Lessons I learned while making dinner by myself last night

Knives are sharp!

Related: It's difficult to prep food with your thumb wrapped up in a napkin.

If one dish takes 6 minutes to cook and another one takes 20 minutes, start the 20-minute one first.

If you ever think, "Hey, this could use more garlic," you should probably increase the amount slowly and keep tasting rather than just doubling what you've already put in.

For fellow obsessive-compulsive types: Being diligent about cleaning surfaces that have been touched by raw meat is important. Being diligent about cleaning surfaces that have been touched by dried herbs & washed vegetables is less important and just as time-consuming.

It was described as "mild," I suppose

And here I thought I was a trooper for switching guitars quickly after breaking a string mid-song. I'm pretty sure that a heart attack would slow me down a bit more. Not Buddy Rich (see Rich's face @ 3:00):


(via Death Cab for Cutie's Jason McGerr on Stereogum)

Things the iPhone has eliminated from my life

1. The need to slap my phone against my knee in order to get the screen to show up at full brightness
2. A previous lack of self-righeoustness
3. The "oh crap" moment when I realize I don't know the time and place of my first meeting/event of the day
4. The possibility of buying something in a retail store only to get home and find out that the internet has deemed that product unworthy or overpriced
5. That horrible feeling of being completely disconnected from the outside world while in the bathroom

When the internet works

I don't think I need to tell you ways in which the internet has failed us. We've all got stories, whether it's the crappy medical advice that made your boil worse, or the YouTube comment thread on a 4-year-old's birthday party video that has somehow degraded into a back-and-forth about Hitler.

But for all its hoo-ha and whatnot, the internet occasionally provides something of such great value that it makes me smile (only momentarily, though – you don't want people in the office thinking you're enjoying yourself). Case in point:

I have these pants. Dress pants. The hem had come undone on the right leg (perhaps the left, but that really doesn't matter). While they were not expensive pants, they were neither cheap, and I felt I had not obtained maximum value from them. So I thought I'd take them to a tailor. Trouble is, it's not 1950 and I have no idea where to find a respectable tailor.

So I hop on yelp.com and lo and behold, there's a tailor in Palo Alto who's received rave reviews.

When I made my way there, I was surprised by the nondescript business, one of a million that I would otherwise never have wandered into of my own volition. I went in, presented the pants, expecting a "This'll be a week," but instead the tailor asked, "Can you wait five minutes?" Sure.

Four minutes and $5 later, I hopped in my car with a pair of nicely hemmed pants and an honest-to-goodness smile on my face. This, friends, is when the internet gets it done.

Oh, to have roadies

What happens when a string breaks right at the beginning of a song? You GIT-R-DONE!

Five years wasted

For at least five years, I hung onto a two-foot strip of Velcro that I'd somehow acquired. I have no idea where it came from, but I figured, "Hey, free Velcro," and kept it in my life. The strip survived at least one move. It's a fighter.

At points, it seemed like I came in contact with this particular segment of Velcro so regularly that it became part of my day-to-day life.

"Why, hello, friend," you could occasionally hear me remark to the Velcro. "How are you this fine day?"

I had no real need for it, and knew that Velcro was readily available for purchase should such a real need arise, but still I kept it – just in case.

But last night, when I needed approximately two feet of Velcro for perhaps the first time in...ever, where was that old friend? NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. I fear I may have thrown it out in a fit of Clean Sweeping several months ago. Starting to feel that my quasi-hoarding tendencies are perhaps justified.

Post Script: It was devoured by ants two weeks later

When I was a kid, one of my favorite annual holiday traditions was the crafting of graham-cracker houses. Like gingerbread houses, only easier, they were a staple of the Shellen Christmas-time ritual, which also included listening to terrible Christmas records and my father losing interest in decorating the tree after about two ornaments.

The house making slipped by the wayside in recent years after a pretty good run. I was quite pleased when my mom said she wanted to give it a shot again this year, especially since it would be the first time my five nephews would partake.

I used to keep to a fairly traditional house, supplemented with the occasional luxury add-on (I believe my last house had a nice Froot Loop spa with candy-cane handles). Jason has been more adventurous, one year creating a graham-cracker car accident that left a gingerbread man severed in half, bleeding red sprinkle blood onto the foil road beneath him, still a smile on his lifeless face.

This year, though, I knew I'd have to step it up since the whole family would be creating works of Honey Maid art fueled by the kinetic energy of several graham-less years. Heather created her own modern take on the house, which I'll let her post on her own she's posted pictures of here, but I wanted to do something a little different. Naturally, a stage seemed appropriate.

I spent the most time on the lighting rig, and I had originally intended only to have one guitarist/singer, but at the last moment I assembled a drum kit that I think turned out pretty nice. Inspired, I then made a fairly faithful replica of Farewell Typewriter, except that none of us have played instruments made out of cereal for years.

I'm entering my creation in YumSugar's Gingerbread House Challenge, so hopefully it'll be included in their roundup. You can check that out after Dec. 21. Meanwhile, enjoy:

Could this get me on Letterman?

I haven't figured out if this is a marketable, or even remarkable, trait yet, but I've got some sort of musical ESP. I must pick up on some sort of ethereal music-related knowledge, mostly centered around album releases and band reunions, that is nearly uncanny. Recent examples:

One day in my car, I had the thought, Gee, I wonder if Superdrag will ever get back together. I received an email from the band's mailing list announcing a reunion tour THE NEXT DAY.

I was listening to No Knife, wondering what had become of the remaining members and thinking I should research where they've gone -- especially vocalists Ryan Ferguson and Mitch Wilson. I received Ferguson's new solo album from a publicist THAT DAY.

I had the Vanessa Carlton song "A Thousand Miles" in my head for several days without remembering what her name was (or knowing why I was humming a song I am not particularly fond of). I finally remembered her name in the shower one day. I read an email with a list of new releases, including her new album, TWO HOURS LATER.

This seems on the level with having premonition dreams about things that aren't all that surprising ("Darlene, didn't I tell you there would be a light breeze today?"), but still, it freaks me out from time to time.

I never thought I'd lust after a sequined item

But I never thought they'd make a sequined Chuck.

"TV’s gonna be there for you, baby."

It's this kind of writing that makes me glad there are words:

Screenwriter Josh A. Cagan's "Letter From Hollywood."