Nicole's Font of Drivel

Sent out an email to a group, asking them to RSVP to SOMEONE ELSE for a meeting. What's the first--the VERY first--email I get?

If you guessed it was someone trying to RSVP to me, you win.

Every now and again, I get an idea into my head to make something the HARD way, for no other reason than because it seems cool. Last summer, I devoted most of a weekend to making THE ULTIMATE BURGER: homemade buns, homemade ketchup, homemade fries... the works. (It was delicious.)

I have a new project: the making of an authentic cassoulet, a French comfort food involving beans, ingredients not often found in the states, and a good deal of ritual and superstition.

Further details as events warrant.

A guy from work wants me to tutor him in Linux. He offered to pay; and, frankly, I could use the scratch. So, hive mind: what do I charge?

ETA: He agreed to $50/hour without a hitch! Yay!

I will not panic.  It's just programming. I remember programming; I used to be OK at it.

*opens up the iOS SDK*

WHAT FRESH MADNESS IS THIS?!

*panics*

Hooray!  My proposal got approved, so I now have an iPad!

It's not MY iPad, I hasten to add.  It's for research purposes.

Right now, for instance, I am going to research how awesome Distant Suns is. (I already have the app for my iPod touch, so I have a fair idea of what my findings will be.)

Geeky t-shirts? Check. Electronic toys? Check. Lockpicking tools? Check. Must be DefCon time...

Set them. Clear them. Mask them.

They just yelled out of their truck, "You wanna sell that Volvo?" I just went, "Um, no, not really," and they were satisfied with that and drove away. But seriously, wtf? Is there such a market for 16-year-old cars that driving around hoping to stumble on someone with a spare car is a viable business plan?

I would not have put money on this happening before the heat death of the universe, but it's true: SBIRS GEO-1 launched yesterday, and is winging its way into orbit.

Go team SBIRS go! ONWARDS TO GEO-2!

They are a buttload of work. You have to make a special trip to Jon's or Vallarta to get the fresh masa, then another when you realize that--contrary to your most firmly held beliefs--you do not actually have corn husks on hand. Then you have to prepare the masa and the filling (this batch: chicken with leftovers), assemble them (pitting wimpy little corn-husk ties against a tamale full of goo), steam them, fish them out of the steamer, and freeze them, all before you can cart them to work for a week's worth of lunchtime delectation.

Here's the other thing about homemade tamales: they're so worth it.