Tag Archives: grass oil

Tuesday Morning Press #14 — Where Do I Start?! Captain Crunch is Left-Handed


So today I have yoga, but I didn’t go because I’m still congested and feeling about 85% normal and while I’d be OK for a regular class, I’m not OK for a vinyasa class, which is a lot more arduous than a regular hatha class, which is what I’ll be returning to later this week. WHAT? Move on. Nothing to see here.

I’m sorta grossed out by things. I guess this is why I’ve not been blogging too much lately because I don’t want to sound like a wet blanket that’s been stowed in a dark corner somewhere. Man, that’s a shitty metaphor. Blankets don’t sound like anything, and a wet one that’s been stowed in a dark corner… you’d smell it before you heard it… But I am also a big believer in the premise that if you get stuff off your chest then you become lighter, so here it goes…

I posted on my Facebook private wall the following:

I’m a wee bit tired of all the inaugural stuff. We just ended the election, so… 3 years, 362 days to go. I’m not a fan. Just sayin…

Now just so you know, my facebook profile picture this week is of my one true musical love Vincent D’Onofrio Adam Levine. This is my picture:


Hi. I’m hosting Saturday Night Live this weekend. Molly asked me to. I smiled like this when I thought about it.  Us Weekly took this pic of me.

So, naturally, the credibility of  anything I, Molly, say on my wall is actually completely fortified destroyed by Adam looking back at people in that awesome way that he is in this photo. I’ve had many female friends tell me how utterly distracted they are by Adam showing up on their news feeds and Adam replying to their comments. I think I’ve encouraged the early ovulation of many women on my FB feed.

Back to politics. REALLY? Yes. C’mon….

I’m an independent. I thought I was a fiscal conservative, but they’re all shaping to be aligned with idiotic conservatives voters who believe that the earth is only a few thousand years old and that we all came from Adam and Eve. I am a social liberal: personal stuff is personal stuff, but at the end of the day: if you live in America, if you pay American taxes, you should get everything all Americans get. The fighting on this status pretty much died when I said that. How do you rebut that? I win!

But my point about the hullabaloo of the inauguration and all the loooooove is that everyone loves a great speech; they’re romantic and full of power and hope. Everyone wants to be inspired, encouraged, empowered to storm the castle and be united. The problem lies in the next day: getting to work. First: The D.C. bars closed at 4am today, so there will be no getting back to work for about 2/3 of the joyful electorate; second: it’s a four-day work week and the US guvmint is notorious for its life-thieving, glacier-melting slowness.

I fear that Obama has reached new heights in popularity that belie his efficacy. It’s tough being president, he has attained idol status and well, that’s not good for anyone. And the other people who hate him? They’re just jealous. Here’s a proposal: you do his job and stick to your principles and see how much you get done. Tell me how that works out for you. The man’s gotta step up to his visions and make things happen that’s all I gotta say.


I am the happy recipient of two “Inspired Blogger” awards. I am gushing and very thankful to the two bloggers who awarded them to me:

Bulamamani, who is a fantastic artist and writer and whose fiction is seriously amazing, mesmerizing and engulfing. She wrote some stuff for the Friday Fiction challenge I’m heading up and based it on the four elements, Air, Water, Fire and Earth (this week) and maaaaan… well, check it out.

The other fabulous person who awarded me is Redhot Writing Hood, who is an inspiration herself. Artist (weee!: check out this COAT!!), writer, mom. She is honest, candid (not always the same thing, trust me). We share a common interest: health and nutrition. Read about her journey! She is new to blogging.

I am a rebel. I appreciate the awards, but I feel honestly, that while I believe the people who award them are full of love and admiration for the ones they cite, it’s becoming more of a networking tool than an actual award. When you I got an Oscar®, I didn’t have to award other people. I just got it and my career took off. Who are you?

I’ve gratefully earned awards before, and I dig them, buuuut, I’m not getting more traffic, no one has signed me up for writing a screenplay annnnd it’s a lot of work for the winner. The acceptance rules of the awards (yes, if you agree to accept, you must comply) are complicated and ever evolving: I am supposed to tell you 10 some interesting facts about myself and then share 15 or 20 several other bloggers. I’m going to spare myself and you almost all of that nonsense, and thank the awarders, “Thank you!!” and then say the following about myself:

1. I am left handed. That’s fascinating. So are some of my most awesome people I love: Vincent D’Onofrio, Adam Levine, Goldie Hawn, Kermit the FROG…

Here is a list of fascinating little-known, facts about left-handedness: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/29/left-handed-facts-lefties_n_2005864.html – I are not schizophrenic.

2. I love Downton Abbey; I hate Mary –she’s too uppity and uch stupid.  I also can’t stand her bland sister, Emily? Hanna? Clara? who tried to marry her grandfather. I adore Sophie, the rebellious, saucy bon vivant who married down and eloped with the family’s Irish chauffeur and of course the dowager Countess played by Maggie Smith. And Elizabeth McGovern? The the flat and tired American playing the flat and tired American? Pleh. Given that awesome assessment, the show is great. If you haven’t caught the fever, view episodes online… you’ll be HOOKED y’all.

3. My favorite color is periwinkle. Think of the sky before the sun rises sets (I’m not an early riser). That.

4. I love to sharpen knives. It keeps people away from me.

5. I am writing editing writing revising a book. I am having a hard time with self-published ebooks. I want to like them, because it’s hard to write a book, but . . . a lot can be said writers need tough editors and proof readers. So even though I’m in a high-level and early discussion with a publisher, it’s a self-pub arm of a traditional house and I dunno… I am fearful of being lumped in with self-pubs which suck need work and are published prematurely anyway.

6. I dig Asian-centric books such as The Joy Luck Club, Memoirs of a Geisha, Snow Flower and The Secret Fan and Shanghai Girls. The irony of course is this: only The Joy Luck Club is written by an Asian woman and Geisha was written by a dude. Go figure.

7. I love the father of our country, George Washington. He coulda been king, but declined.

7. I have a Thing for Cap’n Crunch with Crunchberries. I seldom indulge, but when I do, I consider it a National Holiday; I ate some yesterday, MLK Day, as a matter of fact. So… be forewarned: if you over-pour a serving in my household and you do not eat it all, I will kill you.

Respect the Code, don’t over pour. Oh my! The Captain is left-handed too! This changes EVERYTHING.

I am dreadfully close to my personally imposed limit of 1200 words for this post. I imposed this to spare you my blathering. Consider yourself lucky…

Thank you.

Rant: Burnt Tofu on MLK Day


I’m not one to rant and go all preachy consumer-advocacy on my blog. I save that for the phone calls to the customer service lines of the places where I receive bad service.

But this time… the place deserves it.

My long-time, beloved and local Noodles & Co., has earned my wrath.

I ordered Pad Thai with extra tofu. I knew this was a gamble, because I’ve had it before at this restaurant and it’s been pretty subpar; but their other stuff is usually quite good, so I went against my better judgment. I love N&C. When I was PTA president, I used to arrange our dinners out fundraisers there all the time. It was a great relationship. But these elegant café places are sort of all the same now: explosive growth, good food swiftly prepared and you’re out in less than 40 minutes, because we all have to get back to texting and instagram.

After ordering we sat down with the number placard which designated our order. All our meals arrived and all my tofu was beneath the Pad Thai noodles. About halfway into the meal, my stomach started to hurt. So I stopped eating. I “searched” around into my bowl and discovered my tofu was seared scorched. It was beyond overcooked, it was past its peak and it was inedible, hard and bad tasting.

I decided at first to let it go and just move on. But then I thought better of it and I walked up to the counter with my bowl and I presented it to a staffer. I’m not sure he was the manager, but he looked to be the oldest in the restaurant.

He asked me if I needed assistance and I told him my food was overcooked and showed it to him. I should have taken a picture of it, but I didn’t. My phone was in my car and I’m really starting to get skeeved out by all the photo sharing all over the internet and the way things are taken out of context.

I said, “This is overcooked; not only is that the problem, but it’s singed, burnt. It should never have been served and someone served it anyway.”

“Why didn’t you tell us about it earlier?”

“Because it was hidden beneath the noodles and my stomach only started hurting moments ago. Does it look burned to you? Does it look like it should be served?”

“Would you like another one? How about dessert?” he said, gesturing to the piles of brick-sized rice krispy treats and 6″ cookies in a basket on the counter.

“No. Thanks, no. My appetite is shot. I just wanted you to know. It’s too bad; this place used to be my go-to but lately, in the last six months or so, it just seems to have gone downhill; become lazy and this burnt tofu is sort of a sign of that. You all have let things slide.”

“Would you like something else? How about taking something to-go?”

I tilted my head. I didn’t want anything in return. And here’s where I started to realize that I was talking to a script reciter. This person had no … interpersonal skills or training. No empathy, well, that was just a hunch until he said this when I asked him if he’d eat it…

“Well, I don’t like Pad Thai,” smirking. I hate smirks. They’re symbolic to me of peoples’ inability to feel whatever they’re feeling and behave authentically.

My eyes became as big as saucers. They popped out of my head, bounced off the counter, landed on the floor, and rolled about 12 feet to a nearby table. While my kids scrambled for them, I did my best, “WHAT?!”

“You don’t like Pad Thai? Tell me you didn’t just say that. Well, then do you like your food burnt? We’re not gonna really go there, are we?”

Sheepish smile, clear discomfort came over his face and he sort of snorted in spite of himself, “Well, I uh, no. I don’t like my food burnt.”

He was looking at me (my kids were holding up my eyeballs for me, like Mr. Potatohead would do for the missus when she lost her eye) and he said, “Well, what do you want me to do for you?”

I said, “I realize this makes you uncomfortable. You don’t have a solution that will address this; my appetite is ruined because of the burned food your kitchen concealed beneath the noodles; I get that. I don’t want money, I don’t want food. I just want you to say you’re sorry and that regardless of whether you like Pad Thai, that you hear me. That you understand how I feel and that laziness contributed to this experience.”

“Yeah. I guess it did.”

That was the best he could give me. It’s not that I wanted more or that I needed I needed I needed, it’s that there’s something wrong, something missing, a chip maybe in someone who can LOOK SOMEONE ELSE squarely in the face and ostensively tell them that their complaint doesn’t jibe with them BECAUSE it’s not identical, because it’s not their comfort at stake, because it’s not ABOUT THEM. They can’t … empathize.

I’m sure this is part of what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. meant when he talked about service, when he talked about doing your best to further humanity and social progress. I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean for a 20-something manager behind the counter of a restaurant to slough responsibility and avoid apology (which he still had yet to do; the words, “You’re right, this is bad, I’m terribly sorry about it” or even their ilk never crossed his lips). What did cross his lips? Compensation, a product replacement, an actable solution; corporate policy.

Sometimes, all someone wants is to be told their concerns are valid; that they matter and that they were right to want an apology. I’m sure that isn’t asking too much; if it is… we’ve got big problems.

Thank you.

In the Donzerly Light #2 — Books


I woke early with Thing 1 this morning; Mr. Grass Oil had a meeting he had to prepare for so I took the bleary-eyed shift.

It’s the last few days before Christmas break. Thing 1 broke the silence in the kitchen. “We’re watching a movie today in English. You know, because break’s coming.”

“Oh yeah? Anything good? I hope it’s not a movie on book-binding.”

“What? No, it’s the movie of Of Mice and Men. I’m pretty pumped. I loved that book.”

“Oh yeah? I’m so glad; Steinbeck is a master. It’s very powerful; a classic.”

“Yes, it’s amazing. It’s the best book I’ve read in a really long time. I had to read the ending, like five more times over and over again because I couldn’t get my head around it; it was so unexpected.”


“You read the book, right? I mean, the ending is, just so … well, you do remember the ending, right?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” I murmured. “Mmmmmwell, it’s been a while. I don’t recall…” as I busied myself and averted eye contact.

“Oh, well then I won’t spoil it for you; I just thought …”

“It’s 6:31. You better get ready. I will read it again. And then we can discuss.”

“Sure. Oh, yeah, it’s getting late. She’s been arriving earlier and earlier this week.”

“Well, yes, you better get going then. Here’s your backpack.”

“I love you.”

“Yeah. Me too. Bye mom…”

The sound of an incoming school bus hisses and then we see her in the distance, barreling through the pre-dawn dusk. He picks up his pace, I see our neighbor, Caroline, walk by with her long beautiful hair flapping, the light from our porch lanterns bouncing off her locks as she says, “Holy cow, is that her already?!”

“Have a good day guys. I love you.”

I better go see if I can get it on Netflix. There’s no way I can read that book before he comes home from school. Or maybe I can.

Rats… the cleaning ladies are coming today.

What do I read? Lots of random stuff. My favorite magazines are Vanity Fair and The Week. I have a brilliant stack of The New Yorkers to prove I have a subscription to it; but who has time to read them? Every article is four hours long. But they’re so good.

I just saw a plug for a book in The Week that sounded interesting. My Ideal Bookshelf by Thessaly La Force and Jane Mount, is a photographic collection of photographs of famous authors’, artists’,  actors’ and other cultural celebrities’ bookshelves. In the spirit of full disclosure, here’s 1/2 of a shelf of just one of our 12 bookcases. Each of the boys have their own bookcase, jammed with Suess to Faulkner; from Ripley’s to Rowling.

Lots of humor, as if that were a surprise...

Lots of everything; mostly humor, though, as if that were a surprise…

I’ve read a lot of those books; and because I have a Kindle, there are several books I own and have read that you can’t see. That’s the problem with the e-readers: I love books. But I’m not a book freak. I’ve seen people on “Hoarders” who’ve collected them to the point of being a fire hazard. But… to quote Gloria Upsin in “Auntie Mame,” “they’re so decorative.”

I hereby promise to read as much of Of Mice and Men as I possibly can today. That would be the first time I’ve read it; I think. For Thing 1. And for integrity.

Thank you.

What’s on your bookshelf?