Nutgraf

We all know what’s most important today, and it’s one more video about Punkin Chunkin.

This machine is called “Bad to the Bone,” and it has been in competition for years. As the announcer mentions, it is very, very important that these centrifugal machines deploy the pumpkin at precisely the right moment. As you might imagine, the results of a misfire can be catastrophic. That, interestingly, is why the dump truck is deployed in “dumping” position in this video - to cover some of angles a potential misfire could utilize.

Now, rest up. They’re predicting long lines and general chaos at polling places tomorrow, so bring a book and be counted.

• Read all about it on NYTimes.com.

What do you do at 10 pm when you’re fragged, famished and forlorn?

Why, you reheat.

The story: I’ve spent the greater part of the last couple of weeks Bashing My Brains Out working and attending various social and family functions. Honestly, it’s been dire.

Today I was looking forward to putting in a solid 12-hour day at the office to catch up on some of the overload.  Around 5 pm, however, I was deflected from working by a friend who announced casually that he’s been in the hospital for the last couple of days and could really use a cell phone charger, if I happened to find myself in Virginia.

It’s a longer story than that, of course, but in the interest of his privacy (HIPAA, doncha know) and my sanity, I’ll spare us all. The point is, I had a great plan to work until hellacious-o’clock, and wound up getting home even a bit later than I’d intended and casting about for something to eat, while suffering from a bit of nervous energy.

And thus, the canapé of the damned was born.

What you see here is, from bottom left (sliced baguette), clockwise:

• Thinly sliced baguette fragments - toasted.
• Foil-wrapped caramel-topped brownies. These have not yet come into play this evening.
• Leftover mashed potatoes - microwaved.
• Leftover turkey meatloaf experiment that actually went quite well - reheated.
• Homemade cranberry sauce of the simplest possible variety (berries, sugar, water, cook until they overflow all over your nice, new-ish stove) - chilled.
• And in the center position: The unholy melange.

Now, I did this because there is (or was) some place in Boston that is (or was) famous for concocting the perfect turkey-stuffing-cran sandwich on toasted white bread. It was a real specialty, the kind of place where you stand in a long line and when you get to the counter say “one, please.” I had it once 5 million years ago, and it was pleasing unto me at that time.

What I’ve done here does not compare. In fact, I do not recommend this. Do not recommend it at all.

In my house, we call this high entertainment. A ziploc, a couple of cat toys, and some organic captnip. Shake vigorously, fish out the toys, and deploy. Hours of fur-flying entertainment ensue.

I think the fact that I thought this was good enough to post about is evidence that I’m working too hard. On the other hand, if the ‘nip does its job, Mourka (the cone) will easily shed those troublesome extra pounds. It’s really all about feline fitness.

Yes, that’s my story, and I’m standing by it.

Never try to make paper in a Cuisinart.

It makes a godawful mess.

I was idly shredding documents from 2001 (every year I file the previous year’s stuff in a big accordion file. I’m “archiving” 2001 today), and thought it would be a fine, possibly funny, idea to make some paper out of old cell phone bills. Our blender bit it a few months ago, so I tried to make the pulp in the Cuisinart. But when I poured in the water and shreddings, things got messy. I strongly recommend using the proper tools the next time you try to make an ironic statement with your geriatric AT&T bills.

Spouse showed me this cartoon a few years ago. He says that when he was growing up, there were five or so cartoons released each year, so everyone knew them well. For various reasons, it has come to mind recently. I think it’s just beautiful and wanted to share it.

Just had my paternal unit, his very wonderful lady friend and spouse’s parents over for dinner to break in the new kitchen. Must say, things went well. Champagne helps, as does hours of politically incorrect discussion of post-doctoral fellows, their various countries of origin, and peer-reviewed shortcuts resulting in ethics refresher courses.

Anyway, it was a blast. Of course, the champagne helped. Spouse brined a chicken, which is a very simple process that people never fail to be impressed by. It is done as follows:

Take one chicken. Mix up in a pot one gallon of water, one scant cup of salt, one half cup of sugar, a couple of bay leaves and a few peppercorns. Add chicken to pot, having first removed the giblets (unless you’re into that kind of thing). Add water, if necessary, to cover up the chicken. Let the whole shebang set overnight in the fridge. Wring it out, dry it off , smear with some spices and pepper, and bake for about 1.5 hours at 375-ish. Totally tasty through and through, and not at all dry.

He tried to do this to Cornish hens once. Results were tiny, sad, desperately salty birds. We’ll try it with a turkey as soon as we have a big enough bucket that wasn’t recently full of Mr. Clean.

Me: Yeah, so mom wanted me to call and tell you that Grandma’s in the hospital and if you were still thinking of coming up next weekend that this might be a really good time for that trip.

[Several minutes of Grandma evaluation ensue]

Brother: I just wish we could talk sometime when it’s not bad news.

Me: Yeah, you know how mom gets. When there’s something that upsets her, she’d rather I tell you.

Brother: Yeah. I guess that’s why you’re kind of a Grim Reaper figure to me.

Me: Oh good. Because that’s really what I’ve been going for.