I thought it was winter malaise. But when I went to donate blood last week, I was rejected for not having enough red cells. Actually, the correct terminology is deferred, since if the situation changes, I can try again.) Specifically, my blood count would have been acceptable if I had had a hemoglobin at or above 12.5 g/dL, and mine was 12.3. They used to use this solution to see if my blood would sink, and then more recently some sort of centrifuge to make sure I had a hematocrit at or above 38%, which I always did.
Still, the nice Red Cross lady, my neighbor Shirley, gave me juice and cookies anyway. Then I went to the barber shop and then home to bed.
This is slightly peculiar to me, for this is the first time in over 10 years that I’ve been deferred for this reason, during which I’ve probably donated 50 of my 120 times.
Here’s something I didn’t know: generally speaking, they test a man’s blood pressure first then test the iron content. For women, it’s the other way around. It’s because men tend to have more high blood pressure referrals (over 180/100) than women, and women tend towards anemia more than men. Naturally, being a contrarian, my BP was 116/74.
My plot now is to consume lots of liver and spinach. Here’s a list. I see haggis is on the roster; I think I’ll pass. I’ll stick with lean red meats, seafood, beans, iron-fortified whole grains, and greens (naturally). I’m fascinated by the fact that the can of apricots I have shows no appreciable iron noted on the label, yet dried fruits, such as raisins, prunes, dates and, yes, apricots, are on the list.
In the mid 1980s, I lived in this apartment in Albany where there was a big field in the back. I suffered the most virulent mouse invasion I’ve ever experienced. It wasn’t just mice in the low cabinets and along the floor boards. It was beasties in the upper cabinets. I remember putting a box of elbow macaroni on top of the refrigerator and discovered that a live mouse was still in it. Ultimately I set traps, usually four each night for about three weeks before the mouse hotline alerted its fellow travelers that this was not a safe house to be in.
The very premise of a movie about a rodent, a RAT, no less, preparing food was, to say the least, unappealing to me. Still, I went to the parlor of my church a couple Tuesdays ago, and saw Ratatouille with eight other adults, and no children. In fact, I may have been the youngest one there. I was totally captivated by this film. Among other things, there are scenes that are laugh-out-loud hysterical.
Establishing Remy as a sympathetic iconoclast foodie allows the rest of the story to flow, from Remy finding the once-famed Gusteau’s restaurant in Paris to saving the young man Linguini from culinary disaster to what follows. There is a frantic wonder in that early kitchen scene that was breathtaking. If the movie isn’t quite up to that level throughout, it’s still high on my list of favorite films for the year.
This is yet another PIXAR success. In addition to the wonderful writing and direction of Brad Bird, and luscious artwork, I loved the voice actors, including Patton Oswalt as Remy and Lou Romano as Linguini, plus Ian Holm, Brian Dennehy, Peter Sohn, Brad Garrett, Janeane Garofalo, Will Arnett, and Peter O’Toole as the food critic Anton Ego.
I was going to write about this much earlier, but now that I’ve actually read the book, now’s probably even a better time.
We had our office Christmas holiday party in our office area this past year. I reckon it was a direct result of the previous year’s gathering at some amazingly crowded restaurant where the people from the next area could bump into us with astonishing regularity. That said, I was quite disappointed with the decision. Getting out of the office was nice when we worked downtown, but now that I’m in suburban cubicleland, it seemed essential. And it was a potluck, always a pain when you take three buses to work.
Still, it wasn’t awful, and in fact, we took over the “training room”, a large meeting room, and it was all right. What was striking, though, was the gift exchange. Of the 12 gifts traded, fully four of them had a cubicle theme. In 2006, when we first moved in, we didn’t see such gifts, but in 2007, it was as though it’s finally sinking in. One person got a weather cube, another a Dilbert calendar, a third an actual miniature cubicle with a “person” at his computer that the real person can control.
I got a book, a 2007 paperback called The Cubicle Survival Guide by James F. Thompson. Its subtitle is the title of this piece. Of course, some of this is common sense, except that, as many of us have realized, “common sense” is not all that common. Introduction: Railing against the term “cubicle farm” Chapter 1: Perspective. “They’re not real walls.” Chapter 2: Decoration. Postcards, family photos, small plants, yes. Religious and political icons, no, unless that’s the norm. Chapter 3: On the Phone. How to speak in code, because whispering or even speaking in another language might not cut it. Also, how to deal with “speakerphone divas.” Chapter 4: Illness, Bodily Functions and Injuries. Frequent trips to the bathroom, using discretion, and detours to treat that hangover. Chapter 5: Eating, Drinking and Digesting. Fish is at the top of the stink pyramid. Consideration when using the toaster oven and the microwave creates peace. Chapter 6: Hygiene. Don’t trim your fingernails. Wear your shoes. Limit the perfume. Chapter 7: Entertaining Guests and Unannounced Visitors. Use defensive body-language techniques to get rid of the office lamprey. Chapter 8: Anti-Spy Methods and Counterespionage Equipment. Ctrl-W, alliances with colleagues, small fonts, rearview mirror. Chapter 9: Exercising, Blood Circulation and Posture. Some good, specific exercises. Take a break, have a life. Chapter 10: Protecting Yourself and Your Cubicle. No passwords on your computers, use yellow police tape. I think the latter’s a joke, but I’m not sure. This book may be more useful to point out to others their shortcomings than for you, who would never eat a stinky cheese in a cubicle. Would you?
At said party, my favorite thing to eat was this. They’re not “heavy”, as you might assume they are.
Sausage Balls (from the Lady and Sons Cookbook – a Savannah, GA restaurant)
3 cups Bisques or baking mix 1 pound of sausage (I use the roll of Jimmy Dean sausage) – not cooked 2 cups of shredded cheddar cheese 2 beaten eggs
Put the first three ingredients in a big mixing bowl and stir together. It forms stiff dough that loosens up when you add the beaten eggs. Mix well. Form 1” balls (like a medium sized meatball) and place about 2” apart on a baking sheet. Bake 15 minutes at 350 degrees. The color will change only slightly during the baking. These are best served warm. The recipe makes nearly 2 dozen balls, depending on the size.
A friend of mine has a Netflix account, and before she returned the film, she let me watch Eastern Promises a week ago Sunday, while Carol and Lydia went ice skating. I must admit, despite it being out for a while, I wasn’t sure what the movie was about. As it turns out, it’s the story of the Russian mafia in London, and this guy Nikolai (Viggo Mortensen) working his way up the system. It’s also about this young woman who died in childbirth, nurse Anna (Naomi Watts) trying to find the family of the baby, and how these two story lines intersect.
Mortensen is excellent, and deserving of his Oscar nomination. I had seen him only in lighter fare, such as the first Lord of the Rings film. He embodies and possesses this hardened character. Watts is also good, as is Armin Mueller-Stahl as the mob boss. I was also captivated by the storytelling prowess of tattoos.
All that said, I can’t say I enjoyed the film. There are ultragraphic touches throughout. In fact, after the scene that took place at 75 minutes in, I did something I absolutely hate to do; I put the video on pause to catch my breath, which one could not do in a movie theater. It does not surprise me that the director was David Cronenberg, who broke into films making violent fare; his last film, which I did not see, was A History of Violence.
More problematic, though, is the storyline itself. Maybe it was because of the language barrier, but occasionally I didn’t understand what was going on, why a certain person was killed, and worst of all, the ending. Also, there’s about a five-minute initiation seen, done entirely in languages I did not comprehend – no subtitles – which was interesting for a couple minutes, but which then became frustrating.
You know when you read the SPOILER ALERT synopsis and both you and your friend say, “Oh, is THAT what happened?”, a certain storytelling disconnect has occurred.
ROG
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