I am a gypsy. I don't normally put my feet down on the ground in one place for very long. I just have to keep moving around. I want to see stuff. Do stuff. Taste stuff. Hell, I'm on my fourth passport. Get the picture?
'sconsin and I have a long history. A very LONG history. Although I grew up in San Francisco I spent most of my summers at my parents lake home in northern 'sconsin. We called it "the cottage". Shit on a shingle, it was a three bedroom, two bath ranch style thing with 200 feet of lake frontage. It stole my heart at the age of 6. I dearly remember being splayed out on my back on the dock and counting stars. I broke my leg in two places one summer trying to take a ski jump. Can you say 16 and drunk off of your ass??? Hang on a second, I have to stop giggling...
Yeah, 'sconsin and I go back a long time. I went to college here. What a complete waist of time and racehorses. But this indeed is the land of dead fish and animal heads hanging off of the walls in a "supper club". On a Friday night for a fish fry. Hey, what's better than beer batter and tartar sauce???
Almost 21 years ago I moved back here. And I've never looked back. I love this place. I have lived in Madison for almost 21 years now. We claim to be 76 square miles surrounded by reality. Sorry, have to stop giggling again. I have been blessed with the most amazing bunch of loonies. I can't imagine it any other way.
Yes, life is good.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
SOMETIMES THE BEST GIFTS COME OUT OF NOWHERE...
Oh, goddess, where to start...
About a year and a half ago I happened to stumble upon a website of a guy who is fascinated with Charles Manson. Of course I started scrolling through it. And then a picture came up and I damned near shit. It was Rosie and "Jay". Rosie was Charlie's first wife and Jay was their son. I knew them both. Hell, I worked side by side with them. In of all places, Mt. Vernon Illinois at a Holiday Inn back in the late 1970's. I was the Chinese cook, Rosie was a waitress, Jay was there short term just visiting. The connection came through Rosie's step son, Kevin, who I quickly became fast friends with. He was a junior in high school and I was 23 and we all worked together. Can you say Charlie Manson's first wife??? Life never fails to deal me a strange hand of cards... I love that. I would have it no other way.
So, I put a post on the site telling about having known Rosie and Jay. BTW, his name at the time was Charles Manson Jr. That certainly must have been a heavy brick to drag around. From the website I learned that he legally changed his name, moved to Colorado, got married and then took his own life in 1993 on a lonely deserted road. But enough on that.
Kevin and I became very good friends. His gaydar was spot on. He nailed me within seconds. I was the first person that he came out to. I was impressed with his courage. That was a pretty ballsy act in Mt. Vernon back in 1978. About 4 months later Rosie walked up to me at work, threw her arms around me, gave me a wonderful bear hug and just said "I'm fine with this, take care of him". I damned near fell into a wok. Rosie was way too cool for words.
I taught Kevin how to drink tequila. And let him sleep on my sofa way too many times to count. He was a dear friend. Hell, he was like a baby sister to me. From Mt. Vernon he moved to Waco, Texas and I moved to Minneapolis but we still stayed in contact over the phone. In 1982 we hooked up together in Dallas for a week and partied our brains out. Good times. That was the last time I saw him face to face. In 1986 I moved to Portland, OR. He didn't know my phone number and his was disconnected so our contact ended.
Three days ago I get an email that blew me out of the water. It was from a classmate of his who had managed to stumble across the same website and read my post. I remembered her. She and Kevin were very good friends. When she asked if I was the same guy that bought her the bottle of schnapps because she was under age I knew it was legit. The two of us have been exchanging emails wildly. She has filled me in on what happened to Kevin. He is no longer with us. He spiraled wildly out of control mainlining speed. Apparently if you could smoke it, snort it or inject it Kevin was first in line. She told me that he only gave up speed when he ran out of veins to use. My jaw hit the floor. Unfortunately by then it was too late, he was already HIV+ and on his way out the door. She is a Registered Nurse and helped care for Kevin during his final days back in 1993. It was a history that I did not want to hear but she gave me answers to questions I desperately needed answered. I hold this woman in the highest regard for sticking by a train wreck and remaining loyal. I just can't thank her enough for the info much as I did not want to hear it but to be able to hook up with Kevin again after 28 years is a delicious gift. goddess damned delicious!!! She has given me back wondrous memories I had forgotten about. I am both blessed and gobsmacked...
When someone your junior dies before you do you cry. You cringe. And you do everything in your power to keep from going fetal in a corner in the dark. Well, I did all three...
Kevin, I hope that you are tap dancing on stars!!!
About a year and a half ago I happened to stumble upon a website of a guy who is fascinated with Charles Manson. Of course I started scrolling through it. And then a picture came up and I damned near shit. It was Rosie and "Jay". Rosie was Charlie's first wife and Jay was their son. I knew them both. Hell, I worked side by side with them. In of all places, Mt. Vernon Illinois at a Holiday Inn back in the late 1970's. I was the Chinese cook, Rosie was a waitress, Jay was there short term just visiting. The connection came through Rosie's step son, Kevin, who I quickly became fast friends with. He was a junior in high school and I was 23 and we all worked together. Can you say Charlie Manson's first wife??? Life never fails to deal me a strange hand of cards... I love that. I would have it no other way.
So, I put a post on the site telling about having known Rosie and Jay. BTW, his name at the time was Charles Manson Jr. That certainly must have been a heavy brick to drag around. From the website I learned that he legally changed his name, moved to Colorado, got married and then took his own life in 1993 on a lonely deserted road. But enough on that.
Kevin and I became very good friends. His gaydar was spot on. He nailed me within seconds. I was the first person that he came out to. I was impressed with his courage. That was a pretty ballsy act in Mt. Vernon back in 1978. About 4 months later Rosie walked up to me at work, threw her arms around me, gave me a wonderful bear hug and just said "I'm fine with this, take care of him". I damned near fell into a wok. Rosie was way too cool for words.
I taught Kevin how to drink tequila. And let him sleep on my sofa way too many times to count. He was a dear friend. Hell, he was like a baby sister to me. From Mt. Vernon he moved to Waco, Texas and I moved to Minneapolis but we still stayed in contact over the phone. In 1982 we hooked up together in Dallas for a week and partied our brains out. Good times. That was the last time I saw him face to face. In 1986 I moved to Portland, OR. He didn't know my phone number and his was disconnected so our contact ended.
Three days ago I get an email that blew me out of the water. It was from a classmate of his who had managed to stumble across the same website and read my post. I remembered her. She and Kevin were very good friends. When she asked if I was the same guy that bought her the bottle of schnapps because she was under age I knew it was legit. The two of us have been exchanging emails wildly. She has filled me in on what happened to Kevin. He is no longer with us. He spiraled wildly out of control mainlining speed. Apparently if you could smoke it, snort it or inject it Kevin was first in line. She told me that he only gave up speed when he ran out of veins to use. My jaw hit the floor. Unfortunately by then it was too late, he was already HIV+ and on his way out the door. She is a Registered Nurse and helped care for Kevin during his final days back in 1993. It was a history that I did not want to hear but she gave me answers to questions I desperately needed answered. I hold this woman in the highest regard for sticking by a train wreck and remaining loyal. I just can't thank her enough for the info much as I did not want to hear it but to be able to hook up with Kevin again after 28 years is a delicious gift. goddess damned delicious!!! She has given me back wondrous memories I had forgotten about. I am both blessed and gobsmacked...
When someone your junior dies before you do you cry. You cringe. And you do everything in your power to keep from going fetal in a corner in the dark. Well, I did all three...
Kevin, I hope that you are tap dancing on stars!!!
SOMETIMES THE BEST GIFTS COME OUT OF NOWHERE...
Oh, goddess, where to start...
About a year and a half ago I happened to stumble upon a website of a guy who is fascinated with Charles Manson. Of course I started scrolling through it. And then a picture came up and I damned near shit. It was Rosie and "Jay". Rosie was Charlie's first wife and Jay was their son. I knew them both. Hell, I worked side by side with them. In of all places, Mt. Vernon Illinois at a Holiday Inn back in the late 1970's. I was the Chinese cook, Rosie was a waitress, Jay was there short term just visiting. The connection came through Rosie's step son, Kevin, who I quickly became friends with. He was a junior in high school and I was 23 and we all worked together. Can you say Charlie Manson's first wife??? Life never fails to deal me a strange hand of cards... I love that. I would have it no other way.
So, I put a post on the site telling about having known Rosie and Jay. BTW, his name at the time was Charles Manson Jr. That certainly must have been a heavy brick to drag around. From the website I learned that he legally changed his name, moved to Colorado, got married and then took his own life in 1993 on a lonely deserted road. But enough on that.
Kevin and I became very good friends. His gaydar was spot on. He nailed me within seconds. I was the first person that he came out to. I was impressed with his courage. That was a pretty ballsy act in Mt. Vernon back in 1978. About 4 months later Rosie walked up to me at work, threw her arms around me, gave me a wonderful bear hug and just said "I'm fine with this, take care of him". I damned near fell into a wok. Rosie was way too cool for words.
I taught Kevin how to drink tequila. And let him sleep on my sofa way too many times to count. He was a dear friend. Hell, he was like a baby sister to me. From Mt. Vernon he moved to Waco, Texas and I moved to Minneapolis but we still stayed in contact over the phone. In 1982 we hooked up together in Dallas for a week and partied our brains out. Good times. That was the last time I saw him face to face. In 1986 I moved to Portland, OR. He didn't know my phone number and his was disconnected so our contact ended.
Three days ago I get an email that blew me out of the water. It was from a classmate of his who had managed to stumble across the same website and read my post. I remembered her. She and Kevin were very good friends. When she asked if I was the same guy that bought her the bottle of schnapps because she was under age I knew it was legit. The two of us have been exchanging emails wildly. She has filled me in on what happened to Kevin. He is no longer with us. He spiraled wildly out of control mainlining speed. Apparently if you could smoke it, snort it or inject it Kevin was first in line. She told me that he only gave up speed when he ran out of veins to use. My jaw hit the floor. Unfortunately by then it was too late, he was already HIV+ and on his way out the door. She is a Registered Nurse and helped care for Kevin during his final days back in 1993. It was a history that I did not want to hear but she gave me answers to questions I desperately needed answered. I hold this woman in the highest regard for sticking by a train wreck and remaining loyal. I just can't thank her enough for the info much as I did not want to hear it but to be able to hook up with Kevin again after 28 years is a delicious gift. goddess damned delicious!!! She has given me back wondrous memories I had forgotten about. I am both blessed and gobsmacked...
Kevin, I hope that you are tap dancing on stars!!!
About a year and a half ago I happened to stumble upon a website of a guy who is fascinated with Charles Manson. Of course I started scrolling through it. And then a picture came up and I damned near shit. It was Rosie and "Jay". Rosie was Charlie's first wife and Jay was their son. I knew them both. Hell, I worked side by side with them. In of all places, Mt. Vernon Illinois at a Holiday Inn back in the late 1970's. I was the Chinese cook, Rosie was a waitress, Jay was there short term just visiting. The connection came through Rosie's step son, Kevin, who I quickly became friends with. He was a junior in high school and I was 23 and we all worked together. Can you say Charlie Manson's first wife??? Life never fails to deal me a strange hand of cards... I love that. I would have it no other way.
So, I put a post on the site telling about having known Rosie and Jay. BTW, his name at the time was Charles Manson Jr. That certainly must have been a heavy brick to drag around. From the website I learned that he legally changed his name, moved to Colorado, got married and then took his own life in 1993 on a lonely deserted road. But enough on that.
Kevin and I became very good friends. His gaydar was spot on. He nailed me within seconds. I was the first person that he came out to. I was impressed with his courage. That was a pretty ballsy act in Mt. Vernon back in 1978. About 4 months later Rosie walked up to me at work, threw her arms around me, gave me a wonderful bear hug and just said "I'm fine with this, take care of him". I damned near fell into a wok. Rosie was way too cool for words.
I taught Kevin how to drink tequila. And let him sleep on my sofa way too many times to count. He was a dear friend. Hell, he was like a baby sister to me. From Mt. Vernon he moved to Waco, Texas and I moved to Minneapolis but we still stayed in contact over the phone. In 1982 we hooked up together in Dallas for a week and partied our brains out. Good times. That was the last time I saw him face to face. In 1986 I moved to Portland, OR. He didn't know my phone number and his was disconnected so our contact ended.
Three days ago I get an email that blew me out of the water. It was from a classmate of his who had managed to stumble across the same website and read my post. I remembered her. She and Kevin were very good friends. When she asked if I was the same guy that bought her the bottle of schnapps because she was under age I knew it was legit. The two of us have been exchanging emails wildly. She has filled me in on what happened to Kevin. He is no longer with us. He spiraled wildly out of control mainlining speed. Apparently if you could smoke it, snort it or inject it Kevin was first in line. She told me that he only gave up speed when he ran out of veins to use. My jaw hit the floor. Unfortunately by then it was too late, he was already HIV+ and on his way out the door. She is a Registered Nurse and helped care for Kevin during his final days back in 1993. It was a history that I did not want to hear but she gave me answers to questions I desperately needed answered. I hold this woman in the highest regard for sticking by a train wreck and remaining loyal. I just can't thank her enough for the info much as I did not want to hear it but to be able to hook up with Kevin again after 28 years is a delicious gift. goddess damned delicious!!! She has given me back wondrous memories I had forgotten about. I am both blessed and gobsmacked...
Kevin, I hope that you are tap dancing on stars!!!
Sunday, April 20, 2014
HERE'S TO MY FRIENDS,,,,
Or should I say my fellow fiends? Partners in crime? goddess knows, I know some completely loony people. I would have it no other way. We party. We dance. And then we fire up the cauldron. Yeah, we're that nuts... Hell, I actually know people that put firecrackers in Spam for no other reason than that they can. C'mon, how cool is that???
Judy (my nickname. Oh just read some of my older blogs) has always been attracted to the odd, the strange, the dangerous and the over/under medicated. What can I say, it's just my nature. If you are just a bit bent left of right then I am at your shoulder. With a hand grenade. What can I say, it never hurts to come well prepared. C'mon, what's more fun than an ape with a hand grenade??? SURPRISE!!!
I am on the fast track to 61. Doesn't faze me. What the hell. Yes, I am getting old. FUCK!!!! But I will never grow old. And that is due to my friends (fiends?). We are indeed a bunch of crazies. Completely full blown bat shit crazy. And some of us still holding down productive jobs. I pity them for that reason alone. Yet, I hold them dear in my heart. Without them I wouldn't be me. Many are here. Some are gone. But none of them will ever be forgotten. Again, without them, I just wouldn't be me. And I just can't imagine the alternative.
My exit will always be open. Hit the turn signal.. Take a chance. Trust me, it's gonna be fun... Just ignore the hyenas down by the stop sign. Don't try to pet them. Some of them are rabid. Hhhmmm... I think they all might be rabid. Best to leave the windows closed....
Care for a cocktail??? Oh, yeah, fasten your seat belt!!! Trust me motherfucker, it's gonna be one hell of a bumpy ride!!!
Yeah, smile on my face...
Judy (my nickname. Oh just read some of my older blogs) has always been attracted to the odd, the strange, the dangerous and the over/under medicated. What can I say, it's just my nature. If you are just a bit bent left of right then I am at your shoulder. With a hand grenade. What can I say, it never hurts to come well prepared. C'mon, what's more fun than an ape with a hand grenade??? SURPRISE!!!
I am on the fast track to 61. Doesn't faze me. What the hell. Yes, I am getting old. FUCK!!!! But I will never grow old. And that is due to my friends (fiends?). We are indeed a bunch of crazies. Completely full blown bat shit crazy. And some of us still holding down productive jobs. I pity them for that reason alone. Yet, I hold them dear in my heart. Without them I wouldn't be me. Many are here. Some are gone. But none of them will ever be forgotten. Again, without them, I just wouldn't be me. And I just can't imagine the alternative.
My exit will always be open. Hit the turn signal.. Take a chance. Trust me, it's gonna be fun... Just ignore the hyenas down by the stop sign. Don't try to pet them. Some of them are rabid. Hhhmmm... I think they all might be rabid. Best to leave the windows closed....
Care for a cocktail??? Oh, yeah, fasten your seat belt!!! Trust me motherfucker, it's gonna be one hell of a bumpy ride!!!
Yeah, smile on my face...
Sunday, April 13, 2014
HERE'S TO THE DAMNED, THE LOST AND THE FORGOTTEN...
Why do we have these things? Why do we just accept them blindly and in silence? Why in the name of the goddess do we let this fucking shit happen???
To be damned. Lost. Forgotten. Yeah, I've been down that dark alley on more than one occasion. Whether by choice (what was I thinking) or by chance I have indeed found myself at the bottom of that well. It sucks ass. Big time. No matter how you find yourself there. It just sucks ass!!!
My left hand is warm and fuzzy. A marshmallow at it were. Hey, let's make 'Smores! My right hand is a whole other adventure. It has a hand grenade in it. With the pin pulled out. And I am looking around the small windowless room that I am being held in trying to decide who to toss it at. Yeah, I can go that full blown bat shit crazy in half a heart beat. Trust me! I am not someone that you want to fuck with. I can spin on a dime and make Joan Crawford look like a walk in the park with a purse dog. Push my buttons, bitch you're toast. That is a given. Your warranty is no longer valid. I now own you. Prepare to die. Slowly.... I will relish you like a condiment on a hot dog. As long as it is a Hebrew National. They're Kosher, don't ya know...
Sit around my dining room table and I will feed and booze you up to your eyeballs. Fuck with me in public, do an injustice or cross my line in the sand I will indeed cut you in half. Yeah, I can go from Thumper the Rabbit to Hitler in half a nanosecond.. White hot explosive monkey madness. I've seen too damned much injustice. Done to others and done to me. You learn to steel your butt up. And come back with a vengeance of indescribable rage. Trust me, you just don't want to take that exit...
I've been at more peoples back than I can remember. I'm the crazy peaking over your shoulder and making that "face". That alone should be a red flag. If I have to stand if front of you, with my back to you, dig my heals into the dirt, square my shoulders, cross my arms, cock my head and say "I don't think so,
motherfucker!" at the idiot in front of you, I'll do it. That's red flag number two. Do NOT fuck with me when I am in your way and running interference. I am indeed a monkey with a hand grenade. Red flag number three. Again, NOT a good exit. There's a lot of hyenas down by the stop sign. And I'm damned glad that I am one of them...
To be damned. Lost. Forgotten. Yeah, I've been down that dark alley on more than one occasion. Whether by choice (what was I thinking) or by chance I have indeed found myself at the bottom of that well. It sucks ass. Big time. No matter how you find yourself there. It just sucks ass!!!
My left hand is warm and fuzzy. A marshmallow at it were. Hey, let's make 'Smores! My right hand is a whole other adventure. It has a hand grenade in it. With the pin pulled out. And I am looking around the small windowless room that I am being held in trying to decide who to toss it at. Yeah, I can go that full blown bat shit crazy in half a heart beat. Trust me! I am not someone that you want to fuck with. I can spin on a dime and make Joan Crawford look like a walk in the park with a purse dog. Push my buttons, bitch you're toast. That is a given. Your warranty is no longer valid. I now own you. Prepare to die. Slowly.... I will relish you like a condiment on a hot dog. As long as it is a Hebrew National. They're Kosher, don't ya know...
Sit around my dining room table and I will feed and booze you up to your eyeballs. Fuck with me in public, do an injustice or cross my line in the sand I will indeed cut you in half. Yeah, I can go from Thumper the Rabbit to Hitler in half a nanosecond.. White hot explosive monkey madness. I've seen too damned much injustice. Done to others and done to me. You learn to steel your butt up. And come back with a vengeance of indescribable rage. Trust me, you just don't want to take that exit...
I've been at more peoples back than I can remember. I'm the crazy peaking over your shoulder and making that "face". That alone should be a red flag. If I have to stand if front of you, with my back to you, dig my heals into the dirt, square my shoulders, cross my arms, cock my head and say "I don't think so,
motherfucker!" at the idiot in front of you, I'll do it. That's red flag number two. Do NOT fuck with me when I am in your way and running interference. I am indeed a monkey with a hand grenade. Red flag number three. Again, NOT a good exit. There's a lot of hyenas down by the stop sign. And I'm damned glad that I am one of them...
Monday, April 7, 2014
GRANDMA'S KOOL-AID GLASSES...
I am a child of the South. Born in Arkansas, don't ya know. I come from a long line of shallow end of the gene pool Southerners. Both sides. Very inbred. Hell, I'm surprised I don't have eleven fingers...
I spent many wonderful summers in southern Illinois with my maternal grandparents. Yeah, I know southern Illinois isn't exactly the South but if there is biscuits and gravy on the table you are indeed in the South. Front porch "gliders", side yard swings in front of hollyhocks and "burnin' barrels". Yeah, that's the South.
One of my fondest memories as a child was having grandma give me a glass of Kool-Aid in an aluminum glass and sitting down at the kitchen table and snagging a couple of pieces of left over bacon that were always left laying there on a plate. The glasses came in six different colors. She would let me pick which color I wanted. I picked a different color everyday just because I could. It made the Kool-Aid taste better.
Several years ago some very good friends of ours offered me some glasses that they did not need. I took one look at those things and damned near crapped my pants. Aluminum glasses in six different colors. Still in the plastic wrappers. Oh, sweet goddess, my mouth dropped. Exact replicas of grandma's Kool-Aid glasses. I snagged those things in a heartbeat!!! They now set proudly and predominately in my cupboard next to the coffee cups. Every time I open the doors and see them I am instantly transported back to a simpler time. Homemade cookies. Fizzie's. Bosco. Front porch gliders. And a mayonnaise jar full of lightin' bugs on a warm, humid summer night.
Those glasses make my pulse race and my heart sing. Grandma's still with me... And I tap dance in her memory!!!
I spent many wonderful summers in southern Illinois with my maternal grandparents. Yeah, I know southern Illinois isn't exactly the South but if there is biscuits and gravy on the table you are indeed in the South. Front porch "gliders", side yard swings in front of hollyhocks and "burnin' barrels". Yeah, that's the South.
One of my fondest memories as a child was having grandma give me a glass of Kool-Aid in an aluminum glass and sitting down at the kitchen table and snagging a couple of pieces of left over bacon that were always left laying there on a plate. The glasses came in six different colors. She would let me pick which color I wanted. I picked a different color everyday just because I could. It made the Kool-Aid taste better.
Several years ago some very good friends of ours offered me some glasses that they did not need. I took one look at those things and damned near crapped my pants. Aluminum glasses in six different colors. Still in the plastic wrappers. Oh, sweet goddess, my mouth dropped. Exact replicas of grandma's Kool-Aid glasses. I snagged those things in a heartbeat!!! They now set proudly and predominately in my cupboard next to the coffee cups. Every time I open the doors and see them I am instantly transported back to a simpler time. Homemade cookies. Fizzie's. Bosco. Front porch gliders. And a mayonnaise jar full of lightin' bugs on a warm, humid summer night.
Those glasses make my pulse race and my heart sing. Grandma's still with me... And I tap dance in her memory!!!
Friday, April 4, 2014
KETCHUP... SMILE ON MY FACE.
Yeah, it's true. I am a ketchup whore. It's bitch, as it where.
I fell in love with this stuff at a very early age. I think I was three. By the age of five I was helping my grandmother make this stuff from scratch on a wood fired stove in a steaming hot kitchen in the South. She was a rail thin little woman who did home canning proud. If she could harvest something out of her garden and stuff it into a sterilized jar, she did. I was in heaven! Her homemade ketchup was fucking amazing! Do you know how many tomatoes you need to make ketchup? Way too fucking many. Wheelbarrows full. And she had them. I have incredibly wonderful memories of her and I in the garden "pickin' 'maters". She passed away when I was in 4th grade. I lunged at all of her metal recipe boxes and her set of cast iron cookware. Yeah, I'm that gay... Those little boxes held treasures. I use them all to this day. Grandma, thank you!!!
Soon afterwards I had to start using store bought ketchup. I was not happy. Then I discovered Heinz. It wasn't as good as grandma's but it was a damned good second best. It's damned good stuff but it's just not perfect. In 1986 I got an eye opener. I was in Australia. I couldn't find ketchup to save my life. I wanted to die. Ketchup is an American thing. I finally found it in the Ethnic Aisle. WHAT??? Yeah, a small bottle of Heinz. For $12. WTF??? I quickly learned to travel with ketchup. I filled my pockets with those little packets at fast food places. I will not cross a time zone without some ketchup in my possession. In 1988 while dragging my ass all over Asia people would give me strange looks as I started hauling little packets of ketchup out out my shoulder bag. Americans at the next table would start salivating. And pay me BIG bucks for a couple of them. Which I happily sold to them at grotesquely inflated prices.
About twelve years ago on one of my frequent trips to Mexico a good friend joined my down there and took me to one of his favorite restaurants. I ordered a hamburgeusa and fries and they laid down a jar of Clemente Jacques Mexican ketchup. I circled around that thing like a pack of rabid hyenas. One taste and I was smitten. OMG!!! If you have never tasted Mexican ketchup you have not been to heaven. I have been bringing suitcases of this stuff back from Mexico ever since. It's mind blowing. Mexican ketchup is different. We use sugar. They use vinegar. Oh my goddess. Magnificent!!! Heinz was now dead to me... Airports and US Customs look at me like a terrorist. Yes, perhaps five gallons of ketchup is a bit much.
It's not just ketchup though. It's tomatoes. I love tomatoes. I've grown a shitload of them over the years. All sorts of colors, shapes, sizes and varieties. I make my own tomato sauce. Oh, goddess, I have been trapped in my kitchen with way too many tomatoes, sweating my tits off over way too many stock pots. I have been known to drive more than 100 miles to raid someones garden and literally fill the trunk of my car with bizarre heritage plum tomatoes. Grandma would be so proud.
And yes, I actually do have the t-shirt featured at the left. Ketchup, it just don't get any better than that...
I fell in love with this stuff at a very early age. I think I was three. By the age of five I was helping my grandmother make this stuff from scratch on a wood fired stove in a steaming hot kitchen in the South. She was a rail thin little woman who did home canning proud. If she could harvest something out of her garden and stuff it into a sterilized jar, she did. I was in heaven! Her homemade ketchup was fucking amazing! Do you know how many tomatoes you need to make ketchup? Way too fucking many. Wheelbarrows full. And she had them. I have incredibly wonderful memories of her and I in the garden "pickin' 'maters". She passed away when I was in 4th grade. I lunged at all of her metal recipe boxes and her set of cast iron cookware. Yeah, I'm that gay... Those little boxes held treasures. I use them all to this day. Grandma, thank you!!!
Soon afterwards I had to start using store bought ketchup. I was not happy. Then I discovered Heinz. It wasn't as good as grandma's but it was a damned good second best. It's damned good stuff but it's just not perfect. In 1986 I got an eye opener. I was in Australia. I couldn't find ketchup to save my life. I wanted to die. Ketchup is an American thing. I finally found it in the Ethnic Aisle. WHAT??? Yeah, a small bottle of Heinz. For $12. WTF??? I quickly learned to travel with ketchup. I filled my pockets with those little packets at fast food places. I will not cross a time zone without some ketchup in my possession. In 1988 while dragging my ass all over Asia people would give me strange looks as I started hauling little packets of ketchup out out my shoulder bag. Americans at the next table would start salivating. And pay me BIG bucks for a couple of them. Which I happily sold to them at grotesquely inflated prices.
About twelve years ago on one of my frequent trips to Mexico a good friend joined my down there and took me to one of his favorite restaurants. I ordered a hamburgeusa and fries and they laid down a jar of Clemente Jacques Mexican ketchup. I circled around that thing like a pack of rabid hyenas. One taste and I was smitten. OMG!!! If you have never tasted Mexican ketchup you have not been to heaven. I have been bringing suitcases of this stuff back from Mexico ever since. It's mind blowing. Mexican ketchup is different. We use sugar. They use vinegar. Oh my goddess. Magnificent!!! Heinz was now dead to me... Airports and US Customs look at me like a terrorist. Yes, perhaps five gallons of ketchup is a bit much.
It's not just ketchup though. It's tomatoes. I love tomatoes. I've grown a shitload of them over the years. All sorts of colors, shapes, sizes and varieties. I make my own tomato sauce. Oh, goddess, I have been trapped in my kitchen with way too many tomatoes, sweating my tits off over way too many stock pots. I have been known to drive more than 100 miles to raid someones garden and literally fill the trunk of my car with bizarre heritage plum tomatoes. Grandma would be so proud.
And yes, I actually do have the t-shirt featured at the left. Ketchup, it just don't get any better than that...
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
CRAZY PEOPLE...
I have been blessed in my life. I have known WAY too many of these folks... Good goddess, WAY too many...
Oh, lord...
We have crossed paths. We almost at times collided. In mid air. We have partied our tits off together. And we have come to blows. Sometimes a bit bloody and resulting in a 911 call..
I love me a crazy person. Hell, I'm one. Trust me, give me enough tequila and I am a hand grenade with the pin pulled out. Just ask anyone who knows me... As they like to say, "DUCK AND FUCKING COVER!!!".
On the rare occasions that I have used public transport I have always ended up sitting next to the slightly uncivilised one that insisted on showing me their toothbrush. Which, of course they had just found at the bus stop that they had been waiting at. Why me??? I have found myself setting next to loonies. Some of which have been kind of fun. Some of which, not so much. Again, why me???
Much like myself, crazies come at you out of nowhere. They disrupt you. Hell, given the chance, I will disrupt you. I'm just that way. Wanna see my toothbrush??? Yeah, I'm not well....
We are a palette of loonies. A smorgasbord of insanity. I would have it no other way. And the scary part of it is that we all end up on jury duty. Hey, if you'll acquit me I'll acquit you....
Heh, heh, heh... Think about it a second...
Oh, lord...
We have crossed paths. We almost at times collided. In mid air. We have partied our tits off together. And we have come to blows. Sometimes a bit bloody and resulting in a 911 call..
I love me a crazy person. Hell, I'm one. Trust me, give me enough tequila and I am a hand grenade with the pin pulled out. Just ask anyone who knows me... As they like to say, "DUCK AND FUCKING COVER!!!".
On the rare occasions that I have used public transport I have always ended up sitting next to the slightly uncivilised one that insisted on showing me their toothbrush. Which, of course they had just found at the bus stop that they had been waiting at. Why me??? I have found myself setting next to loonies. Some of which have been kind of fun. Some of which, not so much. Again, why me???
Much like myself, crazies come at you out of nowhere. They disrupt you. Hell, given the chance, I will disrupt you. I'm just that way. Wanna see my toothbrush??? Yeah, I'm not well....
We are a palette of loonies. A smorgasbord of insanity. I would have it no other way. And the scary part of it is that we all end up on jury duty. Hey, if you'll acquit me I'll acquit you....
Heh, heh, heh... Think about it a second...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)