I don’t wear a watch. I just feel so restricted when I have some unwieldy thing strapped around on my wrist. I’m kind of a zealot (read: pain in the ass) when it comes to proclaiming my disdain for timepieces, and whenever anyone gives me any trouble for not wearing one, I like to brag, “I’m free from the constraints of time!” What this really means is that I carry my cell phone everywhere and have to dig it out of my pocket, take it out of its case, and push a button every time I need to know what time it is. When I’m at home, my computer doubles as a clock. Basically what I’m saying is, if there’s ever an EMP, I’m screwed. I’m so dependent on electronics to tell me basic pieces of data that I would probably quickly forget which day of the week it is, let alone the date, and possibly the year.

Being free from the constraints of time isn’t very practical. When I sub in gym classes, I’m kind of at a loss because the watches I wore in 1999 have long since ticked their last tock, and the only stopwatch I can find (which I believe came with one of those McDonald’s adult happy meals, along with a “power-yoga” DVD still in its shrinkwrap) is displaying crazy numbers I’ve never seen before. Maybe messages from the aliens?

I have to do a presentation tonight, and without the magic of technology, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Instead of going to the trouble of wearing a watch (gasp!), I’ve instead downloaded a stopwatch program. I would like to take this opportunity to thank XNote Stopwatch for letting me know how long my presentation runs. It’s also been handy when I do my class readings, because I’ve developed an unfortunate tendency to pore over the words, trying to absorb everything as deeply as possible, when really, I need to use the stopwatch to force myself to read a page a minute. Stopwatches? Boo. Stopwatch programs? Yay!

Technology has conveniently allowed me to avoid the inconvenience of wearing and maintaining a timepiece by providing new, more inconvenient ways to find the time. I call this progress!

I timed how long it took me to write this.

So that’s where all my time goes.

Maybe I need to start wearing a watch. But it has to be digital. And synced with the atomic clock. And it has to display the seconds. Because as much as I try to avoid time, I’m really super anal about knowing the exact time down to the second.

I’m way-too-excited right now because I’m finally going to get a LAPTOP BACKPACK. I’ve been wanting one for a long time, so now that the semester is practically over, I’m ordering one. The problem with laptop backpacks is that they’re too expensive for cheapskates grad students like me, and they’re not very aesthetically appealing. Buy.com is selling the Wenger Synergy backpack for $50 - $20 Magical Google Checkout Bonus, coming to $30 buckaroonies! AND NO SALES TAX!

The best part is that it’s by Wenger, one of the two Swiss Army knife companies, which floats my little half-Swiss boat. Admittedly, I’m more of a Victorinox kind of girl when I do my knife shopping (how scary does that sound?), but now that Victorinox acquired Wenger, it doesn’t really matter anyway. It sounds like it will hopefully fit my 15.4″ Dell Inspiron 6000, for curious Googlers in need of a review, because that was one of my concerns. The other was whether or not it will fit under airplane seats, and it supposedly will if you don’t stuff it. It weighs 4 lbs. (1.8 kg!), but that’s probably pretty typical.

Fascinating Swiss Army Knife History: My Swiss homie Karl Elsener got ticked off when he found out that the knives the Swiss Army used were made in Germany. Blasphemy! He started the Association of Swiss Master Cutlers in 1891 to remedy this problem tout de suite. He merrily manufactured the oh-so-clever little knives without competition until 1893, when the-company-that-would-become-Wenger started copycatting. “In 1908 the Swiss government, wanting to prevent an issue over regional favouritism but perhaps wanting a bit of competition in hopes of lowering prices, split the contract with Victorinox and Wenger each getting half of the orders placed. By mutual agreement, Wenger advertises as the Genuine Swiss Army Knife and Victorinox uses the slogan the Original Swiss Army Knife.” (Wikipedia)

Did I mention that I have a COOL, ENGRAVED knife with my NAME ON IT that looks something like this?

If you’ve ever wanted a slice of the delicious glamor that is my life, now’s the time to do it. Buy this bag and you can PACK LIKE KIKI.

Happy Birthday, Alan!!!

On Friday I baked a cake for Alan to bring in to work. cupCAKE and I took a cake decorating class two summers ago, so I was looking forward to exercising my sweet Cake Decorating Skillz. Alas, I haven’t decorated any cakes since then, and it turns out that squirting frosting out of pastry bags is nothing like riding a bike. Nothing at all like it. I can assure you, it looked much more professional and awesome in my head. The execution, however, is a bit… lacking.

Good thing it’s the thought that counts! Right? … right?

This cake was actually Plan B, because the first cake I tried to make tasted like plastic. Alan wanted one layer of Devil’s Food cake and one layer of Red Velvet cake, and as I dutifully followed directions that no idiot could screw up (1/2 cup water, 1/3 cup oil, 3 eggs… I mean, not exactly rocket science over here), it became quickly apparent that this batter did not taste delicious. Nay, it tasted like melted plastic.

Fortunately Alan was a good sport and happily flushed the batter down the toilet, much to my fascination and abhorrence (”EUGH! I can’t even look! It’s too gross! But it’s so interesting! But it’s so… BLEH!”). He even went out on his Birthday Eve so we could buy some new cake mixes.

At least the end product tasted less like melted plastic and more like actual cake. However, I saw the pinnacle of Cakeitude at the fancy grocery store today, and I don’t even care what it tastes like, because I want it:

I may not have the decorating skillz to pay the billz, or the pastry skillz to bake the cake, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to eat the sweet.

Kiki: Have you seen Stagecoach?
Alan: I don’t think so.
Kiki: It’s the one where John Wayne says, “Go ahead, make my day.”
Alan: No, that’s from Dirty Harry.
Kiki: Is John Wayne in that one?
Alan: No, it’s Clint Eastwood.
Kiki: Are you sure? Check IMDb.
Alan reads Stagecoach quotes, none of which are “Go ahead, make my day.”
Kiki: Well, he says some hardcore thing that has since become a cliché.
Alan reads more quotes, none of which ring a bell.
Kiki: Okay, fine, maybe it’s something like, “Blahblah maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, and for the rest of your life.”
Alan: I’m pretty sure that Casablanca didn’t rip off John Wayne.

On Saturday night, we ate at a nice restaurant that served not just Chinese, not just Japanese, but BOTH cuisines under the same roof! The sesame chicken was on the Chef Recommends list, so I couldn’t resist, and once I saw the garnish, I knew I had made the right decision:

How gorgeous is this daikon radish flower?

I assumed they had a cool gadget like the Octodog that effortlessly produced such a perfect blossom (It slices! It dices! It turns otherwise unappetizing vegetables into beautiful bouquets!), but Alan bets that the sushi chef’s Daikon Cutting Skillz were responsible.

I wanted to learn how to make one, but so far I haven’t had any luck finding any really good garnish sites or books. You can learn a few techniques at AZ Central and Fine Dinings. Let me know if you find any better sites! I’ve decided that in lieu of actually being able to cook, I’ll just learn how to garnish like a pro so people won’t notice that I’m serving them Pop Tarts and ramen noodles.

Our chickens cranked out a record EIGHT EGGS today. Since last week, we’ve collected 3 dozen eggs.

Here’s a representative sample of an average day’s work in the egg factory. We get 6 different kinds of eggs from our 11 girls, and all but two are laying them now! Clockwise, starting with the brown one at the top: Rhode Island Red, White Sultan, Rhode Island Red, Black Sex Link, cutie tiny little Bantam (she’s a quarter of the size of our other chickens, but her eggs are only half as small!), Black Copper Maran, and Ameraucana (green eggs and ham!).

Anyone want an omelet?

One of these days I really need to post a Who’s Who in the Coop so you can get to know the lovely ladies who have been so hard at work!

I’d like to take this opportunity to [make/do/announce?] a shout out to Mountain Dew. When you get up at 4:30 for a 6:00am flight, nothing feels better than that DayGlo, turbo-caffeinated, insidious fruity goodness coursing through your veins.

Mountain Dew: Now with more radiation!

Ms. Dew can be a fickle mistress, however. Last Wednesday, I gulped 28 oz of this liquid energy prior to kickboxing.* For the first 10 minutes, I felt great. “Wow!” I thought, “All this kickboxing is finally paying off! I’ve never had so much energy!” I was power-jumping and uppercutting and cracking invisible enemies’ skulls on my knee with the best of them. Then without warning, my caffeinated high came crashing to an unforeseen low, and I had to hunker down with my hands on my quads and pant while everyone else merrily roundhouse kicked the night away. Oops.

Fun, unsubstantiated Mt. Dew facts that Kiki is too lazy to fact-check with the all-knowing Google oracle:

A case of Mt. Dew weighs more than a case of any other pop, due to the weight of its ridiculously excessive quantities of sugar

The Yellow No. 5 in Mt. Dew is Nature’s birth control, as it reduces sperm count*

* Sweaty kickboxing guy is still MIA. Yikes!
** Veracity: Not true according to Wikipedia. There are going to be some pretty disappointed teenagers out there.

Kiki urges you to Do the Dew!

8th Grade Boy 1: Did you hear about Andy and Jenny’s break-up?
8th Grade Boy 2: Yeah, it’s because he wanted to go out with Marissa.
Boy 1: No, it’s because all of Jenny’s classes are in the other hallway. They grew apart because they never got to spend any time together.

When I talked to Alan on the phone on Tuesday night, I was a little depressed about the election. My peeps were doing well in the polls, but a proposal I really didn’t want to pass was winning 2:1. In some ways I cared more about that proposal than I did about the candidates, because I worry that its passage will haunt us much longer than the actions of whichever people end up temporarily holding office. At any rate, Alan gave me the only piece of news that could bring me out of my funk.

Alan: Did you hear the news about Britney?
Kiki: God, I don’t even want to know. Is she pregnant again?
Alan: She filed for divorce today.

HALLELUJAH!

I’ll admit that I’ve been a fan of Britney since 1999 (7 years!), despite the many, many reasons not to be, and the many, many reasons not to make such a declaration without caveats. Rumor has it, she ditched K-Fed via text message, which is a bit hard core. Even I have to feel a little sad for Fed-Ex in that video.

Thanks for brightening my week, Britney!

Things that Will Happen When You Sub in Home Ec

The teacher will assume you know how to hand sew(!?), and you’ll have to compensate with confidence what you lack in competence. “So, um, this is how you thread a needle… as you can see, sometimes it takes a few tries… Okay, sometimes you need to cut the end of the thread before you can poke it through… other times you need to wet the thread first… this is a perfect example of how it might take you a few [10] tries before you get it. Now, as for knotting the thread….”

While filling out a worksheet on meal planning, some kids will have breakfasts like: 1 cup Cheerios (dry), 1/2 cup of carrots. Others will have Saltines for dinner. Meanwhile, they’ll be passing around a lemon Kool Aid packet and eating UNSWEETENED Kool Aid powder.

When one of the teachers hears you’re subbing for home ec, his response will be, “So the school’s going to burn down today?”

In every hour, a 6th grade boy will gleefully run up to you with a needle stuck through the dead skin on his palm. Each will act like he’s the first person in the universe to come up with such a wild and crazy idea.

You’ll think you’re going to get the best kids in the school, those sweet, domestically-inclined ones who enjoy cooking and sewing. In reality, the classes will be filled with the school’s hoodlums, who chose the elective because, and I quote, “It’s boring but it’s easier than Spanish or French,” or because they can’t be trusted with a musical instrument. You would also think that choir kids would be good, but the sad truth of the matter is, home ec and choir attract the bullies, the rat finks, and the ne’er-do-wells.

When you hand one of the boys an embroidery hoop, he’ll frisbee it across the room. “I ain’t gonna sew with that!” he’ll exclaim, “I ain’t no Granny.”

One of the geniuses in your class will get caught skateboarding in the hall. On a 3″ finger skateboard.

P.S. I was going to post this yesterday, but right as I started to log on, I dumped a cup of water into my laptop! And can you believe that Sunday was the first time I ever backed up my hard drive, thanks to cupCAKE’s hard drive scare? BACKING UP DATA SAVES LIVES.

Handy Hint: In case anyone gets here by googling “oh my god i just spilled water into my laptop what the fuck do i do,” what I did seems to be supported by extensive (2 minute) googling:
Turn the computer off ASAP.
Unplug the power cord.
Tilt the computer around to pour out any water that may be busily frying your motherboard.
Once you think you’ve gotten all the water out, lay the open laptop flat on a towel in a warm, dry room, keyboard and screen facing down (so the water doesn’t puddle on your circuitry).
Take the battery out and make sure everything’s dry, especially the contacts.
Blast everything with a hair dryer on the cool setting.
Bite your fingernails for 24 hours before you turn it on.

Thankfully, mine didn’t get too wet, and it seems *fingers crossed fingers crossed* to be working.