The Generic You

I find it utterly fascinating what sorts of names people come up with when they have to talk about a hypothetical person. "John" is traditional, as in "John Doe." Or "Jane." I find this very boring. Shouldn't Adam be the generic? I mean, he was the biblical first person. Or Eve? (Actually I shouldn't say that: Eve is used as the generic term for certain human ancestors, as in "Mitochondria Eve." If you just thought of a particular late 1990's video game, you are old and you have my respect.)

I often find myself in these kinds of conversations (make of that what you will) and I have come to realize something about my own hypothetical person.

1. It's a man.

2. His name is Jim-Bob.

I suppose it's easy enough to guess why my default person is a man. I'm an American and an English speaker and thus acculturated to thinking of "male" as the default when I have to gender something, despite the very best efforts of one of my favorite professors ever (a philosophy professor) to convince me that the generic should be female because fetuses all start female and things with no real gender (like worker ants) are usually referred to as female. That was a male professor, by the by, for all of you people out there going "stupid self-centered navel-gazing feminists remaking everything all women-centered."

So that's all very well and good, you may be thinking, but why Jim-Bob?

Well, see, I used to switch between Jim and Bob. This is because they are generic man-names and I didn't actually really KNOW any Jims or Bobs, so I can use both those names without anyone thinking I'm trying to talk about someone else (considering some of the predictions of my hypothetical Jim-Bob, this is VERY NECESSARY.) And eventually I think I just kind of glommed them together, and they were reborn as Jim-Bob.

Jim-Bob is not a redneck, although people usually think he is. I can't imagine why. If my generic person was going to be a redneck, I'd've named him Junior.

Jim-Bob isn't my only generic person, of course. There is also Precious Toby. Precious Toby is my generic name for a spoiled child. You know the kind: the super-sheltered, pampered kid whose mummy and daddy intervene the second he gets a "satisfactory" instead of "Exceeds expectations" on his preschool report card for nap time, because the teacher is endangering his future as a dual engineering/philosophy major double-matriculated at MIT and Harvard, or some such rubbish.

I do know a Toby. My dad's pet Yorkie is named Toby. And he is precious. But I am pretty confident that if HE was in pre-school he would exceed all expectations, except for his fixation on humping pillows at nap time.

The Goddess Goes Crackers

So it has been too long since I posted. McSigh. Life is busy, what can I say?

So here's a post!

I have a food dehydrator. The reason I have said dehydrator is so I can make crackers.

Don't laugh.

I'm particularly fond of the flax seed crackers that raw foodist types make to fit the strict rules of their "don't consume anything that's been heated above 118 or 105 degrees" rules. This apparently preserves the enzymes and leads to fantastic health, longevity, cures your cancer, regrows your hair, ect, ect. I don't know about any of that. I have a few raw food cookbooks and I use them more than you'd think, especially in the summer. They make the *best* smoothies and salads. And their crackers are DAMN tasty. BEST. CRACKERS. EVER

They are also expensive. We're talking eight to twelve bucks a two ounce bag expensive, so although I really like them, I never buy them. I am tempted, but then Darth Vader's voice booms at me down the aisles of Wholefoods intoning that "YOU ARE NOT A LAWYER YET." Then I put the crackers back. (Am I the only person who is stalked by the disembodied voice of Darth Vader? Maybe it's because my parent's first real date was to go see Star Wars.)

Hence my "I should really get my own dehydrator so I can make my own crackers." thing. I tossed one on the bridal registry, didn't really expect I'd get it, except I did (note for future brides and grooms: this always happens. I didn't get the dishes we could've used more....but I got a dehydrator!) So I figured, hell, probably I should use it?

So I bought some buckwheat, some sesame seeds, and some flax seeds. I think I spent a whopping five bucks on it all (the raw materials of flax seed and buckwheat crackers are not the expensive part: all the ingredients were organic, purchased from the bulk bins at Wholefoods, and cheap as heck.). Then I checked out a few raw food books (mine are, I believe, in my sister-in-laws basement. I WILL GET THEM OUT EVENTUALLY I PROMISE!!!). And then I started to experiment.

I am only telling you about this because of the reaction of Hubby. Hubby initially eyed the raw food books and went "Okay, fine. But I'm not going to eat it." I think he's afraid because it was raw food books that taught me to make green smoothies. I LOVE green smoothies. Basically it's a fruit smoothie that you add spinach to. I often have a big green smoothie for breakfast, and he never fails to eye it like it's going to come to life and chase him around the house, even though he drinks Naked's Green Machine juice and I swear to you that tastes more like green stuff than my smoothies.

Anyway.

He later walked into the kitchen when batch one was...(baking? Dehydrating? Solidifying slowly at 105 degrees?) and went "Wow, something smells good!"

"It's the flax crackers." I said.

"Really?" he sounded surprised.

Then I came upon him nibbling on the finished product with every evidence of enjoyment. My heart both leapt and sank. Leapt, because if you want me to WUV YOU FOREVER, it's really quite simple. All you have to do is compliment my cooking. That's it. Compliment my cooking, and a part of me will forgive you nearly any slight, because I LOVE to cook, and I LOVE to feed people, and I LOVE it when they like what I made. Sank, because my husband is an eater. Let me put this simply: one night I made him a pasta dish. I believe it involved fresh spring veggies, angel hair pasta, and a basil lemon garlic butter I find sometimes that is really scrumptious. I made him a big double batch. y'know, so he would have leftovers for the rest of the week.

He ate the entire batch. At once. With a FORK straight out of the bowl I mixed it in. While watching Ken Burn's the Civil War on Netflix. It gave him a terriable tummy ache.

"Honey, you do realize those take, like, twenty four hours to make." I said anxiously.

"I'll put them back."

"No! No, eat them if you like them. Just...leave some for me, okay?"

He then moved on to the buckwheat crackers (these only take twelve hours to make. It's not that much active time, just dehydrating time.) He liked the maple cinnamon ones okay, but thought the chocolate coconut buckwheat crackers were just awesome and ate a huge pile of them with a glass of milk (this probably defeats the whole raw food thing, huh?).

I've got a new batch of both in the dehydrator now and I'm already planning my next batch. Assuming the hubby doesn't eat them all first. :)