Quoll vs Weasel (aka, Dudes Holding Dead Animals)

You'd think that after living here for seven and a half years, I'd be pretty well versed in Australian animals. That's what I thought anyway, until Ben and I had a strange conversation the other day. We were chatting about our favorite Australian animals: I love wombats (so sleepy!), and he thinks the tiny sugar gliders are the cutest (so tiny!).

Ben: I like quolls, too.
Me: A what?
Ben: A quoll. It’s a carnivore a bit bigger than a bandicoot.
Me: How big is a bandicoot?
Ben: Oh…about the size of that [largish] water bottle.
Me: So a quoll would be like the size of a weasel?
Ben: I dunno. How big is a weasel?

At this point, there wasn’t much to do except sit and stare at one another blankly. We'd hit a conversational roadblock. It's funny how you can grow up with something and assume that everyone else knows what it is. It never occurred to me that Ben would never have seen a weasel, and it never occurred to him that I wouldn't know what a quoll was.

For the record - weasel:

Yes, it's dead, sorry. Do you know how hard it is to find a photo of someone holding a live weasel? Thanks, Dead Weasel Holding Dude!

Quoll:

Also dead. And stuffed. Again, sorry. I wanted a person in the photo for scale. Thanks, Dead Quoll Holding Dude!

So there you go. A quoll is about the size of a cat. Or maybe a disturbingly large weasel. I'm here to educate, folks!

Small town living

You know one of the strangest things about living in a relatively small place? Getting directions.

If we have to meet a local* at, say, a restaurant and need to ask where it is, the answer will inevitably be something like, "Drive down the highway, turn right at the lights, then just go to where the Country Kitchen used to be. You know the Country Kitchen, right? The Italian place was there before." It's like at some point they stopped updating their internal maps, since just knowing where things used to be is enough for them to get around. (Thankfully, they eventually take pity on my obvious navigational inadequacies and dole out a street name.)

Or occasionally the directions will go something like, "Turn left, drive past the old Henson place, then turn again after the yard with the barking dog." And you know what the weird thing is? They're always right. You get there and go, "Well what do you know. There's the barking dog! I guess we turn here."

I'm looking forward to the day when a visitor will ask me for directions, and I'll be able say, "Oh yeah, it's down the street from where the florist used to be, in the old shoe store. You know where that is, right? Next door to where the bookstore that used to be a giftshop was." It'll be sweet.

* I.e., someone who has had family here for three generations and can rattle off complicated community relationships without a second thought: "Oh you know her. She's his wife's cousin's hairdresser that used to be married to that electrician fellow. The balding one."

We have a saying in our house

"Elwood judges you."

Because he does. Harshly.

Groucho does glassware

I want these:

I find anatomical drawings strangely compelling.

And I want these:

See that, kids? That's called a "cassette tape." We old folks used to listen to music on them. Stop laughing, it's true!

But mostly, I want these:

Looking like Groucho Marx while sucking down your drink = the epitome of awesome.

P.S. All of these are from Bread and Badger. Just in case anyone was thinking of doing some early Christmas shopping for yours truly.

Public service announcement

This is a surprisingly good book:
A children's book, obviously, but good nonetheless. If I had a kid who was 9 or so, I'd buy it for them. Creepy enough to keep a kid interested without getting too scary. (And now I'm interested in the movie - yes, it was released in the USA back in February, but we're a little behind in Oz and it only just came out here.)

This did not turn out to be a good book:
Reading it was like watching paint dry. Holy hell, I just wanted this to end. Disappointing, considering how much I enjoyed Brooklyn. Can't win 'em all, I guess.

Ben's favorite cookies

Elise (formerly known as The Pregnant One) recently had a birthday - at work we always have a morning tea to celebrate, and everyone brings a little something to nibble on. Except me. Because I forgot. Because I'm a bad friend.

To make amends, I told Elise that I would bring a special plate of cookies for her tomorrow. So tonight, I rummaged through the cupboard until inspiration struck: I'd make Ben's favorite cookies ever - Jam Thumbprints.

I love these because they have a grand total of five ingredients, all of which I usually have in the house. Ben loves them because he has a blackberry jam fetish. Elise will love them because they're full of sugar (wheeee!). Everybody wins!

The goods:

• flour
• sugar
• butter (or margarine, as you see here - before you stone me for heresy, I'll explain why in a minute)
• jam
• vanilla or almond extract

Optional goods (not shown):

• confectioners' sugar
• more vanilla or almond extract
• milk

Step 1: preheat your oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C), then measure out 1 cup of margarine:

And since I said I would explain: I always used to make this recipe with butter. Then one day, all I had was margarine and I was still seriously jonesing for some cookies. So I gave it a shot. And they were so much better! I'm not kidding. I now only make these (just these - for all other cookies I still use butter) with margarine. So really, give it a shot.

Step 2: add 2/3 cup of white sugar:

Step 3: blend the butter and sugar together, then toss in 1/2 teaspoon of almond or vanilla extract (I use vanilla, since I never have almond in the house) and blend again:

Step 4: add 2 cups of plain flour, thanking the universe that you have just enough for the recipe so you don't look stupid in front of the interwebs:

Step 5 : blend again. Swear loudly when one of the beaters falls out of your handbeater halfway through, then jam it back into place and continue. The original recipe says to blend "until the dough comes together," but I have no idea what that means. I can never get it more "together" than this vaguely crumbly looking mix, but it seems to work just fine:


Step 6: form into balls. I use a soup spoon to scoop up approximately the right amount before rolling it between my palms:

Apologies for the shaky first picture. That's when I tried to use my left hand to hold the camera. I'm right handed for a reason. Stupid left hand was freaking out and wobbling all over the place.

Step 7: Place on an ungreased cookie sheet lined with baking paper...then repeat:

Step 8: press your thumb into the top of the ball, making a deep indent - make sure that there is a ridge all around the indent so that the jam can't leak out while it's baking:

Step 9: grab your favorite jam. I use blackberry because it's Ben's favorite. I think he'd sell me down the river for some homemade blackberry jam. Good thing all we have is Cottee's:

Step 10: spoon jam into the indents in each cookie, just to the top of the ridge. No need to heap it up:

Notice that you spilled some jam, then decide to leave it even though you're taking photos, as it appears charmingly rustic.

Charmingly rustic is a nice way of saying, "This ain't a cooking show. Baking is messy. Get over it."

Step 11: Pop the finished tray into the oven - while that is baking, go ahead and prepare the rest of the cookies. Might as well, eh?

Step 12: bake for 14-18 minutes...or, if your oven is like mine, 19-20 minutes. The original recipe says "or until lightly browned," but honestly, I've never really noticed much of a color change - I just bake until they don't feel super squishy when they're touched. Not a scientific method, but it works. Rest them on the cookie sheet for a minute before transferring to a cooling rack:

Step 13: while the rest of the cookies are baking, mix up the icing. This is where those optional ingredients come in - I only bother with this step about a quarter of the time, since I really don't think these cookies need it. Put 1/2 cup of confectioners' sugar in a bowl, then add 3/4 teaspoon almond extract (again, I use vanilla) and 1 teaspoon of milk and give it a stir:

Note: I accidentally sloshed in too much milk, so mine is quite runny. I added more sugar to thicken it up, but got distracted and didn't take photos of the final product. Sorry 'bout that.

Step 15: after cookies have finished cooling, drizzle the icing over the top:


And you're done! So tasty and so easy - I love these!

Jam Thumbprints

Ingredients
1 cup butter, softened (I substitute with margarine)
2/3 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon almond extract (I substitute with vanilla, simply because I never have almond extract)
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup jam in your favorite flavor

Icing (optional)
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
3/4 teaspoon almond extract (again, I use vanilla)
1 teaspoon milk

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).

In a medium bowl, cream together butter/margarine and white sugar until smooth. Mix in 1/2 teaspoon almond/vanilla extract. Mix in flour until dough comes together. Roll dough into 1 1/2 inch balls, and place on ungreased cookie sheets. Make an indent in the center of each ball, using your thumb and finger, and fill the hole with preserves.

Bake for 14 to 18 minutes in preheated oven, or until lightly browned. Let cool 1 minute on the cookie sheet.

In a medium bowl, mix together the confectioners' sugar, 3/4 teaspoon almond/vanilla extract, and milk until smooth. Drizzle lightly over cooled cookies.

Extreme makeover

Ben is at another monthly meeting of the Nerd Herd, so I spent my evening designing a new blog layout.

What do you think? Keep the new one or switch back to the old design?

Taking a moment to procrastinate

Amusingly enough, "sydney whorehouse" and "whorehouse in sydney" are still two of the top five Google keyword searches that bring people to this blog, which means they've moved even higher up the chain since November.
I can't help but wonder if those people are terribly disappointed once they get here. Maybe I should post some photos of nekkid women just to throw them a bone. Or I could get back to studying.


Studying it is.


P.S. For any new readers, this is the big drawcard.

P.P.S. If you haven't tried that banana cake recipe, please do so. It will change your life.

Tuesday night

- Cold and rainy this morning and the cats got to stay in the warm bed and sleep while I got up and ventured out into the freezing landscape to pay for their kibble. Not fair.

- Read Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín last month and loved it, now giving The Blackwater Lightship a try. Great storyteller, but he needs to pick up the plot pace. A lot.

- Freakonomics sequel = pre-ordered.

- Finished our little home improvement project over a week ago. No photos because a) I'm lazy and b) it's been too dark and rainy when we get home to take any pictures. But mostly a).

- Little bro just reminded me of how much I love The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - lil' bro is a hoopy frood who really knows where his towel is.

- Just discovered the PolitiFact Truth-O-Meter. Me likey.

- Watching fourth season of Six Feet Under and very into it. Arrested Development is still the best show ever made, but I can understand why there was such a hubbub over SFU back in the day.

- Love the word 'hubbub'. And 'spork'. And 'squeegee'.

- Snoring dogs in cozy beds, dreaming of steak and chasing rabbits. Happiness is a spoiled puppy.

- Learned last night that although I thought Ben didn't like shrimp, he actually does. He just always picks them out of his meals and gives them to me because they're one of my favorite foods. That's true love, folks.

Plastic real estate

As a kid, I had a thing for Legos. My Barbies didn't live in a Dream House - they lived in a plastic brick mansion that I rebuilt every playtime (they also drove a Tonka dumptruck instead of a pink Corvette, but that's beside the point). And I wasn't the only one Lego-obsessed as a kid - Ben was too. In fact, we even incorporated them into our wedding, much to Frank the Wonder Photog's delight:

So when I first saw this Lego (sorry - "plastic construction pieces") installation work, I was fascinated. I'd seen some of these photos in email forwards, but didn't know where they'd come from until now - and as everyone on the planet except for me probably already knew, it turns out that this is the work of Jan Vormann in his project "Dispatchwork":

It's a good thing I never saw this as a kid. Barbie's Lego houses would have gone hardcore.

Tribute

I was standing in the shower last night (for some reason that's where I do all my best thinking) and I thought of the most awesome blog post in the history of blogging. Or at least in the history of this blog. I went to bed plotting it out in my head and laughing at the fabulously witty things I was going to write.

And then this morning, I'd completely forgotten what it was. I have absolutely no idea. Can't even remember the general topic. Nothing.

So you have to take my word for it - it would have been awesome. Like Jack Black (kind of) says, this is not the greatest blog post in the world - this is just a tribute. But feel free to comment like it was the real thing.

Confession

I often select bottles of wine based solely on how much I like their label. Case in point:

Feel free to judge me.

I don't need anything but you

We watched Clue last night (random side note: did you know that the board game is called Cluedo in Australia?), which got me thinking about Tim Curry and other movies he's been in, and the long and short of it is: we're watching Annie tonight! I am ridiculously excited - I'm already walking around the house humming the songs.

I haven't seen it in years, but it was my absolute FAVORITE growing up. It is the reason my first dog was named Sandy, why I've always wished I had red hair, and why, to this day, I still sometimes say, "She hadda go bafoom."

My sister and I were huge fans and had a bunch of tiny Annie dolls - we definitely had Annie, Daddy Warbucks, Grace, Mrs. Hannigan, Molly and Sandy, and maybe Pepper. They were only about two inches tall, like so:

How bad is it that I'm actually considering buying these? No really, I am. They're all on eBay.

This guy is selling this whole set for $35. If I could see Daddy Warbucks in there, I'd be sold. Oh, by the way: it turns out that "Annie" is a fairly popular name used in adult websites. So be careful if you're googling "Annie toys" and don't have SafeSearch turned on, eh?

Anyway, I used to walk around the house carrying those dolls in my socks. Yes, my socks. I'm not sure why exactly I decided that my socks provided the best form of transportation, but I would very carefully arrange them with their torsos sticking out of the tops of my socks, all facing forward so they could see where they were going, of course. Obviously my love for the one with pretty auburn locks knew no bounds.

Shockingly, Ben has never seen Annie, so clearly he's in for the treat of his life. What could be better than watching your wife sing along to a musical about a physically abused and emotionally traumatized orphan? Nothing, I tell you - nothing!