Well, I guess that's it.

Looks like everything's set for the final move; by the end of the day, this blog will be available in its entirety at http://www.mortalandpester.com. I will no longer update posts here, but if you typically find your way to my blog through Twitter or Facebook, you should have no trouble finding your way there in the future.

Mortal & Pester will be the blog's new name, but all old posts will be found under the category "Properly Inappropriate," and they will still be available here, but you won't be able to post comments to them from here anymore.

Must. Not. Smash. Computer.

I'm in the process of moving this blog to my own domain. It may undergo a name change, but the content will be much the same as it has been all along.

Mostly, though, this moving business is a huge pain in the butt.

Confession: I am a lazy cook.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I've been known to come up with a few meals that might be considered "semi-homemade," but unlike Sandra Lee's, they're edible, appetizing, and occasionally even sort of good for you. For example, my chili recipe consists of ground meat cooked with pre-mixed chili seasoning, canned beans of several varieties, and a jar or two of salsa.

I've made my own curry for quite some time, based on my mother's recipe, which I suspect is not quite traditional. She starts with a basic white sauce, and adds curry powder, chicken, carrots and potatoes. I first replaced the potatoes with canned mixed stir-fry vegetables, and later replaced the white sauce with coconut milk. I guess I've sort of taken my mother's faux-Indian recipe and made it more faux-Thai, which is interesting, because I've become really fond of Thai food lately.

So fond, in fact, that my latest 'semi-homemade' dish was an attempt to recreate my favorite Thai appetizer: chicken satay. I bought a jar of peanut satay sauce, which was used as both a marinade for the chicken and a dipping sauce to be served with it. The finished result was, surprisingly, just as good as any satay I've had from even my favorite Thai restaurant. Most of my attempts to recreate dishes are fairly decent, and some are even quite tasty, but none so far have been nearly so satisfying!

I do tend to make more things from scratch -- particularly baked goods -- than I do from prepared foods, thankfully, so I don't feel too much like I'm stealing drunk Aunt Sandy's schtick. Oh, that's the other thing: also unlike Sandra Lee, I tend to hold off on the cocktails until at least after dinner is prepared and on the table. And I don't match my outfit to my kitchen curtains, because that would be creepy.

Decisions, decisions.

So, I have someplace I plan to be on Friday, February 19th.

Adam Ezra Group are playing in Portland, and I'm excited to get to hang with them again. However (there's always a however, isn't there?) there is a two-day monthly bartender training course in Portland, and the February session is, of course, scheduled for the 19th, 6-10pm and the 20th, 10am-4pm. I really want to get some bartending training under my belt. I feel like it would be really helpful in getting me a job that would mesh with the hours I'm available to work.

But I really want to go to that concert.

I'm exploring other options. This two-day course is $150, but there are more extensive (and expensive) courses available, if I'm willing to travel to Boston. I'm also awaiting information from ROC United, which offers free training in a number of restaurant-related areas, bartending among them. Or, I could just wait a month, and register for the March session of the same training course that's threatening to thwart my good time.

I may have to make a responsible but undesirable decision, but luckily, I don't have to make it today.

New look, new start?

Well, the blog is getting a new look, at least. I, on the other hand, am still getting used to having black hair instead of purple, even though it's been a month now, and I'm not really ready to step out of my comfort zone within my wardrobe, which consists of so much black and gray that I really ought to be in a band or something.

I'm not really sure that there are any new starts happening; at least, no sweeping changes. I'm working on some things, like getting health care coverage so that I can get back on a few vital medications, and finding a night job so that I can have a positive cash flow again now that I'm completely tapped.

I'm also, on a larger scale, trying to figure out what I want to do and who I want to be, now that I know and love who I am. I have vague senses and even certainties of things: I've always wanted to be a mom, and that will probably never change (whether or not I ever actually manage to ditch my little sister long enough to miraculously find someone to have sex -- let alone a long-term, meaningful relationship -- with, again in my lifetime) and I am beginning to get the ever-more distinct impression that my future will include music, in some rather important way.

Beyond that, there is so much left to shape and decide that it tends to get a bit overwhelming, but at the same time I'm eager to move on and get started. It's hard to remember to take baby steps, even when I'm terrified to budge.

I am a goldfish.

This blog post has been sitting unfinished for a couple of weeks, gathering dust and the odd sentence here and there as I would return to poke at it with the intention of completing and posting it. Invariably, some distraction or other would come up, be it my father bellowing my name to ask a question I have answered three times already in the same day, or something entirely too shiny or fun for my own good which demanded my immediate attention.

A few weeks ago, I had the unimaginable good fortune to be invited to an apparently rather exclusive party at a typically still-more-exclusive room at a club in Boston. We're talking the kind of place I could never afford to go to on my own: the Foundation Room at the House of Blues. I heard it costs something like $8k for a one-year membership to get into this room on a regular basis, and when you walk in, you can see why.

The room itself is impressive to look at. Lavishly decorated, it has booths set back into the walls like little dens of opulence, and cushioned sofas and ottomans scattered around coffee tables where people can enjoy a leisurely drink or meal. It also boasts richly colored carpeting on the walls in bold geometric patterns, and Oriental carpets covering the floors. Paintings and sculptures fill the empty spaces on the carpeted walls, and across from the moderately overpriced bar is a fireplace and a marble bench.

Adam described the place as swanky; he was not wrong.

The room was also filled with an incredible energy, generated by the band's family, friends and supporters, as well as other music lovers, including guests invited by a local Boston radio station, WERS, who hosted the event. The band mingled for a while before playing an extended set which included improvised lyrics about playing a swanky room with carpets on the walls, for a crowd made up of their biggest supporters. I felt honored to be included among that count, and I feel even more honored each time I go to a show only to be greeted warmly, like an old friend.

Clarification

To those with a greater understanding of the situation beyond the initials and allusions: I didn't mean to imply, in my post about what happened with D, that D's previous favorite band wasn't kind to him. Quite the opposite! I know that they were, in fact, exceptionally kind to D, and I know (now) that they were burned by him in much the same way that I was (except that he continued to obsess about them even after he was done using them and hopefully, he will leave me alone.)

What I meant to convey was that as nice and accommodating as the previous band was, the band of his most recent obsession was even more so, presumably due at least in part to their previously-established trust in me, developed through several months of friendship, and in my judgment of character. Hopefully, no ill consequences will befall them as a result of my misplaced extension of friendship and trust.

And now, back to your regularly-scheduled randomness and fangirling. Thanks for bearing with me; this angst-ridden, griping phase of the blog is getting too boring for even me to read.