More Joys Of Not Cooking

We all know I don’t cook. Not cooking is not as easy as you might think. I have had to perfect, over many years, certain skills to maintain the level of non-cooking expertise I have achieved. Number one on the list is avoidance of potentially dangerous cooking-related environments. Like the kitchen. Avoidance is an under-rated skill, in my opinion. You can’t take avoidance for granted, because certain feelings can try to override avoidance. Like hunger. Hunger can lure you into the kitchen, because, obviously, that’s where the food is. I try to stash emergency rations in other places. I find this helps to maintain avoidance.

The next important place to avoid is the pantry. While I try to maintain my avoidance techniques here, it is somewhat challenging, due to the possible hunger issue again. So I have come up with a rather unique solution: keep a fully stocked pantry by never examining the expiration dates of anything in it. I’m currently taking a run at the Guinness Book of Records on the oldest item in a pantry. I believe I have a shot at it. My husband found a can of Campbell’s Tomato soup that had an expiration date of 1987. Last year. He felt it would qualify. Today, I was driven by hunger to go into the pantry. There were a number of promising items, one of which was a can of herring in cream sauce. I turned it over. Expired in 2004. Not even close to my Tomato soup contender.

Just to point out how advanced my avoidance skills are, we bought this house in 2006. That means I had to have packed these items from my old pantry and brought them with me. And paid movers to do that.

My husband says he saw expiration dates in Roman numerals when he first moved in. And a milk carton that said “Lindberg made it”. But he exaggerates. I have yet to find anything pre 1987. But who knows? For those of you new to the joys of not cooking, these skills take years to cultivate. But with discipline and determination, you too can achieve the undying gratitude of restaurants and take-out businesses everywhere. Just hang in there.

Another Big Shipment

I ordered more Barite from Peru, given how amazing it is. I received a huge shipment yesterday, with Barite on Galena, Barite on gem quality Sphalerite, Barite on Rhodocrosite, Barite with very rare Hubnerite, wow. I also got in some spectacular pieces of Tetrahedrites. Those are stunning. A few more Sphalerites on Pyrite. These are all museum quality Mineral specimens, and all of them are the Sulfides, the Alchemists, in Taoist tradition. Beyond powerful. As soon as I can get my sweetie to photograph them I’ll start listing them. I’m still waiting for the next shipment of Realgar to get here from Peru. Could Peru be any slower in shipping? Jeez. Another lesson in patience. Note to self: I suck at patience.

My Hair

imageIt’s summertime. Now, I know that for most people, summer is a season of barbeque’s, swimming, outdoor fun… Ha. Summer is my least favorite season for one reason: humidity. See, I have very long, naturally curly hair. We’re talking crazy hair. Over the course of my life, and remember, I grew up in the sixties, I envied all of my hippie friends with their Age of Aquarius stick straight hair down to their asses with flowers in it. If I had tried to put a flower in my hair, it would have disappeared. I could have probably put an entire Rosebush in it and it would have been sucked into the black hole of insanity growing out of my head. I have what is currently called “ethnic hair.” My father’s side of the family came from Russia. They are Russian Jews. My mother’s side of the family are a mix of Irish and French. So I have 2 brothers with straight hair, crystal blue eyes, freckles, and dimples like craters. I got the dark brown eyes and Jewish hair that if left to it’s own devices makes me look like Albert Einstein. On a bad day. Which brings me to humidity.

My hair and I have come to an understanding. I no longer attempt to control it with blow dryers, hot rollers, straightening products… No. Absolutely useless. My hair, at the first hint of humidity, bursts, not into flames, but into frizz, accompanied by maniacal laughter that only I can hear. And not just moderate, annoying frizz. We’re talking a kind of frizz that makes me look like I have survived the electric chair. During the Fall, Winter, and Spring, with that glorious low humidity factor, I have a chance for temporary detente with my hair. But summer? My hair turns feral. It seems to breathe, shifting and moving on it’s own, with it’s own agenda. The long ropes of curls are like snakes, so I end up having a kind of Medusa thing going on. I happen to love snakes, and I love the Medusa, but, jeez. Turning into a Gorgon every summer is annoying.

Some friends have tried to be helpful, suggesting I should cut it. Oh, my God. I would then have no way to contain it. I tried that once. Once was enough. It has enough stubbornness and power to stand straight out of my head, like the Sun’s corona in a bad mood. No. No. No.

So here we are, my hair and I. It’s the end of July. I figure it’s got about 6 weeks left to torture me. I leave it alone, curly and wild and free during this season. The only time I brush it out is right before I get in the shower to wash it. I have to, or I would have dreadlocks before you could say Bob Marley. I just tried brushing it out. I can’t find the brush. I think it ate it. Praying for September to get here.