Ever skin, butcher and cook a squirrel?

This picture is me with my son-in-law, Christian. I'm quite sure he has never shot a squirrel, nor skinned and butchered one, and if I went to all that trouble and served it to him, he'd politely say, "No, thanks." But the contributing authors (some of them anyway) of Grace & Gumption: The Cookbook spoke last night to the Women's Arts League of Colleyville. The meeting just happened to be in the training room at Christian's office, and he was the designated host who stayed to lock up. Such fun to claim him when people saw us talking. He gave me a big hug when I came him, and one woman said, "I guess you two know each other."

The G&G Cookbook is a social history of Fort Worth told through food, and believe it or not there were two women there who had cooked squirrel. Some of the ladies had cooked recipes from the cookbook for the event. Not squirrel, but chili biscuits (a favorite of mine), eggplant caviar, molasses cake, mousse and puddings, and I can't remember what all. I wish I had a picture of the beautiful table. Chili biscuits are a favorite because every hostess in West Fort Worth served them in the '50s and '60s--women would pop them out of the oven like they'd just made them but everyone knew better. They came, frozen, from Roy Pope's Grocery and were made by Lucille Bishop Smith, an African American educator and caterer who was a city institution. And they were delicious. The recipe is in the cookbook but seems a lot of work--the woman who made them admitted it was.

We each talked about our chapters, and as one of the editors, I talked a bit about how the book as a whole came about. It was a sequel to Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women, designed to tell about women's contributions to the development and growth of our city. The story has always, like so many, been told in men's terms. Women's stories are hidden away in attics and correspondence and handed down by word of mouth, but they have rarely,  until recently, been written. We followed that groundbreaking book with a cookbook, which led some to say, "We just got women out of the kitchen! Why are we putting them back in there?" My reply was because cooking is what women do with one hand, while they're building communities and museums and political careers and theatrical careers and also sort of other things with the other hand.

The audience last night certainly seemed to agree with that. They were a most receptive group, listening attentively, laughing a lot, asking good questions. It's such a pleasure to talk to groups like that that I forget the shy girl inside me.

One recipe from my chapter which always boggled my mind is Hollandaise sauce made with mayonnaise, French's mustard, soy sauce, and melted butter. Most of the ladies laughed and agreed with me: it's not the way we make Hollandaise. But afterward two ladies said they'd made it that way and it's just a shortcut: the mayo gives you the creaminess, the mustard the color and a bit of bite, the soy the salt and the butter is the richness. Learn something new every day, but I still think I'd want a bit of lemon.

A delightful evening.

Lobster longings

Is there a season for lobster, say like there is for raw oysters--we can eat them  in April but then not again until September. The months inbetween have no "r" in them, and that's the rule. Of course, some people won't eat any raw oysters these days, but I admit to giving into temptation occasionally, always with a bit of trepidation. But I digress. Back to lobster.
I'm reading a novel called Town in a Lobster Stew, a mystery set in a small coastal town in Maine. The author is B. B. Haywood, and I think she knows whereof she talks about lobster stew. The small town has a lobster stew cookoff every spring to start the tourist season, and Candy, the protagonist, is asked to step in at the last minute as a judge. As she described the variatioins on a theme, I got hungrier and hungrier--one made with tomatoes and thyme, another with Dijon and white wine, and one with just a hint of cinnamon. I want to try all of them. I think that's a sign of how much I've walked into the world of the novel. More about B.B.Haywood and her small Maine town another time.
Then a new Bon Appetit arrived and I leafed through it, finding a stunning recipe for lobster rolls. So now I have a craving. Next time I'm in Central Market I'm going to look longingly at fresh lobster meat--I'm past wanting to bring home a live lobster and cook it. Maybe I could afford enough for a meal for just one--me!
Years ago there was a restaurant and fish market in Fort Worth called Zuider Zee. Every year they had a lobster two-for-one special. My then-husband and I used to have "bring your own lobster" parties. We'd borrow a huge kettle from the hospital kitchen, fix a salad, and I suppose serve wine. Gosh, do you suppose way back then we served Mateus? Anyway, I remember those parties, in the tiny concrete block house we lived in, were always great.
Another memory of two-for-one lobster: I worked as a secretary to the hospital pathologist at the time, a nice if somewhat unusual guy. He and his wife were both on the plump side, and one night they ordered the two-for-one lobster. The waitperson brought them each a lobster, and he said, "No,  you don't understand. Two for her, and two for me!"
These days a local restaurant, Lucille's, has "Lobsterama," with whole Maine lobsters for something like $13. Betty and I love to order a lobster and the house salad, a bleu cheese vinaigrette, but each time she looks at me and says, "How do we do this again?" I once had dinner with Megan at Uncle Julio's and we split the Cadillac special--a whole lobster and fajitas (to me, sort of an incongruous combination). I mostly took it apart, but she said, "If I'd known it was this much trouble, I'd have never ordered it." But then, that's the child who, when I splurged on fresh raspberries (they're dear in Texas) said, "If I'd know they have all those seeds, I wouldn't have eaten them."
I'm ready for lobster and raspberries. Hmmm, gourmet delight.

Are We at War?

I've heard the words "We are at war" too many times in my lifetime, and last Friday I heard them in my head when word came that French planes and then ours were over Libya. I was too little to remember Pearl Harbor but I've heard the story many times of how I was playing on the kitchen floor while my mom cooked dinner, and Dad stuck his head in to say, "We are at war."
In 1950 cousins were in town for a family wedding and it had rained heavily. One cousin and I had been plopping around in the mud in the park across the street (at twelve, we were too old to do that, but I remember it distinctly) when Dad came home and said, "We are at war." The Korean War.
I don't remember the start of the Vietnam war as clearly--it seemed to creep up on us as an ever-increasing threat and soon I, newly maried and a mother, was worrying about my husband being drafted. An osteopathic physician, he would not have gone in as a doc at that time but as a private--and he'd have made a lousy soldier (he'll admit that himself).
I remember the start of the Afghan war. I had just gotten in my car after church on a beautiful Sunday morning. Turned on the radio and there it was, and I thought it was so incongruous on the holy day of the week when everything around me was so pretty. And then of course it was that over-televised conquest and premature victory declaration in Iraq. When others were glued to it, I turned off the TV. And we all know it kept getting worse and worse.
I'm of a mixed mind about Libya, fully sympathizing with the people who want reform and recognizing that Khadafi  (however you spell his name) is a cruel dictator; I also recognize that if the UN approves, the US must support allies and go along. I wish it could be our mission to stop pain, suffering and cruelty throughout the world; I don't know that it is or should be our mission to democratize the Middle East where culture and customs are so different. It reminds me of the misdirected efforts of missionaries to convert Native Americans and natives of Hawaii in the 19th century.
When I think on it, there haven't been many long periods in my lifetime when this country wasn't at war somewhere in the world--maybe ten years at the most. This point was driven home tonight when I attended the Annual Friends of the TCU Library Banquet where the TCU Texas Book Award went to Sam Gwynne for Empire of the Summer Moon, fiction about the Comanches in their last years of glory, during and just after the Civil War. The books has gotten excellent reviews, and the author was an entertaining speaker, but the book, like the real life events it depicts, is about war and violence and torture.
I'm not sure I'm completely a pacifist; nor am I sure I sanction intervention. But I know I hate war and violence, and I hope we'll be spared another prolonged conflict in Libya. I'll be relieved if we don't put troops on the ground. How many wars can we fight at once?

What's the best burger you ever ate?

I watch the food channel a lot, sometimes with only half an eye as my attention is focused on the work on my desk, but by late morning I usually have it on (okay, I'm a TODAY show junkie). Today the show, "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" was devoted to burgers, and there were some tempting concoctions there, including a cheeseburger topped by potato chips But I got to thinking the best burger I ever ate was at home: I buy the prepared chopped sirloin patties at Central Market, cut them in half, and freeze half. Shape the other half into a pattie, sprinkle the skillet liberally with salt but no oil, and slap the patty on at high heat. Brown on one side, turn, brown, and remove. It comes out crispy and good on the outside and warm but barely cooked on the inside--just the way I love it. I toast a piece of rye bread, put mayo on it, cut in half, top one half with the burger, a tomato slice, and maybe a bit of red onion. So good! My mom taught me the salt trick years ago.
I was no slouch in the kitchen tonight either. We had Jordan's birthday party and bless her heart, she worked herself into a frenzy over it--we held it on my porch. Her friends used to come to porch parties all the time, and they miss them. In recent years, as little children appeared, it was easier to have patio parties at Jordan and Christian's  where there's an enclosed yard, etc. But we decided on a nostalgic porch party--which meant Jordan transported 40 carloads of stuff--well, it seemed that way. We had chicken nuggets and cheese sticks and juice boxes and bananas for the kids; she brought meatballs and taquitos for the adults, and I made four dips--a bean/cheese one, a spinach/cheese/artichoke, our traditional corn dip, and--best of all to me--a reuben dip, with corned beef, sauerkraut, Swiss cheese, 1000 Island dressing, and just enough cream cheese to hold it all together. Jeannie, if you're reading this, I suggest that for lunch tomorrow.
Jordan worked herself into a second frenzy cleaning the kitchen--I helped when I could, when all the guests left. But she left me in great shape, and I didn't have to do a lot. The party was a lot of work for both of us, but I found it worth it. I've known and loved some of these young people for almost twenty years, and it's been a while since I've seen them. Special delight was that the Frisco Alters came, and I had a good visit with Jamie and Mel and some visits with Maddie and Edie. Maddie mostly spent her time looking after young children, and Edie hung around her parents, but it was so good to see those delightful girls. Jacob was beyond excitement with about ten kids to play with in the front yard. They tossed frisbies, had ice fights, jumped rope and just plain ran.
So tonight I am thankful for family and friends and once again counting my blessings. Tomorrow? A genealogy day!

An adventure with Jacob

Jacob and I went to Fort Worth's National Historic Stockyards District for supper tonight at the Star Cafe, owned by Betty and Don Boles. Jacob noticed the western look of the buildings and loved the men on horseback who passed us on the streets. We were both amazed at the crowds--spring has brought out not only tourists (we saw some of those) but natives to explore the offerings of the area. He did not want the top down on the car (I don't think he much likes that) but we drove with all the windows down, and it was lovely.
Betty visited with us as she could, between seating guests. When I told Jacob I used to work at the cafe, he looked long and hard at me and then said, "I don't believe that." I forgot to ask Betty to verify it when she came back, but the cafe soon got busy, and we left our table to the next customers.
Jacob wasn't hungry when we got there, but I said I'd order a cheeseburger, and we could split. As we waited he got hungrier and was a bit indignant when I cut the burger in half. I gave him a good portion of the fries, but he grabbed more. Upshot was he ate lots of fries and about three cups of ketchup, didn't touch his half of the burger. They boxed it for us, and, of course, we forgot it. I told him there went lunch tomorrow; he'd have to have pbj. He did however leave with a Star Cafe T-shirt that says on the back, "For the best steak in Dallas, eat at the Star Cafe in Fort Worth." It's true!
As soon as we got home he wanted pbj, which I didn't think was quite right since he refused to eat his burger. He had a banana; then about nine he had the pbj. I think the child is in a growth spurt. He  seems to be hungry all day.
Earlier in the afternoon, he played with three-year-old Abby next door until we decided it was time for everyone to have a nap. Jacob is beyond napping, but he fell sound asleep. Tonight as we drove in the driveway, he said philosophically, "I hope Abby had a good nap."
Fun day, except I worked hard too--laundry, making dips for tomorrow night's b'day party for Jacob's mom, scrubbing off the deeper layer of dirt on the porch--it's almost clean, but  I suspect Jordan will want to sweep it tomorrow. A few stray leaves have blown in since Greg blew it clean the other day. Sweeping is hard on my low back, and I'll let her do it.

Searching for your roots

My friend Jeannie and my daughter-in-law Mel have both been tracing their family history on Ancestry.com. They are, to put it frankly, hooked. Mel suggested a couple of weeks ago I should hurry and do it so I'd have some knowledge before I go to Scotland, but I said I simply don't have time. Today though Jeannie said she could spend a couple of hours helping me search and find out if anyone had done the research before--if so, it would be there. Then tonight, I watched Rosie O'Donnell on "Who Do You Think You Are?" as she traced her roots back to a work house in Ireland during the potato famine. OK, now I want to know too. I have booklets on the MacBains, and I know we're descended from Gillies McBean who fought valiantly--and died--for Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. Since I'm sort of between projects--two manuscripts off to publishers with more work to come, I know, but for now a breathing space--I guess I'll make that my project. I already know that the McBeans owned land near Inverness (tales vary but I gather it was a good bit of land) but lost it and were land-less or homeless for nearly two centuries. For a clan to be without land is a great disgrace and bans it from recognition by the Society of Clans. In the mid-twentieth century Hughston McBain of Chicago bought a small piece of the old family land, not nearly as much as he would have liked, but he allowed the clan members to once again hold up their heads. The McBain Memorial Park is on my must-see list in Scotland. And I know the homestead--sorry, no castle--is right there too. But I'm anxious to find out more. Jeannie has found she is descended from Robert the Bruce, and I told her that probably made us cousins but realized I was thinking of Gillies McBean, so I have to do some research. I've asked Jeannie to help me get started, but I'll pull out my dad's old files and see what I can find. I think most of the information I have is about the McBains (we spelled it MacBain) after they came to Canada. I'm intrigued. I remember writing a paper in, oh, maybe sixth grade, on how we are descended from MacBeth, a dubious honor that.
Had lunch with Jeannie today in a charming church converted to a bakery/restaurant. It was small but lovely and sort of soothing to eat in that atmosphere. We asked and found it had been a Christian Scientist church.
Spring is definitely here, though I doubt we'll continue to have today's temperatures in the mid-80s. I was actually a bit hot in the car with the top down. But this evening I spent some time planting two new herbs I bought--lavender for its smell and sage because it's pretty and does flavor dishes nicely--and scrubbing the first layer of winter grime off the porch. I'll go after it again tomorrow, in preparation for a porch party Sunday night for Jordan's birthday. Jordan manages to stretch a birthday out for a week, but she is my St. Patrick's baby without, as far as I know, a drop of Irish in her. The redbud is blooming, and the trees have that lovely light green of new growth, though I am still picking dead fall leaves out of the planter boxes. My fig tree hasn't come back but botanist Greg tells me I'm too impatient and it will come back when we have enough warmer weather. He trimmed some of the overgrown herbs and ivy that had survived the winter in pots on the porch, but I need new fountain grass. And a new spray nozzle--somehow winter always kills them, even with the water cut off.
Enjoy spring, everyone, and pray for a mild summer.

A St. Paddy's Day faux Irish Stew

My original title for Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books was The Faux Gourmet. It came from the fact the one highly critical (but very helpful) reader said she (I'm presuming it was a she) would never cook with canned soup. I make King Ranch Chicken with Healthy Heart Campbells' cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soups.The reader insisted she made hers with made-from-scratch white sauce, which sounded like more work and too bland for me. I honestly read recipes on the internet for duplicating the taste of the canned soups but they were tons of trouble and still had some of the ingredients purists would object to. So I remain a happy faux gourmet.
Tonight I had Jacob, and Betty was coming for dinner, since we missed our usual dinner out for the week. I had meant to open a can of my fancy tuna and make a salad with all kinds of veggies and tuna, but then I realized I had that leftover lamb I've been eating all week and even took to Sue's last night. So I did all those things no true gourmet would do--I made two instant packets of brown gravy that were in the cupboard (that's a whole 'nother story about Norwegian hamburgers, for another time). I added a bouillon cube, dumbed in the cubed lamb with a small can of green beans and a healthy bit of frozen corn. I thought I had frozen peas but I didn't, so the green beans were a substitute and they worked well. Added pepper and thyme but not salt since I figure the prepared gravy and bouillon took care of that. Served it over a mixture of penne and rigatoni pasta, and it was delicious, if I do say so. The leftovers will go to Christian who will love them.
I have been accused--who, me?--of letting Jacob manipulate me, so tonight I was quite strict. No, he could not have chicken nuggets--he was eating stew. He must have gotten a piece of gristle, because he thought the meat was too chewy. But he ate all his noodles and some of the stew, so I gave him ice cream, followed by the banana he wanted. When bedtime came (a little late because I was doing dishes), I was firm: TV off, use the potty, brush your teeth and get into bed. I gave him a few minutes to play with his toys, then let him pet Scooby goodnight, and firmly closed the door to his room, telling him I loved him and "Sweet dreams." He said he'd go to sleep better with a little more TV, but  I didn't fall for it. So at after 9:30 I can hear him on the monitor, having conversations with his toy figures--or maybe himself.
We read a book that had a picture of a goldfish.
Me: Jacob, hows your goldfish?
Jacob, very philosophically: Fine. He hasn't died yet.
Earlier in the evening, we stepped next door to see the new baby--they were out in the back yard. The baby slept so peacefully in his mom's arms. We took his big sis, three-year-old Abby, a pink bunny and for new Grayson, a tiny T-shirt that says "It ain't easy being the cutest cowboy around." Jacob wasn't actually as interested in the baby as I thought he'd be, but he was most interested in being the one to present the gifts.
Grandkids, good friends and good neighbors surely make life sweet.

Nature vs. Nurture

I've been puzzling over this conondrum lately. Remember that old limerick:

Twixt the optimist and the pessimist
The difference is droll.
The optimist sees the doughnut
While the pessimist sees only the hole.

What makes some of us essentially happy, outgoing, content with our lot and others perpetually dissatisfied. There's a brand new baby boy next door, five days old. I haven't seen him yet but I've seen adorable pictures, and I wonder what genes, what predispositions he brings to this world. He will grow up in a loving, supportive, strong family. But what will he be?
I think of Jacob with his irrepressible happy spirit, sometimes mischievous, occasionally manipulative and pouty but generally one of the world's happy people. He is by all means a most loved child, beloved by his parents, grandparents, and extended family. Sure, without that warm environment he might be someone else, but then again his innate spirit might triumph.
I could cite examples with all of my children and grandchildren but I'd be sure to tromp on someone's toes. Still, there's Edie, who seems to have some sort of second sight or insight--I like the word fey--and as one of her uncles said when she was still an infant, "She looks at us like she has it all figured out and we don't have a clue." That's clearly something that she brought into the world with her.
As most people know, my four children are all adopted, so they clearly brought different genetic make-ups into the world. But they were raised in the same household, same environment. They are all kind, compassionate, happy people, though each different in his or her own way. What accounts for that? Surely I didn't expect them to be carbon copies of each other, and they're not.
We all know people who self-destruct. There was the suicide of a young man in our church this week, a boy who seemingly had all going for him, good family, popularity, etc. What made him so unhappy? On the other hand, we know people in dire circumstances who rise above them--homeless people who put their lives together, get an education, and become contributing citizens. Handicapped people who find some way to continue to be part of the world and to contribute to it. Culture or genes?  Look now at the people of Japan who are so valiantly working to overcome the disasters that have befallen them--sure, a lot of that is culture, but all of it?
I have no scientific evidence, no proof, but I don't believe in Rousseau's blank slate. I think each of us is born with some codes embedded in us that shape our personalities and our future. Yes, environment, family, love, all that makes a difference in shaping us. But it can't always triumph over what we bring into the world with us. The question is, can we change our inherent traits? Can we look at ourselves and say, "I'm never happy, and I don't want that. I'm going to change it."?
What about you? Is your glass half empty or half full?

Things I don't eat

This is a discarded chapter that didn't make it into Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, but I thought it might make a good blog post. I'm interested in other opinions on food idiosyncracies.
I think I eat almost anything—although others accuse me of being fussy (and sometimes dictatorial about restaurants). But this is sort of an apologia to Lisa, who claims I falsely accuse her of being fussy. As your children marry, they bring into the family people with different eating habits. Brandon and Christian avoid most vegetables; Melanie doesn’t eat egg salad, ham salad, tuna salad, the things I love; Lisa, child of a Scandinavian mother, doesn’t like fish. And once when I took her a loaf of cranberry/apricot bread, she looked astounded and said, “I won’t eat it!” I froze the bread and took it home.
But I admit to a few dislikes myself. I despise bell peppers, especially green. I don’t like the taste nor the things they do to my stomach. Lisa and Brandon once tried to tell me not to put sliced hearts of palm in a marinated salad (a true treat to me) and when I persisted they said they guessed then it was okay to put bell peppers in it. I couldn’t convince them that bell peppers leak their taste onto everything else, while hearts of palm are bland to begin with and don’t flavor everything else in the salad.
In truth, I don’t like any peppers, which makes it hard to order in today’s trendy restaurants, especially in Santa Fe. And I can’t eat spicy food, which rules out most of southeastern Asian dishes for me. It’s not only that I don’t like them, they ruin my stomach for days. Friends know that they should go to Indian, Thai, Vietnamese restaurants and the like when I’m not with them. And I'm cautious about Mexican food--no chile rellenos for me. On the other hand, I really like Japanese food. And after years of thinking I didn’t like Chinese (I can still hear my ex-mother-in-law talking about going to “the Chinks” to eat and it offends me), I have rediscovered it. I credit this rediscovery, surprisingly, to a chain of restaurants—P. F. Chang’s and it’s short-order subsidiary, Pei Wei. Sushi? I love it, though I'm not too experimental. My favorite is salmon sashimi.
I can’t eat shrimp, though it’s not a taste thing. I love them and long for them, but when I began to turn bright red after eating them, I thought it best to back off. The next time could always be a major anaphylactic attack, and I didn’t want to risk it. I think allergies change over the years, and sometimes I sneak just a bite of someone else’s grilled shrimp, but I don’t order the whole thing. Fortunately I can still eat lobster and crab—guess their iodine content isn’t as high.
I’ve never tried brains, heart or sweetbreads, and doubt that I will.
I eat things that other people won’t. I eat liver, though I hated it as a child, and. I grew up on kidneys and bacon. Wanted to try them again recently but the market says you have to order a case. Uh, no thanks. I know I don’t have that many friends who would eat them with me. At the deli, I love a corned tongue sandwich or pickled herring. Christian says I eat weird things.
I can eat escargot, though they’re not my favorite. I’d really just as soon have the French bread and buttery garlic sauce without the actual snails. I’ve never tried mussels, though I’m working my nerve up to it. A local bistro serves them with several different sauces, and a good friend assures me they’re delicious. I may try yet. Calamari? Often too chewy.
As a child, I disliked potatoes, eggs, and pickles—the latter mostly because we never had them at home. Now, I only wish potatoes weren’t fattening most of the good ways to fix them and eggs didn’t raise your cholesterol, because I love them almost any way you can cook them. And pickles? There’s nothing better to me than a crisp kosher dill. But olives? Nope. I really don’t like them, no matter that they’re passion food. I’ve had dishes with black olives cooked into them that I liked—or a salad nicoise with olives ground into the dressing. But thanks, no green olives. A muffaletta is not for me.
How about you? Are there things you can’t or won’t eat? Weird things you really like?

Frittering away the day

Several years ago Texas Coop Power published an essay I wrote "On Learning to Putter." I originally called it "Learning to Putz," but the editors were afraid of the Yiddish implications of that word. Anyway, it's an art I never perfected. Today I think I came close. I really need to finish reading my mystery manuscript for the final time, but I found a thousand other things to do, some of them quite frivolous.
One that wasn't frivolous was taking the dog for his annual checkup. At almost eleven and an old man, he's still a handful in the car and on the leash. When I get there, I call and a technician comes out to get him--I simply don't need a broken hip! But he was pronounced in fine health, and when I reported my 19-year-old cat was also doing well, the lady vet said she thought she'd send her kids to my house--I must be doing things right. I'm always  relieved to have annual vet visits behind me.
Had an egg salad sandwich at Carshon's with a friend where we talked about everything but our books--proud of us--and had a good visit. The rest of the day went in straightening out phone bills--haven't quite gotten the cell phone one fixed yet, checking with the bank, calling Jordan about a menu for her porch party Sunday night, reading that new food magazine that came, paying some of my cousin's bills, reading emails--I'm on way too many lists. A biggie today though has been playing with Twitter. It always confused me, and I tended to post once every two weeks and then ignore it. But I'm following an on-line learning group and amazed at what I find. You can follow me at @JudyAlter. A big hurdle was changing my name from @JudyTexas--Krista Davis, the group leader, convinced me that if I want to be known as an author by my name, that's how I have to appear on Twitter. So far, I've made the change but left behind the hundred or so people who were following @JudyTexas. I've lined up a bunch of people to follow but don't know what to do about the followers--I suppose that's a lesson on down the road. I keep emailing the Twitter learning group and feel I'm probably the dunce of the class. (Special note to Brandon: I'm not following you because I can't understand your tweets and they show up on Facebook anyway--feel free to follow me:-)
Tonight I still want to go through that food magazine one more time, make a shopping list for Jordan's party, work some more on following people on Twitter--I think the truth is I've read that mystery so many times I'm burned out. Don't get me wrong--Skeleton in a Dead Space is a great story and you should all buy it when it launches August 29. It's just that I know it by heart now.
Sorry, I have to go tweet now.