I have been thinking a lot about what I could make for Valentine’s Day. And then I thought about what a good date would be for that Day. My wife loves to cook as much as I do, so I figured out something we could make together.

The nice thing about this meal is that it is very very easy to make, so regardless of your or your date’s skill, this is something you can do together. Each course is quick, too. You can take your time if your date goes really well, and even make a course after it goes down if you know what I mean.

What you need:

Small fillet of Salmon
White Wine
1 White Onion
Dill
Lemon Juice
2 Waxy Potatoes
Chives
Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Carrot
Salt
Pepper
Creme Fraiche
Capers
Fresh Chives
Vegetable oil
Pommergrante juice
Mint
Sweet potatoes
Butter
Mittersweat chocolate

Poached Salmon on Crispy Potatoes

Cook the Salmon.
1. Lightly season the salmon with salt and pepper
2. Mix about 1/2 cup of wine and 1/2 cup water, dill and lemon juice in a large skillet. Julliene 1/2 the onion and simmer it all
3. Poach the salmon skin side down for about 5 minutes
4. Remove from the pan and dry
5. Flake the fish, saving the skin
6. Cool salmon in fridge

Get fancy with the skin. (optional- thanks mentos)
1. Place skin under broiler until crispy

Make the potatoes.
1. Peel 2 potatoes
2. Shred potatoes with food processor or box grater
3. Shred 1/2 onion
4. Combine and place inbetween several sheets of paper towels with a weight on it
5. Season mixtures
6. Press out into small, thin rounds
7. Fry in Vegetable oil until golden brown
8. Place on rack to cool and drain

Garnish (optional)
1.Shred carrot

Plate
1. Combine salmon and creme fraiche in a bowl
2. Add chopped chives and salt and pepper
3. Place a spoonful on your potatoes
4. Top with crispy skin
5. Add garnish
6. Fancy that shit up. (I had some truffle salt, so it went on the carrots.)

Lamb with sweet potato mash and mint-pomegranate sauce

Bake sweet potatoes.
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees
2. Put a bunch of holes in sweet potatoes
3. Bake potatoes for 45 minutes to one hour (This is the longest step in the whole meal.)
4. Cut sweet potatoes in half
5. Mash with butter (or use a ricer)

Prepare the lamb.
1. Clean the rack (if nesecary)
2. Season the lamb
3. Place lamb in fridge (Typically this is a bad idea but the rack is so small that I don’t want it to cook while it’s searing)

Sear the lamb.
1. In a hot pan add a bit of olive oil and sear the rack of lamb
2. Rest on a rack
3. Pre-heat oven to 200 degrees

Reduce the sauce.
1. Add some mint to the pommergrante juice
2. Reduce in small saucepan until desired thickness

Finish the lamb.
1. Roast lamb in oven until it hits 125 degrees internally (20-30 minutes)
2. Rest (5-10 minutes)

Plate
1. Carve lamb.
2. Put that onto something to eat it with duh what do you think plate means

Dessert poppers with Ginger Ice Cream

Clean the peppers (wear gloves! i know real men don’t use gloves, but this is supposed to be a night of romance not terrible burning).
1. Cut slits into peppers.
2. Remove seeds and membrane.

Melt chocolate.
1. Set small saucepan with a bit of water to boil
2. Turn off heat at boil.
3. Place chocolate in stainless steel bowl
4. Wait for melting

Stuff peppers.
1. Fill peppers with ice cream

Coat peppres
1. Coat in chocolate, and put in freezer to cool (not too long, or the peppers will freeze)

Plate
1. Put on plate.

It’s pretty easy. I don’t have the process pictures with me, but I can get them if anyone has any questions.

What the flying fuck happened to the holidays? It couldn’t have always been like this. I can’t say from experience because I can only really remember the last 10 and faintly remember the 10 before that, and they suck. They ALWAYS suck.

Take the mall, for instance. Have you seen the crowds? Have you had to wait in long lines? That thing you wanted to buy for that person who you don’t really know but you have to buy something because you just KNOW that they are going to buy something for you was sold out? Was the parking a nightmare? Fuck you. Guess what? You are part of the goddamn problem.

You, the people that go to the mall every year and spend spend spend spend spend, the people that look for gifts based on a minimum price point, the people that get pissed off at everyone else doing the EXACT SAME THING as you are doing (and don’t worry they fucking HATE you, too), the people that try to out-do each other every year with extravagance, the people that wait in line before a store opens, you. You raise the ante every year. You drive the fervor. You are what is wrong with the whole idea of giving because with this constant, salivating drive you make it terrible. It’s never, ever about giving. Never. No matter what you tell yourself or tell others about how ’tis better to give’ it’s a goddamn lie. If it’s really better to give, then why is there a “From:” line on those fancy handmade-look-alike labels you bought from a place that sells FANCY PAPER. If you really think it’s that much better to give, return everything you bought last July (I know, I know, you got ALL of your shopping done in July. Yes we all heard. No, really. It was important that you told me every time we saw a commercial for products or went by a place that sold anything), take that money you got back, and take a day off work and go ladle soup into a bowl for the homeless. Go man a TOYS for TOTS drop off point. Hang out in a grocery store supermarket parking lot and help old people with their stuff. -Yes, old people DO go to the supermarket. They go during the day because when you rush home and make a quick stop there to grab dinner, old people don’t have the reaction time to get the fuck out of your way- Just do something other than jerking off your ego.

Here is an idea. Go back into that fancy paper store and buy a box of holiday cards. A blank box of cards. Then go somewhere else and buy a pen. Use a bic if you want. Sit down, and write in them. Don’t type in them. Draw in them. Don’t tape print outs in them. Spend some time thinking about what you are doing. I bet you there won’t be any lines.

Change is usually something that is difficult to really see as it is happening. Change, in government, takes years and years, baby step after baby step. This time, it’s changing. The whole world can see it, we can see it, I can see it.

Change like this doesn’t happen very often, for good reason. People, especially here are too fat and too lazy to do a goddamn thing about anything, unless their cable goes out or their cellphone stops working. Then, my god, people will fucking riot if they can’t watch that rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond, or SO YOU THINK YOU CAN BE AN AMERICAN IDOL’S GOT TALENT SIMPLE LIFE. Or Fox “NEWS”.

Change happens for a reason, and when dramatic change occurs, the reason must be dramatic. And it really has. In retrospect, it’s taken a lot to get someone like me to even take notice. I don’t give a fuck about anything that’s not outside my arm’s reach, and now I am squished into a packed plane on my way to the Democratic National Convention, next to my wife and a stranger. She fights off the struggle of sleep, but she will lose this battle, because she sips on her cranberry juice with a little bit of grownup in it.

The reason for all of this is dissatisfaction. I am actually upset enough to do something about it. Even me doing something is me flying out on someone’s dime to be a part of it.  And a part of it I will be.

There will be no pictures of me at the DNC. The reason? I am going to be kicking it with Secret Service Agents. I can’t really elaborate here, but it’s SICK.

I don’t really know what to expect from this, but it’s odd to actually feel motivated about something that doesn’t benefit me in any real, immediate way.

Oh, and can I talk a little bit about Hillary Clinton? I just don’t get it. The only way that the Democrats could lose this election is to have a tough party fight and split and pout and be little kids. Getting yourself on the nomination ticket after you lost is childish. Releasing your delegates during the convention? Back and under-handed. I can understand people being upset that they didn’t pick the winner at the start. Really. But is it really worth it to give it to McCain just so you can say “I WAS RIGHT”? It’s not, and you give them a chance to take it all away.

One last thing: If anyone actually reads this, and tries to figure out WHY I get to kick it with Secret Service Agents, don’t be a dick about it. People’s lives are actually at stake, and careers, too. Don’t try to guess. Just let it go.

I fucking hate a lot of things, but coming in at number one, with a bullet: fat people. I can really hate them for a laundry list of reasons, but I am pretty sure that I would hate them even if I had no specific reason to do so, other than the fact that they were fat.

I’m not talking about overweight people, or big boned, or natural or whatever the fuck is the PC term for fat but not disgusting. I’m talking about the fat assholes who shop and Wal-Mart, because they can’t find a faux-leopard skin spaghetti strapped belly shirt in quadruple-X size anywhere else, or some lame faux-ironic T shirt with a normal, on any, regular sized shirt, small faux-witty saying from something topical from the Internet, but since it’s a on fucking sail sized piece of fabric, the letters are stretched out over a glorious rack of man tits, so elongated and wide, just as you would picture how the words would be printed over their heads in a word bubble if life was a comic book. I’m talking about these people. The ones that would be a waste of a regular sized person’s space. And, since they are so goddamn huge, they are wasting the space of three or even four people, and one of those people, smothered, trapped, and suffocated under some hard to reach, harder to clean roll of flab and sweat and grime and grease, one of those people must be productive, and what do they have to show for it? Constant shade and a rash?

I’m talking about the people you see, the ones that you can’t help but look at, out of the side of your eye, while you absently paw at whomever you are with, and hope they see it too so you can all have a laugh and go and buy sexy clothes. The people that are so fat it seems like they are trying to get away from themselves, in slow moving glaciers of mashed potatoes and microwave sausage, wrapped all up in skin so tight and thin and smooth it’s like some kind of organic (not green organic but homegrown) - but not vegan  - condom.

I am talking about the ones that work up a sweat riding a scooter around, lest they put some strain on their body to bear the beast they have become, and the scooter creaks and groans and flexes somehow bending but not breaking and getting these disgusting pigs from Burger King to Taco Bell to whatever place in the mall’s food court has the ‘good desserts’. Oh but don’t forget the Diet Coke. It just tastes better.

Just think of how sad your life has become if a major turning point in it is finding you have the will power to make that painful, life changing switch, from Coke to Diet Coke, and buying the healthy frozen dinners, the ones with the oh so small portions but I guess I can eat two or three right it’s healthy flash frozen Salisbury steak with mushroom gravy and mashed potatoes and some bullshit two bite cranberry cobbler. The nerve of those fuckers at the food company. Where the goddamn flying fuck are the chocolate covered apples fuck this cranberries. CRANBERRIES. Oh, look the same company also makes chocolate bars. More healthy food for me, thanks! Thank the Lord Almighty that my fat husband bought a shelf for the microwave that’s low enough that I don’t even have to get up from my scooter to make some food, and lo and behold! It’s within reach of the toilet. Thank God this trailer is so quaint.

I have just two things I would like to address real quick before I go to sleep, and I’m looking at you Illinois drivers. Now, I come from the land of asshole drivers, namely New England, but I think I’m just really accustomed to the insanity of the various Massachusetts speedways. That being said, I’d like talk about two topics that seem to have been skipped in Illinois driving schools:

1. Firstly, it is illegal for me to run a red light. Let me repeat that. It is illegal for me to run a red light. Got it? That means that for the first half second between when the light turns from red to green, it is perfectly normal for someone to not already be moving. So, lay off the fucking horn as soon as the light turns green! Seriously people, I have seen that the light has turned green, I have registered this, and now I’m starting to take my foot off the brake, then HOOOOONK! If you’re in that much of a rush run the damn light on your own. I’m not prepared to move out into traffic because I didn’t join into your lights-about-to-change-pregame-party. Calm the fuck down.
2. Speaking of moving into traffic, here’s something else I’d like you to stop doing. Do you know what a stop-line is? Do you, really? Here’s the idea behind a stop-line. When you come to a red-light there is a line, which you are supposed to stop behind. They call this the stop-line. Now, when you’re at the light, fucking stop. See, besides not getting creamed by passing traffic, you might actually let me, the guy to your right who wants to make a right-on-red, see whether or not it is clear for me to turn. If you thought old-lead-foot behind me was pissed that I wasn’t running a red light, try explaining to him that you’re blocking my line of site so I’m doing the responsible thing and waiting for a green light so I can make my right with confidence. So please, stop at the damn line. Oh, and don’t creep over it, either, ’cause what’s the damn point?

I’m gonna go 100% speculative and blame coffee and energy drinks, ’cause why not?

I am at work right now (there is a reason I don’t deserve a raise). I’m sitting at my desk, in the office that I have all to myself, with torture devices files to my left, tea in my hand, and my iPod in my ear. I can almost imagine my brother’s picture smiling with me when some heavy Shai Hulud comes on.

It occurs to me that any coworkers who happen to notice the iPod will likely assume I’m listening to some Paris Hilton girly pop songs. Those of you who know Shai Hulud will see how ridiculous this mental picture is. Those of you that don’t, well, picture this:

You work in a very small office (5 people total). You and the other three people have been there for years, but in February, you decided to hire someone to enter all the files into the database. This girl is quiet and shy. She generally only responds to conversation, never initiates. Today, she is wearing a fluffy skirt and her hair down. When you bid her a good morning, she turns and, with a sweet little smile, squeaks out the same to you. You happen to notice she’s listening to her iPod.

Now, think about Shai Hulud. If you don’t know them, think of heavy guitar, fast bass, and the singer screaming, “I’m prepared to fight humanity every day FOR THE REST OF MY LIIIIIIFE!”

I had Shai Hulud on during my morning commute, and was happily singing along to A Profound Hatred of Man. Cheerful, upbeat, childlike me was singing/screaming at the top of my lungs, “If these hands could only kill, I’d cleanse the world with IT’S OWN BLOOOOOD!” Good morning, Massachusetts.

I just think it’s a funny that people think I’m so boring innocent and naive. People, I am not.

There’s no doubt that the one recurring theme in today’s America is obesity speed. Everything has to be fast: fast cars, fast service, fast sex food. People are always in a rush, even when they have nowhere to be (I’ve admittely been guilty of such). We exceed the speed limit, tailgate, get angry when our waitress forgot something small and has to run back to the kitchen to get it, complain loudly when our meal takes more than ten minutes, and make those annoyed sighing sounds when someone takes too long to pay for their groceries and holds up the line all of four seconds. Look, lady, I don’t care if you’re seventy and have a broken leg but still have to take care of your ailing husband and your granddaughter’s year old love child — I GOT SHIT TO DO!

Okay, so I might be exaggerating. A little. Maybe…. or maybe not at all. Either way, food and driving and such are not the only things that are moving too fast for my tastes. There are also the big Rs.

RELATIONSHIPS.

Remember back in the sixties? Women used to wear those stupid poodle skirts and short-sleeved sweaters (who ever invented those ridiculous things?), and guys used to slick back their hair and dress nice.

Back then, people used to do this thing called dating. I know that may sound kind of foreign to some of you, but listen here: it exists! No, no, it’s not the same as “going out” — going out suggests an exclusive relationship. See, dating is just what it sounds like - going on dates! You go on dates, get to know each other, and then decide if you want to begin an actual relationship.

Yes, yes, I realize that sounds old fashioned and boring. But let me tell you — it’s a lot easier to stop seeing someone you’re not interested in if you’re just dating, as opposed to having to go through the break-up process. Easier and less emotionally messy.

All I’m saying is slow the hell down, people. There’s absolutely no reason to leap headfirst into a relationship with someone you hardly know just because you “kinda had fun together that one time.” I’m just saying it’s a little quick to go out once, then talk about moving in together and all the children you’ll have and where you’ll live and what the wedding will be like.

Puke sequence activated.

What ever happened to talking the time to get to know someone? To enjoy their company for a while before putting all the pressure of a relationship on the two of you? I happen to find that taking things slow makes me like a person so much more than if we jump right into it (in all honesty, if things move that fast, I often lose interest). A little mystery adds an element of excitement to everything! Not knowing when you’ll see each other next adds a bit of sweet longing for that next meeting!

Does anyone follow me? At all?

Eh, screw you guys. I like this whole dating deal; you all are just whores.

There are a million words or phrases you could use to complete that sentence: shit, being alive, death, art, makin’ babies, consciousness, yadda yadda. I wrote today that I think life is “just a series of let-downs combined with a perpetual hope that the future will bring something better.”

If you think about it, doesn’t that make sense? Especially for 20-somethings in lower middle class suburban New England like myself. Got a new job that it turns out you hate? No worries, you’ll get a better one eventually. Really like someone but find out it’s pretty unlikely you’ll ever have them? Oh, whatever, someone better will come along.

Is this existence? Is this really what it’s supposed to be? You just constantly strive for better things, better jobs, better boyfriends or girlfriends? Then what, you have kids and strive for better things and lives for them?

I’m not sure I see the point in any of it. What if there isn’t anything after this life? If there’s nothing to look forward to, why bother with anything at all?

What if there is something after this? Is it just a pointless circle that you go around and around forever and ever? Or is it like Buddhism’s Nirvana, which you only get into after you have perfected your soul throughout your many reincarnations?

If there’s an ultimate goal… what’s next? What comes after that?

I guess I’m having a mini-existential crisis. I’ve had a real one before, and let me tell you, that was not a good time. I’m pretty sure that’s why people commit suicide.

Have you ever seen the early evening, post-rain glow of a cloudy sky? The kind that only happens in the summer? That light makes me feel lonely and nostalgic, but it’s not really a bad feeling. I’m calm and relaxed, and I don’t mind being alone, but it makes me yearn for all the things and people I’ve lost. The people others have lost. What kind of life is this, where we just lose those we love and move on?

I can see my brother’s picture on my nightstand, and I can almost hear him trying to reason out answers to some of my questions. I know by the end of it, I’d have my hope renewed all over again, and wouldn’t have another dive into the world of Nihilism for a couple months. He was always good at that.

I do apologize for the dismal post.  And at the same time, I don’t care.