Canadian Bacon Barbie

 Pity me because I don’t have a Proctor toaster.

From the Saturday Evening Post, ca. 1944.

This was my first attempt at making paska ever, and making it without wheat was a challenge. My mom tried this recipe but said it was only so-so, so I thought I’d look for a GF challah recipe since I think the texture might be similar. So I adapted this one.

I left out the honey and the potato flakes, and I added lemon extract for authentic paska flavour. I also added about a tablespoon of milk as the dough was mixing because I thought it seemed a little dry. And of course I iced it with homeade icing (butter, vanilla, icing sugar, and a tiny bit of lemon extract) and added the requisite rainbow sprinkles. I think it turned out pretty good–the bread was a bit more yellowish in color than regular paska, but the texture was pretty similar (shown below):

Overall I’d say this was a pretty successful adaptation, although next time I’d try the regular oven to see if I could fix the lumpiness. As you can see, i had to fill in some of the holes with extra icing.

If there is such a thing as hell, I’m 90% sure that most of my appliances would live in it. Not to supply people with fresh laundry or microwaved burritos, but to annoy people with their constant beeping. I’m not sure what appliance designers are thinking when they build automatic beeps into things, except that perhaps they believe they are being helpful. But they really aren’t. My microwave beeps 3 times every 30 seconds or so if you leave something in it after it is done cooking. My clothes dryer beeps 3 times every 30 seconds when the clothes are about to be dry. (Not when they are actually dry.)  The weird thing about both of these beeping functions is that they are pretty much superfluous, because both the microwave and the dryer are loud enough on their own that you can hear them stop. So what’s the point of the beeping? Both of these appliances are valuable in part because you can *do other stuff* while they are working. But there’s no real drawback to forgetting stuff in the microwave or the dryer, really. So your burrito gets cold and you have to heat it up again. So your clothes get a little wrinkly if you don’t take them out immediately. Who really cares? You can just heat it up/dry it a little longer. Not a big deal. In the lower-archy of hell’s soundtrack, though, I’d probably give the absolute lowest spot to that sound that Microsoft Windows used to play when you’d do something wrong. It kind of sounded like a cat stepping on a piano, but it was called “chord.” Probably the most annoying beep in history. Why can’t any of these beeping noises be pleasant in some way rather than making me want to tear my hair out?

Dear Sunday New York Times;

I thought I loved you. Seriously, when we were “dating,” before I made the big commitment, I couldn’t get enough of you. Maybe it was the fact that you played hard to get, appearing only on the mornings when you hadn’t already been picked up by someone else at the few local stores that stocked you. Sometimes I’d just have to settle for going to the coffee shop on Sunday morning, hoping to see you there in the arms of a stranger.

But now that I have you I mistreat you. I generally ignore you except for a few of your less demanding features–the “Modern Love” column, the magazine, the pictures of New York fashion trends. I read your front page and the week review out of duty. I don’t always appreciate your intelligence. And I hardly ever tackled your crossword puzzle. Half of your pages (business, sports) go straight to the recycling bin.

Sorry, but I’m just not that into you.

***

Dear New Yorker;

We met casually once and it you seemed interesting, if a bit old for me (those cartoons… really?) But once I subscribed to you you turned into one of those stalker type dates who wouldn’t leave me alone. Maybe if you only came around once a month I’d be more interested. But every week you show up on my doorstep, and in the end I just tossed you aside. Unless you had an article by David Sedaris. It wasn’t enough to keep me around.

Once I rejected you things just got worse. The letters, the e-mails, the last chance bargaining, the ultimatums. I mean come-on. You’ll just have to face the truth: I’m just not that into you.

***

Dear Glamour,

We have an on again, off again relationship. I just can’t seem to shake you. You’ve been in my life since I was a teenager, always there with a word of advice or a fashion tip. When I see you in the grocery store I’m always happy to see you, and want to pick you up and hold you. But you’re kind of predictable, and I don’t think you’ve changed over the last 15 years as much as I have. Everytime you start talking about the best forms of birth control or new skin cleansers or how spring florals are in (again) I just want to tune out. But somehow I’m a sucker for your do’s and don’ts. So I guess I’ll stay with you for now, but really, I’m just not that into you.

***

Dear Wired,

You think you’re so hip, with your flashy colors and shiny pages and articles about tech-y things. But I only brought you here out of mild curiosity, and a free voucher from some air miles I figured I’d never use anyway. Your attempts to seem cool seem kind of like you are trying to comb over a bald spot. I guess I’m just not into geek chic. Or you.

***