Parlay voo fransay?

I consider myself to be multi-lingual. I speak two languages well - American and English. I speak American slightly better than I speak English, but then English is, technically, my second language. I also speak a smidgeon of Spanish and (now) French, thus qualifying me for multi-lingual status. And of course I speak canadian, eh.

I have the typical haughty American appreciation for all things foreign. In America, we simultaneously look down our noses at other countries while fully embracing the lovelier aspects of their culture. Our houses are feng shui, our dinners molto buon, and our clothes tres chic. During conversation, however, "the damn Japanese are taking over our country," "the Italians can have their stupid soccer cuz we own every other sport," and "the French can't win a war to save their butts!" In America, conversation is also known as expressing one's opinion, and we do it oh, so very well :-)

Being American, I have my own opinion on foreign languages. They are, to me, full of physical characteristics. For instance, Spanish is as roly-poly as Mrs. Laranaga, the woman across the street from the house I grew up in. German is a language your tongue can't wait to expel, while Russian is so thick it gets stuck in your throat. Italian strolls along, squeezing each word like they are fresh, ripe tomatoes or the behind of a beautiful woman.

Now French...ah! Il y a une langue qui fait tant de choses, tout le bien.

French is smooth as silk. It glides through one's mouth and balances for just a moment on the very tip of the tongue before jumping off into the ear of the listener. It's like a cat; it purrs, it rubs up against our senses, it curls up in our laps and begs to be stroked. It's easy to see why French is considered a romance language. It seduces the listener even while insulting them. "Votre mère ressemble à un chien." I rest my case.

I recently determined that I wish to learn more of this lovely language. I've found a qualified tutor and he appears to derive enjoyment (or at least amusement) in teaching me. We play by my rules, though, which are: 1) You speak in French, and 2) I will interpret to the best of my knowledge without help; I am, after all, American.

It isn't surprising, then, that "You are a beautiful, sexy woman who no doubt looks good even in golf clothing" translated to something along the lines of "I watch as fat men use golf clubs for sex."

This is a fun way of learning a new language, though, so I think I will stay the course. This is American for "continue on even though failure is imminent."

Now, before you naysay me (this is American for give me your unwanted negative feedback; this is not to be confused with neighsayer, which means "person who sounds like a horse's ass"), before you say nay to this well-thought-out plan, give it a try yourself.

Without the use of babelfish or any other online translation tools, without the use of a Smart (or Dumb) phone, without tapping your French-speaking best friend on the shoulder and asking him to translate, you translate the following phrase to English. Or American. Your choice, so long as it isn't canadian.

Mon chaton est très enjoué et me fournit des heures d'amusement plaisant.

tout de suite mayonnaise

For some strange reason, I have food on the brain. While I am seldom interested in meals and hardly ever crave anything, I am especially looking forward to dinner tonight for a number of reasons not all of which are related to eating the food.

One reason related to the food, though, is that I may get to use yummy mayonnaise on my meal. According to Johnny Depp, the French invented mayonnaise; according to a much less reliable source, the Irish did. (Yeah, right, like the irish know anything about good taste; black and white pudding, need I say more?)

Mayonnaise is made from eggs and oil. It's quite easy to make, actually, which is why Best Foods and Kraft don't charge a lot for it. It's cheaper to buy, though, which is why Americans don't make it.

However, if you should feel a fit of culinary endeavoring coming over you, you really only need a few simple ingredients and one hand-operated cooking utensil to make your own mayonnaise.

Assemble:
a whisk or fork (if you do not have a whisk or fork, you may also use an electric mixer, blender or food processor; this will significantly add to the cost of the finished product, however, another reason Kraft and BF get the biz)
mixing bowl (if you don't have a whisk or fork and are using an electric mixer, blender or food processor, you won't need a mixing bowl. If you need a mixing bowl but don't know what that is, you can generally find mixing bowls one aisle over from the mayonnaise aisle at your local grocery store)
1 egg yolk (find a chicken that lays only yolks, a tad bit tricky but worth it as such a chicken will surely make you rich, and you'll save time when making your own mayonnaise. If you can't find such a chicken, you'll have to separate the egg white from the yolk, done by cracking the first egg over a glass or bowl and allowing the white to run over the jagged edges of the broken shell leaving a puddle of yummy yellow yolky goodness in the bottom half of the poor dead chickie's now-broken home. That this separation process is a bit tricky will likely result in the need to repeat this step with a new egg until you've either used up all the eggs in the house or successfully segregated the cholesterol-laden white from the golden glob of nutritious protein that is the yolk. Throw the white away or save it for a toning facial mask.)
Oil (specifically safflower. You may also use regular every day cheap Wesson, or you can get all fancy-pants and use olive oil, extra virgin, but expect the finished product to smell a little funny if you do)
Juice of 1 lemon (save the squeezed out lemon halves if you are short on condoms and have no other form of birth control, assuming abstinance isn't gonna cut it; once upon a time, lemon halves were used as diaphrams for population control. By the way, I'm not saying they worked...)
Mustard (specifically FRENCH mustard, you are after all making a french concoction, oui?
Salt (no freakin' duh...)
Pepper (go gently here, I beg of you)

(sh! These next few ingredients are "secret" and I list them for you only because I care about you and want your culinary experience to leave you feeling as satisfied as I will be after dinner tonight...)
Tarragon (should be home grown or what's the point? It's not like anyone is gonna say, "Oh, what a delightful complement all that vegetable oil and egg yolk is to this delicious tarragon!" Seriously, half the country has never even heard of tarragon and the other half think it's a place in Middle Earth.)
Chopped Chives (I recommend you skip the chopping of chives and just crush the shit out of some dried ones you bought from the store when you were passing up the Mayonnaise aisle)
Curry Powder (YES! But just a touch or your mayonnaise will have the color of mustard and the taste of India)
The Kitchen Sink (this is anything else that may give your mayonnaise a unique signature and allow you bragging rights to say "Neener, neener, neener!" when you thumb your nose at Best Foods. Use common sense, though; cloves, for instance, would likely not enhance the taste)

Ok, now that you have the few ingredients and necessary tools to make your own mayonnaise, let's begin.

Bring all of the above ingredients/tools to room temperature. In case you missed the italics, I repeat all - including the whisk or fork, mixing bowl or electric mixer, blender or food processor, and salt/pepper, in case you typically store any of these in your refrigerator.

After separating the egg yolk from its white, place the yolk, lemon juice, mustard, salt and pepper, and any of the "secret ingredients" suggested above into the mixing bowl or electric mixer, blender or food processor. DO NOT PUT THE OIL IN YET.

(Now, you may be feeling a bit pessimista at the moment. This easy-to-make project may be looking a tad bit overwhelming. But it's ok, really. The hard part, gathering the ingredients and proper tools, is over. Seriously. It was likely just the use of all CAPS that freaked you out. Drink a little French Merlot and you'll be just fine.)

Whirl said ingredients sans oil (this means without the oil, just in case you've never heard the word "sans" used so eloquently before) with whatever form of whirling you've determined is best suited to your needs (i.e., whisk, mixer, blender or food processor) for approximately 15 to 20 seconds, then slowly add the oil
one
drop
at
a
time
whirling after each droply addition. Continue this laborious and time-consuming but extremely easy step until you have a thick, emulsified concoction that loosely resembles the stuff in your fridge labeled Best Foods Real Mayonnaise. It is important to note that over-emulsification, especially when using extra-virgin Olive Oil, may lead to a bitter taste or heavier consistency than Americans (AKA culinary prima donnas) appreciate.

That's it! Seriously, that's all there is to it! There's nothing left to say except:

CONGRATULATIONS! If you've made it this far in reading, nice attention span! If you've made it this far in following my carefully outlined instructions for this easy do-it-yourself project and if you are looking at a whitish, thickish substance that taste vaguely familiar, GOOD FOR YOU!

Wanna try making black and white pudding now? All you need is a pig (or at least its blood and body fat...).

Oh, by the way, this sort of REAL mayonnaise doesn't keep well - you will need to eat all of it within two or three days during which time it must be kept refrigerated and no longer at room temperature or you will get food poisoning and die or wish you had. (The lemon halves, however, will last a bit longer, refrigerated or otherwise. Discard, however, after one use.)

μουσική, also known as music

Hands crossed above your head
Hips swaying in perfect rhythm with the pounding techno beat
Eyes alternately open and closed
Lips parted slightly, occasional glimpse of your tongue
Almost like you were tasting as well as hearing the music

Mi hija más joven confirms this totally describes how I look when I dance. (She uses the word "totally" because, well, she's a valley girl once again.) So...the quesion is, do I taste the music? No, of course not :-)

I breathe it.

Wikipedia says, "Music is an art form in which the medium is sound organized in time. Common elements of music are pitch (which governs melody and harmony), rhythm (and its associated concepts tempo, meter, and articulation), dynamics, and the sonic qualities of timbre and texture. The word derives from Greek μουσική (mousike), "(art) of the Muses".

First, the Muses rock. Everything about them is erotic. They're goddesses, water nymphs, sisters; AND they know a thing or two about dancing. In fact, I'm pretty sure the Muses dance with their lips slightly parted.

It's the beat. Rhythm incites movement. Strip away the harmony and melody, timbre and texture, and set rhythm by a bonfire - I guarantee muses will dance. Musical rhythm syncs with our hearts, our breathing; it finds and pulls these instruments towards itself and strums them into emotions that feed on the rhythm, thus creating an emotionally-charged cycle. Long after the music dies away, when the flickering flames and elongated shadows are still playing in the dark, rhythm holds our souls in the softest grip. It dies away and lets us go gently to wherever it is we need to be.

I carry rhythm in my head. Standing in the grocery store, waiting at the DMV, in my car with no music on, I can at any time shut out the world around me and hear a song or at least a beat. Adding timbre and texture to the rhythm is like stroking my body with a velvet glove. Add melody and harmony, and I am stimulated, excited, tantalized. The timid notes caress me, the bolder strokes push hard against me. I am not capable of standing still. I want to move. I want to twist and turn and writhe and squirm.

I want to part my lips and breathe.

In the Emotional Garden of Life

The eensy beensy spider went up the waterspout.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain
and the eensy beensy spider went up the spout again.

Balk is one of those awkward words that you have to repeat when you say it because the listener is never quite sure if you truly mean balk or are just making chicken noises. Balk has multiple meanings but generally is intended to convey an action that is stopped just prior to or sequentially with starting. In any case, it is the interruption of an action that is germane to this discussion.

Contrary to the awkwardness of "balk," Sublimation is quite a lovely word. Sublimation is the ability to neuropathically rechannel negative emotions and reactions to horror or trauma towards more positive outcomes. The point of sublimation is to allow us to move past the horror or trauma and remain or become productive, contributing human beings.

While you may not be questioning any fixation I currently have with the word "balk," what, you wonder, is such a fancy word as sublimation doing rummaging around in the fluff of a woodnymph's head? Well, I am wondering how certain things escaped my attention when I was sublimating early on in life...

And I think I've found the answer...I balked. Quite simply, in the sublimation process, I rechanneled many if not most of my childhood traumas down pleasantly landscaped neuro-pathways with wisteria and hydrangae and coreopsis; on a few occasions, though, I stopped dead in my neoropathic tracks and refused to budge beyond the traumatic event.

Example: For years I thought I didn't want my picture taken because I was shy. In reality, when a camera comes up, I literally hear my mother's voice and see what she says she saw. I actually see something...horrible looking.

What amazes me in the midst of this epiphany is the fact that this particular childhood trauma is sooooo not worth it. This is the tiniest of emotional spiders and while I am still gonna squeal when I smoosh it, I should be able to smoosh it, no?

So I have dedicated the year 2010 to being The Year of Smooshing Small Spiders. I would do it sooner, but 2008 is The Year of Becoming Independent (I started the year off magnificently by slaying a dragonlady all by myself, how awesome is that?), and 2009 has already been dedicated to being The Year I Write Something of Value Or Something That Sells. So, put away your cameras; emotional spiders will just have to wait.

Dear God, I hope they don't grow in the meantime...

Proud Mother Moment

I hope my friends don't think I'm one of those moms who is always tooting her "My child is better than yours" horn. But truly, my children are brilliant.

My new theme song?

The Bird and The Bee
"I Hate Camera"
written just for me, although they don't know it

I put my hands up to my face
So hard for me to just embrace the lens
The moment's gone and now I'm dry
And how the camera can reply

Cool babies and soft operations
Holding my hand, throwing coins in my cup
Twisting numbers and public relations
Tell me to sit there and just shut up

Don't don't
Don't take my
Don't take my picture
Don't don't
Don't take my picture

I try to give it everything
The games I play, the songs I sing
What do I do, do I provoke
Oh, how the camera has misspoke

Cool babies and soft operations
Holding my hand, throwing coins in my cup
Twisting numbers and public relations
Tell me to sit there and just shut up

Don't don't
Don't take my
Don't take my picture
Don't don't
Don't take my picture

DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE MY PICTURE
DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE MY PICTURE
DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE MY PICTURE
DON'T WANT YOU TO TAKE MY PICTURE

Cool babies and soft operations
Holding my hand, throwing coins in my cup
Twisting numbers and public relations
Tell me to sit there and just shut up

Cool babies and soft operations
Holding my hand, throwing coins in my cup
Twisting numbers and public relations
Tell me to sit there and just shut up