Twelve Days of Cookies

I'd like to take a moment to say, rest in peace Bettie Page. You started a revolution, and proved blondes do not have more fun! No worries, I've coerced a tattoo shop into creating a tattoo special in your honor! Which I will surely be partaking in ;)

This year for the holidays, I was feeling a little out of the spirit, despite all the crafting we have done for our "Green Christmas". Fortunately, Food Network gave me some help in cooking up a more festive holiday for everyone! The Twelve Days of Cookies has begun!

Day One: Paradise Macaroons

Ingredients
2 (7 to 8-ounce) packages sweetened shredded coconut
2 ounces sweetened condensed milk
Pinch kosher salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 large egg whites at room temperature
5 ounces granulated sugar
12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
1 ounce vegetable shortening
2 ounces finely chopped dry-roasted macadamia nuts

Directions
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.
Combine the coconut with the sweetened condensed milk, salt and vanilla in a medium mixing bowl.
In the bowl of a stand mixer with a whisk attachment, beat the egg whites on medium speed until foamy. Gradually add the sugar and continue to whip the whites until medium peaks form, 6 to 7 minutes.
Gently fold the egg whites into the coconut mixture. Scoop tablespoon-sized mounds onto a parchment-lined half sheet pan and bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until golden brown. Immediately transfer the parchment with the macaroons to a cooling rack. Cool completely before topping.
Fill a 4-quart pot with enough water to come 2 inches up the side, set over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Combine the chocolate chips and shortening in a small metal or glass mixing bowl and set over the simmering pot. Stir occasionally until melted, then remove from the heat.
Dip the cooled cookies in the chocolate mixture, sprinkle with the chopped macadamia nuts and place on parchment paper to set, about 30 minutes.

skinheads and nudists.

According to Wikipedia:
"A skinhead is a member of a subculture that originated among working class youths in the United Kingdom in the 1960s, and then spread to other parts of the world. Named for their close-cropped or shaven heads, the first skinheads were greatly influenced by West Indian (specifically Jamaican) rude boys and British mods, in terms of fashion, music and lifestyle.[1] Originally, the skinhead subculture was primarily based on those elements, not politics or race.[2] Since then, however, attitudes toward race and politics have become factors in which some skinheads align themselves. The political spectrum within the skinhead scene ranges from the far right to the far left, although many skinheads are apolitical. Fashion-wise, skinheads range from a clean-cut 1960s mod-influenced style to less-strict punk- and hardcore-influenced styles."

According to Ben Folds:

"I know that's hard to believe/ But there are people you meet/ They're into something that is too big to be/ Expressed through their clothes /And they'll put up with all the poses you throw/ But they'll still look in your eyes/ To find the human inside/ You know there's always something in there to see."

I'm so sick of people assuming I'm shallow enough to be read through the clothing I wear, or that the music I listen to can be determined by my haircut. I'm done worrying about what I look like to the world because the people looking at me, probably won't have to look at me every day for the rest of my life. And the people who will.. well they wouldn't care what I looked like anyway. So, I told Chris today that I was buying Doc Martens to go with all my "hippie" dresses. Because I like them. We decided that we are much too big of people to be described in one style of clothing. I'd much rather go naked, then no judgments can be passed- Nudists have got the right idea! (Oh wait, the tattoos... there's no escaping the stereotypes of turtles and oms??)

I don't care if I look like a hippie, a punk, a chonga, a bum, a goth, a scenie, an indie, or a retard. That tattooed chick in the Misfits shirt is gonna go home and meditate, not start a brawl in the parking lot. Life is too damn short to worry what "they" are going to say about my wardrobe. Life is too short to dress like a mannican, like everyone else. It's too short to match my shoes with my hats. And it's much too short to waste time pasting my body and soul with ridiculous fabric labels. I'd rather make a statement by writing a letter, starting a riot, helping those in need, picketing for a cause, or refusing to abide by society's dress code. Recently a friend proved his knowledge of hip-hop to a hater in IHop. By doing this he disproved one man's views of kids in "tight-ass pants." Join our revolution, world. I'm done with clothing labels.