Then I left Scotland, returned to the States, and found myself unemployed. Unemployment isn't exactly a subject upon which one loves to dwell, and so I didn't blog as often. And then, miracle of miracles (and before the economy completely tanked), I became gainfully employed at a Real Company.
Of course, the first rule of business as imparted to my generation is "Thou Shalt Not Blog About Thine Employer, Idiot," and since pretty much all I did was work (at two jobs!) or sing (in two choirs!), the blog fodder basically ran out. Couple that with an unreliable Internet connection, and I ended up with this, a blog that I haven't updated in nearly a year.
Long story short, I'm now in Charlottesville, about to begin law school. I have a shiny new student ID for my collection, which looks remarkably similar to the faculty ID I just removed from my wallet. I have exactly three course books--we don't learn our section-specific reading lists until Thursday--a lovely edition of Black's from my parents, and another gift of my father's, The Complete Idiot's Guide to The U.S. Constitution. At least it has friendly icons, which is more than I can say for the casebook beside it.
Orientation is still a week away, however, meaning I have plenty of time to get acquainted with the town that's striving for the coveted "Crunchiest City in America" title. After griping about Birmingham's flaws for the last two years--you've got to love a city in the top five for murders per capita--I've found Charlottesville adorable on first impression, from the downtown pedestrian mall to the abundance of fro-yo options (to offset the abundance of Five Guys, I assume). The only thing that's rather creepy about this place is its devotion to Thomas Jefferson. The man is practically deified in these parts, but hey, at least he showed interest in his university, which is more than I can say for Elihu Yale.
The aforementioned mall hosts "Fridays After Five" during the summer, a chance to come down, hear a concert, and shop late with thousands of your closest friends. Last week's gave us a heavy metal act, plus a woman on the side of the stage who was dancing like it was the Summer of Love. Hippies seem to abound, but someone has to keep the vendor of pro-marijuana t-shirts in business, right?
Anyway, we stumbled across a vintage shop while we were downtown, where I found a most amusing volume: The Blender Cookbook.
By way of explanation for this purchase, I've been a fan of Lileks.com for several years; I own four book by James Lileks, and I've subjected my friends and family to some of the more...interesting pictures in The Gallery of Regrettable Food. Basically, the site showed me how much fun it is to laugh at the culinary horrors produced during the golden age of Wonder Bread--the photography is bad, but the ingredients are often so much worse. (My last job gave me the opportunity to look through 1960s magazines, which just proved that no one working in the food industry prior to, oh, 1980 should be allowed within ten feet of a Jell-O mold.)
Anticipating what could be in store, I had to have The Blender Cookbook. Best $7 purchase in ages.
Published in 1961, this little volume--"an indispensable cookbook for every blender owner"--offers recipes ranging from breads to meatloaf, to horrors involving gelatin and tongue, simultaneously. It also offers "exceptionally fine black-and-white photographs" for a few of these dishes, like this one:
My apologies for the quality of the image--I don't have a scanner, and my camera hates me today--but that gelatinous mess garnished with citrus slices is, I kid you not, Green-Pea-Salmon Mousse. According to the caption, it "makes a colorful buffet dish to serve 12." Who are they kidding?
I'm not posting pictures of the Tongue-Vegetable Aspic.
My sister has warned me that I am not to attempt to re-create any of these concoctions in her blender. Apparently, she has something against Prune Flip. I can't imagine why.
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