Poi O Boy

This morning SB went for a morning stroll in Poi O with cousin Shoils (no biological relationship but they are quite the pair).  He came home with a large, stinking backpack full of seashells, which he proceeded to wash out in our bathroom sink.  Because he is who he is, the shells are clean now but the bathroom counter and floor are filthy.  He happily told me that he was planning to make me a necklace out of the shells.  He was delighted to show me how the shells already had little holes due to some evil sea snail that bores holes to eat the defenseless creatures inside. 

Later I heard him phone Shoils to advise her to wash out her booty of shells right away because of how nasty they smelled.  Perhaps Shoils is making a matching necklace for her husband.  Steve and I can rock some faux Polynesian looks.  I guess I should be happy that all SB brought home were shells, sand and muck.  Previously he returned from a walk with Shoils with sea urchin spines embedded in his foot.  He whined for the month it took for the spines to work their way out.

 Er, thanks? I'm sure they will look great draped around my neck.

 Shoils and SB; photo by Shoils.

Don't ask; I have no idea.  Photo by Shoils.

slow news day

This morning while waiting for me to buy water for our hike, SB perused the news stand and found pictures of our friend, H, plastered all over a Cantonese tabloid magazine.  Apparently the tabloid trolled the Facebook page of a local model/artist and became interested in her friendship with H based solely on the fact that H looks like a tomboy.  The tabloid published pictures of the two of them, source unattributed of course, with some statements that mutual friends translated as hinting of a torrid, lesbian affair.  The pictures feature all sorts of compromising positions such as the two of them sitting with other friends in a restaurant and the two of them making peace signs at the camera.  One picture shows the two of them standing very closely together...under an umbrella.

I wondered about warning her that she had become famous but I didn't want to be the one ruining her day.  As we were returning from our hike I checked on my phone and saw that several friends had also seen the tabloid on their way to work and had commented on the snarky tone of underwhelming exposé. I wonder if anyone other than mutual friends bothered to buy a copy.

Recipe: Buttermilk Pancakes

SB prefers fluffy pancakes while I like them more crepe-like.  I am posting the recipe for fluffy, though you can add more buttermilk to think out the batter.  Two key items to consider are that the batter should only be beaten until smooth and not over mixed, and  use buttermilk instead of regular milk because the reaction of the buttermilk's acid with the baking soda add to the fluffiness.

Ingredients

• 2 cups (330g) all-purpose flour
• 2 teaspoons (4g) baking powder
• 1 teaspoon (6g) baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon (4g) salt
• 4 tablespoons (55g) sugar
• 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
• 3 cups (700ml) buttermilk
• 2 teaspoons (10ml) vanilla extract
• 5 tablespoons (75ml) melted, unsalted butter
• 1 teaspoon (15ml) butter for griddle/skillet

Directions

1. Heat griddle on medium-high heat. Whisk together the first five (dry) ingredients together in a medium bowl.  Quickly stir together the rest of the wet ingredients (except the butter reserved for the griddle) and then combine into the dry ingredients.
2. Whisk to combine until smooth.  Batter may have some small lumps but do not over mix the batter.  Let the batter rest for about five minutes.  The batter should be fairy thick unless the buttermilk was too thin.  If so, add a few more tablespoons of flour.
3. Lower the skillet heat to medium.  Add a dab of butter to coat the surface of the griddle/skillet.  Ladle approximately 1/2 cup (120ml) of the batter onto the pan and give the pan a shake to spread the mixture.  
4. When small bubbles form on the top of the pancake and the edge is slightly dry (approximately at 2 1/2 minutes), flip the pancake over.  Cook until the outside is a golden color (approximately 1 minute longer).
5. If there are large bubbles forming or loud sizzling the heat is too high.
6. Serve the pancakes with maple syrup.  Real maple syrup, not the fake stuff. 

Amazing

Right now there are two teams from the Amazing Race show, running through Times Square looking for a clue. Talk about a needle in a haystack. I would rather search the sixth circle of hell.

I had a small conversation with a team before realizing that the cameras were running. I don't want to end up on television so I left but SB is still trying to help.

the day the gaydar died

I used to have fantastic gaydar.  Really, it was uncanny how accurately I could identify gay people.  These days my gaydar is pretty much nonexistent.  It's not that my gaydar has gotten rusty over time but rather it has become obsolete: unnecessary and ridiculous in these modern times.

Back in the day of my perfect gaydar, life wasn't so easy for 8% of the population.  Like the early feminists who had to take up protestation and who have since been stereotyped as bra burning, men hating radicals, I believe that the earlier generation of "out" LGBT individuals tended to be advocates in the face of discrimination.  They may have been purposefully noticeable while the more mainstream gays stayed hidden.

These days, life is much better.  People still are stupid but at least we won't be watching that Oprah episode when an audience member asked two sisters who both happened to be lesbians if they had sex with each other.  Unless you are Rick Santorum who believes that allowing any two humans to get married will open the door to allowing marriage with multiple partners and goats.  Frankly, I don't care if you want to live in polyamory as long as all partners are consenting adults.  As for goats, they can't give consent.  Sorry.

So nowadays, in many civilized societies, sexual orientation is a non-issue and that 8% of the population includes all shapes and types of individuals.  That guy wearing a rainbow vest and leather chaps is most likely gay but so is that Welsh rugby player.  And like leprechauns and unicorns, gaydar doesn't really exist.

and a happy new year to you

Chúc mừng năm mới; cung chúc tân xuân! Happy new year and gracious wishes for the new spring!

I wanted to use this for our greeting card but I chose a display of fireworks in the harbour instead.

young enough

I am no longer reckless like I used to be.  I know SB wishes that I still had more of the old wild streak but after a few years of living, I have discovered that I am impeded by knowledge of risk.  In my twenties I didn't think about how fragile the human body really is; I certainly didn't consider what I had to live for or more importantly, what I would have lost.  Now I know.  I can look back at my wonderful life and my beautiful love and feel a twinge of pain at the thought that I might have missed it all.  I could have easily missed it all because my old joie de vivre was synonymous with reckless stupidity.  At the age of 23, when I almost drowned in a flash flood, my thoughts as I was fighting to keep my head above the raging water were simplistic: anger, bewilderment, exhaustion.  I hadn't experienced enough of life to feel regret or sorrow.  There was nothing to be missed.  Oh how things have changed.  I now look before I leap.  I use logic over adrenaline (usually). 

But I was young enough once.  I was young enough to live for the moment, head empty of all thought except that rush of joy.  Today as I turned down a ride on M's new, red Ducati I remembered a very late night in Texas on the back of Burt's Kawasaki Ninja as we flew down I-10 at 140mph.  I recall my somewhat hysterical laughter as a combination of air differential and acceleration dragged me backward while I gripped frantically to his waist with my numb fingers.  What a rush that was.  How frightfully stupid.  Exhilarating.  Back then I didn't know that the feeling was soon going to be diminished by caution signs.  I would have bottled that joy had I known.