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Saving money by buying whole chickens

I’m on rather an economy drive lately, but I like to eat well.

I’ve discovered a way to save a whole bunch of money on meat.  In my area, a boneless, skinless chicken breast runs over three bucks a pound when not on sale.  Even on sale you’ll never see it for less than about $1.99/lb.

I can pretty much count on one of the area grocery stores having a sale on whole chickens for between $0.89 and $0.99/lb most weeks.  Now, you might say that you get sick of a whole roast chicken all the time, and fair enough.  Sure, I do the thing where I roast a chicken, save some of the leftover meat for chicken salad, then make Garbage Soup out of what’s left every now and then, but it’s not all you can do with a whole chicken.

One thing I’d never done was cut up a whole chicken into its various parts.  If I was going to use the parts, I bought the chicken cut up.  Noticing how much cheaper the whole chicken often is, I decided I needed to learn to cut up my own.

I tried it yesterday, just because, well, I like learning new things.[1] I watched a video on Youtube about it, then on my very first try it took me something fewer than five minutes.  It might not be as cool or as pretty as a professional can do it, but it’s a large enough money savings, I’m all good doing this.  Yeah, it’s a little yucky, but I feel like if I’m willing to eat meat at all, I need to suck it up on the yucky anyway and get real that I’m eating an animal.

Now, not everything I make uses chicken with bones in.  In fact, a lot of it doesn’t.  Next time I find a good sale on chickens, I’m going to learn to debone the chicken.  I’ve been given to understand it’s fairly quick and easy.  I think Elliot Yan claims to be able to do it in 18 seconds, so I’m sure I can do it in a couple of minutes.  The next time I buy a chicken, I’ll debone it and possibly even portion it out already cut up for stir fries.[2]

I’ve seen people talk about the waste involved.  We don’t eat the bones! Who eats the wings?

No we don’t eat the bones, but I cook with chicken stock a whole bunch, and not just soups.   Rice made with chicken stock is delicious.  Beans and rice, jambalaya and many other dishes that use water have a richer flaver, and are more nutritious[3] with the stock anyway.  Bones and chicken backs make fine, tasty stock.  So, no, it’s not wasted.  I just save them in a bag in the freezer for the next time I’m going to make stock.

As far as the wings?  Don’t you ever have parties?  Buffalo wings, and variations thereof are pretty popular ‘round here.  I’m saving mine for the next party I throw.

It does take some time to cut up and repackage a whole chicken, but it doesn’t take that much and it’s not even hard.  If you’re looking for a way to save money on meat, I have to encourage you to give this a try.

[1] And next week, it might be a new programming language.  C’mon guys, I wasn’t kidding when I said it was my job to learn stuff then talk about it.

 

[2] Which will make my son happy for the nights he cooks.  He detests cutting up chicken.

[3] If you’re worried about calcium intake and are not big on dairy, this is another great way to get your calcium. When you make homemade stock, it leeches from the bones.

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For the last time, introversion is not shyness!

I read a piece on introversion lately that was mostly kind of cool, but one line made me want to explode.  It dealt with karaoke and why an introvert doesn’t want to get up and perform karaoke.  Something to do with being terrified of getting up in front of the public and performing, if I recall correctly.

Friends, this is no more a hallmark of introversion than is blue eyes.

Being an introvert is not about being scared of being in the public eye.  In fact, being afraid of public speaking is an incredibly common fear that runs across the introvert/extrovert lines and has more to do with being a human being than it does with one’s mental orientation.

What’s actually a pretty common pattern is for an introvert to be a pretty accomplished public speaker, but find that she detests noisy parties.  Being an introvert isn’t about being scared.  It’s about being drained by too much interpersonal contact.

The introversion=shyness thing tends to get to rub me the wrong way.  I think partially because there is an underlying implication that the introversion needs to be cured, but also because if someone doesn’t know me well, they’ll deny I’m an introvert and interpret my behavior from an extroverted frame of reference.

Ferinstance, if someone sees that because I am not shy that I am an extrovert, but only want to socialize with them on a limited or irregular basis, they’ll interpret that as me not liking them very much, but don’t want to say so.  If they were to see me as the introvert that I am, they recognize that I just need to be alone a whole bunch and it has nothing at all to do with my fondness or not for them as people.

I remember once teaching a class and mentioning being an introvert.  I forget why it was brought up, but since I was teaching, I was probably looking for an illustrative example of something.  One of the class members immediately said, “But you’re not shy![1]”[2]

No, I’m not.  I even enjoy public speaking.

For the last time, fear of being in the spotlight is not an introversion/extroversion thing.  It’s a not-too-unusual people thing.  ‘Kay?

[1] Nancybuttons sells a button I really should buy.  “I’m not shy.  I’m studying my prey.”

[2] I am a very animated public speaker.

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What Editing is Supposed to Be

I had a rather unusual pleasure today.  I edited a piece for a friend.

Now this chick can write. Funny?  Oh very yes!  Clear?  Yep.  Has a specific voice.  My goodness yes.

So, when I saw it and asked if I could edit it, it wasn’t because what she did sucked.  It was because it was good and just needed a few rough edges sanded down and polished.

Something that is a real myth about the writing world is that an editor will just ruin your piece.  I even believed it for awhile.  Blame it on some of Heinlein’s snarky comments if you want.  But the truth is that no editor wants to ruin your piece, kill your voice or anything like that.  That’s not the editor’s job.

It’s the editor’s job to make you look brilliant. Well, insofar as possible.  Can’t make bricks without straw.  But what an editor wants is for anything that passes her desk to be readable, instructive, entertaining or whatever might be the goal of the publication.

Her comment was, “Oh wow. Ok that’s amazing. I totally see. You sort of turned it into the piece I wanted it to be in the first place with the editing.”

That means I managed to do my job in working on it!

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Passion, Payment and Profit

I am psycho busy with work and clients.

This is a good thing, mind you.  It means money, the projects I have are interesting and they’re practice in things that make more money than SEO, but I’ve felt intimidated in trying to do.  I’ve made a note that I need to write up an “intake” type questionaire for press releases and money raising pitches.  This client seems to be tolerant, but I think I’d do better, and get work done faster if I have a standard questionaire for this sort of thing.  I think it’d make the client more comfortable to have more structure when it comes to giving direction as well.

Even with being so busy, I’m making a commitment that if I do no other housework at all, I will tidy up the clutter that accumulates through the day for a few minutes each evening.  It’ll keep me from feeling out of control from visual clutter.  Now, I have been able to keep up on routines, but to be frank, unless clutter and mess starts interfering with my thinking and mood, work is far more important.

I was talking to The Bird the other day while in Borders.  (If I have a lot of work to do, I often take the kids to Borders so that we can sit down and have a snack, then I can work and they can read and hang out in a place they like).  She asked me how I felt about writing in a bookstore and being a writer.  I told her that while I really do love to read, and I enjoy books, it’s very hard not to point to the shelves and go, “Yep, that’s product. Product over there…”

I’ve stopped seeing the printed word as something elevated or holy.  I know what this really means is that I’ve become a hack.

Know what?  In a lot of ways I’m proud of that.  Hack writers do make a living doing it and that’s a cool thing.  (As long as you’re making that living.  When you’re not, it can be stressy as hell!)   Even after three years of taking the leap, I get up in the morning and bid on projects or answer client email or sit down to work, but I bounce up and down in the chair a little thinking “This is really cool.”  I saw someone from my old job and when she asked how I was doing since I left, I could say in all honesty, “I’m doing really well.  I love what I do.”

So, while I don’t see books as quite as holy, I find the process and day to day job of being a “real” writer1 even more amazing than ever.  There’s a sense of wonder about it for me.  I really do this.  I write, I get money, I buy groceries with that money.   But in spite of the mundaneness of what I do, it feels like the end of Beauty and the Beast or something, with the majestic music playing and the thorns turning to roses and the light flooding the entire castle.  I have to remind myself that it’s real.

The funny part is that it wasn’t luck or someone waving a magic wand or anything like that.  I just decided one day, “I will do this” and then did.  I got scared and felt insecure, bit my nails wondering if I’m good enough, all of that.  Hell, I still do.  But it’s one hell of an adventure.

That adventure isn’t specific to being a writer, though.  I mean, that’s what resonnates with me, but people’s tastes are different.  I think the adventure part comes in when you love to do something so much that you just dive into it with no idea in the world whether or not you’ll succeed or fail, but with the total abandon.  Sometimes you fail at this.  I’ve dived into things and hit rocks.  Don’t think I haven’t.

But oh, when you find clear water and depths, it’s so very, very good.

1Please understand that I’m not saying people who don’t write professionally can’t be “real” writers. This is a phenominally subjective thing. For me, it meant making a living at it. It was my goal from the time I was in my late teens. If what makes you feel like a real writer is sitting down and, well, writing, then yes, you get to call yourself a real writer.

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Why yes, I DO find it weird

Hey, you women out there.  I got one for you:

You know if a guy grabs the butt of a woman he finds attractive and when she objects he’ll make the, “It’s the testosterone, I couldn’t help it” excuse?

Know how we don’t have any real sympathy for that?

Then why should we expect sympathy for flying off the handle at our hormone cycles?  Why should the menstrual cycle give us a free pass?  Don’t get me wrong, my moods are very much hormonally-driven.  I just don’t think that me being mean in the face of that is excusable.  I feel like I’m a grown up and responsible for my behavior.  If I pull the “I’m at the mercy of my hormones” card, and then expect a man not to, then what I’m really saying is that as a woman I’m not as much of a grownup.

I’m not into that.  I think expecting all the grownups to be grownups whether they’ve an innie or an outie is what makes the most sense.

And since we’re all human as well, yes, apologizing when one screws up[1] is a good idea, too.  “I’m sorry, I was wrong to do that, and I’m going to try to do better” should be in all our repertoires.

[1] Not if.  When.  We all do screw up.

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Being a Grownup™

I was reading a blog post called Why I’ll Never Be an Adult.  I’m guessing the author is somewhere in her late twenties/early thirties.  She speaks of physics classes, so she’s neither stupid nor incapable of thinking structurally.

It’s funny, because we all seem to have this idea that being a Grownup™ means perfect self-discipline, and if you don’t have it, you’re not a Grownup™. This particular blogger will try to be a Grownup™  by doing lots of housework, cooking perfect meals, and scheduling her life to hell and back.  She’ll also find herself failing miserably because she’s set the bar too high.  She’s trying to be more and more “perfect” in managing her life.

It’s not that I don’t get how it happens. I do and mostly because I do that.

It also has zip to do with being a grown-up.

I think we’re looking through out tween to teen goggles when we assess being a Grownup™. We see being a Grownup™ as being frenetically active and working all the time, never ever being slow, or late, or forgetful or…

You know, I’m older than one of my grandmothers was when I was born[1].   When my mother was my age, she had a married child.  I think that gets to count in terms of age.   In terms of where my life is and how I live daily?  My life isn’t really like either of theirs.   I made some radically different choices. Does that make me not a Grownup™?

Part of it might also be that we’re forgetting the help we were to our parents.  Keeping the house neat is easier when you have the husky teenager doing some of the work.   Do they do it as well as you want it done?  Almost certainly not.  I know for a fact I didn’t with my mom.  But the laundry still got folded, she did not clean every bathroom in the house, and Dad certainly wasn’t wrangling all the wood to heat the house by himself[2].   Why?  That’s more work than one person can do![3]

When we try to do it all ourselves, we’re actually setting the bar higher than our parents did for themselves.      If you’re not feeling like a Grownup™ because you can’t get it all done to white glove perfection all by your lonesome, cut yourself some slack.  Grownups™ have historically gotten help.

And if you have a kid, go make ‘em do a chore J

[1] Good lord, I actually have conscious memories of Nanny at my age.  Scary.

[2] In fact, my brother and I have had a bit of a chuckle at the fact that they got a gas furnace after he and I moved out of town.

[3] And while I don’t know this for certain, I’m willing to bet that in my grandmother’s case, her home was neater when she had three girls at home v. when they moved out.

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Production and Consumption

Steel Beach was one of my favorite novels for awhile.  The basic plot revolved around an entertainment reporter who specialized in scandal and juicy stories.  People read them on “pads” that were more or less tablet computing as we know it.  One subscribed to a dedicated service — both the service and the device were referred to as pads.

It’s kinda cool that he noodled about how electronic publishing might pan out.  But I find it interesting that he still postulated it as a one-way street.  The professionals hired to do it produced, the public consumed.

Back in the dark ages of the 1990s, few people only consumed material online.  Most people did a fair amount of producing as well, be it a My Pet Goldfish webpage (and a single page it was!), or participating in discussion groups.  Even with the explosion of online media and millions more people participating social media does encourage discussion, at least.  While the percentage of people producing actual content is getting lower, it’s still pretty impressive.

However, with tablet computing being pushed, I do wonder if we’re going to fall back to a mostly-consumption mentality.  I hope not.  Some writers and thinkers seem to think that the archetecture of participation will endure, but I have to wonder how much so, especially with devices that make production more and more difficult.

I’m curious what other people think.

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Defined by who you're not

I was reading the Israel Derangement Syndrome II article and got to thinking.  I don’t often speak up publicly about my feelings about US-Israeli relations, mostly because I feel like the minute I open my mouth, I’m gonna get slapped with an anti-Semitic label before I get to outline how I feel.  I encourage you to read the article before you go on with reading what I have to say, as he does comment rather succinctly on some things.

But, I actually want to pull another thread — how we identify ourselves and with what subset of humanity.

I do it.  I’ll identify as a Virginian pretty quickly, even if in the 21st century, one would think that identifying by nationality would be the important thing.  There’s even some historical precedent.  If Bob Lee hadn’t identified as a Virginian first and an American second, there’s no way in hell the Civil War would have lasted as long as it did.

And that’s kind of the point.  I think we sub-identify too much.  Sure, sure, having your tribe feels good.  I enjoy going to parties full of geeks with similar tastes and viewpoints to my own.  It’s nice not to feel like an alien.  I like going to family gatherings for a similar reason.  The shared experiences, the shared viewpoint and history is a powerfully bonding experience and it satisfies our monkey brains on a deep level.

What I wonder is if it is possible, without some sort of outside reference, to have that sense of identity with being a human being and denizen of the Planet Earth.  I don’t know, really.  Science fiction is loaded with examples of authors postulating that a shared alien enemy will be the driving force to unite human beings.

Me?  I don’t know that I like the idea of being defined in terms of what one is against or what one is not.  The problem is that I wonder if this oppositional behavior and viewpoint is necessary for in-group bonding, and without it, we’re lost in a floating sea of aloneness.

I’d like to think not, but I have to wonder.

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Butt Glue and the Great Outdoors

I am really liking the weather right now – sunny, warm…  This is such a blissful change from spring last year, I’m really enjoying it a lot.  In fact, I’m outside right now, working and enjoying the sunshine.  I used to work outside on this portable word processor before my son was born.  We had this sakura tree outside our window, and in the late spring, I’d be sitting under it working on a carpet of pink flowers.  There was a mockingbird next door to us that liked to perch on the neighbor’s roof.  Whenever I made a mistake and the spellcheck would beep, the bird would imitate the sound.  It was like I had this little writing buddy.  These days, my cat is my writing buddy, but I don’t take her outside.  She’s strictly an indoor cat.

I’m really considering finding a good outdoor umbrella so I can sit in the shade when it gets really warm and still work outside.  I need to soak up as much sun as possible this summer.  Last summer’s gray and rain did a serious number on me.

I swam my mile this morning, but push myself a lot more than I wanted to.  We got into the gym later than I’d planned, and I had to hurry to make sure that everyone could get to work and school on time while still getting in my mile.  Even so, I’m pretty charged up, so it’s clear I didn’t push stupidly hard.

And speaking of not being stupid, I need to get to work.  Outlines to write, photo sessions to plan and serious butt glue needed to get my writin’ done!

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And, it's GOOD for you, too!

Hey, lookie here! I have a hobby of making pretty, healthy, portion-controlled lunches!  Isn’t that wonderful?  Everyone should do it because it’s Good For You!

I’m not trying to sneer at hobbies, but I do find it amusing that people often attribute some sort of beneficial or character building qualities to what is essentially a hobby.

Sometimes you’ll run across articles about knitting, extolling its stress-reliving qualities.  I’ve seen articles on sewing that remark on the same.  Martial arts is notoriously smug about this one, talking about the character building qualities of getting dressed in what’s essentially underwear and throwing people around a room.

This isn’t a new thing.  At least since early Victorian times, writers often discuss the positive, productive effects of various hobbies.  One was not supposed to read because a story was fun, but one was supposed to read material that would improve one’s mind.

Fast forward to the present and video games are considered a waste of time unless you can claim some educational or character-building qualities to them.

Me?  I think it’s kind of weird.  I mean, yes yes yes, I get a nice sweater for an inexpensive price if I knit.  My family gets some really healthy lunches  because of my bento hobby, absolutely.    But I wonder, why isn’t the simple fun of a hobby given more value?