OMG another rant. Blame Michael Moore....

I bestirred myself this morning and actually did some work around here. Guess what? I cut the grass! (Seems I do a lot of that!) Here, "cutting the grass" really means "mowing the driveway," because that's the only place green stuff of any consequence grows. It's not a small job--the driveway is 167 feet long and 16 feet wide. But it doesn't exactly take all day. What we actually walk on, where a lawn would be, is just sandy forest floor, covered with fallen oak leaves, hickory nuts and pine needles. I did throw some grass seed along the front in our little outdoor living room, and a few clumps struggled to rise in this unproductive dirt, but all I need for them is a string trimmer.

Inside, the place does look like a slug has been occupying it, and I do need to wave the Swiffer at things and run the vacuum. I owe at least that much to Steve, who supposedly is driving in this evening after he arrives in the late afternoon at Washington National. Yes, people, I truly am a housewife.

I watched Michael Moore's "Sicko" for the first time last night. I'll start by saying I've enjoyed his past movies while at the same time recognizing them for the one-note screeds that they are, and while I may agree with their general thrust, I find him too often a camera hog who gets in the way of his own narrative, and also assume there's plenty of "yes, buts..." behind his most shocking anecdotes. "Sicko" is different. The story itself is so horrifying and so disgusting it needs no embellishment. But beyond the demonstration of how badly skewed the priorities of the U.S medical establishment have become, the overarching narrative of our having been "ruled by fear" is what really stays with me. We are suckers, played like violins by anyone who can make a buck (or attain power) by scaring us. How convenient for the AMA that a push for "socialized medicine" came along precisely when the Red Scare had us in its thrall. Fast forward to the "politics of fear" created by 9/11, again so conveniently for the simple-minded team currently holding the reins. They already knew they wanted a more powerful presidency. The "war on terror" could have come from their play book. I'll never accuse these people of not having the best interest of the country at heart. I believe everything they have done has been done in good faith. I would never want to get up every morning knowing that the lives of 300 million of my fellow citizens were in my hands....literally. But the fear they feel in their own hearts has been handed to us in the form of their style of governing. And they have shown clearly that good faith effort and monumental, blinding hubris are not mutually exclusive.

In the movie, someone says, "In Eurpoean democracies, the governments are afraid of the people. We are afraid of our government." I don't buy that. As bad as things have gotten here, I'm still secure in the knowledge that I'm not about to be tortured by anyone on Uncle Sam's payroll. It's more a case of our having just given up, zoned out, lulled by consumerism, morbidly obese and loving every minute of it in our 21st century cathedral, the shopping mall. And that indifference is exponentially worse than any imagined fear of the government. It creates fertile ground for the power mad among us, who after almost eight years have gone some distance in chipping away at our hallowed foundations. (All for our own good, of course!)

At long last, we seem to be waking up, and there's a move to reclaim whatever qualities made us a legitimate beacon for the world. Maybe it took the trauma of 9/11 to show us how off course we could go. The promise "never again" has been made repeatedly throughout history, after every paroxysm of human stupidity, only to be forgotten. I hope this time we mean it.

A "shaky" start!

I ran out of decaf this morning and so had a couple of mugs of the delicious 8 O'Clock Colombian Roast we keep in the freezer for high-test drinking guests. It's definitely a guilty pleasure. I'm feeling the effects now, all jittery, eyes twitching....I have very little tolerance for caffeine. It's a good thing I don't have anything high-pressure to do this morning. I'd be shaking like a leaf.

I discovered the downside of too much caffeine many years ago, at a job interview. It was a pro forma affair: I was a shoo-in for the position, and the interview was with someone with whom I shared membership in pretty much a mutual admiration society. But I'd tanked up on coffee before the interview, and there was just enough edge to the occasion to put me at what would normally have been high alert. Add the caffeine and I was buzzing like a goddam bumblebee. My potential boss must have wondered who she had before her--the modern-day version of Don Knotts's "Nervous Man"? It was every bit that bad. I was embarrassed beyond words, but I got the job, and it opened doors to the most prolific and meaningful years I would spend at the Peace Corps. I always wanted to explain to her what was going on at that fateful interview, but I never got around to it. In the end, we remained mutual admirers.

It is deathly quiet here. I'm in the cooled room, so there is the white noise of the air conditioner. Outside a breeze stirs in the thick air; the sun tries its best to break through the muggy haze but so far without much success. There is not even the sound of the occasional boat plying the water. Earlier, I sat outside and read the paper next to the water, but now I've moved in. Later I'll turn on the radio for some vicarious conversation. There is no TV reception here to speak of. For entertainment we either rent DVDs or watch movies I've recorded off the DVR at home and brought with us. I'm well stocked.

Things on the house moved apace yesterday, almost too much so. Construction loans are cheap now and the broker was ready to finalize things right now. We had to put on the brakes--we don't have enough ducks in a row yet, and won't until we know what the house in Arlington will bring. (And there's always that pesky matter of employment....) but for now, anyway, things aren't looking half bad.

In Delaware

I greet you from the Delaware hovel, where my wi-fi connection is tenuous at best and I may find myself unceremoniously dumped from the ether with no warning. I hope it's not a hard landing.

I can write for about 20 minutes, at which time I must join a conference call between Steve, a mortgage broker, and myself to discuss a construction loan we've applied for. We've been approved, but there are some small details to iron out, such as: Both Steve and I may be unemployed at the time we need the money. Um...what then?

It's as muggy here as it was in DC when I left. The water looks muggy, sort of thickish and green, as if there's just enough heat to incubate algae perfectly to full bloom. The water temperature in this 3-foot-deep rivulet does get into the upper 80s at times like this, so I guess algae that would be considered benign at other times of year can thrive and become too numerous now. I'm not trying to catch any fish in it, but our next door neighbor, a professional bait dealer, does grow fish fry in big traps off his pier until they are big enough to sell as bait. (Acutally, I guess they survived to market size because the traps are out of the water now.)

Gas at the local station is $3.79! Non-U.S. friends, I wish I could translate that to dollars/Euros per litre, but suffice to say that this price is a full 30 cents cheaper than what I paid as I left
Arlington this morning. It's always cheaper here than at home, and if we play it right, we only buy fuel here in Delaware. But I really never thought I'd see anything below the $3.80s again.

I will stop here before I really begin to babble. My mind is distracted by the f&b world and there is momentarily no space for things nostalgic or philosophical. I'm just saying boo.

One more house project?

It's gray outside and muggy, quintessential late July weather in our Nation's Capital. It's a good day to stay inside and that's probably what I will do. I did tackle cleaning the dust in the bathroom yesterday. I discovered minute paint splatters and not-so-small platters of spackle in various places, and will be scraping them up today. No biggie.

As if we aren't doing enough in that bathroom, we might have one more project for it before we are done. When we created that room in the early 1990s, we got custom-colored ceramic tile for the vanity, the surround for the jacuzzi, and various walls. The main color is gray, and the trim was supposed to be a muted, dusty rose. The "rose" came to us a much brighter pink than we wanted--not quite bubblegum, but too close. Since it was a custom job, we were stuck with it, and for all these years we've lived with that color. We've been pretty proud of that room overall, with its walk-in glass block shower, the jacuzzi--the upgrade we created in general. But when we had a house stager come through this winter, the silence was deafening when she entered that fancy bathroom. The clear message was that the pink and gray either had to go or it had to be muted somehow, with attention taken away from it. Ideally, we would hop on the current granite bandwagon (as we did in the kitchen) and replace all the tile with that. But the cost for that would be prohibitive and we decided against it. We were left with creating basically a blank slate for new owners, removing all suggestion of color from the walls and painting them apartment white, and that is what we had settled on.

Then the other day a friend told us she'd just seen a new show on HGTV (that network is quickly becoming the instant reference for all things realty, for better or worse), on which she saw tile in a bathroom being "re-glazed," essentially, painted. You know how people sometimes have antique enamel bathtubs re-glazed to look like new and give them a second life? Turns out the same thing can be done for ceramic tile. Had no idea.

So today, I have a guy coming in to give me an estimate for re-glazing that pink and gray tile to something very sleek, maybe a biscuit or eggshell. If it's feasible, we'll go ahead and do it, and still keep the walls stark white. The floor will remain what it is now, an extremely pale pink, and shades of red can become the color accent in the room--towels, occasional pieces, etc. I think it could be quite a good, clean look and have gotten psyched for it. Wish I could supply some before and after pics, but I never got around to taking any before Steve left, and he has the camera, believing hopefully he may have some time to do sightseeing in Nevada. Anyway, I'll let you know what I learn.

Have you done anything like this? Would love to hear your experience with it.

A quiet Sunday (I think)

I was up at 4:30--early not only for a Sunday but any day of the week--to see Steve off for a trip to Reno, Nevada. This seminar will no doubt be the last traveling he will be doing for his present employer. The supervisor who suggested and authorized this trip is gone now; it was a parting gift to Steve. As a perk, I think Steve is appreciative of the gesture, but I'm sure he'd rather forgo the travel. Soon enough he'll be able to.

There was no getting back to sleep for me so I came here and started listening to music. I'm yawning as I write, so a quiet day is probably in store. I'll luxuriate with the newspaper for a few hours, and then see what happens. Either today or tomorrow I will tackle one of those drudge jobs I find satisfying: cleaning up all the drywall mess in the bathroom. Yes, that task is moving along. Primer is on all the walls; they simply await a finish coat of paint. That means all the dust that was raised by the spackling necessary to get to this point can be cleaned up. I armed myself with 15 tack cloths from Home Depot yesterday. We are on our way back to shiny surfaces!

A peaceful Sunday to you.

FOOD FRIDAY!

GLAZED PORK CHOPS WITH ONIONS

Don't tell anybody, but Friday is usually an easy blog day for me because I don't have to sit here and pull something out of thin air to write about. A recipe is easy--it's either already in my head or written down someplace to copy. So this morning, instead of trying to stitch meandering thoughts together into a coherent narrative, I've been totally immersed in music for the past hour or so, acquainting myself with some of the stuff I've been acquiring right and left lately, knowing I like it but never really giving it proper attention. Not a bad way to spend the morning. And I'm glad to learn that my musical intuition has proved accurate!

Today's recipe is a just-about foolproof way to prepare thick-cut pork chops in a way that preserves and enhances their flavor and keeps them moist. They will come out lightly pink on the outside, with a beautifully carmelized crust. The technique is adapted from one of my prime go-tos, Cooks Illustrated magazine. The onions are my own addition, so they're optional; the glaze is a word-for-word lift from the magazine. The whole thing takes less than 30 minutes to prepare from beginning to end, and makes a quick but sophisticated weeknight meal.

Notes:

You must use your heaviest, most evenly-heating griddle to make this. Cast iron is best. (Before you email me to take me to task for preparing the acid-based glaze in cast iron, I'll tell you now that I do it regularly and get no metallic taste. If your pan is properly seasoned, that won't happen.)

Use bone-in chops. They have much more flavor than boneless.

The amount of glaze is enough for 4 chops

Onions:

2 medium yellow onions, peeled, halved pole-to-pole and sliced into thick half-moons
1 tablesoon olive oil
salt and pepper

Glaze:

1/2 cup distilled white vinegar
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/3 cup apple cider or apple juice (or 2 tablespoons apple juice concentrate) 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon soy sauce

Chops:

2 bone-on pork chops, 5-7 oz. each, 1/2 to 3/4 inch thick
Salt and pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil

For onions: place all ingredients in cold cast iron skillet, turn heat to medium, and gently sauté to sweat and soften onions but not to brown. When desired softness is reached, remove onions to a bowl and set aside. Wipe pan clean and return to burner.

Mix all glaze ingredients and set aside

For chops: turn heat under pan to high and spread oil evenly inside. While oil is heating, remove chops from packaging, pat dry with paper towels, and season both sides with salt and pepper. When oil is very hot and beginning to smoke in the pan, gently and carefully add the chops. They should sizzle upon contact with the oil. Cover immediately, leave heat on high, and cook without touching for 5 minutes. Some smoke will begin to curl out from under the lid; that's OK. At the end of 5 minutes, remove lid, turn chops (get a load of that beautiful crust!) and quickly pour glaze over all. Reduce heat to medium and continue to cook, with glaze bubbling rapidy, another 4 to 5 minutes.

Remove chops to a bowl. Continue to boil glaze until it is thick and begins to coat the bottom of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes. Return chops and accumulated juices to pan, spoon glaze over, add onions, and continue cooking a minute or so to heat everything through. Serve.

Look out: a gay rant

The day's music choices reflect a news story I will be following: yesterday, a House subcommittee revisited for the first time since its enactment 15 years ago the "don't ask, don't tell" policy toward gays in the military, signed into law by that great friend of gay people, Bill Clinton. (If you're interested, Diane Rehm will be devoting her first hour this morning to a discussion of the issue.) If any changes are in the offing, they of course won't come until after a new administration is in place, but it's heartening to know that a re-examination is starting now, as ugly and personally insulting as I know I will find the conversation. Just as when I pass a serious car wreck on the highway, I find myself morbidly drawn to this discussion, simultaneously relishing and hating hearing myself referred to in the third person, as if I were not in the room.

I hope whoever advised Clinton to make this issue the very first one to tackle after he was sworn into office was drawn and quartered, or at least summarily fired. The "born politician" overplayed his hand disastrously on this question, and he ended up codifying into law the lying that, up to then, gay people in the military had only occasionally been forced into, by individual circumtances. At the time, it was viewed as a humane compromise, but that view was held, of course, by people who weren't forced into hypocrisy by it. The inevitable witch hunts ensued: under this law, more than 12,000 patriots have been drummed out of the service for loving whom they loved. That number includes field medics and scarce Arabic speakers. The policy is a national disgrace. (Funny. As I wrote that I realized we've experienced so many national disgraces since this one that the expression has lost much of its punch. But this still outrages me, which I guess means there's hope yet for our dear country.)

Me, I'd never have touched a military career. I wasn't made for one, and am grateful that another means of expressing my patriotism was available. But I am also grateful to anyone willing to put his or her life in danger in order to protect mine. And isn't that what it all boils down to? These people have volunteered to give their all, literally, to this country, and this is the gratitude they receive. If they kiss the wrong kind of person they aren't worthy.

Have I made myself clear how I feel about this? Carry on, dear friends.