About Chocolate Chips

At work again.

Last week i had something profound...well at least interesting, that i wanted to ponder over. I know i was going to expand on it a bit, prefaced by a short lament over (24 hours just went by; i got moved to a different area of the shop and i didn't get back here until this morning, March 28) my now nonfunctional laptop. But i can't remember what it was, so this paragraph has no merit and should probably be removed. I mean, look. Halfway through the second sentence the date changes. I could delete the whole thing and start over.

And yet it remains. Curious.

Tiffany and i were talking about chocolate chips last night. I invited the subject after offering her some. Naturally she declined as my arms do not reach as far as South Carolina. The only alternative would have been squishing them into her IM box, but i fear such an attempt would result in nothing more than chocolate smears on the screen. So i had the bag to myself. No, i didn't eat them all.

These particular chocolate chips were special. Why, thank you. I appreciate your flattery but no, it's not because they were from me (conceited anyone?). these were in the freezer.

My mom, ever since i can remember, has stored most of her chocolate chips in the freezer. She knew i'd eat them upon discovery so she would hide them. Behiind something, under something. Sometimes she'd even put them inside a container so you couldn't tell they were there. But i knew. I developed this sense for finding them mdespite her best efforts.

There was an unspoken treaty between us. Unopened bags were off limits but opened bags were fair game. At some point they were no longer hidden. I think she gave up, knowing i'd find them anyway. the funny thing is i would never go after any chocolate chips in the cupboard or pantry; only the frozen ones.

Once i went frozen, whatever that young age was, i couldn't go back. The flavor is better and lasts longer. Because they're coldl, they have a refreshinig edge to them. Let's face it, warm chocolate is good but will never be refreshing. Chocolate just doesn't have that quality (Lindt chocolates being the only exception i know of).

The best way to eat them is to bite down hard and fast so as to chip or break a tooth. That will send you to the dentist where you can choose a children's fruit-flavored toothpaste to compliment the chocolate. Or you can go adult and have a chocolate-mint aftertaste. It's your call.

Or you could let them sit in your mouth until the initial freezer-cold is gone and they're just cool. then you can bite. The smaller pieces warm and melt, covering your palette with semi-sweet seduction. Mmmm.

Try it.

Oh, Elyse, this is why i was talking about chocolate chips. I had just finished the aforementioned conversation and the bag was right in front of me. And why were you so object to cookies as a conversational topic? I mean, really. Cookies.

Ah, new topic.

Cookies.

You know what i really miss? Insert guess here. I really miss McDonald's cookies. Do you remember them? They came with a Happy Meal in a small transparent plastic bag. Each cookie was in the shape of the presently lesser-known McDonald's characters. Grimace, the Hamburgler, Mayor McCheese, those things that look like pom poms with legs, that bird with a leather pilot's hat & goggles. SIDNOTE: Remember Mac Tonight? :END SIDENOTE

Those were good cookies.

But the question i posed to Elyse was not what kind they were. She had already confessed they were chocolate chip. I was interested in their texture. I didn't care how bumpy, smooth or rough they were. SIDENOTE: If you ever get a cookie as smooth as marble countertop, don't eat it :END SIDENOTE I was interested in soft vs. crunchy. Aside from "what kind?" i think it's the biggest cookie question out there.

There are several variations

SOFT
- but fully baked
- and doughy
- but crunchy on the edge
- inside, crunchy outside
- but quasi-dry
- but break apart
- and pliable

CRUNCHY
- but quasi-moist
- and dry
- and flaky
- but solid

My personal favorite is a soft, semi pliable (but will also pull apart) oatmeal raisin cookie. Chocolate chip are good, certainly, but there's nothing quite like an oatmeal raisin.

Don't forget a glass of milk. Oh good, more options.

I go with skim.

PC Recovery

So my computer's having issues. A few nights ago i was listening to the Truman Show soundtrack. I wanted to update my iPod with the new tracks, so i plugged in the iPod cable to the USB port when CLICK, my laptop just shut off. No warning, no "Hey, i just downloaded an update and i have to restart." Nope. It just turned off.

I was completely thrown off and quite confused. But, being the rational person i am, i turned it back on. It gave me this message saying the power in the USB port was exceeding its allowable amount. Basically that it was surging. However, the odd part about that was the absence of anything in them (there are two USB ports on my laptop, and i had removed the iPod cable from the one). So it was telling me that something (which wasn't plugged in) was exceeding its power limits. Hmm.

I thought, "maybe it's a virus." What isn't these days? Did a virus scan. Nothing. Did another virus scan. Still nothing. Did yet another virus scan. No, i'm just kidding, i'm not that bad.

Thinking perhaps it was a virus that Mcaffy (spelling?) wasn't picking up, i decided to take a drastic step and bring the computer's system back to an earlier point in time when the problem didn't exist. Yes, i can do that. Well, a program can do that, i just push the right buttons.

"PC Recovery" is NOT the same thing as "System Restore". I figured that out three seconds too late. During its "PC Recovery", i stopped it. Now Windows won't even boot.

How then am i blogging you ask? I'm on another laptop in the house that was fortunately left by the wonderful owners of this home for me to use "just in case". Well, this is certainly "just in case".

So while i type here, my laptop (which i have yet to name...no, Tiffany, even if that name wasn't already taken, i wouldn't name it that) sits three inches away performing a self diagnostic. Kunal told me to. He's the service rep i spoke with via a Dell instant message window. It cuts down on phone bills to India (for Dell).

SO, due to a technical problem which i have drastically furthered in complexity, my laptop is down for a little while. I may not be blogging for a few weeks. Oh wait, that's no different from the way i am now. Sorry. I'll try to be better about it. Not just for you, my loyal few readers, but for myself as well. I have much to say, and much to contemplate outloud (at least outwrit).

Sigh.

I just hope i don't lose all the data (especially the 25 gigs worth of music) on the hard drive. That's my biggest worry.

She'll be okay eventually. (my laptop) SIDENOTE: All machines are female. My car, for example, is named Grace. My bass guitar is named Amy. Granted that's not a machine, but it's the same principle. :END SIDENOTE

New subject approaching.

I'll be giving up this house next Thursday. The owners will be returning on Friday from their long business-driven trip to Australia. I'm sure Pam will be happy to see her cats again. They've been very well behaved (the cats) and even repainted their own room. They wanted to go with yellow but since they're color-blind (they mistook it for a light gray), i suggested a mellow and unintrusive blue to compliment the cream carpets. They conceded, so i went out and picked up the paint for them. They're not allowed to purchase home decorating supplies. House rule, i never asked why.

I'll miss the house, but surprising even to myself, i'm not that sad. I knew the day would come, and it's not my house anyway. The cats will continue to be fed, other dwellings will requite my presence, and Kraft will still come in blue boxes. Life will continue.

I have enjoyed it though. The freedom of an entire house (a small one, but still a whole one) to myself. It's been peaceful, and moving back in with my parents for the few months prior to my exciting move to the Boston area will be nothing new to me. So, again, life will continue. The universe tends to unravel as it should. God will provide.

All that being said, i'm off to eat leftover pizza (a white spinach & bacon, or my Carne Asada from CPK [California Pizza Kitchen]), and perhaps the shrimp scampi from The Corner Pug the other night. Best freakin food i've ever eaten. I left the first bite in my mouth to let the flavors just melt onto my palate. Wow was it good. I just sat their, mesmerized by my meal. Mmmmm...

I'll be watching Zathura. I just need mindless entertainment tonight.

Wish you were here.

Asterisk*

Edward Shearmur, "4th of July" from the K-PAX soundtrack.

An asterisk is designed to show a limiting qualification. It says, "Oh, there's a little sidenote about this word in small font at the bottom. Pay it no mind." It denotes partial truth; a restriction or proviso on a given subject.

For instance:

Made with real* cheese

Now, at a quick glance one might think, "Oh wow, they put real cheese in that." But they didn't. It's real*, not real. Perhaps there's a little note at the bottom letting you know that "real" means 75% dairy and 25% other crap you don't really want to know about.

An actual example:

People who have run the bearings through the machine without doing one upside down:

Jeff
Rich
Jack
Adam*

I'm not sure who actually has or hasn't, but this was brought up today. Jack told me, while i was running these bronze bearings through a machine, that if i did them all without doing one upside down, i would be one of the few who haven't. So i paid close attention and made sure they all went in correctly. I was quite proud of myself when i had finished and not scrapped a single one.

But

Steve came to me, handed me one of the bearings and said, "Hey Adam, take a look at this. Something seem off to you?" I held it up and came to a very clear realization. It hadn't even been run through the machine. "How did that one get through?" i asked. No one seems to understand how it could happen, but we all got a big laugh out of it. Out of 161 pieces, one got away.

So, Jack said my name would go in the hall of fame (for not doing any upside down) with an asterisk. I imagine this is what it would say:

*except that one


Sometimes when i talk, i have an asterisk behind a word or two. But i shouldn't. I should say what i mean and mean what i say. No asterisks, no parenthetical sidenotes. Just straight forward and honest.

Wow i'm tired...my eyelids have been closing for several minute periodsd during the typing of this entry.

All i'm trying to say is don't talk with an asterisk.

Don't say it unless you mean it.

Chirping Cold

I'm waiting for my sweatshirts (one for wearing to work, one for wearing at work) and my jeans to dry. The zippers are clicking against the side of the dryer as they turn over and over, losing bits of moisture as they go.

The last week or so i've awoken to the sound of birds chirping. Not crows annoying me into consciousness, but those nice sounding ones that are here in the spring. The birds whose songs, if roughly translated, would probably mean "It's going to be a beautiful day today. The sun will rise, the air will warm, you'll be just fine." It's a very pleasant feeling.

The thermometer hung on the tree outside hasn't read over 15 degrees any of these mornings, but those birds are still out there. We could learn a few things from them. They leave during the winter, return home to subfreezing temperatures in the morning and they sing anyway. What do they know that we don't?'

It's cold out. The day ahead of me includes 9 hours of work. I haven't been eating too heatlhy and as a result i'm gaining weight again. I need exercise, i'm not in shape. I'm still tired. My clothes still aren't dry.

So?

I can sing anyway.

Personal DNA

So i took this test online to see what my "personal DNA" was, and here are my results:

Personal DNA Test

Apparently i'm an "encouraging inventor".

It also says that my massculinity is low and my femininity is high. As much as the man in me doesn't want to admit that, it's true. I've never been that Macho guy. It's just not me. Don't get me wrong, i'm a man. Just not that one.

Big Stuff, part 1

Some peanuts were being shipped overseas.

Plastic doesn't seal properly, so foil liners were added to the bags as a precautionary measure to keep the legumes away from the rough sea air. The deep red "GoNuts" emblem was printed on the front of all 1,300,000 bags being shipped. The bags were stuffed in boxes that were, in turn, packed into crates. They would be placed on trailers upon arrival at a port in the south of Portugal for deliveries throughout the country over the next week. The markets would be ready.

Captain Samuel Bickons kept precise records of the cargo on board the 400,000 ton ship, "Big Stuff". If anything was unaccounted for, he would personally take responsibility and immediately find a replacement. If no replacement could be found, he would pay for the lost item out of his own pocket. He was well liked and well respected among the ports and other ships. Everyone knew him by first name. He liked it that way.

Big Stuff and her crew had been out for fifteen days, but the crew Bickons had personally chosen kept morale up and spirits light. They were good people; honest people. They were family, and they treated each other as such. Everyone except for Turge.

One of the crew members' wives was expected to give birth over the next few days, so Turge was brought on as a fill-in. He knew it was only temporary and perhaps that's why he kept to himself. No one bothered him or interupted his solitude. Turge liked his affairs kept private, and it was noticeable. Bren tried asking him about home life one night in the galley, but Turge ignored the question. So, they let him be.

As private as he was, one thing about Turge was inescapably apparent. He talked to the peanuts.

It wasn't that he would utter small greetings to them, or check on their health with a simple, "Everyone okay?" That would have been dismissible. They all did that from time to time.

Turge carried out lengthy conversations, and not with the collective, but with individual bags. He knew he wouldn't have time to get to know them all and he made that apparent to the surrounding cargo of crate 1179. It housed the peanuts he spoke with most frequently. He would take the bags out, and stand there for hours talking and asking questions.

No one knew exactly what he spoke to them about. They were afraid that if they asked or got close enough to hear, he might stop. And they didn't want that; it was intriguing to watch from distant gangways or wherever they could find a good vantage point. Captain Bickons would have a crew member recheck the boxes that Turge had opened, ensuring correct numbers. Every bag was consistently accounted for so Bickons let it go. It was harmless, and it kept the crew entertained.


to be continued...