Netflix Sunday: Who should (and shouldn’t) catch up on ‘Doctor Who’

We all have them.  The TV shows we missed out on when they originally aired because we  didn’t know about them until ages later, or hadn’t heard of them because they’re on the real BBC, but BBC America won’t air them because they want to show the non-BBC Star Trek, TNG at the same freaking time as Syfy.  But I digress.

Your solution is Netflix.  We all know Netflix and we should all have Netflix, because, well, it’s eight damn dollars a month for streaming only, and if you can’t shell that out for some awesome entertainment you missed out on the first time around, there’s nothing I can do for you here.

*ahem*

Speaking of the BBC, my first suggestion is no surprise to anyone who knows me or has asked for TV suggestions on or off the internet: Doctor Who.

If you’re not familiar, Doctor Who is about a humanoid alien who travels through all of space and time, having adventures and saving the day (or all of eternity).  Not bad for a lonely Time Lord.

Doctor Who is a blend of sci-fi, fantasy, and a little bit of British wit and is always fascinating, exciting, and never boring.  The show provides a fantastic mix of serious, heart-wrenching episodes as well as those with the perfect balance of suspense and humor.  Each incarnation of The Doctor has his own personality and sense of style, and creates his own reality that seamlessly ties who he once was to who he is now.

The show also tells multiple stories as the series goes on.  Some are complete after a few episodes, and others continue through seasons and between incarnations of the Doctor.  There’s plot development with most episodes, even if it’s in a minute amount.  There are some that are great episodes seemingly independently of the rest of the series, but then the theme or character turns up unexpectedly in another storyline and another time.  It’s not as complex as Lost* was in that you don’t have to keep a database updated with every line of every episode, but it does require some attention to detail – and the end in the stories of the Whoniverse actually make sense!

Doctor Who, as it exists now, is going into Season 6 this spring.  However, it’s technically season 32, which requires an explanation that I’ll give…. now.  The show originated in 1963 via the good people at the BBC.  An older gentleman by the name of William Hartnell played the role of the Doctor, and the show became so popular that by the time he wanted to retire, the producers decided to give the Doctor the ability to regenerate.  Per the show, when the doctor is so sick or injured he cannot recover, he has can regenerate into a completely new person.  He gets a new look, personality and fashion sense because the Doctor is never a jeans and t-shirt type, the man’s got style, dammit.

In any case, the show premiered in 1963, went off the air in the 80s, and was re-launched as an American version in 1996 which failed miserably.  In fact, that might be the origin of “epic fail”, but then was finally relaunched by the BBC, as it should be, in 2005 with the introduction of the 9th Doctor.

The Doctor gets lonely, so he usually has at least one companion with him on his adventures to add a human element, give him company, and most conveniently for the sake of exposition.  Typically the companions are young and female.  It seems the 900 year old Doctor is probably secretly a dirty old man, but we don’t get to see that on camera.  Only his genius, charm, and distinctive sense of style are visible to us, the lowly human audience.

Season 1 of the relaunch, (or season 27 if you prefer), stars Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor, and Billie Piper plays his companion, Rose.  You might be familiar with Piper from Secret Diary of a Call Girl, and Christopher Eccleston because he’s awesome, and also because he sort of recently played the invisible guy on Heroes.  I mean, when he wasn’t invisible at least.

Seasons 2-4 brings about the 10th Doctor – one Mr. David Tennant of Barty Crouch Jr (and some of those Shakespeare guy’s performances) fame.  At a young age, Mr. Tennant decided to be an actor and would tell people that one day he would grow up to play Doctor Who on TV.  Now, my childhood plan of living at Disney World never panned out, but I’m happy for him anyway.

The newer series has plenty of nods to the original, so there’s still the Doctor Who familiarity for those who have seen the older ones but not this new set.  There is a variety of original series villains, such as the classic Daleks, Cybermen, and the living plastic Autons.  New villains and characters are introduced, such as Lady Cassandra O’Brien Dot Delta Seventeen, the Face of Boe, the (farting) Slitheens, and my personal favorite the Weeping Angels.

Since the BBC employs approximately 37 working actors, there are some familiar faces through the series such as Billie Piper of Secret Diary of a Call Girl as the Doctor’s first companion, Rose, Simon Pegg in a delightfully creepy role, Freema Agyeman, now of Law & Order, UK, and Catherine Tate, of the hilarious Catherine Tate show (which you should also watch).  You’ll also be able to pick out a variety of Harry Potter actors; Rita Skeeter, Barty Crouch Sr, Moaning Myrtle, and freaking DUMBLEDORE (not as Dumbledore).  Also, Carey Mulligan, some actors from the British Being Human, and some kick-ass Shakespearian actors.

Seasons 1-4, plus all the applicable specials are on Netflix streaming.  Unfortunately, though season 5 is out on DVD, it has not yet been added to the streaming queue.  BBC America will likely have a season 5 marathon someday soon before season 6 premieres though, so you’ll be able to catch up then if you so desire.

Still not sure?  Maybe this will help:

Watch Doctor Who if:

  • You have a soul
  • You’re ok with a budget production and suspending disbelief when it comes to several special effects
  • You like any sci-fi series: Battlestar Galactica, any Star Wars, etc.
  • You enjoy cliffhangers, recurring characters and themes, and having to pay attention to a plot.
  • You find British Accents sexy or just generally nice to listen to.
  • You enjoy action, but not really much killing and almost zero blood and guts (there may be one time, I can’t remember)

Do not watch Doctor Who if:

  • You have no tolerance for fantasy, nor any ability to suspend disbelief.  There are some slightly holey plot points that may require this ability.
  • You hate sci-fi.  In fact, if you hate the genre, we’re probably not going to do too well here overall.
  • You think British people sound funny and you don’t like them.  Again, if that’s you, we’re not going to get along.
  • You hate having to follow a plot over several episodes to know what’s happening.

In the meantime, happy Netflixing!

*that show will never end up in this series

 

The (Accidentally On-Purpose) Other Woman

Salome Valentine:

In the wake of thatgirl’s reading my post here entitled “In Praise Of Older Men,” she and I got into a lengthy discussion regarding the dynamic of our mutual attraction to men significantly older than ourselves.  Our conversation soon came around to the topic of having affairs or relationships with involved or married men.  We decided to co-author this somewhat revealing first-person piece based on each of our own experiences.

While I have always said to myself that I would never get involved with a married man (and I never have), my now long-term boyfriend was involved with another woman when we met.  He and I both managed to assiduously avoid our undeniable attraction for each other for four months.  But it was certainly a “resistance is futile” situation of tremendous mutual lust for both of us, and his relationship with his girlfriend ended very soon after he and I got together. (I was single when he and I met.)

I have heard it said many times that it’s “not as bad” to have a sexual liaison with a man who is merely involved and not married, because marriage is a deliberate, lifetime commitment, and there are often also children caught in the emotional crossfire.  I understand this rationale, but honestly, I think there’s a fundamental breach of personal integrity involved regardless. Granted, it’s of a comparatively different degree, but I felt guilty for what I had done nonetheless.  Many years later, it’s now a moot point.

I’ll never forget meeting my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend for the first time, soon after they separated.  He had gone by to pick up a few things he’d left at her place, and I’d gone along for the ride, as we had plans together later on in that general direction.  Naively, I had assumed that if I stayed in the car, there would be no drama.  As my boyfriend exited the car and walked towards her house,  I saw his ex leaving her house, walking as if to meet him halfway.  As she handed him the last of the toiletries he’d left at her place, she took a long hard look at me sitting in the car and admonished him, “How could you?  She’s young enough to be your daughter.”  (It sounds like something out of a Lifetime movie script, but it really happened.  I felt about two feet tall at the time.)

As someone who has been cheated on before, I can say that I should have known better than to pursue someone who was involved with someone else. Certainly, I would make better choices now than I did when I was in my twenties.  But, I have no lasting regret, because my relationship has been very enduring, enjoyable and worthwhile.  Both my boyfriend and I have lived and learned from our past mistakes.  What I wonder is why we – people in general, not just women – are so drawn to others who are seemingly unattainable.  I’m sure there are mental health professionals all over the world who are still pondering that moral, ethical and highly individual enigma.

thatgirl:

I don’t think most people set out to form liaisons with unattainable/ unavailable people—at least not consciously. There’s more than one kind of unavailable, as well. The married or otherwise committed sort of unavailable is fairly easy to spot. They’re the guys who list “discreet” as their status via online dating sites; they’re the ones you meet over cocktails, and describe their marriages as “unhappy”, or they’ll insist that the divorce is all done but for the signatures on papers.

The other kind of unavailable was touched upon by MissLinda last week in her “IRL” dating post: people who are either emotionally incapable of an adult relationship, or those who, unknowingly, give off the “Not interested” vibe. This story is about the former kind.

A late spring in Rome saw me fall for a man 30 years my senior. Giovanni was world-wise and patient—a hand holder and door opener, which was so unlike the guys I was used to meeting in my early 20s. He had time for four-hour dinner dates, second bottles of wine, and bedtime phone calls from wherever he was traveling, in whatever time zone. It was an immediately enveloping and fiery liaison. Flowers and air tickets would appear at my building, and I’d drop everything, including my work to meet him, anywhere.

Months of excitement gave way to exhaustion, and the reality that I couldn’t keep up a developing career, and a love affair of international intrigue. I longed for a consistent sleep, more than a week or so in the same time zone, and time with friends. With Giovanni’s assurance that his business required the globetrotting, I ended it. Not one to take “no” for an answer, his invitations continued, unabated, until my overflowing voicemail box told him not to expect a response.

A business meeting months later brought us back together, if only for one more torturous afternoon of him begging me to come back. He almost tempted me, but I was resolute that I’d have my life on my terms. A flight awaited that would take me to a trade show, where a new love interest said he’d meet me over the weekend. I was walking down the jetway when an unfamiliar number came up on my phone. I answered it, only to meet my ex-lover’s wife. Who knew he had one stashed far away, on the North Shore of Chicago?

She scolded me for getting involved with someone so much older, telling me that I had my whole life in front of me. And besides, she added, he was a notorious philanderer, and would only wind up cheating on me. “Perhaps he is,” I replied, “but he’s your problem now!” and I promptly hung up. Giovanni spent the next 48 hours filling my voicemail box, begging me to return…and to never again talk to his wife.

This was a bit before we started Googleing people or otherwise checking the background of potential paramours. Considering all the time I’d spent with him, Giovanni’s intact marriage did come as a surprise. I did feel for his wife, who’d clearly been down this road with him prior. I chalked it up to my youth, and being drunk on the adventure, but I made it a point to avoid obligated men going forward—to the degree that anyone could.

Now I’m trying to help a girlfriend wean herself off the allure of her married lover. Part of me feels that her self-esteem prevents her from seeking something that’s better for everyone in the equation. Unfortunately, lover-man is happy to hang on, as long as she’s willing. She’s smart, funny, and over 40.  I’m refraining from comparing her to Carrie Bradshaw… but perhaps that’s her story to tell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Other Woman” – Ray Parker, Jr.

Lost Wax: So Red The Rose (1985)

After skewering a sacred cow with my first ever salvo for Crasstalk, I thought I’d change tack and praise Caesar instead of bury him. Music makes me happy, and I’d love to share what I consider lost, under-appreciated or misunderstood works from great bands. Hopefully, if y’all like it, I could make this a semi-regular thing. With that in mind, the goal of Lost Wax will be to introduce or re-introduce you to songs and albums that time has forgotten. So here are the prerequisites:

It has to be:

  1. a song or an album
  2. panned at the time of its release or critically ignored
  3. due a modern reevaluation

Enjoy!

 

Lost Wax: So Red The Rose (1985)

Cocaine is a terrible drug for musicians. It is possible to work through a healthy heroin addiction and still make an album like, say, Transformer. LSD can lead to some beautiful experimentation, and some truly awful, terrible album covers (Tarkus, Emerson, Lake & Palmer), but cocaine just turns people into assholes and songs into overproduced covers of Bang a Gong.

Tarkus! Ahhh!!! What the fuck is that thing?!?!

When two of the three Taylors in Duran Duran (Andy and John) left to join Robert Palmer, Tony Thompson and a mountain of coke and hookers (not really) to form Power Station in 1985, this left remaining members Simon Le Bon and Nick Rhodes with a critical shortage of Taylors. But instead of panicking, grabbing Chuck and Meshach Taylor and soldiering on as Duran Duran 2.0, messrs. Rhodes, Le Bon and Roger Taylor felt free to indulge in whatever atmospheric flight of fancy their frosted little hearts desired. That flight of fancy turned out to be a band called Arcadia, whose sole output was 1985’s beautiful, strange So Red The Rose.

I know what you’re thinking, it’s a bit of a cheat to choose this album for Lost Wax. It wasn’t a bomb (it went platinum), it wasn’t panned, it put 2 songs in the US top 40 and it contained 3/5th of what was arguably one of the biggest acts in the world at that time. And yet, the album has been largely cast off as just another indulgence from members of a band that had already peaked and was still years away from reinventing itself as the ‘Come Undone’ Duran of the 90’s.

On the face of it, ‘overindulgent’ would seem to fit. The album is as heavily overproduced as Duran Duran’s previous album, Seven And The Ragged Tiger (both were produced by Alex Sadkin), complete with the requisite electric drum kits, keyboards and Cor Anglais one would expect of the mid-80s, and there are more guest appearances on this album than a disaster telethon. Sting, Grace Jones, Herbie Hancock, Carlos Alomar, Andy Mackay and David Gilmour all have a hand in this work. The album art is a lurid mix of Anime, Flamenco and S&M. The songs have titles like ‘El Diablo’, ‘Goodbye Is Forever’ and ‘Lady Ice’. Yes, all the pieces are there for this album to be a train wreck and the apex of mid-80s pretentious excess.

What we get instead is a twisted, dark, mysterious fairy tale, more a musical than album. Listened front to back, a story emerges, something akin to a farm boy coming to the big sinful, corrupt city only to become involved with good women, bad women and the Devil. It’s pretty clear someone wants to screw him, kill him, steal his soul or do all three.

So Red The Rose opens with perhaps the album’s most famous song (and also its only bona fide hit, reaching #6 in the US singles chart), Election Day. With its driving mechanical beat and moody lyrics about ‘shadows and subways’ and entire cities being slaves to a mistress (not to mention Grace Jones sounding like she is ready to raise welts), it delivers an opening number that Sweeney Todd would be proud of.

Listen:  Arcadia – Election Day

The next few tracks modulate between the sweet, bouncy, and upbeat sound of Keep Me In The Dark and the bombastic, black humor of The Flame. The real winner of the album, though, is Missing, the ‘A’ side closer (remember when Albums had such a thing?) which is full of a melancholy and grief that boy bands aren’t supposed to possess.

The B side opens with The Promise, probably the only real clunker on the album, what with its over the top lyrics like ‘The hungry make their stand when they’ll stand for no more’ and Sting’s breathy backup singing, but then everything returns to form with El Diablo, which has far better lyrics (‘only the brightest shine, but not forever’). It’s a fun take on your typical Faustian deal with the Devil, and it ends with the protagonist ruing his fate while Nick Rhodes’ keyboards make a sound similar to a fun house ride spinning out of control.

No Faustian bargain here: Time makes Shatners of us all, Mr. LeBon

The album ends with Lady Ice, not the best track on the album, but a song that is courteous enough to leave the ending to the story ambiguous.

So there you have it. So Red The Rose owes more to the Duran Duran of The Chauffeur than of The Reflex, but this is a good thing. Darker, meaner and more melancholy than anything else Duran Duran (under any name) ever did, this album could really be considered their Blood And Chocolate, if that conceit weren’t the most pretentious fucking thing ever.

And now, here’s a bonus for you all for getting to the bottom: The Russell Mulcahy directed video for The Flame.

Arcadia – The Flame – YouTube

-Baconcat

A brief word about public executions

I’ve been away from my computer for the past few days but I recently exchanged correspondence with Mastro Titta and heard about the mixed public reaction to our first public execution. He said there was much trepidation among the commenters about the reasons for the royal execution. I wanted to clarify a few things:

1. Our first condemned prisoner was executed for breaking the rules. We now have almost 100 authors with full priveleges to write posts on this site. That’s an incredible level of community authorship that, I think, very few websites would ever allow. One of the few rules we have in place is that authors must submit their articles for review before an editor actually schedules it to be published. Breaking that rule is a huge insult to all the other writers who wait their turn to publish articles on Crasstalk.

2. I know Mastro Titta mentioned that “his post sucked,” but let me be clear: We’re not going to publicly execute anyone because we don’t like their article. In fact, to date, we’ve published all but a handful of articles that have been submitted and usually do very little editing to the content. In this most recent case, the author simply copy/pasted a huge amount of text that could have been linked to. That wouldn’t normally be an execution-worthy offense, but apparently Mastro hates reading huge blocks of pasted text. It makes him grouchy before cutting off heads.

3. Executions are not done based on personal grudges or popularity contests. You can disagree with anyone here, on any issue, and you will not be executed for it. No one will ever be executed for disagreeing with Salome or BettyCrocker or Dancing Queen. In fact, all three of them are mostly wrong.

4. To date, we’ve banned exactly ZERO commenters from the site. And we didn’t ban OMGP from commenting, only from authoring new posts. We do reserve the right to execute someone’s author or commenter priveleges or both if it’s a particularly egregious case.

5. The executions are  a tradition we borrowed from our ancestral homeland of Gawker and are done strictly in a spirit of jest. We’re not actually wishing for anything worse than mild teasing/ball-busting. It’s just a bit of internet fuckery, so try to stop worrying and have fun with it. Most of the condemned will probably be allowed back into our good graces with maybe a quick apology and/or a bottle of scotch.

6. Now that we’ve hired Mastro Titta to provide the negative reinforcement, we’re also going to give you some positive reinforcement. We’re announcing a new feature: COTW. I still have to sit down with DogsofWar and GrandInquisitor to work out the details, but we’re going to do a Comment of the Week post where we highlight the pithiest, snarkiest, smartest, most lulzy stuff you come up with. Stay tuned for details.

And as the Wu-Tang Clan once wisely said, protect ya neck.

African Lions On The Verge Of Extinction

With this week’s announcement that the Eastern Cougar is now extinct we need to protect the big cats that we still have left, while there is still time.

According to the Humane Society of the United States:

Threats to the African lion, such as trophy hunting and commercial trade, have resulted in a rapid decline of nearly 50 percent over the past three decades. There are fewer than 40,000 African lions in the wild — some scientists estimate as few as 23,000. And of the remaining populations, two-thirds are neither protected nor viable over the long run.

The African lion is headed for extinction. Its wild population has dwindled by almost fifty percent in only the last three decades. Action must be taken now to save this iconic species. We have collaborated with other organizations to submit a petition to list the African lion as endangered under the Endangered Species Act (ESA).

Even as lion populations plummet, lion trophy imports to the United States are on the rise. An ESA listing would prohibit lion trophy imports to the U.S. unless it serves a conservation purpose, and would raise global awareness about the need to protect lions from this and other threats. We must reverse the decline of the African lion and our petition demonstrates that listing them as endangered under the ESA would help to do just that.

Today, The HSUS and a coalition of wildlife protection and conservation organizations filed a petition with the Secretary of the Interior to list the African lion as an endangered subspecies. You can help by signing on to our letter of support.

PLEASE TAKE ACTION:

Please click the link below to fill out and submit a form to add your name to this letter of support for the Humane Society’s petition. They will deliver the letter to Secretary of the Interior, Ken Salazar, when the public comment period officially opens. Thank you.

Humane Society


Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

 

When I casually spoke the short sentence, it felt true to me. But even though it was “merely” a lie of omission, I still sensed that I was walking on a very fine tightrope.  Before this, I’d always felt certain of my unassailable honesty.

 

“He slept in that bed”, I replied, pointing to the twin futon in my large studio apartment. My response was to my current lover’s query as to where my overnight guest had lain his head the previous evening and night.

 

While it was wholly true that he had slept in that bed, almost immediately prior to that, he and I had had sex on this bed: mine. The fact that he was my most-enduring friend, my first lover, and someone whom I’d only slept with a dozen times over seven years didn’t matter at all to my current beau. Nor did it matter to him that his obvious judgment of me was steeped in unconscious hypocrisy: after all, he was sleeping with someone else as well. Yet somehow to him, I became the betrayer.

 

Sex with my ex had been a clear display of my own immaturity and insecurity. The sex had also been far less mind-blowing than that which I already shared with my current lover. But earlier the previous evening, when I had called my beau, his other lover answered the phone. So I took that as a sign that my twice-yearly reunion with my ex should definitely take a sexual turn. Spite-fucking is rarely pleasurable, but sometimes it feels more satisfying than doing nothing at all.

 

At last, I felt the scales had been balanced, and all was right in my universe. I disagree with the adage ” revenge is a dish best served cold.” I think that sometimes, justice is a dish best served erotically sweltering. I knew that my beau loved me, as I loved him, but until that point, my entreaties for him to be monogamous with me had fallen on deaf ears. Unsurprisingly, not long after my conjugal visit with my ex, my current lover told his girlfriend about me, and they separated soon after. My actions weren’t deliberately devious, but they clearly served a purpose in the grand scheme.

 

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies…” – Fleetwood Mac

Little Lies

 

The Reconciliation of Lucas Lygram: Prologue

Author’s Note: in 1859, Charles Dickens founded the magazine All the Year Round, which published serialized novels in weekly formats. Many of Dickens’ own novels were in this format, but he didn’t write a novel and then break it up, he wrote it as it was being serialized in order to maintain proper deadlines, as well as switch up the story based on what people liked and did not like about the work. I hope to continue the tradition with this series for Crasstalk.

The Reconciliation of Lucas Lygram

Prologue

“Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been seven weeks since my last confession.”

“What ails you my child?”

In the past seven weeks, I had committed 89 acts of homosexual conduct. I had lied 897 times. I had stolen 37 grapes from the Trader Joe’s in Union Square. I had murdered twelve flies, seven spiders, and thirty seven cockroaches. I had cheated on my taxes. I had eaten shellfish even though I deplore the taste. and I had sworn exactly 1,432.5 times (the half swear was accounted for in 27 interrupted conversations) to name a few infractions. I knew all this because I kept a daily journal with a daily count on all of my sins so that I might go participate in the sacrament of Reconciliation. I went every seven weeks, in honor of the seven sacraments.

The irony was not lost on me that I, at present, could only partake in six of those sacraments, and, given that I was not dying, the seventh, Anointing of the Sick, could not be performed, thus making the number of sacraments that I could partake in at five. However, in reality, I only partook in four sacraments as I had no desire to be chaste or in poverty (I mean, I already was in poverty, it’s just that I had no desire to be in poverty) which was what would have been required of me had I partaken in the priesthood. How savage it is to be so slavishly devoted to a religion that has sent you to Hell.

I nearly forgot to tell the priest about bedding that lesbian lumberjack. We were both drunk. She had short hair. I shave my body hair. Once we’d realized we were with members of the opposite sex, we just decided that we might as well go with it given we were on a flannel electric blanket in a clearing in a wood upstate. This would have come back to bite me had I not noticed the loose page in the back of the sin book reminding me to tell him since, according to the notes, the original page died in a tragic coffee accident. Oh, yeah. The book. I should probably explain that.

Introductions first. Mother taught me to be the consummate example of a proper gentleman . My name’s Lucas. Lucas Lygram. It’s an awful name. I hate it, but mother would kill me if I changed it. At the very least,  she’d leave me out of the will and has threatened to do so on numerous occasions. I don’t particularly see how that’s threatening since I wasn’t raised in a wealthy household, but, still, she feels the need to make that threat.

The only other things that are relevant at the moment are that I’m currently dating and in love with a complete ass of a human being named Samuel Grey and that I have an obsession. This obsession stems from an emotionally violent incident with my grandmother after my first confession at the age of nine in which she gave me a very graphic description on the consequences of not accounting and atoning for each and every single sin that I committed. Deciding that that certainly wasn’t going to happen to me, that I certainly wouldn’t be a singed, shell of a corpse that Virgil and Dante just happened to come across on their journey to Paradise, I began a quest: to make sure that every single thing that I did that was considered, well, unholy by The Bible would be written down for future reference, and it was. Sam stems from getting drunk at a club. The sin book was truly a masterwork. A series of fine, leather bound notebooks (that I could barely afford), each with the word “Sin” and a number corresponding to their order in the series embossed in gold leaf sat on a bookshelf in my Brooklyn apartment. There’s currently 4,942 of them, but I only keep the latest group in the apartment. The rest are in a storage unit on Staten Island. I just don’t have the space, you know? I head up to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and take up a few hours of their time every seven weeks before sitting down for Mass. I’m fascinated by the sacraments, particularly Communion and Confession. They say confession is private, but I’m pretty sure they know who I am. Then again, these are the same people who believe in transubstantiation, but I guess that doesn’t really have any influence on their observational skills. Who cares, really?

“My son, you have sinned much. To atone, you must say eighty rosaries, one hundred four Our Fathers and the Act of Contrition, let’s say, thirty times. I’d also suggest going to see Sister Ann about volunteering to help in the Church Bazaar. For the heck of it, toss in a couple creeds. Your choice, Luke.”

I sat in the pews and began to pray. My rosary wasn’t anything particularly special, but I did get it blessed by Pope John Paul 2 when I visited the Vatican as a teenager. I thought I’d start with the Nicene Creed though. That one’s easy. A homeless man had taken sanctuary in the cathedral and sat down on the opposite side of my pew. Mass had already started and he began to sing with the rest of the congregation, until he didn’t. He started throwing up.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life who proceeds from the Father and the Son and is worshiped and glorified. We believe in violently upchucking in the one, holy Catholic and apostolic church. We look for the…fuck it.

I proceeded to leave. I could finish that shit at home.

 

Sin Catalogue O6.29

Judgement. One Count 13.28

Swearing. Two Counts 13.29

 

Recipe Sunday: Quick and Easy Greek Salad

Disclaimer: this salad will give you dragon breath for the rest of the day (or the morning after if you choose to have it for dinner). It is still delicious. Feel free to chop the ingredients to whatever size you prefer.

Greek Salad
Prep time: 10 minutes
Serves two

Ingredients
2 plum tomatoes, chopped into large chunks
1/2 cucumber, sliced thick
1 green pepper, chopped
1/4 white onion, sliced
black olives, can be whole or sliced
crumbled Feta (as much or as little as you want)
1/4 cup olive oil
juice of 1 lemon (or 3 tablespoons lemon juice)
1/2 tablespoon dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste

Directions
Combine vegetables in a large bowl. In a small bowl, combine olive oil, lemon juice, oregano, salt, and pepper. Whisk to form dressing. Pour dressing over vegetables and mix together five minutes before serving. Top with lots (or a little) feta cheese, and serve with warm pita or flatbread. If you want, you can add sliced grilled chicken and make a larger meal out of it.

Share your favorite recipes in the comments!

Photo courtesy of Lori_NY

Recipe Sunday: Potato-Leek Gratin

With the (non-stop) snow and cold I decided to treat myself to scalloped potatoes last week. But, then I saw that our grocery store had leeks on sale, only 99 cents each. So, I decided to really treat myself, and make a potato-leek gratin. The main difference between the two, is that a gratin involves a cooked cheese sauce, whereas scalloped potatoes just involve putting layers of potato and onions in a casserole and pouring milk over the top.

Before I got to the sauce, I had a lot of prep to do – and a new toy to cut with. For Christmas my husband bought me a mandolin.  An actual mandolin.

I had wanted one for years, because my knife skills are lackadaisical at best. However: a) I’m ridiculously accident prone; and b) I like to drink while I cook dinner.
You can see how that could be problematic.

But, my husband assured me when I opened the mandolin on Christmas, that it has an excellent safeguard. So, last week I happily went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine, and started prepping potatoes on my new gadget.

The gratin was perfect – cheesy and slightly fruity from the leeks and wine. And the trial run with the mandolin was a success. It was fantastic to not run across randomly undercooked potatoes for once, and (despite my wine consumption) I didn’t hurt myself at all.

Potato-Leek Gratin:

  • 4 medium Yukon Gold potatoes (sliced as thinly and evenly as you can)
  • 2 sliced leeks (white and pale green parts only)
  • 2 cups of shredded swiss cheese
  • 2 tablespoons of olive oil
  • ½ cup of white wine
  • 3 tablespoons of flour
  • 2 cups of warm milk (Heat in the microwave for 2 minutes)
  • ½ cup of shredded Parmesan
  • Black pepper to taste

Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.

Saute the leeks in the olive oil and white wine for 5 minutes. Add the flour and stir for 1 minute, then add the milk. When the lumps of flour have smoothed out add the swiss cheese in small batches stirring constantly until the cheese is integrated into the sauce.

Layer the potatoes in a buttered casserole dish and alternate with the cream/leek mixture. When you reach the top layer of sauce on potatoes sprinkle the Parmesan on top. Cover with foil and bake for 25 minutes, then remove the foil and bake until the potatoes are soft and the top is brown.