The Tofu Challenge

or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Soybean

These days, I'm tofu's bitch. I drain, I press, I cook separately, I use extra firm (we're talking curry and stir-fry material here,) but no dice. It's gloppy at worse, squidgy at best. All I want is to be able say with confidence, "Why yes! I can cook tofu!"

Not that I'm cutting meat -- never that. Tofu is simply another ingredient to add to my repertoire. Plus, many omnivores such as myself don't know how to treat the stuff. It's a point of culinary pride.

Plus, a huge percent of the dating pool I'm swimming in leans veggie. There. I said it.

Anyway, I'm having a fuck of a time with this curdmass problem of mine. Any tips from y'all?

Also: frozen edamame has sustained me for a week now. Soybeans, fun fact to know and share, are acceptably spelled both "soy bean" and "soybean."

This post brought to you by the National Beef Council.

only mildly badass, but still.

hand tattoos be hand tattoos.

hamsters is nice, but tattoo artists is nicer

Saturday. 3 pm. Mild badassery gonna go down.

Despite not actually having all that much spare time, thesis completion has certainly engendered a "whatever" sort of attitude toward other classwork. By all accounts, I should be flipping the hell out because of the backlog of tedious reading and projects to be done. Instead, I'ma post pictures of Alaska.



Edit: problems loading. Go here.

I passed! With honors! Thesis is over! Beer!

that was today.

one step closer to graduating and getting that dog.

tattoos are in the works. consultation tomorrow. I've been keeping this somewhat under my hat. but yes. tattoos.

I'm still upset about the bears -- refer to prior entry.

inappropriate use of second person

You know those days where you wake up two hours later than you intended? Then you avoid the real work you have to do (perhaps because you're debilitatingly anxious about a certain thesis defense the next day) by making ANGRY MIX 2007 and making breakfast out of tortillas and stolen peanut butter. Or maybe you try to take a shower with your socks still on. Myspace will probably tell you things you didn't want to know anyway, while insisting that beefcake-y match.com ads are your thing. (Seriously? market research? anyone?)

And do you remember that time you totally danced a kink into your back at Queer Prom? It was worth it, but now you feel about 30 years older than you actually are.

Check it: you've only been awake for 48 minutes. And they're going to dye the bears. BEARS ARE NOT HARD TO IDENTIFY. THEY ARE BEARS.

my first and last frontier

in Alaska. As ever, it's strange to be here, to be home. I'm always struck by how ugly this city is and how attached I am to it (despite common sense and unpleasant memories.) Phase one of cleaning out my room was a success -- a few old t-shirts and hats will come home with me. Phase two, the books, will take longer.

Spending time with my brother this trip has been so fucking cool. He's funny and awkward and pretty damn bright. I like him.

Pictures to come.

(notes to self: junk email, snoop dog, bikesbikesbikes, and the mountains.)

it's done.

The thesis, that is. I defend May 22, at 11:30am. If you're a Eugener and available, ask me where and attend! I'll be dressed nicely for a change and geeking out in front of a live audience.

FINALLY.

"Bad vomit."

...and that's how I spent my saturday. Trying not to dwell on the hike in the sunshine and DoublePlusGood action that I missed.

Also, I'm the second or third to last person on the planet to join myspace, but I did it after much cajoling. so there's that. puke and murdoch.

the week 5 shuffle

My brain is, in fact, melting. Burn-out manifests itself so forcefully these days, I occasionally smell smoke. Midterms have not treated me kindly, and I'm really, really ready to be made tired by something that's not an essay or some crap in German. Graduation is so close...

Thanks to M, I went to the Decemberists show gratis (hooray for elephant guest passes!) and saw quite the audience participation spectacle. Maybe it was the substances, but I didn't find the show terribly engaging even though Colin Meloy was inciting dance rebellion and working the crowd with something like desperation. Also: giant whale. Maybe it was the profusion of prog rock/jam band moments -- I'm into the D-rists and I'm into Emerson, Lake and Palmer,* but I didn't expect to see the two meet sonically at the Macdonald last night. It wasn't good or bad, just something I hadn't anticipated; I couldn't quite lose myself in the thing for some reason, and I'm trying to figure out why. Not having heard any of the new album (except the omnipresent Valencia song) couldn't have helped.

Breaking from thesis right now. For those of you in Eugene free at 11:30 on tuesdays, come to my defense. May 22.

And women are nothing but trouble.

*What? I don't believe in musical skeletons in playlist closets. Cribbing from M, the phrase "guilty pleasures" implies guilt. So there, music snobbery.