Learn the Rules
Like a Pro ~
So you can Break Them
Like an Artist.
~ Pablo Picasso (attributed)
1.) Carved by Daniele Barresi
3.) Carved by Sachiko Ishikawa
Be not Afraid
Of going Slowly ~
Be More Afraid
Of Standing Still.
Underwater Sculptures by: Jason deCaires Taylor
It was over 5 years ago that the Chair first appeared on the sidewalk, and Sister Madly wanted it. She didn’t need another chair and the thing was as ugly as incompetent gumbo, but by golly it was free, thus worthy of bragging rights- much like her CD single of Milli Vanilli’s Girl I’m Gonna Miss You once found in a free bin. Sister Madly’s a sucker for nostalgia.
She spent the day watching the Chair from the window, her wide eyes and polished halo assuring those passing by that she only wanted to make sure the Chair returned to its rightful owner; however, what Sister Madly really wanted was to be sure she was the one to claim it.
All afternoon, she paced back and forth through the kitchen, carrying on imaginary conversations with potential rivals while boxing mosquitoes and strumming her lips in utter boredom. After midnight, she and Tallulah hauled the monstrosity inside.
It soon became clear that not only did the Chair want the apartment to itself, that had been its intent all along, letting such wishes be known by the most satanic stench that only a Chair of that pomposity could produce: cigars, swamp gas, death, and tuna-marinated soccer feet. It happened overnight, making much of itself in the apartment like an unwelcomed uncle. Never once did Sister Madly think that there might be something wrong with the Chair as it was cheerfully lugged into the flat- it was absolutely hideous, sure, but Sister Madly had convinced herself that it was in a delightfully tacky sort of way.
It wasn’t long after that Sister Madly came up with a plan, one that included Tallulah, an abandoned truck, and just enough detail to make the lives of those involved thoroughly inconvenient: said truck- and everything that just happened to be inside of it- was to be towed within 72 hours per the obnoxious sticker on the window. If all went as planned, both Chair and truck would be happily tucked away in some impound lot within a week’s time.
Tallulah, however, thought it best to leave the Chair on the side of the road as it was found, albeit after dark. This sister/roommate/she-who-is-often-not-around-when-disaster-strikes was sometimes grown-up and unfun like that.
After successfully begging, sulking, and plying her with wine, it suddenly made sense to now wise Tallulah to leave the Chair inside the Soon-To-Be-Towed Truck at midnight- a plan that was ruthlessly thwarted by the City, who had towed the truck earlier that day during the plying-with-wine fest.
The entire block was then circled as the two tipsy yet wise siblings attempted to abandon the neon-striped horror in a place that was not in full-view of twenty apartments; there was even talk of burying the beast in the cemetery, as it already smelled of death and would probably go unnoticed. But the Chair had become quite attached to Sister Madly, refusing to roll over the cracks, clinging desperately to the curbs, even sacrificing a wheel to the sewer grate in an attempt to remain with its true love.
It was at the sight of an old man watching from his window the siblings realized that, wherever the Chair ended up, someone would know exactly who was responsible, and that put an almighty damper on the evening. When the lovable curmudgeon made the expected “What the hell…?” inquiry, Sister Madly said that they were taking their easy Chair for a walk, and there was no city ordinance against that.
For tonight, Dancing Eyeball will be standing in
for Lovable Curmudgeon.
The Chair returned home with them that night, locked away once again in the spare room. It was frequently bathed Febreze and other ritual oils in an attempt to keep it smelling fresh, so that when some psychotic recipient finally stands up and exclaims, “Hullo, I want that hideous thing!” he would not know of its Pit of Hell origin.
But it was the Goodwill Donation Truck that wound up with the Chair in the end. But that doesn’t matter, really; Sister Madly got it inside a truck after all.
TANDOORI CHICKEN SAMOSAS
- 6 boneless chicken thighs, whole
- Paneer, cubed (opt)
- 1 onion, chopped
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 1 tbsp ginger, minced
- 2 star anise
- 1 cinnamon stick
- 1 tbsp garam masala
- 1 tbsp sweet paprika
- 1 tsp coriander
- 1 tsp cumin
- 1 tsp turmeric
- 1/2 tsp cardamom
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1/2 tsp cayenne
- salt/pepper, to taste
- 1½-2 cups chicken stock
- 3 tbsp tomato puree
- 3 tbsp Greek yogurt, tempered*
- 2 sheets Puff Pastry
- Egg, beaten
Saute onion until translucent; 8-10 min
Add garlic and ginger; saute 2-3 min
Add spices; saute until fragrant; 30 sec – 1 min
Add puree, chicken, and stock; bring to a boil
Reduce heat; simmer until chicken is cooked; 25 min
Shred chicken in sauce
Mix in paneer and tempered* yogurt; 3-5 min
Remove from heat; discard cinnamon stick and star anise
Start w/yogurt at room temperature if possible.
Gradually mix in hot cooking liquid
(Slowly heating yogurt prevents curdling/separating from shock)
After the yogurt’s sufficiently heated, add to the Tandoori.
Preheat oven to 400*
Roll out pastry sheets; cut into 9 squares (approx 4”x4”ea)
Add filling to the center of each square
Fold pastry over filling
Brush egg wash over pastry
Bake 20-25 minutes, or until golden
THEME SONG: Girl I’m Gonna Miss You, Milli Vanilli
To every Time and Season
Of it’s Own.
~ Charles Dickens
All images Pinterest
“What are quantum mechanics?”
“I don’t know. People who repair quantums, I suppose.” ~ Terry Pratchett
Quite frankly, Sister Madly knows more about the mechanics of a toilet than she feels is necessary.
But this was not always the case; while weekly chores were implemented early in life, basic home repair was never a part of her childhood rearing- apparently, that’s what dads are for. Responsibility was given to her in the form of a psychopathic alarm clock- indeed, Sister Madly doesn’t know how to change a tire, or why the refrigerator makes that funny noise, or how to light the pilot (probably for the best, that last one) but make no mistake: she knows exactly what to do when the alarm clock detonates beside her when she is asleep.
However, these death-defying, skillet-wielding, alarm-silencing ninja-skills are totally useless when it comes to fixing a toilet.
Some 10 years ago, Sister Madly came home to the sound of water running in the tank. While this wasn’t a particularly new phenomenon on planet Earth, Sister Madly never really understood why it happened; thus she decided to investigate.
When she lifted the lid off the tank, so much steam was released that Sister Madly was certain Vincent Price was about to emerge from its depths to Tchaikovsky’s Lake in the Moonlight. When that did not happen- and a bitter disappointment, it was- Sister Madly investigated further to find that the tank was filled with hot water.
Somewhere deep within her twisted psyche was the inkling that this wasn’t suppose to be; however, a tank full of hot water may come in handy should she ever need to thaw a cryogenically-frozen chicken’s head at a moment’s notice. Sister Madly is practical like that.
Still, this did not explain the running water. So upon visiting her parents the next day, the Pater Madly gave her a brief lesson on toilet repair, making a point to say that if the screw was stripped, she would have to bend the float manually.*
* Despite his staggering intellect, the Pater Madly failed to mention certain key phrases, such as ‘call maintenance to fix it for you’… alright, he DID say that, but he should’ve put more emphasis on it.
Now Sister Madly has seen some weird things in her life, but the inner workings of her toilet were just so alien that she was pretty certain it was from another dimension entirely. Still, she managed to find the offending float amidst the fog and, since the screw was stripped, bent the float as directed- well, not bend the float so much as break it off completely.
A note for those smart enough to have called Maintenance in the first place: when one breaks the float off, the tank begins to fill with water.
And it does not stop.
Now the typical Sister Madly response to when something goes horribly wrong is to stare at the disaster and wonder just how long she can live with it. Unfortunately, Sister Madly couldn’t approach the Broken Float Situation with the same devil-may-care attitude, as the risk of a global flood was clearly imminent. Since she could not fix the toilet by staring the hell out of it (she tried) Sister Madly decided to call the Pater Madly, 1AM or not.
For a parent receiving a call in the middle of the night, her dad was remarkably unconcerned; there was more anxiety when she asked him about the Birds and the Bees back in the day. After being a good father by not saying “I told you to call Maintenance!” he informed her of the life-changing, humanity-saving apparatus lurking beneath the fog: the shut-off valve.
While this did not work completely, it did reduce the imminence of a global flood (you are welcome, human race!) by requiring Sister Madly to flush the toilet every 2 minutes instead of the previous 12 seconds. This of course was cause for celebration, and Sister Madly invited over her neighbor, Velma, where they spent the next 3 hours drinking Bailey’s and flushing the toilet, while rehearsing lines for Velma’s upcoming play: Arthur Miller’s The Creation of the World and Other Business.*
The plumber had never seen 2 such chipper near-victims of toilet tank drowning.
* The ‘Other Business,’ no doubt, being adventures in toilet tank repair. Very perceptive, that Miller fella.
SRIRACHA MANGO CHICKEN
- 10-12 chicken drumsticks/thighs
- Yogurt/Sour cream, to serve (opt)
- 2 tbsp lime juice
- 1 tbsp sriracha
- 1 tbsp fresh garlic, minced
- 1 tbsp fresh ginger, minced
- 1 tsp smoked paprika
- 1 tsp tumeric
- 3-4 tbsp oil
- 1 cup mango, cubed
- 1/4 cup sriracha
- 1 tsp fresh garlic, minced
- 2 tbsp water
- 2 tbsp butter
Mix together ingredients for Marinade
Add chicken; shake/mix to coat
Cover; refrigerate for 30 min – 24 hrs
Puree together mango, sriracha, and garlic
Transfer to saucepan
Add butter and water; heat for 15 min, stirring occasionally
Preheat oven to 400*
Place chicken in a baking tray (for crispier chicken, add baking rack to tray)
Bake for 45 min
Remove from oven, brush chicken with sauce
Return to oven; bake for 10-15 min, or until cooked through
Brush with remaining sauce straight from oven
Serve with yogurt or sour cream
THEME SONG: Lake in the Moonlight (Swan Lake), Tchaikovsky
Star Cluster Capella
Is 42 light-years Away.
The Light it Generates
Takes 42 years to reach the Earth.
If You were to Travel to Capella
Shortly before your 42nd Birthday ~
You would be able to Witness
Your own Birth back on Earth.
1.) Ablak A Multra
2.) Dear Photograph
3.) Dear Photograph
4.) Ablak A Multra
5.) Ablak A Multra
Is it too much to ask that bandits not steal the fire escape in the middle of the night?
This isn’t the first such heist in the Madliverse; once a tree outside her window disappeared for no good reason that she could tell, and Sister Madly has endured the morning kiss of the nuclear sun ever since.
For those psychotics who are contemplating a similar caper, do have the courtesy to leave the unfortunates some sort of warning- such as caution tape, or employing a limbless, black knight declaring that ‘none shall pass’ at the site where the staircase used to be. Had the aforementioned bandit embraced these basic underworld civilities, his feat would have appeared as a cozy little blurb in the apartment newsletter to be marveled by the tenets over a cup of cocoa.
Instead, Sister Madly and Co. discovered the architectural deficiency in the most astonishing manner possible.*
* T’was even more astonishing to the tenet below, at whose feet was dropped a bag of putrid trash, along with Sister Madly’s shoe.
Judging by her neighbor’s slit-eyed glare, it would seem that Sister Madly, herself, was widely considered responsible for the heist. Sure, some say that her mind is as twisted as a pretzel, and she has been known to have a teeny-tiny problem with pyromania*- hardly worth mentioning, really- but that doesn’t mean she has the capability to waltz off with a fire escape at a moment’s notice. In fact, such a heist would be nearly impossible for anyone shorter than a Sneech- and Sister Madly is hardly a Sneech.
* The untimely flambéing of that lone corn fritter, that German Christmas Pinwheel Thingy, and New Year’s Day 2014 were all accidents- happy little accidents.
But that doesn‘t mean such allegations are unfounded. As the more devout amongst you know, August 8th is the most significant festivity of the year: Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor’s Porch Night, and Sister Madly can be counted amongst the faithful.
Now if our dear Moppet took the term ‘neighbor’ literally, she need only open her door and chuck a zucchini across the hall- an act that has been deemed ‘less-than neighborly’ by tenets in the past. Zucchini Night is one of the few times a year that Sister Madly embraces the ‘all mankind is your neighbor’ metaphor, before reverting to that customary petulance that is much beloved.
However, due to a recent trip to the coast (in which she overstayed her welcome) Sister Madly was obliged to celebrate this sacred holiday a few days late- and in daylight. Although her impeccable stealth guaranteed the ceremonial Leaving-of-the-Zucchini went off without a hitch, Sister Madly was unable to bask in the satisfaction of a job well-done as there just happened to be a crucial witness bumbling down the street:
Sister Madly knew these sort of things happened, but they happen to other people: desperadoes busted for their negligence, for flinging their DNA over murder scenes willy-nilly while the BBC watches from a nearby Pringle can. Moppets are much less sloppy, crushing all Pringle cans before embarking upon a murder most foul; but Google does not heed the way of the Moppet, choosing rather to defiantly photograph humanity without so much as a how-do-you-do, and this peeves Sister Madly.
Now it’s well-known amongst the local demimonde that it’s best to ‘do away’ with a witness rather than allow said witness the liberty to resort to extortion- blackmailers, you see, can never be bought; one can only hope to even the score. So Sister Madly engaged the intrepid Itty Bitty*- her trusty accomplice, lookout, and sleepy-eyed assassin- to properly attend to the matter.
* A handsome Smart Car.
And so it came to pass that she and Itty Bitty embarked upon a mission to silence Google, dodging speed bumps and toddlers lurking in the fray until foiled by a family of ducks crossing against the light, behind which the Duo watched Google peter off into the summer haze with a nonchalance that bordered upon the sinister. Yes, Sister Madly is an extremely ineffective do-away-with-er.
But not all hope was lost; due to its inability to mind its own business, it is possible that Google witnessed the heist of her fire escape, and for that Sister Madly would pay a pretty penny- or at least, a very shiny one. Google would be coughing up the info in no time; Sister Madly can be a sadistic interrogator, you know.
1 regular or sweet potato, peeled, cubed, and cooked
1 lb chorizo, casings removed and crumbled
1 onion, chopped
Salt/Pepper, to taste
Red enchilada sauce, homemade or store-bought
Brioche/Kaiser rolls, or similar
To Serve: sour cream, guacamole, queso fresco, lettuce
Cook chorizo in skillet; approx 5-7 min
Add onion, cook until softened
Add potatoes; mix, crushing slightly
Heat oil in clean skillet
Dip outside of rolls in enchilada sauce until well-coated
Pan-fry rolls in skillet, coated side down, until browned
Add filling and desired toppings
THEME SONG: The Last of the Secret Agents, Nancy Sinatra
An Eye for an Eye
Will Only Make
The Whole World Blind.
2.) Majla Art
We are so Lightly Here.
It is in Love
That We are Made ~
~ Leonard Cohen
There Comes a Time
When You Realize
The Only Person
Standing in Your Way
Folk Songs have a lot to answer for. ~ Terry Pratchett
Earlier at the Faire, Sister Madly was Romancing the Stone: a quest where one picks a numbered stone* in hopes of connecting with their True Love -only now, thanks to her friends, her Token to True Love had been switched out for a pair of Mystery-Flavored Dum Dums.
* #88, although she could have been reading that upside down.
Amongst the reasons given for this heartless kleptomania was the logic that, in Arthurian legends, all heroes fight epic battles for love.* “Romance wasn’t so easy in those days, Sister Madly; the sooner you retrieve your rock from the Dodo, the sooner you can find your True Love and bask in the satisfaction of a job well-done. ”
* No doubt Karma had a hand in this as well.
That is how Sister Madly found herself down at the Living History Camp casing the Dodo’s pavilion, one so dismal and so depressing that even the flies were on Zoloft.
After a lengthy self-interrogation, Sister Madly decided that there was no need to bother the Dodo with her petty relationship issues (even though he was the reason she was having said issues.) It would be so much kinder to just creep around the back and crawl under the canvas- indeed, Sister Madly can be so considerate, sometimes (take that, Karma!)
But the man* she encountered inside was not the Dodo.
* Well, not a man so much as a shrubbery.
Some would say that by not parading into the pavilion through the front entrance she revealed herself as an intruder, but Sister Madly remained ever optimistic. Sure, she lacked certain qualities inherent in all homegrown plague doctors- such as the creepy bird mask and absolutely any knowledge of the Plague whatsoever- but unrealistic confidence is 80% of the battle: if she believes that she is part of the Guild, everyone else will believe it as well. Or at least 80% will.
Drop that Plague and turn around slowly!
By the look on his face, this shrubbery was one of the 20%. Perhaps Sister Madly underestimated that whole ‘enter a residence through the front door’ thing; she made a mental note to try it sometime.
Despite his disbelief, the Shrubbery insisted that he wasn’t looking to steal the Plague, but to be cured of it.
Sir, that is how she cures the Plague!
He remained unconvinced. “You’re making that up.”
Well, yes, but making a point in the process. As Confucius once said, Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated…
…and what’s that smell? Is that basil?
The Shrub was horribly offended. “Thyme.”
So, you’re a Thyme Lord.
The Shrubbery was just as skeptical. Apparently, a Plague-Ridding Professional had absolutely no business dressing as a medieval-highwayman-gypsy-thief thing with a wee bit of pirate sprinkled in- absolutely none.
What? It’s casual Saturday!
Clearly she would lose her plausibility as a card-carrying member of the Plague-Ridding Profession if she didn‘t figure out a way to cure this Thyme Lord in a manner that he found acceptable. He seemed very picky.
Well, sir, did you ever just consider not dying?
The Thyme Lord found her method lacking, going so far as to imply that there would be a special place in purgatory for impersonating the avian Florence Nightingale.
Impersonating? Does she look anything like Slender Bird?
“No. That’s the point.”
Precisely. If she doesn’t look like the Dodo in a Black Dress, then she cannot be accused of impersonation. Besides, you’re one to talk, being dressed as a Thyme Lord and all.
Now, there are times when logic fails our dear Moppet. Had Sister Madly entered the pavilion through the front door like a civilized burglar, she would have noticed several Shrubberies enjoying a pint just outside the entrance.
“That’s Parsley. And Sage. Rosemary…”
That’s right, Sister Madly: the shrubbery you encountered during your burglary attempt was not a Thyme Lord, but a key ingredient of Simon and Garfunkal’s spice rack.
It was then that she realized just how serious the situation was: the Plague that needed to be cured here was the horrific Plague of Unforgivable Puns.*
* If any of you point out that ‘Thyme Lord’ is, itself, a pun, Sister Madly will be very unhappy with you.
And so Sister Madly handed him a fistful of Dum Dums.
“What am I suppose to do with these?”
Well, first you unwrap the Dum Dum, then you stick it in your mouth. That’s where things get a bit technical…
… or she can axe off your leg, if you’d like.
CHIP CURRY SAUCE
- 2”- 3” ginger root, minced
- 1/2 green apple, minced
- 1 sm onion, minced
- 1-2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1½ tsp curry powder
- 1/4 tsp garam masala
- 1/4 tsp Chinese 5 Spice
- 1½- 3 cups vegetable stock
- salt/pepper, to taste
- Oil, for sauteing
Saute onion, ginger, garlic, and apple in hot oil until soft; 5-10 min
Add curry, garam masala, salt/pepper, and 5 spice; saute 30 sec
Add stock; bring to a boil
Reduce heat; simmer; 15 min
Puree sauce to desired smoothness
If too thick, stir in additional stock and simmer to set flavors
THEME SONG: Scarborough Faire, My Dying Bride
1.) Christopher Lovell
An Invisible Red Thread
Who are Destined to Meet
Regardless the Time, the Place
Regardless the Circumstance
The Thread may Stretch or Tangle
But it will never Break.
~ Ancient Chinese Proverb
1.) Salfi Farooq
It was another Saturday night, and another encounter with the Happy Phlebotomist, a human mosquito known for his fanatical devotion to the job and a happiness borders upon sinister. That night he was feeling particularly highbrow, lamenting about the one time he attended a Book Club, the evening ended in a conga line.
Now that’s an affair Sister Madly would consider! Book Clubs these days are bogged down by the most ridiculous of frills- such as cucumber sandwiches and, you know, books- that they have forgotten their humble roots in Cuban dance.
The Happy Phlebotomist (HP) however, was so devastated by the incident that he made an unusually bold declaration: yes, somewhere between depleting people of their life source and pushing natural supplements, he was going to start a book club of his own- a respectable book club, a proper book club. You see, he just loves the smell of books!
You’re not suppose to smell books, Sunshine, you’re suppose to read them; that’s what books are for! No doubt you know there are books which have been banned due to their content- suppose you should happen to huff one of those?
Sure, it’s just a snort here and there, but soon you’ll be wearing thick-rimmed glasses and tying your hair up in a bun, and in no time flat you’re insisting that Oreos are vegan while listening to music on ‘vinyl…’ it’s the gateway drug to hardcore hipsterdom!
It was of no use; soon they will all be card-carrying members of Book Club Phlebotomy, extracting blood and smelling books by candlelight. But even worse than this was that HP was determined to take Sister Madly along with them, handing over the book list and asking her to choose which should be their first:
- Interview with an Exorcist
- The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt
- The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales
- The Encyclopedia of Psychoactive Plants
- Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World
- Atlas Shrugged
What Frankenstein stitched together this literary goulash? It’s enough to reduce anyone to a fetal position in a padded cell- even her spirit animal* is undergoing therapy for the trauma! And though Sister Madly admits that The Encyclopedia of Psychoactive Plants would come in handy when landscaping the backyard, it’s hardly a book she would curl up with at the local coffee shop (mostly because she doesn’t like coffee.)
* Cookie Monster.
HP didn’t understand the fuss. After all, Sister Madly has been known to eat cod now and then- has she ever wondered about its heartbreaking journey from dreamy-eyed minnow to delicious fish ‘n chips? As for the Encyclopedia- why, it’s shorter than War and Peace by a few hundred pages! And just think of all the pointers she’d pick up from the Exorcist…
Exactly what pointers would those be, Sunshine? How to make your own holy water? A DIY crucifix out of dust bunnies and lemon peels? And what makes you think that Sister Madly needs pointers in the first place? Maybe she’s happy with her demons, ever think of that?!?
HP, however, was most accommodating. If Sister Madly didn’t find the list suitable, she- and her demons- were free to add to it.
And that’s just what they did:
- The Doubtful Debutante
- All of Them Witches
- Higgins’ Universal Language
- Blood on Their Hands: The Crime of It All, A Study of Some Selected Abuses in Sixteenth Century Europe
- The Isle of Naboombu
- To Serve Man*
* In the original Kanamit, of course.
HP was absolutely delighted; finally, Sister Madly was showing some enthusiasm for the project! He even went so far as to buy her a pint- that is, until one of the Professors put that PhD- and smart phone thingy- to good use.
“None of these books exist!”
What can she say, Professor? Her devils made her do it.
SWEET POTATO LAMB SAMOSAS
- 2 sheets Puff Pastry, thawed
- Egg, beaten
- 1 sweet potato, peeled, cooked, and cubed
- 1/2 onion, sliced
- 1 tsp mustard seeds
- 1/2 tsp turmeric
- 1-2 chili peppers, chopped (or cayenne to taste)
- 1/2 cup fresh peas
- 1 LB minced lamb
- 3/4 cup chicken stock
- 1/2 onion, chopped
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tsp ginger
- 1 1/4 tsp cumin
- 3/4 tsp sumac
- 1/2 tsp garam masala
- fresh mint leaves, chopped
- salt/pepper, to taste
* ~ * FILLING PREPARATION * ~ *
~ SWEET POTATO ~
Heat oil/ghee in pan
Add mustard seeds; roast until seeds start popping all over the kitchen
Add sliced onion; saute until translucent; 5 min
Add turmeric and chilies/cayenne; saute
Add potatoes and peas; stir to coat; approx 2 min
Remove from heat and set aside
~ LAMB ~
Saute chopped onions in oil; 5 min
Add garlic and ginger; saute 2 min
Add cumin, sumac, garam masala, salt/pepper; mix 30 secs
Add lamb; saute until cooked through
Add sweet potato preparation; mix thoroughly
Add stock; simmer until evaporated
Stir in mint; remove from heat
Preheat the oven to 400*
Roll out pastry sheets and cut into 9 squares (approx 4”x4”ea)
Place a tablespoon of mixture at the center of each square
Fold the pastry over filling to form a triangle
Brush egg wash the top of each samosa
Bake 20-25 minutes, or until golden
Book of Longing, Leonard Cohen w/Philip Glass
Too Many are Not
Living Their Dreams
Because They are
Living Their Fears ~
Fear Kills More Dreams
Than Failure Ever Will.
Love doesn’t Make
The World Go ’round ~
Love is what Makes
The Ride Worthwhile.
~ Franklin P. Jones
1.) Michael Kiev
3.) Michael Kiev
They say nirvana is a state of perfect serenity; the highest happiness. Some believe it is impossible to achieve, but the truth is quite the contrary.
It began some years ago at Utopia, bazaar of sorts once described as ‘a bunch of weird people doing weird things.’ Sister Madly was in the middle of one of those weird things* when Management announced that Utopia would be hosting Tibetan Monks from an unpronounceable Buddhist monastery, who would be making a Sand Mandala at the store.
* Washing soap (don’t ask…)
Naturally this announcement came with a lot of unnecessary protocol, which ranged from limiting the music to Tibetan Chants, to locking the store’s mascot- a fat cat named Sinner- in the basement lest he turn the Mandala into his personal litter box; and while they did not forbid the employees from eating meat, Management strongly encouraged them to not eat it in the presence of the Monks as they were strictly vegan.
They wanted the week-long event to be a completely ‘spiritual’ experience.
Now Sister Madly has a confession to make: she does not like leafy green things. At all. She likes them on the trees, sure, and feeding them to the garbage disposal delights her to no end, but personally consuming them guarantees a night chock-full of healthy nightmares. She might be able to maintain this strongly-suggested vegan facade for a few hours a day, if not hallucinate while trying- which could be fun, now that she thinks about it…
And so the day came when the Monks from the Unpronounceable Buddhist Monastery arrived on their doorstep in saffron robes and buckets of sand, signifying the start of Sister Madly’s 8 Hours-a-Day Vegan Charade- the thought of just pretending to like leafy green things was enough to send her into fits. Indeed, the Road to Enlightenment is a twisted one.
It was on Thursday that nirvana was finally realized. Management had run off to another mysterious business meeting, leaving behind a long list weird to-do’s (wash candles, inventory all defective sparkle beads, etc) and a note stating that there was a snack plate* in the fridge in case the Monks felt ‘peckish.’
*…if one can call grass-clippings and spongy white things on toothpicks ‘snacks’…
However, the Monks from the Unpronounceable Buddhist Monastery were not the slightest bit interested in the Snack Plate; no, they wanted Chinese food from the restaurant across the street. With considerable effort, Sister Madly broke through that language barrier to find that they wanted 8 orders of Steamed Dumplings and 8 orders of Kung Pao Pork, which is slightly incompatible with a ‘strict vegan lifestyle.’
But then, who is she to judge?
There was some hesitation on the part of Victor, who felt that by calling in this order he would be contributing to the corruption of their humble souls. So Sister Madly made the call, and merrily launched the Monks down the path of sin.
It turned out that the Monks were no strangers to transgression: not only were they avid fans of meat -pork, no less- they also had email, a cell phone each, played a wicked game of ping pong,* and would routinely break from Sand Mandala-ing to challenge the kids on the street to skateboard races (albeit through an interpreter.)
*And billiards. And badminton. And volleyball. It was quite unfair, really.
Yes, when Management’s away, the Monks will play. They released Sinner from the basement, fed him massive amounts of pork, and took an immediate- if not unfortunate- liking the Miami Vice soundtrack. But the highlight of this monastic skullduggery was the moment Sister Madly broke out the ultimate forbidden fruit:
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said that music is the universal language of mankind; yet there is another phenomenon that transcends all cultures and dialects: the wide-eyed, giddy wonder of experiencing Pop Rocks for the very first time, and the numbing bliss that immediately follows.
The highest happiness.
A state of perfect serenity.
MADEIRA LAMB STEW
- 1 onion, chopped
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- baby carrots
- baby potatoes, cubed
- cipollini or pearl onions, peeled
- 1 lb lamb, cubed
- 1 cup Madeira wine, divided (1/4 cup + remaining)
- 4 cups beef or lamb stock
- 2 bay leaves
- 1 tbsp thyme
- 2 tsp rosemary
- 2 tbsp Worcestershire
- 1 tbsp Dijon
- salt and pepper, to taste
In Dutch oven, brown lamb on all sides; set aside
Saute chopped onion until translucent, adding oil if needed; 5 min
Add garlic and carrots; saute 3-5 min
Add bay leaves, rosemary, and thyme; saute until fragrant; 30 secs
Deglaze with 1/4 cup Madeira wine; bring to a simmer
Add lamb, potatoes, cipollinis, and mushrooms; stir until coated
Add stock, Worcestershire, and remaining wine; bring to a boil
Reduce heat; cover
Simmer, stirring occasionally, until meat and veggies are tender; 1-1.5 hours
Uncover; simmer to reduce and thicken (if desired)
Add Dijon; mix thoroughly
Remove bay leaves before serving
THEME SONG: Happy Together, the Turtles
When she was young, Sister Madly thought her looks were ordinary; she couldn’t understand how people even recognized her. There was nothing special about her hair or her eyes, she was short, and her nose was simply there- in other words, she was that typical, run-of-the-mill moppet that couldn’t be distinguished from any other.
In fact, her looks so ordinary, it practically made her invisible.*
* She could, however, throw a tantrum of epic proportions, which would render her invisibility temporarily null and void.
Now invisibility had its perks: she could make faces at passing strangers, not eat her vegetables, even get away with murder (once she figured out what murder was and why she would want to get away with it) all without consequence. Of course, Sister Madly would grow up being overlooked and trampled underfoot, a plight for which her mother must have some secret sympathy, enough at least to compel her to buy her daughter the mercury she’d been begging for the past week.
At is turned out, her mother hadn’t much sympathy at all, which left Sister Madly sulking in the basement with a coloring book and not an ounce of mercury to her name (nor a hammer- one simply cannot play with mercury without a hammer!) She wasn’t completely heartless, though, as she invited Serafina over in hopes of cheering Sister Madly out of her no-mercury funk.
After getting the Hula Hoop stuck in a tree yet again (a favorite pastime in the Madliverse*) the girls wandered down to the corner party store for candy cigarettes, which naturally resulted in the two deciding to cut their own hair. Serafina’s decimated lock ended up being easily tucked behind her ear, but Sister Madly’s- well, her lock stuck straight up in the back, much like the fuse on a cartoon bomb.
* Not so much for the Pater Madly, who had to retrieve said Hula Hoop.
The impromptu makeover was not a particular blow to her vanity, as Sister Madly lacked a certain awareness at that age. Surely the Mater Madly would agree that this ‘new do’ was an improvement, as Sister Madly was sporting a rather unflattering pixie cut* at the time.
* Aka, a ‘Dorothy Hamill,’ named after the only individual on the planet who could pull off such a style.
As it turned out, the ‘new do’ was as subtle as a brick through the window. There was a lengthy lecture that evening, during which the Parental Madlys explained exactly why they didn’t want their daughter personally modifying her pint-sized physique: she could harm herself, it wasn’t a necessity in order to survive, and heaven knows she wasn’t doing it for a worthy cause. It would grow back, sure, it was only hair- but it was only hair this time. They didn’t want to know what would happen next time, and sought to discourage further experimentation before Sister Madly emerged from the basement one Sunday afternoon with various piercings and badly executed tattoos.
The Mater Madly was particularly frustrated: not only were Sister Madly’s class pictures upcoming, she was also to be in her cousin’s wedding the following weekend.
Still, Sister Madly didn’t see why they made such a fuss; she was invisible, after all. Had her mother been in a slightly less end-of-the-world frame of mind, Sister Madly would have pointed out the likelihood of her pictures turning out blank- it is impossible to photograph the invisible, that’s just common sense. She also would’ve suggested that Tallulah take her place in the wedding- Sister Madly wasn’t exactly sure what a wedding was or its purpose, but her mother made it sound important, and her cousin would probably want a flower girl who could be photographed.
About a week after the wedding, the pictures revealed something rather shocking: Sister Madly was clearly visible in the photos, right down to the wispy, fuse-of-the-bomb hairdo. While initially perplexed by this development, the answer was suddenly so obvious that she felt silly for not recognizing it: Sister Madly, you see, was invisible to the world, not to herself. Therefore, just as she could see herself in a mirror, she would be able to see herself in a photo. No doubt her class picture would reflect the same.
This is the rationale that has sustained her into adulthood. Logic is a dying art.
CURRIED SUMAC PULLED CHICKEN
- Ghee/Oil for sauteing
- 1 1/2- 2 cups chicken stock
- 6 boneless chicken thighs, whole
- 2 sweet onions, sliced
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 2 tsp dried parsley
- 2 tsp curry powder (used Japanese Curry)
- 1½ – 2 tsp Harissa
- 1½ tsp smoked paprika
- 1 tsp sumac
- 1 tsp cardamom
- 1 tsp cinnamon
- salt to taste
Saute onions until caramelized; 45-50 minutes
Add garlic; saute 3 minutes
Add spices; saute 30 secs
Add chicken; stir to coat
Add stock; bring to a boil
Reduce heat; simmer 20 minutes
Shredded chicken w/2 forks in sauce
Simmer to reduce/thicken (if needed)
Let stand 2 minutes; serve
THEME SONG: Invisible, U2
Image 4.) Anna Spencer Photography
Is not to Seek Love,
But to Face the Barriers
You have Built
~ Rumi (paraphrased)
2.) Gerald Robinson Photography
3.) Brian Stevens
Now Sister Madly knows better than to believe every rumor that crosses her path; otherwise, she would be locked in the pantry, wailing in sackcloth over the fact that the world did not end in 2012. However, when the Professor cited an article that claimed Stilton Cheese has been known to induce dreams, she was most intrigued.
The idea of vivid dreams was like catnip to the starry-eyed moppet, as her sleep has been rather dreary as of late: even Rambunctious Shadow Kitty has been tame these last few weeks. A dream of epic proportions would be a welcome change to the recent nights of intermittent insomnia: dreams of travel, of sparkly things, of encounters with legendary creatures- anything that deviated from the current ritual of staring up at the ceiling fan at 3 AM would be greatly appreciated.
There was, of course, the possibility that she would end up with equally vivid nightmares, in which case Sister Madly would spend the rest of the night with her eyes propped open with toothpicks.
But that is the risk one assumes when dabbling with Stilton Cheese.*
* Along with the most atrocious morning breath. Indeed, it is not a Cheese of Romance.
So to ensure a night of unparalleled adventures in slumberland, Sister Madly decided to hit up the local Stilton-Dealing demimonde: the neighborhood grocer.
It’s quite sci-fi, really, the way the supermarket doors slide apart before her. She has long-since perfected her majestic stride, parading in and out of the market like a demented Grand Vizier- until that afternoon, that is, when the doors slid apart with all the speed and enthusiasm of continental drift.
Which Sister Madly failed to notice until it was all too late.
After the usual bout of stars and bluebirds circling about her head, the first thing she saw was a pair of bacon socks and bear claw slippers standing before her. Further on up, the celestial vision gave way to the wool skirt and orange poncho of the jolly transient who collects bottles from bins and feeds granola to the pigeons. He was particularly chipper that day, having just heard of a possible 5¢ bottle deposit increase, and was eager to tell Sister Madly all about it.
He then mentioned that the doors were defective as of late, and she should take care when challenging their position.
Once inside, she made her way over to the cheese counter, where she effectively avoided all staff due to the glossy ‘don’t even try talking to me’ veneer inherent in all feral Sister Madly’s. Unfortunately, the market was rather limited on their selection of Stilton; but then, certain American proprietors are rather skittish when it comes to unconventional cheeses.*
* Especially in regards to that cheese infested with maggots– seriously, Italy, that is so uncool.
While the cutesy little sign recommended a cheeky wine pairing for foodies and romantics alike, there was no advice on protocol for inducing dreams (how unthoughtful!) Apparently, dream-seekers were completely on their own when pursuing a round of nocturnal adventures.
And yet, this revelation was nothing compared to the terror Sister Madly endured when confronted by the mother of all social horrors:
The self-checkout was gone.
There is a reason that the gods created self-checkout, just as they created texting, single-passenger cars, and carrier pigeons: to pass their divine blessing upon lovely, antisocial behavior.
You know what this means, don’t you? Sister Madly has to talk to people!
And she has to talk to them about a wedge of stinky cheese.
Now this was a high-risk scenario: would the cashier deny Sister Madly this cheese knowing she was using it for recreational purposes? Were there guidelines on how to consume this delicacy for maximum dream lucidity? Is she allowed crackers? Cured meats? Some people put Stilton in a port wine sauce; however, Sister Madly wasn’t too keen on the idea of drinking her cheese- that all but guaranteed unforgivable nightmares. And what about the rind? Was there a certain magic contained within that outer layer?
But these questions answered themselves when Sister Madly woke the next morning, all tangled in bed sheets and with the world’s most terrifying bed-head.
There had been a dream, all right, one of a plucky Sister Madly sticking pins in ginger root as though it was a voodoo doll, all the while singing ‘All I Have to Do is Dream’ to her pet pinecone (affectionately named, ‘Pinecone.’) There was a vague awareness that the constellation Sagittarius was being held hostage by a man named Doug, but this was of no consequence as Sister Madly was a Gemini.
In other words, your run-of-the-mill dream. So disappointing.
TUNISIAN VEGETABLE SOUP
- 1 onion, chopped
- 3 garlic gloves, minced
- 8 oz. mushrooms, quartered
- Sweet potato, cubed
- Rainbow carrots, chopped
- Celery, sliced
- 1 cup pearl couscous, uncooked (opt)
- 6-8 cups vegetable stock
- 2 tbsp tomato paste
- 1-2 tbsp Harissa, to taste
- 1 tbsp Ras el Hanout
- 1 tbsp coriander
- 2 tsp cumin
- 1 tsp sumac
- 1/2 tsp ginger
- 1/2 tsp turmeric
- 1/4 tsp cardamom powder
- 1/4 cinnamon powder
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- Oil, for sauteing
Saute onion and garlic until translucent; 5-8 min
Add carrots and celery; saute 3-5 min
Add spices, tomato paste, and harissa; mix
Add potatoes and mushrooms; stir to coat
Add stock and bring to a boil
Reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 25-30 min, stirring occasionally
Add couscous (if using)
Cover and simmer until couscous is cooked; 8-10 min
THEME SONG: All I Have to Do is Dream, Everly Brothers
All that is Gold
Does Not Glitter
Not All Those Who Wander
Are Lost ~
The Old that is Strong
Does not Wither
Deep Roots are Not Reached
By the Frost.
~ J.R.R. Tolkien
All Images: Pinterest