Fun with food!

I haven't got a heart-filled post for you today, but I do have a wonderful new recipe!
Introducing: Zucchini pasta with pesto sauce!

This recipe is raw, which means it's good for you and easy to make.


You need:

1 zucchini (per person)

2 cups packed (fresh) basil leaves
1 tbs olive oil
1/4 tsp sea salt
cherry tomatoes (halved)



For the "noodles":
1)If you have a spiral pasta-maker, use that. If you're like me and don't you can either peel thin strips with a peeler or cut very thin, small strips with a knife. I used the peeler and made thin, flat pieces.
2) Let the noodles sit in a colander for an hour. The longer they sit, the better the texture. (Or so I've heard)


For the sauce:
Using a blender or a food processor, combine the basil, olive oil and salt. You may want to add more olive oil or salt to taste, depending on your preference.


Mix pasta, cherry tomatoes and pesto sauce together. I also added some avocado on the side, but it isn't necessary.
*If you are cooking for more than one, you will probably need 1 zucchini per person.


I found this recipe online, and if you Google it, there are tons of variations. Trust me when I tell you how delicious it is. I am a pasta lover, but it isn't the healthiest thing to nosh on too frequently. This is also a great replacement for those (like me) who can't do dairy or gluten. Also, it has pretty colors. Sigh.

Other than that, I'm heading to LA in a few weeks to visit, so I'm looking forward to that. Happy Wednesday.

sunday. fragmented thoughts. i need more diet coke.

I am so ready for this semester to end.  I have been working on this paper all day, but my brain is just not in the mood to write about this topic. There are so many other things that I want to write, and I can't until I finish up my work this week. However, I was able to squeeze in a poem that basically forced itself into my mind...but I suppose it's not so much a poem as it is random pieces of thought.

untitled # 66

hand in hand you lead me through the crowd
looking for a table or
a quiet place

                    someone moves by; my cheek to your back, we wait

we find an abandoned bench and straddle it
silent through small talk
face to face

                    someone blows smoke and you ask if i’m okay

it seems like all these encounters are just another-
and alone, we’re each in
our own place

                   someone else, you say, and i nod, it’s okay

i liked the idea of having weekend plans and
the possibility of waking
to your face

                  someone to go to the movies with

it just wasn’t you.

sunday ramblings over coffee

 smoke and cinders
I could edit a line a thousand times and it’d still portray some part of you and it’s
not like I ever see you except your face
lingers at street corners and  I often pass by that market we used to go to
when the sun would cast our shadows on the grey cement
and you’d buy Arizona tea and pop its lid open as beads of sweat dripped down the back of your golden neck

and I know you were never the one, or not the real one, anyway
but that doesn’t stop me from changing the radio when that song we played at least two million times that one July
comes on and the memory floods in as we sit on rooftops and watch the trains go by in a city
both of us disinterested

it’s funny how little I knew back then and even now how much I know
that I know very little

I am wary of the snake charmer and of anything that seems like a pompous parade, shining brightly at night as people clap their hands and celebrate nothing
all of us watching the fireworks reach their peak and die
their twinkles turn to falling smoke and cinders before you have time to form
a memory of what they once were and yet anytime I see the lights bursting in the air it feels as though it’s the very first time and I am okay with that

we don’t need to
follow the classic routine and say this because you feel you need to or because I maybe need to hear it because in the end it’s only words and in fifty years I doubt either of us will remember exactly how we felt
at the moment when we turned into smoke and cinders

Berries & Coffee

If you were to go randomly sniff  an artist (not that you would),  they might reek of  linseed oil, turpentine or developer. While these smells may turn off most people, to an artist, it's a special scent that puts one in a dreamy state of euphoria. Today however, I do not smell like the typical artist. In fact, I smell delicious. I began prepping for my next assignment, which is properly titled, "Alternative media". My professor has encouraged us to move out of our comfort zones (goodbye, watercolors! :(  ) and create a masterpiece using odd sorts of media that one would not normally use.
I chose to dye my paper using coffee and berries, because painting using an open flame scares the crepe out of me.
To do this, I  had to make a batch of coffee (sooOooOoo hard!).
Then, I soaked the paper in the coffee.

Next, I picked my berries. Out of the nifty bag in the freezer.

The different batches of berries were then boiled...

And mashed and strained..

I put part of the juice in a container to use later with my paintbrush. Then, I removed the paper that was soaking in the coffee, crinkled it, and placed a portion of it into the berry juice.

After a little while, I took the paper out, smoothed it, and let it dry. I am very happy with the results.

Extreme close up!!

Now I am going to let the paper finish drying while I google antique anatomical illustrations. I want to try to recreate some scientific/medical illustrations and mix them with my nature theme. Sounds crazy, but we're supposed to be pretty "out there" on this assignment, if you know what I mean andithinkyoudosoletsjustleaveitatthatokgreatthanks.

Pray that I don't eat my project. Remy already tried. I caught him on the balcony, next to the drying papers mid-NOM NOM.

Imitation Poetry: Frank O'Hara

For an assignment, I had to create an imitation poem from any of the poems we have studied this semester. I chose to use Frank O'Hara's Having a Coke with You. Here's a link to the original: Having a Coke with You

And here's my poem, Sharing Popcorn at the Movies with You...


Sharing Popcorn at the Movies with You

means more to me than prosciutto at The Porch, fancy folded napkins at Fearing’s
or having a stranger dressed in black pull out a chair for me at that posh place in uptown
partly because in your jeans and t-shirt you look like a modern day James Dean
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for Nick Hornby films
partly because of the familiar glow of lights on the steps when they dim the theater
partly because of the smiles we exchange during quirky indie previews
the room rustles with clicking boxes of Milk Duds and crinkly Twizzlers packs but we
are as still and silent as the lone rocking chair in the opening credits and sway only to
periodically reach for our shared red straw and remember that we are seated in red
reclined cushions and our faces are illuminated reflections of Hollywood dreams

and the picture show seems like all the others we’ve seen before, only varied
you suddenly wonder if you should maybe become a screenwriter too

                                                                                                                                                           I gaze
at you and I would rather gaze at you than all the handsome heroes who grace the screen
except possibly for Humphrey Bogart occasionally, and anyway, he’s too old for me but
thank heavens you haven’t seen Sabrina yet so we can rent it together the first time
and the fact that you never let me pay for my ticket and let me hold the popcorn and pass
the coke when I haven’t yet asked puts to shame most male leads in those awful
chick-flicks that most girls swoon over and what good is it to create romantic shams who
don’t exist for susceptible singles who believe anything Sex and the City tells them about
how to find love when you can find something real and substantial that won’t let you
down because you don’t expect him to magically appear when you trip over something
insignificant like a feather and almost get hit by a car

        it seems like everyone is tricked into overlooking a real-life romance
which is not going to happen to me which is why I’m discussing it with you

                                                         

A little update

I haven't updated in a while. I've been a little overwhelmed with school projects as well as a personal writing project that I am really excited about.
Also, I've been experiencing a ton of anxiety and stress. I'm not sure why, but I'm doing all I can to prevent any feelings of panic.
Maybe it's the news stressing me out. I hate all the violence that is occuring between the political parties...specifically the extreme-right wing side. Why can't they understand that the health care bill is a good thing? We should want to help people. Okay, so yes, I'll agree, there are some lazy people out there who take advantage of the system, but that doesn't outweigh our responsibility to take care of those who honestly cannot afford health care, many of who need it badly.
If you visit the anti-health care bill groups on Facebook, people are posting about how we're the "USSA", which is complete idiocy. I am also tired of hearing Palin's high-pitched accent shouting at different rallies about targeting different democrats. She is an annoying dunce who belongs as a cohost on Semi-homemade with Sandra Lee. She has no place in politics and should not be allowed to influence the uninformed and gullible. End rant.

2 am ramblings

I just finished my poetry assignment. It's 2 am. Sigh of relief.

Today I was thinking quite a bit about the importance of stepping away from a situation in order to see it objectively. I cannot tell you how many times throughout my life, something has happened that caused me to say, "Well shit! I'll neeeever be able to get over this!" And then the extraoridinary thing happens: I do.

But leave it to me to never trust myself enough to know I'll get past whatever is bothering me.

Sometimes when you're too close to a situation, you are blind as to what is actually going on. This could be physical/emotional abuse, drug/alcohol/other addictions, or just your average every day relationship that isn't worth holding on to.

A few weekends ago there was a day or two of recognition for people who self-injure and deal with depression and/or suicide, and I wondered how many of the people who are going through these things could benefit from taking a giant step back from the excess baggage in their lives. Taking out the "garbage" can be more relieving than one might think.

Anyway, just needed to get that off my chest. It's been hanging around in my mind for quite a while. And it'd be nice to go back and read this the next time shit hits the fan. (Hopefully never.  :)   )

A bang for your bunc(o)!

 

"The Ballad of Sexual Dependency", Nan Goldin

     

               I love this photograph for so many reasons, but most of all, because of the way she used color. Everything in this seems so intimate, but maybe I'm biased because I learned a while back that most of the people she photographed were her friends. I also am drawn to the James Dean-ish male at the end of the bed. I'd like to do a series of a man (or men) like that. But then again, what female wouldn't?

    Today I will be sweeping, dusting, rearranging furniture and cooking up a delicious assortment of foods in order to host tonight's BUNCO party. Roomie is at work all day, so I get to stay home and play the part of the 1960's housewife. 

Jello, anyone? Perhaps a mini-hotdog on a toothpick?

Gross. 

In other news, I was thinking of emailing my professor from a previous advanced composition class to look over a few chapters of my writing. She always liked me, and ran over to hug me on our last night of class, so I think she'll be up for it. We'll see. 

Off to be domesticated. 

More from Goldin below. 

 
   

Secondary blog!

Quick little note! My photography blog is (finally) up and running. I needed a place separate from Facebook to showcase my portfolio. You can visit it here:

Fleitas Fotografie

Rain, rain, rain

 

 Dreamer. Escapist. Romanticist. Stargazer. Transcendentalist?

The whole idea of honest blogging frightens me. It's not that I worry so much about putting myself out there on a platter. I just don't see why anyone would really care about my trifling thoughts.

I am by no means a realistic personality, so of course, the idea of blogging about my daydreams and ideas sounds exciting. But if you go to Google and search for the word "blog", an endless number of results display a one-click access to an infinite number of minds. Strangers everywhere are blogging, but about what? Probably about the very same fantastical crap that hits me like a lightning bolt, which I will then jump online and blog about, hailing it as some sort of epiphany. 

So maybe my blog won't introduce any new ideas or musings. Perhaps it will just be another link from one nobody to another, in hopes that someday, one of us will become a somebody and actually live up to all the dreams.

Letters from a 5th grader

Just as I finished the last entry, I looked over to the box under my desk where I keep some things from my past. A small book that I made out of construction paper back in 5th grade caught my eye. I opened it up, and the first page was written on February 7th, 1995, which is kind of fascinating, since today is February 7th as well.

So, I thought I would take a picture of a few of my entries on my iPhone and translate them on here, spelling errors and all. Enjoy.

"Febuary 7, 1995

My Dad and I some times do things together. For example, once my dad and I caught a cricket and we put it in a cricket box. At night I felt sorry for the cricket so I tiptoed downstaires and opened the door letting the cricket out. I was thirsty so I got some milk. I knew there would be more crickets. I knew there would. "

 

"Modeling" (no date given)

"When I was about five my fried, her sister, her brothers and I modeled. I dressed up in my blue sequend, sparkely dress. I put on a pearl sequrend crown and some pink sparkely sandels. I put on a sequned purse and I put on real makeup! I was Miss Sparkely Anne. My friends mother vidio taped us and my friend and I wach the movie some times. I looked so cute! I don't mean to brag but it's true! My hair was so long and I was so short. I used to say I would vow to never cut my hair. Thats another story. Sometimes I wished I never cut my hair"

(I left out all the underlined, emphasized words, but you can check them out below!)

 

"Feb 16."

"When I was little my bed was by my window I'de siton my bed ad say, 'I am Rupunzel the second and I am beautiful'...Dulce played my prince (even though she's a girl dog) and she would bark. I dress up and brush out my hair. I used to think that whenever a fire started, ever, one would climd down my hair for safety. Then I would hook my hair to a tree, swing to it and unhook my hair. I [heart] that part I was a silly kid. Hea! You may think I'm stupid for doing that but it's my fantisy and I [heart] it."

(check the illustration at the bottom!)

 

New Blog!

I should be studying. But after seeing Kristen's snazzy blog, I couldn't resist. I needed to create my own. I had a good time with my last blog attempt (maniac muffin), and while bitching, complaining, and making fun of people is always a good time, I felt it was time for me to step it up and mature a little.

With that said, I will still be bitching, complaining, and making fun of people. However, I will also be analyzing my life, which might get a little boring for you who prefer the silly side of me.

I also hope to create a joint blog where I can showcase an online portfolio of my photography, artwork and graphic design. This probably won't happen tonight. I have a government exam that I should be studying for.

One funny story I wanted to mention before I sign off...

We had critiques last week in class over our self portraits. One larger lady on the other side of the room looked at mine and thoughtfully commented, "The technique is okay, but I feel that your features look a little hispanic."

To which I replied, "Well, actually, I AM hispanic. So...thanks?"

The room roared with laughter and bitch got off her artistic high horse.

Part of me really wanted to comment on hers: "Well, the technique is okay, but I feel that your features look a little lardy."

Sweet dreams, kids.