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.

no lies, just love.

Conor Oberst- a beautiful man with bright eyes and dark words. His sonnets held my hand through the best and, more significantly, the worst of times... They offered a friend when mine had all turned their backs, sanity when my I feared my mind was lost, emotion when I believed all hearts were actually made of stone- and most importantly, words I could relate to, words that made me feel less alone. His soft verses also aided in the celebration of life and love, rather than merely the loss of hope in them. His melodies healed.

Ever since my discovery of Bright Eyes, Conor Oberst has been my idol, somehow always managing to siphon his heart onto that paper. He is a man with enough courage to put his heart to music, allowing the world to put a stethoscope to his chest everytime headphones were donned-- it proves that actually being genuine and truly embracing emotion can take you far, eh? Unlike quite a few men I know.

Anyway, the fact that I was in the same room as this beautiful artist last night was enough reason for my stomach to brim with butterflies. But as soon as Mr. Oberst began his two hour set I didn't know what to do with myself. I felt like I had been tossed into the smoky seventies witnessing a Johnny Cash performance. Conor used his newest project, Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band, to blend his carefully constructed verses, delicately strung together into harmony, with the acoustic twang of the Mystic Valley Band, named after the Mexican mountain valley the band lived and recorded in for a month.

I'm no music critic, but I can surely tell you that the haunting voice Conor is known for paired with the new music style he has embraced is definitely a beautiful couple. He will never write a song that doesn't take my breath away- just by the utter perfection of the metaphors, stories, emotions... the mystery. It is the deepest of poetry set to tunes you can dance to. What more could you ask for in a musician?

End of my obsessive rant ;)

dusk & dawn.

Photo by Chris Ramos; apparently the ocean does wonders for his mind at 5am as well.

It's all going to work itself out, right? I suppose I should be doing Kriya rather than burying deeper into my bed today... trying to make the best of the day rather than accepting the early consensus that it would just be "one of those." But they say you are to give your 100% no matter what it is you're doing, so I'm giving my 100% to being gloomy today.

I'm forcing words because my mind has been boycotting them lately. A heart and soul's longing to create is a terrible thing when the body and mind are incapable of anything beyond the craving for ice cream and a sappy movie.

The doubts are nibbling at my mind- maybe I'm not meant for this whole college thing? Eight to three every Monday, Wednesday, Friday; Work ten to five every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday. It's all so mundane... so planned out. Wheres the excitement? How do you fit spontaneity into your schedule?

The four blue walls I was going to miss the most when leaving home are now the last four things I'd like to see right now. Can't I just run away right now? Fly to India or the Peace Corps or even just New York? Can't I see the world yet? Why am I being held back by the one thing I despise most? Money. Always. My eighteenth birthday was supposed to grant me the wings to begin to do something with my life- to escape these walls and devote my body and soul to making a difference.. Unfortunately, it merely granted me a new set of larger walls to commute forty minutes to for four more years. Then will I be free? Or just even more in debt..?

ring around the moon

I decided to spend my first full day off in who knows how long with what I love most- the ocean.

The waves always manage to clear my head. I realized that the more time I spend alone, the more I notice not only aspects of myself, but the world I am a part of. Maybe this is yet another positive result of the Yes+ course. Awareness of more than just breath.. (I'm such a damn cheerleader)

I watched a five year old boy tear it up on his minature, foam surfboard (fins and all) as the swells built. He caught more waves than the skimmers who spent most of their energy talkin smack about the man obviously in the midst of his mid life crisis, just trying to prove he can still work a board like the 20 year olds. It took a lot to not smack their sandcaked, smirking faces and tell them to get a life- or a real sport. Ouch.

Anyway, welcome to my blogspot! I've been devoted to livejournal for four years and three different journals, all friends only however. But, thanks to a newfound friend's suggestion, I have adopted blogspot as yet another place to spill my mind- and this time for all the world to see. I always have more than enough words to share, anyway.

My name is Lindsey. They say my heart beats too big, that I care too much, that I carry the world on my shoulders. But I've realized this might not be so bad after all. I plan to devote my life to teaching the message of the Art of Living, to helping the world find peace. I'm a vegetarian, writer, surfer, dreamer. I'm terrible at describing myself. You'll figure it out in time.

There's rings on the moon tonight. Legends say it's a sign of rain or cold. Scientists say that is partially true. My mom says it's a sign of something bad to come.