Ahh, the early '70's. My college years as I recall. Vaguely...
My drugs of choice were pot, any and all hallucinogens (I loved acid until I discovered psilocybin. Things changed wonderfully weirdly after that...) and Quaaludes. Oh lord, did I love Quaaludes!!! They were initially billed as a safe, non addictive alternative to barbiturates and narcotics (Safe and non addictive??? Are you out of your bloody mind???) They were good for insomnia and a muscle relaxant. NO FUCKING SHIT??? You lost feeling in your extremities (as well as your frontal lobes) on these things and were prone to regain consciousness in a foreign country. Sometimes still wearing your own clothes. If any clothes at all... I kind of remember (not really) a vacation in Jamaica, a public fountain, me covered in vomit and the locals throwing spoiled food at me but that's a whole other post...
I sort of remember the weekend in the dorms when I was foolish enough (lucky enough???) to mix some 'Ludes with some 'Shrooms just to see what would happen. Lord, I was so much younger and braver back then. I can't recall what happened. I'm sure I would have kicked both Marlin Perkins' ass as well as Mutual of Omaha's (maybe even that damned rhino he kept relentlessly darting) if I could only have found my extremities. Or my frontal lobes.... The colors were lovely. I think I named one of them "Susan". Or was it "Donovan"?
Yes, I have treated my body like an amusement park ride. I'm just not the type to treat it like a temple. Hand me a ticket for the Tilt-A-Whirl or the Octopus and my skinny little white ass is out looking for some of the brown acid, just letting it kick in while I'm waiting in line. Yeah, I was the one starting to giggle behind you in line. Hell, I was once up to my tits on peyote on the Tea Cups at Disney World. That was a fun 3 minutes. Right up until I blew lunch all over that nice young family sharing the cup with me. However, a couple of minutes later things did start to get WAY more colorful. At least for me. I came to later the next morning in a shatteringly tacky Disney World hotel room with my Mouseketeer hat missing an ear, the honor bar totally drained and me sporting a black eye. Oh, well, I guess a good time was had by all... Sure wish I could remember it though.
My motto has always been "We're not here for a long time, just a good time". It has served me well over the years, sometimes even served me too well as I can almost remember. Sort of... Give me a handful of nickels and I'm buying candy. Give me a fist full of singles and I'm stuffing those suckers in somebody's g-string. Give me a timer that counts down my lifetime in less fingers than I have on both hands and I'm setting the cruise control to 110. Maybe even 130 if I have enough cylinders at my disposal!!!
Life is too short for coach class, too long for youth and WAY too important to ever be taken seriously. Learn to ride a unicycle. In a dress. Dressed as a penguin. Show the person next to you on the bus the toothbrush you found in the gutter. And tell them how lucky you feel. Repeatedly. Pick up that single shoe you found on the side of road. And wear it. As a hat. Give that awful street musician a penny. And then ask for change. Kick the bloody hell out of any one under the age of 45 wearing a tie dyed anything. You're supposed to make those damned things, you idiot, NOT buy them at ShopKo!!! And for god's sake, let me know if you have any Ludes!!!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
I've known more drag queens that you can shake a tiara at!!!
Oh yeah, this goes back for decades. Actually, for the better part of my life. All the way back to the '70's on Castro Street in San Francisco. Remember Sylvester? I do. She was at least 6 foot tall without hair and heels and just ruled the Elephant Walk bar. She went on to several top ten singles as I recall. She sang in her own voice, had hair the size of the Atstodome and could dance her fake tits off. Holy shit, that was theater if I ever saw it!!!
Minneapolis gave me the Waters' sisters, Misty, Stormy and Skybloo. Swear to god, Skybloo. And I can't forget the truly scary Miss Chi Chi Larue. Big as a barn and could have probably taken Divine in a fight. She's now an incredibly successful gay porn producer in L.A. with her own studio. And the unforgettable Trinket, the coat check girl at the Gay 90's. Think Ving Rhames in a 1970's prom dress and you get the picture...
Then there was Portland, Oregon. First there was Candi Jarr. Then there was Belle Jarr. Then there was Cookie Jarr. We all hoped it was it was over after that but then along came Dora Jarr. I have to admit, I was truly impressed with that name. Hell, what other option did she have left, Specimen Jarr??? Oops, can't forget the lovely Miss Lady Elaine Peacock. Talented as hell, size zero and had more sequins that Carol Channing's burial shroud. And enough mousse in her wig to build a Bullwinkle!!!
Australia introduced me to Cinderella Rockafella and the ever present Dame Edna Leverage. Oh my god, those two were insane!!! They hosted an annual competition between Sydney and Melbourne called "Search For A Tragedy" that was a hunt for the worst drag queens on the continent. And they found them too. By the fucking boat load. I witnessed some of the most frightening displays imaginable. My favorite was Missy Thing. Yep, Missy Thing. Think Onslo from "Keeping Up Appearances". In green spandex. Doing "Crocodile Rock". Oh my god, I need to go put my brain in the dishwasher again!!!
Madison. Hmmm, Madison... This place has the most sorry assed herd of drag queens I've ever seen. Girls, are there no mirrors in any of your single wides??? Trust me, you aren't fooling any one!!! The real high point was Tina. Ahh, Tina... We all called her "Tina From the Country". She was so sad you just wanted to pick her up and pet her like a lost puppy. And then dump her off at the Humane Society for euthanasia. Tina was a very closeted married man in his late 30's who was the assistant manager at a McDonald's. Like I said, sad... I swear she bought her wigs at Dollar Tree and got most of her "gowns" off of the side of the road somewhere near Boscobel. I hear she was abducted by aliens who for some reason decided to keep her. They must have very strange zoos on Mars...
But Mexico is a different story. I gotta tell you, those girls just rock down there. Ida Slaptor, Mama Dolores, Miss Jalapena, Windy Mills, Candi Dahhhling, Velveeta Cheeze and a group of nameless individuals known collectively as "The Dirty Bitches". A few years back I gave one of the "Bitches" a black leather mini-skirt I no longer had use for (don't even ask) and I got a proposal of marriage!!! I was tempted at first but later decided to decline her gracious offer when I found out that it would entail moving in with her parents in El Pitillal and sleeping over the chicken coop with her aunt and uncle. Don't get me wrong, her aunt and uncle were very nice people, as were the chickens but it just didn't seem right for me.
I love a man in a dress. I love a man out of a dress. Hell, I love a man when I'M in a dress!!! But when you put a man in hair and heels and put him on stage I'm right there in the front row with a fist full of singles and a smile on my face. Spectacle, theater of the absurd, illusion and Cirque on the brown acid fuel my fire. BIG TIME!!! Especially when I get my thigh personally autographed and a group picture that I can put on the Christmas cards to scare the bloody shit out of the relatives!!!
Minneapolis gave me the Waters' sisters, Misty, Stormy and Skybloo. Swear to god, Skybloo. And I can't forget the truly scary Miss Chi Chi Larue. Big as a barn and could have probably taken Divine in a fight. She's now an incredibly successful gay porn producer in L.A. with her own studio. And the unforgettable Trinket, the coat check girl at the Gay 90's. Think Ving Rhames in a 1970's prom dress and you get the picture...
Then there was Portland, Oregon. First there was Candi Jarr. Then there was Belle Jarr. Then there was Cookie Jarr. We all hoped it was it was over after that but then along came Dora Jarr. I have to admit, I was truly impressed with that name. Hell, what other option did she have left, Specimen Jarr??? Oops, can't forget the lovely Miss Lady Elaine Peacock. Talented as hell, size zero and had more sequins that Carol Channing's burial shroud. And enough mousse in her wig to build a Bullwinkle!!!
Australia introduced me to Cinderella Rockafella and the ever present Dame Edna Leverage. Oh my god, those two were insane!!! They hosted an annual competition between Sydney and Melbourne called "Search For A Tragedy" that was a hunt for the worst drag queens on the continent. And they found them too. By the fucking boat load. I witnessed some of the most frightening displays imaginable. My favorite was Missy Thing. Yep, Missy Thing. Think Onslo from "Keeping Up Appearances". In green spandex. Doing "Crocodile Rock". Oh my god, I need to go put my brain in the dishwasher again!!!
Madison. Hmmm, Madison... This place has the most sorry assed herd of drag queens I've ever seen. Girls, are there no mirrors in any of your single wides??? Trust me, you aren't fooling any one!!! The real high point was Tina. Ahh, Tina... We all called her "Tina From the Country". She was so sad you just wanted to pick her up and pet her like a lost puppy. And then dump her off at the Humane Society for euthanasia. Tina was a very closeted married man in his late 30's who was the assistant manager at a McDonald's. Like I said, sad... I swear she bought her wigs at Dollar Tree and got most of her "gowns" off of the side of the road somewhere near Boscobel. I hear she was abducted by aliens who for some reason decided to keep her. They must have very strange zoos on Mars...
But Mexico is a different story. I gotta tell you, those girls just rock down there. Ida Slaptor, Mama Dolores, Miss Jalapena, Windy Mills, Candi Dahhhling, Velveeta Cheeze and a group of nameless individuals known collectively as "The Dirty Bitches". A few years back I gave one of the "Bitches" a black leather mini-skirt I no longer had use for (don't even ask) and I got a proposal of marriage!!! I was tempted at first but later decided to decline her gracious offer when I found out that it would entail moving in with her parents in El Pitillal and sleeping over the chicken coop with her aunt and uncle. Don't get me wrong, her aunt and uncle were very nice people, as were the chickens but it just didn't seem right for me.
I love a man in a dress. I love a man out of a dress. Hell, I love a man when I'M in a dress!!! But when you put a man in hair and heels and put him on stage I'm right there in the front row with a fist full of singles and a smile on my face. Spectacle, theater of the absurd, illusion and Cirque on the brown acid fuel my fire. BIG TIME!!! Especially when I get my thigh personally autographed and a group picture that I can put on the Christmas cards to scare the bloody shit out of the relatives!!!
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My kitchen is the Eighth Gate of Hell!!!
OK, by now you must realize that I'm a cook. I grew up in my parents restaurants and my grandma's kitchen. I've been doing this since I was in third grade. It's my nature, my calling.... oh hell, it's my sole legal addiction when I think about it.
I am a self admitted slave to single use kitchen appliances. The more the merrier. I have three different sized citrus squeezers (limes, lemons and oranges), two different food processors (three if you count the broken one I haven't thrown away yet but just keep around for interchangeable parts), a Rubbermaid storage container with so many "formal" sets of chopsticks I could host a diplomatic summit in Beijing, three woks (one meat, one veggie and one just to cook rice in) and a really spendy asparagus steamer I use about three times a year. Don't even ask me about the cutting boards... I could do a parquet floor that would rival the Grand Ballroom at Versailles (some for "face", some for "non-face". Meat vs veggies). Yeah, I really am that anal!
I am surprised that my cabinets have not literally ripped loose from the walls. At last count I had a collection of more that 197 pieces of Fiesta Ware (place setting for 8 and WAY too many damned completer pieces), a set of cookware that is now up to more than 40 pieces (not counting the Corning French White that is about the same number), flatware for 12 (again, way too many completer pieces to count), enough Mexican linens to open a cocina that could cater a wedding and a funeral at the same time and enough spices to weigh down a Manila Galleon!!! Would you believe that only two of us live in this apartment??? And that this kitchen is about the size of a phone booth??? In my time I have had kitchens that were bigger than my living room is now. Kitchens you could hold parties in. Kitchens so big you could have a crowd in it, everyone cooking their asses off and no one getting accidently stabbed, scalded or set on fire. Hell, kitchens so big you could hold keggers in and invite the entire building!!! Ahh, I remember those days...
If I can't hold a 10 inch French knife in each hand, stretch out my arms, whirl like a drunken Dirvish and not slice someones ear off it just ain't a kitchen to me. I want cabinet space large enough to hold the treasures of pharaoh, enough counter space to do multiple autopsy's on and enough gas burners to get me accused of worshipping false idols with. If I can't wrap a whole pig in banana leaves and toss it onto flames inside my house then I am being cheated out of my destiny. If four burners is normal, then six is even better but eight is right up my alley. Can you really have too many ovens at your disposal??? Hell NO!!!
I would truly sell what's left of my soul for an acre or two of Viking, Wolfe and Sub-Zero toys. I want warming ovens, holding ovens, under counter prep refrigerators and a freezer the size of Texas!!! Is it an obsession? Yes. Is it a disease? HELL, YES!!! I prefer disease.... You know why? Obsession just gets you arrested but disease get you medicated. I've always liked medicated better....
I am a self admitted slave to single use kitchen appliances. The more the merrier. I have three different sized citrus squeezers (limes, lemons and oranges), two different food processors (three if you count the broken one I haven't thrown away yet but just keep around for interchangeable parts), a Rubbermaid storage container with so many "formal" sets of chopsticks I could host a diplomatic summit in Beijing, three woks (one meat, one veggie and one just to cook rice in) and a really spendy asparagus steamer I use about three times a year. Don't even ask me about the cutting boards... I could do a parquet floor that would rival the Grand Ballroom at Versailles (some for "face", some for "non-face". Meat vs veggies). Yeah, I really am that anal!
I am surprised that my cabinets have not literally ripped loose from the walls. At last count I had a collection of more that 197 pieces of Fiesta Ware (place setting for 8 and WAY too many damned completer pieces), a set of cookware that is now up to more than 40 pieces (not counting the Corning French White that is about the same number), flatware for 12 (again, way too many completer pieces to count), enough Mexican linens to open a cocina that could cater a wedding and a funeral at the same time and enough spices to weigh down a Manila Galleon!!! Would you believe that only two of us live in this apartment??? And that this kitchen is about the size of a phone booth??? In my time I have had kitchens that were bigger than my living room is now. Kitchens you could hold parties in. Kitchens so big you could have a crowd in it, everyone cooking their asses off and no one getting accidently stabbed, scalded or set on fire. Hell, kitchens so big you could hold keggers in and invite the entire building!!! Ahh, I remember those days...
If I can't hold a 10 inch French knife in each hand, stretch out my arms, whirl like a drunken Dirvish and not slice someones ear off it just ain't a kitchen to me. I want cabinet space large enough to hold the treasures of pharaoh, enough counter space to do multiple autopsy's on and enough gas burners to get me accused of worshipping false idols with. If I can't wrap a whole pig in banana leaves and toss it onto flames inside my house then I am being cheated out of my destiny. If four burners is normal, then six is even better but eight is right up my alley. Can you really have too many ovens at your disposal??? Hell NO!!!
I would truly sell what's left of my soul for an acre or two of Viking, Wolfe and Sub-Zero toys. I want warming ovens, holding ovens, under counter prep refrigerators and a freezer the size of Texas!!! Is it an obsession? Yes. Is it a disease? HELL, YES!!! I prefer disease.... You know why? Obsession just gets you arrested but disease get you medicated. I've always liked medicated better....
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Karaoke Night at the nursing home...
OK, here's a scary thought that is just starting to piss the bloody hell out of me. Over the next decade nursing homes are going to start filling up with worn out, tattered Baby Boomers. That would be me. Stop your damned laughing, that clock is ticking WAY to fast for my taste!!! Even imagining that scenario chills me all the way down to my new hip.
Can you see me in a nursing home? I just know it's going to be some hell hole called "Shitty Pines" that smells like patchouli and has a staff that carries rhino dart guns just to keep up in line. Which when I think about it, that may not be so bad. After all as Boomer I've always enjoyed a good buzz...
I picture the gowns being tie-dyed (I'll be wearing mine backwards just for effect), being herded down to the therapy room for Arts & Crap sessions (I'll be making a paper mache bong), Jazzersize physical therapy sessions (I've always preferred Sleepersize sessions myself) and then those heinous Friday night karaoke things they love to subject you to. If I have to do karaoke I swear to god I'm gonna snap!!! Just like my hip did. I'm turning "I'm Your Boogie Man" into "Here's My Booger, Man", "Hot Stuff" into "Hot Soup" and "Get Up And Boogie" into "Come Here And Wipe Me"!!! I'm gonna get darted, I just know it...
I'll orchestrate break-outs (OK, more like shuffle-outs probably) and I'll organize acts of civil disobedience (I'm thinking of everyone filling their Depends simultaneously). Hell, better yet, I'll start a mass movement even bigger than the Depends thing! I'm gonna call it "Geezer Power". And anyone who can get around in a wheelchair under their own power and still swallow at the same time is qualified to join. We'll gather down in the lunch room and then wheel ourselves up to the nurses station, all chanting in unison: "WE'RE OLD!!! WE'RE CRANKY!!! WHERE'S OUR FUCKING OATMEAL!!! WE'RE OLD!!! WE'RE CRANKY!!! WHERE'S OUR FUCKING OATMEAL!!!" And if our demands are not met THEN we do the Depends thing!!! I'm sure Ghandi would approve.
As god is my witness, I will not take this sitting down!!! Unless, of course, my other hip decides to take a shit on me...
Can you see me in a nursing home? I just know it's going to be some hell hole called "Shitty Pines" that smells like patchouli and has a staff that carries rhino dart guns just to keep up in line. Which when I think about it, that may not be so bad. After all as Boomer I've always enjoyed a good buzz...
I picture the gowns being tie-dyed (I'll be wearing mine backwards just for effect), being herded down to the therapy room for Arts & Crap sessions (I'll be making a paper mache bong), Jazzersize physical therapy sessions (I've always preferred Sleepersize sessions myself) and then those heinous Friday night karaoke things they love to subject you to. If I have to do karaoke I swear to god I'm gonna snap!!! Just like my hip did. I'm turning "I'm Your Boogie Man" into "Here's My Booger, Man", "Hot Stuff" into "Hot Soup" and "Get Up And Boogie" into "Come Here And Wipe Me"!!! I'm gonna get darted, I just know it...
I'll orchestrate break-outs (OK, more like shuffle-outs probably) and I'll organize acts of civil disobedience (I'm thinking of everyone filling their Depends simultaneously). Hell, better yet, I'll start a mass movement even bigger than the Depends thing! I'm gonna call it "Geezer Power". And anyone who can get around in a wheelchair under their own power and still swallow at the same time is qualified to join. We'll gather down in the lunch room and then wheel ourselves up to the nurses station, all chanting in unison: "WE'RE OLD!!! WE'RE CRANKY!!! WHERE'S OUR FUCKING OATMEAL!!! WE'RE OLD!!! WE'RE CRANKY!!! WHERE'S OUR FUCKING OATMEAL!!!" And if our demands are not met THEN we do the Depends thing!!! I'm sure Ghandi would approve.
As god is my witness, I will not take this sitting down!!! Unless, of course, my other hip decides to take a shit on me...
Friday, September 24, 2010
I have a "Play-Doh" date!!!
How cool is that, I ask you? A Play-Doh date!!! Remember that stuff? That semi-gelatinous paste that used to pass as a clay like substance? In colors NOT found in nature? You could use it forever, I swear. You could bake it and make it "solid". Of sorts. You could paint it. You could eat it. Yes, I ate it as a child. Could have used a bit more salt and some garlic for my tastes though.
Anyway, my faux-niece (all of six years old now and quite worldly) has graciously invited me to a tea party tomorrow so we can break out all of her Play-Doh and ravage the dinning room table once again. The last time we did this I spent the better part of two hours digging Play-Doh flotsam out of her parents carpet so they wouldn't know we had a Play-Doh fight. Yeah, I'm a totally cool aunt!!! Who in there right mind would willingly hand their child over to me??? Yet, I seem to be the babysitter of choice for this little wonder and light of my life. And yes, I am officially known as "Auntie Donn". She is my partner in crime. We have trashed a few Olive Garden's in our time together. Can you say wearing whole black olives on our fingers? All of our fingers!!! And possibly a couple of toes as well. Culver's is our place of worship. She lives for those Team Scoopie points and I have been known to mainline the Caramel Cashew Nut Sundaes. About the only thing I haven't managed to teach her is to introduce herself as Baby Jesus to strangers. Sadly, her mother refuses to let me do that. I've been slapped up against the back of my head so many times by her mother I've lost count. Could be some brain damage by now...
Anyway, the date... This one is gonna rock big time! She has gallons of Play-Doh and a Play-Doh factory that makes the one I had as kid pale by comparison. Hers is digital for christ's sake. And about the size of a Chevy Malibu. And I've been told to bring some "tools" along that we can use to make even cooler Play-Doh things with. What can I say, she has me wrapped around her finger. I have a pile of stuff on the kitchen counter about a foot high to take out there. Everything from jar lids to pot scrapers to crinkle-cut vegetable cutters to popsicle makers to Kool-Aid from Chile to apple scented bubbles to a nose and glasses disguise kit. Did I mention the lime squeezer from Mexico? Great for making hair or worms. Oh yeah, this one truly owns me outright! My god, she's only six and she already has her very own personal bitch!!! Lord, girl, I have raised you well!!! I figure that for her 7th birthday I start teaching her how to drive a manual transmission. On the interstate. At night. In reverse. While smoking. With an open container in the car. Hey, you're never too young to learn a valuable skill or two. Look for our pictures on a wanted poster coming soon to a post office near you!!!
Anyway, my faux-niece (all of six years old now and quite worldly) has graciously invited me to a tea party tomorrow so we can break out all of her Play-Doh and ravage the dinning room table once again. The last time we did this I spent the better part of two hours digging Play-Doh flotsam out of her parents carpet so they wouldn't know we had a Play-Doh fight. Yeah, I'm a totally cool aunt!!! Who in there right mind would willingly hand their child over to me??? Yet, I seem to be the babysitter of choice for this little wonder and light of my life. And yes, I am officially known as "Auntie Donn". She is my partner in crime. We have trashed a few Olive Garden's in our time together. Can you say wearing whole black olives on our fingers? All of our fingers!!! And possibly a couple of toes as well. Culver's is our place of worship. She lives for those Team Scoopie points and I have been known to mainline the Caramel Cashew Nut Sundaes. About the only thing I haven't managed to teach her is to introduce herself as Baby Jesus to strangers. Sadly, her mother refuses to let me do that. I've been slapped up against the back of my head so many times by her mother I've lost count. Could be some brain damage by now...
Anyway, the date... This one is gonna rock big time! She has gallons of Play-Doh and a Play-Doh factory that makes the one I had as kid pale by comparison. Hers is digital for christ's sake. And about the size of a Chevy Malibu. And I've been told to bring some "tools" along that we can use to make even cooler Play-Doh things with. What can I say, she has me wrapped around her finger. I have a pile of stuff on the kitchen counter about a foot high to take out there. Everything from jar lids to pot scrapers to crinkle-cut vegetable cutters to popsicle makers to Kool-Aid from Chile to apple scented bubbles to a nose and glasses disguise kit. Did I mention the lime squeezer from Mexico? Great for making hair or worms. Oh yeah, this one truly owns me outright! My god, she's only six and she already has her very own personal bitch!!! Lord, girl, I have raised you well!!! I figure that for her 7th birthday I start teaching her how to drive a manual transmission. On the interstate. At night. In reverse. While smoking. With an open container in the car. Hey, you're never too young to learn a valuable skill or two. Look for our pictures on a wanted poster coming soon to a post office near you!!!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Life is much too short to even consider doing a bad BBQ!!!
Trust me on this one, I know what I'm talking about. Grilling out is an art. A way of life. An homage to fire, if you will. Hell, to me it's almost Zen... with a hearty dry rub and a dipping sauce on the side. All of it caramelized, slightly blackened and bubbly. Give me 45 minutes of open flames I will feed you like you have never been fed before! What I can do with fire is just amazing (refer to a former post. Only with less of a blast wave and a lot more windows left intact).
The weather is changing and the season is waining (FMTT!!!) but I am still out in the back yard grilling my tits off. Why? I have some hearty man-tits and the mosquitoes are FINALLY gone. No more DEET! Life is good in my corner of Paradise! And my freezer is so freaking full of stuff that just begs to be put to the stake it just hurts in my opinion. Get those damned sausages on the grill! And the Hebrew Nationals! And those brat buns from LAST August. The Solstice is here and it is time to purge. Oh, hell, give me a couple of last years steaks and I'll toss those on as well. Lord, I just love left overs! Any one for some baby backs? Hot wings?
Food? My life! Grilling? Mother's milk! My new Weber Q-200? My mistress!!! She calls to me like the Siren's did to Odysseus.. OMG, you sweet thing, come to Daddy!!! I've bought her more accessories than a $1000 an hour hooker could ever hope to have. My other half keeps finding this stuff and he's just panicked... it's like my new drug of choice in a weird way. What can I say? I want fire! LOTS of carne! Hell, I've even come close to picking up road kill and tossing it on the grill. I figure once it's been run over a couple of times it's already tenderized. All I have to do is season it properly, torch it, slap it on a plate, light a few candles and we're ready to go, right? A bit of fresh cilantro, a sprig of basil and some legumes from the farmers market and we have a feast in my world. You bring a box of crisp Chardonnay and we're set to go in my mind. Doesn't that go well with raccoon, opossum or what's left of a Canada Goose over on the shoulder of the road???
Let's get grillin', OK???
The weather is changing and the season is waining (FMTT!!!) but I am still out in the back yard grilling my tits off. Why? I have some hearty man-tits and the mosquitoes are FINALLY gone. No more DEET! Life is good in my corner of Paradise! And my freezer is so freaking full of stuff that just begs to be put to the stake it just hurts in my opinion. Get those damned sausages on the grill! And the Hebrew Nationals! And those brat buns from LAST August. The Solstice is here and it is time to purge. Oh, hell, give me a couple of last years steaks and I'll toss those on as well. Lord, I just love left overs! Any one for some baby backs? Hot wings?
Food? My life! Grilling? Mother's milk! My new Weber Q-200? My mistress!!! She calls to me like the Siren's did to Odysseus.. OMG, you sweet thing, come to Daddy!!! I've bought her more accessories than a $1000 an hour hooker could ever hope to have. My other half keeps finding this stuff and he's just panicked... it's like my new drug of choice in a weird way. What can I say? I want fire! LOTS of carne! Hell, I've even come close to picking up road kill and tossing it on the grill. I figure once it's been run over a couple of times it's already tenderized. All I have to do is season it properly, torch it, slap it on a plate, light a few candles and we're ready to go, right? A bit of fresh cilantro, a sprig of basil and some legumes from the farmers market and we have a feast in my world. You bring a box of crisp Chardonnay and we're set to go in my mind. Doesn't that go well with raccoon, opossum or what's left of a Canada Goose over on the shoulder of the road???
Let's get grillin', OK???
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
I've done things to cars that are unforgiveable...
OK, I love cars. Anyone that knows me can attest to that. I just want to get in them and go somewhere. Zoom-Zoom! But in my almost 6 decades I have managed to do some truly horrid things to them. I've trashed them, I've wrecked them and yes, I have even "borrowed" them. "Borrowed" them? Well, I think that sounds SO much nicer than stolen them, don't you? Besides, I never kept them long enough for it to be considered theft in my mind. More on that one later....
I've wrecked three Fiat's ( two 148's and an X/19), two Chevy's (both Monte Carlo's), a Chrysler (dad's Town & Country wagon), a Ford (a Falcon that encountered an apple tree), a Buick (a Skylark that encountered a deer), an Oldsmobile (a Delta 88 that met a similar fate) and my latest sacrifices, a Dodge and another Chevy (my Neon and a Trailblazer) that I t-boned at an intersection here in Madison after running a red light. My Neon had $2300 worth of damage and the Trailblazer was totaled. That alone should make you reconsider ever buying a Trailblazer. Those things are obviously crap! Zoom-Zoom!
As for that "borrowing" thing... I didn't set out to have a life of grand theft auto. It just sort of happened. Never turn down an opportunity I always say. My cars of choice? 1961 and 1962 Chevy's and 1968 Dodge Coronets and Plymouth Belvedere's. Why? It was easy as hell to boost those things. With the Chevy's you didn't even need the keys! You could actually turn the ignition over just by turning the raised sleeve that the key would fit into. If you had one. Which you didn't really need anyway. What was GM thinking? Because of them I "borrowed" my first joy-ride when I was 13. As for the Dodge and Plymouth rides, again, it's their fault. In an apparent attempt to cut production costs Chrysler decided it made sense to only put 5 different ignition locks in the entire production run of those two cars. If you had the keys to one of them you actually had the keys to 20 percent of all of the ones on the road. That served me very well in college if I needed to go do some shopping or was just too lazy to walk home after class. And yes, mom had a 1968 Dodge Coronet for awhile, so I was set.
My crowning achievement though, has got to be the time I helped blow up a 1966 Chevy. In the owners garage. What can I say, I was young. And impressionable. And I just happened to have some underwater dynamite fuse in my possession at the time. It was Orv Kraatz's car and he was a total dink. An insurance salesman to be exact. He owned his own company. He called it Kraatz's Insurance Company. The man had no inventiveness whatsoever! He was the kind of guy that buttoned his shirt all the way up to the top. Even the pull over kind. It was the summer of 1968, I was still 15 and we were at our cabin up north. I was loosely associated with a group of delinquents that called themselves the "UVA". That stood for the "United Vandals of Antigo". It was a bunch of juvenile idiots with spray cans of paint and too much time on their hands over summer vacation. I was only along for the ride. I did have underwater dynamite fuse, after all and that intrigued the hell out of them.
So, one day I share my recipe for some highly flammable and possibly quite explosive goodies with them. If you cook a mixture of half salt peter and half sugar down VERY slowly in a double boiler it turns into a liquid goo that is actually pourable while still warm. My thinking was to cook up a batch of this stuff in mom's kitchen, pour it into one of the old copper compressed air tanks from an air rifle my father was stupid enough to buy for me. Yeah, I was dangerous even back then.
Long story short. We do that. Almost set the kitchen on fire in the process too. Liquid goo, underwater dynamite fuse, teenage males and a small kitchen fire. What could possibly go wrong, right? OK, it was late August, one of those days that was hot with a night that was cool. LOTS of condensation that teenage boys don't notice. We had no idea that the duct tape we used to attach the "device" to the back window of Orv's Chevy Biscayne would come loose, roll down the trunk and get entangled in the license plate. Which, BTW, was exactly where the gas tank filler cap was located. Can you say HUGE explosion? Not just the car, but the garage as well. And windows for almost two blocks! Holy shit! It was bloody amazing! The cedar tree I was "hiding" behind hit me in the face so hard it knocked me on my ass in in the Garibaldi's front yard and damn near took off one of their window planters full of geraniums. Which as I recall, hurt like hell when they fell on me.
The last image I have of this, as we all scattered like cockroaches, was lights going on in all of the houses around me and Orv and his wife running out of their house. Her with her hair-don't wrapped in toilet paper in a flannel house coat and Orv in perfectly ironed and creased cotton pajamas with the top buttoned completely up. To the top button, for christ's sake How the bloody hell did he sleep like that??? His beloved Chevy in ruins, the garage roof half way out to the street and his side entrance roof blown half way through the side of his house. The siding on the west end of his house was totally fucked as I remember. He was running for the hose and I was running for my life!!! Hell, we all were!!!
Yes, I have blown up vehicles. Yes, I have terrorized insurance salesmen. Yes, I have set fire to stuff. Yes, I have been a terrorist LONG before it was popular. And YES I am proud of my accomplishments!!! Ahh, the UVA, long may you wave!!! Anyone have a bitch with a bowling alley? I'm there for ya, baby!!!
I've wrecked three Fiat's ( two 148's and an X/19), two Chevy's (both Monte Carlo's), a Chrysler (dad's Town & Country wagon), a Ford (a Falcon that encountered an apple tree), a Buick (a Skylark that encountered a deer), an Oldsmobile (a Delta 88 that met a similar fate) and my latest sacrifices, a Dodge and another Chevy (my Neon and a Trailblazer) that I t-boned at an intersection here in Madison after running a red light. My Neon had $2300 worth of damage and the Trailblazer was totaled. That alone should make you reconsider ever buying a Trailblazer. Those things are obviously crap! Zoom-Zoom!
As for that "borrowing" thing... I didn't set out to have a life of grand theft auto. It just sort of happened. Never turn down an opportunity I always say. My cars of choice? 1961 and 1962 Chevy's and 1968 Dodge Coronets and Plymouth Belvedere's. Why? It was easy as hell to boost those things. With the Chevy's you didn't even need the keys! You could actually turn the ignition over just by turning the raised sleeve that the key would fit into. If you had one. Which you didn't really need anyway. What was GM thinking? Because of them I "borrowed" my first joy-ride when I was 13. As for the Dodge and Plymouth rides, again, it's their fault. In an apparent attempt to cut production costs Chrysler decided it made sense to only put 5 different ignition locks in the entire production run of those two cars. If you had the keys to one of them you actually had the keys to 20 percent of all of the ones on the road. That served me very well in college if I needed to go do some shopping or was just too lazy to walk home after class. And yes, mom had a 1968 Dodge Coronet for awhile, so I was set.
My crowning achievement though, has got to be the time I helped blow up a 1966 Chevy. In the owners garage. What can I say, I was young. And impressionable. And I just happened to have some underwater dynamite fuse in my possession at the time. It was Orv Kraatz's car and he was a total dink. An insurance salesman to be exact. He owned his own company. He called it Kraatz's Insurance Company. The man had no inventiveness whatsoever! He was the kind of guy that buttoned his shirt all the way up to the top. Even the pull over kind. It was the summer of 1968, I was still 15 and we were at our cabin up north. I was loosely associated with a group of delinquents that called themselves the "UVA". That stood for the "United Vandals of Antigo". It was a bunch of juvenile idiots with spray cans of paint and too much time on their hands over summer vacation. I was only along for the ride. I did have underwater dynamite fuse, after all and that intrigued the hell out of them.
So, one day I share my recipe for some highly flammable and possibly quite explosive goodies with them. If you cook a mixture of half salt peter and half sugar down VERY slowly in a double boiler it turns into a liquid goo that is actually pourable while still warm. My thinking was to cook up a batch of this stuff in mom's kitchen, pour it into one of the old copper compressed air tanks from an air rifle my father was stupid enough to buy for me. Yeah, I was dangerous even back then.
Long story short. We do that. Almost set the kitchen on fire in the process too. Liquid goo, underwater dynamite fuse, teenage males and a small kitchen fire. What could possibly go wrong, right? OK, it was late August, one of those days that was hot with a night that was cool. LOTS of condensation that teenage boys don't notice. We had no idea that the duct tape we used to attach the "device" to the back window of Orv's Chevy Biscayne would come loose, roll down the trunk and get entangled in the license plate. Which, BTW, was exactly where the gas tank filler cap was located. Can you say HUGE explosion? Not just the car, but the garage as well. And windows for almost two blocks! Holy shit! It was bloody amazing! The cedar tree I was "hiding" behind hit me in the face so hard it knocked me on my ass in in the Garibaldi's front yard and damn near took off one of their window planters full of geraniums. Which as I recall, hurt like hell when they fell on me.
The last image I have of this, as we all scattered like cockroaches, was lights going on in all of the houses around me and Orv and his wife running out of their house. Her with her hair-don't wrapped in toilet paper in a flannel house coat and Orv in perfectly ironed and creased cotton pajamas with the top buttoned completely up. To the top button, for christ's sake How the bloody hell did he sleep like that??? His beloved Chevy in ruins, the garage roof half way out to the street and his side entrance roof blown half way through the side of his house. The siding on the west end of his house was totally fucked as I remember. He was running for the hose and I was running for my life!!! Hell, we all were!!!
Yes, I have blown up vehicles. Yes, I have terrorized insurance salesmen. Yes, I have set fire to stuff. Yes, I have been a terrorist LONG before it was popular. And YES I am proud of my accomplishments!!! Ahh, the UVA, long may you wave!!! Anyone have a bitch with a bowling alley? I'm there for ya, baby!!!
Monday, September 20, 2010
OMG, I'm going to hell! But at least they have a suite reserved for me...
This is so twisted it even scares me and that's really not easily done if you know what I mean...
A long time ago (and I mean a LONG time ago) I was in college in Oshkosh and made a journey up to Appleton and found myself in a (THE) gay bar there. Long story short, I go home with the bar tender. His name was Gene. He was blond, furry, uncut and drove a truly hot pumpkin orange Saab Sonnet coupe. Anyway, we had a rather hot time back in his trailer. Give me a break, it was 1976! We "dated" for awhile (that's gay for doing the horizontal hula for a couple of weeks) and then lost contact with each other. Again, it was 1976 so get over it.
So, let's jump ahead to 2005. I meet this guy who turns out to be my fourth (and current) husband. Sweet guy, I have to admit and I'm actually monogamous with him. So far, life is good, right? Awhile back we're talking about our individual "good old days" and I mention this Gene guy in Appleton. The more I talk the more he keeps turning around in his chair and looking at me. With this look of surprise in his eyes. I keep talking and he suddenly goes all deer in headlights on me. Guess what? Gene just happens to be my current hubbies cousin!!! OFMTT!!! Seriously, JFMTT! Yes, I did my husbands cousin thirty-five freaking years ago!!! This is like something out of a Tennessee William's play for christ's sake. Only without Maggie, Fat Daddy, the ice cream on my nylons and a basement full of mendacity. OK, maybe with a basement full of mendacity. Or at least a Goober or two and and WAY to many Bricks!
Does this make me an incestuous whore or just a totally hot gay whore from the '70's that just managed to get a lot of air time??? Is the Fox Valley so damned small you just naturally sleep your way through an extended family without realizing it??? Satan, just have the maid turn down the bed and leave a case or two of Toblorone bars on the pillow for me, OK! I'll drown my guilt in Swiss chocolate, that always seems to help...
A long time ago (and I mean a LONG time ago) I was in college in Oshkosh and made a journey up to Appleton and found myself in a (THE) gay bar there. Long story short, I go home with the bar tender. His name was Gene. He was blond, furry, uncut and drove a truly hot pumpkin orange Saab Sonnet coupe. Anyway, we had a rather hot time back in his trailer. Give me a break, it was 1976! We "dated" for awhile (that's gay for doing the horizontal hula for a couple of weeks) and then lost contact with each other. Again, it was 1976 so get over it.
So, let's jump ahead to 2005. I meet this guy who turns out to be my fourth (and current) husband. Sweet guy, I have to admit and I'm actually monogamous with him. So far, life is good, right? Awhile back we're talking about our individual "good old days" and I mention this Gene guy in Appleton. The more I talk the more he keeps turning around in his chair and looking at me. With this look of surprise in his eyes. I keep talking and he suddenly goes all deer in headlights on me. Guess what? Gene just happens to be my current hubbies cousin!!! OFMTT!!! Seriously, JFMTT! Yes, I did my husbands cousin thirty-five freaking years ago!!! This is like something out of a Tennessee William's play for christ's sake. Only without Maggie, Fat Daddy, the ice cream on my nylons and a basement full of mendacity. OK, maybe with a basement full of mendacity. Or at least a Goober or two and and WAY to many Bricks!
Does this make me an incestuous whore or just a totally hot gay whore from the '70's that just managed to get a lot of air time??? Is the Fox Valley so damned small you just naturally sleep your way through an extended family without realizing it??? Satan, just have the maid turn down the bed and leave a case or two of Toblorone bars on the pillow for me, OK! I'll drown my guilt in Swiss chocolate, that always seems to help...
Friday, September 17, 2010
When the hell did Des Moines, Iowa become the new Gay Mecca?
Google "gay Des Moines". I dare you. You will be as surprised as I was! This place is apparently rocking its gay booty off. Des Moines??? Iowa??? Good golly, Miss Molly! What is going on in those corn fields?
They have a bar called "The Blazing Saddle" whose motto is "Always a double and never a cover". I'm loving that! It offers leather nights, drag shows and techno dance music to the LGBT and sometimes Y crowd. What that all means in Iowa has me kind of intrigued and terribly scared at the same time. I can only a imagine a parking lot full of John Deere's.
Then there's a place called "The Garden" where call drinks are only $2.50. ALL the time. Again, I'm loving that. Get this, for only 75 cents more they'll make it a double! Oh god, marry me!
There's a club called "Rio" that openly advertises itself as "straight friendly". I'm picturing totally gay with a couple of really old widowers wearing DeKalb baseball caps looking for a little down-low time. Hey, whatever floats your combine...
The Des Moines Gay Men's Chorus? Yep, they've even got that! I've heard that their last concert tour was a tribute to the music of The Beverly Hillbillies. A little Earl Flatt and Lester Scrugg's anyone? How about that theme song? A dance tune if I've ever heard one.
And get this... the city actually offered a free honeymoon package to the first same sex couple from Argentina that got married down there after the country legalized it. Does anyone in Des Moines even speak Spanish? Does anyone in Argentina even know where Iowa is? Would they want to??? And just how the bloody hell do you get from Buenos Aires to Des Moines anyway? That had to be like booking passage from Tierra del Fuego to the moon.
I've got stand up and salute them though. Quite a bold move, legalizing same sex marriage, in a state known for little more than corn, tornadoes, a population density of almost 54 per square mile and the Amish. What the hell is going on in those buggies? Either the referendum to legalize same sex marriage was worded so weirdly that no one knew what they were voting for or absolutely EVERY lawyer in the state voted for it. You know what's even better than legal same sex marriages? Legal same sex marriage divorces! Line your pockets guys, just like you always do. Personally, I prefer to just look my soon to be ex in the eye, say "I break with thee, I break with thee, I break with thee" and then throw some of his god damn cat's poop on his shoes. It's simple, it's direct, it's effective and whole hell of a lot cheaper. Now get the bloody hell out of here, you cheating bastard!!!
They have a bar called "The Blazing Saddle" whose motto is "Always a double and never a cover". I'm loving that! It offers leather nights, drag shows and techno dance music to the LGBT and sometimes Y crowd. What that all means in Iowa has me kind of intrigued and terribly scared at the same time. I can only a imagine a parking lot full of John Deere's.
Then there's a place called "The Garden" where call drinks are only $2.50. ALL the time. Again, I'm loving that. Get this, for only 75 cents more they'll make it a double! Oh god, marry me!
There's a club called "Rio" that openly advertises itself as "straight friendly". I'm picturing totally gay with a couple of really old widowers wearing DeKalb baseball caps looking for a little down-low time. Hey, whatever floats your combine...
The Des Moines Gay Men's Chorus? Yep, they've even got that! I've heard that their last concert tour was a tribute to the music of The Beverly Hillbillies. A little Earl Flatt and Lester Scrugg's anyone? How about that theme song? A dance tune if I've ever heard one.
And get this... the city actually offered a free honeymoon package to the first same sex couple from Argentina that got married down there after the country legalized it. Does anyone in Des Moines even speak Spanish? Does anyone in Argentina even know where Iowa is? Would they want to??? And just how the bloody hell do you get from Buenos Aires to Des Moines anyway? That had to be like booking passage from Tierra del Fuego to the moon.
I've got stand up and salute them though. Quite a bold move, legalizing same sex marriage, in a state known for little more than corn, tornadoes, a population density of almost 54 per square mile and the Amish. What the hell is going on in those buggies? Either the referendum to legalize same sex marriage was worded so weirdly that no one knew what they were voting for or absolutely EVERY lawyer in the state voted for it. You know what's even better than legal same sex marriages? Legal same sex marriage divorces! Line your pockets guys, just like you always do. Personally, I prefer to just look my soon to be ex in the eye, say "I break with thee, I break with thee, I break with thee" and then throw some of his god damn cat's poop on his shoes. It's simple, it's direct, it's effective and whole hell of a lot cheaper. Now get the bloody hell out of here, you cheating bastard!!!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
You had WHAT in your carry-on luggage????
OK, I'm pretty well traveled and I admit I've managed to get some pretty strange shit onto planes in my time. Once in college I brought back 3 dozen Jamaican "fruit knives" on a trip back from Spring Break. OK, they were actually gravity operated switch blades but that was just a technicality to me then. Tomato. To-mah-to. Then there was that briefcase full of herbage a couple of years later. I won't go into that one. I've had animal skins, feathers and even the occasional piece of produce. I've brought celadon back from Korea, pharmaceuticals from Hong Kong and ivory from China that was so hot it hurt! Stuff from Mexico? Don't even ask....
But this was all before the days of the dear TSA. Hell, I can't even get batteries or Fabuloso in my luggage these days. Ketchup and spices? Yes. Household cleaning supplies? No! It's Fabuloso for christ's sake! What am I going to do? Disinfect the freaking fold down tray table???
So, here's what just amazes the shit out of me. Two incredibly stupid American tourists, on their way back to the States from Mykonos transit through Athens International to make a connection and get busted. With SIX human skulls in their carry-on luggage! SIX HUMAN SKULLS!!! How lax is the airport security in Mykonos? Is Aero Lesbos the Greyhound bus of the skies in Greece? How freaking big were their carry-on bags? How fucking stupid are these two? And, didn't that smell just a little weird????
Their explanation is even more amazing. They bought them at a tourist trap shop on Mykonos and thought they were reproductions. Reproductions??? Who are you people, Jeffrey Dahmers siblings??? OK, I can almost understand ONE fake skull as a souvenir of my vacation to the Greek Isles (not really) but SIX!!! Those just don't make good stocking stuffers in my book.
A few years back I was damned near tackled and strip searched at an airport in Mexico because I had a small bag of Cajeta in my carry-on. It's goat milk caramel filled chocolates. Chocolates for christ's sake! And these fools get on board with human skulls! The last I have heard they have been charged with desecrating graves and trafficking in human remains. And then released on their own recognizance and allowed to fly back to the States. Calls to the gift shop on Mykonos have apparently gone unanswered...
Shoot me out of a cannon.
But this was all before the days of the dear TSA. Hell, I can't even get batteries or Fabuloso in my luggage these days. Ketchup and spices? Yes. Household cleaning supplies? No! It's Fabuloso for christ's sake! What am I going to do? Disinfect the freaking fold down tray table???
So, here's what just amazes the shit out of me. Two incredibly stupid American tourists, on their way back to the States from Mykonos transit through Athens International to make a connection and get busted. With SIX human skulls in their carry-on luggage! SIX HUMAN SKULLS!!! How lax is the airport security in Mykonos? Is Aero Lesbos the Greyhound bus of the skies in Greece? How freaking big were their carry-on bags? How fucking stupid are these two? And, didn't that smell just a little weird????
Their explanation is even more amazing. They bought them at a tourist trap shop on Mykonos and thought they were reproductions. Reproductions??? Who are you people, Jeffrey Dahmers siblings??? OK, I can almost understand ONE fake skull as a souvenir of my vacation to the Greek Isles (not really) but SIX!!! Those just don't make good stocking stuffers in my book.
A few years back I was damned near tackled and strip searched at an airport in Mexico because I had a small bag of Cajeta in my carry-on. It's goat milk caramel filled chocolates. Chocolates for christ's sake! And these fools get on board with human skulls! The last I have heard they have been charged with desecrating graves and trafficking in human remains. And then released on their own recognizance and allowed to fly back to the States. Calls to the gift shop on Mykonos have apparently gone unanswered...
Shoot me out of a cannon.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
I would have SO done Daniel Ellsberg in the '70's!!!
It was the summer of 1970, in between my junior and senior year of high school and I had been awarded a scholarship as a page at the Rand Corporation in Santa Monica. I was a National Honors Student. Oh, just fuck you! I'm 57 now and I can pretty much say anything I want and get away with it. You don't like that? OK, Google it. See what you come up with. SQUAT!!! You know why? I'm so undercover it hurts. National security, don't you know....
Anyway, I was appointed to help Danny. That's what I called him back then. He called me "Pookie" but that's a whole other blog. Which I can't go into do to his subsequent divorce. And National security. And the whole New York Times thing. He was so hot back then it made my shorts warm. Hell, it made them smoke. He was like an early 70's version of Russ Feingold. Only taller. And without all of those torrid divorces. Which by the way, kind of only makes me hotter as I think about it now.
So, me and Danny are sitting around one night, after hours, knocking back a few brewsky's and he opens his briefcase. I loved it when he opened his "briefcase" after hours. What can I say, I was young, impressionable and looking for a little guidance. Yes, I've been a man-whore for decades!!! And then he pulls it out. My God, it was huge! Totally enormous! Almost 7,000 pages!!! The next thing you know, he has me face down. Yes!!! Over the Xerox machine!!! And I'm making copies of the Pentagon Papers. For hours. He was in leather and I was just saying "make me do your bidding, Daddy". It was a bonding moment I will never forget. He was kind. And stern. I was obedient. And collating. The next thing I know, he's on the front page of every newspaper in the country and I'm in a safe house somewhere in Virginia.
Trying to avoid an indictment. Or at the very least a subpoena!
Danny, Danny, Danny.... what can I say? I hardly knew ya!
Anyway, I was appointed to help Danny. That's what I called him back then. He called me "Pookie" but that's a whole other blog. Which I can't go into do to his subsequent divorce. And National security. And the whole New York Times thing. He was so hot back then it made my shorts warm. Hell, it made them smoke. He was like an early 70's version of Russ Feingold. Only taller. And without all of those torrid divorces. Which by the way, kind of only makes me hotter as I think about it now.
So, me and Danny are sitting around one night, after hours, knocking back a few brewsky's and he opens his briefcase. I loved it when he opened his "briefcase" after hours. What can I say, I was young, impressionable and looking for a little guidance. Yes, I've been a man-whore for decades!!! And then he pulls it out. My God, it was huge! Totally enormous! Almost 7,000 pages!!! The next thing you know, he has me face down. Yes!!! Over the Xerox machine!!! And I'm making copies of the Pentagon Papers. For hours. He was in leather and I was just saying "make me do your bidding, Daddy". It was a bonding moment I will never forget. He was kind. And stern. I was obedient. And collating. The next thing I know, he's on the front page of every newspaper in the country and I'm in a safe house somewhere in Virginia.
Trying to avoid an indictment. Or at the very least a subpoena!
Danny, Danny, Danny.... what can I say? I hardly knew ya!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
How come I don't have gout?
I'm a Southern Boy by birth. Yep, I come from long line of Gomer's, Goober's, Digger's and Nub's. And those are just my aunts! And if there is one thing I remember about spending summers down at grandma and grandpa's, it was grease. And lots of it, too!
My grandma's kitchen was the equivalent of a culinary gas chamber. Not only did she have a massive wood fired stove but she was up to her blue hair in grease. Bacon grease to be precise. With lard a close second. I can't remember her cooking less than two pounds of bacon at a time. Ever. Then she'd strain the grease into an old coffee can and put it in the "icebox". Yeah, she called the refrigerator an icebox. What bacon was not eaten for breakfast was placed on a small plate, over a paper napkin and snacked on over the rest of the day. If there happened to be any left by dinner it was either worked into what she was cooking or crumbled up over the grits, gravy or fresh biscuits that she served on the side. How none of us died of food borne illness is still a wonder to me....
Grandma used bacon grease and lard in EVERYTHING! Breakfast, lunch, dinner, pie crusts and probably even cup cakes. I wouldn't be surprised if she managed to find a way to work it into my grape Kool Aid. Or even my Fizzy's. (BTW, if you are old enough to remember Fizzy's I feel sorry for you. Think "fruit" flavored Alka-Selztor and you get the idea. Who the bloody hell thought that was a treat for children?). Grandma had so much bacon grease she actually traded it to the next door neighbor lady, Ruth, for rides down to the post office, which by the way, was all of a block away. Apparently Ruth didn't cook bacon but just had a need for the grease. I won't take that exit...
Yes, this is my heritage. Grease. Lard. And fat. Again, lots of it. To this day I honor my past. And with high regard too. If it's deep fried I'm there! If it's breaded AND deep fried then I'm the one in front of you in line. If it calls for at least a dozen eggs in the breading and deep frying then I'm butting in front of you in line. If homemade gravy is even hinted at then I'll stab your sorry ass to be first in line. Perhaps this is why all of my aunts and uncles weighed way too much and developed Type-2 diabetes at an unusually early age. Round about twelve as I've been told. My aunt Dorothy was so "jello-y" she could only fit through most doorways sideways. But only with the help of some bacon grease to ease the egress. We found her lodged in a doorway, dead, at the age of 52 with a white bread, bacon, lard and sugar sandwich at her foot. Yeah, only one foot left. Type-2 diabetes can be so cruel....
Mayonnaise, butter, whole milk, extra large eggs, bacon grease, lard, deep fried everything and homemade gravy are all like mother's milk to me. My cholesterol? 148. My blood pressure? 75 over 110 on a high stress day. My weight? 160. Bite me, aunt Dorothy! No, "weight", you can't. Your dead....
My grandma's kitchen was the equivalent of a culinary gas chamber. Not only did she have a massive wood fired stove but she was up to her blue hair in grease. Bacon grease to be precise. With lard a close second. I can't remember her cooking less than two pounds of bacon at a time. Ever. Then she'd strain the grease into an old coffee can and put it in the "icebox". Yeah, she called the refrigerator an icebox. What bacon was not eaten for breakfast was placed on a small plate, over a paper napkin and snacked on over the rest of the day. If there happened to be any left by dinner it was either worked into what she was cooking or crumbled up over the grits, gravy or fresh biscuits that she served on the side. How none of us died of food borne illness is still a wonder to me....
Grandma used bacon grease and lard in EVERYTHING! Breakfast, lunch, dinner, pie crusts and probably even cup cakes. I wouldn't be surprised if she managed to find a way to work it into my grape Kool Aid. Or even my Fizzy's. (BTW, if you are old enough to remember Fizzy's I feel sorry for you. Think "fruit" flavored Alka-Selztor and you get the idea. Who the bloody hell thought that was a treat for children?). Grandma had so much bacon grease she actually traded it to the next door neighbor lady, Ruth, for rides down to the post office, which by the way, was all of a block away. Apparently Ruth didn't cook bacon but just had a need for the grease. I won't take that exit...
Yes, this is my heritage. Grease. Lard. And fat. Again, lots of it. To this day I honor my past. And with high regard too. If it's deep fried I'm there! If it's breaded AND deep fried then I'm the one in front of you in line. If it calls for at least a dozen eggs in the breading and deep frying then I'm butting in front of you in line. If homemade gravy is even hinted at then I'll stab your sorry ass to be first in line. Perhaps this is why all of my aunts and uncles weighed way too much and developed Type-2 diabetes at an unusually early age. Round about twelve as I've been told. My aunt Dorothy was so "jello-y" she could only fit through most doorways sideways. But only with the help of some bacon grease to ease the egress. We found her lodged in a doorway, dead, at the age of 52 with a white bread, bacon, lard and sugar sandwich at her foot. Yeah, only one foot left. Type-2 diabetes can be so cruel....
Mayonnaise, butter, whole milk, extra large eggs, bacon grease, lard, deep fried everything and homemade gravy are all like mother's milk to me. My cholesterol? 148. My blood pressure? 75 over 110 on a high stress day. My weight? 160. Bite me, aunt Dorothy! No, "weight", you can't. Your dead....
Friday, September 10, 2010
The village called, they'd like their idiot back!
How in the bloody hell does America manage to do this with the efficiency and speed that it does? I'm talking about the amazing amount of idiots that we seem to churn out! Is there some secret assembly line out there that I don't know about??? Has cloning actually become successful???
That "pastor" down in Florida that wants to burn copies of the Koran. OK, first off you idiot, it's spelled "Qur'an", NOT "Koran"! If you're that vehement in your hatred at least do a spell check while you're at it! And I say "pastor" because he no longer has a church, his parish fired him awhile back because he stealing from church coffers to support his lifestyle. Yes, he does have "followers" left but so does Charles Manson! This guy is such a disgrace that his own daughter refuses to talk to him anymore. I hope that the last thing he ever hears is the sound of several jumbo jets heading at him!
We've managed to create the likes of Jim Jones (Kool Aid anyone?), those two ass wipes that tortured and murdered Matthew Shepard (and then tried a defense of saying their masculinity was threatened by Shepard's advances. If a 5' 5" twink can threaten your masculinity then you've got problems WAY bigger than him!), Fred Phelps (haven't heard of him? Do a Google search, he's a truly wretched piece of work!), John Wayne Gacy (basement full of bodies), Westley Allen Dodd (serial killer and child molester. He was so reviled that people actually threw a tailgate party outside of the prison the day he was executed! ) and our very own Jeffery Dahmer (serial killer and cannibal!). I swear, about the only thing we haven't outsourced in this country is lunacy!
Anyone remember Dan White? I do. I was still living in San Francisco when the verdict came back on him. He had walked into City Hall and murdered both mayor George Moscone and city supervisor Harvey Milk in cold blood and then hung around until the police showed up! He was found not guilty due to temporary insanity caused by his over consumption of junk food. Two murders and he walks because he liked the drive up window just a little too much??? That's when the riot started, literally. I was in the protest march down Market Street that night but I never made it as far as City Hall. I couldn't because I was running for my life. Swat teams and riot police were everywhere, City Hall was being trashed and about a dozen cop cars were on fire by that time. It was a fiasco. Hundreds of protesters were hospitalized and even more were arrested. The City felt so betrayed it was palpable in the air, even over the smell of the tear gas. And Dan White was safe at home, watching it all on the 11:00 news. Eating Twinkies.
Is it just me or do we have the market cornered on this kind of thing? When did we degenerate into the Grand Central of "watch your back, I'm totally nuts and heavily armed"? The truly sad part of this is that everyone of these loons was walking around in plain sight and looking normal to the rest of us. When the hell did full-blown bat shit crazy but still holding down a productive job become the norm here???
That "pastor" down in Florida that wants to burn copies of the Koran. OK, first off you idiot, it's spelled "Qur'an", NOT "Koran"! If you're that vehement in your hatred at least do a spell check while you're at it! And I say "pastor" because he no longer has a church, his parish fired him awhile back because he stealing from church coffers to support his lifestyle. Yes, he does have "followers" left but so does Charles Manson! This guy is such a disgrace that his own daughter refuses to talk to him anymore. I hope that the last thing he ever hears is the sound of several jumbo jets heading at him!
We've managed to create the likes of Jim Jones (Kool Aid anyone?), those two ass wipes that tortured and murdered Matthew Shepard (and then tried a defense of saying their masculinity was threatened by Shepard's advances. If a 5' 5" twink can threaten your masculinity then you've got problems WAY bigger than him!), Fred Phelps (haven't heard of him? Do a Google search, he's a truly wretched piece of work!), John Wayne Gacy (basement full of bodies), Westley Allen Dodd (serial killer and child molester. He was so reviled that people actually threw a tailgate party outside of the prison the day he was executed! ) and our very own Jeffery Dahmer (serial killer and cannibal!). I swear, about the only thing we haven't outsourced in this country is lunacy!
Anyone remember Dan White? I do. I was still living in San Francisco when the verdict came back on him. He had walked into City Hall and murdered both mayor George Moscone and city supervisor Harvey Milk in cold blood and then hung around until the police showed up! He was found not guilty due to temporary insanity caused by his over consumption of junk food. Two murders and he walks because he liked the drive up window just a little too much??? That's when the riot started, literally. I was in the protest march down Market Street that night but I never made it as far as City Hall. I couldn't because I was running for my life. Swat teams and riot police were everywhere, City Hall was being trashed and about a dozen cop cars were on fire by that time. It was a fiasco. Hundreds of protesters were hospitalized and even more were arrested. The City felt so betrayed it was palpable in the air, even over the smell of the tear gas. And Dan White was safe at home, watching it all on the 11:00 news. Eating Twinkies.
Is it just me or do we have the market cornered on this kind of thing? When did we degenerate into the Grand Central of "watch your back, I'm totally nuts and heavily armed"? The truly sad part of this is that everyone of these loons was walking around in plain sight and looking normal to the rest of us. When the hell did full-blown bat shit crazy but still holding down a productive job become the norm here???
Thursday, September 9, 2010
When the bloody hell did Castro turn liberal????
Have any of you been following this? It's amazing. And as confusing as all get out. It seems Fidel Castro has invited an American journalist down to Cuba to do some interviews with him and what he is saying is completely shocking. OK, he's 84 and up to his beard in health problems. I guess at that stage you do start taking stock in your life but he's making some revelations that are, to say the least, groundbreaking.
A couple of days ago some transcripts were released of the first interview where he admitted that the Cuban Missile Crisis of the early 1960's was the most mishandled thing he had ever seen and that it scared the shit out of him. A complete pissing contest between the U.S. and the former Soviet Union that put him totally in the cross hairs. He claims that if the Soviet Union had not totally silenced him he may have been able to diffuse it with a simple speech or two and kept us all from building those stupid freaking bomb shelters. BTW, my parents actually built one. Ah, yes, I remember those two weeks in October....
Today another transcript was released in which Castro admitted that the economic policies that the Cuban Revolution installed were a complete failure! Yes, he actually said that! Apparently that whole peasant/agrarian thing was a a complete waste of time in his mind. Can you say free enterprise? How about a capitalistic based economy? OK, disregard the U.S. embargo of almost half a century which did nothing for us and absolutely nothing to them. Except allow the rest of the world to come in and invest. And build 5-star resorts and golf courses for their enjoyment. I have met Canadians and Europeans that freely vacation in Cuba and love it down there because there are NO Americans to get in their way. Which has failed more, our embargo or his revolution?
I remember Castro with a raggy ass beard, a huge cigar and tattered army fatigues rolling into Havana on the top of a Soviet made truck and making the elite scatter to the harbor to board their yachts to Key West on New Years Eve. Today he is in a Reebok running suit and Adidas tennis shoes. What is up with that? It must be the Canadians that are sneaking all of that stuff down there for him. I also remember him addressing the UN. He was as animated and vitriolic as Hitler at a Nuremberg Rally. He railed on the US with a fervor that was unbelievable. He scared me more than that monkey in my closet!
What's next? Does he tell his brother Raul to legalize same sex marriage? Reopen the Copa Cabana and cover it with rainbow flags? Or does he just write a tell-all memoir and retire comfortably in Key West where he opens a B&B?
A couple of days ago some transcripts were released of the first interview where he admitted that the Cuban Missile Crisis of the early 1960's was the most mishandled thing he had ever seen and that it scared the shit out of him. A complete pissing contest between the U.S. and the former Soviet Union that put him totally in the cross hairs. He claims that if the Soviet Union had not totally silenced him he may have been able to diffuse it with a simple speech or two and kept us all from building those stupid freaking bomb shelters. BTW, my parents actually built one. Ah, yes, I remember those two weeks in October....
Today another transcript was released in which Castro admitted that the economic policies that the Cuban Revolution installed were a complete failure! Yes, he actually said that! Apparently that whole peasant/agrarian thing was a a complete waste of time in his mind. Can you say free enterprise? How about a capitalistic based economy? OK, disregard the U.S. embargo of almost half a century which did nothing for us and absolutely nothing to them. Except allow the rest of the world to come in and invest. And build 5-star resorts and golf courses for their enjoyment. I have met Canadians and Europeans that freely vacation in Cuba and love it down there because there are NO Americans to get in their way. Which has failed more, our embargo or his revolution?
I remember Castro with a raggy ass beard, a huge cigar and tattered army fatigues rolling into Havana on the top of a Soviet made truck and making the elite scatter to the harbor to board their yachts to Key West on New Years Eve. Today he is in a Reebok running suit and Adidas tennis shoes. What is up with that? It must be the Canadians that are sneaking all of that stuff down there for him. I also remember him addressing the UN. He was as animated and vitriolic as Hitler at a Nuremberg Rally. He railed on the US with a fervor that was unbelievable. He scared me more than that monkey in my closet!
What's next? Does he tell his brother Raul to legalize same sex marriage? Reopen the Copa Cabana and cover it with rainbow flags? Or does he just write a tell-all memoir and retire comfortably in Key West where he opens a B&B?
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Miss Etta James....
Ever heard of this woman? My God, she was bloody brilliant! One of the biggest stars of blues, R&B, gospel, jazz and even early rock and roll. You name it and this woman sang it! She was one of the first cross over stars into "white music" and she literally owns some of her earliest songs. Any other performer who tries to cover them just fails. Think Judy Garland and "Over the Rainbow" and you get the idea. Her most memorable hit is "At Last". What a fucking unbelievable song! And enough strings behind her to build a village worth of fishing nets with! This woman had the most amazing production behind her that it hurt. And it felt and sounded so good that it made you cry. We're talking full orchestras here!
She had a voice I can only describe as warm honey. On a hot day. It was smooth, it was soothing and it was just heart stopping! She could rap her voice around a song like no one I have ever heard!
She had the most shitty life imaginable. She was screwed over by managers and promoters, ripped off by everyone she trusted, beat up repeatedly by husbands and boy friends, left destitute, had lots of chemical dependency issues and even spent some time behind bars for cashing bad checks to support her family. Yet, still she survived. And came back. God love you Miss James!
She has rocked music festivals ever since and received standing ovations for as long as fifteen minutes when performing live. She has toured, introduced a whole new generation to her sound and won more awards than even she can possibly count. Five years ago she rocked "Austin City Limits" to its very foundations with a live performance of amazing quality. And she still had a voice of honey-like quality. She has covered songs of some of the leading performers of our day and done them so well that they make the originals pale in comparison. This lady had so much style, grace and talent it just takes your breath away!
Miss James is now 72 years old. Two years ago she collapsed on stage and was rushed to a hospital suffering from dehydration and was forced to cancel a tour she was in the middle of. Last year she raked Beyonce over the coals for doing a cover of "At Last". Yes, she admitted that Beyonce was talented but then said that she just wasn't Miss Etta James! Hey, when you own a song you can say whatever you want. She didn't even bother to comment on the Christina Aquilera cover of that same song. Yeah, Christina just screwed the hell out of it. Totally. You just don't mess with perfection I guess...
A couple of days ago her eldest son announced that not only has Miss James retired but also that she is suffering from advanced Alzheimer's disease for which she is now under around the clock care. We have truly lost one of the greatest talents of the 20th century. A career that spanned 6 decades has been made silent by an ailment so horrible that it is hard for me to wrap an understanding around it. A voice so pure, a soul so unbelievably strong and a will so undeniable is now lost to all of us. Miss James, you may be "gone" but you are most certainly not forgotten. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your music!
I remember the first time I heard your voice. I was eight and in my grandma's kitchen. Grandma had the kitchen radio on and was pouring me some Kool-Aid. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the opening strings of that song. They were, and still are unbelievable. It was my first taste of a full orchestra. And then you began to sing. The song was "At Last" and I was changed forever. It was a Kenmore AM radio that only played mono but your voice struck a cord in my young heart that resonates to this day. You had soul girl! God, did you have soul! Of a size that is hard for me to comprehend to this day. Again, Miss James, thank you for the music...
She had a voice I can only describe as warm honey. On a hot day. It was smooth, it was soothing and it was just heart stopping! She could rap her voice around a song like no one I have ever heard!
She had the most shitty life imaginable. She was screwed over by managers and promoters, ripped off by everyone she trusted, beat up repeatedly by husbands and boy friends, left destitute, had lots of chemical dependency issues and even spent some time behind bars for cashing bad checks to support her family. Yet, still she survived. And came back. God love you Miss James!
She has rocked music festivals ever since and received standing ovations for as long as fifteen minutes when performing live. She has toured, introduced a whole new generation to her sound and won more awards than even she can possibly count. Five years ago she rocked "Austin City Limits" to its very foundations with a live performance of amazing quality. And she still had a voice of honey-like quality. She has covered songs of some of the leading performers of our day and done them so well that they make the originals pale in comparison. This lady had so much style, grace and talent it just takes your breath away!
Miss James is now 72 years old. Two years ago she collapsed on stage and was rushed to a hospital suffering from dehydration and was forced to cancel a tour she was in the middle of. Last year she raked Beyonce over the coals for doing a cover of "At Last". Yes, she admitted that Beyonce was talented but then said that she just wasn't Miss Etta James! Hey, when you own a song you can say whatever you want. She didn't even bother to comment on the Christina Aquilera cover of that same song. Yeah, Christina just screwed the hell out of it. Totally. You just don't mess with perfection I guess...
A couple of days ago her eldest son announced that not only has Miss James retired but also that she is suffering from advanced Alzheimer's disease for which she is now under around the clock care. We have truly lost one of the greatest talents of the 20th century. A career that spanned 6 decades has been made silent by an ailment so horrible that it is hard for me to wrap an understanding around it. A voice so pure, a soul so unbelievably strong and a will so undeniable is now lost to all of us. Miss James, you may be "gone" but you are most certainly not forgotten. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your music!
I remember the first time I heard your voice. I was eight and in my grandma's kitchen. Grandma had the kitchen radio on and was pouring me some Kool-Aid. I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the opening strings of that song. They were, and still are unbelievable. It was my first taste of a full orchestra. And then you began to sing. The song was "At Last" and I was changed forever. It was a Kenmore AM radio that only played mono but your voice struck a cord in my young heart that resonates to this day. You had soul girl! God, did you have soul! Of a size that is hard for me to comprehend to this day. Again, Miss James, thank you for the music...
Saturday, September 4, 2010
What the bloody hell was I thinking????
OK, so yesterday I was up to my tits in tomatoes and happy as hell, right? What a difference a day makes! I'm not up to my tits in tomatoes, I'm up to by bloody freaking eyebrows in the little motherfuckers! I was up until after 1 am this morning getting the "first" batch processed. I was up at 8 am this morning starting on the "second" batch. It's now 8 pm and I have almost finally finished that one. The shirt I have been wearing looks like the splatter pattern at a multiple homicide crime scene, I've repeatedly washed more stock pots than I ever knew I had and my stove top looks like I've thrown a pig roast luau without the benefit of either banana leaves or a fire pit. I may have to have it professionally sandblasted to get it clean. I'm not only running out of freezer space, I'm running out of space to put another freezer! And I still have three LARGE bags of the SOB's left to go yet! My grandmother taught me a great love of tomatoes and an amazing wealth of things to do with them but even she had her limits for these damned things, for Christ's sake!
At about 5 pm (and WELL into the second half of that gallon of Sangria I had made for myself) I just gave up the ghost. I sank to the kitchen floor, sat on my ass and wept like a baby. About that time my other half came home and found me there, spatula dripping in hand and singing that 1970's Harry Chapin song, "30,000 Pounds of Bananas" to myself. Yeah, it was that bad. It couldn't have been pretty for him to find me like that. My carpal tunnel was killing me, my already blown rotator cuffs had declared war on me and my lower back had seceded completely from any and all parts of me. There just ain't enough Mexican aspirin in this casa to make me feel better right now! And lord knows, I have enough of those things in the medicine cabinet to do an organ transplant with!
The truly sad part? I've cleaned out an entire drawer of storage containers so far. In the middle of the afternoon I had to put everything on simmer and dash out to the Dollar Store for some more. Yeah, picture me behind you in line.... splatter pattern shirt, flip-flops, baseball cap, sun glasses, a cart full of RubberMaid storage containers and a jar of minced garlic. Can you say Hannible Lecter at harvest time????? Fava beans and nice dry chianti, anyone?
At about 5 pm (and WELL into the second half of that gallon of Sangria I had made for myself) I just gave up the ghost. I sank to the kitchen floor, sat on my ass and wept like a baby. About that time my other half came home and found me there, spatula dripping in hand and singing that 1970's Harry Chapin song, "30,000 Pounds of Bananas" to myself. Yeah, it was that bad. It couldn't have been pretty for him to find me like that. My carpal tunnel was killing me, my already blown rotator cuffs had declared war on me and my lower back had seceded completely from any and all parts of me. There just ain't enough Mexican aspirin in this casa to make me feel better right now! And lord knows, I have enough of those things in the medicine cabinet to do an organ transplant with!
The truly sad part? I've cleaned out an entire drawer of storage containers so far. In the middle of the afternoon I had to put everything on simmer and dash out to the Dollar Store for some more. Yeah, picture me behind you in line.... splatter pattern shirt, flip-flops, baseball cap, sun glasses, a cart full of RubberMaid storage containers and a jar of minced garlic. Can you say Hannible Lecter at harvest time????? Fava beans and nice dry chianti, anyone?
Friday, September 3, 2010
I'm up to my tits in tomatoes!!!
Well, I really did it to myself this time! Not only did I lose my only reliable tomato connection this year but the blight seemed to have wiped out everybody else's crop as well. Earlier this week a friend of mine sent me an on-line trade link for a farmer that was having a U-Pick-It tomato thing on Saturday at what I felt were bargain basement prices. After a couple of emails with him I actually managed to arrange to go out today and raid his crop. OK, first off, this farm is about 50 miles west of here and apparently in the middle of nowhere so his wife agreed to meet me half way at an intersection on Hwy 151. Actually, I thought that was quite cool since she didn't know me from Adam and for all they knew I could be an on-line cannibal stalker. Or an AmWay representative.
So, at the intersection, we head south on State Hwy 78 which would mean that we are only about 13 miles from the final destination. I'm following her in my car and about 3 miles down the road she takes a left onto County Hwy A. OK, I think to myself, we're taking the short cut. A couple of miles later we take a right onto County Hwy H, which by the way, is a true roller coaster of a highway! A few miles later we turn back onto County Hwy A. WTF???? Then back onto HWY H again and then back onto State HWY 78 again. WTF??? At this point the "shortcut" has added about 9 more miles onto the journey! Then she turns onto Floodplain Road! Just the sound of that got me worried. It's about 12 feet wide, has no shoulders and snakes thru a forest, for Christ's sake. THEN she turns off onto a gravel road that winds up a hill for a couple of miles! This isn't just the middle of nowhere, it's at least 5 or 6 miles the other side of it! Finally, at the top of the hill we get back into a semblance of openness and she pulls off to the side and turns into an open field and keeps driving! OMG, I thought I was about to be taken hostage by the "People Of the Corn" or something! The only thing this picture was missing was a little cross-eyed boy sitting on a stump and playing a banjo!!!! So, she hops out of her van, pulls a wheelbarrow out and motions me over. She plans on dismembering me right there in the field and taking my renderings back to the coven in the wheelbarrow, I just knew it. Then I look to my left and see a tomato patch that had to be the size of 3 basketball courts! With enough tomatoes in it to make a Heinz factory drool.
Come to find out, she is a native New Yorker with a degree so advanced I can't even wrap my brain around it. She's a former software designer for hotel and restaurant POS systems and her husband, who is from Germany, is a financial consultant. And a home brewer, which explained the 3 acres of hops next to the tomatoes. They have two young daughters and were both burnt out on the system so they decided to by a hill top in Wisconsin and become hobby farmers. And moonshiners.
She and I walked the fields, so to speak, and she helped me pick tomatoes until we had filled the wheelbarrow to way over capacity, all the while talking about recipes, cooking, world travel, Mexico, the pit falls of the system, which one of us has the most ridiculous single-use kitchen appliance and how to properly sweeten homemade ketchup with sugar beets. Oh yeah, and about her brother. Who designs gloves in the Garment District of New York! And how he and his partner love to come visit them in Wisconsin because it's so quaint here. Quaint? How gay is this dude???? Didn't see that one coming at all!!!!
Then we start weighing up the tomatoes. She had a scale that a cartel in Colombia would kill for! Made me wonder what else they might be growing up on that hilltop. Bottom line: about 140 lbs of tomatoes for damn near half what they had originally quoted me! Right now the counter tops and dining room are over flowing with designer plum tomatoes, the sink is full of them soaking, all four burners are going full tilt and the kitchen feels like Equador in freaking July! Ahh life is good....
Anyone in the market for some homemade ketchup?
So, at the intersection, we head south on State Hwy 78 which would mean that we are only about 13 miles from the final destination. I'm following her in my car and about 3 miles down the road she takes a left onto County Hwy A. OK, I think to myself, we're taking the short cut. A couple of miles later we take a right onto County Hwy H, which by the way, is a true roller coaster of a highway! A few miles later we turn back onto County Hwy A. WTF???? Then back onto HWY H again and then back onto State HWY 78 again. WTF??? At this point the "shortcut" has added about 9 more miles onto the journey! Then she turns onto Floodplain Road! Just the sound of that got me worried. It's about 12 feet wide, has no shoulders and snakes thru a forest, for Christ's sake. THEN she turns off onto a gravel road that winds up a hill for a couple of miles! This isn't just the middle of nowhere, it's at least 5 or 6 miles the other side of it! Finally, at the top of the hill we get back into a semblance of openness and she pulls off to the side and turns into an open field and keeps driving! OMG, I thought I was about to be taken hostage by the "People Of the Corn" or something! The only thing this picture was missing was a little cross-eyed boy sitting on a stump and playing a banjo!!!! So, she hops out of her van, pulls a wheelbarrow out and motions me over. She plans on dismembering me right there in the field and taking my renderings back to the coven in the wheelbarrow, I just knew it. Then I look to my left and see a tomato patch that had to be the size of 3 basketball courts! With enough tomatoes in it to make a Heinz factory drool.
Come to find out, she is a native New Yorker with a degree so advanced I can't even wrap my brain around it. She's a former software designer for hotel and restaurant POS systems and her husband, who is from Germany, is a financial consultant. And a home brewer, which explained the 3 acres of hops next to the tomatoes. They have two young daughters and were both burnt out on the system so they decided to by a hill top in Wisconsin and become hobby farmers. And moonshiners.
She and I walked the fields, so to speak, and she helped me pick tomatoes until we had filled the wheelbarrow to way over capacity, all the while talking about recipes, cooking, world travel, Mexico, the pit falls of the system, which one of us has the most ridiculous single-use kitchen appliance and how to properly sweeten homemade ketchup with sugar beets. Oh yeah, and about her brother. Who designs gloves in the Garment District of New York! And how he and his partner love to come visit them in Wisconsin because it's so quaint here. Quaint? How gay is this dude???? Didn't see that one coming at all!!!!
Then we start weighing up the tomatoes. She had a scale that a cartel in Colombia would kill for! Made me wonder what else they might be growing up on that hilltop. Bottom line: about 140 lbs of tomatoes for damn near half what they had originally quoted me! Right now the counter tops and dining room are over flowing with designer plum tomatoes, the sink is full of them soaking, all four burners are going full tilt and the kitchen feels like Equador in freaking July! Ahh life is good....
Anyone in the market for some homemade ketchup?
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Sloth and Avarice: My two favorite flavors!
Yes, I'm responsible. And dependable. And on time. But push come to shove I'd rather be sitting on my ass and eating a papaya under a palapa. Drinking some Sangria Blanca that someone else made for me. As for the avarice thing, yeah, I want it all. And I do mean ALL of it! But you'd better be willing to bring it to me because I can be too lazy to get up off my ass and get it myself, (RE: look back at sloth). Just bring it to me, it's easier that way. For both of us. I get what I want and you don't get caned into a stupor!!! It's a win-win situation don't you think? Ponder it for a moment..... My pleasure. Your flesh. Or lack thereof...
Sloth. The word even sounds lazy when you say it. Imagine hearing it at 3/4 speed and you get the idea. There are some things I just DON'T do. House cleaning is one of them. I'd rather just move to another apartment when the one I'm living in gets too dusty. I've even been known to own a large dog with a big tail just so he could dust the table tops so I didn't have to. Hell, I'm more afraid of the vacuum cleaner than most of the dogs I've ever owned! And I've had some seriously vacuum-phobic dogs. Once, one actually hung himself. My other half made the mistake of asking me why I don't vacuum and I told him that we were out of vacuum cleaner bags. He suggested that I go out and buy some. I told him "no". I'll shop for all kinds of things but vacuum cleaner bags just aren't on my list.
Avarice. Now that's my kind of word! It's all about cravings. And lord knows, there are some things out there that I crave like a crack whore. Chocolate is at the top of my list on most days. Milk chocolate. Swiss chocolate. Dark chocolate. Bitter sweet chocolate. Baking chocolate. Chocolate spiced with chili. Anything covered in chocolate. Your chocolate. I'd hold you up in a dark alley at knife point if I thought you had some Lundt's on you. Taking candy from a baby has a whole different meaning for me and I practice it on a regular basis. I go berserk in Mexico, their chocolate is totally mind blowing and my carry-on is usually stuffed with it on the flight back home. I brought back so much one year that US Customs detained me. They not only x-rayed every piece of chocolate individually that I had in my luggage but actually brought in one of the drug dogs as well. Now, I know some folks have been known to do that sort of thing. Not me though. The little chocolate bits tend to get caught in the straw.
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Sloth. The word even sounds lazy when you say it. Imagine hearing it at 3/4 speed and you get the idea. There are some things I just DON'T do. House cleaning is one of them. I'd rather just move to another apartment when the one I'm living in gets too dusty. I've even been known to own a large dog with a big tail just so he could dust the table tops so I didn't have to. Hell, I'm more afraid of the vacuum cleaner than most of the dogs I've ever owned! And I've had some seriously vacuum-phobic dogs. Once, one actually hung himself. My other half made the mistake of asking me why I don't vacuum and I told him that we were out of vacuum cleaner bags. He suggested that I go out and buy some. I told him "no". I'll shop for all kinds of things but vacuum cleaner bags just aren't on my list.
Avarice. Now that's my kind of word! It's all about cravings. And lord knows, there are some things out there that I crave like a crack whore. Chocolate is at the top of my list on most days. Milk chocolate. Swiss chocolate. Dark chocolate. Bitter sweet chocolate. Baking chocolate. Chocolate spiced with chili. Anything covered in chocolate. Your chocolate. I'd hold you up in a dark alley at knife point if I thought you had some Lundt's on you. Taking candy from a baby has a whole different meaning for me and I practice it on a regular basis. I go berserk in Mexico, their chocolate is totally mind blowing and my carry-on is usually stuffed with it on the flight back home. I brought back so much one year that US Customs detained me. They not only x-rayed every piece of chocolate individually that I had in my luggage but actually brought in one of the drug dogs as well. Now, I know some folks have been known to do that sort of thing. Not me though. The little chocolate bits tend to get caught in the straw.
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Wednesday, September 1, 2010
How come everybody got to have a mid-life crisis but me????
What the bloody hell??? Everyone I know got to have THEIR chronological melt down, why not me??? Did I miss the bus to temporary insanity town or something??? OK, since I have no intention of living to be 114 years old I suppose it is a bit late for me to be thinking about it at the age of 57 but hey, I got screwed out of my time in the sun.
How come I didn't get to buy a yellow Corvette like they did? I was probably balancing my checkbook... Where is my smoking hot tattoo of that luscious babe in the bikini riding a torpedo? More than likely I was pulling an extra shift so I could put a new set of tires on my Yugo... How come my nipples aren't pierced too? (BTW, I have three of them.) Probably doing my laundry... Why didn't I get to have a torrid affair with some buxom coed half my age? OK, that one is obvious... because I'm gayer than springtime. But what about the sky diving thing? Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm afraid of falling... Embezzling money to support my mistress in Argentina? Who do I look like, the Governor of South Carolina?
My God, I wasted my chance at a mid-life crisis being responsible. And dependable. And on time. Even early. I've been the "good boy" my whole freaking life! I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! I'm going to start shoplifting. And I'm going to make it look like you're shoplifting too. I'm going to start making faces at your baby when you're carrying it around in a back pack and make it cry. And when you turn around I'm going to tell you that your monkey seems to be upset. And them I'm going to ask you if you have a license for that monkey. I'm going to put a mariachi ring tone on my cell phone and set the volume to HIGH!!! And I'm going to set it to repeat a LOT of times too. I'm going to start keying cars. No, wait. Even better, I'm going to start peeing on cars! When you pull up next to me at a stop light I will have all of the windows rolled down and the Farm Report blaring so loudly on the AM radio that my spare tire is shaking loose in the trunk. And if you try to question me I will only respond in Spanish. Weird Spanish. ¿Este uste embarsada, por favor, senor? Then I'm going to start gunning my engine and begin making strange sucking noises between my teeth at your wife sitting next to you. As God is my witness, I'm going to start making Andy Kaufman look like a respectable Republican!!! OK, now that's an oxymoron if I ever heard one...
Time in the sun: Ready or not, here comes Daddy!!! Beware....
How come I didn't get to buy a yellow Corvette like they did? I was probably balancing my checkbook... Where is my smoking hot tattoo of that luscious babe in the bikini riding a torpedo? More than likely I was pulling an extra shift so I could put a new set of tires on my Yugo... How come my nipples aren't pierced too? (BTW, I have three of them.) Probably doing my laundry... Why didn't I get to have a torrid affair with some buxom coed half my age? OK, that one is obvious... because I'm gayer than springtime. But what about the sky diving thing? Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm afraid of falling... Embezzling money to support my mistress in Argentina? Who do I look like, the Governor of South Carolina?
My God, I wasted my chance at a mid-life crisis being responsible. And dependable. And on time. Even early. I've been the "good boy" my whole freaking life! I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore! I'm going to start shoplifting. And I'm going to make it look like you're shoplifting too. I'm going to start making faces at your baby when you're carrying it around in a back pack and make it cry. And when you turn around I'm going to tell you that your monkey seems to be upset. And them I'm going to ask you if you have a license for that monkey. I'm going to put a mariachi ring tone on my cell phone and set the volume to HIGH!!! And I'm going to set it to repeat a LOT of times too. I'm going to start keying cars. No, wait. Even better, I'm going to start peeing on cars! When you pull up next to me at a stop light I will have all of the windows rolled down and the Farm Report blaring so loudly on the AM radio that my spare tire is shaking loose in the trunk. And if you try to question me I will only respond in Spanish. Weird Spanish. ¿Este uste embarsada, por favor, senor? Then I'm going to start gunning my engine and begin making strange sucking noises between my teeth at your wife sitting next to you. As God is my witness, I'm going to start making Andy Kaufman look like a respectable Republican!!! OK, now that's an oxymoron if I ever heard one...
Time in the sun: Ready or not, here comes Daddy!!! Beware....
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