Emchap's Shit from the Internet 11/6/19 🍠
The end of the year in LA is weird, because once we revert to Standard Time, there is strong Winter Energy (because the sun goes away at 4:30) without Winter Weather. Even without needing anything more than a light sweatshirt at night, my animal brain wants me to stop work at two and curl up and sleep for 18 hours, which is a) an antidepressant commercial b) ill-advised if I wish to remain employed (and I do so very much love being able to pay my rent). My sister, who is out here for work, was joking that it feels like we lost the hour in the time change plus an extra half hour to the void, and she's not wrong.
It has made the cat generally furious, because he likes me to Keep To A Schedule, and as far as he can tell I am failing to. He's responded by being his most obnoxious self and crying and stepping on me while I sleep, which is deeply irritating, which then sends me into an embarrassment spiral about being annoyed by a 14 pound animal with a brain the size of a walnut. (Though seriously, I do not understand how the goddamn cat has not learned to sleep under the covers, he has lived with me since I was 22.)
I've responded by being sluggish and sleepy and slow and resigning myself to not accomplishing much of anything before the end of the year, which seems to me to be a perfectly acceptable approach to Q4, all things considered. It's helped by the fact that the t, g, 5, and [ keys on my home laptop have all given out in a somewhat dramatic, irritating fashion.
I have a few trips planned, for which I am very excited, and beyond that I am trying to bake breads and take naps and generally treat myself with some degree of kindness until 2020 rolls around.
If anyone has any tips for how to avoid getting stepped on by a rude, rude cat, please hit me up in the replies.
Shit to read
This fake socialite profile is so completely perfect in a way that I cannot explain to people who are not already avid fans of the genre. Let's all smoke PCP on the roof of Le Bain, babes.
Astrology people are the worst. (I mean some are nice I guess but.)
Love a where are they now about a former mom blogger.
This is an article about a very cool dude that is also a profound indictment of the society in which we live.
I read this article about the Bon Appétit cinematic universe and said to myself "I should send this to my coworker Craig", who has strong dad energy and showed me a BA meme account in the Cancún airport after I made him eat garbage nachos with me. I forgot, and the next morning Craig sent it to me. I love my coworkers.
One day I will be brave enough to read any Shirley Jackson novels at all.
Very chill way to just fucking be wracked with sobs.
I'm probably going to break down and watch the fucking Emily Dickinson show, yeah?
Shit to eat
At 6:15, text an umfriend a photo of three onions that you are sweating in an attempt to prove that you're an adult with her shit together. Look at you, getting dinner started in a reasonable time. Only 40-90 minutes left until they caramelize!
Dutifully check the onions every 10 minutes. Realize, after a point, that it's been 2 hours and the onions aren't even beginning to brown. Feel somewhat defeated.
Remember that you've had this problem with this author's recipes before, and crank your dinky burner's heat from medium-low to medium-high.
Continue to check every 10 minutes for another hour. Feel soured on the onion experience.
After that hour, onions will begin to look like they are caramelizing. You will have broken into the wine you intended to use in the recipe.
Once things are close enough to say fuck it, pour in a quarter cup of white wine to deglaze the pot. The recipe will say to use dry white wine, and you will use whatever bullshit came in a wine juicebox at Food 4 Less because you are nearly 30 and would pretty happily drink Andre, honestly.
Dump in two quarts of beef stock, also from Food 4 Less.
Let everything simmer for a while.
It will eventually smell like soup. Add salt. Add pepper. Taste.
Satisfied, toast cut up slices of french bread and pop them on top.
Dump what was supposed to be gruyere and is instead a mix of quesedilla cheese and parm onto the whole assemblage.
Pop it under the broiler for 10 minutes, and once done, feel perfectly, smugly autumnal.
This will last until you realize you're eating dinner at 10 at night and you've just spilled soup down your bra.
(Adapted from Smitten Kitchen.)
Shit to listen to
Your neighbors having a somewhat loud breakup fight at 3 in the afternoon, because your brain is liquid and you are nosy in a way that speaks poorly to your personal character.