Robots

I like robots. Once I programmed a robot to navigate a maze. Brendon helped. Our stategy was to use a "bashing" algorithm, which would reorganize the maze into simpler tasks by using the robot's accelerational force to knock the walls down by repeatedly smashing against them. Top scientists in the field are now employing our research.



Actually, that robot is terrifyingly well designed. I wonder who will get the contract to mount a machine gun on top of it. I bet the peaceful applications for such a device are innumerable. We can use it to traverse all of the environments that mankind has made uninhabitable, for instance. And that thing would be wicked good at wandering around on the moon or mars or whatever. I think I need one to serve drinks on my sail barge at desert parties. It would be a whole lot better than that translator droid I bought off that crooked bounty hunter.

Broccoli ammendment.

      It was pointed out to me last night, by Kristy, that peeling the stalks of broccoli is not always the way to go. while she claims to enjoy the peel and leaves of the stalk, I feel that these parts of the plant are much to fibrous for pleasurable consumption. For those who do want this rich source of vitamins and dietary fiber to be part of their meal, my solution is to julienne the stalks, or slice them absurdly thinly, prior to cooking, so that you don't choke on fiber.

      I really like the idea of including cut up stalks in a risotto or curry. Julienned stalks can be boiled in with pasta for a refreshing twist on any primavera.

      Also, if I ever catch any of you throwing out the stalks, you are gonna owe me 20 push ups and 10 suicides (and I mean the ones across the whole gym, jerk).

My Opinion on Broccoli

by Max Maclaren

Purchasing:
Buy Broccoli at the grocery store. Dumpster Broccoli tends to be rotten and stealing it from a farm is wrong. I suggest going to your local purveyor of expensive organic goods, since broccoli will not cost much more there, but will kept in a misted environment and more varieties will be available. Do not pay attention to which type is organic or local or hydroponic or whatever. Just buy the kind with the darkest, most consistent floret.

Broccoli has two edible parts (the floret and the stalk), which should be treated as separate entities. I feel that stalks are fairly consistent and take on a background task in foods, so broccoli should be selected for the floret. You should note that there are other types of broccoli out there, and if you run across such as romanesco broccoli  you should take advantage of the superior texture and mathematically pleasing florets. Sicilian Purple broccoli bears more resemblance to cauliflower than other broccolis, and like broccolini, is not the subject of today’s rant.

Cooking:
The florets are the most flavorful part, and there is only one thing to be done. Blanch them. Cut them all off the stalk (I like a birds beak paring knife for this task) and put the stalks aside for later (they will keep for a week or two in your crisper drawer if bagged and dry). Boil some water with a few tablespoons of kosher salt, and dunk the florets in until they darken in color. A minute or two should be plenty, do not overcook them at all. Take them out and strain them, you can serve them alone, or in a salad (broccoli florets pair nicely with fresh mozzarella). Due to their high surface area, they will not retain heat well, so if you wish to serve them hot, add them as the final ingredient to a sauce, so that liquid or emulsion can keep their heat even with other items on the plate. Alfredo comes to mind, but stir fry with teriyaki or the inside of a twice baked potato is a good place to keep them warm.

The stalks can be treated like a root vegetable or asparagus. Peel them with a potato peeler and cut the bottom ends off, and they will make a nice addition to any dish you would put asparagus into. Even just fry them in oil with garlic and salt like potato fries to make “broccoli fries”.

Overall Opinion:

I like broccoli. It is a good vegetable.

The Game, Part 4

This is part of a series. If you haven't already, you should start from the beginning.






      The soda is warm. It has been on the counter all day. I put it in the fridge, replacing the last can of normal cherry seven up. Then I stop. She might fall for it, but she deserves this victory. I will drink it in front of her later on. I stuff it into the back of the fridge and get the empty 7up plus can from it’s hiding place behind the radiator to carry with me per the instructions.

      Frank and I turn toward the clue. It is pretty simple, and accompanied by a pack of photographs.

“These lead you somewhere.”

They sure do. It is pictures, taken every 50 yards or so, of various points between oak square and Frank’s house in Watertown. The last one is of a gutter. I tell frank we are going to his gutter, but he is pretty sure that it is not his gutter. We jump in the car anyways, talking about stopping at the skating rink in one of the photos. We are halfway to the rink when his phone rings. I focus on driving my rocket car instead of the side of the conversation I can hear. Frank hangs up the phone, “Dude, just go straight to my house, it is my gutter.” We are late. I am used to that. A batman symbol spins across your whole field of vision, and you hear a rapid scale up and down and up two octaves. Now Frank is pulling a Ziploc bag out of his gutter.

“Call:

(617) 268-1379

145 Ipswich St
Boston, MA 02215”

      There is a 20 in the envelope. I call the number on franks phone, and he runs upstairs to wash up. It rings 10 times before I get to the door, and 5 more times before I get up the stairs, and I count 19 total before I get a response. “something cab company” “I am sorry, too many rings, I am calling a better cab company.” Frank has already determined that the address is that of Jillian’s, and calls Watertown cab, where they know him by first name. We convince Jenni to come along, even though it appears she has her heart set on killing a virtual hobgoblin. “Fair is gonna be there” “OKAY” That was easy.

      I move my car until it is unticketable and the cab arrives in the time it takes me to do this. We arrive at Jillian’s a little after 8 pm. It has taken us just over 7 hours to complete the puzzle. The cab driver knows Jenni and Frank both, and we whip through secret back roads that I didn’t know existed. He even bends the fabric of the universe in order to leap through space-time so we don’t need to get back on Beacon Street when we get off of Storrow Drive. I get out and don my crown. I warn Frank that there could be demons, but he has already ditched his bag, so we have no defenses if we are attacked. The bouncers do not notice my crown, and see no issue with me carrying an empty can of seven up plus into their establishment. One of these same gentlemen will later accost Alex or Jesse or maybe it was James for wearing a baseball cap indoors. I am truly excellent.

      Nobody visible on the second floor. We bump into Rodrigo on the way to the third. He is in a good mood “Heh, Sorry I ruined your surprise, Max- I mean your- I mean … not … your … not … surprise … “ I give him one of those half hug/half pat on the back things you give to your brother in law and let him go on his way as I finish my victory lap.

      Olga and Fair have assembled a whole bunch of completely awesome people on the third floor. They are taking up an entire section of the seating, a full block and then some. Olga comes up to me, everyone is smiling. “Here you go, Peach, I got you something.” I hand her the empty can and put the bunny ears on her head. “Holy shit, guys, this was the best birthday present I ever got in my life” I have gotten some good ones, too. I tell bits of the story, starting with the bit where Voice made me shave my leg (which I proudly display). Olga and Gino brighten – “oh did you like that guess what he is here!” I turn around and there is Voice, “nice to meet you, happy birthday, I hear you like Scotch!” holding a scotch and a cup of ice. He is not an asshole after all! In fact, he is an old friend of Gino’s visiting from Ohio or Wisconsin or some other state. This whole thing has been in the works for weeks. We trade stories and my friends buy me drinks and we all talk and then bowl and then the batman symbol spins halfway across your field of vision, then drops to the floor in front of where I was walking and I trip over it. Fair has made me drunk. That wasn’t even the batman song! Sounded more like the chicken dance if you ask me. I hurl a bowling ball into someone else’s lane and stagger downstairs without any comprehension of how I got out of my shoes. There are hugs to be had everywhere and dancing and I am pretty sure someone is holding me up but I can’t tell due to this blindness that has just come over me. Better punch them to make sure they are sturdy. This is no cab! Rodrigo is trying not to sit on the scraper. More cake! Bed.


      So, if anyone out there has any ideas on how I can repay my excellent and twisted friends/sisters for the practical joke of the century, please email them to me.

The Game, Part 3

This is part of a series. If you haven't already, you should start from the beginning.






      We enter the Starbucks and look around. I feel as if I have just marched into a saloon in the old west. “Howdy”, I say, in a low voice. The dusty cowpokes at the bar turn, the piano music stops, the card players at the multitude of tables set down their sweaty bicycles and bourbon stained poker chips and aim suspicious glares in my direction. I pause for a moment, hands still on the door, not a single motion toward the long six in my holster, so they all know I am not after any bounties. After a moment, the music starts up again right where it left off (because that cheat is using a player piano, I can see his right foot working the pedal). I am free to walk up to the bar and order a-

      “DOUBLE MOCACHINO LATTE WITH NONFAT WHIPPED AND LOWFAT FOAM AND AN EXTRA TALL ICE-A-MUNDO” The barista interrupts my (better) reality by calling out the poorly named beverages he has just prepared, and Frank pushes me the rest of the way into the small, packed Starbucks. We are really not sure what to do, so I get in line. I stand nonchalantly behind another customer, and the cashier looks up with a tremendous grin and points at my ears. I smile, because soon I will be drinking more espresso, and also because I now know we are in the right place.

      When he finishes with the other customer, he looks up “wow I didn’t think you were going to show up!” The next plant is the cashier. CRS corporation has sleeper agents everywhere. Olga and Fair must have spent a small fortune on my birthday gift. “I just want to say, I think it is totally awesome that you are doing this” This guy was enthralled with us. He hands us the envelope and we buy a quadruple espresso and one of those bottled coffee things. We chat with him for a while, and tell him the story of our day’s exploits, he gives me a coffee on the house and I tip as well as I can without being absurd. As we wait for the coffee, the Cashier fills me in on some details. Apparently a mysterious woman named ‘Spicy’ has been in to the Starbucks on a couple occasions to negotiate timing and drop off the clues. It was unclear whether she was Fair or Olga, they are both pretty spicy, maybe a CRS employee had done most of the setup. One of the envelopes contains my car key. The other contains a crossword. The clues have been written using close personal data that must have been collected on me. Fair must have filled out a long questionnaire at CRS, because the clues are all inside jokes that only I can get. Then there is a scramble, with some of the letters from the answers, which spells “the card stop”. Once we realize that Frank’s ‘C’ is actually meant to be an ‘L’, it spells “the last drop”. We thank the Starbucks Crew and run out to the parking lot.

      We wander into the parking lot, that twelfth shot of espresso is coursing through my veins and the end is in sight, but it will be good to see my stolen car again. We see a glimmer of white, the sleek chassis displaces most of the air that had occupied the parking spot in the back of the lot. The rest of the air is still in place. Except for the air that is being displaced by the junk inside my car. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention the air that is being displaced by the soaped up windows and at least 20 helium balloons that are completely filling my stolen car. After we get in, we actually have to move several balloons to the trunk in order to even be able to see out the back window. Hearts and “Birthday boy” are all over my windows. It should be noted that having one’s car stolen and defaced in such a manner feels immensely good, and I was elated. The entire way to the last drop I felt great, if still a little worried that I might not get it back.

      I park my stolen car in the YMCA parking lot, and say a silent goodbye to it as we walk into the bar across the street. It is about 6:30, so the usual friendly bunch of local regulars is sitting around the bar and the place is mostly empty. The bar tender looks up at me, “What can I get for you?” I wonder if I did the scramble wrong but I had better order a drink just to be sure, “Can I have a Bass Ale?” he pulls on the tap and turns toward Frank, “um… a Blue Moon?”, and as the bartender passes me my beer I decide to bring it up, “Did they tell you a dude with pink bunny ears would be coming in today?” I gesture toward my head to point out the fact that I am, in fact, wearing pink bunny ears, in case they were missed in his initial inspection. “Oh yeah, they did say something about that”, He looks over to his right, where one of the regulars nods. He walks over there and pours a couple shots of Johnny Walker Red, “they said for you to drink scotch with the bartender.” I politely oblige. Frank and I drink our beers and tell the story of our adventure to the people at the bar. They are entertained by my proud display of my partially shaven leg, and recommend that I not take the ears off. Sound advice. Bartender reaches into the papers by the register and withdraws another silver envelope. It has my house key inside. There is a clue in there, too. Nice and simple, this must be the last one. It is handwritten, unlike the others. CRS probably let Fair or Olga word it themselves.

“grab a snack @ tip top street”

      Olga’s handwriting, and our beers vanish. Well, that’s it. That is why we were not allowed to stop at home. There is going to be a bunch of people there, I know it. Frank knows it, too, “I bet Olga has a bunch of people ready to jump out at you when we walk in, dude.” I leave an absurd tip and we walk out to the car. It finally dawns on me that my car is here to stay. I turn the key in the ignition of my very own car, which is mine and not stolen, and exhale. We spin around oak square and up to my villa. The guard at the gate is sleeping, and ten minutes of garden lined driveway later, we pull up to the main chateau. The lights are all off, except for the kitchen. They must have had the bartender call to warn them. We climb the stairs to my second floor apartment in the umm… villa, and I have dibs on the bathroom. I need to urinate before everyone jumps out at me. After washing up a bit, I check the rest of the apartment. It is a little quiet in here, and the reality of all my friends hiding anywhere for any extended period of time is debauchery and giggling. I hear none of this, and one by one, the dark rooms in my apartment turn up empty.
When I return, Frank is already hungrily devouring the cake that was on the kitchen table. I join him, it is delicious. Something resists the knife when we cut into it, however. Another clue. A delicious, chocolaty clue. And there is something else. A can. With a note. The can.

      For those of you who have never experienced “berry” 7up Plus, it is horrible. Infused with vitamins, in order to make it “healthy”, these 12 cans of 7up plus have infested our fridge since last summer. I had convinced Olga that I would drink them if they tasted bad when we were in the store, and after we both tried a foul can of calcium water with carbonation and ear infection medicine flavoring, the next 6 months were spent tricking our various houseguests and each other into drinking 9 of the remaining cans. I am sure I consumed 3 or 4 of the cursed things on dares and tricks, but this is the slickest move Olga has pulled since that time she tried to win “the quiet game” by stabbing me with the kitchen knives until I spoke. The can has a note on it.

“drink this, and bring the empty can with you as proof”

TO BE CONCLUDED SOON!