Moms of the world will cringe when they hear this:
Frozen bean and cheese burritos make a perfect meal.
College students nationwide know what I'm talking about. It's hard juggling classes, work, friends, family and having to cook fresh meals for oneself when there are only 24 hours in any given day. Frozen foods are a gift from the heavens when it comes down to nourishment during college years (and, for some, years to follow). No, really.
Think about it. Bean and cheese burritos are full of protein, dairy, starch, fat and overall deliciousness. And when frozen, these delicacies are just 45 seconds away from edibility.
Perfection beautifully wrapped in a corn-flour tortilla.
These creations trump all other frozen foods. Frozen nuggets provide just a protein source. Frozen pot-stickers provide just a source of fried oil. Frozen vegetables provide just that, frozen vegetables. But bean and cheese burritos are fun for all -- carnivores, omnivores and herbivores, alike.
I saw a Vons coupon recently offering a 10 frozen bean and cheese burritos for $10. Supermarket run, anyone?
Thursday, September 18, 2008
A closeted Buffy fan?
There are certain things people love, whether their favorite food, favorite book, or even favorite show, which make people snicker.
You see a bored, dejected look on their faces when you talk about it . You ramble on incessantly, and they just stare blankly back.
But that's because they just don't get it.
For years I have been addicted to a television show whose title makes people snicker, laugh or think I'm a complete loser. The cult classic ended five years ago, yet every time I see a DVD cover, poster, or show by the creator, I get nostalgic.
For "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Yes, that is the worst title ever.
But once you get past the hokey title you realize the show has more depth to it. Unlike "Gossip Girl," and even "Gilmore Girls," the show has relatively little teenage angst.
After all, when you're a girl forced to slay vampires and (try to) stay in school, you take things with a grain of salt.
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" revolves around a girl and her friends, and their adventures in supernatural "Sunnydale" fighting vampires (instead of crime). Along with slaying vampires and keeping the creatures at bay, they deal with normal teenage drama, from financial woes, and college applications, to boyfriend drama (especially when your boyfriend is a 300-year-old vampire).
The writer of "Buffy," Joss Whedon (the man behind Firefly, Angel, and soon-to-be-released-Fox-show Dollhouse) has an impeccably brilliant style of writing. His dialogue for the characters is unusual , witty banter that has the characters in their actions foreshadowing most of real life's problems--like when a "magic addiction" portrayal parallels a "drug addiction."
Because Whedon makes art (his television show) imitate life so scarily well, the show is a cult classic that is still talked about even today. You know "Buffy" impacts lives when there are books, movies (possibly), conferences and even lectures about it.
You see a bored, dejected look on their faces when you talk about it . You ramble on incessantly, and they just stare blankly back.
But that's because they just don't get it.
For years I have been addicted to a television show whose title makes people snicker, laugh or think I'm a complete loser. The cult classic ended five years ago, yet every time I see a DVD cover, poster, or show by the creator, I get nostalgic.
For "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."
Yes, that is the worst title ever.
But once you get past the hokey title you realize the show has more depth to it. Unlike "Gossip Girl," and even "Gilmore Girls," the show has relatively little teenage angst.
After all, when you're a girl forced to slay vampires and (try to) stay in school, you take things with a grain of salt.
"Buffy the Vampire Slayer" revolves around a girl and her friends, and their adventures in supernatural "Sunnydale" fighting vampires (instead of crime). Along with slaying vampires and keeping the creatures at bay, they deal with normal teenage drama, from financial woes, and college applications, to boyfriend drama (especially when your boyfriend is a 300-year-old vampire).
The writer of "Buffy," Joss Whedon (the man behind Firefly, Angel, and soon-to-be-released-Fox-show Dollhouse) has an impeccably brilliant style of writing. His dialogue for the characters is unusual , witty banter that has the characters in their actions foreshadowing most of real life's problems--like when a "magic addiction" portrayal parallels a "drug addiction."
Because Whedon makes art (his television show) imitate life so scarily well, the show is a cult classic that is still talked about even today. You know "Buffy" impacts lives when there are books, movies (possibly), conferences and even lectures about it.
My guilty pleasure is cleaner than yours
Warm laundry.
You know that awful, smelly thing that piles up when you're not looking? That pain-in-the-butt chore that you put off each week? Believe it or not...that's my guilty pleasure. Everyone knows when it's my laundry day. I always seem to have an extra pep in my step and smile on my face. Not to mention, I smell pretty good.
I love it so much that I've made a routine of it. Whether my meticulous laundry habits stem from OCD or undying love, I'm not sure. But here goes:
1. Sort my dirty laundry - darks, whites, reds.
2. Throw each load into a washer for a rinse.
3. Dress my recently stripped bed with a clean set of sheets.
4. Watch my quarter jar decrease as I throw everything into the dryer.
5. Carefully pull the clothes out of the dryer, making sure not to touch the lint trap and taint my fresh, clean clothes.
6. Pop in a Gilmore Girls DVD and get comfortable on the couch.
7. Lay all of my clothes beside me and start folding.
Most people fold their laundry without a care in the world. But the process should embraced. What I usually do is wrap myself up in my bath towel--perfectly warm and smelling of Tide. Then I start with my shirts. Move to my shorts and skirts. The undergarments. And finally, I fold my jeans. Once everything is piled up and categorized it all goes safely into my dresser where it waits for the next (and much anticipated) laundry day.
You know that awful, smelly thing that piles up when you're not looking? That pain-in-the-butt chore that you put off each week? Believe it or not...that's my guilty pleasure. Everyone knows when it's my laundry day. I always seem to have an extra pep in my step and smile on my face. Not to mention, I smell pretty good.
I love it so much that I've made a routine of it. Whether my meticulous laundry habits stem from OCD or undying love, I'm not sure. But here goes:
1. Sort my dirty laundry - darks, whites, reds.
2. Throw each load into a washer for a rinse.
3. Dress my recently stripped bed with a clean set of sheets.
4. Watch my quarter jar decrease as I throw everything into the dryer.
5. Carefully pull the clothes out of the dryer, making sure not to touch the lint trap and taint my fresh, clean clothes.
6. Pop in a Gilmore Girls DVD and get comfortable on the couch.
7. Lay all of my clothes beside me and start folding.
Most people fold their laundry without a care in the world. But the process should embraced. What I usually do is wrap myself up in my bath towel--perfectly warm and smelling of Tide. Then I start with my shirts. Move to my shorts and skirts. The undergarments. And finally, I fold my jeans. Once everything is piled up and categorized it all goes safely into my dresser where it waits for the next (and much anticipated) laundry day.
summer heat and mangy fur.
red roses, vanilla extract, cinammon sticks, lavender soap, and green tea
Keen scents that are constantly fused to form luxurious perfumes nationwide.
My favorite scent?
No, it's not cucumber melon.
Nothing smells better than an outgoing puppy after a dip in the pool.
Chlorine and dog hair is quite delightful.
The scent of wet dog is comforting, enchanting, and charming. Growing up, my dog Katie was my best friend. Without hesitation, she would follow me into the pool in the blistering summer heat, splashing and enjoying the cool water. After making her best attempt at the dog paddle (she would usualy end up making erratic splashes), she would jump out of the pool and shower me with wet kisses. Whenever I was done swimming, she was done too.
Within an hour of her dip, the whole house would smell of musty fur. Her mangy coat would leave a mark on the couch, the rug, the potter barn arm chairs- everything. My mom would constantly apologize to guests, "Katie jumped in the pool again. I'm sorry. The cleaning lady is comming tomorrow."
In reality, I think we were the only ones that could smell Katie. No one really complained. The scent reminds me of childhood- the irreplaceable bond between a young child and their first pet.
The smell of wet dog will always bring a smile to my face.
Keen scents that are constantly fused to form luxurious perfumes nationwide.
My favorite scent?
No, it's not cucumber melon.
Nothing smells better than an outgoing puppy after a dip in the pool.
Chlorine and dog hair is quite delightful.
The scent of wet dog is comforting, enchanting, and charming. Growing up, my dog Katie was my best friend. Without hesitation, she would follow me into the pool in the blistering summer heat, splashing and enjoying the cool water. After making her best attempt at the dog paddle (she would usualy end up making erratic splashes), she would jump out of the pool and shower me with wet kisses. Whenever I was done swimming, she was done too.
Within an hour of her dip, the whole house would smell of musty fur. Her mangy coat would leave a mark on the couch, the rug, the potter barn arm chairs- everything. My mom would constantly apologize to guests, "Katie jumped in the pool again. I'm sorry. The cleaning lady is comming tomorrow."
In reality, I think we were the only ones that could smell Katie. No one really complained. The scent reminds me of childhood- the irreplaceable bond between a young child and their first pet.
The smell of wet dog will always bring a smile to my face.
My Dog Ben
A few months ago, my family and I decided to put our 17-year-old dog Ben to sleep. Now even though he had been a staple in my family since I was a kid, almost everyone that knew him would say they didn't like him.
Why?
In his younger years, Ben was a feisty little guy. He was a small wired-haired doxen, about 25 lbs, but, for some reason, he never understood that. Whether it be a small poodle or a huge rottweiler, Ben would bark, growl and do whatever means necessary to get across that he was the toughest dog of them all.
Ben also wasn't the best with strangers or small children. He would bark and run like a mad man whenever some one new was over the house. Or, whenever my little cousins were over we'd have to keep Ben outside so they wouldn't run home crying.
Forget about the gardener or the mailman. They stood no chance.
Another word pops to mind when I think about Ben. Stubborn.
If there was one thing that Ben liked, it was being inside. Trying to get him outside in the morning before school and work was harder than anyone could imagine. In fact, it got to the point where we'd have to lead him out by leaving a trail of turkey to the backdoor, then we'd run behind him and force him out when he got near the exit.
In his older years, Ben developed a skin allergy of the worst kind. Not only did it give him dry skin, but it gave him a pretty terrible stench wherever he would walk. Pretty much, you could tell Ben was in the room just by taking a sniff yourself.
Now that was the Ben most people knew. He was wild, stubborn, smelly and hard to control. But there was another Ben not a lot of people knew. Actually, I might be the only person whoever met Ben that knew this side of him.
Believe it or not, Ben was actually very friendly if you spent some time with him. Over the years, we developed a close friendship - one of the best.
He slept on my bed every night. I would play with him more than anybody else and he followed me all around the house and in the backyard. Also, I thought it was kind of cool how feisty he was because I knew he'd protect me if anything ever happened.
I guess if I look back, he wasn't really a family dog. He was my dog.
The only reason my family kept Ben around for so many years was because of me. They wanted to give him away or put him to sleep five years before he truly needed to go. Ben stayed around because I begged and pleaded, and I'm happy it worked out. He was my buddy. My little guard dog. I wasn't going to leave him out to dry.
So, while most people, if not all people, didn't like Ben, I loved him. And it was sad to see him go a couple months ago, but it was time. I got as much out of him as I could, and he was in far too much pain to keep it going.
I always used to call Ben a living legend before we had to put him to sleep, and people would laugh, but I never did. Even though he's not alive anymore, and my family has already moved on and bought a new dog - his name is Charlie - people will always remember that crazy little dog.
At least to the people who knew him, Ben really is a legend that they won't forget, even if they didn't like him.
Why?
In his younger years, Ben was a feisty little guy. He was a small wired-haired doxen, about 25 lbs, but, for some reason, he never understood that. Whether it be a small poodle or a huge rottweiler, Ben would bark, growl and do whatever means necessary to get across that he was the toughest dog of them all.
Ben also wasn't the best with strangers or small children. He would bark and run like a mad man whenever some one new was over the house. Or, whenever my little cousins were over we'd have to keep Ben outside so they wouldn't run home crying.
Forget about the gardener or the mailman. They stood no chance.
Another word pops to mind when I think about Ben. Stubborn.
If there was one thing that Ben liked, it was being inside. Trying to get him outside in the morning before school and work was harder than anyone could imagine. In fact, it got to the point where we'd have to lead him out by leaving a trail of turkey to the backdoor, then we'd run behind him and force him out when he got near the exit.
In his older years, Ben developed a skin allergy of the worst kind. Not only did it give him dry skin, but it gave him a pretty terrible stench wherever he would walk. Pretty much, you could tell Ben was in the room just by taking a sniff yourself.
Now that was the Ben most people knew. He was wild, stubborn, smelly and hard to control. But there was another Ben not a lot of people knew. Actually, I might be the only person whoever met Ben that knew this side of him.
Believe it or not, Ben was actually very friendly if you spent some time with him. Over the years, we developed a close friendship - one of the best.
He slept on my bed every night. I would play with him more than anybody else and he followed me all around the house and in the backyard. Also, I thought it was kind of cool how feisty he was because I knew he'd protect me if anything ever happened.
I guess if I look back, he wasn't really a family dog. He was my dog.
The only reason my family kept Ben around for so many years was because of me. They wanted to give him away or put him to sleep five years before he truly needed to go. Ben stayed around because I begged and pleaded, and I'm happy it worked out. He was my buddy. My little guard dog. I wasn't going to leave him out to dry.
So, while most people, if not all people, didn't like Ben, I loved him. And it was sad to see him go a couple months ago, but it was time. I got as much out of him as I could, and he was in far too much pain to keep it going.
I always used to call Ben a living legend before we had to put him to sleep, and people would laugh, but I never did. Even though he's not alive anymore, and my family has already moved on and bought a new dog - his name is Charlie - people will always remember that crazy little dog.
At least to the people who knew him, Ben really is a legend that they won't forget, even if they didn't like him.
Hitting the Spot
As I head closer and closer to my destination, the dank smell of human excretion and rotting garbage grows overwhelmingly strong.
I inhale deeply. Ahh, there's no mistaking that smell.
The trusty stinky tofu stand is just ahead.
And now I know I'm home at last. If there's one thing I miss most about Taiwan, it's the food. It seems to be in Asia that the dirtier a restaurant is, the better the food turns out to be. I suppose there's just something mysteriously exciting about not knowing exactly where your food has been. And if your food happens to smell like a towel that has been used by the entire USC football team after the craziest game of the year, even better!
Two kinds of stinky tofu exist, the deep-fried kind and the boiled kind.
I'm not an avid fan of the first as it just isn't stinky enough for me (not to mention my mother tells me not to eat fried foods b/c they clog your arteries). The second, however, is literally a taste of heaven (or hell, which might be more fitting for stinky tofu first-timers). Watching a formerly white-turned-brown piece of tofu jiggling in a boiling pot of secret-ingredient goodness is, I suppose, not a normal pastime for most Americans.
But for Taiwan natives, getting a meal of stinky tofu (especially if it's free) is like getting a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses from the love of your life.
I inhale deeply. Ahh, there's no mistaking that smell.
The trusty stinky tofu stand is just ahead.
And now I know I'm home at last. If there's one thing I miss most about Taiwan, it's the food. It seems to be in Asia that the dirtier a restaurant is, the better the food turns out to be. I suppose there's just something mysteriously exciting about not knowing exactly where your food has been. And if your food happens to smell like a towel that has been used by the entire USC football team after the craziest game of the year, even better!
Two kinds of stinky tofu exist, the deep-fried kind and the boiled kind.
I'm not an avid fan of the first as it just isn't stinky enough for me (not to mention my mother tells me not to eat fried foods b/c they clog your arteries). The second, however, is literally a taste of heaven (or hell, which might be more fitting for stinky tofu first-timers). Watching a formerly white-turned-brown piece of tofu jiggling in a boiling pot of secret-ingredient goodness is, I suppose, not a normal pastime for most Americans.
But for Taiwan natives, getting a meal of stinky tofu (especially if it's free) is like getting a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses from the love of your life.
My love that is hated
For the typical 9 to 5er, work is not necessarily something that would be on the list of favorite things to do. However, I on the other hand, see work as my escape and the only thing that allows me to hold on to my sanity, amidst my hectic life.
I have my glass of orange juice, and my 4 egg omelet, and im off. Yes, I sit behind a desk for a few hours in the morning, but it is all necessary work for the fun I get to have in the afternoon, when the real work kicks in.
At 3 o'clock when the local school bells ring, I too feel the same relief as the students do. I get up from my desk, and head on over to the playing field. All of a sudden I am completely in the moment, I have no cares, no worries, just now. As I watch the Trojan Football team for the next two hours, I work out in my head, what will be my post-practice questions. What should I ask coach? Who played well today? What can I do to be a step ahead?
After practice is when all the prep work in the morning pays off and when my real work begins. I spend almost an hour interviewing players and talking to PR representatives about next week's big game. How many people can say they call this work? I am not sure, but I can.
My nights are filled breaking down the day's footage, all to escape to my bed before Leno goes off the air. I rest until my alarm goes off the next morning, and I get to do it all over again. I live it. I love it. And I would have it no other way.
I have my glass of orange juice, and my 4 egg omelet, and im off. Yes, I sit behind a desk for a few hours in the morning, but it is all necessary work for the fun I get to have in the afternoon, when the real work kicks in.
At 3 o'clock when the local school bells ring, I too feel the same relief as the students do. I get up from my desk, and head on over to the playing field. All of a sudden I am completely in the moment, I have no cares, no worries, just now. As I watch the Trojan Football team for the next two hours, I work out in my head, what will be my post-practice questions. What should I ask coach? Who played well today? What can I do to be a step ahead?
After practice is when all the prep work in the morning pays off and when my real work begins. I spend almost an hour interviewing players and talking to PR representatives about next week's big game. How many people can say they call this work? I am not sure, but I can.
My nights are filled breaking down the day's footage, all to escape to my bed before Leno goes off the air. I rest until my alarm goes off the next morning, and I get to do it all over again. I live it. I love it. And I would have it no other way.
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