Abandon Ship!

Let it be known throughout the land - or to anyone who bothers reading this or who cares - that I hereby disavow myself as a Tennessee fan until such time that the current head coach, Derek Dooley, and his staff are either terminated from their current positions or resign from them. Maybe not Sal Sunseri, but the rest absolutely.

From Day 1, I was skeptical. This is the SEC. And we hired the former head coach of a...WAC school? I had never heard of the guy. I was unimpressed. Since that day, I have seen Derek Dooley be clearly outmatched by his counterparts time and time again. Not just outmatched, but outclassed. It's like a movie where the underdog coach who's in over his head uplifts a rag-tag bunch of misfits and, through hard work and believing in themselves - cue Rudy-esqe montage - they stick it to the big dogs in the end. However, in this version, the rag-tag misfits are actually talented players starving for confident management and leadership, while the coaching staff are a bunch of hapless, bumbling idiots who clearly have no authority and no control. Meanwhile, the big dogs come to town, occasionally get out of the way to let Tennessee shit all over itself, and the rest of the time use us as a practice squad for another game that actually matters for them. It's just awful to watch and not fitting for a team that was a perennial Top 10.

The straw that broke the came this past Saturday. I had no expectations. I knew, though, that if we lost, the season was officially flushed down the toilet, while it had theretofore only been circling the drain. I was actually shocked and relieved to see the offense come out and operate with surgical precision. Hell, we were even in the lead! The defense had Mississippi State backed up to a 3rd and 18 - those obnoxious cowbells were quiet for one Goddam second - but MSU made the play. OK, no biggie. It's the first quarter. It's not unheard of to make a play like that. Tennessee obviously got another message. It's like they all looked around and said "Aww, shucks. Welp, this one's over. Let's just mail it in the rest of the game." Which they did. They were in the freaking lead! So MSU made a 19 yard catch! Well, stop them! At least try! And if they score, Offense, you should try to score. And Offensive Coordinator, you should try to call plays that work and are diverse and catch the defense sleeping. Don't run a post pattern for 3 plays and say "Oh, well, that didn't work." 3 and out, 3 and out, 3 and out. Agonizing.

This was, I would say, amounts to about 70% of why I am abandoning this sinking ship. I don't care how much love you have for a team; you can't just sit there for four years and watch a team consistently implode unprovoked. It's why I'm thinking about abandoning the Mets, too, but I will give Sandy Alderson the benefit of the doubt and stick with them through this "Amazin'" year they're supposed to have in '13. What really pushed me over the edge were two metrics presented by ESPN - only too happy to demonstrate Tennessee's shortcomings - during the game.

The first: Derek Dooley is only 14-16 as head coach of Tennessee. Pathetic. But, it gets worse. He was only 17-20 as a head coach at Louisiana Tech - again, WAC School. That's .459. Let's think about this: Tennessee, the ninth-winningest major program in college football, has a head coach who had lost more games than he had won at the time they hired him. Contrast this with Johnny Majors' (.639) and Philip Fulmer's (.745) careers as head coaches at Tennessee. Johnny Majors lost 3 games in 1992 and got pushed out after only 9 games into the season. If Dooley only coached 3 losses in a season, we would think it's a miracle.

The second: as of the game against MSU this past Saturday, Dooley was 0-12 against ranked opponents. He had NEVER won a game against a ranked opponent as head coach of the ninth-winningest major program in college football. While Tennessee was not usually in the Top 5 or contending for a national championship, you could usually count them occupying a slot between 5 and 10. Now, we don't even beat ranked opponents? No, no, no, no, no. That's not the way it is. I will admit this is stubborn pride, but what do you expect from a fan who was raised watching greatness?

So, we have the talent. We have a coach and coaching staff who are literally losers - see above. We see horrible plays, clock mismanagement, and a team who's kneejerk reaction to anything remotely challenging is to mentally meltdown. Sounds like an authority problem. Sounds like a leadership problem. Sounds like a coaching problem.

Perception=Reality

If you had to label, which one of the above would be "Blue Fishy" and which one would be "Blue Dolphin"? In Gracie's mind, the top one is the fish and the bottom one is the dolphin. What's more is Becky and I know this and know which one she wants when she demands it (two-year-olds don't ask).

That is reality for us. Things that are aren't, and things that aren't are. For someone who thrives on logic and rational order in my career, this can be frustrating. But, to a certain extent, all of us operate to some degree in some quarters of our lives with complete and utter irrationality. It's just that someone taught us that logic is always right and we try to abide by that maxim. Is it always, though?

Feelings aren't logical. And that's awesome because feelings are what separate us from other fauna. Feelings define who we are as people. They enable us to make connections or disconnect when a connection isn't clicking. They have logical properties, but then completely confound us. And they are never wrong.

Yesterday, I spoke about letting go. I was speaking there specifically to your anger, but the same goes for logic. We have to accept that we are totally imperfect; operating with "caveman software", to quote a movie last night. We have to embrace our irrational sides and the illogical nature of our feelings. We have to let them have a place in our lives so that we can love, have joy, experience sadness and disappointment. So that we can be human. 

Below is a pic I took of the Post Road Bridge in Westport on Rosh Hashanah. What a beautiful day to start a new year. L'Shanah Tovah again.

Goals Document

Forgive me, as I am a week late in expressing a happy new year.

One of the perks of Judaism is this whole "second new year" thing. To be a accurate, this was the original "new year", but is not nice to the goyim to point out that our traditions are two and a half times older than theirs. I digress. Second new year means second new year's resolutions; a second chance to make good on what you resolved, but inevitably failed to do nine months ago.

Now, I don't know if it's because our lives are about to be fundamentally and wonderfully changed in two month's time; or if I'm at a point where I look at myself and the way I do things and say "This just isn't working"; I think it's both. All I know is that this is the first new year where I said to myself "I need to call some new plays; I need to fundamentally switch up my life; I need to be a better husband, father, man, person, and employee; I need to change."

This is also the first time I'm truly understanding that change is an evolution and evolution takes time. Not like "river carving out the Grand Canyon" time, but time nonetheless. In our world of instant gratification - by which I, admittedly, am way too ready to abide - we expect ourselves to adapt to rapid change immediately. Hence, this is why our resolutions fail. The first test of our wills is regarded as a hopeless obstacle: "I've changed, yet I find myself not wanting to go along with the program right this second. Oh well, I guess the field is lost." 

Nonsense. Anyone who trains for a physical challenge, is rehabbing, or is learning something new will tell you that they can only improve if they are increasingly challenged. They know that much time and effort have to go into achieving their goal. Why would changing our core values, habits, workflows, etc take any less time or require any less effort?

They don't, and as I set about to make this volte-face, I'm keeping the pitfalls at the front of my mind. The best way to stave off apathy toward your goals is to keep them in focus at all times; don't let them out of your sight. Take time to stew in them; when you have a few minutes here or there, check back in on them and remember what you're trying to achieve. It's hard to let something go by the wayside when it's omnipresent in your mind!

I think the best way to do this is to write your goals down somewhere. It gives you a central repository to look at. You don't have to remember and possibly lose crucial components of your end-goals as time goes on. So, without further ado and for the whole world-wide web to see, here is my goal repository.

1. Treat your body better: I look at myself and I am repulsed. I have never had a particularly athletic build as I am not a natural athlete, but I have never been this heavy or out of shape. I am not careful about what I eat, though sometimes I go on short-lived kicks where I will eat somewhat better. I never exercise, though I'm constantly resolving to "run tonight". I don't go to sleep until midnight most nights and sleep late the following morning, meaning I'm rushed and have no time to eat a healthy breakfast. I know what I need to do, but I don't do it. How can I solve this problem? Uh, well, DO WHAT YOU NEED TO DO, FOR STARTS! I think this one is easiest to accomplish. Simply eat better. It's as easy as getting a salad at lunch rather than the soup and sandwich combo. It's as simple as ordering the salmon rather than the steak-frites when out at dinner. It will be hard at first: I love to eat and eat badly, at that. But, perseverance works and pretty soon, this becomes habit. I need to catch that habit train and then it's cake, no pun intended. Same goes for exercise and getting to sleep earlier. But don't go all in at once. Is is what bogs us down and causes us to lose our wills. Remember, this all takes time. One thing at a time. Build habits off the low hanging fruit and then you're on track to make better habits elsewhere.

2. Think less, Do More: I have been told I am a thinker. I have tons of stuff swimming around in my head and it plays and replays in my mind, or comes pouring out here, as you can see. As we know, too much information can lead to inertia and I've seen this happen to myself way too many times. I'll overthink and miss my chance, or overthink and make the wrong decision. We survived for millennia by relying on our instincts and despite the major technological and intellectual advancements of the past 200 years, physiology dictates we still have great instincts and by looking to them - in their no-frills, black and white way - we can make great decisions. Like everyone, I got a good gut and I'm gonna go with it more often.

3. Be here: When I get lost in my mind - see previous point - I leave the present. Physically, I'm here, but for Grace and Becky, I am not available. In fact, before I wrote this point, I took a long break to play with Grace. It's great to spend time with your thoughts, but if you spend too much time in your mind, you miss out on the present. The most important thing in life is family and I resolve to spend more time with mine and less time with my thoughts.

4. Let Go: This is really the biggest challenge for me, but the reward is also the biggest. I have a lot of anger; I come from angry people who do not know how to move on and let things go. They do not let things slide. They prejudge. It's definitely not something I want in my life nor something I want my kids to inherit. Becky has done a wonderful job rewiring me, but there are some things I need to take ownership of and fix myself. I've decided that the best way to do this is to wipe the slate clean right now. As such, any slights and predispositions I have are forgiven and reset, respectively. Everyone is back at the baseline. I will not keep score. I will not hold grudges. I will not let things burn me on the inside. I will not prejudge. I will not hate. I will keep things in perspective and "keep it in check". I will see my life for what it is, blessed, and not look at everything as half-empty. When I was growing up, I was surrounded by people who were guilty of all of this and I am the product of it. There is a big picture, much bigger than all of us, and the universe has a remarkable way of keeping everything in equilibrium. I can't lose myself in the negativity and I can't subject my children to the same environment in which I was forced to grow up. I need my kids to not hate; to not be bitter; to believe in themselves. It's up to me to give them environment in which this is all possible.

So, here they are: lofty but achievable goals that I intend to accomplish. I also understand that while they won't take a lifetime to achieve, they also won't be accomplished overnight. The Army Corps of Engineers can redirect a river, but it takes planning, focus, perseverance, and patience. When trying to attain our goals, the status quo is our river, our minds are the engineers, and the realization of our goals is the eventual redirection. It can be done, but like anything worth doing, requires time and care. Time to get to work...

WARNING: This entry is about sports and heartbreak

I "have" only one team. I am a Mets enthusiast; I really like the Knicks; I have a basket of NFL teams about which I am excited in September and then pretty much just follow the league from then on. But, when it comes to college football, I bleed Tennessee orange.

When I was 9, my parents took my brother and I to Knoxville, TN to e University of Tennessee to see a "real" college football game and show us their alma mater. Until then, I had only been to City Stadium to see the University of Richmond Spiders take on the likes of Villanova and UMass. It was a long drive. We had to stop in Abington in Southwest Virginia, a town that looks like a Stanley Brothers song sounds. The next morning, we started off southwest again and made it to Knoxville by lunchtime. 

Our hotel had a view of Neyland Stadium. I had never seen anything like it. It was HUGE. It had what looked like an office-park building looking down on the field. "What is that building, Dad?" I asked. "The press box," he said to me in a manner conveyed how big this was - SEC football. 

We were there for a cupcake game; Akron I think they were playing. It didn't matter. It consumed the entire campus and surrounding city. Cumberland Avenue, the main drag going through the campus, was thronged with people wearing Orange There was a parade. There was the "Vol Walk" which is nothing more that gathering to watch the gladiators show up at the stadium. I had just never been a part of something like this. 

I had also never seen my dad swept up in anything before. He's not the kind of person who "believes" in things, always swatting stuff away as "foolish" and getting back to his paper. I had seen him yelling at the TV before when this football team who wears orange was losing, but other than that, emotions weren't a big part of his fatherly workflow. He was really lifted by this, encouraging us to be, too. It was surreal.

Despite the minnows these sharks were playing against, the stadium sold out - 95,000 at that point. And the crowd as voraciously at the sixth touchdown as they did at the first. I think Tennessee won 45-7, or something like that. It was exhilarating. 

Front that point on, I was emotionally tied to this team. Fortunately, they were consistently a good team. Consistently in the Top 10. Most always won their games. Always went to a bowl which they most always won. They even had a national championship in 1998. Florida, Alabama, and LSU - powerhouse giants today - were automatic wins. It was good to be at the top. 

Unfortunately, the team declined. They got mediocre. They got caught inside their own heads. There were off-field incidents. There was coaching turmoil. It has been terribly difficult to watch. Agonizing.

When this team wins, I am Type A. I stand - too worked up to sit - and pace. I yell at the players, coaches, play callers, referees. Yeah, so imagine how I am when they lose...consistently. 

This year, there was finally promise. A Reaganesque, "Sunrise-in-East-Tennessee" feeling. We were passing our tests. First, was NC State, a mediocre team - no breeze - that mug even beat us in years past, but we handled beautifully, sailing through 35-21. Then came our cupcake, Georgia State. Games like this had been an issue, too. But, we annihilated them. Are the Vols Back? I thought so.

And ESPN thought so, too. Tennesse's next big test was to play a ranked team, Florida. This teams has owned us for years. Getting in our heads and destroying us as well as eeking some out. This was our time. ESPN realized this and brought their GameDay to Knoxville. This one was going to be nasty and Tennessee had a chance to prove themselves again.

I have been pumped all week. Not usually one to predict things because I hate being wrong, I let go and believed - BELIEVED - Tennessee would finally get one back against this team who has do dominated us. 

The first half commences. Florida strikes first, a touchdown off an impressive run. No worries. It's early. We struck with a short pass to the end zone after an impressive drive. YES! We score again and go ahead! Florida, besieged with penalties, is in disarray. Despite this, they march down the field with very little time left in the first half, but the orange wall holds them to a field goal! 14-10 at he half in favor of Tennessee. Well done! I can taste sweet victory, finally. 

The second half kicks off with another impressive drive, but once again the Vols hold them to three points. 14-13. YES! Tennessee valiantly marches down the field once more and sticks in the end zone for another touchdown! 20-13. An extra point makes it an 8 point game and would sufficiently take Florida's wind out of their sails, I thought. But then, it happened. We botched the extra point. Wait, what? The roar or might Neyland stadium went off like a lot switch. Florida picks up on this and takes a shot. It works. 20-20. Now, whose wind is lost?

Tennessee's offense all of a sudden is lost, in disarray. Passes to no one. Dropped passes. Runs stopped at the line of scrimmage. Meanwhile, Florida strikes again, 27-20. 

At this point, it's halfway through the fourth quarter. As if I sense the game is lost, I start to fastforward - I had it on DVR and fastidiously avoided Internet and texting all day in order to see the win for myself. I could have saved myself  3 hours. I see Florida score again. And again, but that one was called back. It didn't matter. Through speeding it up 3 times, thanks to DVR, I saw that our offense was barely on the field. Back to our old ways, I guess. Look like a troupe of hapless idiots for 3 downs and kick the ball away; slowly exhaust your defense until they give up a touchdown.

It was awful. It was gut wrenching. I felt my blood boiling. At one point, I threw the remote. I even punched a pillow. It was what I am accustomed to watching this team trip all over themselves and fall apart. It was like watching a building implode in slow motion.

So here I am again, the third Sunday in September, tossing the rest of the season in the garbage, remarking to myself that we're still not ready for prime-time. I thought this was the year. I believed. How could it end up so differently? How could I be so wrong?

This is not a common feeling for me. I am pretty down in the dumps today. Because of a sports contest gone awry. When the Mets' bullpens throws a game away from them in late innings, I change the channel. This is resonating with me, burning inside. I am scorned. I am insulted. I wish I could have been in that locker room because I need to say my piece. 

Eventually, I will get past this. The baseball post-season will be upon us soon and I will forget about Tennessee and what it did to me last night. I really thought we would be restored to greatness this year. Perhaps next year and I can be heartbroken again when we have diarrhea against a team with a modicum of talent.

First iPad Post

Here we go. First post from a free Blogger account on the iPad. So far, not impressed.

Dreams

I'll just get this out there: I have been having bizarre dreams lately and I don't really know how to fully interpret them. Usually, I'm the type of "dreamer" who doesn't remember my dreams. I know I have them; I might, throughout the following day, confront "triggers" which summon tidbits from the previous night's dreams, but I never remember things like context or end-to-end series of events. It might be because my dreams, like most people's, are amalgamations of images, observances, and emotions that are just slapped together and are called up by our unconscious minds in no particular order or priority. Your unconscious mind's "jam session"; a way to process, dissect, and guide our emotions to keep us mentally healthy.

You can have vivid dreams if you leave a nicotine patch on, but since I put my last Nicoderm patch on seven years ago, I can't attribute these very stirring dreams to that. Per The Cosby Show, I have also seen that eating a hoagie before bed can make the creatures from HR Puffingstuff appear, but my diet hasn't been all that bad lately, notwithstanding my periodically eating like I, too, am pregnant with twins. What resonates with me, though, and what logically makes the most sense is that our dreams become particularly vivid when we are operating in times of stress.

Ah, yes, stress. There are a lot of demons right now - work, family, etc. Furthermore, with the twins arrival just in time for the holidays, we have been HUFFING to get their room ready, laundry cleaned and packed away, and all the other crap that just needs to get done DONE.

As such, Gracie is being pushed pretty hard: new room, sleeping in a bed, new school, oh yeah, and potty training because obviously we haven't been putting enough on her. Accordingly, she's much more attached to Becky - and her new teacher, interestingly - and is much more likely to LOSE IT over seemingly meaningless things. Of course, as two Jews who like to blame everything on ourselves on a good day, Becky and I are beside ourselves with guilt. But, Gracie has always been a trooper and is delivering once more, taking it in stride as much as two-year-old is capable. What I'm stuck on is that a two-year-old shouldn't have to take anything in stride. As when she was a newborn, this too will pass. Then, the twins will be here. Rinse and repeat.

Is it any surprise that with all this pent up angst that my subconscious mind is on overdrive?

So, the dreams. Last week, I had a dream that I was in Georgetown Hospital. Nevermind that I've never been there and this wasn't Georgetown Hospital based on the building - which I have seen - and the vista wasn't consistent with that of the actual hospital. On the southwest horizon, over the Potomac - which wasn't the Potomac - was an enormous white tornado forming; a billowing, white, upside-down triangle, narrowing as it approached the ground. I suddenly got this feeling that I needed to dig in and brace myself. The sky darkened, the rain and wind started, the power went out. I looked out of the window and down in Georgetown - which wasn't Georgetown - I saw two tornadoes, baby tornadoes, maybe 100 feet high and so thin so that you could see through them, playfully skipping up the north shore of the Potomac. Despite the power being out, I got a sense of relief; a "that wasn't so bad" feeling. This one is easy: the big tornado is the feat we are taking on and how we see it; the power going out is our actual hurdle(s); and the two tornadoes are the twins, more bark than bite, skipping through the newborn phase before you know it.

But, last night, I had a really weird one. So weird, it prompted me to write this. I was on a beach in Mexico being held captive by a drug cartel that looked like members of the Powhatan tribe. They were going to kill me. No one said it, I just knew. The leader looked like Wes Studi - of Magua and "Geronimo" fame - and then transformed into Bob from "La Bamba", played by Esai Morales. If you remember "La Bamba", Bob was manic and intense and this guy was no less of either. I got the sense when Druglord Wes Studi was there that my life might be spared. But, when Druglord Bob from "La Bamba" appeared, I knew I was going to die. He screamed, showed his teeth at me, and turned black as coal. All of a sudden, I found myself in a jungle with the cartel/Native Americans. The end was coming. The feeling began to overpower me that I was going to die. But then, nothing. I just walked away. Literally, walked away. Despite this feeling that death by their hands was eminent, I nonchalantly took leave of these people. And I did so completely unmolested. I walked up a very steep hill, about 50 feet high, covered with mid-Atlantic deciduous trees and Virginia pines - remember, I was in a jungle - that reminded me of such a hill in First Landing State Park in Virginia Beach.

Upon reaching the summit, I ensconced myself in the brush. I lifted my hands as if I were holding a sniper rifle. I found myself looking through a scope - I now had a scope - and had the leader, who had now taken the face of a woman I see at a bus stop I pass on my way home from work, in my cross hairs. He/she is holding a rope and pulling very strenuously. I jerk my hands up as if I have taken a shot and the leader's body goes limp and is pulled along by the rope he/she had been holding. I felt a sudden burst of liberation. I no longer feared for my life. I got up, turned around, and ran.

Suddenly, I was running up the Mexican beach. For some reason, I knew this was a Pacific-facing beach and the water was on my left, so I knew I was running up the beach. I turned inland and was running on a street. I saw an old Amtrak train - with the red, white, and blue stripes - lumbering into a station. I heard the bell clanging - ding, ding, ding, ding - and a conductor's voice announcing the arrival in this nondescript Mexican beach town. I knew I had to get on that train. The closer I got to it, the freer I felt. I knew this feeling from other dreams. This what Billy Hayes or Andy Dufrane must have felt. The air was different. The world around me was completely immaterial. I was free. I ran faster, despite being exhausted from the distance I had already run. I never turned around, but I knew the cartel members/Native Americans were not far behind.

I suddenly found myself at home with Becky, Grace, and a bunch of people who I supposedly knew well in my dream, but knew even in the dream I didn't know in real life. The house looked different. I looked outside and saw two SUV's speed up my driveway. I knew it was the cartel. I picked up the phone and called the FBI - I knew their number. I rationally, but emotionally, explained what was happening. It was like talking to a 911 operator. The man at the other end wanted to stay on the phone with me until the FBI agents arrived. Then, nothing happened. No one entered the house, knocked on the door. Nothing.

I found myself in a car with another person. I looked outside the car and it looked like the setting from the Roman Polanski movie "Chinatown". We crept past a two-story building and the cartel leader - who was Wes Studi again, this time in a zoot suite and hair slicked back into a tight pony-tail - stepped out onto the stoop and suspiciously looked around. "Oh shit!" I whisper-screamed. But, his gaze went right over the car I was in. I knew then that the cartel never came to my house. I had lost them, yet hear I was right in snakepit tempting them to bite. What a fool I was to tempt fate.

The dream trailed off at this point and eventually a woke up. What the hell was that about, I thought. I never remember dreams. As I poured over this, I realized something: there's no sense in trying to interpret the details. They are immaterial. That's why we don't usually remember our dreams. When our dreams, however, produce profound, powerful emotions, that is when we remember them. A feeling being overwhelmed and subsequent relief; that something terrible is inevitable and then sweet deliverance; the realization that you are being an idiot when you should leave well enough alone. Feelings like this stay with us. Our minds want us be intimate with these emotions. It's how we cope with stress and fortify ourselves to be able to absorb it.

I have no doubts that I will continue to have weird dreams for the time-being. I only hope they're weird enough to get me to write about them here.

Bon weekend.

Pasta with Chicken and Kale

As I sit here in a meeting for which there was no reason I was required to attend, I decided to transcribe a very successful culinary experiment I attempted last night. A couple of cautionary notes:

1. I don't measure spices, especially for meat spice rubs and marinades. I just don't. To me, the correct level of flavor attained by adding herbs and spices is a very subjective affair.
2. Another spice-related note: I go easy on the garlic powder and oregano and liberal on the black pepper. The former two pack quite a punch and, I find, can overpower a dish, while I love the fragrance and slow burn of the latter.
3. Fond is KING! I think the brown bits at the bottom of the pan are the ultimate flavor-enhancer and they definitely play a major role in this dish.

So, without further ado, here's the formula:

3 small or 2 large chicken breasts
Olive oil
Garlic powder
Oregano
Salt
Pepper
2 generous handfuls of baby kale
Farfalle, 1 cup dry
Parmesan or romano cheese, to taste (for me, this is half a container :-))

1. With a paper towel, pat chicken dry of excess juices. LIBERALLY apply olive oil to the chicken and toss the chicken around until coated (this will be your cooking oil, as well). Apply garlic powder, oregano, salt, and pepper to taste. Let chicken sit at room temperature for about 15-20 to soak up those flavors. After the mingling session, add chicken and excess oil to a cold pan and turn heat to medium. When the chicken starts to get loud, turn the heat down to medium-low. Cook for about 7 minutes per side. This will get you a great fond, i.e. the brown bits at the bottom of the pan. Remove chicken from the pan and let it rest on a plate.
2. While the chicken is cooking, cook the pasta. Drain the pasta, set aside, and reserve about a half cup of the cooking water.
3. While the chicken rests, add the kale to the hot pan. The water from the kale will loosen the fond and soak it up to provide your flavor. Cook the kale, stirring frequent to avoid sticking, for about 4-5 minutes.
4. Slice the chicken and add it, the pasta, and reserved water to the pan with the kale. Set heat to low and let these guys influence each other for about 20-30 minutes.
5. Serve in bowls and add cheese to taste.

Serves 2