I heart hot dogs

Is the fourth of July supposed to be a time of reflection? For some reason my brain considers celebration and reflection to be antithetical. Why is it that on all holidays I can only think of the negative aspects of American culture? Why am I not content to shove a shish kabob in my mouth and light sparklers? Hot dogs and fireworks are cool. I just wish that we, as a country could be a bit more like, say France. They’re livin’ lives over there based on the three important principles of: family, wine, brie. Or how about Finland? They have, like 27 hour work weeks. Why must American culture be so WORK-driven? Why must holidays feel so lame because someone out there is working because they have to, or because they don’t have to, but want the overtime green? Why is the arbitrarily chosen day of Jesus’ birth the only day when people feel entitled to relax? OK, now that I got that off of my chest...

This was possibly one of the best three day weekends ever. Partly due to the fact that I made and ate a LOT of food and mostly because I got to see four great people.

These two lovely people came over on Saturday:




We made Ethiopian food and boy, were we successful! We improvised spiced butter, and made delicious lentils with berebere spice. Then we attempted injera bread, which had the consistency, though not the taste, of the real thing. Later I begged them to play Settlers of Catan, thinking that all of my playing in Port Townsend had prepared me for battle. Oh, how I was mistaken. These people are SERIOUS about the game in the way that I am SERIOUS about fish. They even have laminated cards. So I lost and pouted (on the inside).

The very next day I received these lovely lady visitors:



I had fresh from the oven my cake of the week ™:




It was a blueberry pudding cake--so delicious. This was possibly the easiest recipe I have ever attempted and took approximately 5 minutes to make and then 40 minutes to cook (and then 5 minutes for three people to eat). I made 2! The second one shall be savored and maybe saved for my parental units.

My lady friends and I then ate a delicious vegan lunch and then watched Branjelina in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. It was possibly the worst movie ever. Laurel brought up a good point about the lack of choreography or even SENSE in terms of the violence. Shit just got blown up. I was personally offended by the base sex jokes that were written for 13 year old boys. I reread the New Yorker review of the movie and have to say it is right on about the self-satisfied acting and holey plot. I then proceeded to read an article about a man who recently “broke the scrap barrier” by building a raft out of miscellaneous refuse and sailing it across the Atlantic. Amazing!

Quality time spent eating $1 frozen yogurt at IKEA and perusing the brightly colored home décor:




Lastly, I have a new, growing obsession with a pretty, but obnoxious blue bird that visits my yard. He/she has a terrible, loud squawk, and sits in the lemon tree outside of my kitchen. Laurel calls him my rooster, so I decided that shall be his name. Here is my rooster perched on a lawn chair:




Though I have never been a birder, my rooster may change all of that.