Oat Fiber, Red Pepper, Arrowroot, Corn Meal, Corn Starch, Garlic, Salt, Parsley, Black Pepper, All Natural Vegetable Gum

No preservatives. Nothing artificial. And seriously? Organic food? My body ain't used to that. But I'm getting better. It's embarrassing. I've tooted loudly twice at work in the past couple of weeks. I had to text message my brother about it. He asked if people heard. Of course people heard, but they're polite enough not to say anything. 

Other things are funny to me, but I can't think of them right now. It's time for bed.

Oh! 5 miles today. It consisted of alternating super-slow pacing and sprinties. My quads and calves feel really worked.

People go to great lengths to get fresh, soft bread. They'll be first in line at the bakery, early in the morning. They'll throw aside the older loaves in the bread aisle and fight others and reach back  on the shelf for the perfect, precious, treasure loaf. They'll bake it themselves, either in the oven or a bread machine, or even a crockpot. Nothing beats the aroma of freshly baked bread. Nothing beats squeezable, yeasty, warm slices just out of the oven, with a pat of butter sliding down them. And some jelly. Or even honey. 

So, what's the deal with toast? If we want our bread soft, can we also get our slices crunchy? That's something to consider: freshly baked bread, toasted. Sounds like heaven. The continued browning of the bread as it is exposed to heat is a chemical reaction with the sugars. Perfect toast tastes sweeter. And toast's resulting crunch is fun. It adds textural dimension. It sounds delicious. Listen to someone (or yourself) bite into a toasted sandwich, and compare that to the regular, floppy bread. No comparison, right?

Let's look at the ordinary slice of toast. If you're going to butter it, the pat must be at least at room temperature so it can spread across to the edges as evenly as possible. Otherwise, you might be an expert at spreading solid butter on toast immediately out of the toaster so the butter melts quickly between the slice and the butterknife. If it melts too quickly, you end up with a butter puddle - heavy concentration in one area, and not enough or none everywhere else. Regardless of your method, you shouldn't see a single dry pore on the surface.

The sweetness of the toast combines with fat and salt of the butter. This is chemistry at its finest. I eat the edges first, then I work toward the center. Chomp, chomp, chomp. My taste buds approve. If the toast is slightly burnt, I make a mental note to lower the setting on the toaster for next time. Or I don't go to that deli or diner or friend's house ever again. 

Garlic toast can be prepared similarly. It's thicker, so you want the outer surface to brown, while the meso and endoderm remain relatively soft.

Bagels? Yes, there's a right way to do those.

English muffins? Every nook and cranny, baby.

Biscuits? Rolls? Same way.

My life was boring before toast. Now, it has crunch. Zing! Sweetness. However, I'll still eat sandwiches on soft bread, just to show I'm not a toast-snob. Bread definitely has its place in this world, and toast wouldn't exist without it, but toast goes to great lengths to make sure it's seen and heard. Cheers.
***
 

So, I made some granola last night:  oats, wheat germ, a little bit of sugar, cinnamon.  The recipe I looked at called for vegetable oil and honey, but I used pure maple syrup and butter instead.   I blended all the ingredients, put the mixture in a baking pan, which I put in a 300-degree oven for 40 minutes.   I didn't let the oats get clumpy, but they still have a crunch to them.  I could have added nuts or dried fruit, but I wanted to see if I could succeed at the plain version.  Succeed I did.  This morning when I got off the train I went to a nearby grocery store to pick up some almond milk, per Sarah's suggestion.  I poured that over some homemade granola, took my vitamin, and had a good breakfast.  I still feel pretty good.  The granola is delicious.

The multivitamin I take is stomac