Meal Plan 16 Jan 2012

It has been a while since I have managed to make a meal plan and follow it. I just got back from two weeks in India, where I did no cooking at all. Before that, I spent the holidays with my family, where I didn’t cook. Before that, I had finals, and before that, there was the week I was out with horrific food poisoning (or whatever), and before that I spent a month living in the lab, spending ten or twelve hours a day thesising. Suffice to say, I am out of practice, and this meal plan took forever. (Two and a half hours start to finish. Eegad.) I’ve learned a lot, in the semester since I’ve started this. I discovered that I often don’t have the energy to cook seven nights a week–so Zack started cooking on Tuesdays, when I have bellydancing. This semester, Brian is taking over Thursdays. Hopefully, I will be able to impart some cooking skills to him that way. (This week I’ve chosen their recipes for them–usually they chose their own).

I’ve discovered that it’s hard for me to strike the right balance of new meals or complicated cooking and old favorites and easy recipes. I try not to plan complicated food on days when I know I am going to be tired. Then there are considerations like preference: Zack doesn’t do mushrooms or coconut milk, Brian can’t eat ginger. Both of them do not consider a bowl of roasted cauliflower to be an appropriate dinner (much to my despair).

I’ve also discovered that I am an incredibly utilitarian cook. I lean heavily towards one-pot meals. The food I make is rarely pretty–I avoid recipes with drizzly sauces or garnishes and the like. (I make exceptions for some of the things Heidi Swanson makes, but I do those rarely.) I cook for efficiency–the most nutritional bang for my time, money, and caloric buck.

I have a hard time balancing various considerations, too. Nutrition, cost-effectiveness, and ecological-friendliness are the big ones that trip me up. Chicken breasts, for instance, are a fabulous lean protein, but they’re meat, and the meat industry in America is deeply problematic from an environmental standpoint. I can buy local, happy chicken, but it’s incredibly expensive. Fish is as bad. It’s really nutritious! However, corporate fishing practices suck. We’re really damaging biodiversity in the ocean–tuna is becoming an endangered species. Farmed fish has its own slew of problems. Occasionally, I can afford to buy the kind of fish that the Monterey Bay Seafood Watch recommends, but not generally. So we don’t eat much fish. It ends up that we eat largely vegetarian, accented with bacon (which gives you a lot of flavor per ounce of meat). But getting the recommended amount of protein is not easy. Beans, incidentally, do not have nearly as much protein as one might think. Cottage cheese is my go-to protein source (after beans), but I wonder if I’m just supporting one bad farming practice (corporate dairy farming) over another bad farming practice (meat farming). I agonize over that kind of thing. I really need to come up with a system to deal with those considerations.

So, the whole meal planning process has been really interesting. I recommend it. Here’s this week’s menu.

Monday dinner: Skillet lasagna
Tuesday lunch: see Monday, dinner
Tuesday dinner: Kale with white beans and bacon on toast
Wednesday lunch: See Tuesday, dinner
Wednesday dinner: in Choctaw. Beet and blood orange salad with fennel.Thursday lunch: Beet, beluga lentil, arugula, and goat cheese sandwiches
Thursday dinner: Whole wheat orchietta with bitter greens and radishes (add chicken)
Friday lunch: See Thursday, dinner
Friday dinner: Cheese tortellini with roasted butternut squash, white beans, sage, and arugula
Saturday lunch: See Friday, dinner
Saturday dinner: Salmon and roasted cauliflower
Sunday dinner: White bean and roasted cauliflower salad (with leftovers for monday)

Evolution of This Semester’s Goals

My initial goals this semester were simple: complete a triathlon, make an A in Network Security, and research, write, and successfully defend my thesis in order to graduate. Apparently this was wildly ambitious, and over the course of the semester things have downgraded. The triathlon, the earliest goal, didn’t happen, for a plethora of reasons. The day before I was supposed to leave, my boss assigned me a new task, due immediately upon my return. That, coupled with six hours of driving (round trip) to get there, and an unfinished costume, made me think that perhaps another year would be better. After all, what fun is doing a triathlon if you aren’t in costume?

So that was one goal down. Truthfully, it was a little bit of a relief–I was sick to death of the bicycling parts of training. I was constantly battling either weather or traffic or both.

Then, Network Security bludgeoned me with a mace. After making a 46% on my midterm exam (worth 20% of my grade), I am going to be delighted if I just pass the damn class.

And now, the thesis. Frankly, I think there is no way in hell that I will get it finished this semester (though my adviser has commanded that I spend all “non-biological time” working on it). I want to finish this semester, I do, I just don’t want to die while doing it. Already I can feel it sapping my will to live. For instance, I had sex last night for the first time in weeks, and I thought, “gee, that was awesome! We should totally do that again soon.” This thought was followed immediately by “THESIS”, at which point I burst into tears (much to my lover’s dismay, the poor dear.) Or, the other day while I was at the gym, I was listening to fun dance music and thought, “I used to have friends. We used to go out and dance and do things! Why do I feel like I don’t have friends anymore?” At which point I realized that I do have friends, I am just not allowed to go out and play with them.

Which is to say, my goals this semester have devolved so far that I will consider the semester a success if I pass Network Security and the erstwhile Mr. Tidwerr graduates. Fortunately, the reading copy of his thesis is due tomorrow, so the hour of his graduation is nigh.

I cannot wait to be done with school.

A Confession or Two for Solidarity

Today is National Coming Out Day, during which gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, or otherwise queer folk are encouraged to be open with their communities about their sexuality. It’s a nice idea–I hope that people everywhere are able to step out of hiding and into the warm acceptance of the people around them. That’s the dream, even if it manifests too rarely.

But even in the face of potential negative consequences, the siren song of freedom is strong. Even if your community’s reaction is more ice and isolation than warm fuzzies, what a sigh of relief it must be to abandon the farce.

What a nice idea. What a beautiful thing, to be able to be honest with yourself and the people in your life about who you are. It occurs to me, too, that this idea is not limited to sexuality. It can encompass so many more things–anything that we hide, anything we are ashamed of, anything we feel will be met by others with fear and discrimination.

So in the spirit of solidarity, I’m coming out, too.

I am an atheist.

I avoid admitting this one to anyone who isn’t also an atheist. I’m afraid it would break my parents’ hearts, make them feel that they failed me as parents. Religion is so close to people’s hearts that it is difficult to tell them that you don’t share it with them. It’s hard to say, “I know Jesus is the center of your life, but I don’t believe the things you believe.” It comes off as rejection–you are rejecting something that is fundamental to their person. But it’s not–I still love my parents, even if I think that the Judeo-Christian God doesn’t exist, and if I did think he existed, I would refuse to worship him because I would think he’s a dick.

It’s a little nerve-wracking, to be an open atheist in America, and especially in Oklahoma. People here love Jesus. As a result, atheists are one of the least popular minority groups in the US. Muslims are actually more popular than atheists.. (And if you’ve been following the “Obama is a secret Muslim” nonsense at all, you will get a sense of how a large swath of this society feels about them.)

But by living in silence, I allow people to make assumptions about atheists. I allow them to use atheism as a boogieman to scare people into doing what they want. I allow them to paint me as someone completely other than what I am.

Instead, I will put a face to a group: I am an atheist.

Now whether or not I will finish coming out of the religion closet with my family is another matter entirely, to be debated in a different post, but at least for now, on the internet, I wear my mantel proudly.

But while I’m coming out of closets, here’s another one.

I’m non-monogamous. I’d say I’m “polyamorous”, which is the more commonly accepted word among people who do this kind of thing, but for some reason the word gives me the willies. (Maybe it’s the mixing of Greek and Latin roots.) I didn’t wake up one morning and think, “Hey, man, you know, monogamy is for chumps” (which, for the record, is not what I think). Instead, it was something that sort of happened, over two distinct and very rough periods in my life. And then, after the rockiness of adjustment, it was something I chose again. Now, it is not only something that makes sense from an evolutionary point of view–I also just like it.

Now, that means a lot of things, which I will be happy to discuss in another post, another time, but here is a quick overview of what it doesn’t mean.

It does not mean I am “easy”. Just because it is within the bounds of my relationship for me to have sex with multiple partners does not necessarily mean that I want to have sex with you. People have to really impress me to get in my pants.

It does not mean that I am immoral. I don’t even like using that word, because I am actually amoral–I don’t buy into morality at all. I am, however, incredibly ethical. Just because I am not bound by your rules does not mean that I am not following a code. Rather, boundaries are discussed at length and negotiated into an agreement that works for all parties involved. Any relationship should be built on informed consent–it’s just that relationships that do not fit the standard Western mold require much more careful planning and open communication in order to achieve informed consent.

So there’s that. I’m non-monogamous. It’s really less of a big deal than one might think, but I’d still like to be able to bring my boyfriend’s boyfriend or girlfriend, or my second boyfriend, to family or work gatherings and not have people freak out that I’m cheating on my boyfriend or vice versa.

And one final closet, because good things come in threes. I’m not straight. On a Kinsey scale, I’m probably somewhere between straight and bisexual, but I prefer the moniker “groovy”.

In fact, I think that fits me quite well. I’m Rachel Shadoan, and I’m groovy.

List: How I Spent Some of My Graduation Money

I received a $50 Target gift card as a graduation gift (for graduating with my MSc in Design Ethnography). I offer this list as evidence that I am almost too practical. (I say almost, as three of the items are primarily used for baking, which I rarely do because I am busy making “real” food, which generally involves more cruciferous vegetables, and less sugar.)

• 1 liter metric and Imperial measuring cup (dishwasher, microwave, and oven safe, though why I would ever need to use it in an oven I am unsure)
• lingerie bag for washing my bras and other delicates, which don’t come as clean when I wash them inside a pillowcase. (I am so tired of unknotting pillowcases, too)
• pastry cutter so that I can try this pie crust recipe (which I doubt will even work, as she is in the Bay Area where it is not constantly stupidly hot and humid. But I’m going to try anyway).
• silicone pastry brush for the same recipe
• silicone baking mat (a more ecologically responsible alternative to parchment paper, which I love)
• expandable file folder to house my postcards and stamps
• two five-pound free weights to round out the low end of my free-weight collections. (Sometimes my triceps just can’t handle eight-pound weights in good form.)

 

Ponderance: Cecilia by Simon and Garfunkle

The song “Cecilia” was stuck in my head the other day. You know the one–Cecilia, you’re breaking my heart, you’re shaking my confidence daily. Oh Cecilia, I’m down on my knees, I’m begging you please to come home.

This song troubles me. Specifically, this verse troubles me.

Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom.

I got up to wash my face but when I got back to bed someone’s taken my place.

There are several things about this that concern me, first and foremost being: where does the someone come from? There are three cases that I can come up with:

1. the someone is a roommate/guest in the house
2. the someone is a stranger who snuck in the window
3. the someone is a friend or acquaintance of Cecilia’s who snuck in the window

Let’s consider these one at at a time. Let’s say that the someone who took his place is a roommate. There are two subcases here: either the singer is ordinarily okay with his roommate having sex with his girlfriend, or  he is not okay with his roommate having sex with his girlfriend.

In the first case, is he upset because Cecilia violated the terms of their relationship in some way? I think “Don’t invite someone else to have sex with you in my bed while I am up attending to my personal hygiene and have the reasonable expectation that we will continue having sex when I come back” is a totally legitimate boundary to set in an open relationship. Any variation of “Please check with me before inviting someone else to have sex with you/us in my bed” seems totally reasonable. If Cecilia did do something as impolite as to invite someone else into his bed without permission, regardless of their prior arrangement, that is pretty inconsiderate, and does not indicate that she is a good candidate for any sort of ethical non-monogamy. However, it is also possible that the singer had not articulated terms for the relationship at all–perhaps when they hooked up, all he said was, “It’s groovy, man, anything goes.” In which case the onus is on him for not understanding what he is and is not comfortable with and setting those boundaries. If it had simply never occurred to him that this situation could arise, and as a result he was unaware of how comfortable he would be, then he should calmly explain to Cecilia that her behavior has hurt him, and that he would appreciate that she not continue with actions a, b, c, and d. (Admittedly, this song is about how Cecilia is breaking his heart, but it is not specific, and includes no actions that Cecilia can take to improve the situation beyond coming home.)

But let’s say that they aren’t in some kind of hippie-free-love-commune situation. Then what kind of terrible roommate goes into your bedroom while you are in the loo and has sex with your girlfriend? Where did you locate this person–in the “Roommates from Hell” section of the classifieds? Does he always eat the last of your Cap’n Crunch, too? Is it some kind of revenge for being too loud with the lovemaking? And what could the roommate possibly say when you come back to your bedroom and discover him fucking your girlfriend?

“I’m sorry, man, but she wasn’t labeled?” As though she were milk in a shared fridge?

Let us then consider the second case: the someone is a stranger who snuck in the window. There are two subcases here, as well. Either the stranger who snuck in the window is making unwanted sexual advances towards Cecilia, or she has consented to the stranger’s sexual advances. If it is the first case, WHY ISN’T THE SINGER MORE ALARMED?!? I feel like the appropriate response to someone sneaking in your window and sexually assaulting your girlfriend ought to involve more ass-kicking and police-calling, but the song is silent on this matter.

If she did consent to the window-sneaker’s advances, then that brings us back to the question about the boundaries of their relationship. Is he upset because she’s having sex with someone else, or because she is not honoring some term of their relationship? The third case, in which the window-sneaker is known to Cecilia, begs similar questions, but adds an additional element of intent. Did Cecilia plan for this person to come by, sneak in the window, and take the singer’s place? That would show a great deal of dedication to cruelty, which would again indicate that she is not a stellar relationship candidate.

I imagine that the most likely scenario is the first one: the someone taking the singer’s place is an opportunistic roommate.

There are other questions that I have about this song. For instance, why is he getting up in the middle of sex to wash his face? Does it just sound better than “take a piss”? Did he squirt himself in the eye with the bottle of lube? (Did they even have lube then, and what was it made out of?) Is he opposed to the scent of vagina and wanted to wash it off his face? (I haven’t decided whether I think that’s kind of lame or not. On one hand, man up, vaginas are awesome. On the other hand, it’s not fun to have a sticky face. I think I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt here.) So if he’s up washing his face because he just buried his face in her lady bits for as long as she wanted him to and he’s all sticky, then it’s pretty awful of her to take that opportunity to fill his empty spot in bed. I might cut her some slack if he’s washing his face and brushing his teeth after taking a single lick of her pussy, shrieking in horror, and running to the bathroom complaining of how awful she tastes. Then her inconsiderateness would at least be warranted. (Though still not the most mature way of handling the situation.)

These questions plague me, but I feel it is safe to conclude that the singer should not be dating Cecilia. Either he is unwilling to set clear boundaries of what is and isn’t acceptable in their relationship, or she is willfully ignoring them, and that will end up going badly for both of them.

List: Meal Plan for Sept 4 through 10

Sunday Dinner: Beer can chicken with roasted vegetables

Monday lunch: Skillet lasagna

Monday dinner: Chicken and roasted vegetable crepes

Tuesday lunch: See dinner, Monday.

Tuesday dinner: Seasonal vegetable hash (courtesy Zack)

Wednesday lunch: See dinner, Tuesday.

Wednesday dinner: Giant chipotle white beans with roasted broccoli (only with scarlet runner beans because I don’t have giant white beans.)

Thursday lunch: See dinner, Wednesday

Thursday dinner: Shells stuffed with spinach, white bean and ricotta puree and topped with marinara sauce

Friday lunch: See dinner, Thursday

Friday dinner: Mango-chutney glazed pork with cauliflower roasted with ghee and mustard seeds

Saturday lunch: Scavenge

Saturday dinner: Stir-fry-esque-type-thing. Chop Suey, perhaps.

Sunday brunch: ?????

I am pleased that a single chicken and a four pork chops is all of the meat required for this week’s menu. Hopefully this provides sufficient protein, fiber, etc. I may end up needing to move Friday dinner to Wednesday, in the event that I don’t figure out how to make a “cilantro drizzle” by hand. It’s also possible that I am supposed to show up for voice lessons on Thursday, in which case Thursday dinner will be sandwiches from Lee’s sandwiches. That would, however, put a crimp in Friday lunch. Hmm.

List: Things I Did Today, In Order

Woke up from a nightmare at 4:00 am
Received a visit from Zack
Convinced myself that even though I was hungry, going to IHOP with Zack, while fun, would not be worth missing two hours of sleep
Went back to sleep
Got up at 6:30
Geared up for a run
Drove to the Sutton Wilderness
Ran 1.74 miles, feeling slightly resentful of the super-tall, shirtless, six-pack sporting bros in track shorts and baseball caps who kept speeding by me. (They weren’t exactly lapping me, as we were going in opposite directions.)
Drove to Zack’s to stretch and shower. (My showerhead having recently met an untimely demise due to someone’s unfortunate amorous engagement in my shower.)
Stretched.
Molested a drowsy Zack.
Showered.
Drove home.
Made breakfast (scrambled eggs with salsa, served with grapes and toast.)
Coaxed Brian out of bed with half a piece of toast spread with passionfruit olive oil curd.
Made lunch (sardine, bean, and snow pea salad) while Brian did dishes.
Biked to class at Sarkey’s.
Dutifully took notes in class, where Dhall kept skipping steps and I felt clueless.
Biked to Devon.
Punched holes in papers I am reading for my thesis and put them in a binder, arranged in chronological order.
Attempted to read papers.
Attempted to eat lunch while reading papers.
Threw lunch away. (It turns out that two bites into a sardine based salad is not the time to discover that you don’t like sardine based salads.)
Asked Chris what the hell I should be getting from the papers I am reading. He tells me that he has neither the answers nor the droids I am looking for.
Attempted to print new papers to read.
Fixed paper jam.
Printed and three-hole punched new papers to read.
Started reading new papers.
Bicycled to The Library for happy hour with Jacquelyn.
Bicycled home the long way, into the wind, under a gray sky that was still strangely intense with heat.
Portioned the finished chicken stock into cupcake tins.
Rearranged freezers and froze finished chicken stock.
Did dishes.
Cleaned the kitchen.
Made dinner.
Ate dinner with Zack and Brian.
Delivered a humidifier to Katy and leftover pizza to Jacquelyn.
Tidied my bedroom.
Failed at receiving a back rub, spooned instead.
Made a list of what I did today.
Brushed teeth.
Slept?

If I did all of that, why do I feel like today was a failure? Possibly because I got no writing done, my shower is unusable, my network security homework is not started, and I have no idea what to talk about in my meeting with Chris tomorrow?

List: This Week’s Meal Plan

Sunday Night: Coriander and creme fraiche chicken, with roasted potatoes and snow peas
Monday lunch: Sardine, snow pea, and cannellini bean salad with red onions and tarragon dressing.
Monday dinner: Gnocci with cannellini beans and bacon in an arugula creme fraiche sauce. Roasted figs with honey for dessert.
Tuesday lunch: See dinner, Monday.
Tuesday dinner: Jalapeno, potato, and bean burritoes, cooked by Zack. Dessert TBA cooked by Brian.
Wednesday lunch: Spicy lentil and kale soup
Wednesday dinner: Saffron scented tilapia and white bean stew, with crust bread
Thursday lunch: See dinner, Wednesday
Thursday dinner: Skillet lasagna with zucchini and summer squash
Friday lunch: See dinner, Thursday.
Friday dinner: Cajun food at Brian’s girlfriend’s house. Dessert is a rhubarb tart made by me.
Saturday lunch: I have no idea
Saturday dinner: To be taken with the family in Choctaw. I will probably bring cabbage cooked with chorizo.
Sunday lunch: Scavenge
Snacks all week: Red grapes, spicy pickled carrots, and watermelon.

Miscellaneous things being cooked: Chicken stock in the slow cooker (Sunday/Monday), Fish stock in the slow cooker (Tuesday/Wednesday)

More Adventures in Real Adulthood(TM): Financial Management

Today at 12:01 am, I became 100% financially independent. There was no fanfare in particular, no magic chimes as the last of my childhood evaporated. It would have been nice if a dapper, Jiminy-Cricket-esque Guide to Adulthood had arrived, but I’m guessing he’s holed up with a bunch of hookers and blow. (In my head, this character has a carnival-esque straw boater hat, pale suit, and a cane, and appears in a flourish of colored smoke.)

I suppose it isn’t that big a deal, but now I pay my own car insurance. I decided, in light of the recent fires in Norman and the penchant of people driving by to throw lit cigarettes from their car windows, that it would be prudent to avail myself of renter’s insurance as well. Insurance is complicated, and the whole affair made me feel vaguely as though I were being scammed, but now my passengers without medical insurance are well-covered in case of a car accident in my car.

This evening, I decided to take a serious look at my finances, to adjust my budget to accommodate the insurance payments. I also wanted to follow up on my student loans, which is a good idea periodically.

To my surprise, two of my loans have vanished. That is to say, they were originally serviced by the Student Loan Corporation, which is a subsidiary of Citi group. When I logged in to the Student Loan Corporation’s site, they insisted that they had no knowledge of ever having had loans for me, and suggested that I go talk to Sallie Mae instead.

Sallie Mae told me that while they used to service some of my loans, they don’t any more, as they have sold them all to FedLoan Servicing, a company out of pennsylvania. FedLoan Servicing is now servicing almost all of my loans–except the two that used to be serviced by the Student Loan Corporation.

Now, the federal government has a website that is supposed to keep track of all of this nonsense. That website insists that the Student Loan Corporation still services those two loans. All of the other information about my loans on the federal website is correct and up-to-day, so this error is a little perplexing. More perplexing is that Citi apparently sold off all of the Student Loan Corporation’s holdings to Sallie Mae and Discover Financial Services. Since Sallie Mae doesn’t have record of these loans, then they might have gone to Discover, but Discover doesn’t have any apparent infrastructure for locating loans they are servicing.

In short, I owe someone something like $8000, but I have no idea to whom I owe that money, or where to find them. The Student Loan Corporation doesn’t even list a telephone number on their website, so calling them to find out what the hell is going on is unlikely to work.

I would love to think that since I can’t find these two loans, that I won’t have to pay them back, but I’m pretty sure that they are just waiting in the wings to ruin my credit score.

Also, screw credit scores. After trying to locate the loans, I sought out my yearly credit report and scores. One company maintains that my score is average because I have too many credit accounts–another maintains that my score is average because I do not have enough credit accounts. Further, my score is being brought down by the fact that credit card companies keep checking my score, without asking me, in order to send me UNSOLICITED pre-approved offers. What the hell, America? What the hell.

Come, the Autumn

I am sick.

Ordinarily, this sort of frustrating stomach flu thing goes away after a day, maybe two, but after four days of Gatorade and weakness I find myself losing hope that I will ever be healthy again.

I have been avoiding the outdoors, as the heat makes me feel closer to death. (I am attributing the acute heat-induced deathiness to the illness, but now that I think about it, the heat normally makes me feel moments away from dying.) I am desperate for the rain of fall, the flaming leaves, the cool air, the wet ground. It is yet months away. I am not sure how I am going to make it.

I almost wrote that this would be my first fall back in Oklahoma, like the entirety of the last year doesn’t exist, didn’t happen. Often it feels that way–I still refer to my time in Dundee as “last year”, when in reality, in a few short weeks I will have been home for a full year and “the year before last” would be more appropriate. I am not sure why that is, but I think I mark the passing of time by the shifting of the environment, and here that doesn’t work as well. More than I remember, there seem only to be two seasons, distinguished only by the presence or absence of leaves on the trees. In the winter things are bare and brown in the bright sunlight and buffeting wind. In the summer the trees are not bare, but everything not in the shade or near a water source is still brown in the blazing sun. In my mind this year washes out like an over-exposed photograph. This place erases itself from my memory in the blinding flashes from miles and miles of asphalt and concrete in the sunlight.

I miss the rain and the clouds and the water that made up my landscape in Dundee. I miss moments like this one. I keep making plans to stay here for a PhD–the practical choice, a sound choice, a choice that allows me a lot of freedom–but some days I think the climate here will kill me.

Still, there are moments that keep me hanging on. Moments that make me forget all of the plants that have died in my care this year (All but six, actually). There is the warm satisfaction of watching the golden sunlight of evening filtering through the clear waters of the pool, when everything is hushed. There is the physical presence of the insect and frog noises at night on the porch at Jessie’s cabin, which presses against you like a blanket of sound. There is the cold of the Spavinaw creek water, the skipping of stones, the lazy naps, the filtering of light through the oaks. If only summer could be made of that, and less of asphalt and blinding light.