Talkin' 'Bout a Resolution
It’s a new year.
The ball has dropped, the dust has settled, the drunkenly fumbled pigs-in-blankets have been scarfed up by opportunistic terriers.
So... what are you going to do?
Notice I didn't ask what you're not going to do. Negative resolutions are terribly monotonous. Yes, yes, yes... you're not going to drink as much, smoke as much, cram quite as many queso-slathered chimichangas down the ol' gullet.
You're definitely not going to take any more sheep tranquilizers, even if the young lady proffering them seems really cool, even if she attends Veterinary Science classes at Vo-Tech on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
These are fine goals, noble goals, goals which will last for, oh, a week or so... maybe two, if Enchilada Enclave gets shut down for health code violations. But they're not what I want to know about.
The ball has dropped, the dust has settled, the drunkenly fumbled pigs-in-blankets have been scarfed up by opportunistic terriers.
So... what are you going to do?
Notice I didn't ask what you're not going to do. Negative resolutions are terribly monotonous. Yes, yes, yes... you're not going to drink as much, smoke as much, cram quite as many queso-slathered chimichangas down the ol' gullet.
You're definitely not going to take any more sheep tranquilizers, even if the young lady proffering them seems really cool, even if she attends Veterinary Science classes at Vo-Tech on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
These are fine goals, noble goals, goals which will last for, oh, a week or so... maybe two, if Enchilada Enclave gets shut down for health code violations. But they're not what I want to know about.
Sometimes, life's like dodgeball... high-velocity projectiles come hurtling at you from all angles; all you can do is react quickly and remain upright. Other times, though, it's more like tennis. Sure, you've got to whack problems back over the net. But you also have the chance to be proactive. To set your sights, lift your racket and send your aspirations flying... ideally, straight into the crotch of your opponent, who in this particular metaphor represents Forces Conspiring to Quash Your Precious Dreams. Few things are as satisfying as giving one's goals an emphatic smack towards fruition. In 2008, let's do exactly that.
What positive changes do you want to see in your life this year? And - more importantly - how do you plan to enact them?
C'mon. Take control. Hustle.. or, as it's the Year of the Rat, scurry. Cast the XBox controller of complacency from your hands! Free the pulsating phallus of self-determination from your pants! Um... figuratively, that is. Wouldn't want to start the Year of the Rat with the Public Indecency Charge of the Idiot.
I'll get the party started.
Proactive Resolution #1 : The Internal Loofah (finish entire 31-serving box of Grape-Nuts and thereby achieve colonic excellence).
Irregularity and ADD go together like vodka and cranberry juice. The bright cheeriness of the latter manages to mask the harsh unpleasantness of the former… to a point. It wasn’t until several people had marveled at my erratic eliminatory habits than I realized that I might Have a Problem.
Other Person: [makes comment regarding a recent excretion]
Jul: “Yeah… um… I don’t… you know… do that so often.”
Other Person: “… so when WAS the last time you went?”
Jul: “I don’t really remember.”
Other Person: “How can you not remember? Was it yesterday? Last week? The Regan administration?”
Jul, Defensively: “Shut up! I went once! It was boring! I decided to do other stuff instead!”
(Note: what, you don’t discuss bowel movements with your loves ones? Perhaps you discuss Sir John Gielgud’s interpretation of Chekhov’s later works? Guess what? JOHN GIELGUD POOPED, TOO! So did Ingmar Bergman, Jean-Luc Godard and Tom Stoppard. Andy Warhol didn’t poop; he extracted individual-sized boxes of Quisp from a portal in his abdomen. But I digress.)
Enter Grape-Nuts.
They’re cheap. They’re somewhat palatable. They are jam-packed with vitamins and protein and sweet, sweet fiber.
I have eaten my way through six cups of Grape-y goodness thus far. So how has southbound traffic been moving? Well… I’m not sure. More quickly than before, but I can’t help but feel as though SOMETHING bigger should be happening. You know that scene in movies where a bomb has been dropped into a lake but hasn’t exploded? Everyone’s sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for the rumble, the muffled boom, the thousands of dead fish bobbing to the surface? Yeah. Same here. Regardless, I resolve to make my way to the bottom of the box.
Proactive Resolution #2 : ‘Cause I’m as Free as a Bird, Now (A Somewhat Tame Bird, One With a 401(K) and a Pantry Full of Trader Joe’s Foodstuffs. What, I Can’t Be Subversive And Still Eat Smoky Peach Salsa?) - more solo travel.
Sure, joint vacations are lovely. It’s wonderful to have a dining companion, an activity partner, an alternate source of cash should street urchins steal your fanny pack. But I’ll always have a soft spot for solitary trips. For me, they’ve always been suffused with a certain breathless joy. How can you not grin while running through O’Hare with a week’s worth of clothing in your backpack and a ticket to somewhere Brand! New! And! EXCITING! in your sweaty little hand?
I want that smile on my face again before the year is through.
Proactive Resolution #3 : We Regret to Inform You That You Suck (growing a pair of [figurative] testes and submitting my work for publication).
I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of singing in front of other people. I’m afraid of click beetles (shut up, they can forcibly propel themselves ALL UP IN YOUR GRILL). I’m afraid of Suze Orman, who I am convinced is part raccoon and will one day be arrested for foraging for hot stock tips in a Wall Street dumpster.
But I’m really… really… REALLY afraid of trying to get published.
It’s not the rejection that scares me. It’s the process itself. Sending off something I’d written would require a degree of faith in my talent which I’ve thus far been unable to muster. The idea makes me squirm, moreso than falling into a room full of click beetles while belting out “Ave Maria”.
That’s precisely why I need to do it. Well, that and the whole “lifelong ambition” thing. I never wanted to be a teacher or an astronaut or a godforsaken princess. I was writing my own stories when I was five. When I was fifteen, I was skipping gym class, sitting in the bleachers and attempting channel Alan Ginsberg on the back of my Earth Science notebook.
I write. It’s what I do, and it’s what I’m going to do.
How about YOU?...
What positive changes do you want to see in your life this year? And - more importantly - how do you plan to enact them?
C'mon. Take control. Hustle.. or, as it's the Year of the Rat, scurry. Cast the XBox controller of complacency from your hands! Free the pulsating phallus of self-determination from your pants! Um... figuratively, that is. Wouldn't want to start the Year of the Rat with the Public Indecency Charge of the Idiot.
I'll get the party started.
Proactive Resolution #1 : The Internal Loofah (finish entire 31-serving box of Grape-Nuts and thereby achieve colonic excellence).
Irregularity and ADD go together like vodka and cranberry juice. The bright cheeriness of the latter manages to mask the harsh unpleasantness of the former… to a point. It wasn’t until several people had marveled at my erratic eliminatory habits than I realized that I might Have a Problem.
Other Person: [makes comment regarding a recent excretion]
Jul: “Yeah… um… I don’t… you know… do that so often.”
Other Person: “… so when WAS the last time you went?”
Jul: “I don’t really remember.”
Other Person: “How can you not remember? Was it yesterday? Last week? The Regan administration?”
Jul, Defensively: “Shut up! I went once! It was boring! I decided to do other stuff instead!”
(Note: what, you don’t discuss bowel movements with your loves ones? Perhaps you discuss Sir John Gielgud’s interpretation of Chekhov’s later works? Guess what? JOHN GIELGUD POOPED, TOO! So did Ingmar Bergman, Jean-Luc Godard and Tom Stoppard. Andy Warhol didn’t poop; he extracted individual-sized boxes of Quisp from a portal in his abdomen. But I digress.)
Enter Grape-Nuts.
They’re cheap. They’re somewhat palatable. They are jam-packed with vitamins and protein and sweet, sweet fiber.
I have eaten my way through six cups of Grape-y goodness thus far. So how has southbound traffic been moving? Well… I’m not sure. More quickly than before, but I can’t help but feel as though SOMETHING bigger should be happening. You know that scene in movies where a bomb has been dropped into a lake but hasn’t exploded? Everyone’s sitting on the edge of their seat, waiting for the rumble, the muffled boom, the thousands of dead fish bobbing to the surface? Yeah. Same here. Regardless, I resolve to make my way to the bottom of the box.
Proactive Resolution #2 : ‘Cause I’m as Free as a Bird, Now (A Somewhat Tame Bird, One With a 401(K) and a Pantry Full of Trader Joe’s Foodstuffs. What, I Can’t Be Subversive And Still Eat Smoky Peach Salsa?) - more solo travel.
Sure, joint vacations are lovely. It’s wonderful to have a dining companion, an activity partner, an alternate source of cash should street urchins steal your fanny pack. But I’ll always have a soft spot for solitary trips. For me, they’ve always been suffused with a certain breathless joy. How can you not grin while running through O’Hare with a week’s worth of clothing in your backpack and a ticket to somewhere Brand! New! And! EXCITING! in your sweaty little hand?
I want that smile on my face again before the year is through.
Proactive Resolution #3 : We Regret to Inform You That You Suck (growing a pair of [figurative] testes and submitting my work for publication).
I’m afraid of falling. I’m afraid of singing in front of other people. I’m afraid of click beetles (shut up, they can forcibly propel themselves ALL UP IN YOUR GRILL). I’m afraid of Suze Orman, who I am convinced is part raccoon and will one day be arrested for foraging for hot stock tips in a Wall Street dumpster.
But I’m really… really… REALLY afraid of trying to get published.
It’s not the rejection that scares me. It’s the process itself. Sending off something I’d written would require a degree of faith in my talent which I’ve thus far been unable to muster. The idea makes me squirm, moreso than falling into a room full of click beetles while belting out “Ave Maria”.
That’s precisely why I need to do it. Well, that and the whole “lifelong ambition” thing. I never wanted to be a teacher or an astronaut or a godforsaken princess. I was writing my own stories when I was five. When I was fifteen, I was skipping gym class, sitting in the bleachers and attempting channel Alan Ginsberg on the back of my Earth Science notebook.
I write. It’s what I do, and it’s what I’m going to do.
How about YOU?...
posted by thumbscre.ws at
1/04/2008
7 Comments:
I will take singing lessons. I will get a fucking demo together and play the fuck out, as in: on a stage, in public, with people watching. I will learn to physically defend myself. I will take the SATs again and apply to better schools.
My fear of trying to get published has pried its bony little fingers into my laptop until I can't even FINISH anything. Or perhaps that's my fear of sucking. I suspect that one sucks less if one finishes something and it's bad than if one gives up entirely and allows the document graveyard to rest undisturbed. (By "one", I mean "someone else." Ahem.)
I resolve to finish something this year, come prying, bony fingers or no.
For #3: just do it already. Unthinkingly. Do it.
About mine: hmmmm. I did resolve a few days ago (only just now did it occur to me that it could be my New Year's resolution) that I will choose joy. Whenever I have the choice, that it, I will choose joy over negativity. And if I don't seem to have a choice, I will call my nice doc and up my meds.
My other resolution is that this is the year I finish my dissertation (don't have much choice here as my time is up anyway but it feels better to think it's my decision - yay).
To help with #1: This is a recipe I like that I just submitted for a recipe book. (That's why it's written as if for someone who may have vaguely heard of a "kitchen," if never actually entered one.) It has 250 calories and 7 grams of fiber per serving, beat that! And eggplant is soooo yummy.
Eggplant Pasta
Prep time: 15 min
Stovetop time: 30 min
Bake time: 10 min
Servings: 8
Per serving: 250 calories, 6.8 g fiber, 10.5 g fat, 11 g protein
Ingredients:
1/2 lb whole wheat rotini pasta, cooked
3 tbsp light olive oil
1/2 medium onion, diced
1 medium eggplant, peeled and chopped into 1 inch square pieces
1 green pepper, chopped
1 8 oz can mushrooms, pieces and stems
1/2 lb green beans, stems cut off and cut in half
salt and pepper to taste
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup part-skim mozzarella cheese
4 tbsp shredded parmesan cheese
15 turkey pepperoni slices
Equipment:
9 inch straight sided pan with lid
large mixing bowl
13 x 9 baking pan
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Heat the olive oil in the 9 inch pan until hot. Add the onion and sauté until it starts to brown, 5-10 minutes. As the onion is cooking, salt the eggplant heavily in a bowl. When the onion is browned, rinse and drain the eggplant and add it and the other vegetables to the pan. Salt and pepper to taste. Cover and cook about 15-20 min or until everything is tender, stirring frequently. Add the garlic and cook for 3 more min.
In a large bowl, mix the pasta, vegetables, 1/2 cup of mozzarella cheese, 2 tbsp of parmesan cheese, and the turkey pepperoni slices. Spread in the 13 x 9 pan and sprinkle the rest of the cheese over the top.
Bake at 350 degrees for about 10 min until the cheese melts.
But definitely publish too! That's probably more important to your long-term happiness. And let us know where you're published so I can demand signed copies of things!
Also:
Combine
melted butter and olive oil to make 1/2 cup of total fat, you can pick the ratio depending on how healthy you're feeling;
1 can beef broth
1 can beef consommé
1 can sliced mushrooms, stems and pieces, drained
1 can sliced water chestnuts, drained
1 cup uncooked brown rice
in 1 9x9 pan and bake at 350 for 1 hour. Very yummy and fiberlicious, and can be healthy if you use more oil than butter. But I usually use a stick of butter :)
I've just found (can you believe it) Doctor Mama, and I am GOING to start running. Want to train for a 10K in July, here in Atlanta (the Peachtree). I see you are a follower (maggot), so I thought I'd shoot this to you...does a treadmill count for training?!?
I'm going down right now to get on one, I have 5 children here, can't just leave the house (4 mine, 1 is my niece). Please advise if you have the time...I'm posting anonymous, but will leave info here...
allison
allisonwondrland@bellsouth.net
thank you!
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home