I'm growing weary of starting every post with "these are scary times" or "my job—and those of thousands of other Americans—is in jeopardy due to the tailspin economy" or "can't talk now, building bunker."
I'm really glad that all those banks got all that free money, but if they want us to reach into our wallets they're going to need to make sure we have jobs because that's what pays for the pants, which is where the pockets are.
If you know anyone who is desperately in need of unloading a bunch of cash on someone who can spell and punctuate AND speak without drooling, please give them my number. Preferably the contract for the position should include a guaranteed-for-life clause. I am not above groveling, inappropriate flattery, and/or baked goods. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.
Instead of curling up with the dust bunnies in a corner of the Woodside and whimpering, I'm thinking maybe I need a distracting hobby. J has voiced his preference for "a walk every once in a while, you selfish prat," but I told him that didn't sound very fun and maybe he needs an attitude adjustment.
Our food editor has decided that the best defense for flagging morale, mounting tension, and grinding teeth is to be chased by bees. I can't match her enthusiasm for the sport—one has to do a lot of READING, and there's the ungainly outfit. And of course there are the stinging insects. But the payoff is really cool.
It looks sort of unassuming and dry there, but when you cut into it with a knife ...
you get beyootiful stuff. Amber and dripping and pocked with golden comb.
It tasted sweet and floral, although she describes it acerbically as "ragweed honey." It was a heavenly match with the salty brie. I'm proud of her. Maybe I can help her sell it on street corners after I lose my job.
In the wake of all this dire news, I leave you with this, courtesy of Chocolate Chipped and Scuzzi.
People, I have found my new hobby. Eating dessert masquerading as vegetables.