Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Day G-Funk


Before I left for home, a female friend of mine got pretty angry about men and baking. In her most serious face, she sternly expressed her disgust for men who bake cakes, cookies, brownies, etc. Bread? Nope. Like a mother admonishing a child for kicking a kitten, she laid it down that men who bake are unattractive, unmasculine, and generally unsexy.

I can sorta see what she's suggesting. I mean, unless you're removing 350 degree baking sheets with your bare hands, eating footlong eclairs (filled with STEAK) in one swallow, and baking huge loafs of french bread that don't even compare to the size of your own dick, then I can't see how men can be sexy while baking. Not even kneading dough shirtless seems to evoke manliness.

Whenever I go stir crazy at home, I start baking things. In the two-month layover between the end of school and the time I left to study abroad, I got so bored and anxious that I baked a couple batches of cookies, hand mixing the dough just to make it last longer. This summer, I watched way too much Food Network and made a whole shitload of Paula Deen's Pine Bark (link forthcoming) for nearly everyone I knew. In fact, I was so proud of myself for making that Pine Bark that I started making it for special occasions and parties.

Now, was I being unmasculine and unsexy? In some ways, perhaps. But, you have to understand that simple, "found" recipes like Pine Bark (which is just melted shit on top of saltine crackers) fall within the range of "manly" concoctions -- characteristically classless, easy to do, and messy as fuck to make. So in that sense, I was being very masculine in my baking pursuits.

But apparently cooking fish is masculine, according to the same friend. I think my skills at roasting salmon counteract what little unmasculinity there might be in making Pine Bark. Again, Oslec ends up sexier than you. Just wait 'till I cook salmon shirtless.

Tuesday, December 27, 2005


I've been really, really busy for the past couple weeks and I apologize to the three or four people who read this blog regularly -- I hope I can make it up to you.

As usual, I will give out too much information. Today's gripe comes from my nipples, my right nipple to be exact. I decided to go on a run Christmas morning to start moving again after a relatively long layoff, and so I braved the fog drip and ran down the hill from my house towards Sharp Park Beach, and after stuttering and walking, headed back up the hill. As Figure 1 may not show, that's all downhill, then uphill.

I'm not a hardcore runner, like others. So, I usually don't take the sort of "minor" precautions before one runs, but this time, something bit me in the ass, or rather, in the right nipple. Apparently I had chafed it against my shirt through running, and it proceeded to bleed. I didn't notice at all when I got home, even through showering and getting dressed.

I DID, however, notice the next day at the gym that my right nipple felt like someone had sliced off the tip. I took a look at it and there was a generous scab where I had chafed it, and it apparently started hurting as my nipples grew erect from vigorous exercise. Now usually I don't mind getting hard nipples, but in this case, I was not a fan.

How much longer will this go on? I figure until the scab falls off, which could be another week or more. I just have to not pick at it when my nipple gets itchy. How will I prevent future nipple chafing? People have been known to apply vaseline before runs, or put band-aids over their nipples, though again, I've never ever had to do that before.

But as it is, because my nipples are so important to me (they add color to my life), I have to start taking care of them.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Day F

I saw the Broadway production of the Lion King tonight with my housemates. The costumes and the set were spectacular, but the singing was borderline. But, the most hilarious part of the night (at least for me) was when we were waiting in line to get in, and I had to fart. But, since I've such a good control over my sphincter, I was able to release ordorless mini-puffs. BUT, I accidentally farted on a set of passing kids. At first, I was taken aback, and then I thought "this is the funniest thing I'm going to do tonight." It was a great night.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Day... Um... One

I haven't slept well this week. Monday night was a hellacious affair with me summarizing then writing a summary for eight (!) inpenetrable articles on the Liberal state and multiculturalism, ultimately with me sleeping at 6am, and Tuesday saw a 9am presentation, a job talk, a discussion with the candidate, and another presentation at 6:30pm until 9pm. I got home, slept for 30 minutes, then got invited out to have drinks, which I accepted, but didn't drink. I took a mulligan day on Wednesday (and got a haircut), but Wednesday night I was up grading until 5am for a 10:30am class, where upon arrival I announced to my supervisor I had finished my share of the essays and she said we should just give them back on Tuesday.

So, aside from shaking all day, my hands I think are reacting negatively to writing comments, underlining, typing, and not sleeping. My fingertips are sore, really red, and feel really bloated. I tried to shoot some baskets today and of course I picked up the hardest, least forgiving basketball with no grip and proceeded to miss nearly everything I shot.

So, hopefully with more sleep, my fingers will reduce in size and they'll be hand model pretty again.

Tomorrow is my six month anniversary of my knee surgery. Six months is the average time for ACL patients to get cleared for sports. Dr. Akizuki back home was very optimistic about his work, really sort of assuring me that I'd be free to pursue the pleasures of sport once again in six month's time. The doctor here, however, is much less optimistic, perhaps by practice. He told me a couple months ago to expect to wait a year. Even my C- in calculus math tells me that's double the expected time. Let's hope when he sees my graft, he'll suggest a knee brace and then I can squat and ball again (those, by the way, are NOT sexual references).