MEGADOODLEBUG: September 2011

This is legitimately my first foray into baking. And I didn't even use my oven this time. Gotta start slow! This recipe comes from my cooky cousin Carole and reminds me of my childhood.

INGREDIENTS
3 cups graham cracker crumbs
2 1/2 cups powdered sugar
1 1/4 cups peanut butter
2 sticks butter melted
1 large bag milk chocolate chips

Mix the graham cracker crumbs and powdered sugar together thoroughly. Add peanut butter and melted butter and mix together completely. You may need to use your hands. Spread mixture on large cookie pan and pat it down evenly.

Melt the chocolate chips in the microwave; or put a smaller pan into a larger pan of boiling water to melt the chocolate like I did because I do not have a microwave. Spread the melted chocolate on top of the graham cracker mixture and then refrigerate until it is slightly hardened. Cut into bite size pieces and then refrigerate a while longer.

I realized I'm not as good of an even patter-downer as Carole because my bars came out all uneven and chunky. Also, I used Ghiradelli chocolate which is delicious. But Nestle is the classic peanut butter bar chocolate and I should have listened to you Carole! But at least I used the Jif!

So yums!

This is a poem by Ani Difranco that I remember reading when I was in highschool. I just came across it again and thought I would share it. I have no political agendas or opinions that I want to state with this post. Merely, I enjoy the art of the poetry in and of itself. And it reminds me of some of the ways I coped with September 11th.

WTC Poem
By: Ani Difranco

Yes, yes, yes, us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
bordering upon hyper distellation

and once upon a time
we were moonshine

rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway despite what the PA annoucement said
yes, rushing down the long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity fermented and distilled to eighteen minutes

burning down our throats
down the hall
down the stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there

yes, it's part of a pair there
on the bow of Noah's Ark
the most prestigious couple
just kicking back, parked
against a pefectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its Indian Summer breeze
on the day that America
fell to its knees

after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you or please

the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
because we were all on time
for work that day

we all boarded that plane for to fly
and then when the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky

every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything I've seen so far

yes it looked more like war than anything I've seen so far

so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on

and I'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the Pentagon
you can keep the propaganda
and each and every tv
that's been trying to convince me
to participate in some prep school punk's plan
to perpetuate retribution

perpetuate retribution

even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair

and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from Hell's Kitchen to Brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories, sudden twists, and near misses
and the whiskey is flowing like never before
as all over the country folks just shake their heads, and pour

so...

here's a toast to all the folks who live in Palestine, and Iraq, and El Salvador
here's a toast to all the folks living on the Pine Ridge Reservation, with GI Joe still coming back for more
here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of Oklahoma City just to listen to a young woman's voice
here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now, awaiting hot oil or guillotine
who are shackled with dread and can only escape into their heads to
find peace in the form of a dream

cause take away our Play Stations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb
of some blue blood royal son
who bought the Oval Office in that phony election
and I'll tell you what, while we're at it, let me state unequivocally,
he is not president of me, he is not president of me

cause I, I am a poem of heating hyper distellation
I've got no room for a lie so verbose
I'm looking out over my whole human family
and I'm raising my glass in a toast

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost

cause once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
where the laundry was waving out on the line
and graffiti was teasing us from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys, under stars
I dream of touring like Duke Ellington in my own railroad car

I dream of waiting on the big wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger
and relearn how to rock and roll

yes, the lessons are all around us
and the truth is waiting there
so it's time to pick through rubble
clean the streets
and clear the air

tell our government to pull its big dick out of the sand of someone else's desert
and put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of 'freedom forever'

cause when that one lone phone rang in two thousand and one
at ten after nine on nine one one, which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall, right off our desks
and down the long hall, down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that whole world stopped
just to watch it fall

10% metaphor and 90% tragedy
shhh, listen to the poetry.