Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

That should probably be a category all on it’s own.

Did a bunch of this and that this week. Including, yes, a fair portion of self-abuse. I twisted my right ankle last weekend (not too badly).

I got an EXTRA helping of bruises as I climbed over my mountains o’ crap (DETRITUS!) looking for a stereo that I knew was there and the speakers. Turns out that the speaker was packed in one box, one speaker was packed in the humidifier box (I’d found the humidifier earlier and it was in something else’s box). The last speaker was the sneakiest component. I KNEW I’d seen it…SOMEWHERE. And boy howdy (that’s an expression – or it should be), I often wish I had a Sherpa to guide my through the piles of “SOMEWHERE.” Of course it was in the last place I looked (sheesh – what a ridiculous saying).

When my right ankle was feeling pretty much normal, I twisted the left one and hit my knee. This was one of my special “falling up the stairs” tricks. I’m so cool.

Oh, but, I’ve left the best for last. Last night, as I was maneuvering through my boxes and piles and such in the “pizza vomit carpet” storage room, I invented a spectacularly painful move. You see, you have to step/leap with a very wide stance (I’m uselessly limber, remember) over the big box of Tupperware. This puts you RIGHT ON the old doctor’s scale (you’d have to ask Charles how we managed to obtain that vintage piece). It does work – rather well, surprisingly – so if one is feeling saucy or daring or self-punishing (?) one can weigh one’s self that very moment.

Whether or not you’ve taken the time to determine your mass, you are now close to the tool box. This was what I wanted (not that I remember WHAT I WANTED FROM IT’S DEPTHS).

So I was back standing on the scale, and I went to take the giant step over the Tupperware box onto the tiny space of somewhat bare floor right in front of the door. Somehow, I lost my balance (everyone simultaneously in amazement – well, in my dreams). I did a lovely firm biff of my right shin on the edge of the Giant Tupperware Box of Death, and somehow that just threw me off my feet and forward. As there is not very much BLANK FLOOR SPACE, this means that I hit the door with my face. Yes, my FACE. At least I was wearing contacts; I just got my glasses fixed from the electronics flinging head-smashing debacle. Specifically, I hit my left cheek. HARD. Today it’s puffy and red. I don’t know if that’s because I prevented actual bruising when I iced it, or my self-abuse if sub-consciously designed to make me look as hideous as possible. Hard to say.

My dear friend, Kathleen, The Goddess, informed me of the following horrible, unspeakable tragedy:

Blaze toasts cheese and the semi it was in

PROVO — A truck laden with cheese burst into flame early Friday morning after a mechanical malfunction, said Utah Highway Patrol officials.

Just after 7:30 a.m. Friday, as a semi more than half filled with aged dairy product rounded a bend on U.S. Route 189 in Provo Canyon near mile marker 14, a fire broke out near the axle, said Utah Highway Patrol trooper Cameron Roden.

The driver pulled off the road. He was not injured.

Both lanes of traffic were shut down for about half an hour, then opened to one controlled lane while fire crews cleaned up the charred cheese and melted truck .

— from the Deseret Morning News, published: Oct. 20, 2007 12:08 a.m. MDT.

I cannot even comment because I must sit and weep awhile. OHHHHH – charred CHEESE, melted TRUCK! And this was near the Heber Valley – the Dairy Eden of Utah; what must the poor cows be thinking?

The day my Holiday catalog from The Wisconsin Cheeseman® arrives is a festive one, indeed. Unfortunately, when I was perusing this inspiring tome last night I had an immediate and unquenchable desire for cheese. I HAD TO HAVE CHEESE RIGHT THEN AND THERE. We only have “lite” Jarlsberg (not so bad as it sounds) and a mild cheddar in the house. But a little bit of each seemed to assuage my desperate need.

Then, back to the brightly coloured pages of the catalog. I must be very honest with you. The Wisconsin Cheeseman® Holiday catalog has a myriad of “corporate” style gift packs – overwhelming displays of cheeses, sausages, crackers and spreads in cheerfully decorated boxes. They often contain, to the chagrin of the true turophile, quite a few cheese “spreads” in lovely foil with misleadingly foreign names that are actually comprised of “pasteurized process cheese food.” Cheese food? That’s just wrong.

One must ignore the “mega-gift-pack” route and take a look at the natural cheese that they make or buy. This is the tantalizing part. Aged cheddar, Longhorn Colby, Country white cheddar, award-winning Provolone, aged cheddar, an aged bleu cheddar (I lust after this one),baby Swiss, ball Gouda, an aged Parrano, artisan rosemary-flavoured white cheddar, REAL brick cheese (made by the ONLY company that still makes authentic brick cheese – they use third generation bricks for pressing), cranberry white cheddar – I could go on and on. They do make some of their own spreads, which I’m guessing are lovely. They also peddle some scrumptious-looking baked goods, including petits fours (I LOVE petits fours). They even carry St. Dalfour’s Conserves (fruit preserves sweetened only with fruit juice – DELICIOUS and JUST FRUIT – P.S. you can buy them locally at a lower price).

There was, however, an artisan cheese that initially gave me pause:

This is Manteche Artisan Cheese. Here’s an excerpt of the catalog description:

Artisans hand-shape warm whole-milk Provolone around a half pound block of unsalted butter. The mild cheese and butter share their flavors as this delicacy ripens.

Cheese filled with BUTTER? Is this excessive decadence? Is this dairy ostentatiousness?

Then I thought about it for a bit. A thin slice of this cheese on an excellent bread? Now that sounds decadently DELICIOUS.

Always a day late (or at least a few hours) and a dollar short.

Nevertheless, I’d like to wish all my beloved Canucks a (slightly belated ) Happy Thanksgiving! I hope Canada had a bountiful harvest. That, I will add, is the nice thing about Canadian Thanksgiving; you give thanks and have pie without any of the contradictory feelings of American Thanksgiving (celebration versus GUILT and such).

It was also Columbus Day (in the United States, I should clarify). Talk about your paradoxical holiday.

I will only say this about Columbus Day: “In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Columbus sailed the ocean blue,” has got to be one of the greatest mnemonic sayings ever.

And if you think I picked this particular cornucopia just because it had a tiny pineapple in it, you are spot on.

My Powerbook is sick – VERY ill. It happened last night so suddenly; one minute my baby was perfect (as usual) and then – BLACK SCREEN. A spontaneously black screen on any computer is very disconcerting, needless to say. I won’t go elaborate on all the things I attempted to get it going again (switching batteries and power sources, etc., etc.).

I will say that Kate Logic™ (remember – like standard logic but with half the fat) dictated that since the screen was black (I could still hear a slight noise when I booted up that indicated SOME sort of processing – but no comforting boot-up “bong” – like that has anything to do with the keyboard), I removed all the keys and cleaned out as much cat hair and as many lint balls as I could. I got several bloody wounds in the course of this endeavor (what a surprise). This did not fix it. Even my life-blood did not fix it. The LIFE-BLOOD from MY VERY BODY.

It looks like the image above, incidentally, except with a few lil’ dings and scars and such. Oh – and it doesn’t have the posh Intel Core 2 Duo processor in it like the newer models. This does not mean I love it any less.

And just so you know, I have NOT dropped it recently. The Guru’s reply the that statement was, “Recently??”

Speaking of the Guru, he has taken my precious baby home with him to try and fix it (because I cannot imagine that he has anything better to do). Bless him (again and again).

When I ponder this serious problem, I wonder if it has something to do with Murphy’s Law or Karma or wretched irony. Why? Because just the other day I was thinking, “I haven’t backed up my computer in a long time!” See?

Please, people around the World who may read this blog (even if it’s just two or five or nine of you), pray or meditate or send positive energy to my beloved Mac (whichever method floats you boat). I love it so (too much, no doubt – though I DO love my Kitten Children more)!

This entry was typed with much resentment towards Windows on a wretched PC.

Everyone (worth knowing) recognizes that cheese has enjoyed a very long and storied history. For century upon century cheese has blessed the lives of the citizens of the World. All lauds and honours on CHEESE!

Notwithstanding, I thought it was likely that in bleak times – perhaps WORLD WAR II – cheese might have gone the way of rubber and sugar and stockings. But I wandered upon something that confirmed to me that cheese is always and forever important.

Here is a blurb from The Stars and Stripes, Volume 3, Number 8, Page 2 dated Tuesday, November 10, 1942. I’ll put it in historical perspective a little later:

Let me give you a transcription of this item, as the scans I was researching are deliberately crap so that you’ll order pricey originals. Not ME; I will just read more carefully. Anyhoo, here is the text:

Mrs. Anna Juchs won an uncontested divorce after testifying that her husband kept Limburger cheese under their bed.

While, as a noted turophile, I agree that it is inappropriate to keep ANY cheese under one’s bed, particularly – uhm – really strong-smelling cheese (it’s also inharmonious in terms of Feng Shui), I don’t see how funky cheese in the boudoir is grounds for an uncontested divorce. But what do I know.

This little bon mot, incidentally, was found in the Hush Marks section (gotta love that name) of the paper. If you’d like to see it in it’s original context, you can download the whole edition for Tuesday, November 10, 1942 right here.

My favourite thing about this whole cheese tidbit is that Sunday, November 8, 1942 marked the beginning of “Operation Torch” (part of Operation Blackstone), Patton’s convoy assault on the Algerian coast (my Grandfather was a military intelligence expert on Patton’s staff; he certainly had a bunch of near misses during this time). Consequently, The Stars and Stripes broke the news concerning this important offensive in the November 9, 1942 edition (and for the rest of the week).

What sort of interesting serendipity led me to a cheese item during the investigation of World War II campaigns? The cheese faeries move in mysterious ways.

The World has lost a whole contingent of plush, squishy friends. I am bereft; I probably won’t leave the house for days (and let’s just pretend it’s about the Blobbies). It was just yesterday that I received this very disturbing email:

Dear Party People,

This is the end, my friend. You may have noticed our neglect of Blobbyfarm.com since, oh, around April of 2006. At that time we moved (again), started new jobs, and just got busy. As we got more and more entrenched in our new lives, we found that there were a number of other things that trumped Blobbies in our lives – curating exhibitions, teaching, getting ready for our first child (woo-hoo!), locksmithing classes, frosting graffiti, etc. Blobbies fell by the wayside.

We recently received an email from our domain registrar notifying us that the URL Blobbyfarm.com expires on October 5th. We have made the decision to just let it go. Blobbyfarm.com will no longer exist. Sure, we’ll make a few Blobby related items for our new baby (we just got a silkscreener after all), and we can make a Blobby every now and again for our friends and family members. But as far as the general public is concerned, Blobby Farm is extinct.

We sincerely appreciate all the support we’ve received and friends we’ve made because of this goofy endeavor. As a final thank you, between now and October 5th, you can purchase anything on the Blobbyfarm.com website for 50% off the original price (sale price is as marked). It’s not like we were ever really in this for the money anyway. Make sure you download your coloring book pages and send your last Blob-E-Grams before October 5th when everything disappears.

Thanks again and we’ll catch you on the flip side.

Thanks and Cheers,
Maria and Chris
(The Blobby Farmers)

Yup. Just like that. Putting their fetus and jobs and house and other such shallowness ahead of building cuddly, stuffed companions for me The World the CHILDREN.

I find that I’m a little verklempt. However, as I’ve said before, you’ll have to chose your own damn topic and talk amongst yourselves.

P.S. If you act REALLY quickly (Blobby Farm) you may still be able to buy some postcards, greeting cards, mittens or buttons. The last of the Blobbies sold right away. And I didn’t get one. All is not right with the World.

It’s sick and wrong, I know, but the children keep GROWING UP! Even my niephews suffer from this horrible condition.

Paisley – poor child (ACK! She’s a CHILD now) – turned TWO last Monday (October 1). I’m sure she’s very upset and will tell people that she’s “turning one for the second time.”

Paisley likes to wear her “asses” – her sun-“asses.” Hey – that’s what she calls them. I love that she’s an aspiring fashion maven; note that her “asses” are upside-down. Now that’s COOL.

I think it’s a shame that Paisley will be teased so horribly when she reaches school because of her hideous visage. Yes, the ugly stick really hit her hard. **Sigh.**

Yes, I’m a copy-Kitten-Child. Grettir said he was “going pink for October,” so I had to find out all about it. Google it, and you find, among a myriad of links, Pink for October.

And in the time it took for me to muck up my site imposing the “Hills-Pink” template on it and (sort of) fixing it again, Grettir had established “Team Tiny Pineapple.” That’s why he’s the guru. As for going “pink,” it’s really very simple and doesn’t involve ANY STRIPES WHATSOEVER – I promise:

Take part in Pink for October, a campaign to help raise awareness of, and money for, breast cancer research as part of National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Please join the Tiny Pineapple Team and help raise money for Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

Why didn’t anyone tell me that Jessica Biel I have been dating Justin Timberlake since May at least? Some sources say as long as a YEAR! Boy, have I been busy. I have accepted that my being Jessica Biel means the existence of an alternate parallel Universe that clearly I don’t get to consciously experience. And I need to watch the E! a little more, I guess, as that’s how I found out about my “love life” in the wee hours of the morning. What’s with THE EMPHATIC EXCLAMATION POINT ASSOCIATED WITH ENTERTAINMENT TELEVISION®? I even TYPED it with extra (and unnecessary force); I felt compelled.
We’re HOT. Smokin’.

Ironically, I heard Justin – my Sweetie Pie? (Cookie Face? Honey Buns???) – allude to our relationship on Oprah, which I don’t watch very often, but happened to catch just LAST WEEK. He didn’t mention her me by name, though he said, “But all I can tell you is she smells lovely.” AND he sang a a lovely duet with Reba McEntire that HE wrote. Sorry – that all makes me a little verklempt – please talk amongst yourselves. Choose your own damn topic. And look at all the pictures of Justin and Jessica me; we’re eye candy.

Phew. Okay. Now will someone PLEASE tell me how I get into that alternate reality? Even if it’s just for a little while? I could use a trip to Europe and being one of the “young and beautiful” and some MONEY and all that jazz. I know that the paparazzi gets old, and Hollywood relationships don’t tend to last very long, and the shallowness, blah, blah, BLAH, so I’ll just settle for a TASTE of young, fashionable celebrity dating – fifteen minutes of fame – just a piffling soupçon. That’s ALL I ASK.

I wonder if I would have motion sickness (and asthma, et al.) in my parallel alternate Universe? It would be a little inconvenient for the jet-setting and such.