Just like a Chinese food casserole.

Here's something I remember from childhood. We were a Take-Out Family. Sure, some meals were cooked at home, but the meals my brothers and I most looked forward to came in paper boxes and plastic bags from restaurants in the neighborhood (sorry, Mom, Dad, thanks for everything you did for us, etc.). I'll tell you one of our very favorites: Golden Crown. Chinese Food! The greasiest, saltiest, not much at all like actual Chinese food I'm guessing, bloat-you-so-you-can't-wear-shoes-for-a-week kind of take-out.

Never a family for moderation, we'd order: pork fried rice, chicken chow mein, mu shu pork, broccoli beef, eighteen servings of lemon chicken (seemed like), and pot stickers. It was enough to feed an army, but we were only a family of five. SO,

On the weekend, after the leftover Chinese food had spent a few days congealing and stinking up our fridge, my dad would take a break from paying a mountain of bills (how clearly I remember him sitting at the head of the table and working through such a daunting stack of bills! and always in a blue sweatshirt. my mind, it's like a steel trap, I tell you.), and he'd make--Chinese food casserole.

Everything, everything from Golden Crown, in a single pyrex casserole dish. It...wasn't pretty. But, oh my god, it was so delicious. The mashed up, congealed, four-day-old takeout was actually better than when it had been fresh and organized into its appropriate boxes. And, not only is that a metaphor, on some level, for my beautiful leftover-casserole of a family, it is, conveniently, a metaphor for this blog post, which will now consist of some stinky, leftover thoughts that have been congealing in my mind for the past four days.

CASSEROLE:

1. Spring is here! I have a very scientific way of determining when, exactly, spring happens. Here's what I do: I look at my car. If it is covered, covered, in bird shit--I KNOW it's spring. Every window, in at least two distinct locations, must feature a uniquely shaped and colored bird "deposit." When that is the case--as it is now--spring has arrived! If you saw my car, you'd see it's a virtual constellation of bird excrement. So, Happy Spring, everybody.

2. Maybe it's Spring Fever, but lately, I've been really entertained by what I like to call the "Hall of Cyrus." Who is Cyrus? He is apparently the offspring of an instructor here at the college, who is extremely proud of EVERY piece of school work young Cyrus does. So, it gets posted to the wall right outside the women's restroom. And because I'm always going to, or coming from, the restroom, I feel very invested in Cyrus's ongoing academic achievements. Today, may I just offer you Cyrus's spelling test, on which he appears to have done exceptionally well:

I saw a big crater.
A comet is a huge mass of gas.
My brother is lazy.
There is a place called Rapid City in South Dakota.
Bacon is yummy!!!!
I like music.
I am a human.
When it's cold, I shiver.
There is a river near the school.
I am very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very clever.


3. I ate borscht for the first time. Something I really believe, truly, is that when someone asks you, "Do you want to try this food I made?" You SAY YES. So yesterday, when Jeff said, "Hey, I made some borscht today. Do you want some?" I didn't say, "What's borscht, again?" Or, "Do you think I'll like it?" Or even, "I'm not all that hungry because I just loaded up on free food at a reception." I said, "YES." And, as is always the case here where I live, it was really, really good. It was also hot pink (thank you, beets!). Like, exactly the color of a lipstick I have that is called, "Pomposity."

Are you on the Beet Train? People, are you? Get on the beet train! It makes for the best colored food, plus they've got such a satisfyingly soft texture, and they are so pompous. If you're not on board, get on board. Take a ride on the Beet Express. You won't regret it.

4. Here is the best thing that has happened to me this week: KW came to town! She's only one of my oldest friends, who has seen me through my bad perm, my bad braces, those awful tapered jeans with the zippers on the ankle, my crush on Matt Damon, et al. And she was a keynote speaker at a conference. Keynote! AKA, Very Important Person.

What I found out is: there is no better feeling, for me (I don't know how you feel, but you're free to tell me in the comment section of the slog), than watching someone I love do the very thing that they love to do. The thing that they're the very best at. I mean, KW, she had a room full of strangers eating out of her hand. I was eating out of her hand, too. I was so proud, I swelled up with pride the same way I swell up after eating a mountain of sodium in the form of chow mein.

Want to know what she talked about? Check back tomorrow, because it was so interesting I'm going to blog about it after I finish making this casserole!

So, there you have it. My slog casserole. Was it as good for you as it was for me?

Kendall

Oh, Canada Part 2 (Part Deux, for those French Canadiens out there).

People:

Mon Dieu! What the what? It turns out that I may actually BE a Canadian citizen. Really? I don't know. There's all sorts of complexities and intricacies and nuances to determining citizenship. But people have been whispering that maybe I am, in fact, Canadian! I've got two Canadian grandparents, who had a daughter while living in Massachusetts: she's a Canadian citizen, but born in the US, ergo, also American. Then, she marries some American (lame) (just kidding) in Portland, and gives birth to a dark-haired daughter at a Portland hospital in 1982. Is that daughter a dual citizen? A part-time Canuck?

Who am I? Where do I come from? As a child, when I memorized the song "Fifty Nifty United States," should I also have memorized "Thirteen Nifty Canadian Territories and Provinces"? What are the provinces? Manitoba. That's one. Quebec. That's another. Prince Edward Island. British Columbia. Instead of having my bedroom in college bedecked floor-to-ceiling in American flags (anyone remember that masterpiece?) should it have been covered instead with maple leafs and hockey pucks? Saskatchewan! That's another province.

This possibility of citizenship is blowing my mind, obviously. I need to focus my energies on something less baffling. And we might as well just pick up where we left off, because some astute readers, and my own brains, have come up with a few more absolutely essential Gifts-From-Canada.

11. Tim Riggins (Taylor Kitsch in real-life). All I can say is that I'm sorry for leaving this one off the list. I hope you can forgive me, but mostly, I hope Riggs can forgive me. Go Panthers! Texas forever.

12. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police (Mounties). Which, apparently, inspired a TV show called Due South. Which, apparently, features someone named Paul Gross, who is NOT gross. Apparently, I'm going to need to do a little more research.

13. Friends. Reader SB is Canadian, and I had no idea! Also, my friend Lib is a gift from Canada on account of her father being Canadian, which I knew but also forgot. (Lib, are you a Canadian citizen? Should we take a voyage to the Motherland together?)

14. Lucy Maud Montgomery, author of Anne of Green Gables (which is so good), and EMILY OF NEW MOON (which is brilliant and melancholy and changed my life for-e-ver).

15-28. All these celebs: Jim Carrey, Ellen Page, Nelly Furtado, Celine Dion, Mike Meyers, Michael J. Fox, Jay Manuel (from ANTM), Sarah McLachlan, Eric McCormack, Kim Cattrall, Neil Young, Feist, and Ryan Gosling.

29. Bilingual peanut butter. One thing I remember very clearly from visiting my grandparents in British Columbia is the fact that their peanut butter (Adams), already very different from the Skippy on which I was raised, was made all the more exotic by the French writing on the label. I remember eating breakfast with my grandfather, looking at the French words on that peanut butter label (cremeux, non sale), and thinking, "Wow. I'm really in a foreign country."

30. Roots poster, featuring one Matt Damon. (Really sorry I don't have a visual on this one.) Two blog VIPs reminded me that I'd left this off the list. When I was sixteen, I went to Canada, as per usual. My mother and I hit up a shopping mall, where there was a store called Roots (all the Olympic gear you've seen this year is made by Roots). I probably would not have gone in--it was too sporty--except that there was a huge, smiley poster of Matt Damon, wearing a Roots sweatshirt, shining down on me from the display window. I pretended to shop, but really just wanted to keep one keen eye on my future-life-partner and toothy-dreamboat-forever. Then...

The salesperson: "Is there anything I can help you with today?"
Me (young, awkward, bad haircut): "No, I'm just looking."
Mom (where'd she come from?): "Actually, she'd really love that poster of Matt Damon."
Me (horrified): "Mom."
Mom (feigning innocence like moms do after they've embarrassed you): "What? You love Matt Damon."
Salesperson: "Actually, we were going to take that down today, so if you want it, you can have it."

At which point, the salesperson took Matt Damon out of the display window, rolled him up, and handed him to me. That is how MD came to live in my bedroom for the next four years, and how I decided that Canadians are the nicest people ever.

Sincerely hoping I'm part Canuck,

Kendall

My Golden Globes Acceptance Speech

Interior: the Beverly Hilton. Kendall's name is announced. She has just won for best TV show, or best screenplay, or simply "most beautiful all around person, inside and out, who ever entered show business," the latter being a category made up just to honor her myriad contributions.

She covers her face with her hands, tastefully overcome with emotion. Her date, Matt Damon (appropriately, amicably divorced from Luciana Barrosa, they both realized they're better off as friends, no harm done), thinks she is brilliant and the admiration positively shines in his eyes as he watches her leave the table, then wind her way to the front of the room. Oops, she gets held up by Leonardo DiCaprio, who insists on hugging her, then steps on the train of her dress. She smiles demurely and swipes the dress free from his foot. She does not trip up the stairs. She collects her statue.

Pause, for dramatic effect. Maybe holding back a few tears. She smiles bravely.

"Wow. I don't know what to say. I am shocked. I have nothing prepared. (I do have something prepared.) I want to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press (or the Academy, whatever). I also want to thank my agent and manager, that PR bulldog, JLG. I also want to thank KW for watching and critiquing so much bad TV with me, and KP for reminding me that I don't have to watch TV all the time, because people need exercise and socialization. LA, thank you for giving up your cool job in NYC to come design beautiful sets for my TV show. CS and DB, thank you for feeding me. I would have starved without your belk burgers. I am so lucky to have friends who did not tell me I was crazy when I decided to do something totally crazy.

And to my dear family who have seen me through so much, thank you. You did not squash my neuroses out of me, but actually encouraged them in your own, supportive way. Without you, I'd have been too normal to amount to anything. (crowd laughs.) I love you. (I mean it.)

(this would be a big and important award, so even though the speech gets long, they would never dare to cut me off with orchestral music)

Finally, Matt. (camera scans to Matt Damon, catches the reflection from the tears in his eyes.) Ever since I was fourteen, and reading magazine articles about you on the bus ride home from Whitford Middle School, I've known that someday, someday, you'd fall madly in love with me. And I was right. I win! (victorious fist-pump) (crowd is amused) (Matt smiles his million-watt smile) (I leave the podium and exit the stage in the correct fashion, without Miss Golden Globe needing to cattle-herd me back to the press area where I continue to charm the pants off people).

Sounds good, right? I mean, I've still got a few years to hammer out the kinks.

Graciously yours,
Kendall