Filed under: odd random thoughts
Not that you’d know it yet, but Life Gives You Lemons has moved to a new home at www.LemonsCitrine.com. You can subscribe to our new feedburner feed right here (that’s http://feeds.feedburner.com/lemonscitrine)
Posts coming soon include a sad salute to Benazir Bhutto, a run at Unilever/Axe and “Twintimates” – a feature wish for Twitter… Please stay tuned!
When life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and call me over!!
Have the engineer swing the barbeque davit outboard, hang the grill from it, and start a big bed of coals going with that nifty charcoal chimney. Oh right, nevermind, just use your little cast iron stovetop grill.
Peel the shrimp and set them in a small bowl, just larger than the number of shrimp. Hey cool, it’s shrimp for one, not for 40!
Mash or mince to a pulp about a clove of garlic for every 7-12 shrimp. Or so. Really, it’s on you how much you like garlic you like, and how much of the heat you want to come from garlic. Rub the garlic into the shrimp so they are well coated and let sit.
Look for these in your spice cabinet:
- chili powder
- hot pepper flakes (or cayenne powder, just something for heat)
- peppermill (black pepper)
Thyme’s really important. Since you don’t have it this one time, pinch hit with basil & oregano and regret that — WAIT — there’s a pot of it growing out back!
- pick lots of the tiny little thyme leaves as many as you have the patience to
Spread the shrimp out in the bowl to something like a single layer. Sprinkle with chili powder until all are coated. Add the thyme, maybe 1/4-1/2 as much thyme as you just used chili powder. Be lavish with the black pepper. Now add heat (pepperflakes or cayenne powder) judiciously. You have to learn your limits here. Start with maybe a pinch and work up into it.
Add the tiniest bit of olive oil and stir well to make the spices a paste. Shrimp should be pretty well coated but not totally encrusted with spice. Add more thyme & chili powder to increase coverage if needed.
Grill on a wicked hot grill until shrimp are opaque & curled tight. Flip. Ok to blacken a little. If you’re going all-out, make some extra marinade that is runnier and hasn’t been in contact with the shrimp. Brush this over them while grilling.
Serve with rice, tropical fruit, Red Stripe, corona, rum punch, a margarita… Whatever it takes to bring on the memories!
I do love you, very much. It’s hard telling you this, though I know you don’t even realize how hard I tried to avoid it. I just can’t wait for you anymore. I gave you 8 years. I hoped you’d grow, mature, and eventually come around. I believed you could learn to listen. But now I just need to get on with my life.
I always swore I’d never start something new until the old was over and resolved, but I’m afraid there’s someone else. Turned my head in PA last month. Love at first sight. At least, enough to help me get over you. You deserve to know that yesterday he agreed to be mine. Soon.
Don’t think I forget the good times. Finding out about you was magic — in a magazine on a plane. I knew right away. You were the only one I could possibly want. You weren’t even available, but I fell hard.
A few months later my beloved Zeegey truck started to gasp for his last breaths. He kicked out on the road by my house, and I knew it was time. I pretended to look around at the other cars, compared stats, prices, features. But don’t you get it? I never test drove anything else.
I never even test drove you.
I didn’t have to. I searched everywhere for you, my yellow Nissan XTerra, and then I waited until you were mine. Call me a prude, I just knew.
We’ve been through a lot. You proudly wore your LEMONS license plate. In that small town you always ratted me out if I slept somewhere other than home. There was no pretending. But I always laughed.
We’d get cheery waves from other yellow X’s. Flashing headlights, shared chuckles. I searched the Internet (in vain) for a Yellow XTerra club. (You could’ve met my needs just by doing that.)
That scare in 2002 was bad though. You stranded me. At a gas station in Ohio. The garage thought you needed a whole new fuel pump until they found the failed wiring harness days later. You were still so new, I couldn’t help but wonder. So I went online again. And yes, I wasn’t the only one. A lot of XTerras were dying like that.
It wasn’t me, it was you.
I stood up for myself. I told you about the others online who’d had the same problem. I insisted you get treatment. You had stranded me hundreds of miles from home in February, so I insisted they return you to me. As soon as I checked the web I knew there would be a recall. You tried to ignore me. (Did you even try searching the web to see if I was right? Think how much sooner you could have known!)
If only you were willing to listen to those who know and love you. You could even reach out and ask others how they’re feeling about you, and what they’re experiencing. The web offers you so many ways to do this. But, no.
But the reason for our divorce is that you just couldn’t face the reality of my needs. Gas is expensive. I want a hybrid. In fact, I want no car more in the world than a yellow XTerra hybrid. I mean, the other guys like you went hybrid years ago. But you see, I don’t love them. I love you. So I waited and waited. I even emailed about it and got boilerplate kissoffs.
It was so obvious. How could the car that was made for funky outdoorsy enthusiasts not come out in a hybrid? I mean c’mon, the Ford Escape? Have you seen what a bad kockoff of you that thing is? He frigging stole your exact yellow paint color. I always hated him for that.
It’s true I don’t haul sheep, grain and hay regularly anymore. Gas is expensive. I live near a city now. But if you’d only listened, I would have stayed with the new, hybrid you.
If you have to know, it’s the Honda Fit that caught my eye, as the roomiest & safest of the fuel efficient little cars. Its no hybrid but it gets twice your fuel economy while still managing carseats, hockey bags and gigantic hairy dogs. It breaks my heart I can’t get it in yellow, but I’ll learn to love it. I’ll learn to love orange. And no, I haven’t taken a test drive with him either. I’m at least that loyal.
But I’m not leaving you because of the Fit, I’m leaving you because of you. It’ll be hard to move on. I wish you’d learned to listen. I also (god, I’m pathetic) want you to know there’s help for you. It’s called social media and conversations with your customers. Please try it. I’d come back in a heartbeat, I really would.
The world needs a hybrid XTerra. And I need you.
Oprah on the cover of every single issue of O Magazine. Always looking pretty fine. Always. (I’m jes sayin.)
And then, I couldn’t help but notice, and love, O Girl, O Beautiful. The Revolution. Yeah! BRING it. It IS time for:
girls around the globe to realize how beautiful they really are… inside and out!
Only, you know what? I changed my mind. I’m NOT jes sayin’, I’m ASKING. POINT BLANK. Oprah, show us your before & afters.
Because, you have this big thing going on about girls’ self-esteem and self-love, and making the world a better place for them. And now I REALLY just want to know. Could you/would you on the cover? Are those images, or are they photos? Have you routinely been photoshopped within inches of your life? AND if you have in the past, would you take a stand against this and stop?
UPDATE: Penelope Trunk recalls seeing an issue of O Magazine “where [Oprah] devoted an issue of her magazine to talking about her befores and afters and showing them, and showing the process she goes through to look like that on the cover. She specifically did it because she said she didn’t want people to thinks he actually looks that good in real life.”
There is a back issue of O Magazine where Oprah shows start-to finish what goes on to make the glamorous cover shots the public sees. Anyone know which one and if it is online? We found these links at the O Magazine website, but they don’t give us much.
In the meanwhile, we actually missed this somewhat related rant on Jezebel last week RE: Oprah in 1998 on Vogue cover
Frankly, I’m still concerned about the message it sends to women. Oprah has a tremendous opportunity here to change something in media for real and for the better… So why not?
Wherein we learn to read our Twitter @s and realize we’ve neglected our esteemed readers. Sorry!
Shouts out to @FoulBastard for: “Ew, keep the foul rotting meat away from me. I’ve had enough back in the day.”
definitely any fish that has been “preserved”. The Scandinavians have a particularly foul example called lutfisk.
Ew, good point, preserved fish that only TASTES rotten! And he adds…
corked wine, damn shame and makes me cry every time. Guess that’s neither food nor rotting, but I just had to get that off my chest.
We could not agree more, Jeff, and if you’re ever in Boston that’s an excellent, and not corked, bottle of wine on us!
Potatoes are harmless. Fried, baked, boiled, mashed, sauteed, stewed, roasted. Plain white paper. Canvas. Backdrop. A little starchy for your girlish figure, but nightmare-inducing?
They shrivel and grow shoots. You’ve seen that.
But they can also melt. Turn soupy anaerobic decay brown. Go undead.
Happened again recently. Smelled too foul to describe or even properly remember. Digging them out I retched uncontrollably. Retched as in falling down on the floor, amazed I didn’t pee myself, full-on, retching. Abs sore the next day retching. Veins in my head popping out and things thudding in there, retching. Took a while to breathe normally again.
Kinda got me thinking, “I’ve seen a lot of things rot…”