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Must Read: Ex-Heroes by Peter Clines

If you love superheroes, and zombies, and end-of-the-world survival scenarios, you must read Ex-Heroes by Peter Clines. Even if you don’t love those things, you must read this book.

I took a brief detour from reading my way through Star Wars (I’m through Into the Void and Lost Tribe of the Sith and Revan, which I’ll review shortly). The sun had finally come out, after all the rain and gloomy skies of Thursday and Friday, and I planned to drop myself onto a blanket in one of Valley Forge Park’s grassy meadows and read something quick and light while relaxing before a busy week of work. So I browsed through the library shelves and spotted Ex-Heroes, by Peter Clines. The blurb on the back said the novel featured super-heroes fighting zombies. I figured it would be a fast-reading, but ultimately forgettable, book.

And it is — fast-reading, that is. Forgettable, it is not.

I assumed the book would follow the standard comics plot: Danger appears. Superheroes answer the call. Superheroes save the day, stopping the danger and preventing the collapse of civilization. Life returns to normal.

I was so wrong in my assumptions.

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET — SPOILERS AHEAD ——>

A virus begins spreading in Los Angeles, the location for the story. The virus turns dead people into zombies — or exes, for ex-humans. Naturally, the superheroes respond, but slowly –a number of them are only a year or so into their powers and they don’t know each other really well. Before they can even mount an effective defense — the plague overwhelms the City. And the world. Our heroes aren’t concerned with that, though; they’re just trying to save the City of Los Angeles.

Surprise Number 1: These superheroes do not save the people or the City of Los Angeles.

Surprise Number 2: Some of them can’t even save themselves.

Yes, that’s right. Some of the heroes fall victim to the virus and become zombies themselves. Superpowered zombies.

The best these heroes can manage is to hold back the inevitable and preserve one tiny little corner of the City with a few hundred/thousand survivors.

And that’s what makes the novel so interesting.

You see, one of the things I love about so many of the comics superheroes is that they’re flawed. Yes, they have powers. Specialized equipment. Secret identities and hideouts and really cool vehicles from which to fight criminals and supervillains.

But underneath it all, they’re still human (well, the ones who aren’t extraterrestrial beings or deitites, that is). They have flaws. They experience fear, feel inadequate, lack confidence. They make mistakes, and they don’t always do the right thing even when they know what the right thing is. Despite those failings, they get back up — or are helped back up — and return to try again, and again, until they fix their mistakes.

And that’s what this book got right. We get into the heads of the heroes and find out how they become powered and more importantly, why they started into the superhero gig. And those insights feed into the events of the main storyline and how the characters react to a bigger threat than either zombies or supervillains.

I sped through this book at light speed, finished it, then went back and reread it. Because I was surprised how good it was, and how much I enjoyed it. Let’s face it — based on the plot outline, this book could have been so bad. So very, very bad. It could have pandered to the whole zombie apocalypse stereotype and filled the pages with gore and death and little to no character development or plot beyond ‘shoot the dead guy in the head.’ Instead, I read a book with believable people who happened to have superpowers. People who screwed up and yet continued trying to do what they could to help others. In the end, they manage to save their little corner of surviving civilization, but at a high cost.

The book isn’t perfect — for one thing, you jump back and forth between the past and present, and different characters’ viewpoints, but if you keep your attention focused, that’s a small problem that can be handled.

How much did I like this book? Enough to drive to Barnes and Noble on my way home and buy both it and its sequel, Ex-Patriots. There’s a third book coming out in July.

I’ve already pre-ordered.

Go and buy these books. You won’t regret it.

And now, I’ll return to Star Wars.

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I found bunnies!

Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that I was mourning the lack of rabbits in my area? These last few days, I’ve seen them everywhere.

I walked out of my apartment building early Tuesday morning, and spotted two palm-sized, fuzzy baby bunnies wandering the lawn by the stream. Wednesday, I flushed three more tiny rabbits from the garden at work. Thursday evening, after the storms ended, I drove past another couple of small brown bunnies hopping through a grassy field. And then, while walking in the park later that evening, I saw at least half-a-dozen rabbits running in and out of the tall grasses lining the paths.

And the important thing about all these sightings is that all of these rabbits were small. They ranged from the baby variety measuring maybe four-to-six inches long to the juvenile eight-to-ten inch size. None of them, though, appeared to be adults.

Logically, of course, there have to be adults around. I mean, where else would baby bunnies come from? But the adults — are in hiding.

Maybe they’ve become ultra-paranoid about being hunted, given the jump in the number of hawks and foxes around, and are wisely keeping out of sight of the predators. Or perhaps their little brains (and the brain of a rabbit is very tiny, according to my friends who have pet bunnies) have finally assimilated the fact that in rabbit versus car competitions, the car always wins, and so the adult rabbits now avoid the roadways.

Whatever the reason, I’m not seeing any adult rabbits, but I now have pretty concrete evidence that they’re still in the area. I hope that the plethora of babies I’m seeing means that the population is beginning to grow again. Rabbits are such an integral part of my concept of a healthy world; not seeing them had me worried that our local forests were going to be devoid of animals. Not that that would occur — we’ve got enough white-tailed deer here to stock a good-sized farm — but no matter how graceful they are, deer just can’t replace bunnies in my heart.

And of course, the bunnies are just So. Darned. Cute!

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I have too much furniture

Green spring cleaning has revealed something very important, from a redecorating perspective: I have way too much furniture for this apartment.

My home has a grand total of 750 square feet, spread through a large living room, narrow dining nook, small kitchen and bathroom, decent-sized bedroom and a lot of closets. As I’ve cleaned out the closets and drawers, and sorted out books, knick-knacks and storage containers, I’ve uncovered the basic decor of my apartment, the furniture on which I would base my redecorating scheme.

And there’s a lot of furniture.

Just in the living room, there’s enough furniture to line every wall. A giant entertainment armoire and two matching bookcases. A sofa, side chair and large sofa table. Another two bookcases. A side table, desk and chair, sewing machine cabinet, entry table, two giant stereo speakers and floor lamps. Add in the full-size, round table and chairs in the dining nook, and you face a forest of wood.

Things aren’t much better in the bedroom. Canopy bed and two end-tables, bureau, dresser, cedar chest, bookcase and a large armoire. Lots of pieces in which to store clothing.

As if I didn’t have a nice-sized closet in the bedroom.

the thing is, much of this furniture doesn’t belong to me. There are pieces that belonged to various relatives and family friends, and ended up with me because other relatives didn’t have room in their full-sized homes for them but didn’t want to let them go out of the family.

Like the table and chairs, which were meant to replace the old dining set in my Dad’s kitchen. I was supposed to have them until he redid the kitchen. Years and years on, the kitchen still hasn’t been redone, the old furniture is now breaking, and yet the good table and chairs are sitting in my apartment. They’re much too large for the dining nook, which is only 40 inches deep, but every time I mention giving them back to Dad, no one wants to take the time to move them back to his house.

Same situation with the sewing machine cabinet, bedroom armoire, desk and chair, which all came from my grandparents’ home. These pieces were given to me to hold until room was made for them at someone else’s house. But, no one ever seems to want to take them back, and so they’re still sitting in my place.

I will admit that I did need the armoire at an earlier apartment, which had huge rooms but tiny closets. However, I’ve been in this apartment for years, don’t use the armoire for anything, and still, every time I mention that they can take back the armoire, I get an excuse — can’t do it right now, don’t have a truck to move it. The same excuse extends to the desk and chair, the sewing cabinet, and so on.

The truth is, sentimentally, none of us, including me, want to let go of the memories that are attached to these items. The armoire held discarded clothing, jewelry and accessories, and on weekends, we children would dress-up and play fantastic games. The desk and chair were where, every Sunday, my grandfather would sit and do his Lodge work while his grandchildren watched TV and waited for him to finish so he would tell us stories. My grandmother used the sewing machine to help my mother make clothes and costumes for us.

I’m as guilty as everyone else — I love these memories. But the reality is, I don’t, and never did, have room for these pieces. Someone needs to take them, someone with a larger house and better storage facilities.

I just need to get them to understand that fact. And possibly, rent a U-Haul and physically move the furniture for them.

Only then will I be able to redecorate properly, as I’ve been meaning to do for the last three years.

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The app doesn’t love me anymore . . .

Apparently, the WordPress app for my smartphone doesn’t love me anymore.

I’ve been using it to post for the last week, but there seems to have been some sort of disconnect. I wrote out entries, hit post and — it looked like it went through, but in reality, it was an epic fail. Which I didn’t know until I checked WordPress on my laptop.

For whatever reason, the app won’t seem to send the correct password to upload an entry. Now, I could fix this in one of two ways:

1) obsess for a week over what’s going wrong, trying various fixes; or

2) reload the app.

Guess which one I’m going with?

Meanwhile I’m just going to repost the last few entries. In one big batch.

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How to display a U.S. flag

Today is the start of National Flag Week, and I just discovered I’ve been wrong about how to display the U.S. flag.

I was a mission today, to find a flag bigger than the child-sized handheld ones you see along parade routes, but small enough that I could attached it to the railing of my balcony and let it fly. As I drove from store to store, I kept hearing the same news story — how to properly dispose of an unwanted or damaged flag. For the record, the flag is apparently meant to be cut, and then burned, according to certain ceremonial procedures. I came away with the impression that it’s best in these circumstances to just contact the Boy Scouts — they know what to do.

However, the reporter never mentioned the correct way to display the flag, and I kept catching snippets of people’s conversations in the stores, with comments ranging from whether the flag could be flown at night to how best to combine it with another country’s flag.

So I came home and did some snooping on the Internet. And found that my understanding of how to display the flag in certain situtaions was completely incorrect.

The flag should be illuminated when flown at night.

I think most people know this one. It was also the subject of a very funny conversation overheard at a Home Depot.

A couple was looking at various types of solar lights. I assumed they wanted them to light up their patio or walkway, but they kept arguing about how much light they needed and how high up the lights would shine. Then I heard the woman tell her husband “I told you that pole was too tall!” Seems he got a little ambitious with the height of their flagpole; none of the lights stocked at the store would shine high enough to illuminate the flag.

Drive in the Philadelphia suburbs and you’ll see a lot of places with flags flying in the night. Not just police and fire departments, township offices and schools, but apartment complexes, churches and many private homes. I pass a very patriotic house on my drive back from work — not only does the homeowner have what looks to be at least six floodlights shining on the large flag before his house, he’s also wound red-white-and-blue rope lights around the flagpole for added emphasis!

The flag should not be flown in inclement weather.

I was wrong about this one, but frankly, this rule makes no sense to me.

The rule says the flag should not be subjected to weather damage, and so only weatherproofed flags should be flown in bad weather. But think about it for a minute. The Star-Spangled Banner, our national anthem, celebrates our flag’s ability to continue flying throughout a night filled with a massive British artillery bombardment. Come on, what’s a little rain or snow compared with the fire, smoke and shrapnel generated by cannon shells? Yet, the rule says we should remove our flags in the face of inclement weather unless they are weatherproofed.

People do take down their flags, but usually only when a hurricane is approaching, along with removing anything else that could become an airborne projectile in high winds. It’s a sensible precaution — when I lived in Massachusetts, a flag pole snapped in high wind during a nor’easter and ended up punching through my apartment wall. But as a general matter, people seem to leave their flags up through rainstorms and blizzards, regardless of whether they’re the weatherproof variety. I’ve noticed several homes that have replaced their flags this spring, after the old flags were flwon through the winter storms.

The flag does not need to be higher than the flags of other nations.

I was wrong about this one, too.

Growing up, I can remember my uncle and grandfather muttering whenever they saw the U.S. flag mixed in with other flags. “No respect” was the politest phrase they would use. They were particularly incensed when the other flags were the same height as the U.S. flag, so, naturally, I believed that the U.S. flag’s pole should always be higher than the poles bearing other country’s flags.

Nope. I checked several websites, including the site maintained by the Veterans Administration. The pole holding the U.S. flag does not need to be higher than other poles. It should be on the right-hand side, if there is a group of flags, but the height doesn’t need to be greater than that of the other flagpoles in the group. In fact, two websites (including the VA site) mentioned that it’s international custom to have all the flagpoles be the same height in times of peace.

The flag should always be on the right-hand side.

I wasn’t aware this was a rule, but thinking about my neighborhood, I can see that most people follow it already.

The U.S. flag, when displayed crossed with another flag, should always be placed on the right-hand side of the display, with its pole in front of the pole holding the other flag.

In this area, a lot of people display the U.S. flag along with another flag, such as the flag for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. The “Don’t Tread on Me!” flag is also quite popular, for some reason. And of course, people celebrate their ethnic heritage by displaying the flag of the country from which they, or their ancestors, came — Ireland, Italy, Mexico and, surprisingly, Canada appear to be extremely popular places of origin for my neighbors. And in every display that I can recall, the U.S. flag is always on the right-hand side.

Never use the flag as bunting.

I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone try to use the U.S. flag as a simple decoration.

Drive anywhere in this area and you’ll see the U.S. flag adorning railings, fences and doors, either hanging straight down or unfurled and stretched out to be fully visible. I didn’t know that, while you can hang the flag in this way, it must always be unfurled, and should never be displayed in a folded or bundled manner. Every website I visited made the same point: bunting is available for use in patriotic draped decorations. The flag is not a decoration, it is a symbol, an emblem, of the country.

So there are the most common rules for displaying the U.S. flag. That said, I still didn’t succeed in today’s quest. Every store I went to seemed to have two sizes of flags — a sea of the child-sized hand-held ones, and shelves of extremely-large flags meant to grace the flagpoles of suburban Philadelphia. Perhaps when we get closer to Independence Day I’ll find one suitable for my balcony.

I just have to remember to bring it in at night.

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Monstrous Thursdays

I love TCM’s Monstrous Thursdays. Tonight’s features are just what I needed after this crazy week, although one still has to be digitized!

I just finished watching the original Godzilla. The Americanized version, with Raymond Burr, not the Japanese classic of Gojira. I’ve seen this movie so very many times (I’m a bit of a Godzilla fanatic) — and in fact, I can (and did tonight) recite the dialogue by heart for most of the scenes. As usual, when watching the film, I found myself contrasting the American version with the Japanese original and speculating what the lost scenes, cut from the Japanese film, might have looked like and what they might have added to the story. Or would they have have slowed down the pacing, and ruined the film? Since the cuts have never been found, we’ll probably never know.

The second feature has just started — The Creature from the Black Lagoon. I positively love this film. Yes, the opening is a bit hokey. Yes, as the commentator pointed out, I, you, and the audiences of the 1950’s all know that the monster is nothing more than a man in a good rubber suit. And yet, it’s a truly scary movie — a combination of clever lighting, eerie music and an almost-Hitchcockian suspense in the timing of the creature’s attacks.

The water of the lagoon always seems to be murky, yet the innocent swimmers weave their way through the fronds of seaweed. They swim along, and nothing happens, They go back in the water and nothing happens. And then, suddenly, with no warning, the creature strikes.

Reminds me of scenes from Jaws, and makes me wonder if the creators of Jaws were inspired by Creature?

Later tonight, we get the third movie — It Came From Beneath the Sea. A giant octopus attacks San Francisco. A Ray Harryhausen monster — an octopus with only six arms, well, six that can move, thanks to the limitations the budget imposed on Mr. Harryhausen. And you get a bit of comedy in the movie as well, watching a woman scientist shoot down her interested suitor because he’s interfering with her ability to do Science!

Perfect movies to watch on a stormy night and relax from the week’s stresses! All three being shown on TCM are available digitally, too, and ultimately I’ll add them to my collection. However, the Japanese Gojira is not digitally released — and that one should, and must be, digitized!

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A Public Thank You to Kind People

I want to say a public Thank You to some very kind people I’ve met in the last two days.

First, to the woman who gave me directions. I was coming back to Philadelphia from my company’s New York office on Tuesday, when I was diverted onto a new highway. I should have been on 287 south, but was instead shunted onto 17 south.

Route 17 was a — well, a very confusing road. Multiple lanes of traffic going both north and south separated by a high concrete wall and lined with strip malls, box stores and yet more strip malls. There were no road signs telling me how to turn around and head in the opposite direction. Google Maps was no help — it just kept rerouting me to my destination using two-lane roads, doubling the length of time it would take me to reach my home.

Finally, in desparation, I pulled into the parking lot of a Bed Bath and Beyond, and went into the store. I got in line, and explained to the clerk that I was lost and trying to get back to 287.

The woman in line next to me promptly put her purchases on the counter, led me out of the store and proceeded to give me simple, clear directions how to zig-zag through the parking lot to a side road that would get me to 17 north, and back to 287. Five minutes later, I was back on the correct road home. I’d have never figured it out without that shopper’s help so THANK YOU!

The next day, I met another helpful woman at Lord and Taylor’s.

I was in Philadelphia at the time of the building collapse, and between that unfortunate accident and local road construction, it took me close to three hours (in a hot car with no water to drink) to get back to my office. The delay meant I was at work until quite late and hadn’t eaten dinner. As I drove home, feeling utterly exhausted, I realized I needed to stop at Lord and Taylor’s to return something.

And so I went to the store — on the first day of a giant sale. Every checkout counter was jammed with shoppers waiting to pay for their purchases, and there I was, with my small return. The line inched along, the woman in front of me reached the counter, and then she looked back at me. I had a little bag. She had two armfuls of clothes, and more held at the desk. She smiled at me and then unexpectedly told me to go ahead of her. I was out of the store five minutes later, and home twenty minutes after that, where I promptly crawled into bed. Again, to that woman — THANK YOU!

So often, with the daily stress of modern life, we forget that kindness towards others does not have to take a lot of time or effort from us. Those two women spent just five minutes to help a total stranger. It didn’t cost them any money, didn’t require them to go out of their way, just to briefly pause what they were doing and offer their help. But to the person receiving that help — me — it made all the difference in the world. Their kindness saved me so much time, and meant I could get home, and go to sleep, at a decent hour at the end of two very tiring days.

It makes me wonder — just how many times have I had the chance to offer help to someone else, and failed to do so?

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Wish Upon a Star . . .

In my dream, my coworkers are named Hawkeye, Obi-Wan and Cinderella, and I am a happy employee in the House of the Mouse — otherwise known as The Walt Disney Company.

Today is “Start Making Your Dreams Come True Day.” Your Inner Bitch would like to remind you that no matter how big your dream is, you have to start sometime. Might as well be today.”

That was the June 3rd entry in the ‘Getting in Touch with your Inner Bitch’ daily calendar. I absolutely love this calendar — it reminds me NOT necessarily to be a bitch, but to live my life, to keep my needs and interests in mind when going about my daily activities.

I read this entry at breakfast, and then throughout the day, jotted down my various dreams, no matter how nebulous or unformed they might be in my head. By mid-afternoon, I had a very long list. I have so many dreams — places to visit. Books to write. Events to attend, things to own, projects to accomplish, people to meet. I want to publish a successful book, travel to London, attend Comic-Con — the list goes on for four pages. But just what dream was my top desire?

When I caught myself humming the ‘when you wish upon a star‘ theme for the fourth time in twenty minutes, I realized that, subconsciously, I’d already made my choice. I knew, all along, which dream was at the top of my list.

Disney, as a company, posseses my three favorite things — Avengers, Jedi, and Cinderella. If I could choose any company for which to work, it would be, without a doubt, the House of the Mouse.

Don’t be mistaken — I do love my current job. I like my co-workers, my position’s responsibilites are diverse and professionally challenging, and every day I learn or do something new that stretches my abilities and uncovers a new facet of the law, business, medicine and any number of other subjects. Yes, there are the typical annoyances as well, things you will find at any job — a piece of equipment that refuses to work right, that vendor who just won’t follow your instructions, a project that is taking more time and effort than it should. Overall, though, my job is worth those little irritations.

But my company isn’t Disney. I don’t get to play with superheroes. I’ve never explored the galaxy with the Jedi. I didn’t go to the ball with Cinderella. And if I’m being honest, which is what I want to do in this blog, well, I still want to do those things. I want to work somewhere that I can daily interact with three of my favorite, long-abiding interests. Don’t forget, I collect Jedi action figures, read Marvel comics and still happily watch Cinderella whenever I need to boost my mood and attitude.

In my dreams, I work where I can see the next chapter in Marvel comics history unfolding, watch as a new cycle in the ever-expanding universe of Star Wars is crafted.

And fulfill my little girl’s day dream of living in Cinderella’s castle.

Oh, I don’t have any illusions that Disney is a magical company free of workplace tensions, employee infighting or tangled corporate politics. No company on this planet is completely free of those complications. What is important though, the question any employee should ask about their job, is this:

Are there enough intellecutally-interesting projects, emotionally-satisfying rewards, seriously-fun days to make up for those inconveniences?

For me, being involved in the worlds of Disney — Princesses, Jedi, Avengers, theme parks, movies and television shows, toys, cruises — all the components that make up the Mighty Empire of the Mouse — would, I believe, balance out any downsides to taking a job with Disney.

And, of course, as I thought this through, wrote this blog, I realized that there are a few downsides — err, considerations — that would have to be factored in should I seriously pursue this dream. For one thing, I’d have to decide whether I wanted to serve as an attorney for the Mouse. California is one of the few states that doesn’t have reciprocity in its bar admissions; to practice law there, I’d have to take another bar exam. When I sat for the Pennsylvania exam, I spent six straight weeks doing nothing but studying for 18 hours a day.

Yeah, that’s not likely to happen again. Not with my time constraints, work schedule, and financial responsibilities.

But I could work in other capacities — I’m a compliance officer, a trained auditor, a tax expert with a master’s degree. I handle intellectual property matters, litigation and human resources matters. I am a person who’s proven herself capable of learning, and then doing, just about anything.

And then, of course, I’d also have to move to California. This — ah, consideration — actually isn’t that much of an impediment. Yes, I’d miss my family and friends. But I’m single, unattached, and hey — there’s Skype and airplanes. It wouldn’t be the first time I just picked up and moved.

By now, you may be wondering, just what was the purpose of this post? In short, it allowed me to do a stream-of-consciousness thing. I noodled this post for about three hours, and while my fingers typed, my brain was thinking its way through the idea of maybe, just maybe, pursuing this dream.

Could I work for Diensy?

Should I try to work for DIsney?

In the words of one of the Mouse’s denizens (Yoda), “Do or do not. There is no try.”

So, do I?

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Green spring cleaning is a pain

Green spring cleaning developed into a bit of a pain this weekend. Who knew I had that many planters?

A fast post, in light of our thunderstorm.

I was doing well on my goal of green spring-cleaning, of not throwing out anything that could be recycled, reused by someone else or repurposed by me. I’ve only had to throw out a few things — clothes that were unusable as dust rags, some cracked plates, a couple of broken shoes.

Then I reached the balcony and decided to work on the garden supplies.

When, exactly, did I acquire all those pots?

I have giant pots, pots in which small trees could grow. And tiny pots, that can only hold a miniaturized plant.

Pots of plastic and of stone, of terra cotta and what appears to be paper-mache covered — something.

I don’t recall buying most of them. And honestly? I haven’t used most of them in years, if ever.

The larger pots were easy to repurpose — my family members all own homes, and need larger pots for their patios. The tiny ones I gave to friends for their children, who are planting, say, one little lettuce seed to watch it grow.

But the exotic pots, the weirdly-shaped pots, the frankly impractical pots — where was I going to get rid of them absent a landfill? This morning, I wandered outside to go walking, and watched a neighbor put his old office chair on the curb next to the dumpster.

A few minutes later, a couple from another building walked out. Looked at the chair. Came over, picked it up, took it home.

I ran back into my building, gathered up my pots and placed them at the dumpster. As of this evening, there’s one lone, pink, medium-sized plastic pot left.

And on we go.

More and longer posts tomorrow, the power’s flickering and I’m hopping off to avoid killing my computer!

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Now this is getting ridiculous . . .

I said I liked purple vegetables, but this is getting ridiculous.

Purple artichokes. Baby purple artichokes.

I can’t even find them listed in my gardening books. Nevertheless, there they were at Whole Foods. Artichokes no larger than a San Marino tomato, covered in deep purple-black leaves. Sitting in their bin staring at me, just daring me to buy them.

Waiting for me to chicken out.

You see, I can’t cook artichokes. I can cook just about anything else, but I fail at artichokes.

Your boat has just two burners in the galley? No problem, I can whip up a five-course meal. Forgot you were hosting a holiday party for 50 people? Don’t worry, I can create a buffet with at least a dozen different offerings. The holidays roll around, and I set up an assembly-line and solo-bake batches of ten different cookies in less than one day. I collect cookbooks and recipes, and when I get bored, I’ll pull them out and try something new. I have yet to meet a cuisine I didn’t like and couldn’t cook.

But I flunk Artichoke 101. I have literally stood in my little kitchen, watching a Youtube instructional video on how to cook artichokes, only to have them turn out either teeth-breaking hard or a spongy, soggy mess.

However, I am nothing if not persistent, and so I bought the baby purple artichokes. I clipped the leaves, simmered and steamed and — well, they weren’t a soggy mess, but they weren’t the most appetizing things I’ve ever eaten.

I take heart from the fact that at least this time, they were edible. I think I’m getting better at this artichoke-cooking thing. Or maybe it’s just that baby artichokes are a little easier to prepare. Either way, I plan on trying again, to see if maybe, with more intense practice, I’ll actually be able to cook tasty vegies instead of soggy mush.

Oh, and like just about every other purple vegetable — the baby purple artichokes turned green when cooked.