I think I'm turning Southernese

OK, I think I'm turning Southernese. Thank god my mom doesn't read this blog, or she'd be quite sad. We had a superbowl party. No, that's not any more southern than anything. What we did at the superbowl party was. We fried a turkey. I know, everyone does it. But where I come from, yeah the snooty northeast, turkeys are roasted, with lots of basting and stress. None of this simple fry it for 45 minutes. We also had several of our friends over to help us eat it. It was awesome. (you may note, although if you do you're way uptight, that I'm going back and forth between 1 and 2 spaces between sentences. Apparently 2 spaces has been deprecated, as in it's no longer cool, but I still do it).
Frying a turkey:
First, find a fryer. Fortunately my co-worker was kind enough to lend us hers.
Second, buy lots of cheap oil in big boxes from Wal-Mart.
Third, lots of heat, as seen in the photo to the left.
Fourth, measure how much oil you need by putting the turkey in the pot and filling it with water, then taking the turkey out, and using that much oil.
Fifth, after heating that oil to 375-400 degrees, so it's good and dangerous, insert turkey.
This next photo illustrates the insertion step:

Note the extra flame beneath the burner. This is caused by the superheated oil flowing over the top of the pot because 1) I didn't cut a big enough hole in the bottom of the turkey, and 2) the turkey was still wet from step #4 above. As most of you know, water and superheated oil don't mix that well.
Sixth, hold the turkey 1/2 in the oil for quite some time while you slowly displace enough fuel, err, oil, to get the turkey into the pot.
Seventh, we've gotten through all the fun steps, so finish cooking the turkey and then enjoy it with your friends.

Oh, one last thing: Go Giants!

Back... Barely

I don't remember school being this time consuming. Could be because I was drunk more often the last time I was in college. Could be because I am working more this semester than I did back in 1994 - 1998. Could be because my post 30-year-old brain struggles to care about the minutia that some of my classes are testing on, because I already know that after the class is over I will only remember and require the major themes of a course, not the specifics. Whatever the reason I am swamped.

That said, it didn't keep Rick and I from a fabulous trip to our Nation's Capitol last weekend. We took the Amtrak train from Williamsburg to DC Union Station. Only took 30 minutes more than the drive would have, and allowed me to study and work. Ate average Ethiopian food, which is still better than no Ethiopian food.

Went to the National Portrait Gallery, and spent a good 90 minutes in the Hall of American Presidents. Loved it. I was surprised that only Kennedy diverged from classic oil painting for his official portrait. He has a de Kooning and it is a gorgeous wash of grey and green, and still manages to convey a man plagued by doubts and weighed down in his body and brain. The Lincoln is strange, as he look neither tall nor homely which are two qualities I thought Lincoln's portrait would convey. The Clinton is possibly the strangest. The scale is off. He looks short and incredibly thin. His neck is a toothpick. My favorite painting was a Leslie B. DeMille of Reagan that was done for the National Cowboy Hall of Fame (there are two Reagan's in the gallery) - I tried to find a jpg, but wasn't able.

Had a very interesting dinner, followed by a hookah bar (which I mostly was disgusted by how unsanitary it is to share smoking apparatus with strangers, I didn't partake). Got back to friend's place at 2 AM ish (good night for me).

Ansel Adams exhibit in the morning. I couldn't believe what an easy, very fun trip it was. Next time I want the tour of the White House.

Life Saved by Capilene Underwear!

OK, so maybe my life wasn't actually *saved* by Capilene underwear, but headlines sell newspapers!

Here's the full scoop:

So, I left to ride to work this morning, and realized pretty quickly I was underdressed. I stopped about 3 minutes out from my house and put on my microfiber vest. I rode about another 7 minutes and realized I was still wasn’t going to make it without more clothes. I was wearing one of those ear jock thingers, but could feel the cold just pummeling my head under my helmet. I tried putting one of my gloved hands (yay Windstopper!) over the front of the helmet, which provided temporary relief, except that I kind of needed that hand for things like steering, braking, etc. So I stopped and dug around in my bag to see if I could use any of my work clothes to keep me warm. I didn’t really think my oxford shirt would make too much of a difference, and I wasn’t quite cold enough to look like that much of a jackass; bike clothes with a light blue button down shirt over the top of them is even worse that just bike clothes. So I found the undershirt I had brought with me, and tried to put that on my head, but couldn’t get the helmet to fit over it. Then I remembered that I had run out of my usual cotton boxers today, and had brought my one pair of Patagonia Capilene boxer-briefs with me. They have a fairly outrageous orange and maroon flower print on them. I couldn’t find the exact ones on Patagonia’s site, but they look roughly like this:

Yes they were clean. I had pulled them out of my drawer and put them in my bike bag along with the rest of my clothes to change into when I got to work. Yes they looked stupid on my head. But they kept me warm, and the wicking action was fantastic! Not that there’s much wicking going on when it’s only 20ish, but whatever.

I was still damn cold, but I made it to work. The best part was definitely the line from Raising Arizona going through my head over and over: Son…you got a panty on your head!

Here’s a picture of the helmet/boxers look:

R.I.P. R.G.P.

Here's the Eulogy at wrote and read at my grandfather's memorial service on 1/12/2008:

I remember our last trip to the Wind River Range in Wyoming, which most of you know my grandfather visited many times, and was one of his favorite places on earth. This was 2003. My grandfather was in his 80s. He couldn't walk particularly well, needing 2 canes on the uneven ground. This didn't prevent him from planning a ten-day trip camping at over ten thousand feet which required a fourteen mile horseback ride to access. As we were coming to the end of the trip, some of the campers, most of whom are here this evening, had been talking about things like getting back to hot showers and take out food. My grandfather only wanted to stay, for as long as he could. We all woke up on that morning, the morning of the last day in mid-September, and zipped open our tents. Well low and behold there were several inches of wet snow on the ground. There were groans. There were four letter words. The sound of people zipping back into their sleeping bags is clearly heard. So was "Wow, great!" Obviously, to those who knew him, that came from my grandfather. This man, in his 80s, who had a hard time moving around, didn't think at all about the complications that the snow was going to cause. This is because, as my grandfather always put it, something like a snowstorm when you're trying to pack up camp, is "Buying a memory".

This is how my grandfather lived his life. He never focused on the obstacles. He grew up with three brothers, he went off to board at Kent School at the age of twelve. He landed torpedo bombers on the deck of a blacked out carrier in the middle of the Pacific on moonless nights in World War II. He led a successful business career as a VP for Gilbert and Bennett. He skied with his family well into his graying years. He climbed a 5.9 route with his grandson in his mid-sixties. He married my grandmother and they stayed together for 62 years, including their last years together that Dick referred to as “heaven on earth”. You don't accomplish all of these things by concentrating on the problems set before you. You accomplish them by concentrating on the opportunities. So please join me in not looking at this as an obstacle, this the passing of one of the greatest men I shall ever know. Look at it as an opportunity to pay tribute to my Grandfather.

I also read The Pilot's Prayer at the first memorial service; my sister eulogized at that one. Here's the Pilot's Prayer, which I must say was hard to get through without completely breaking down:

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth.
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings,
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind swept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
And, while with silent, lifting mind i've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

John Gillespie Magee Jr.

It was a really tough week leading up to the funeral. I don't think it was due to the fact that I had to speak in public, as I don't get too nervous about that. I really cycled through anger, sadness, and fatigue pretty much without end for the whole week. It's hard to readjust to life without that whole part of my family. Hopefully my co-workers have already realized I'm just generally cranky and weren't too upset by my behavior that week.

The whole weekend of the funeral was actually great, well, as good as it can be. A very high percentage of my grandfather's and grandmother's family turned out. The more time I spend with that part of the family as a grownup, the more I realize how fantastic we all are. The funeral and services accomplished exactly what they're intended to do, with a feeling of closure. Although I do have to say it's tough if you're one of the main parts of the funeral, as a reader in particular, as you really have to work to hold yourself together so you can read, which is kind of counter-productive to the desire to grieve and cleanse. The whole WASP/Episcopalian way of grieving doesn't make much sense from that perspective. I like the way the more emotional cultures do it, with wailing and plenty of public displays of anguish. Of course I can't actually imagine myself doing it. It's like how everyone wants to be that guy that can just completely cut loose on the dance floor, even if he looks like a jackass...at least he's not all uptight and self-conscious.

Update on Dickie

Dickie, Rick's grandfather, passed-away peacefully Friday afternoon. Rick spent the weekend in Kent, CT with his mother and sister. We are both traveling to Kent this coming Friday - Monday for the funeral.

Dickie's passing gave me a personal experience which confirmed my belief that hospice care is an amazing institution. This has also given me an opportunity to hear friend's and acquaintance's experience with hospice, all of which have been positive. Truly is inspirational, especially as I slowly move closer to my nursing career.