Author Archives: Tata

I Won’t Get Any Older Now

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This OpEd covers many of the right points on the subject of J-1 visa exploitation, but it omits one truly important point: imagine the situation reversed. Imagine American medical students on a summer work/study vacation in an ostensibly friendly country – let’s say France – being forced to work for $1 an hour. You can’t imagine it because it would not happen without an international incident. The reason we heard about it at all was that those students were middle class kids insisting on being treated like middle class people.

We treat poor people all over the world this way every day, all the time.

To Be Brave Save

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I hate crowds.

Sometimes I think the stupid thoughts. Sure, I pass for smart, but now and then a dumb idea pops up with every bit of the surprise and seeming eurekosity of an inspired notion. Recently, I had one of those dumb ideas: I’m having a great time and learning a lot about jarring and food in general; why don’t I help other people jar? That doesn’t seem like a dumb idea, does it? If I had a time machine, I’d go back about two months and smack myself in the forehead.

Two of my co-workers expressed interest in learning. We set up a date and took vacation days, but they had meetings, canceled and went to work. I jarred two cases of peaches, which was in no way regrettable. They postponed until today, but I told them that if they wanted to do this they should order the peaches. Yesterday, they were both out of the office, but both told me after I left work they had a meeting today – which, presumably was planned – and could we do this in the evening or something? If I had to guess, I would surmise that no one ordered cases of peaches, so they knew we would not be doing food work today, but neither said anything. Leek stock is simmering, sage and cranberry compound butter is setting up in the fridge, pickles, roasted red pepper spread and spiced honey rest in jars; that’s what I did with my second vacation day. I believe my co-workers did not intend to insult me, but I also think I’d have to be pretty stupid to take a third vacation day to work with them. Also: they will be surprised I’m steamed and think spending time with them is a dumb idea.

Wonder Why Someday Some Way

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It’s rained every day for the last week. Over the weekend, we bought fenders for my bike because riding in the rain without fenders meant water flying off my front tire directly into my eyes. On a couple of occasions, I rode my bike with my eyes closed and a plume of water pouring into my already limpid pools, if you can picture THAT circus act. Pete installed the fenders and we rode to the library this morning. The road was wet, the sidewalks were wet and puddles pooled everywhere. The air smelled fresh and dewy. I zipped down the hill on the tiny town’s main street toward the bridge, where civil engineering has plainly gone to die. I flew to the edge of the bridge, wove carefully around the puddles and slowed down almost to a stop where I couldn’t avoid a puddle. It was at this exact moment that a car on the bridge rolled so fast through a puddle that standing road water splashed my face.

I laughed so hard I almost fell off my bike.

We Are We Are We Are Mature

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I'm like the McGyver of Bronze Age dairy products.

Yogurt warmers hold six cups. Considering the time and trouble involved in a batch of yogurt, the yield has to be a little more persuasive. After a little study of the average temperatures of yogurt warmers and food warming trays, I realized those temperatures weren’t even shouting distance from one another, so I thought about things in your house meant to safely generate some heat safely for long periods of time and stumbled on heating pads. I took an old, old roasting pan, lined it with cloth napkins and tested the temperature of water in a one quart Pyrex measuring cup and found it stayed consistently in the right range for as long as I needed. So. With careful stacking, I can get two pints and twelve 1-cup containers into the lined roaster, which is plenty of yogurt for just shy of two weeks. Also, I’m glad I had more to work with than a few paper clips.

Ice Is Slowly Melting

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Though I promised Reverend Billy of the Church of Earthalujah I’d only buy free-range thongs and locally grown bras, I admit to backsliding so my ample rack wouldn’t, by which I mean bras were on sale at Stein Mart and I bought three. They were probably made in China but I can’t read the tag pressed up against my yoga-toned back muscles. Is it hot in here or is Climate Change happy to see me?

This chart is full of untasty surprises.

Tomatoes? How can yogurt and cheese be so different?

The report is worth reading, mostly for the purposes of review. You know how it is: you read something, your brain knits into socks you recognize in your mental sock drawer, then a year later, your brother-in-law tells you everyone has always worn striped tights. You know it’s not true, but how do you prove he’s a raving nutburger? So read the report.

You Tell Me What’s Going

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When I saw the commercial for this, I growled, “Grrrr. Ruh roh.” I don’t have to see this movie to know it’s bad news. For crying out loud, it’s called The Help, which, if you know anything about using or have ever used words yourself, should tell you this movie is the latest in a long series in which White folks tell you all about Black folks.

It will not startle you to discover I am not alone in feeling that way. Further, that Oprah loves it in 2011 caused me to frown until I developed a headache, which helped me forget where I read about Oprah. About that, I have mixed feelings.