Yesterday I tried sushi for the first -- and what I hope is the last -- time.
I went to lunch with great hopes. My father, and several in the office, had spoken so highly of sushi that I did not hesitate when someone offered that we seek some out for lunch one afternoon. Before going, however, I made sure of two things: (1) that I was going with someone who knew what they were doing and knew what to recommend; and (2) that we were going to a reputable sushi place. I wanted to make sure that if I didn’t like sushi, there wouldn’t be any excuses.
Having assured myself of both of those things, we went. And alas, I don’t like sushi. I tried mightily sampling the California roll several times – both with and without the wasabi/soy sauce mixture. I also tried the Rainbow roll and some eel thing. My experience was that the wasabi was dreadful, and the sushi without the wasabi/soy sauce dip was tolerable, yet bland – certainly not worth spending my money on.
Afterward, I stopped at a fish taco place on the way back to work to try to feel better about my lunch. It was hard, though, knowing I could’ve bought 20 bags of candy corn (or 10 bags of peanut M&Ms) for what I spent on that sushi.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
Spider Bites and Other Insights
Behold the fruits of our latest family home evening:
See if you can guess who made the battle spider – twice the size of the other spiders and with candy corn spikes to ward off predators, while paralyzing its prey with fear. I find the indian corn best suited for this. Note also that Jared has his mouth stuffed with candy corn.
Other Insights:
- I’ve had several inquiries about where I stand on the “regular candy corn vs. indian corn” debate. I always reach for the indian corn first. If you’re looking for a faster sugar rush, buy the “Autumn Mix” and eat the pumpkins.
- By the way, there are two brands of candy corn: Brach’s and unwelcome imitations.
- Today marked my seventh (and last) straight day without sugar. (Yes, the sugar fast was in large part spurred by my weaknesses with candy corn). I celebrated the breaking of my sugar fast with the spider cakes [Note: I extracted the candy corn spines before I ate the cake – Never eat candy corn with your cake. The two are not complementary and you’ll find that neither tastes very good. Furthermore, you’ll find that your palate has been ruined for at least an hour].
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Friday, October 06, 2006
The Devil's Candy (Corn)
I fell for it again.
Every year Halloween rolls around, and every year I start craving candy corn. It’s been no different this year.
The cravings started a few days ago. I started looking out for candy corn sales at Ralph’s. I even went next store to CVS, hoping to find something under $1.00. Then, two nights ago, I even managed to come up with a reason to make a just-before-the-kids’-bedtime-trip to Target looking for a similar deal. [I was disappointed -- $1.75 for a bag of candy corn is highway robbery]. Yesterday, Michelle overheard me whispering instructions to Jared on the phone: he was supposed to pester Mommy into buying me candy corn.
Miracle of miracles, she bought me some. And I ate it. I ate just about all of it.
And here’s the thing about candy corn: it doesn’t taste very good. Oh, the first few kernels almost taste delightful. The waxy sugar – and it’s all sugar – melts between your teeth, possibly changes the color of your tongue, and seems distinguished more by the prospect of tasting good than of actually tasting good. So you take another handful. It’s a little bit tastier, but still unfulfilling. Better try another handful. This continues indefinitely until one reaches the sugar saturation point – the point at which your body cannot tolerate even one more waxy kernel. With every handful comes the hope of tasting better, yet after the second handful, it ends up tasting worse and worse. Yet on that downward slope, I keep eating -- hoping the next handful will taste as good as the first or second (note how, at this point, I’ve given up on it actually tasting good).
This is the take home point: of all the candy and sugar related treats I’ve ever binged on, candy corn leaves me feeling the worst.
Don’t ask me to explain why I keep eating it, ‘cause I can’t. The bag is open. The bag is in front of me. And my hand reaches for the bag. There seems to be something devilish about that corn (no wonder it’s the quintessential Halloween candy).
But lest you be fooled, there’s nothing cathartic about this post. As I surely as I tell you now it’s the devil’s candy (or maybe the devil’s corn), as surely I can tell you I’ll be craving it again tomorrow.
Yeah, Happy Halloween to you too.
Every year Halloween rolls around, and every year I start craving candy corn. It’s been no different this year.
The cravings started a few days ago. I started looking out for candy corn sales at Ralph’s. I even went next store to CVS, hoping to find something under $1.00. Then, two nights ago, I even managed to come up with a reason to make a just-before-the-kids’-bedtime-trip to Target looking for a similar deal. [I was disappointed -- $1.75 for a bag of candy corn is highway robbery]. Yesterday, Michelle overheard me whispering instructions to Jared on the phone: he was supposed to pester Mommy into buying me candy corn.
Miracle of miracles, she bought me some. And I ate it. I ate just about all of it.
And here’s the thing about candy corn: it doesn’t taste very good. Oh, the first few kernels almost taste delightful. The waxy sugar – and it’s all sugar – melts between your teeth, possibly changes the color of your tongue, and seems distinguished more by the prospect of tasting good than of actually tasting good. So you take another handful. It’s a little bit tastier, but still unfulfilling. Better try another handful. This continues indefinitely until one reaches the sugar saturation point – the point at which your body cannot tolerate even one more waxy kernel. With every handful comes the hope of tasting better, yet after the second handful, it ends up tasting worse and worse. Yet on that downward slope, I keep eating -- hoping the next handful will taste as good as the first or second (note how, at this point, I’ve given up on it actually tasting good).
This is the take home point: of all the candy and sugar related treats I’ve ever binged on, candy corn leaves me feeling the worst.
Don’t ask me to explain why I keep eating it, ‘cause I can’t. The bag is open. The bag is in front of me. And my hand reaches for the bag. There seems to be something devilish about that corn (no wonder it’s the quintessential Halloween candy).
But lest you be fooled, there’s nothing cathartic about this post. As I surely as I tell you now it’s the devil’s candy (or maybe the devil’s corn), as surely I can tell you I’ll be craving it again tomorrow.
Yeah, Happy Halloween to you too.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Crónica De Una Noche Sin Descanso
Emily did not sleep easily last night. It was the third or fourth night in a row we’d had trouble getting her down. During such stretches, it’s hard to remember when things were ever different. Those kinds of evenings are so taxing on Michelle and I – especially when they happen consecutively – because we’re no longer battling the mere difficulty of the evening itself, but also the prospect that things won’t get any better the next night, or the night after that. Indeed, it might seem an odd thing to those not parents, but some of our most despairing moments as a couple have come on nights when we can’t get our kids to sleep.
Last night ranked somewhere in the top 5. We had Jared in bed just after 8 p.m.. Emily had not slept much all day, and been up until midnight the night before. This usually means Michelle hasn’t had any time to herself in the day. Such was the case yesterday.
We were foolishly optimistic: we had great hopes that she would go down before 9 p.m.. As it happened, though, those hopes only made the evening more difficult. Emily feigned sleep several times after nursing, but as soon as her back touched the crib she fussed and demanded our attention. We don’t know any better but to give it to her when she asks, so the waiting and the watching and the walking continued.
With each failed attempt at putting her down, our frustrations grew. I felt uncharacteristically short tempered as well, mostly because I’d set my heart set on an early bed time. Near 10 p.m. Michelle put her down again, and she took to it. We were tired enough by then that I almost immediately made my way to bed, while Michelle at last wanted to work on things she’d been hoping to get to all day.
A few moments into my evening rest, though, Emily began to fuss (her crib is in our room). I knew it was over. Michelle wasn’t of the disposition to willingly take her again all by herself, so I got up and somewhat despairingly took Emily back out into the living room as she screamed.
Emily stopped screaming, and looked around the living room and kitchen with expectant delight that there was still some nightlife. She watched an episode of Meerkat Manor with us, while I alternated positions with her, as well as back pats and back rubs, or gentle bouncing from couch positions (and standing). She gave no signs of being tired. She was enjoying things too much.
Near midnight we thought we had her down again, and we felt sure that nothing more could be required of us that evening – we didn’t think we could bear it any longer. As Michelle took Emily into the bedroom to lay down with her, though, I took a few moments to write in my journal reflecting on the experience. It had been a long, long night in the latest of a series of long nights, but it was seemingly over. The reflection spurred by the journal writing made me more submissive as I thought on things, and I wished I hadn’t been so short tempered and anxious in the hours before. I then made my way to sleep for the evening.
As I drifted to sleep, I thought on how lucky I must be that my greatest complaint was that my daughter would not sleep when I wanted her to. I thought on those whose trials dwarf the one I’d faced that evening, and I felt contrite. I suspected some would give most anything to experience what I’d been “suffering” through. That pleasant sense of self-reproach seemed like a good thought to end the evening on.
But my evening was not over.
Whether due to sickness or a more sinister motive, Emily was not ready for sleep. Her cry – after what was likely the fourth feigned attempt at sleep that evening – seemed almost unbelievable. The sound made my heart sink. It was more than Michelle could bear. It probably would’ve been more than I could’ve borne as well had I not had the reflective moments of journal writing minutes before. But I had had those few moments, and that made all the difference.
C.S. Lewis once mentioned (and I paraphrase) that we can either grip the dentist’s chair tightly, or rest our hands calmly on our lap – either way the drill drills on. I got up from my bed wearily, but more willing to figuratively let my hands rest in my lap as the drill drilled on. Tired and haggard as I was, I picked up my fussing little girl, left the bedroom for Michelle to rest in peace, strapped my daughter in her car seat, and took her for a drive through the finer parts of Irvine (and those with the least stop lights – Emily hates stop lights). She fussed for a long while, but I knew I could and would outlast her. In fact I think I even said as much to her at one point, and she got the message not long after.
Just after 1 a.m. we rolled back into our parking space. I brought my sleeping daughter into the bedroom and left her strapped in the car seat. I was too tired at that point to think where I’d find energy to face the next morning, but went to bed thinking that if more was required of me, I was ready. Ironically, that's when my evening ended.
Tonight, she fell asleep at 9 p.m.
Last night ranked somewhere in the top 5. We had Jared in bed just after 8 p.m.. Emily had not slept much all day, and been up until midnight the night before. This usually means Michelle hasn’t had any time to herself in the day. Such was the case yesterday.
We were foolishly optimistic: we had great hopes that she would go down before 9 p.m.. As it happened, though, those hopes only made the evening more difficult. Emily feigned sleep several times after nursing, but as soon as her back touched the crib she fussed and demanded our attention. We don’t know any better but to give it to her when she asks, so the waiting and the watching and the walking continued.
With each failed attempt at putting her down, our frustrations grew. I felt uncharacteristically short tempered as well, mostly because I’d set my heart set on an early bed time. Near 10 p.m. Michelle put her down again, and she took to it. We were tired enough by then that I almost immediately made my way to bed, while Michelle at last wanted to work on things she’d been hoping to get to all day.
A few moments into my evening rest, though, Emily began to fuss (her crib is in our room). I knew it was over. Michelle wasn’t of the disposition to willingly take her again all by herself, so I got up and somewhat despairingly took Emily back out into the living room as she screamed.
Emily stopped screaming, and looked around the living room and kitchen with expectant delight that there was still some nightlife. She watched an episode of Meerkat Manor with us, while I alternated positions with her, as well as back pats and back rubs, or gentle bouncing from couch positions (and standing). She gave no signs of being tired. She was enjoying things too much.
Near midnight we thought we had her down again, and we felt sure that nothing more could be required of us that evening – we didn’t think we could bear it any longer. As Michelle took Emily into the bedroom to lay down with her, though, I took a few moments to write in my journal reflecting on the experience. It had been a long, long night in the latest of a series of long nights, but it was seemingly over. The reflection spurred by the journal writing made me more submissive as I thought on things, and I wished I hadn’t been so short tempered and anxious in the hours before. I then made my way to sleep for the evening.
As I drifted to sleep, I thought on how lucky I must be that my greatest complaint was that my daughter would not sleep when I wanted her to. I thought on those whose trials dwarf the one I’d faced that evening, and I felt contrite. I suspected some would give most anything to experience what I’d been “suffering” through. That pleasant sense of self-reproach seemed like a good thought to end the evening on.
But my evening was not over.
Whether due to sickness or a more sinister motive, Emily was not ready for sleep. Her cry – after what was likely the fourth feigned attempt at sleep that evening – seemed almost unbelievable. The sound made my heart sink. It was more than Michelle could bear. It probably would’ve been more than I could’ve borne as well had I not had the reflective moments of journal writing minutes before. But I had had those few moments, and that made all the difference.
C.S. Lewis once mentioned (and I paraphrase) that we can either grip the dentist’s chair tightly, or rest our hands calmly on our lap – either way the drill drills on. I got up from my bed wearily, but more willing to figuratively let my hands rest in my lap as the drill drilled on. Tired and haggard as I was, I picked up my fussing little girl, left the bedroom for Michelle to rest in peace, strapped my daughter in her car seat, and took her for a drive through the finer parts of Irvine (and those with the least stop lights – Emily hates stop lights). She fussed for a long while, but I knew I could and would outlast her. In fact I think I even said as much to her at one point, and she got the message not long after.
Just after 1 a.m. we rolled back into our parking space. I brought my sleeping daughter into the bedroom and left her strapped in the car seat. I was too tired at that point to think where I’d find energy to face the next morning, but went to bed thinking that if more was required of me, I was ready. Ironically, that's when my evening ended.
Tonight, she fell asleep at 9 p.m.
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