1 spaghetti squash, halved lengthwise and seeds removed 1 tablespoon vegetable oil 1 small onion, chopped 2 cloves garlic, chopped 1 teaspoon dried basil 2 plum tomatoes, chopped 1 cup (8 ounces) 1% cottage cheese 1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded low-fat mozzarella cheese 1/4 cup chopped parsley 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/4 cup (1 ounce) grated parmesan cheese 3 tablespoons seasoned dry bread crumbs
DIRECTIONS Preheat the oven to 400°F. Coat a 13” x 9” baking dish and a baking sheet with nonstick spray. Place the squash, cut side down, on the sheet. Bake for 30 minutes, or until tender when pierced with a sharp knife. With a fork, scrape the squash strands into a large bowl. Meanwhile, warm the oil in a medium skillet set over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and basil. Cook for 4 to 5 minutes, or until the onion is soft. Add the tomatoes. Cook for 3 to 4 minutes, or until the mixture is dry. To the bowl with the squash, add the cottage cheese, mozzarella, parsley, salt, and the onion mixture. Stir to mix. Pour into the prepared baking dish. Sprinkle with the Parmesan and bread crumbs. Bake for 30 minutes, or until bubbly and heated through.
- 2 cans of tuna in water ( drained) - 1/2 c. of quick oats - 2 large eggs - 1/2 c. Plain low fat Greek yogurt - 1/2 Tsp. of sea salt - 1/4 Tsp of ground black pepper - 1/2 c. of parsley - 2 Tbsp. of olive or coconut oil DIRECTIONS - Mix all ingredients in a bowl except for the oil. Heat the oil in a large non stick skillet over med-high heat. Measure out 1/4 c. of mixture for each cake. Fry cakes 2 min. on each side or until golden brown. Enjoy !!
“I recently wrote a blog post about my experience using a menstrual cup that spurred interesting conversations. They highlighted myriad cultural, economic, and social matters that rarely come to the fore in conversation. They opened dialogue about women’s bodies, access to sanitary services, and what it means to take these things for granted.”—Nyambura Mutanyi at Brainstorm. Forget your privileged self for a while (via protoslacker)
When I was in junior high school, I had the opportunity to take the entrance examination to either Bronx Science, which is a great New York school, or the High School of Music and Art, another great school. … And I had a science teacher who was very encouraging for me to enter into science — I was very good at science — and he wanted me to go to Bronx Science. And I was evasive about that, because I didn’t want to tell him that it ain’t gonna happen.
But the day of the entrance exam — they occurred on the same day — I took the entrance examination to the High School of Music and Art. And the next day I came into school, he was in the hallway as I was walking down, and he said, “I want to talk to you.” I said, “Uh-oh — the jig is up, he’s going to find out I took the ‘wrong’ exam.” He said, “Come to my office… Sit down.” And, as I was sitting there, he said, “I hear you took the exam for Music and Art.” And I said, “Um, yes.” And then he reached over, and he reached into his desk, and he pulled out a box of French Conté crayons — a fancy, expensive box — and he gave it to me, and he said, “Do good work.”
I can’t tell that story without crying, because it was such a profound example of somebody — an adult, authority figure, sophisticated man — who was willing to put aside his own desire for something, his own direction for my life, and recognize me as a person who had made a decision. And he was, instead of simply acknowledging it, encouraging it with this incredibly gracious and generous gift. … The thing about it that always astonishes you is that moment — it couldn’t have taken more than two minutes — was totally transformative about my view of life, my view of others, my view of education, my view of acknowledging the other.
Send this to every educator or mentor you know, and think of what would be possible if we were all capable of such self-transcendence for the sake of elevating another’s potential.
"There is so much shame in being poor, so much denial. Investment in the Horatio Algers myth and all of its American cultural permutations leads to burnout"
"There is an insanity that comes with trying to perform a version of yourself and your life that does not allow for acknowledging the pain, humiliation, reality, and longevity of your struggle. To do so is to believe advancement will come with the hard work, the mythological vehicle for class mobility, when that is only one small portion of the picture, and reliant on many other ingredients, luck being key."
“You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way ever again.”—Azar Nafisi
You want to say Hi to the cute girl on the subway. How will she react? Fortunately, I can tell you with some certainty, because she’s already sending messages to you. Looking out the window, reading a book, working on a computer, arms folded across chest, body away from you = do not disturb. So, y’know, don’t disturb her. Really. Even to say that you like her hair, shoes, or book. A compliment is not always a reason for women to smile and say thank you. You are a threat, remember? You are Schrödinger’s Rapist. Don’t assume that whatever you have to say will win her over with charm or flattery. Believe what she’s signaling, and back off.
If you speak, and she responds in a monosyllabic way without looking at you, she’s saying, “I don’t want to be rude, but please leave me alone.” You don’t know why. It could be “Please leave me alone because I am trying to memorize Beowulf.” It could be “Please leave me alone because you are a scary, scary man with breath like a water buffalo.” It could be “Please leave me alone because I am planning my assassination of a major geopolitical figure and I will have to kill you if you are able to recognize me and blow my cover.”
On the other hand, if she is turned towards you, making eye contact, and she responds in a friendly and talkative manner when you speak to her, you are getting a green light. You can continue the conversation until you start getting signals to back off.
The fourth point: If you fail to respect what women say, you label yourself a problem.
There’s a man with whom I went out on a single date—afternoon coffee, for one hour by the clock—on July 25th. In the two days after the date, he sent me about fifteen e-mails, scolding me for non-responsiveness. I e-mailed him back, saying, “Look, this is a disproportionate response to a single date. You are making me uncomfortable. Do not contact me again.” It is now October 7th. Does he still e-mail?
Yeah. He does. About every two weeks.
This man scores higher on the threat level scale than Man with the Cockroach Tattoos. (Who, after all, is guilty of nothing more than terrifying bad taste.) You see, Mr. E-mail has made it clear that he ignores what I say when he wants something from me. Now, I don’t know if he is an actual rapist, and I sincerely hope he’s not. But he is certainly Schrödinger’s Rapist, and this particular Schrödinger’s Rapist has a probability ratio greater than one in sixty. Because a man who ignores a woman’s NO in a non-sexual setting is more likely to ignore NO in a sexual setting, as well.
So if you speak to a woman who is otherwise occupied, you’re sending a subtle message. It is that your desire to interact trumps her right to be left alone. If you pursue a conversation when she’s tried to cut it off, you send a message. It is that your desire to speak trumps her right to be left alone. And each of those messages indicates that you believe your desires are a legitimate reason to override her rights.
For women, who are watching you very closely to determine how much of a threat you are, this is an important piece of data.
I read an article today about the selection process for the architects for the new Berkeley Art Museum and it sounds like a stupid life. You have to submit designs and be chosen and it just sounds like some giant, stupid, hierarchical rat race.
The head of the office wore a pinky ring and when I saw that, my heart sunk to the polished cement floor and my hopes drizzled through the porous cracks. It was just like any other office with a megalomaniac at the head and I would be just another drone when I got out of school. I would not be revolutionary, I would not better the world, I would not be able to afford Prada.
and 08/07/09, just cause:
God invented windows so I could appreciate the sun within arm’s length of my refrigerator.
and from same day:
My teacher forbade me from naming my pirate ship treehouse, “Pirate Ship Treehouse With Stairs to Nowhere and Drawbridge.” So now I have to think up a new title. I think he wants something conceptual but I don’t really know how much room I have for that, given what it is.
I was going to make stairs in stacked, narrow boxes that were just wide enough for one person, so that when one wanted to go back down and met someone who was coming up, one of them had to turn around and walk all the way back to the top box (where there would be a platform (facing the bay)) or walk all the way down to the entrance to let the other one pass. The boxes would all be see-through. The location is in a recessed area with lots of nature around it but also a path leading up to Coit Tower. So people on the path would be witnessing the stair-box phenomenon as they walked by. The assignment is to create a mini theater for 7 people. The people trekking up and down the stairs would be the show. A little ant farm show.
Did I tell you my survival map is going to fold out to be a poncho/cape and one side is going to be camouflaged so that when I sleep on the street/in the bushes, you won’t be able to see me?
from same day:
When I told my professor my idea, he just sort of blinked. I ventured that my sister thought I was insane, hoping that he would counter with, “No, that’s not insane at all. That’s exactly what we architecture professors are looking for!” But he just said, “Well…everyone thought Beethoven was insane,” and then he shrugged. Which I guess is better than another blink.
People keep asking me why I wouldn’t just borrow a cell phone or go to my friend’s house and I don’t understand how to convey to them that it’s a survival map. That I live every day with the fear that the world is on the brink of imminent apocalypse. Jeez.
I wanted to make a memory map. A map of all the places that my dad used to take me to when he was working and I just wandered around the city. I was young, 12-13, so the city I remember is not what one would typically see or ask about - I don’t know all the hot bars or new restaurants. And most of the cityscape has changed so the places that I went to are gone. It’s ‘invisible’ in that it no longer exists. And I want to map it as a record that it did exist, that something happened here, that this was important. And sort of tie that into architecture and how we are tied to places - how much of it is the physical and how much of it is the experience. Why am I so attached to this city that’s not even here anymore?
And part c of that project would be to do another overlay of the map and show my death route. In Chinese culture, when you die, they light this mongo incense and attach it to the hearse and drive to all the places that you visited when you lived. The incense is supposed to be a guide for your soul to follow. And it’s like a last visit to all the places in the physical world you inhabited/loved before your soul departs to wherever it departs. And when the incense goes out, so do you. Of course sometimes the wind blows it out, in which case you scramble for the lighter as fast as you can.
Today in class the professor showed a slide of a scribble by Le Corbusier and asked if we knew what it was. I guessed Alcatraz but the answer was the Parthenon.