Starting in January, Stanford is serializing Sherlock Holmes as the stories originally appeared in The Strand Magazine. Kristin told me about this last year, when they were doing Dickens, but I didn't subscribe in time to get hardcopies. Today's MobyLives Radio mentioned the new program.

It hit me the other day that there are no hippies here.

Does that seem odd? It shouldn't, but I never thought of it before. Earthy types certainly don't fit in with a typical vision of The South.

But discounting your full-fledged hippies, there are no granola-y or outdoorsy types. No roof racks on cars, no bike racks, no kayaks, no I'm-outside-every-weekend-rain-or-shine people. No rainbows on cars (plenty of Bush stickers, though), no Gore-Tex, no fleece vests.

I saw a (white) guy with dreadlocks at the indie coffeeshop one time. That's all. I wanted to go up and ask him where he bought his organic wine and TVP but I didn't.

Bass boats, yes. Big-ass RVs, all the time. Both with college football flags and magnets and stickers covering all surfaces.

There was a bit on the radio about a granola group from the West Coast who opened up a free food kitchen down in Mississippi for hurricane people. The locals ate gladly, but it took a while to accept The Hippies. There's a sound bite from a mom:

"Yeeeah, ain't it neat? They're so cute! My kids'll be lookin' and everything and I'll just like, well, baby, that't just the way it, they do. They're from...California over there and they're out here helping the public. And they say, yes ma'am."

Q: Who visits a big-box corporate bookstore on Thanksgiving Day?

A: Everybody and their dog. And their screaming crying running all over children on cell phones who make messes and throw things on the floor but of course the parents don't clean it up; they are too busy reading People and Maxim and The Idiot's Guide to Sex, all of which get left on the floor or stuffed in next to Curious George Goes to the Hospital.

They came not so much for the books as to buy coffee and use the bathroom and ask stupid questions, like, "Where are the Jane Austen books? Why are there so many different versions of Pride and Prejudice? Which one is best?"

This job is seriously making me hate the general public. I admit -- I was naive; I thought the majority of adults had a basic understanding of books, or at least could tell fiction from non. Hell, all the students I taught came out of my class knowing the basics, like how books are shelved according to the author's last name and what a genre is. Hell, my Boston students learned the difference between mass market and trade paperbacks. I told them to flaunt that knowledge at a bookstore, asking if a particular book was available in a trade paperback instead of mass market or hardcover, whatever, and freak out the employees. They are the few, the well-read, the knowledeable.

Here -- and I don't know how much is due to this being The South; I do find some of the stereotypes hold some truth -- I encounter so many unbelievably lazy/dull people trying to get as much as possible for as little as possible -- and thinking they deserve it all with a tireless smile from me. Treating the store like a crappy-ass library and browsing stacks of books then leaving everything out on the tables, floor, wrong section, etc. (mostly this is real estate & business books, comics and manga, and then marathoners; I don't know why runners don't buy their damn books) (I wish the books had call numbers; it would make reshelving so much faster) or getting pissed off when the store doesn't have the books they NEED for their paper/research project/whatever-the-hell-it's-due-TOMORROW!!! or because they can't use the computer to search for books. This isn't a reference desk. I had a woman walk away in the middle of my explanation when we didn't have some obscure books about a supreme court justice (and I know how to search the database) because I said she could not come behind the counter and search herself.

I've lost count of the times I've advised people to use the library -- it is free! You don't have to complain about the prices of the books! You CAN read the newspaper without buying it and the employees won't hate you! They have LOTS of stuff! It's easy! I either get a blank look or they say, "I never thought of that! Okay!" And this insults me as a former librarian and obsessive weekly patron, that people think libraries are only for children, moms and the elderly. And the creepy men who use them for watching porn online, but that's another issue. Those same creepy men come in and read for hours in the Sexuality section and buy eight porno mags at a time on bright Sunday mornings.

Speaking of moms, (a ways back now) yesterday I saw a woman bite her child's hand when the 5-year-old touched something on the checkout counter. In the middle of paying for her books, she snatched up his hand and chomped down on it until he cried. I hope that kid gets rabies or something from her filthy mouth.

I'm tired of the loud and endless cell phone coversations and the Nextel walkie-talkie exchanges and the levels of rudeness people dump on me because I have an apron on with a store name embroidered across the front -- which some people think I wear for style reasons and not because I work there. "Do you work here?" P a u s e. "Yeeees, I do." I cannot decide if that is worse than people snapping their fingers and/or whistling for my attention or not.

To continue my rant, if I spend five minutes making your 20oz chocolate caramel latte to your exact & anal specifications, it would be nice for some change to hit the bottom of the tip jar.

So.

I got to work the closing shift today. No holiday pay or bonus because I'm under 30 hrs/wk (I'm at a regular 29). The store closed at 9pm (instead of the regular 11pm) but no one took this seriously and we had to go around to the people who were selectively hearing the announcements and tell them MULTIPLE TIMES that the store was closed and they had to leave. Leave now. Why are you even here? Go digest your turkey and watch some football. GO HOME.

My first turkey-less Thanksgiving. Wonderful.

P.S. -- So as not to end this on a wholly negative note, you know who my favorite customers are? The four or five gay men who come in once a week or so (not together -- these are separate customers) to get their magazines and a book or two. They are all polite and intelligent. The younger ones will say something sassy to me sometimes. They never piss me off or make me feel like shit. I love them.

I decided to try out the brownie recipe in my CHOW magazine today. A complete and utter success; I don't give them more than two days before the entire pan is devoured.

Click on the photo for delightful NOTES. Pay no attention to the gin in the upper right hand corner. I was drinking hot spiced cider interspersed with shots of espresso today.

Final delectable image found here.

I've not been blogging because I've been reading and trying to get a handle on the various paperwork piles currently threatening my desk and the floor of my room. The past year has been one where I never really got on top of things and have always been trailing behind, chasing after my goals &/or desires and flailing my arms about, crying, "Wait for me! Wait for me!"

The result of such living is always feeling rushed and never accomplished. So I need to slow down and take stock of where I am and what I am doing. Revamp some things and toss others.

I sincerely thought I'd have more going for me at 28.

Bruce's photo of me taking this photo.

Keaton cannot bear not to know what is going on around him. This is especially a problem in the kitchen because he can't see the counters. At the Nebrasky house, this problem was solved by having a tall bar chair available for his viewing pleasure. The kitchen here isn't quite arranged for such things. He usually sits in the middle of the kitchen floor and yowls; he best likes to be carried as I go about my food business, getting an up close and personal view of the show, but not all acts are meant to be done single-handedly and cat hair can be a problem.

It makes me laugh when he gives up and just takes a seat on one of the counter chairs to watch, as in the above photo, just his little head peeking over. I half expect him to ask me to fry two and let the sun shine and how about a cuppa joe?

TODAY:
I drove behind a vinegar tank truck.

I recommended that great chicken piccata recipe to a librarian (if she doesn't like it, I may lose library privileges).

I filled up my tank for $2.09/gal.

I bought Home Movies Season Three. (!!!)

And I discovered I have more Diana Wynne Jones books than anyone else on LibraryThing.

***Hm. On that page, it says I have 41 books. My personal library page says I own 60, and another page lists 55. I think my duplicate copies have something to do with it. How I love her. Ah.

Alabama's foliage has very little to compare to Massachusetts -- or Oregon, for that matter. The trees fall (ha ha) into two categories: dead brown leaves or a dark dull red.

Bruce and I drove to Lake Martin (reservoir) on Friday to see what was there. It's a great place for fishing but didn't have much in the hiking or wildlife area. We saw a turtle swim out from under the dock and a whole lotta baby fish, but no birds except a crow.

It's still warm, but I was able to turn off the air conditioning. Windows are open.

Home Movies Season Three is out this week!!

Oy!, originally uploaded by arahsae.

Man, he has pretty eyes.

I forgot to mention how wonderfully that Italian dinner I embarked on turned out: shockingly good, like, I couldn't believe it came from my kitchen.

The white bean dip was incredible. The chicken piccata, utterly delectable and the smashed parmesan potatoes a lovely backdrop.

I'll share my version of the white bean dip here -- we had it with crostini (fancy lingo for toasted baguette slices).

In a food processor (or blender, which takes forever but works) toss the following:

1 can drained and rinsed cannellini beans
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves
2 T fresh lemon juice
1 large garlic clove
1/2 t salt
1/4 t pepper

Blend away until somewhat smooth, then add 1/3 cup of olive oil and puree until creamy.

Garnish with a sprig or two of parsley and some more salt and pepper.

This is a filling appetizer and mmmm so good.

Off to work -- ick.

I hate hate hate Wal-Mart and refuse to shop there (something many people back in Nebraska and here in Alabama don't really understand) and now there's a movie about it -- The High Cost of Low Price.

Wait a minute -- I have to take some of that back, as there are a bunch of screenings here. Yay!

I seem to have lost my cookie sheets in one of my three moves of the past couple years.

That's sad -- it means I haven't made cookies since Boston.

I do have my muffin tin, but come on -- even Bruce has a muffin tin. (I don't know why. He doesn't like muffins or cupcakes nor has he ever made any.) Also he has a loaf pan. That's okay; he does lots of loafing about, ha ha.

In truth, Bruce has better and more kitchen equipment than anyone else I know except my mom and he doesn't cook anything unless it has cheese and/or tomato sauce in and takes less than five minutes. He also overcooked and burned everything (witness poor condition of Calphalon cookware) until I showed him The Way. Now he makes kickass (read: not reduced to basic carbon structure) bacon.

My former goal at 43 Things, try a new recipe once a month (worth doing!) had a big effect on my cooking (not baking -- I'll have to work on that). Last night was a Nepalese curry that required twenty minutes of dicing potatoes (five cups) but turned out delicious. I adore curry.

I picked up Everyday Italian at the library yesterday (randomly. what, you think I have cable?) and will attempt the following menu for tomorrow night:

+ White Bean Dip with Pita Chips (an appetizer?! wowee!)
+ Smashed Parmesan Potatoes (the smashing is the fun part, and I get bonus points for using up the bag of potatoes from last night's dish; I never buy potatoes)
+ Chicken Piccata (a main dish with meat! yowza!)

Three items is rather ambitious, and I know they won't be ready at the same time, but they are simple and as long as I have a glass of shiraz I should be fine. It just means we'll be eating at 8.30 even though I'll shoot for 7.30.

I miss the Boston dinner parties Dana and I had. Flaming cabbages. Dana's apple tart. Susan's real hash browns. The great taste in alcohol all our friends had. Mmm -- D's ginger martinis. I need to craft a batch of those.

PS - Cool new food magazine: CHOW. They advertised in my beloved ReadyMade and after picking up the current issue for $3.95 (they have Cuban recipes, Dana; you should get it) I'm probably going to subscribe. It's so hipster yummy delicious and I learned the whys and hows about salting water for pasta; you SHOULD. Now if someone can just explain salted vs non-salted butter to me, I'm set.

PPS - This was sposed to be a short and quippy entry about cookie sheets.

Oh yeah -- I thought of a Talent (see below)!!! Sally (here and here, too) and I can do our dance routine complete with around the waist spins! (Keaton doesn't like to dance with me, though he'll watch for five minutes or so.)

If cats aren't allowed, I'd have to pull some sort of Haley Mills/Parent Trap hologram thing and learn guitar. I can sing that song, yay yay yay.

Red Earth, originally uploaded by arahsae.

The ground here really is red -- some places look almost bloody. Yet another item to add to my Alabama is Weird list.

I realized yesterday that I never posted about the Junior Miss Pageant (they call it a PROGRAM, but really, who are they fooling?). I'm sure this has kept you awake at night, but you were just too polite to complain. So let me enlighten you.

When Bruce suggested going, I first thought he was joking. I'm against pageants as a rule, for all the standard reasons about how they objectify women/girls etc. Frankly, instead of all the parading, dancing, gymnastics, singing and elocution, I'd rather see the girls duke it out for the scholarship money. Natural selection and all, with the smartest and strongest winning.

That's not what happened, though there was lots of crying and yelling. And hugging, ever so much hugging.

Bruce wasn't too keen on going himself, but he wanted to be supportive of one of his friends whose daughter had entered. I figured it would be cruel of me to make him go solo and I could treat it as part of my Southern Education.

We drove to the local high school and were met at the door by a smiling lady in fancy dress clutching programs ($5) and tickets ($10 per person).

"TEN BUCKS?!" I exclaimed to Bruce. "That's criminal!" No honey, that's showbiz, said the look in the lady's eye. He paid and, determined not to feel bad about my basic jeans and sweater (I'd talked Bruce out of wearing slacks and a dress shirt), we entered the gym/auditorium.

Hand-painted butcher paper posters crowded the walls, advertising support for Leann and Mercedes and Katie Ann (of course there were an equal number of posters for each contestant to prevent hard feelings). Parents and students milled around. Bruce found his friend's family and we sat down. He borrowed a program and so began the dialog of sarcastic comments that flowed from our mouths all evening long.

Of the eleven girls competing, only one wanted to go to an out-of-state college. That one was also the only contestant that didn't have a Glamour Shot photo nor typos in her summary nor syrupy sweet "advertisements" from Sissy or Mom and Daddy in the back (Luv you baby girl! [insert bible quote about love here]). She was Our Girl, Bruce's friend's daughter, and the only person I gave actual applause to. Also, she was not an Alabama native, having grown up in a number of places as an Air Force brat. She blew everyone else away, literally high-kicking their asses into the wings. (Bruce didn't see her as the type that would go for such things, being a nice, intelligent, REAL person, but hey -- if you can dupe the locals for free money...)

Before the actual show started, twenty (!) minutes were devoted to outlining the lives of the judges in detail, from their Junior Miss backgrounds, prior judging experience, business ventures (present and of olde), dancing skills and husbands' career choices. Then their children had to stand up and wave.

The curtain finally lifted and, among sparkly stars taped to the backdrop, the contestants did a little song and dance and introduced themselves in loud, confident voices. The sound system sucked, so it was kind of sad looking. The whole thing tended toward the pathetic instead of glamorous, despite the shiny and/or ruffled dresses and moderately high heels. Come on -- it's a high school gym, cold and drafty and full of folding chairs. This isn't the Sydney Opera House.

Now the categories, the meat of the pageant, began:

+ Poise (15% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's demeanor, sense of style and speaking ability.

The most painful part of the show, first because obviously the Junior Miss Pageant tries to redeem itself with a Question of Merit that shows Support of Women and then because three of the girls choked.

The Question (that they got two hours before showtime):
Women today face a lot of pressure from the media about their looks. In your opinion, are dieting and extensive plastic surgery okay or not?

Oh, I wonder what the "right" answer is! What would a true Baptist Southern Belle say?

One failure of the program is that the contestants do a rehearsal of each section of the show -- this means answers get stolen. This happened to Our Girl, who had the sense to reserve a completely different answer for the real show. Everyone else's answer (those who didn't stand gaping at the microphone like deer in a redneck's high beams, I mean) either quoted the bible (the exact same quote) or said, "God made us in His image and we should love ourselves." All except the first girl, whose answer was, "Both."

+ Talent (25% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's performing arts talent presented on stage in front of an audience.

This was interesting. Had several poor singers trying to do Mariah Carey songs, a dramatic monologue that lacked drama, rather fun clogging, a crappy hip-hop dance with a chair, a ballet-ish display choreographed by the girl's grandma, and a jazz routine that made every other contestant look like a hillbilly. Real dancing! Yay!

+ Fitness (15% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's overall conditioning during a choreographed aerobic routine.

Something of a dance/aerobics bit to music with pushups and high knees and lots of smiling and arm pumping.

Two categories are decided before the pageant:
+ Scholastics (20% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's high school academic record.

Apparently grades used to be worth a higher percentage, but people complained.

+ Interview (25% of overall score - done before pageant) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's personality, how she may react in new situations, her maturity, and her ability to express herself.

After much deliberation in a back room, during which the emcee shared the great and wonderful history of the Junior Miss Pageant, the judges came out and awarded five of six categories (there were some awards for Best Exhibitor of the Junior Miss Spirit and such) to Our Girl, including the Title, and there was much rejoicing. I even got to hold the pewter plates for a moment while she was whisked to the back for an interview with the newspaper and a talking-to about What It Means to Be a Junior Miss County Winner (no other competitions, no naked photos, etc.)

Bruce and I agreed that one of the creepiest parts of the show was watching the dads watch their daughters (and other teenage girls) up on stage in sexy dresses and skimpy costumes, prancing around and smiling to show how worthy they are of Poise! and Talent! and Fitness! points! Look at me, look at me!

Having just read Lolita a few weeks ago...it was most uncomfortable.

Whew! And I didn't even mention the Little Sisters, high school juniors whose sole duties are to scream encouragement for their Junior Miss Competitor Big Sister ("I love you Annie Mae! You are awesome!") and zip up their dresses. Oh, they also made the posters I mentioned in the beginning and are expected to compete in the pageant next year.

Our Girl gave us the skinny on another girl getting yelled at by her coach for flubbing the Poise portion ("Poise is EVERYTHING, DAMMIT!!!"). She burst into tears and ruined her makeup.

If you've seen Drop Dead Gorgeous, you know exactly what it was like. Just substitute Southern accents for the Minnesotan ones.