tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12935674432749763082024-03-14T01:03:24.244-07:00The Last You'll See of Me!Melville saw the terrifying mind of God in the infinite ocean;
this is dreck from the shallows of my Mr. Turtle soul.OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-20290466176082120322013-10-17T20:24:00.002-07:002013-11-16T11:50:00.135-08:00Social StudiesYou still can't name your child "Dalton"<br />
Because he won't emerge from your home until university,<br />
Covered in hair gel, thin as a rake, unblinking.<br />
<br />
He wants to be first, for no reason. <br />
He thinks only after he begins to speak, in long broken sentences.<br />
<br />
They begin with "I think we can see" <br />
continuing much later with "powerful, um, emotion ..." <br />
and inevitably end with <br />
"so we, here, in our time ... cannot ever comprehend it".<br />
<br />
My brains shrinks to hear him hear himself <br />
and raise his gangly hands to gesture impotently <br />
smiling, satisfied that he has landed the words anywhere.<br />
<br />
If no one objects, then he must have done so very well.<br />
He lies so transparently that people nod and smile, and he forgets that he lied;<br />
he was only trying to fit in.<br />
<br />
Wherever he comes from<br />
everyone is named Dalton.<br />
<br />
UPDATE:<br />
He stops me after class, saying "I see that you have a class ring now. And that you write with a fountain pen. And your pocket handkerchief. It all goes together." He seems to think these are prerequisites for graduation.<br />
<br />
I've finally meet an extraterrestrial who just can't pass for human.<br />
Or I am an extraterrestrial and he is a vapid human, I don't rightly know any longer. OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-61748607538554867422012-10-31T11:22:00.000-07:002012-11-02T12:04:22.829-07:00Week 8: Vegging Out.<center>
<br /><a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></center>
<br />
Pish challenged us to eat vegan for a day this week. So I cut out my two eggs on Monday. Done.<br />
The day looked like this: <b><br /></b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Breakfast:</b> Steel-cut oats, no salt. Water, coffee with cocoa powder and sweetener. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Lunch: </b>Whole-wheat Bagel<b>, </b>almond butter, water, green tea. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Dinner: </b>Vegetable soup I made. Red lentils, mushrooms, spinach, garlic, cumin, cinnamon, turmeric, black pepper, celery, onions, bell-peppers. Veg broth and canned tomato soup.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Turned out more like a veg stew, but very nice and very filling.</blockquote>
No added salt from my hand. The canned soup was a cheat, and added both
salt and sugar, but that was an indulgence that saved me time and put a
little "fuck this" into the mix when I needed it. <span style="font-size: small;">It was all OK. The soup was a highlight of my day. The wi<span style="font-size: small;">fe even liked it. Sorry, I didn't Instagram any of it for you. <i> </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>You'r<span style="font-size: small;">e welcome.</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I had a lot going on, so I did not celebrate with one of the great new recipes Pish offered, which I took note of for later, nor did I really experiment and change much of what I do anyway. But I certainly will.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Regarding Meat </b></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://s231.photobucket.com/albums/ee65/sofita_ga/?action=view&current=lavacaloca.jpg&sort=ascending" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NZwdShaKb2w/UJFc9RqNK6I/AAAAAAAAAYw/0yASbUcc9eg/s320/cow_800.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smells almost as good as it looks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I get very little meat in my week. I don't see it as necessary, and my system is used to a lot of fibre and very little fat. Almost no animal fat. It gets very upset if I eat a burger, or god forbid, more than a single piece of pizza. These foods haunt me for days. I did have some meat this week, and some fish, and some cheese, and a couple of eggs about every other day. Some of it was too much together, and I blew a night's sleep over it, which I can never afford.<br />
<br />
I look forward to the day when cows and chickens and pigs don't exist. I wrote a whole very long post detailing the why, and how it's not all about <b>cuddles vs. cruelty</b>, although that is important too.<br />
<br />
I then deleted it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://computerbasicslearning.blogspot.ca/2011/02/computer-recycle-bin-how-do-you-delete.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IM8a1deD2Lo/UJFe6GUiRII/AAAAAAAAAY4/OzZhQF_vQas/s1600/delete+key.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: red;"> </span><br />
<br />
I'm sparing everybody, although it's on my mind. I don't fit exactly into anyone's politics, and I thank people for not assuming anything about mine. Nevertheless I made a bit of an ass of myself about a part of this issue and misled people. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://computerbasicslearning.blogspot.ca/2011/02/computer-recycle-bin-how-do-you-delete.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-88T4BvS4ZuM/UJFfbpn39WI/AAAAAAAAAZA/MzP2BJyU20o/s1600/bp_tofurky11e.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's not a turkey. Not even close.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the last few years I have finally gotten the point one of my vegan friends tried to make to me two decades ago when I offered him vegan "chicken" soup. Similarly, fake meat made out of tofu misses point. The entire need must die in its own time, under whatever pressure people can apply without hating those other people who are just doing what their families have always done. <br />
<br />
It's got to be frustrating for political vegans, with people being incredibly stupid and cruel. <i>Some</i> people. Change like this starts with one or more generations, and is only ready after a lifetime, and really only for the kids, who take it for granted, sometimes so much that they vote to rescind those changes out of total ignorance of history or human nature.<br />
<br />
It is a fact that pioneers get very little recognition, and even less time to enjoy their success, if any.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="color: red;"><i><span style="color: black;">[Imagine an antique photo of someone who was on the right track, but died years before their movement got anywhere. Pick whoever seems right to you, because I am not dumb enough to think anyone will do.]</span></i></span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
Eventually we, or our kids <i>will</i> all be vegan. We will live well and longer, and worry less about indulging ourselves with food. Farmland will be much more sustainable. Will a vital part of our traditions and cultures be lost? Only the meaty part. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>[This is where I was going to put a picture of a whole, roast, suckling pig, dressed for the holidays. There is no picture that is not twice as gross as the point I'm trying to make. You're welcome. Instead, the <b>go-to meme:</b>]</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.oxfam.org.uk/shop/music-films-video-games/film/soylent-green-cert-15-hd_33082813" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--x6XY4dNibo/UJFoIMvi8mI/AAAAAAAAAZc/g9tTthMa6tw/s640/hd_33082813_01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2022 is just around the corner.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>As for the challenge (in no particular order):</b></div>
<br />
I look back and find that I didn't actually plan any goals beyond losing 16lbs in 8 weeks. It wasn't<i> </i>sparked by the challenge, the challenge just helped. I have lost 9lbs. That's a shit-ton for the time-frame.<br />
<br />
I won that one. Plus the vegan day. And the happiness, although it was late.<br />
Winning happiness is pretty good.<br />
<br />
I later added a vague intention to post more, not including these updates:<br />
Let's see, in 8 weeks I posted ... <i>(one, two, three, four ... ) </i><b>ONE</b> post entirely not about the challenge.<br />
Yay.<br />
<br />
Not a win, although my updates to the challenge were not as short as this, so maybe they count after all. <br />
<br />
<b>AND,</b> let us not forget that I didn't run after the first week. It got cold. I got busy in the mornings, stressed, depressed, chronic pain, ocular migraines, and all sorts of other excuses come to mind.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Who are you to judge me? Stop it!</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://news.menshealth.com/running-in-the-rain/2012/08/08/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EY_4zNgqWzk/UJFpyr9rv_I/AAAAAAAAAZk/NmAyMnEChVY/s1600/running-in-rain-300x281.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not feeling the joy of being out.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Not a win, there.<i> Not yet.</i> Need a kick from somewhere. <br />
<br />
I have to try to fix that now. If the rain deters me then it will be 8 months before I try again.<br />
Unacceptable.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>PS:</b></div>
<br />
I want to thank the indefatigable <a href="http://www.the-pish-posh.com/" target="_blank">Pish-Posh</a> for her amazing drive to lead us all to better self-care. It mattered a lot to me to be doing this for the first time with so many great bloggers, and I would not have accomplished more than about 10% without her, and without <a href="http://ken-inatractor.blogspot.ca/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Ken,</a> <a href="http://trulywrittenramblings.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Carrie,</a> <a href="http://fiftyshadesofpeach.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Peach</a>, <a href="http://simplyshegoes.blogspot.ca/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Kianwi,</a> <a href="http://mymomsawhackjob.blogspot.ca/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Jules</a>, <a href="http://www.michellelongo.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">Michelle</a>, and last but not least, <a href="http://brett./" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Brett.</a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>PPS: </b></div>
<br />
Went back to the doctor to have my<a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/10/my-secret-weapon.html" target="_blank"> blood pressure </a>checked, confident in my clean bill of health. There's nothing like a reprieve from the kind of trouble a systemic problem like that entails.<br />
<br />
Five measurements later and my Systolic only a few points down, still "bad", just under "terrible" for my age. <br />
My Diastolic is virtually unchanged.<br />
<br />
Tonight I go back to visit my mother, and check her machine again. It wouldn't surprise me if she went through all the boxes, batteries in hand, looking for one that always gave her happy news, and bought that one.<br />
<br />
I really should have gotten a third opinion, so I'm buying a machine for myself. <br />
You can look forward to me tweeting my numbers every hour, on the hour.<br />
That's totally why Twitter was invented. According to some. <br />
<br />OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-68905453253602911872012-10-22T15:04:00.000-07:002012-10-30T17:01:01.849-07:00News: The Happy<center>
<a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></center>
<div>
<br />
<br />
This is late, but the timing fits. I need the prompting to focus on this, because I'm a bit of a downer when left to my own devices. Other people seem so much more interesting that I enjoy myself the most talking about their lives. Nevertheless, there are:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things That Make Me Happy</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bO9siWmubDg/UITPnd12yVI/AAAAAAAAAW8/pGmvJvzTbds/s1600/2012-10-21_21-40-06_156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bO9siWmubDg/UITPnd12yVI/AAAAAAAAAW8/pGmvJvzTbds/s400/2012-10-21_21-40-06_156.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">See how damned happy I can get? </span></span></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<hr />
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><u><b>The List:</b></u></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.onehugeeye.com/tim-burtons-addams-family/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="305" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IPoaJxiFihM/UIXA-7JEGzI/AAAAAAAAAX4/jI1K7oGVonE/s320/addams.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">1. My Family: <span style="font-size: small;">You <span style="font-size: small;">Get What You Get</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm getting along with <span style="font-size: small;">some of </span>my family. <i>For now. </i>That means a few visits here an<span style="font-size: small;">d there, and a few relatives I wouldn't see for deca<span style="font-size: small;">des otherwise. There has <span style="font-size: small;">been more crap slung at me, and there </span>will be even more betrayal and fallout<span style="font-size: small;">, but I can pretend for a while that </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">things are<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b>working. My son likes having someone else to visit, and I am thank<span style="font-size: small;">ful that he likes meeting people in general. He's <span style="font-size: small;">mostly awesome when he's out, and he knows <span style="font-size: small;">enough to be grounded about it all</span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I <span style="font-size: small;">will accept</span> positive feedback, even from them, even though I know it's all double-edged. <span style="font-size: small;">I am trying to keep in mind that these people can't help <span style="font-size: small;">themselves--not in order <span style="font-size: small;">to forgive<span style="font-size: small;"> them all</span>, but to avoid <span style="font-size: small;">taking their shit personally and to take the responsibility to step out of the way of it. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">In other words, to treat the<span style="font-size: small;">m all </span>like <span style="font-size: small;">they are creatures of instinct without a <span style="font-size: small;">fore-brain</span>.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-size: small;">It's sad, but at least </span>there are already a couple <span style="font-size: small;">off the list who I don't have to deal with at all. </span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think this is<b> </b></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">pretty <span style="font-size: small;">normal<b>. </b>Ditching my high expectations seems to be a re<span style="font-size: small;">pea<span style="font-size: small;">ted<span style="font-size: small;"> and unusually difficult process for me. My bad.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">What has made this a bit worth it is reconnecting with my uncle who lives in Guatemala. Although <span style="font-size: small;">he's as crusty as the<span style="font-size: small;">y come</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">, I see that I've <span style="font-size: small;">inherited a lot of his stubbornness and drive to <span style="font-size: small;">hold on to his principles. I hope I have also gotten a fraction of his ability to laugh at himself for it, and to tell a damned fine story about his antics<span style="font-size: small;">, and those of his <span style="font-size: small;">acquaintances. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know two truly hilarious storytellers,<span style="font-size: small;"> and I should give credit<span style="font-size: small;"> to the other, who <span style="font-size: small;">I have called<b> Ed </b>in a <a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/09/the-pish-posh-8-week-challenge.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">couple</a> of <a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/10/houseparty.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">stories</a>. Both of them manly men who make light of their lives. I have to hand it to them.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f-jEGHw7drM/UIW_43vHN9I/AAAAAAAAAXo/_vm37fbhc84/s1600/Participant-180x180-2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">2</span>. </span></span>NaNo<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">WriMo: The November Challenge</span></span></b></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's gearing up, and <span style="font-size: small;">I'm getting excited about it. More than I had expected. <span style="font-size: small;">There are a group of my <span style="font-size: small;">friends</span> who get together to write a 50,000<span style="font-size: small;"> word rough novel<span style="font-size: small;"> every year<span style="font-size: small;"> during the month of <span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">November</a>, and <span style="font-size: small;">I love doing it. Sometimes I forget how much. What an idiot. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">T<span style="font-size: small;">here's a good chan<span style="font-size: small;">ce I'll have enough spare time to just get it don<span style="font-size: small;">e<span style="font-size: small;">, while job-hu<span style="font-size: small;">nti<span style="font-size: small;">ng. Keep your fingers crossed--it will be the ti<span style="font-size: small;">ghtest November ever. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://ca.askmen.com/sports/keywords/high-blood-pressure.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a2hTDWznf3I/UIXAXVFkIDI/AAAAAAAAAXw/FXfJu3Y9Dr8/s200/high-blood-pressure_965819.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>3. Diet & Health: The Reckoning</b></div>
<br />
Last, but certainly not least: there's a strong chance that I've lost my secret weapon. Remember when I said that my cholesterol might not matter so much if I didn't have the high blood pressure? And that the high blood pressure might, if I were really lucky, be attributable entirely to the ibuprofen?<br />
<br />
<i>Bingo.</i> Repeated testing last week showed a 35 point drop in Systolic, and enough in Diastolic.<br />
Perfectly <a href="http://www.vaughns-1-pagers.com/medicine/blood-pressure.htm" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">normal</a>--in fact<i> ideal.</i><br />
<br />
Thanks mom for being a hypochondriac with a convenient blood-pressure machine. Because at the start of this I was getting swatted with canes by florid seniors for hogging the one at the pharmacy. <br />
<br />
And thanks, <a href="http://www.the-pish-posh.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pish</a>, for putting this task into the mix. I might have held over the Thanksgiving spirit a bit long, but I am feeling grateful for quite a bit right now, and it's important to me to hold the feeling.<br />
<br />
Post-script: I forgot to add:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DsFzAnr92g4/UIXEcUbpgPI/AAAAAAAAAYU/xTWf3MMCjag/s1600/jolly-roger.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DsFzAnr92g4/UIXEcUbpgPI/AAAAAAAAAYU/xTWf3MMCjag/s320/jolly-roger.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>4. Nice Things in The World</b></div>
<br />
A person I only know over the Internet, who amuses me <a href="http://simianidiot.tumblr.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">endlessly</a>, has just had a child a little early, and I get pretty verklempt about stuff like that. <b></b>Next up: my cousin, who is also due any day. </div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-52150442616542658922012-10-21T00:44:00.000-07:002012-10-30T17:01:38.186-07:00Houseparty!<div>
My parents asked me to look after the dog once.<br />
<br />
I was 20, and living elsewhere, and they were going away for a four-day weekend. The dog was an idiot, and I truly believed that it might need someone to keep it from getting its head stuck in its own bowl and flailing around the house until it caught fire.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
My mother explained that my siblings couldn't be trusted to find matching socks if you stapled them together, and certainly couldn't look after a living thing. Though they were seventeen and sixteen this seemed an uncharacteristic criticism from her. <i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Just in the evenings,</i> she begged. She knew them best, and I didn't want to argue with her earnest look. I waited my whole life for a sincere relationship with my parents, so I didn't question her.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
I didn't say "Don't you mean 'Please guard the house against your other children, who have no doubt already invited the world to party there unrestrainedly'?"<br />
Instead, I got ready to "look after the dog" by inviting two of my craziest, closest and least avoidable friends to hang out on the first evening the parents would be away:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Ed and Doug</b></div>
<br />
I promised them pizza, but they would have come for nothing but the entertainment. One had a fetish for "skronking scrotebags" and the other had always wanted to know if it was as fulfilling as the other always claimed. Why this seemed a better idea than just going out to bars as usual with them to dance to unending mixes of <i>You Spin Me Round</i> with apathetic girls is a mystery to me now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bestofthe80s.wordpress.com/2012/04/25/you-spin-me-round-like-a-record/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UHeSYv_aK8o/UIOjTwVH_GI/AAAAAAAAAWg/Ppev7OJlFS0/s320/dead-or-alive-you-spin-me-round.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I blame this guy for how rarely I got laid in the 80's. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have always had particular trouble shirking duty. <br />
<br />
It was a Friday evening so they got into their brand-new 1985 Honda Accord, with low-profile rims and tires, turned the radar detector on, wound down the windows, hung their elbows out the side, and cranked the <i>Miami Vice Simulcast </i>on the FM radio as they burned out of their rented suburban digs at 70mph.<br />
<br />
<i>Jan Hammer</i>-hyped, when they arrived at 9:30pm with a screech and strode from their vehicle they wore silver sport jackets with the sleeves rolled up, over pink t-shirts and linen pants, with mirrored aviator shades, although it was dark already. They were carrying two aluminum baseball bats, hair moussed to perfection, and grinning like fiends.<br />
<br />
By then it wasn't a moment too soon; the party had just begun to fill the house. The jean-jacket long-haired rockers and hood-rats were suddenly less comfortable sneering at me in my own home. Order was restored, as couples were ejected from bedrooms and corralled in a common area. My siblings were thanking us, and my friends were happy being assholes. The balance was perfect. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://blogs.miaminewtimes.com/riptide/2009/09/happy_25th_anniversary_miami_v.php" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="227" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lf6NLbo_rHQ/UHkTLPWdAQI/AAAAAAAAAVI/SFuuU68klng/s320/Miami+Vice.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>VS </b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nerve.com/entertainment/2010/07/23/five-actors-you-should-never-fight-for-creative-control" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Vcmsydt3L6s/UIOcpavanaI/AAAAAAAAAV8/wgm1Mr0uMco/s320/waynes_world_mike_meyers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>No contest.</b></div>
<br />
<br />
Pizza was ordered, and we watched the last of <i>Miami Vice</i> in the master bedroom. When we emerged<i> </i>somehow there were <i>double</i> the number of kids in the house. It was standing room only and some of them were now very, very drunk. Just poking them with the bats wasn't going to be enough any more. The sound of<i> Iron Maiden</i> was getting louder in the living room. It was only a matter of time before the headbanging began.<br />
<br />
My sibs were out of sight, but somehow I tracked them down. The bottles of <i>Crown Royal, Kahlua, Drambuie, Armagnac, Crème de menthe, Cointreau, Curaçao, Cointreau, Grand Marnier, Galliano, Sambuca, Drambuie, Disaronno, Frangelico, Glayva, Advocaat, Campari, Malibu,</i> and <i>Metaxa</i> being passed around led me to the den, where my brother was standing with one foot hooked into my father's Vintage Jazz LP library, and the other on one of his girlfriends' shoulders as he handed down every bottle he could find to his friends.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tribune.com.pk/story/157045/pakistan-coast-guards-crack-down-on-foreign-liquor-smuggling/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HYGIC7yoLzA/UHkU5Q-vutI/AAAAAAAAAVY/IRXiXFdAo8M/s320/Liquor-640x480.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Family Jewels</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thousands of dollars of liqueur and whisky were being drunk by kids who were mostly used to beer and huffing model glue from a bag, although they wouldn't touch the <i>Chartreuse.</i> But they were not sitting quietly any more, they were swaying upright, and some of them had clenched fists.<br />
<br />
They were looking sideways at my friends, who stood impassive. However I knew them will enough to see that they were finally doing the math, and that while Ed was doing a constant head-count, Doug was counting nothing but exits. <br />
<br />
I should explain that our house was a suburban centrepiece; one of the first in our subdivisions, built in the early 1970's when my Dad was flush and full of ambition. He designed it around an open courtyard with an architect who became famous for this kind of thing. Later it was copied in many ways by the neighbouring builders. By this time it was still one of a kind, and half-filled in some areas with antique crystal decanters, ivory and silver ornaments, Persian rugs, and prints by high-profile local Native artists, as well as a couple by Dali, Picasso, and Chagall. I was their only kid to not appreciate how all this entitled them to be assholes to everyone with less.<br />
<br />
I still am.<br />
<br />
The house and contents are what had really been on my parents minds, when they had said "dog". The dog could have exploded but as long as everything else was unaffected neither of them would have blinked. <br />
<br />
There was no way of keeping an eye on it all. There never had been.<br />
<br />
The sound of my sister screeching drew us back out into the courtyard. She had set up every crystal candle-holder on the pebbled cement and lit as many candles as I had ever seen. People were stumbling through them, and I saw one guy slapping out the flames on another guy's frayed jeans, only to be elbowed in the face. <i>Stop kicking everything! </i>my sister was shouting, and ran up to me declaring that she didn't know any of these people. <br />
<br />
At this point the doorbell rang. The pizza had arrived.<br />
When I pushed my way through the crowd to reach the wrought-iron gates there was no pizza.<br />
<br />
There were thirty dead-eyed bald kids, in purple mac jackets, each about six feet tall. They were led by a little kid, exactly like them. It was a scene from <i>The Wanderers</i>, but I swear to you I stood right in the middle of it. I waved at Doug to clear people back from the gateway. Ed stood next to me, and I noticed him tucking the bat out of site for the moment. Which meant it might be used very soon.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lantern-media.com/BronxGangs-FordhamBaldies.htm" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="248" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3GL_-Cu5gG4/UHkTq3MtHzI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/2vMWqc1U704/s320/fordhambaldies.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Won't you be my neighbours?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<i>"Let us innnnnnn ..." </i>Mini-baldy whined, staring wall-eyed at us through the ironwork. The rest of the horde said nothing, not even blinking. Now if anyone inside even <i>saw</i> anyone outside my parents would be coming home to a crater.<br />
<br />
"We've already called the cops. This party's over. Everyone's going home." The gate was heavy, but ornamental. It was held together by a fat padlock, which was stronger than the hinges, which were just pegs. Half of them could have lifted them out in a second. Or all of them could have pushed them in against us in the same second.<br />
<br />
The kid tilted his head, awkwardly.<i>"But ... we heard there was a parrrrrtyyyy ... come onnnnn! ... just for a minnnnnute?"</i> this kid's voice would put your teeth on edge, and it still creeps me out to remember. The Walking Dead hold no fear for me now.<br />
<br />
Behind him we saw the pizza guy drive up. "Ed, would you explain to these guys about the party being over, please, for a few minutes? I'll be back." I walked back through the courtyard past my sister, who had passed out among the melted wax and crystal shards, snuck a u-turn, and made my way back out front, through the garage. <br />
<br />
There I opened the garage door only enough to peer under it and wave over the pizza guy, who was standing very nervously right behind thirty Baldies, who somehow had not noticed or smelled him. I handed him a wad of cash around the side and slid the pizzas under the door as quietly as I could, almost in full view of the gang. I managed to shut the door and lock it. <br />
<br />
That was about as brave as I have ever been, not saying "fuck the pizza, fuck the delivery guy, I prefer to live". I'm not proud of how I spent that resolve. I went right in and called the cops, and busted us all. <br />
<br />
The police were very prompt and polite, and we cleared the house of guests in no time, including my brother and sister, who were both passed out. I was sure that wherever they ended up they would be with friends, or at least like-minded strangers. The three of us sat down with all the pizza and rewound that night's tape of Miami Vice and just relaxed to the posturing of Don Johnson and that other guy. Later I turned in and slept well.<br />
<br />
The next day my brother and sister showed up, looking like they'd slept in a dumpster, and I put them to work cleaning up. My brother swore he had been watering down the liqueurs for months anyway so we topped them up from the sink and back on the shelf they went. The house was tidied up, and there was no breakage aside from the crystal, which some of us voted leave to my sister to explain.<br />
<br />
The dog was missing. My brother said it had been running in circles like it was drunk that night, and sure enough, its bowl smelled like Kahlua. A thorough search of the house turned it up. At the end of a thin trail of vomit that crossed a small Persian rug, in the farthest bathroom, under the darkest cabinet lay the dog, moaning and shaking in total misery. How it had gotten locked into my parents' <i>en suite</i> was a mystery, but if we had missed<i> that</i> mess then things would have been very different.<br />
<br />
I love most dogs, and cats, for that matter, but that dog was the last of several truly unlovable creatures my family adopted and ruined. It was some kind of pug-mini-pin cross, which meant it was like a fat whippet with skin about two sizes too small. It's eyes bugged out and it couldn't close its mouth. It looked and acted like the stupidest, most irritating mistake that ever survived, but <i>that</i> morning it held on to its first coherent thought. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://shi-bi.blogspot.ca/2010/05/rabid-dog.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hIyiCCCNAwc/UIOh4_xbrGI/AAAAAAAAAWY/f1GDVBWawYc/s320/rabid-dog.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FFFFFUUUU--</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It<i> hated</i> us all, the way only the dangerously hungover could learn to. We cleaned up the puke and turned the stained rug around under a bed-table and put the dog in its bed. Mission accomplished, and the only casualty was the crystal. I stuck around long enough to see that my sister took that blame and went home.<br />
<br />
They never quite knew the scope of what had happened, but I did not have to duck any further requests to house-sit after that. </div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-47760691130693024722012-10-05T17:09:00.002-07:002012-10-07T00:47:43.970-07:00My Secret Weapon<center>
<a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></center>
<br />
Still holding to this challenge, managing my weight, with another pound lost, and a confession. <br />
I have a secret:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I can drop all that food without feeling too bad about it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I did for a year once before. I'm good at giving up things. Costs me nothing, and it's only food.<br />
So much easier than <i>doing </i>extra things.<br />
<br />
But I'm finding the time to run for the moment, as well. And I mean to continue that.<br />
<br />
And I just learned something very important to all this:<br />
<a name='more'></a>Yesterday my new doctor revealed a another secret to me: <b> </b> <b> </b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>High blood pressure and cholesterol.</b><i><b> BAM!</b></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://angrygaypope.com/gold/gold_base_people.htm" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CuBjv52_2hU/UG9xmsEVD7I/AAAAAAAAAUA/8LkTieYGlyM/s1600/tom-cruise-smarmy.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh YEAH, Baby!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I now have all the motivation I ever needed. I feel like a cheater, actually. You guys are working to improve your lives, and if you fail, you can try again next time. No big, no shame. A good try is an accomplishment.<br />
<br />
But I'm working to prevent organ damage and heart disease now. Failure is not an option. Giving up wine, cheese, chocolate*, and large portions is suddenly very, very easy, even if it is for good. Particularly if it means no meds. I'm good with that trade-off, especially if they leave my salt alone.<br />
I don't abuse it.<br />
<br />
I'm 20lbs over my absolutely ideal weight, and I get more fibre in my day than most people get in a week, I guarantee it. I almost never eat white flour, or white rice, and barely ever encounter sugar. I drink about four drinks a week, excepting the odd weekend where I might share a bottle of wine over an evening. But I'm more into carbs than I should be, and need more veg. I get extra vitamins from pills every day.<br />
<br />
I have been doing all right, although there's just been some weight creep. Except, it seems I<i> haven't</i> been. This is simply age. That's the worst part. It's nothing I screwed up, it's normal. For a fucking senior, I guess. I'm 46.<br />
<br />
So here comes our Thanksgiving, and later Halloween and then Xmas. Same time I started dieting in 2006. Bad timing. Vegetarian, tea-totalling, fat-free, sugarless, holidays. Try it, and then try it without judging everyone for diving at the buffet. Good times. <br />
<br />
Still, the best part is that <i>I'm</i> not being a party-pooping <b><i>dick</i></b> through the holidays--my <i>DOCTOR</i> is. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://edfortune.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/house/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QgjPYVDiYuQ/UG9zNc25BNI/AAAAAAAAAUI/Y1z06oJqKac/s320/house_md-5227.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ha! Don't argue with him, Mom/in-law what are you, crazy? <br />
Sure, I had enough to eat. Enough said. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I just barely remember my grandfather suffering without salt, and being forced to eat deadly margarine. He took it personally and hated all of it. The man was a 74yr-old overweight, sedentary smoker when he died of his fourth heart-attack, which was at a pretty good age for the time. Nevertheless, my family has been spooked by the idea of heart disease ever since, and it's hard to shake it when the finger finally points at you.<br />
<br />
There have been no premature heart attacks on either my father's or mother's side; it's ridiculous. My father weighed 350lbs for as long as I knew him, and ate and drank without looking back. He took 700 blood-pressure pills a day and died of cancer at 73 without a single heart attack. If he were a car, he would have been the pope-mobile, driving through Afghanistan, and towing a yacht without a care. Cholesterol couldn't touch him, it was just planned obsolescence that took him down. <br />
<br />
And truly, my figures are not <i>that</i> bad. My triglycerides are great, and my HDL is great, and my LDL is only a bit over what it should be. The ratio is excellent. This is preventative.<br />
<br />
Yet here I am, with high blood pressure, too. Bad figures there. Probably partly because of long-term Ibuprofen abuse. Dropping it may correct the high pressure, but I'm battening down ALL the hatches at once. That's how I roll, and it's risky. But it's the quick solution. As long as I don't have to go with fake salt or tasteless food. I am counting everything else already. I am confident that that should be enough.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>EPILOGUE</u></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/aw-hell-naw/photos" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xiVly_hqHnM/UHChoIMU3kI/AAAAAAAAAUk/Dupe9OElYhI/s1600/0d6.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
OH MY FUCKING<b>FUCKING</b><i><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>FUCK!</b></span></span></i></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Just got a lovely weekend email from my doctor. Thanks for your dedication, I am truly impressed. He says I'm restricted to a quarter-teaspoon of salt a day. That's 2,000mg, or one salted peanut. </span>It's the same intake as just being present while bacon is cooking, or describing what jerky tastes like. I go over that just imagining a garlic dill pickle.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving tomorrow night at my MIL's will be like drowning in Satan's toilet. I don't know how I am supposed to relax when I can't eat <i>ANYTHING! </i>If my son picks his nose and eats it he'll be having a better time than me.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
OH. MY<b>. GAAAAAAAHD!!! </b></div>
<br />
<i>OK,</i> time for a nice walk out in the cool sunshine and to stock up on the denial.<br />
I can do this, as long as I don't think about it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
One stinking day at a time. <br />
<br />
<hr />
*Yes, I didn't single-out chocolate on that last list, but you had to know it was in there. I know how people feel about it, but there are decent alternatives to the full-sugar stuff now. OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-157814496642049002012-09-27T16:36:00.001-07:002012-09-27T21:38:37.704-07:00Week 4. The Sacrifice: You Shall Not Pass<center>
<a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></center>
<br />
<b>WARNING: </b>I am drawing the line, and there is some harsh language and some hard truths in this post. Some of your "friends" are going to get what they deserve. They aren't really anyone's friends. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://kletterman.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/crazy-all-up-close-and-personal/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pEoKrgX-FSc/UGTk8FDf7qI/AAAAAAAAAR8/ggPX-ULb7Ck/s320/rotten-cheese.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I have had it up to <i>HERE</i> with you, <b>Cheese!</b> You stink, you're <i>sticky</i> and <i>greasy</i> and you gum up my throat, you have enough <i>salt</i> in you to cure a <i>ham</i> and you're fat, Fat, <i>FAT!</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://corkandkegs.com/2011/03/01/some-beer-stinks/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gt6rAvi8CA0/UGTmCOE4KbI/AAAAAAAAASE/4f0He0TeXnk/s320/moldy-daisy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Beer, </b>you were <i>never</i> my friend, you were my attempt to fit in and make social events easier. You knew there was nothing real between us--you were my rebound drink from red wine, which was too pretentious and expensive to take to parties. You were cheap and easy to leave behind, in your handy bottles. You went with <b>snacks</b>, that's all I ever saw in you. Yes, even you, <b>Guinness.</b> Trendy and traditional, sure you taste better than lager, but you can step off now. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://elysianhunter.wordpress.com/2012/08/13/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7TT4NYT3I60/UGTnxVL1_GI/AAAAAAAAASM/nzqjgNeaenw/s320/floor-mess.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Snacks, </b>you were always in my face. I would never have sought you out, you were just <i>there. </i><br />
I didn't even choose you, others did. I haven't bought snacks for myself for years, and back then it was always childish stuff; salt and sugar, nothing more.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.fanpop.com/spots/candy/images/235567/title/candy-wallpapers-wallpaper" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-REdQr0zgqE8/UGUmVPET6pI/AAAAAAAAATc/0G1raD8u4OA/s320/candy-wallpapers-candy-235567_1024_768.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b> </b><br />
<b>Candy</b>--I can't even look at you. I know you've been trying to kill me every chance you get. <br />
You vicious bastard. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lb9XK0So2dY/UGUiZt-SAbI/AAAAAAAAAS4/nSjH_t15utU/s1600/hummus1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lb9XK0So2dY/UGUiZt-SAbI/AAAAAAAAAS4/nSjH_t15utU/s640/hummus1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.examiner.com/article/recipe-tutorial-plus-slideshow-how-to-make-avocado-laughing-cow-cheese-on-eng" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PqJdT6B2pcw/UGTk4uohllI/AAAAAAAAARk/ubafrIt6Obk/s200/e5131375cfff556197d67839d3c20f67.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/perfect_guacamole/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V8J1AmjvXuM/UGUjCIvT5oI/AAAAAAAAATA/RYF8IPRMapw/s200/guacamole-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Veggies and dip</b> kick all your asses for flavour, and <b>hummus</b> or <b>avocados</b> are just as indulgent but exotic and less trashy. Those I can make myself--they don't come from some lowest-common-denominator factory floor where five flavours fit the world. There's self-respect in what <i>I</i> make; it's for <i>me</i> alone. An <b>apple</b> or a <b>grapefruit</b> tastes like heaven compared to you <i>chemical creations.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vuhKEbF7w1Y/UGTk4CdgyeI/AAAAAAAAARc/D5NtHJwvx0o/s1600/contaminated-coke-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vuhKEbF7w1Y/UGTk4CdgyeI/AAAAAAAAARc/D5NtHJwvx0o/s1600/contaminated-coke-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vuhKEbF7w1Y/UGTk4CdgyeI/AAAAAAAAARc/D5NtHJwvx0o/s320/contaminated-coke-2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.hudo.com/poster/rotten-teeth/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="327" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DG_9e-rUKrk/UGTk6ncZt1I/AAAAAAAAAR0/HbwxHHBwZbU/s400/poster.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Soft-drinks,</b> my parents never let you in, and you barely know me. <i>But screw you, anyway.</i> <br />
You should be served out of a test-tube with a toxic warning label. <br />
How does anyone put up with you? <br />
<br />
I'm tired of feeling like a bloated parade float or beef-jerky the day after I've partied with all of you. I lose sleep and can't breathe through my nose and salt collects on my eyelids. I can't see until I've rinsed my face. It's no way to live. My body hates you all and suffers every time I let you in. <br />
<br />
And I gain weight. It's not enough that you screw me up for a day or two, you leave your shit behind for good. I have to work it back off. That's too much. You don't taste even close to worth all that. <i>"A moment on the lips"</i> is right. My treacherous tongue knows better, and it doesn't drive me. Ever other part of me rebels when I give in to it.<br />
<br />
This next week, and beyond, none of you will get in. No, not even you, <b>red wine.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.yumsugar.com/How-Tell-Wine-Has-Gone-Bad-2742039" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JSSShyPr6QA/UGUnJIqHUhI/AAAAAAAAATk/1VE9xv2sQWw/s320/00cc7db77894d49c_IMG_6489.preview.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b></b><br />
I know, I know, you have "resveratrol" and were called a health drink (taken in moderation).<br />
But you've been <a href="http://www.quackwatch.org/01QuackeryRelatedTopics/DSH/resveratrol.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">exposed</a> as the cheat you are; only non-alcoholic red wine has any effect on <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-504763_162-57508191-10391704/red-wine-may-reduce-mens-blood-pressure-but-only-if-its-non-alcoholic/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">blood pressure</a>. <br />
Nice try. I'll go with that, or with grape juice, pomegranate or nothing.<br />
<br />
<u><b>None Shall Pass, </b></u>this is my promise. Don't even try it, you lowlifes. <b><u>Real Food only. </u></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.355nation.net/forum/photography/48252-gandalf-white-vs-balrog.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Aft1FUfOXTA/UGUgrWiivFI/AAAAAAAAASo/zuuTfatERCU/s640/You_Shall_Not_Pass_by_Wizard1134.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
.<br />
.<br />
. <br />
.<br />
.<br />
.<br />
.<br />
<i>PS Psst! <b>Guinness</b> and <b>Red Wine</b> -- call me. We'll do Xmas. </i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cheezburger.com/6308154112" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="420" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_yOlW9e5QZI/UGUgtMw3BaI/AAAAAAAAASw/rTt56PxGZHo/s640/k0d8pKZQr0OkhAa4aP1fsQ2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-36343074428125192782012-09-21T16:03:00.000-07:002012-09-21T16:03:57.273-07:00Pish-Posh Challenge Week 3 - The Playlist<center>
<a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></center>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Pish-Posh Challenge Week Three: <br />Music to Run From </b></span></h2>
I am terrible at following directions, and pretty bad at keeping to my own plans unless they are really simple, preferably involving<i> not </i>doing things. I do not know why I ever thought I was bright, since that shit is <i>important</i> to getting by. It's a wondrous miracle that you can be a writer without most of that part of your brain.<br />
<br />
Just not a really prolific, successful one, like Asimov in his time, or even Stephen King, who apparently generated more text every waking minute of his heyday than a possessed coke addict.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.strangenature.com/2012/03/omg-funny-animals.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d3WrjmZGdyI/UFwLaTzNYLI/AAAAAAAAAQI/oTsejMQElRk/s320/omg+funny+animals+dog+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<i>Just kidding.</i> He worked hard and dared to dream about haunted cars and rabid dogs and clowns in the sewers. Good for him. He'll probably do an alien toaster or something worse next. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.myfacewhen.net/view/4029-omg" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oxg8zeL0wvE/UFwLdfVwhvI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/Ar9QNPmh1fs/s320/4029-omg.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look away!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Never mind. But I am gradually letting go of the brakes on these posts since I am writing them too late to do otherwise. This is why deadlines help the process so much. I still have not increased my posts outside of these challenge updates, but that's next. Also preparing for November, when if all goes to plan, I will write yet another terrible 50,000 word novel in 30 days. <i>Take that, Mr. King.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
I seem to recall playlists being requested, and I strongly support the idea. Music gets me going and keeps me there. Thursday was a great day for a run, I can call it that now, since half of the 5 miles was running, most of the rest was walking, and some, just some, was <i>sprinting.</i><br />
<br />
<span id="goog_2022059718"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lolforumpictures.com/OMG.htm" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9m1cyp3crLA/UFwKRrCWjAI/AAAAAAAAAP4/dtKZaThm-NI/s320/omg2.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I KNOW, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span id="goog_2022059719"></span><br />
So far that hasn't killed me yet. If I wake up with a paralytic arm tomorrow then these few days of hope were worth it. But I think I'm OK, at the risk of asking for sudden trouble. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I'm just over <u>two pounds</u> lighter than last week. So that's rather nice.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><i><a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/20493060" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_AYzjVoIjsg/UFwKvDNVktI/AAAAAAAAAQA/Jg8WYgDYCEQ/s320/omg-hhgpctln-102032-480-480_large.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yes, it's true! Why are we whispering?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have a current playlist that is a bit stale, like me. It includes selections from the last two decades and a bit beyond. I have picked out only the really up-tempo ones for running to. There are many more slower songs I love just as well in their repertoires. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Storm Large </b>- <i>She Wants You to Die Because You're All Right.</i> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.seattlegayscene.com/2012/02/storm-large-announces-seattle-return-but-this-time-to-neptune-theater.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wP9qvzQB684/UFwRrWlRixI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/D_XAXRyGFmo/s400/Storm+Large+Storm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
This woman rocks, and is so hot I am afraid of her. She is a big woman, with a big voice and no limits. Any musical style just concedes to her. There is no one else like her. I recommend EVERYTHING she writes and ALL her covers. In particular for exercising: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>My Brilliant Blonde<br />Girls<br />Not Alright<br />Anarchy en Espanol<br />Dying Town<br />Star Strangled Pushernoia<br />Thank God<br />Deathrock Stomp<br />Ima Yora</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Arctic Monkeys</b> - <i>They luv a bit o' trouble. </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.nme.com/news/arctic-monkeys/57171" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zHgIUVDap2M/UFwRmd1fTGI/AAAAAAAAAQo/dbRKXhrG8Bs/s400/ArcticMonkeysEM090511.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
These guys write songs about fleeing the cops, bad bouncers, club girls, and fatuous conversation. Don't they look like young assholes? They probably are. They are also accomplished musicians, and dispassionate young nihilists. Their music makes me want to have ever been a bit like that. I would run through anything short of a forest fire while listening; I can't stop. <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>When The Sun Goes Down</i><br />
<i>Brianstorm</i><br />
<i>Teddy Picker</i>s<br />
<i>D Is For Dangerous</i><br />
<i>Balaclava</i><br />
<i>Do Me A Favour</i><br />
<i>This House Is A Circus</i><br />
<i>The Bad Thing</i><br />
<i>Old Yellow Bricks</i><br />
<i> The View From The Afternoon</i><br />
<i>I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor</i><br />
<i>Dancing Shoes</i><br />
<i>You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights</i><br />
<i>Still Take You Home</i><br />
<i>Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured</i><br />
<i>From The Ritz To The Rubble</i><br />
<i>Cigarette Smoker Fiona</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Metric</b> - <i>She Heard You Fuck Through The Wall.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkbcQFpxihY/UFwS-IU5_ZI/AAAAAAAAARA/tOueYaWztdY/s1600/Metric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkbcQFpxihY/UFwS-IU5_ZI/AAAAAAAAARA/tOueYaWztdY/s400/Metric.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
The absolute coolest group ever, and not just because they're Canadian. Base lines and ringing guitars and driving beats and a young-voiced Emily Haines who is the very other end of the spectrum of sexy from Storm. Also dispassionate, but poetic. Very eclectic.<i> </i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Gold, Guns, Girls* <br />Satellite Mind <br />Sick Muse<br />Front Row<br />On The Sly<br />Handshakes<br />Monster Hospital<br />Patriarch On A Vespa<br />Live It Out<br />IOU<br />Hustle Rose <br />Succexy<br />Combat Baby<br />Wet Blanket<br />The List<br />Dead Disco</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*I have to keep my priorities close. </i> </blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
These people take my head out of my butt and move me thoughtlessly through the world at speed.<br />
I wish I could take them to work.OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-47188493234535917722012-09-13T18:48:00.000-07:002012-09-22T14:23:33.711-07:00Pish-Posh Challenge Week Two<center>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></span></center>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>The Pish-Posh 8-Week Challenge:</b></u></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Week Two </b><u><b><br /></b></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This week I am proud to say that I walked <b>21.76 miles</b> and burned <b>2359 calories,</b> which is </span>the equivalent of a <b>whole pizza.</b> Without toppings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=CI1&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1176&bih=688&tbm=isch&tbnid=ZyngZwo5aiXmUM:&imgrefurl=http://www.runstop.de/set06b.html&docid=f3MUI6td9u034M&imgurl=http://www.runstop.de/joggers02.jpg&w=500&h=357&ei=E4hSULPrGoP2igL7_IDIAg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=490&vpy=4&dur=1730&hovh=190&hovw=266&tx=106&ty=55&sig=117731512733957838180&page=4&tbnh=142&tbnw=198&start=61&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:61,i:274" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bPqCWGdYGvo/UFKIfG3gPKI/AAAAAAAAAOg/n_BAGBvkFRg/s320/joggers02.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Still, let's see, I lost a total of ... +1 pounds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I gained a pound. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://afashionloaf.blogspot.ca/2010_03_01_archive.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SvojspMZzAk/UFKHr6T7vqI/AAAAAAAAAOY/nGwQGpvpeU0/s320/leonpress.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This is puzzling; I have eaten exactly according to plan. Except when I deviated a few times, like that Chinese restaurant food, that Mexican meal I cooked, and that veggie pizza. But these were necessary to stay social with my wife. <i>She's </i>certainly not on a diet, and can't be expected to eat what <i>I</i> choose to. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Believe me, presenting diet food to her is only slightly less dangerous than handling your very first fire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><i>On an oil-rig.</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So I'm waddling a fine line to keep this fragile peace. Cooking and cleaning two separate meals is not practical. I'd never get out of the kitchen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Still, I got outside a bit and kept to the good habit I wanted to institute. If I keep that up I might successfully fight off gravity in the near future. As it is, I am only a few burgers away from my melting point. So those were also not good to have eaten. But when the wife offers you a burger, refusing it is not actually an option.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">But I can't blame everyone else for everything. "No" is a word I mean to learn to employ.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" thanks, I had enough.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" I don't need to fill my plate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" I don't need to taste something "new".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" I'm OK without wine tonight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" seconds, please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" cheese on mine.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" butter, thanks.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" dessert tonight, I'm on a mission.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">"No" snacks needed. I'm just here to: play poker/watch a movie/get a haircut. </span></div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://peakperformancelifestyle.com/2009/11/21/the-no-exception-rule/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="292" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AEhehy2Rh-o/UFKKLq77mfI/AAAAAAAAAPA/t_Ukap-T29Y/s320/just-say-no1-1024x935.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So I would call this a holding action this week. I need to gain ground by losing weight now to keep my morale fresh. Boredom will kill my willpower faster than outright defeat. So I will resolve again to eat less, and sleep more, and keep the walking up. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I'm running a little bit, and with luck I could maintain it and be cutting my exercise time down a bit, and get some cardio and feel like a youngster again. A lot of luck. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://notesfromadogwalker.com/2012/05/03/joggers-bikers-dog/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6ntVVtjQFKU/UFKJ950Js4I/AAAAAAAAAOw/Y3J_2_GentQ/s320/cheesy-jogging-celebrating.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">This could be me. If they could transplant more hair from my head to my pits.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> And no cheese, meat, sugar, or fat. No problem. Oh, and no nuts.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Just_say_no..._to_peanuts!.jpg" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q_jCXc-17ZE/UFKKJXuQc1I/AAAAAAAAAO4/e5oVxUIqt5M/s320/1024px-Just_say_no..._to_peanuts!.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Put those down right now.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> And lots of jogging. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IoHwHnovR3w/UFKJxj5rd5I/AAAAAAAAAOo/NGNtfvER_ME/s1600/imagesi-dont-trust-joggers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IoHwHnovR3w/UFKJxj5rd5I/AAAAAAAAAOo/NGNtfvER_ME/s320/imagesi-dont-trust-joggers.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> To avoid this: </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://fivehundredpoundpeeps.blogspot.ca/2010/09/supersized-ostracization.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LnsfBhLE1LU/UFKKMiqYg6I/AAAAAAAAAPI/oA3Yhp76RFs/s320/no-fat-people-sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">I will post my fattest picture from the last decade if I fail this challenge. That's a terrible promise.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><u><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Epilogue:</b></span></u></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Minor issues at home meant I did not get to eat before I went to the pub for poker. Ordered fish and chips, both items for the first time in years. <b>Excuses </b>out the wazoo: too hungry, might be comfort food, didn't want to drink on an empty stomach, hadn't tried their food yet. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can still feel it hours later, and it's not what my system is used to. The worst option I could have chosen of the tiny menu. Nobody's fault but mine. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I keep forgetting why I don't have greasy food, like the fish and chips last night: NO GALL BLADDER. </span></span></span>
<br />
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So my liver sees all that oily starch going past, and laughs over its shoulder:</span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"You got that, right, <b>gall bladder?</b> Right? ... aw <i>DANG!</i>" noticing the empty spot, <span style="border: 0px none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px;">and scrambles to do its best without any bile. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="border: 0px none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="border: 0px none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px;">Which means it treats everything with MAXIMUM POSSIBLE REJECTION. </span></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Luckily I had no cheese, which resists like Kryptonite and causes chaos. </span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just greasy fish and chips. </span></span></div>
<div style="border: 0px none; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; outline: 0px none; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Upshot: After a horrible morning, I'm down two pounds.</span></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Well, back to the straight and narrow path.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"I'm not a dog, and I don't live for treats" </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br />* * *</span>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b>"I'm <span class="st">good enough. I'm smart enough. And doggone it, people like me."</span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><a href="http://tessf.com/tag/united-states/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JsfKEtdqJ70/UFNLNm8chFI/AAAAAAAAAPg/p4n3yN0eFEQ/s320/stuart-smalley-on-snl.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">The patron saint of foundering self-esteem. But doggone it, I <i>do</i> like him.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-69409219490445818502012-09-06T22:46:00.000-07:002012-09-09T13:24:18.228-07:00The Pish-Posh: 8 Week Challenge<center>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/52dc5868.jpg" /></a></span></span></center>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><u><b>Week One:</b></u></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The <a href="http://www.the-pish-posh.com/" target="_blank">Pish-Posh</a> has started another challenge and this time I was awake enough to get in on the ground floor. I want to be posting more, and to lose two pounds per week. That would be excellent.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So far I have had three long walks and lost two pounds. Trying to keep the diet under control. The weekends are always the hardest time. I used to run 5k every day, and if health permits I would love to be doing that again.</span></span><br />
<hr />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The first time I went to a gym a friend took me. We were 19 or 20, and he was deeply dedicated to becoming a cop. This gym was seedy looking on the outside, but decently outfitted inside. He told me the cops used it in the evenings. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The day we arrived it was early, and no one else was there but us and one woman. She was Asian, seven feet tall, with a huge head of wavy black hair, and in full makeup. She had a couple of volleyballs badly hidden about her person. All of this confused me, and I remember trying to get a look at her feet, because, <i>seven-feet tall?</i></span></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My buddy, let's call him Ed, was also openly staring. We were two 19-year-olds from the suburbs, and in his case, from a very small town almost as far as the interior. Without turning he muttered "... and during the day the local strippers use this place."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I never learned if she was working out in stilettos, because I did my best to put my back to her and get on with my workout. Ed was a tall boy, thin as a rail. He started lifting a barbell with light weights on it pretty quickly, I thought. When I picked up one with more plates, he shook his head and motioned for me to do likewise, so I took less weight. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">His lifts got faster, and he started puffing as he went. It didn't feel right to me, too light, and too fast, but I went along. So far so good, until the woman, oh hell, the<i> stripper,</i> set up with a barbell on her shoulders a few feet behind Ed. She started doing slow squats.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I frowned and squinted like I really had something else on my mind, and redoubled my efforts. I started to breathe pretty hard. Ed's head began to turn backwards like an owl's, almost against his will, and he almost clocked himself with his barbell.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We were both turning a bit red, but couldn't seem to coordinate to stop. Maybe Ed had started out with a plan and a schedule--I did not know. I was afraid if I asked that my voice would crack. On and on we went, raising and lowering those barbells frantically. It was getting hot and I wished we had set up a fan near us. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When she lay down on the leg-curl bench, facing away from us, and started flexing, the strain became too much. I ran into the men's locker room, past the showers, pushing aside the largest, fittest, wettest, most entirely nude black man I have ever seen, in order to dive at the nearest toilet and throw up heartily. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Somehow I thought I might have deserved that a bit, but I cleaned up and went home, chose a published routine and made Ed follow it with me for a while. Shortly after we had been there, the seedy gym had been closed down by the cops for laundering drug money, so I didn't have to argue against going back. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">* * * </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A year later I was working at a trendy burger restaurant and she came in with four other girls with their arms around some incredibly ugly guy in bell-bottomed jeans and a silk shirt opened to his waist. The girls were wearing very little, and carrying balloons. He was so thin and pale it was scary; he looked like his face had been half-eaten by cats, and most of his nose had been knocked right off as a child. </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I asked "Who is that?" </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">They said "Don't you know? That's Steven Tyler!" </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"No, not the guy, the tall woman."</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Who cares? That's Steven Tyler!" </span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.45); font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I guess from that, that she stripped at the No. 5 Orange, or possibly did excellent accounting or sound engineering. You never know. </span></span></div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-24689323518005299552012-09-05T22:57:00.002-07:002012-09-08T08:49:16.475-07:00The Book! Some time ago <a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="_blank">The Pish-Posh</a> invited me to contribute to a collection of stories she was going to publish with <a href="http://abozosabbozzo.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank">The Lady in Red</a>. Most of the blogs I love to read were involved. These are all hilarious and wonderfully talented writers (and artists), and I was thrilled to have been included.<br />
<br />
The stories are all from our experience, and each one is a gem. I am responsible for two of them.<br />
More on them later.<br />
<br />
The book was just published as <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0094XV0G2" target="_blank"><b>All Cracked Up,</b></a> and is currently available <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0094XV0G2" target="_blank">here</a> on Amazon for $2.99!<br />
<br />
These are the writers:<br />
<br />
<div>
Dogs on Drugs <a href="http://dogsondrugs.com/" target="_blank">http://dogsondrugs.com</a> <wbr></wbr> </div>
<div>
Mayor Gia <a href="http://www.mayorgia.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://www.mayorgia.blogspot.<wbr></wbr>com/</a> </div>
<div>
Whoa! Susannah <a href="http://www.zannahbrown.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>zannahbrown.blogspot.com/</a></div>
<div>
Ken Inatractor <a href="http://ken-inatractor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://ken-inatractor.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</a></div>
<div>
Leanne Moffat <a href="http://one-odd-duck.com/" target="_blank">http://one-odd-duck.com/</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.tlysom.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"></a></div>
<div>
Brett Minor <a href="http://www.transformednonconformist.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>transformednonconformist.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</a></div>
<div>
Rusty Hartup <a href="http://www.swinginglikearustygate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://www.<wbr></wbr>swinginglikearustygate.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</a></div>
<div>
Working Dan <a href="http://www.shamefulpromotions.com/" target="_blank">http://www.shamefulpromotions.<wbr></wbr>com/</a></div>
<div>
Six Fingered Monkey <a href="http://www.sixfingeredmonkey.com/" target="_blank">http://www.sixfingeredmonkey.<wbr></wbr>com/</a></div>
<div>
Mike Young <a href="http://youngmanbrown.com/" target="_blank">http://youngmanbrown.com/</a> </div>
<div>
Incoherent Ramblings of a Moose <a href="http://theincoherentramblingsofasingleparent.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://<wbr></wbr>theincoherentramblingsofasingl<wbr></wbr>eparent.blogspot.com/</a></div>
<div>
Misty's Laws <a href="http://mistyslaws.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">http://mistyslaws.wordpress.<wbr></wbr>com/</a></div>
<div>
Rev Biou <a href="http://simianidiot.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">http://simianidiot.tumblr.com/</a></div>
<div>
Creative Devolution <a href="http://creativedevolution.com/" target="_blank">http://creativedevolution.com/</a></div>
<div>
Gloria <a href="http://www.abozosabbozzo.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">http://www.abozosabbozzo.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.in/</a></div>
<div>
Pish Posh: <a href="http://the-pish-posh.com/" target="_blank">http://the-pish-posh.com</a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
You can't find better anywhere. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<center>
<a href="http://www.junipaya.blogspot.com/" target="blank"><img border="0" src="http://i1069.photobucket.com/albums/u480/junipaya/b17a7687.jpg" /></a></center>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-55686018981332471832012-08-31T16:05:00.000-07:002012-09-06T23:27:45.994-07:00Baby-Poop: An Advanced Guide<div style="text-align: center;">
In my loose series of Pre-Parental Advice, imposed without request:<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><u>Number 2: <i>POO!</i></u></b></span></div>
<br />
I don't get people who spend a few hundred on a dog, knowing that they'll be retrieving its poop off the ground, all warm and sticky, reeking in their plastic-wrapped hand. For twelve years. Before the little creature eats it himself. This I have seen, and it haunts me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>What the hell people?</i> <i>At least cats have some shame!</i></div>
<br />
How wonderful <i>are</i> these animals? I've seen other people's dogs, and sure, they seem really nice. But the ones my family got a few years ago were <i>all</i> insane, frenetic little creatures. Giant rodents. They lost battles of wits with craneflies. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://somethingscrawlinginmyhair.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Crane.fly_.medley.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgIa1Mc2Ex8/UEEzZGCAV6I/AAAAAAAAAMw/rVX7-LKKt4s/s320/Crane.fly_.medley.3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dumbest insects on any planet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did not pick up their poo. They were not my dogs.<br />
That would have driven me mad, to commit to that.<br />
<br />
I've mucked out a few sheep barns, and among the many unskilled jobs I have held, cleaning hospital rooms was one of the worst. More on that later. I am not afraid of poop, in any way. I have done my time shovelling, wiping, and pitchforking shit for good and all, if there's<i> any</i> way I can get out of it. <br />
<br />
But I did clean my son's ass for three years. I was his <i>anal hygienist, </i>and I am proud to say I kept him pretty damned squeaky the whole time. I wanted that outcome more than I wanted to completely avoid the sight, the smell, and the feel of poop. It would have been a fair trade.<br />
<br />
But ladies and gentlemen, I tell you, you don't have to make that choice. I had it all.<br />
<i>Finally revealed:</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><u>The Ninja Parent's Guide to Poop</u></b></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.babalog.com/archives/2005_11.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4znOkO1QVMg/UEE3JCgphyI/AAAAAAAAANI/CJwECEY_9XU/s320/diaper+head+boy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First off, this is <i>wrong.</i> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Like all the Ninja Arts, <i>Stealth Diapering</i> takes courage, a steady hand, and the use of your neglected senses. Poop is an assault to the eyes, nose, and very much an offense to the touch. Your senses are your weakness, and were you merely a <i>common parent,</i> you would betray them and live in pungent ignominy. But you will not be them, you will become <i>ninja.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>You must close off all those senses, and rely on <b>memory</b> and <b>hearing</b> alone. </i></div>
<br />
First, determine if your child is packing. This becomes tricky if you are alone. Find a mate, or neighbour, or neighbouring child. Hold your breath with a relaxed smile, and hand your child over, watching carefully for any change in expression. A frown, raised eyebrows, or best of all a nose wrinkling up gives you the go-ahead. Don't use a dog for this. Trust me. When in doubt, change anyway.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.heffee.com/articlesbyfeed/best-week-ever/entertainment/167" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TYND_85Ei5Q/UEFBlKqp2WI/AAAAAAAAAOA/AC5TcfBEvu8/s1600/heidi_stinkface.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, you caught that right away, didn't you?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
You will have <a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/06/advice-to-pre-mothers.html" target="_blank">disposable diapers,</a> as all other options put you right in the poop.<br />
Open a container of wet-wipes, lay out a fresh diaper, and any creme or ointment or powder* you prefer.<br />
Put the wet wipe on the diaper, and the baby, still safely containing the payload, on the wipe.<br />
<br />
Undo the diaper--CAREFULLY! Do NOT open it! Hold your breath. The clock is ticking now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://svfieldtrip.blogspot.ca/2011/07/final-countdown.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PlgnuE5p7HY/UEE4RtgAaNI/AAAAAAAAANY/WDlEe5-qrD4/s320/countdown6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practice holding your breath daily to prevent brain damage during this manoeuvre.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><u>The Tricky Part: Boys Only</u></span></b></div>
<br />
Grab the little guy (or victim) by the legs with one hand and lift a little. With the other hand, grab the diaper in front and behind, <i>way</i> behind, and pinch it, using it to get right into that little crack of doom. Squeeze and wipe up and forward firmly. Pull away. There's always a lot of clean diaper in back, if you belted them up firmly in the first place. Use it.<br />
<br />
Do not open that diaper as you go. Keep your eyes on the baby's face.<br />
Smile as you turn blue. <i>Baby likes that. </i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://babyboomerme.com/tag/laughing-babies/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cUHArQBlZ_0/UEE5f1QBlII/AAAAAAAAANg/7LWtLHRvkPM/s1600/baby_laugh1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steady! Don't laugh back, or you'll blow the whole job. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As you pull away the diaper, follow closely with the wipe, along the same area, firmly. Also do everything in the front, eyes closed. Circle in from the outside, using your perfect mindmap of this area. Helps if you actually have the ordinance.<br />
<br />
There should be no debris, but DO NOT look at the wipe. Check your boy now. Clean as a whistle. Hold the diaper <i>slightly</i> open and toss the wipe in. One more wipe if you wish, and if you aren't going to pass out. Close the diaper, fold it up tight, re-tape it. Use duct tape if you have it.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.octanecreative.com/ducttape/hazmat/index.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rs7Tlb8RF3Q/UEE7I2KcjmI/AAAAAAAAANo/Wdxi-0az9HA/s320/disposal.jpg" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't go wrong this way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Your child will be sitting cleanly on a fresh diaper. Toss the bomb into a trash can with a tight lid and seal. Open a window and wave one arm as you keep the other on your baby.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Breathe in. You are ninja now.</i></div>
<br />
Prepare the baby for the new diaper, and close firmly.<br />
<br />
This is why I will never post about my child's poop, unlike the rest of the parents on the Internet.<br />
<i>I never saw it.</i> You don't need to hear about it.<br />
<br />
Let's keep the Internet Poop-Free, if we possibly can.<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://kittysuperstar.tumblr.com/post/9638448817/diaper-cat" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_9KBUd3rF7A/UEE3dxUHsXI/AAAAAAAAANQ/MJGHkONMQC4/s320/tumblr_lpfnueMvVP1qejbiro1_500.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>NO!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
*We did not use any powders but occasional corn starch. At the time, they said talc and crayons were laced with asbestos contamination. That's serious shit to avoid at all times.<br />
<br />
**I did not develop a technique for<b> girls. </b>Please ONLY use this on boys. If anyone knows <i>that</i> secret I will link to you. <i>If it's in any way amusing.</i>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-5370068618186585612012-07-22T16:48:00.000-07:002012-07-27T13:12:32.495-07:00Recipe Time: Enchiladas AcapulcoLike all my best recipes, I stole this from several sources and fiddled it into shape to my tastes. There are apparently many versions of this under the same name.<br />
<br />
I have never been to Acapulco, but this recipe says good things about eating there. <br />
<br />
<b>WARNING: </b>This is off, off, OFF diet. But SO good.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Chicken Enchiladas Acapulco</b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Serves: 3-6</i></span></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/acapulco-enchiladas-10000001182881/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s1uS-UgNcV4/UAyQTRgbd8I/AAAAAAAAAMk/p-DYwbm2_Dw/s320/TaGqgdht13c213132303439383r71oqQcA_1292185188.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture from a slightly less complicated version, which also looks good. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /></div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" style="width: 477px;">
<colgroup><col width="64"></col>
<col width="409"></col>
</colgroup><tbody>
<tr>
<td colspan="2" height="13" width="475"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Ingredients:</b></span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td height="16" width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1-3 c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chicken;
shredded, cooked with chili powder & 1 chopped jalapenos, </span></span></span>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td height="16" width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chopped
jalapenos (3 total: 1 for chicken, 2 for sauce)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">½
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Scallions;
w/green; minced</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">½
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Almonds;
ground</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">½
ts</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Salt</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">3 c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Enchilada
Chili Sauce; *</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">8
</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fresh
corn tortillas</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">¾
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sour
cream</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Shredded
Cheddar cheese (or Monty Jack?)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">½
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sliced
ripe olives</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">---------</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">FOR
GARNISH ---------</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><br /></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sour
cream and scallions (and cilantro?)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"> <span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">---------</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">ENCHILADA
SAUCE ---------</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2 tb</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Vegetable
oil</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chopped
jalapenos (3 total: 1 for chicken, 2 for sauce)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">¾
c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Onion;
chopped</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1 c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Green
bell pepper; chopped</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2 </span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Garlic
clove; minced</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1 sm
can</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tomato
paste</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2
sm cans</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Green
chiles (chopped if possible)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1-1
½ c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tomatillos,
chopped</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1 c</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chicken
Stock</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1 ts</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chili
powder; (or more)</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">½ ts</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Salt</span></span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="64"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1
ts</span></span></span></td>
<td width="409"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dried
oregano</span></span></span><br />
<br /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Instructions:</b></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Preheat
oven to 350 deg.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">In
small bowl, toss together cooked shredded chicken, scallions, and
almonds.<br />Sprinkle on salt.<br />Mix and set aside.<br />To prepare
chili sauce, heat oil in sauté pan over med-high heat; add onion,
bell pepper, sauté for 3 minutes, or until just transparent. Add
garlic, sauté for one minute. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Add
tomatillos and jalapeños and sauté until vegetables are soft.<br />Stir
in tomato paste, green chiles, water, chili powder, salt and
oregano.<br />Stir well.<br />Lower heat, cover and simmer for 5 mins.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Liquefy
in food processor, adding chicken stock to make a thick sauce.<br />
<br />Lightly oil bottom of shallow ovenproof casserole dish.<br />Dip a
tortilla in hot sauce until partially saturated.<br />Then place
tortilla in casserole dish; fill with 1/8 of chicken mixture, and top
with 1 Tablespoon sour cream; roll into an enchilada.<br />Place in
dish seam side down.<br />Repeat with remaining tortillas.<br />When
casserole is filled, drizzle remaining sauce over top.<br />Sprinkle
with cheese and top with olives.<br />Bake for 15 mins. or until cheese
and sauce are hot and bubbling.<br />Serve with additional sour cream
and chopped scallions on the side.<br /> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"><b>Addendum:</b></span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://dogsondrugs.com/" target="_blank">Dogs On Drugs</a> has kindly noted that there is no prep time included, which is very remiss of me. Allow me to add:<br />It takes me about 90min to do anything requiring so much prep. <br />The actual cooking time is minimal.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />If you have kids it takes 2hrs. <br />Locking kitchen door and headphones, maybe 1hr.</span></div>
</div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-22936294233045534332012-07-13T14:02:00.000-07:002015-03-16T20:50:20.478-07:00True Camping Part III: "The Human Smore"<b>Disclaimer: </b>Camping is actually a fun and relaxing thing to do with your family. It's a cheap and easy way to enjoy the outdoors and get away from your worries.<br />
<br />
<i>Unless you're me.</i><br />
<br />
You would think that previous mayhem would have been enough to change my expectations. Perhaps you know me, and can't believe that once, not too many years back, I had the heart, the energy, the sheer <i>gumption</i> to persevere in the face of defeat. That wasn't really me. Normally I fold like a deck chair in a hurricane.<br />
<br />
I assure you that whatever it was, it was only temporary; that keen defiance, that impervious drive to make things happen, that denial of danger was a byproduct of late-blooming infatuation. For ten years in the middle of my life I suddenly and completely refused to believe that fate or God or Mother Nature or Buddha had it in for me.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
They <i>loved</i> me. <b>Us.</b> I was so happy. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
For some people <b>Love</b> is as toxic as crack, and twice as addictive.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.imgspark.com/image/view/4f86f0ca1f9221db04001e85/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1ht3EMTeAb4/UABniiySkYI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/MSs7z1mA8O0/s320/1cd842cb9151bd12fc64bd7e580efda7.jpg" height="312" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is your brain in Love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
My wife still wanted to spend her vacations camping, and I still wanted to be wherever she was. We went back to camping alone, happy still, in denial. We dealt with a massive fish spawning that ruined the river next to us, and tenting under a screech-owl nest, and a few other things that don't even register with me now.<br />
Not after this: <br />
<br />
The second-last trip was to a campground closer to home, and closer to town.<br />
<br />
Why so close, when we had always planned remote destinations, surrounded by trees? A recommendation by <a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/03/true-camping-part-first.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Chuck and Dick.</a> Before you ask "Whaaaa?" I remind you: we were in our 20's, and I had dumped my natural caution like a Kevlar vest at a love-in. With hindsight most things I did then look equally dumb.<br />
<br />
OK. Here we go: <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><u>Fort Langley</u></span></b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Langley,_British_Columbia" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFG2y4uoW3A/UABn4hYpXbI/AAAAAAAAAKE/utJokx_jtFY/s320/800px-Fort_Langley_Community_Hall.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
The name alone causes me full-body sense-memory shock. </div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
It's just a quaint little village, with a few antique shops and decent, plain food. It's mostly known as the site of the <i>Air Bud</i> movies, and all the sequels with the talking puppies. Have you enjoyed any of those films?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.the-movie-times.com/contest/contest.mv?airbuddies+info" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--oxAYMRhsc8/UACBhZqxEyI/AAAAAAAAALs/JkQtyFf7FpI/s320/1.jpg" height="208" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Air Buddies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Really? <i>Get out!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I mean it. You came to the wrong blog.</div>
<br />
Anyway: <br />
<br />
I think it no longer exists, but the private campground chosen for us was located not so much outside of that tiny town, but nearly in the middle of town. On a triangular area bounded by three railroad tracks. Just off the main road,and with two sides open to the river. The river was high from the melt that spring, and it had been wet. For some reason the water was mustard coloured.
Probably silt, right? <br />
<br />
Private campgrounds were new to us, except the one the <a href="http://tlysom.blogspot.ca/2012/03/true-camping-part-first.html" target="_blank">family used to frequent</a>. The first thing we noticed, besides the huge number of RVs and trucks, and the total lack of trees, was the fact that many RVs had been there long enough to have planted gardens. Not so much a vacation for some, then. There was a hedge wall about seven feet high instead of a fence around the place. <i>Sort</i> of like a forest, I guess. <br />
<br />
The next thing we noticed was our neighbours; they were throwing stones at us. Repeatedly. The woman on our left had three kids, who threw rocks at everything and everyone. She greeted us with "Hi! Have you found Jesus?" Rather than disappoint her we decided to nod silently, and retreat under fire.<br />
<br />
The man on the other side was alone, tense-looking and seemed to need a rifle in one hand at all times. He had no tent, just a pickup truck. We let him be, and hoped that the kids on the other side of us would never, <i>ever</i> throw a rock his way. Did I mention that the lots were really small? <i>Really</i> small.<br />
<br />
<br />
As the sun set and the breeze died we were finally able to light our fire and sit and relax.<br />
People around settled and it was quiet and peaceful. Rifleman sat staring at his fire, scanning his perimeter every few minutes. The cavekids had gone somewhere or were tranquilized.<br />
We finally relaxed a bit and took our first deep breaths.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.sxc.hu/photo/694208" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wec99CYVt8s/UABoIYILW4I/AAAAAAAAAKM/eQ8AP5PQm_0/s1600/694208_dead_fish.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<br />
What was that smell? Like rotten eggs. And dead fish.<br />
<br />
In solvent.<br />
<br />
The river. Oh my. Maybe it was a new thing. A really <i>temporary</i> thing?<br />
<br />
We cooked and ate dinner, and washed up, leaving a few dishes to soak. Drank some wine. Maybe too much. Later we roasted marshmallows over the fire, using short holders made of twisted coat-hanger wire. Really thin wire. There were no sticks in sight, but I like to come prepared. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://champagnemanagement.com/articles/2011/04/13/marshmallow-on-fire/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzZG5p6CFzg/UABpAV951iI/AAAAAAAAAKU/X5IZMUhltoA/s320/tumblr_lji88qA8Jg1qzkfbpo1_500.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The exact holder. Don't ever use this kind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I think the holders were made for wieners, because when my marshmallow caught fire and I pulled it back quickly, the food came flying right off and landed on my forehead, blazing away. It stuck, and ran down my nose.<br />
<br />
<br />
I probably shrieked about this development. Can't rightly remember.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bkbn.net/profiles/blogs/the-phantom-of-the-opera-7-figure" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0cMWH1-L_LQ/UABy8sP5b6I/AAAAAAAAAK0/VmzRNrofByc/s320/monsters_csg273_the_phantom_of_the_opera.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Try to relax, dear. We're on vacation."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I plunged my face full of burning tar into the dishpan, and managed to keep my eyebrows. I had a shallow burn mark starting in the middle of my forehead and sweeping down the right side of my nose, ending halfway down my cheek.<br />
<br />
I tried my level best to dismiss it as a dumb mistake that would probably heal, but it sort of dampened my spirits. <br />
<br />
<br />
As the evening approached, the smell got worse. And then the skies darkened a bit early.<br />
<br />
Most towns all up the river had been spraying new chemicals everywhere to prevent mosquitoes. That year was destined to be a record breeding season, and they were desperate to get on top of it, but they had already begun hatching. Now there were clouds of them, all as big as crane-flies and I swear I saw a mob of them take down a swallow.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://tundratantrum.blogspot.ca/2008/06/mosquito-swarm.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0a-Erw1Lv74/UAB2-UNi5uI/AAAAAAAAALE/QI12vk6gjnk/s320/Picture339.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
However, we were prepared--instead of the Deep Jungle repellent, a nasty, flammable poison that seemed military grade, and stank, we had finally joined the 1990's, and bought the new pump-style Skin-soft repellent by the same <strike>chemical</strike> company we've known and trusted for soap and bandages and unimaginative skin-care forever. We spritzed up and felt cool relief without the terrible smell or the sticky, unsettling feeling of being coated in poisonous hairspray all night. The bugs flew away and we relaxed.<br />
<br />
Until we got bit, about ten minutes later. We must not have put enough on.<br />
Re-apply, relief.<br />
<br />
<i>Ouch! </i><br />
<br />
Re-apply. <i> </i><br />
<i>OUCH!</i><br />
<br />
Re-apply. <i> </i><br />
<i>OUCH!</i><br />
<br />
WTF? Re-apply <i>OUCH! </i>HEY!--they're not even going away--oh CRAP we're almost OUT!<br />
<br />
Check the label. Wait--is that 0.05% <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DEET" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">DEET</a> in that? We used to use <i>four-hundred times</i> that strength!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Curse you, marketing assholes!"</i></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bugspraydotcom.blogspot.ca/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IBLMM0kwPk/UAB08F7Gz3I/AAAAAAAAAK8/xmozaVG8Wg0/s320/Mosquitos.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We ran flailing across the street to the general store as it closed, and tried to buy repellent, but the only product left was the crap we were using. Ten massive citronella candles did nothing to clear our campsite, and we gave up, already having more holes in us than Bonnie and Clyde.* The rifleman lay next to his fire on a mattress of some kind, and wasn't bothered at all. Must have had repellent, but we chose not to approach him even then.<br />
<br />
The Jesus lady just smiled and waved her own citronella candle at us. She said that that was all she used.<br />
I thought I caught her snickering. Not very Christian, was it?<br />
<br />
We turned in and zipped up the tent and killed all the bloodsuckers we could find in there. Lying down to sleep we felt at least like we had left the worst of the day behind us. We agreed to give the place another day, but not to spend the three we had planned.<br />
<br />
Eyes closed, we tried to relax. The sound of a distant train horn was comforting.<br />
<br />
The reply from a much closer train horn was a little disturbing. Then the first one again. Then, a <i>third?</i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickrhivemind.net/User/foxrosser/Interesting" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WnL8UmmPCSw/UAB5T7wfXSI/AAAAAAAAALM/tvLPSiAsTo4/s320/2294229987_bd7181cb12.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u><b>Wank-wannnnnnnnnk!!!</b></u></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
They went on honking at each other for <i>hours,</i> stopping only in the dead of night. I might have mentioned the movie<i> My Cousin Vinny</i> to my future wife at this point. We were very tired, and had used up our calamine lotion and bite-balm and antibiotic burn salve. When they finally stopped blaring at each other, and rumbled by, we were wall-eyed and living a nightmare.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
No one said anything, not "at least it's not raining" or "what could happen now?" we just sat and stared at the tent, pretty much not breathing. Unable to believe it was over. It would never be over.<br />
<br />
Right about the there was a crashing noise, like a large drunk person, hitting the hedge, trying to get through. It came closer and closer, and started yowling, like a giant insane baby, or a really big ... cat. <i> </i><br />
<br />
<i>Silence.</i><br />
<div style="color: blue;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://fullonadventure.wordpress.com/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bWoWYl-DOwI/UAB-ZEO-WMI/AAAAAAAAALg/naDpYoHpX74/s320/cougar.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have these, they eat people. Be very, very quiet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We poked our head out of the tent, and everything was still. Surely our neighbours would--Oh, look at that! They've all gone into their RV's and trucks. Look, there goes the rifle guy, quietly closing his truck door. We could really use him about now.<br />
<br />
The place was now awfully quiet. Indeed, it was <i>too</i> quiet.<br />
<br />
20 feet seemed an awful long way to the car, but we burst out of our flimsy tent and dashed over, and settled in to sleep in the bucket seats. We had left the first aid kit in the tent, so the only pain relief available was a couple of PMS pills, which I gratefully accepted. Whatever was out there did not make a peep or show it's whiskers, snout, or mutant baby-head after all.<br />
<br />
My mosquito bites had turned into welts that seemed to be oozing mustard-coloured river water. I counted over one hundred before I conked out. I might have gotten a half-hour's sleep before we got up with the sun, crammed the car with whatever we could and left for home. We were pretty sure no one or their pets had been lost that night, but we didn't slow down to ask. <br />
<br />
The bites on both of us stayed an angry red colour, big as marbles and hard as rocks.My burned face settled into a large brown scab the next day, like a downward slash of sienna paint that just missed my eyes.<br />
<br />
<br />
Two days later we were due at a family wedding--the biggest they had ever had, for my wife's niece and her new nephew-in-law. We all got to meet his family for the fist time, a large and genteel group, who I found interesting. I wanted to make a decent impression on them.<br />
<br />
But I had a burned face and polka-dotted ostrich skin arms and legs. Relatives kept asking me how I had gotten into a parking-lot fight, and why. New acquaintances blanched when I approached, and couldn't take their eyes off of my nose. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.forafewmoviesmore.com/discussions/character-study-the-dark-knight-harvey-denttwoface/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uuJf3ucA0xo/UABuCtBPJQI/AAAAAAAAAKo/EBVuQOzKTTo/s320/639142-two_faceeckhart_super.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hey congratulations! Let's mingle for five hours."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
I learned that the kind of facial injury I was sportin' looks typical of asphalt-snuggling, and that my knuckles were too clean to have won anything. Unfortunately I was not surprised to find my wife's family so familiar with these details. However the new groom suddenly thought I was a cool--a real "scrapper", which did not bode well for that family.<br />
<br />
We didn't camp at all for years after that. We stayed in hotels with kitchenettes; civilized, and fairly safe. The memories began to fade away. We had put that terrible long chapter behind us both. Forever.<br />
<br />
When my son turned four my wife suddenly insisted that we take him camping. Sure, whatever.<br />
Can't live forever, right?OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-19694898731476604422012-06-05T12:33:00.000-07:002012-06-08T22:28:35.936-07:00Advice to Pre-Mothers<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; position: relative; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
</h3>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-1969489873147660442" itemprop="articleBody" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 1.4; orphans: 2; position: relative; text-align: -webkit-auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; width: 578px; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At least two people I know who vowed never to procreate, or claimed a lifelong aversion to the idea have recently announced that they are expecting. Just when I had come to terms with respecting<i> Unburdened</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>as a Lifestyle, too.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Congratulations on your pregnancy. I'm no expert, having not had one in me, but I've learned a lot from the blood spawn I am raising, and watched closely the tiny lives of several others as they grew.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There is good news and bad:</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Ladies, a squalling, snot and poop dispenser is growing in you, with amazing mind-control powers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b> </b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>will change your appetites and direct you when and what to eat. You will grow huge and ungainly, and complete strangers will offer you stupid advice constantly and touch your stomach, where<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>lies in wait to push<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Its</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>way out of you one random day and feed.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: x-small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8Kp6dRGxaHw/TycLDCLIUAI/AAAAAAAAAd8/bSmr77_ZyL4/s320/its-alive-1974-baby.jpg" rel="nofollow" style="color: #771100; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GzhCb7GX2zg/T85VlwV3fmI/AAAAAAAAAII/FVnD78MGfOg/s320/its-alive-1974-baby.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">"Sleep lightly, Old Man."</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Parents, when<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>emerges,</span><span style="font-size: small;"><b> It</b></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">will eat your future and you won't sleep properly or finish a thought for the next ten years. You won't wear clean clothing for the first four. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">You will focus on this creature with a mindless intensity beyond any religious vow, and well beyond the demands of insanity. You will listen for<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Its</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>every breath, wipe the thing as often as it needs, feed<b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>from your body. After<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>is born, much of your hair will fall out, and your skin will change drastically.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">That's the bad news. The good is this: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="color: #cc0000;">It<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b><span style="color: #cc0000;">needs you alive.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: black;">You'll live.</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span>Count your blessings as many times as you need to to imagine more.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Eventually, if you reserve enough energy, you will try to tame and civilize<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b>. You will fail in that. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>It<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>will never be you, or your spouse. You might keep<b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>from destroying society utterly, but not from making a huge ass of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Itself</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in the meantime. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?start=213&hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=I8z&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=SfQ8miKGriP4yM:&imgrefurl=http://themellowjihadi.com/tag/teenage-dream/&docid=DKUQ_I9Mq4A5lM&imgurl=http://themellowjihadi.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Branding-Russell-Brand.jpg&w=300&h=300&ei=mVbOT8PeK8jm2AWH7_jgDA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=1174&vpy=361&dur=398&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=158&ty=125&sig=117731512733957838180&page=7&tbnh=136&tbnw=159&ndsp=36&ved=1t:429,r:35,s:213,i:157" rel="nofollow" style="color: #771100; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P7BzVNtqIrE/T85Zf7U_D5I/AAAAAAAAAIc/UxLcmzeVjiE/s1600/Branding-Russell-Brand.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Love him or hate him, you probably don't want to raise him.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">In the rare case that<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>exceeds your expectations and lives your dream life<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>It</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>may cease to recognize you. Insecurity deeply separates people into the self-aware and the complete assholes. Let<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Them</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>fail once in a while. Dry<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Their</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>tears but don't fix everything. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Don't bail them out if they drew on their faces with markers instead of getting hold-up masks. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Fair is fair.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&safe=off&client=firefox-a&hs=DmK&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=C_jfGnsW1C562M:&imgrefurl=http://thechive.com/2012/03/22/two-things-are-infinite-the-universe-and-human-stupidity-and-im-not-sure-about-the-universe-31-photos/&docid=vPUxLLTG9BTMCM&imgurl=http://thechive.files.wordpress.com/2012/03/idiot-25.jpg%253Fw%253D500%2526h%253D357&w=500&h=357&ei=PlbOT6H7K-rs2gWq0vSuDA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=324&vpy=113&dur=5377&hovh=190&hovw=266&tx=119&ty=142&sig=117731512733957838180&page=2&tbnh=128&tbnw=174&start=28&ndsp=37&ved=1t:429,r:31,s:28,i:198" rel="nofollow" style="color: #771100; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jO2zRE7BO8I/T85Yk9O8gXI/AAAAAAAAAIU/klWGO9I7bxQ/s320/idiot-25.jpg" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">You will always have better children than someone.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">I have a ton of Great Advice, but it doesn't matter. You'll do what you'll do, and then you'll know.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">However, there are some technical notes that really helped me:</span></div>
<ol style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>Cloth diapers:</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>DON'T! Just don't. They are a wonderful, noble idea, and I was born before there was an alternative. My brother, just three years later had the benefit of disposables. He might have used them longer than I, or not, I don't know. I also don't know if he avoided the stress of serious diaper rash and grew up less stressed than I.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />Too many other factors were involved in that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />BUT the second time you neglect to check your baby for 20 minutes and his ass is a mass of welts (because shit and piss together will melt skin) and you cannot stop him from screaming: a) whenever you get near the area, AND b) when he wets again, and you have to take him to a clinic to get prescription antibiotic salve--that is when you will gratefully change over to disposable diapers.<br /><br />They absolutely prevent those screams, and that horrible, horrible sight. I say you will change over the second time, because you didn't believe it the first time. It was a fluke. You could not have caused that. Could you?<br /><br />I apologize to the planet for the mountain of diapers my son leaves behind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />Pretty sure they were biodegradable like they said, so maybe I apologize mostly to the trash collectors. We all should, anyway. Sorry.<br /> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>Food:</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Infants eat every two hours. They will do this forever, day and night. One of the techniques taught to interrogators is sleep deprivation. You can let a person sleep for eight hours a night, but if you constantly wake them before their dream cycle begins, they will eventually undergo a psychotic break. It is extremely cruel, but better than water-boarding.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />Your baby does not care about this--she is growing as quickly as nature and available biomass will allow. An empty stomach will be announced as long as food will come to fill it. When they reach 11 lbs they have the physical reserves to sleep through the night, for at least six hours.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />They will lie to you about this. They will indicate that death is imminent if food is not provided.</span><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">When they give up yelling for food at night they will sleep a long time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /><b>11 lbs.</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Remember the number, it's when you get to sleep a substantial part of the night again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>Burping:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>People used to talk about burping their babies all the time. They don't seem to any more. This was not a joke. They only drink fluids, but they get burps stuck in their tiny stomachs that hurt like rocks trying to come up. Luckily you can fix that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />When we first brought our child home a community nurse visited us. We did not want someone checking up on us, in our home, the first week we were on our own. We had read many books and had prepared thoroughly. We were not going to make our parents' mistakes. We did not want to be judged before we had even started.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />When she visited she mentioned a few things, and asked a few general questions, and mentioned burping. When we hesitated, she snatched up our baby and pounded him on the back loudly. I just about tackled her to get him back, but he seemed OK, and we let it go.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />Every two hours our baby ate, but he cried for an hour afterwards, more in a grumpy than desperate way. Patting him on the back did nothing. Gripe water did nothing but make him smell like a pickle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />One late night, after feeding him, I thumped his back quite a bit harder than I meant to, and a burp popped out and he cooed at me. Went right to sleep. His mother never got the hang of it, but I was the go-to guy after his meals, and he reached for me every time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />We hear that some children have terrible trouble with gas, and there are many reasons why, but very few solutions, other than this: burp them firmly. Hug them facing you, with their little heads supported against your shoulder, on a towel, and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>thump</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>their backs a couple of times with your open hand. Go for it.<br /> </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="color: black; display: inline ! important; float: none; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><b>Fevers:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>Your child will have fevers. Maybe lots of them, if you count low-grade ones. It's normal. Almost all of them will mean nothing. There will be two times in their childhood, particularly if they are exposed to more than a few other children, when they will spike serious fevers, probably throw up, and maybe even have little baby seizures. You<b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>do<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>have to take them in to a doctor about this, because there are other, rarer things that also present that way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b><br /><br />DON'T PANIC.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />Don't think "meningitis, leukemia, lyme disease, lupus, Wegner's, Kawasakis, Porphyria," or ANYTHING ELSE you saw on HOUSE.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />RELAX and find a doctor.</b><br /><br />99.999% of the time it's one of two diseases:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Fifth</b>, and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>Hand, Foot and Mouth</b>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />They will get both, and they both start with<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>scary</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>fevers, and only end with the tell-tale rashes that you hope to see, or maybe even without them. They are almost always harmless diseases and we have almost all of us had them. Nevertheless, treat these situations seriously as hell.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br /><br />I am only telling you to not be terrorized by them. Even my doctor fell for it. We all do. </span></li>
</ol>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"> There is more, and in a few years, even more than that. For now, assure yourself that you are doing the best you can, taking whatever time for yourself that you can get (about 10% of what you thought you absolutely needed) and remember this:</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">You are now part of the Club that provides new peons and bosses, misanthropes and philodendrons, Archies and Meatheads. If not for us: nothing would happen. The Earth would cool. Cockroaches and feral pets would rule this continent. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Think about that, when you realize that your life won't be about you very much for a long, long time.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Because you'll forget everything else when they look at you and smile. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-size: x-small; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 4px; position: relative; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-07o7N5Q_16E/T85c__rAh0I/AAAAAAAAAIo/qR9Mt5g9-lI/s1600/DSC05743.JPG" style="color: #771100; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-07o7N5Q_16E/T85c__rAh0I/AAAAAAAAAIo/qR9Mt5g9-lI/s320/DSC05743.JPG" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Please smile. Please? OK, fine.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-27845813669902986822012-05-18T15:01:00.003-07:002012-07-29T17:21:11.740-07:00True Camping Part II: "The Swarm"<div>
By request, and because I'm procrastinating on other things today:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=RsV&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=hYlGbrV8K_ZcbM:&imgrefurl=http://www.campokanagan.com/parks/ok_lake-start.htm&docid=p5S7FuVux2k_hM&imgurl=http://www.campokanagan.com/images/Ok%252520Lake%252520Camping.jpg&w=450&h=337&ei=q762T8-tDKXTiAL5-Oz1Bg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=175&vpy=150&dur=577&hovh=194&hovw=260&tx=107&ty=140&sig=117731512733957838180&page=1&tbnh=135&tbnw=170&start=0&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0,i:68" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jmmFXxC3Sx4/T7a_KmvRN5I/AAAAAAAAAHE/Cy8Qd-V-XKA/s400/Ok+Lake+Camping.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not too shabby, eh?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>True Camping Part Deux</u></b> </div>
<br />
When we were young, fresh, and full of hope my wife and I used to see signs that we were Meant to Be everywhere. Sundogs, coincidences--pretty much anything. We weren't reaching, it just seemed that the Silly Lovesongs were written for us. This was a stark contrast to the signs I had been born under, and the day-to-day bullshit Fate prepared for others' amusement at my expense.<br />
<br />
Sound crazy? Resentful? My high-school classmates coined the phrase "L____ Luck" after my last name, since they had no other words for what they were seeing, day in and day out. It got so that they would encourage me to take risks just to witness the incredibly unlikely fallout. I got used to watching my own back and shrugging off most of the humiliation, particularly as it never seemed likely to kill me.<br />
<br />
This is why I dream of a quiet life. <br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
It was a giddy relief to feel like the Universe had taken another look at me and thought: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"He's not really a Dick, just wound up a bit--and who wouldn't be, after the royal screwing we give him? Right? Hey, we should really give him a break, maybe even his own stake in some action."</blockquote>
And The Woman came into my life, and I threw my brain out the window, and for a while it was Very Good.<br />
<br />
During that time we spent a lot of time together. Outdoors was her preference, slow walks and quiet places, and camping when we vacationed. We took notes from the family camping we had witnessed, and bought some equipment, and put other stuff on our wedding registry. We ended up with a really decent set of gear to make a roughing it nearly as comfortable as home. <br />
<br />
The wife would delight in picking a new campground twice or more a year, and we would arrive, lay out our stuff, check out the amenities, shop, and eat tons of camp food and drink like fish in front of a roaring fire.<br />
"My God, it's full of stars!" The night sky out there, but also Life.<br />
<br />
Oh, to be that young: cast-iron stomachs, high metabolisms and no real need to sleep. Good skin and all the fitness of the Olympic Mambo Team. We invented Short-Island Iced Tea; which was vodka, coke and iced-tea powder. Foul, but you didn't care after half a glass.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?start=75&num=10&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=8cq&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=2Klmz-7JXGgNxM:&imgrefurl=http://www.ibtimes.com/articles/239987/20111029/halloween-2011-scary-cocktails-drinks-jello-shots.htm&docid=TzQ3tAJbEuJpOM&imgurl=http://img.ibtimes.com/www/data/images/full/2011/10/29/182055-murky-drink.jpg&w=376&h=500&ei=-b-2T-SeL6G8iwK5zP3bBg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=351&vpy=34&dur=9000&hovh=259&hovw=195&tx=148&ty=151&sig=117731512733957838180&page=3&tbnh=144&tbnw=108&ndsp=39&ved=1t:429,r:25,s:75,i:58" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Znb8eMUYGBA/T7bALcfw_UI/AAAAAAAAAHM/4e9wrs43Iok/s320/182055-murky-drink.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like this, only in a plastic cup without ice, served outdoors. <br />
Sometimes, that is actually The Life.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Unfortunately, all that had to end, and the beginning of the fall was in The Signs. They began to change, first in small ways that we no doubt ignored, but then the weather turned against us. Hard to deny, if you still intend to really read meaningful shit into other random shit. But my only talent for denial was that temporary self-serving optimism.<br />
Call it sublimated desperation.<br />
<br />
We did not acknowledge that after a while we could not manage to pick a dry weekend. But were we deterred? No no, we had so much history stored up as stubborn stamina that we went on for years, ignoring what was happening. These events stood out in that time:<br />
<br />
1. Ready for Adventure?<br />
<br />
This was really the warning shot that we ignored. We paid to reserve a spot in the swankiest campground in the province. This was the first one to take reservations, and it was because retirees would have fist-fights for spots there, and they wouldn't leave. It was sad to see the park attendants using their trucks to slowly herd them out.<br />
<br />
Flush toilets throughout, built on the side of Lake Okanagan in a series of steppes, so that every site had a breathtaking view of the whole valley. Carefully landscaped with ornamental trees, Olive, Cedar, some kind of Russian Dwarf Spruce, and Arbutus. Lastly, and truly the crown jewels of the place were the hot showers. Tiled, spotless bathrooms, with toilet paper provided.<br />
<br />
Decent toilet paper.<br />
<br />
It cost three times the average of all the other campgrounds and had a reservation list that filled up in the first hour it was available, six months in advance. The European spa of campgrounds. This time we were treating ourselves.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=MCB&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=70M3UfDaigWjzM:&imgrefurl=http://www.backcountryattitude.com/choosing_perfect_campsite.html&docid=lNMHW74itz2blM&imgurl=http://www.backcountryattitude.com/Images/perfect_campsite.jpg&w=387&h=250&ei=e762T9ynBajbiAK2553iBg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=673&vpy=156&dur=1538&hovh=180&hovw=279&tx=205&ty=154&sig=117731512733957838180&page=1&tbnh=133&tbnw=176&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:3,s:0,i:76" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yl1ZTSmIXms/T7bAxQYMUZI/AAAAAAAAAHU/oLV4Y99-HwQ/s400/perfect_campsite.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This beautiful picture is still too cold and wet to be the "Palm Springs North" that we were going to. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was our fist visit, but we had heard all about it. The family wouldn't pay the price to camp there, and it was just as well. The place was clean and open, and there was no place for your kids to go while you drank all day. Streaking was frowned upon. It was quiet. That's what we inferred from their dismissal of it.<br />
<br />
Well, they had never had our patronage, either.<br />
<br />
It was raining pretty hard as we left the coast. That kind of thing is expected, all through the summer sometimes. You take a jacket everywhere and take your chances wearing shorts. We packed the minivan and took to the highway, and it was like escaping to another country. Hot and beautiful and summer the way you imagine it.<br />
<br />
Two hours in we stopped for lunch at Skinny's Musical Grill & Pancake House, as always on these vacations. By the time we finished lunch it was overcast, but not too bad. Still warm. Kind of dark towards home, though. What those poor suckers were dealing with was no skin off our noses.<br />
<br />
By the time we were four hours on the road it was clear that we were running from something. A roiling, black horizon followed us, and every time we slowed it sprinkled us with light rain. We drove faster and faster, and to hell with the Law.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?start=337&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=Sv4IVyeajVDpYM:&imgrefurl=http://misshelen.wordpress.com/category/life-work-in-angola/&docid=GTsgVNXVj_JiSM&imgurl=http://misshelen.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/rainstorm.jpg&w=1632&h=1224&ei=RMO2T6SJGoariQKLm7GRBw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=771&vpy=388&dur=4451&hovh=194&hovw=259&tx=172&ty=114&sig=117731512733957838180&page=11&tbnh=129&tbnw=184&ndsp=34&ved=1t:429,r:31,s:337,i:223" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ooq5I5n6zEc/T7bDlNNna8I/AAAAAAAAAHs/OXjfTLM2ojQ/s400/rainstorm.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drive! DRIVE! Don't look back!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Rain was not allowed where we were going. Somewhere there would be a weather barrier, a chain of hills, an updraft, a big fucking wall we had never noticed. It was near-desert where we were going. Literally--the next town over was Osoyoos, Canada's desert. Rattlesnakes and sagebrush and terrible brush-fires.<br />
<br />
No kidding. Recorded for decades as only hot and bone dry, 355 days a year, including all summer. <br />
<br />
We lost the weather behind us in the last half hour before we arrived, thanking fate and my crazy driving for the chance to relax for the week. The campsite was EVERYTHING they said it was. Clean, gorgeous, quiet, warm, and the view was spectacular. Even a gentle breeze to cool things just a bit.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=RsV&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=gb605bkYNFe5FM:&imgrefurl=http://www.campokanagan.com/parks/ok_lake-start.htm&docid=p5S7FuVux2k_hM&imgurl=http://www.campokanagan.com/images/Ok%252520LakeBeach.jpg&w=450&h=337&ei=q762T8-tDKXTiAL5-Oz1Bg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=357&vpy=150&dur=2991&hovh=194&hovw=260&tx=136&ty=125&sig=117731512733957838180&page=1&tbnh=135&tbnw=170&start=0&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0,i:70" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mB1-gUf50PM/T7bBaGXTVvI/AAAAAAAAAHc/VsN9geHYkxQ/s400/Ok+LakeBeach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the lake. Note the sand, all the way up the hillside. <br />
Did I mention the nearby wineries? Decent ones, too.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But there was no attendant, and there were no sites unoccupied. We hadn't received a number, just an assurance that we had a spot. There was no notice board. After a few minutes, someone left one of the one-day spots. We decided to go there, as we had paid, and talk to someone if they came to try to move us out the next day.<br />
<br />
No problem. But I had the feeling that the tent should go up, like now. We couldn't see over the ridge too far behind us, but just to be safe, we started to get settled. Tarp on the ground, edges rolled inward underneath, so that water wouldn't roll over it, just under.<br />
As if!<br />
<br />
Tent over top, awkward, but do-able. Everything adjusted just so, and staked down well.<br />
But I wanted to arrange a tarp over the tent, just to keep the sun off. OK, it was a feeling I had.<br />
<br />
Silly, though it was, we draped the tarp and measured the poles. That breeze was picking up, and we had a little trouble keeping the tarp down. Nothing we couldn't handle. <br />
<br />
We worked at it a few more minutes until the tarp was really pulling away. We grabbed the poles and planted them, started to tie them off, just as the mother of all storms crested the ridge and eclipsed the sun.<br />
<br />
Water poured out of the sky like, <i>like Niagra Falls, Frankie Angel. </i>When the wind began to howl and shear, it was like being in a car wash, water veering off the ground to soak you UP from your socks to your chin.<br />
<br />
But being who I am it was not until we saw the lightning that we decided to drop the aluminum poles we were holding up and retreat to the car. We were dripping from head to toe, and there was heavy gravel packed up into our shorts. I had a leather belt that left a brown dye-band around my waist from being so wet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=qvxBmxnkEdTiVM:&imgrefurl=http://www.flickr.com/photos/ioannis_/3540845066/&docid=66Il8fZuqQaQOM&imgurl=http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3390/3540845066_0166568005_z.jpg%253Fzz%253D1&w=640&h=427&ei=9MG2T6i9DsSziQLyhPSPBw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=1124&vpy=436&dur=676&hovh=183&hovw=275&tx=198&ty=75&sig=117731512733957838180&page=1&tbnh=133&tbnw=194&start=0&ndsp=28&ved=1t:429,r:20,s:0,i:110" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv416odhvOQ/T7bEnRCgoKI/AAAAAAAAAH0/194fWGexIbs/s400/3540845066_0166568005_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
That storm broke records. It tore the roof off a local stadium, and three cities around lost power for a day. It left us in half an hour, but it lasted three hours, ripping up the area with 60-mile-an-hour winds and folks talked about it for years.<br />
<br />
I can finally confess that it was our fault.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying we knew, but if we had given up and stayed home I am confident that no one else would have been blasted by it. History is a motherfucker, and it points the finger at us every time. We could do this again to your town, if we chose to bring our sorry, cursed asses anywhere. All we would need is a blithe attitude and camping gear. <br />
<br />
I have to say, though, it cleared up pretty quickly, and an attendant showed up to remove someone out of our actual spot. We dragged our sodden gear to where a mammoth RV had sheltered the ground and left us a campfire burning and some extra firewood, somehow dry. We had a very nice week after that. So it was worth it, if you ignore the massive civic damage. <br />
<br />
2. The Swarm:<br />
<br />
We invited my Mother-In-Law to come camping with us. My wife was finally getting over her lifelong resentment of her mother, particularly after her father had passed away so early on in our time together.<br />
She wanted to spend more time with her. I wasn't the kind of guy to resent sharing, although this woman kind of always creeped me out. She still does, so many years later: <br />
<br />
Four feet tall, piping high-yet-gravelly voice that always spoke to men in baby-talk. Laughed and scoffed a lot at them while fawning all over them condescendingly, including me. Spoke very bitterly about most people: men in general, people below the age of 50 and most of her family. Endlessly. Loudly.<br />
<br />
Smoked like a chimney. On a burning cracker factory.<br />
<br />
But she was game to come, for some reason.<br />
<br />
The campground that we chose was wooded and very green, surrounding a beautiful lake. That weekend was a stellar prospect of swimming, hiking, reading, careful drinking and relaxation under a 100% sunny sky. Maybe not so much hiking, but we could swim, right? Well ...<br />
<br />
Turns out that "Beaver Fever" is not just something the local junior-league hockey team hopes to inspire*, it's a horrible disease that afflicts freshwater lakes. That lake, that weekend.<br />
<br />
No big deal, we'd stay closer to camp. Our site had been picked to be within easy walking distance of the washrooms, at least the map indicated that it was; unfortunately the flush toilets were on the other side of camp, and what we were downwind of was not one of them.<br />
<br />
Easy mistake to make, the map was unclear. Next time we'd know. <br />
<br />
The area around us was silent and nearly deserted the whole morning. We could really unwind in Nature, as long as we didn't inhale too deeply. By noon a carload of ten-year-old girls arrived, and set up just within sight of us. They seemed a pretty large family, or maybe one with a few cousins staying, too. There was a mother not really keeping track of them. Pleasant to hear them goofing around and squealing from that distance.<br />
<br />
Then another carload arrived, just like them. And again. We did not get it until there were four full sites of them, right next to us, louder and louder, and they kept on arriving.<br />
<br />
By evening our half of the campground was literally teeming with little girls; the noise was deafening and they were everywhere. The washroom lineups were so long you had to queue up right after lunch and bring your dinner with you. My wife and Mother-in-law are also about four feet tall each, so finding my way back to our campsite in the middle of that boiling swarm of freckles and barrettes required mounting a flag there.<br />
<br />
It began to make some kind of sense when they all disappeared into their tents and RVs and came back out in uniform. My wife informed me that they were all some kind of Scout, or Brownie, or Cookie-Corps or Army-Ants or something. We had stumbled into a Jamboree, or whatever they called this pre-teen nightmare that threatened to blot out the sun.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://asia.wagggsworld.org/en/news/21292" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="235" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--jQcJtFlGlY/T7a7kKjj_CI/AAAAAAAAAG4/n02Aw7di8B8/s400/campers-at-opening-ceremony.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is South Korea, where it happened once before on a slightly smaller scale.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That evening was Hell. Too stinky to eat, too loud to talk, and there was no way we were going to drink much. The campfire picked out a hundred little eyes just beyond the circle of light, aimed right at us. As it got late, the shrieking stopped, and the terrible, ceaseless whispering began. Giggles in the Dark.<br />
Rattling in the night, our tent shaking and soft noises of tiny footsteps all around us.<br />
<br />
Day Two.<br />
<br />
After a sleepless night we emerged under overcast skies to find that they had all gone somewhere for the day. In future we learned never to be relieved when this happened in a campground. We managed to finally get at the washrooms and spent the morning lying around the site exhausted and shaken, jumping at every small noise, dreading that they would all be back at any moment. Which did not happen.<br />
<br />
Instead, the sky broke open like the wrath of God and tried to kill us. We spent the day in our tents, shouting at each other through the sheets of rain, hail and briefly even snow. I still don't believe it myself, but I am not making this up.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&biw=1440&bih=770&tbm=isch&tbnid=zgUstOeQ4rbmlM:&imgrefurl=http://www.photoree.com/photos/permalink/5285103-75537036%40N00&docid=WQztQk2O_AIEwM&itg=1&imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3092/2731195573_66a4905fd1.jpg&w=500&h=375&ei=JMO2T7KBCcSoiQKl4bX5Bg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=603&vpy=147&dur=4885&hovh=194&hovw=259&tx=161&ty=146&sig=117731512733957838180&page=1&tbnh=129&tbnw=179&start=0&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0,i:72" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lo8V-rGdzmA/T7bE-RvbC2I/AAAAAAAAAH8/1BIRjSXkIq4/s400/2731195573_66a4905fd1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More snow, and a very grumpy mother-in-law would complete this picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The campground lost a layer of pine-needles and topsoil that day; there was nothing but asphalt and gravel left anywhere, even between the trees. All the firewood we had paid an arm and a leg for was under the wooden picnic table, which was covered in a plastic tablecloth; it was soaked through in no time anyway.<br />
It was all over by the evening, when the girls came back.<br />
<br />
It was their last night, and they sang and sang, and cried, and laughed while we sat in our soaking tents hating the whos. My mother-in-law was no longer speaking to us--she had gone deaf and had withdrawn into a better place where her kids left her at home for all their vacations. We took the hint and returned her early the next morning to her townhouse in the suburbs, and went back to our apartment in the city, cowed, but unfortunately not any wiser, as it turned out. <br />
<br />
Next time: <b>Part III:</b> It All Comes Together--What's The Worst That Could Happen?<br />
_______________________________________________ <br />
<br />
* Yes, yes. Get it out of your system.<br />
<br />
<b>What was your worst vacation experience overall? Post a comment or link to a full article. </b><br />
<br /></div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-44890409565349396422012-05-10T10:32:00.000-07:002012-07-27T13:15:37.955-07:00MonkeystroneGetting tired of the "monkey" thing? All part of the <strike>long-con</strike> branding strategy.<br />
Anyway, I stole this recipe from someone on TV, revved it up and drove it into two other recipes at top speed.<br />
Repeatedly.<br />
<br />
They can't be disentangled now, and as I was driving that fateful night the wreckage is all mine to share. <br />
<br />
It's a great soup, particularly in winter. Not the season for now it in most parts of the world, but since it's still cold out here half the week and raining often enough that no one's joking about it for the first time ever, here it is. It's hearty, and healthy. Healthy-ish, anyway. No sides needed, but a really fresh whole-grain bun (with or without olive oil and balsamic vinegar dip) is perfect on the side. Red <i>or</i> white wine, somehow. <br />
<br />
Plus, it's vegetarian for Pish, although she might want to skip the beans for a while. No reason.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.minestrone-soup.com/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WJJFxA5vUQw/T6v4YGA1CXI/AAAAAAAAAGs/udasej4zhlo/s320/minestrone-soup-example.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This looks about right. A full meal for a cold day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Hearty Veggie Minestrone</b></u></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><u>Ingredients: </u></b></blockquote>
<blockquote>
2 tablespoons olive oil<br />
1 onion, chopped<br />
1 med zucchini, chopped finely<br />
1 Tbsp dried Basil<br />
1 sprig fresh thyme<br />
1 cup tiny pasta "rings". I think they call it ring macaroni. Or Occhi di pernice or Anellini or any small or smashed-up pasta<br />
1 can chick peas<br />
1 Bay leaf<br />
2 carrots, peeled, chopped<br />
2 celery stalks, including the hearts, chopped (both the outside and the leafy inside part of the celery bunch)<br />
2 garlic cloves, minced<br />
1 pound fresh Spinach, leaves coarsely chopped<br />
1 new potato, peeled, cubed<br />
1 (14 1/2-oz) can diced tomatoes<br />
1 fresh rosemary sprig<br />
1 can (or 1 cup dried - pre-soaked) cannellini beans (or Great Northern if not available), drained, rinsed<br />
2 (14-oz) cans low-sodium veg broth<br />
1 ounce piece Parmesan cheese rind<br />
3 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley leaves<br />
1 parsnip, peeled and finely chopped<br />
Salt and pepper</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Heat the oil in a heavy large pot over medium heat. Add the onion,<br />
carrots, celery, and garlic. Saute until the onion is<br />
translucent, about 10 minutes. Add the Spinach and potato; saute for<br />
2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and rosemary sprig. Simmer until the Spinach<br />
is wilted and the tomatoes break down, about 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, (optionally) blend 3/4 cup of the beans with 1/4 cup of the broth in a<br />
processor until almost smooth. Add the pureed bean mixture (if using), remaining<br />
broth, and Parmesan cheese rind to the vegetable mixture. Simmer until<br />
the potato pieces are tender, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes.<br />
Stir in the whole beans and parsley. Simmer until the beans are heated<br />
through and the soup is thick, about 2 minutes. Season with salt and<br />
pepper, to taste. Discard Parmesan rind and rosemary sprig (the leaves<br />
will have fallen off of the stem.)<br />
<br />
Ladle the soup into bowls and serve.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
Not a great week for losing weight, but I haven't gained. Struggling to get back outside and walking lately.<br />
It's been cold and wet, and I have devolved into a wimp. My kilted ancestors would be ashamed. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-25309937328639164282012-04-30T00:11:00.000-07:002012-06-08T23:11:29.832-07:00Sweep the Leg<div style="text-align: left;">
Sometimes teaching your son a lesson can lead you down very strange roads:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>I was a solo 46-year-old man at the Pokemon Regional Championships.</b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zerochan.net/1044811" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="101" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Vf2U9dlXMgQ/T53N7K7IJnI/AAAAAAAAAFA/m2T1DXVgPMw/s400/1044811a.jpg" title="Pokemon is made of pixels and paper. Fueled by the living souls of Children." width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a>This was not how it was supposed to go.<br />
<br />
That Saturday was a big day for my son, and he woke up and pressed all my buttons and pulled my chain until it just wasn't <i>enough</i> to cancel taking him to this thing.<br />
Don't let a 7-year-old lip you off in the morning--no good can come of ignoring that.<br />
<br />
No, that always leads to a whole grumpy weekend together where we both stay short with each other, and we both piss off the wife. Why punish ourselves? I needed to get out, and he had to know that something cool was really going on without him.<br />
He needed to feel ripped off by his own attitude.<br />
<br />
<i><b>I</b></i> needed him to feel that. Sometimes, yes, I am that Dick of a Dad. <br />
<br />
Daddy was just the man to go out on that limb to an out-of-the-way mall, and spend an half an hour milling about with crowds of little kids and their parents. We'd have a coffee and nod knowingly at each other about the ridiculous fuss around us over these colored bits of cardboard; those with older kids would assure us that they all would grow out of it well before puberty. Collectible card games? A phase. Forget about it. <br />
<br />
I would stay only long enough to pick up a souvenir and say I had been there. My point would be proven, and if I ever again set aside a day to devote to something like this he would damned well know how lucky he was, and look forward to it for an hour or two and behave well enough to get there. Win-win.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
There were a thousand, thousand people there. The line just to get in snaked around about four times as long as the one for the new iPad a month ago at the Apple store at the really big mall.<i> That</i> lineup I walked by and laughed at, because, who can't wait a day, or a week, for some product? <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.dualshockers.com/2011/04/04/pokemon-black-white-continue-taking-over-the-world/" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="293" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-khRNPm3YEq8/T53PfXkGTtI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/R_L7vIZahnU/s320/Pokemon-Black-and-White+a.jpg" title="The Great Satan. I don't know what this thing is supposed to be, but they brought a statue with them and worshipped it. Seriously, they did." width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">No one can. Meet Mickey Mouse, as played by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Jeong" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Dr. Ken Jeong</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">He owns your child--you just lease him back.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>This</i> lineup crammed me between one hundred dead-eyed teens standing six feet tall and smelling like dirty hoodies and Axe cologne. It spat me out at the registration desk, where someone checked my deck and I was processed efficiently into a holding area for combatants.<br />
<br />
I could not see a parent, just very big kids and very strange costumes--mascot-heads of creatures invented by a 6-year-old H.P. Lovecraft. Bright colours, and odd numbers of googly eyes. Fleece fangs and tentacles everywhere. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.vancourier.com/news/PHOTOS+Pok%C3%A9mon+players+pack+Surrey+mall/6483133/story.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="257" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0IzM7wpAt3k/T54zoOu5vyI/AAAAAAAAAGg/Ty0dALFASpo/s400/6485758.bin.jpg" title="What is WRONG with you people? This isn't FUN! " width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stop that!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Finally I saw some younger kids, on the other side of the vast room. Why did it look like there were about three hundred of them, when there were clearly a thousand older ones? Must be a parents' area somewhere, probably in view. Where could it be? I'm not prone to anxiety attacks, I'm just wound too tight to live.<br />
But this is an exceptional situation in every possible way. <br />
<br />
<i>I do not look like a pedophile. Not even slightly. </i><br />
<i>Why would that even come into my head?</i><br />
<i>Wish my son was here.</i> <i>I would actually wear one of those hats right now if I had one.</i><br />
<i>Hats of invisibility.</i><br />
<br />
Speaking of which, there's one guy who who actually makes me feel less like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Mead" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Margaret Mead</a> here:<br />
A 20-year-old goth in full makeup, leather spiked bondage collar and matching cuffs, fondling a crystal ball the size of a grapefruit as he wanders around aimlessly, avoiding eye-contact. Huge black back-pack.<br />
Now I'm background, for sure. There's always one standout who raises the bar in a crowd like this.<br />
Totally inappropriate here, if I know anything.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
They posted our first round ten minutes later. Some of them moaned about their assignments. Whatever.<br />
Oh, I am seated next to that goth. And he's really, really popular. Not an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Asperger</a> at all. Gay, and very nice, but oh so photogenic.<br />
<br />
There is a wandering official photographer who takes 700 pictures and video of him. And inadvertently of me. Suddenly <i>he's</i> not going to look freakish, oh no, not at all. The old guy next to him will, though. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Round 1: <i>FIGHT!</i></b></span></div>
<br />
My first opponent was a venerated regional judge of the game. He was about 20, taking his first championship off-duty today to compete. I know this because they announced it before we started, and he took a bow. At least I could get some advice from him and not worry too much about even trying to win the game. It would be square and straightforward and all legal.<br />
That's how all ref's play their games off the clock, right? <br />
<br />
<i>Nuh-uh, stupid!</i><br />
<br />
First thing I notice: his cards. All printed in French. WTF?<br />
<br />
My deck is new, put together from the best of the random packs we're opened.<br />
A little of this, and a little of that. <i>For fun.</i><br />
<br />
<i>His</i> deck was composed of the best cards from the last five years, and only the best, and plenty of them. It followed a strict formula, as all the decks I saw did. You picked one and ran it and hoped it worked against the other formulas you encountered. Tried and true. I had my suspicions at the time, and found out later that yes, it would cost about <b>$1200</b> to hand-select the components of that first deck. In English.<br />
<br />
No pressure. <br />
<br />
First card out prevents me from playing half my cards. It's in French, so I have to trust him on that. <br />
The next one beats me up and prevents me from attacking next turn.<br />
Rinse and repeat until I have lost one of my six points.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Again.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Final Defeat. <b> </b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b></b><br />
<b></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm thinking about this, and it seems I ought to be able to understand these cards I've never seen. I know this is irrelevant, but I feel I've just played <a href="http://en.memory-alpha.org/wiki/Fizzbin" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">fizzbin </a>with Kirk, bruises and all.<b> </b>Perhaps I should check this out. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The Pokemon Officials from Washington State are quick to explain:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>"It's your [pause for repressed epithet] bilingual country. You deal with that--we're done arguing about it ... <i>Buddy.</i>"</b></div>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Well, I guess that's fair. The nearest French-speaking town is only 2822 miles due East. I find out later that it isn't a cost-saving measure for my opponent, it actually doubles the price of his deck to buy it that way.<br />
He really<i> is</i> just the biggest jackass there. Or so I thought.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://guides.ign.com/guides/16708/page_99.html" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-iQ5mx96Z560/T53iVClOikI/AAAAAAAAAGU/AKyvCTbnkAA/s1600/kabuto+a.jpg" title="Itchy. Don't scratch--it will just get worse. SO much worse ..." /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Krablachu:</b> The Sexually Transmitted Pokemon.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I will be beaten down seven times that day, over six hours. Of course I could have gone home, but there were random prizes every new round. It would have been nice to take something back after all this. And I am stubborn. I don't quit, and I am a good sport. Somewhere at the bottom of the pile of these people is another chump who came unprepared. And I <i>can</i> beat that chump.<br />
<br />
Only I never saw him. <br />
<br />
And it's just kids, playing a game after all. No skin off my nose. I don't have to take it personally, even though by game four they introduce themselves as: "Hi--it's going to be fun crushing you!"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Sure kid. Next time have fun crushing a few of those zits before you leave the house, OK? </i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Whoo. Where did <i>that</i> come from? Pretty sure that wasn't out loud. <i>Maintain.</i></div>
</div>
<br />
Cards appear that haven't been sold in five years. The newest, most expensive $30 cards also show up and I swear there's too many of them to be legal, but I can't count over four any more anyway.<br />
<br />
I'm Pokemon punch-drunk, and I just want it all to be over.<br />
Every time I hit the playmat I want to stay down.<br />
<br />
By the very end the cards all look like bad jokes that a one-eyed shut-in codeine-addict churns out incessantly and immediately forgets. Surely they can't be serious.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?start=310&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=7jv&sa=X&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&channel=fflb&biw=1440&bih=770&addh=36&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=BoSJhz4km5UrsM:&imgrefurl=http://www.mytoobs.net/Forum/f114/your-favorite-pokemon-2551/&docid=rP0OhJNxNZcFnM&imgurl=http://www.glogster.com/media/4/36/98/64/36986422.gif&w=418&h=429&ei=LpidT5OmOqXSiAK6071b&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=643&vpy=76&dur=478&hovh=227&hovw=222&tx=134&ty=168&sig=117731512733957838180&page=9&tbnh=127&tbnw=124&ndsp=38&ved=1t:429,r:34,s:310,i:165" imageanchor="1" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xSoNqW51qyc/T53SA0-nDJI/AAAAAAAAAGA/TN9zdBWe4fA/s320/36986422.gif" title="The Fuckitmon. Trying to get fired from Pokemon Studios? Not so easy." width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can't even.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Farts glitter for 80 damage.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: left;">
OMG <i>of course</i> that's the whole business model! I knew that when I walked in--how could I have forgotten?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>WAITWAIT--Have I<i> legitimized</i> this paper cock-fighting scam to myself? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Have I re-classified it as a <i>sport</i> to deny some of this mental conflict? </b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Whoa--I know about that syndrome! That's a dangerous, newly discovered phenomenon--it means I am identifying with this company as if they were my <i>employer. </i>They don't even have a name for that yet, but they'll put it in the <b>DSM V</b> right next to Stockholm Syndrome.<br />
<br />
I resolve to stick to $20 poker games or just learn to eat wads of my own cash to duplicate this thrill.<br />
It's free to be here, but that's what passing this time has felt like. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>* * *</i></div>
<br />
When I arrive home, fragile and confused, my son is glad to see me. He has somehow had a decent day.<br />
<br />
I feel like Wile E. Coyote after a long cartoon; it took a lot of anvils and a lot of cliffs, but I want to forget why I did all this because in hindsight it seems a bit loony. I don't want to admit that at some point I'll probably convince myself to do something very like it again; on principle, because I can't talk myself down from it in time.<br />
<br />
My boy apologizes for his behaviour and asks me how it went. I show him the souvenir card. It's much like one he already has.<br />
<br />
I tell him he didn't miss anything and we walk to the park to play on the playground together until it gets dark. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<br />
When have you backed yourself into doing something you regretted? What did you learn? </div>
</div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-34610789032450786642012-04-12T17:47:00.001-07:002013-08-22T09:55:45.666-07:00Flaming Babies<div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yPpSIYeqEYE/T4cx9GjfoOI/AAAAAAAAAEo/MVdsKaXZTlM/s1600/really_hot_pepper_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yPpSIYeqEYE/T4cx9GjfoOI/AAAAAAAAAEo/MVdsKaXZTlM/s320/really_hot_pepper_lg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why cain't I quit you? <br />
I didn't mean that Baby,<i> come back!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My family likes the burn, myself most of all. When I was diagnosed with gastric reflux I thought I would never enjoy another meal. Luckily it was just my gallbladder, so I'm back eating Louisiana Red and Sriracha, and of course good old Tabasco.<br />
<br />
My father used to love spicy foods before boutique hot-sauces and trendy posters and Scoville ratings were cool. Someone gave him a jar of pickled Yugoslavian hot peppers for Xmas as a joke, and as soon as we got home he broke the seal and popped one in his mouth.<br />
<br />
A sudden scream from across the house brought us running back to the kitchen. We found him prone, mouth open, eyes wide and streaming. Red faced, straining to survive.<br />
<br />
Anyone else would have called an ambulance, but we knew he was enjoying himself immensely.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
In the last few years things have changed for him. He can't enjoy the burn any longer, having wrecked his digestion for good on wine and heavy food. He taught me how to enjoy food and drink, and ... not much else. He gave me his best curry recipe, which I modified over the years and posted recently.<br />
<br />
He's not going to see May. We don't agree on much, like whether it's acceptable to hit your children, or what respect is. It's possible that we will speak, for the first time in seven years, this week.<br />
I think I hope so. <br />
<br />
* * * <br />
<br />
My son was conceived as a vegetarian, going so far as to make his mother a vegan while he gestated. <br />
<br />
The minute they were divided she ordered a steak. From the delivery room. <br />
<br />
<br />
Now he eats no meat, except the odd piece of pepperoni pizza or a chicken nugget twice a year.<br />
So no actual meat, anyway. I try to respect that, which means providing a
lot of beans, corn, PBJs, cheese, eggs and carbs. He is Heinz' biggest
customer.<br />
<br />
As an infant he never put things in his mouth to
check them out; he didn't see the point of a soother -- no payoff
there. But he would taste anything I gave him, lemons, keys, Naugahyde,
steel wool.<br />
<br />
OK, lemons and broccoli. I would absolutely never have let him near the rest of that.<br />
If there was anybody watching.<br />
<br />
Point is that he was trusting, having virtually no working taste buds.<br />
<br />
But we would have to watch him while produce shopping so that he didn't eat our fresh jalapenos.<br />
He would munch down two or three big ones in no time and people would do
a double-take before watching him smile and steal another one and not
cry or detonate. No tummy troubles or flaming diapers.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
During
one outing he leaned out of the cart and graced me with a big smooch
that started on my cheek and smeared over my left eye with a giggle; it
burned like phosphorus.<br />
<br />
I managed not to upset him.<br />
Hey there, happy boy! <i>Don't touch me! Stop, drop and ROLLLL!!!</i><br />
<br />
Checkout was hell, with one red, streaming eye, and a happy, venomous baby, still cart-diving for remaining peppers.<br />
<br />
Today I'm cold, and it is raining, which is typical mid-April, and I have decided to share my recipe for the tastiest, most dangerous sauce I know. I worked it out from the ingredients of a something I can't get locally now, and then I changed it over the years. It's still vaguely Jamaican.<br />
<br />
I had to learn canning to make it, since no one, and I mean not even college students, can handle more than a teaspoon mixed into in a large meal. It lasts a long time in the cupboard before you open it, then it lasts a long time in the fridge. I eat it in tiny spoonfuls on my eggs, my wife puts it in casseroles, and it makes a turkey and mayo or avocado sandwich <i>sing.</i><br />
<br />
<b>WARNING: </b>This will tear-gas your kitchen and leave smoking sockets if you get any in your eyes.<br />
Proper ventilation, double-rubber gloves, safety goggles, and you don't wear contact lenses that day.<br />
<br />
I am not exaggerating, in fact I can't warn you enough.<br />
This is delicious, but also as dangerous as an acupuncturist with hay-fever.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9upGQL1nFk/T4dlUUNFmAI/AAAAAAAAAEw/yLZXcmLXAik/s1600/hotlava-ed01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W9upGQL1nFk/T4dlUUNFmAI/AAAAAAAAAEw/yLZXcmLXAik/s320/hotlava-ed01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can temper <b>The Sauce</b> down to a reasonable heat using the Earth's core.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u style="color: red;"><b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The Sauce </span></b></u></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Spices:</span></span></b></u><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Yellow mustard seed: 2</b> teaspoons</span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Coriander seed: 2</b> teaspoons</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Cumin seed: 2</b> teaspoons</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Turmeric: 1½</b> teaspoons</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Fenugreek:</b> <b>1</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Cardamon seed: 1</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Spanish paprika: 1</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Black pepper:</b> <b>¾</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Cloves:</b> <b>½</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Cinnamon</b>: <b>½</b> teaspoon</span></span></div>
<h1 style="font-weight: normal;">
</h1>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><u>Fresh Ingredients:</u><br />Cucumber: 1½ cups</b> (seeded & chopped w onion) <b><br />White Onion: 1 </b>medium. Fresh only. Chopped with cucumber.<b><br />Mangos: 4</b> med ripe, peeled & pitted<b><br />Scotch-bonnet peppers</b> (or red & orange habaneros): <b>4 heaping cups</b>
(before preparing). Seeded and stemmed, halved for processing. <b>See Note!<br />Fresh garlic: 4</b> large cloves minced<b><br />Bay leaf: 4 </b>large or 5 med (removed before canning)<b><br />White Vinegar: 2 ½</b> cups</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Optional: </span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Citric Acid</b> crystals to protect flavour: 1 tsp (or ascorbic acid). </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>NOTE ABOUT PEPPERS: </b>Clean them carefully and <b>DRY THEM OFF</b> BEFORE cutting!<br />
If you cut them wet, you will die, and your kitchen will be condemned and sealed forever.<b><br />Don't</b> get them wet <b>before</b> you put them in the processor. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Don't! You'll wish they were just a bowl full of Gremlins. OK.</blockquote>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chop <b>cucumber</b> and <b>onion</b> fine. Process <b>spices</b> (except <b>bay leaves</b>) in
grinder until powdered. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chop <b>mango</b> and prepared <b>peppers</b>, and <b>garlic</b> in food processor, add
<b>spices</b> and <b>chop</b> together until fine. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Put <b>mango-pepper</b> mix in pot, add bay leaves and begin to heat to
boiling. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Chop cucumbers and onions in processor with vinegar. Add to mangoes and stir. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Bring to a boil, then turn down heat and simmer until desired thickness
is reached (about 20-25 minutes).</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Remove Bay leaves. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Can in ½ pint jars – boil jars for 10-15 minutes.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-GB">Makes just over 10 (½ pint) jars of orange-yellow rocket fuel.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Good luck, and Happy Trails!</div>
</div>
</div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-67506143584806950872012-04-05T13:01:00.001-07:002012-06-08T23:12:01.588-07:00For a Friend<br />
I hear you say you dread this weekend. It's the same thing all over again, every year for longer than you can remember. I get it, I really do. As much as I could, anyway.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8KxWekL9RY/T3346NGti9I/AAAAAAAAAEg/C-_T5xEw2IU/s1600/egg10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y8KxWekL9RY/T3346NGti9I/AAAAAAAAAEg/C-_T5xEw2IU/s320/egg10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All in one basket.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I want to say I have faith in you without having to pay tithe or get uncircumcised.<br />
<br />
But it seems to me you have to face it as a crap-shoot, or it becomes a meaningless charade. So logically there has to be worst-er-case scenario where it's all for nothing.<br />
That, I <b>do</b> believe about everything.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
What that entails or how it might change things is something you should ask Augustine or Francis before tomorrow. Not my field, and truly academic to me.<br />
<br />
But I will wish you luck, and encourage you to be true to yourself and (just to keep that uncertainty in The Plan) assure you that you are still welcome <strike>to hang</strike> here, even if you bail.<br />
<br />
Don't bear all that for me, man, I don't need the guilt. Do it for whoever or whatever you like, or just <i>don't.</i><br />
<br />
You haven't done anything wrong--go free and live on an island somewhere.<br />
<br />
Seriously. I just summarized Genesis to my son this morning while brushing his teeth, and he declared that your Dad was "a real bully". I get that, too.<br />
<br />
So I get a parental gold star, and you can bail or not.<br />
<br />
See you at Passover, J.OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-39270659604240934692012-03-22T21:38:00.001-07:002012-07-29T17:21:38.732-07:00True Camping, Part the First: "First Blood"<div>
Spring is here, despite the random sleet and hail. They took back that borrowed hour and it's all going to get better from here on in. Especially if I could photosynthesize food, and live outside.<br />
<br />
My wife introduced me to the <u>Camping Phenomenon</u> shortly after we met, in the late '80's.<br />
<br />
However, I grew up going to summer camp on a large island mostly devoted to that; young hippies looked after us when they weren't tanning or painting peace signs or boinking furiously as soon we had taken the drugged hot chocolate every night. Seriously. The church that paid the tab had no idea what was going on, nor what was to come. That's another post. Nevertheless, many good times, and a few really decent people made it worthwhile.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rHBkvjdM0I4/T2v0apTdd0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/HcfiwCqrnUQ/s1600/Porteau-Cove-5-ftu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rHBkvjdM0I4/T2v0apTdd0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/HcfiwCqrnUQ/s320/Porteau-Cove-5-ftu.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Later there were some crazy long hikes and a lot of sleeping out with just our pack of supplies. We got lost a couple of times, and hiked through the rough for 14 hours once. But it was all amazing.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Campfire cooking, ghost stories, dead silent evenings and more stars than I have ever seen since. Meteor showers and once, even auroras to watch. Waking up with cold dew on my face, having to pee <i>so badly</i> and hopping as quickly out into the bush as possible. Realizing right after how very cold the morning was. Aching all over from the day before, scratched legs, dirt ground into my wrists and the tight feeling of my sunburned ears. Salal everywhere under pines and peeling arbutus trees.<br />
<br />
Camping. I was so glad to learn that my wife was a camper, too. Her family camped every year together. She and I would surely hang out together, really get out there, hiking to slightly remote places to bundle up together and live like there was no more world for a week at a time. I would learn to fish. I was suddenly very nostalgic to get away completely. <i>Eager</i>.<br />
<br />
I used to be eager a lot.<br />
<br />
Camping with my in-laws <i>actually</i> meant driving to a slightly remote town and parking on a privately-owned slab of asphalt surrounded by not enough trees to screen four other lots within spitting distance. RVs and camper-vans were typical. Campfires were restricted to a half an oil drum on each lot, and firewood had to be bought, and then dried. Then doused in oil.<br />
<br />
There was a lot of noise. A lot of drinking. This was the little town of Hope, where <i>First Blood</i> was filmed. It hadn't changed much in those 10 years.<br />
<br />
My brothers-in-law could, and still can, put away a 24 each and every night. At the time they were about 30. Typically they would spend the night streaking down public roads, then returning to argue and fall against our tent before one (let's call him Chuck), would return to his own tent and his wife, and the other (Dick) would stick his head in a beer-box and wrap himself in a shower curtain and pass out on the gravel between the lots.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-stfPR2RtLog/T2vwwcvlKCI/AAAAAAAAAEI/G76vW4FIgM0/s1600/party-fails-hes-got-his-head-in-the-right-place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-stfPR2RtLog/T2vwwcvlKCI/AAAAAAAAAEI/G76vW4FIgM0/s320/party-fails-hes-got-his-head-in-the-right-place.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Home safe. Whew!</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Their arguments were epic:<br />
<blockquote>
<b>"What--I'm just <i>trying</i> to say--"</b><br />
<b>"No, YOU listen! You need to <i>hear</i> stuff for once!"</b><br />
<b>"But I'm trying to <i>say</i> something here!"</b><br />
<b>"Listen UP! I'm <i>TALKING!"</i></b></blockquote>
(Repeat, louder and more urgently for two hours.)<br />
<br />
Somehow they never ended up hitting each other, although they did frequently injure themselves while waving their arms over their heads and tripping over nothing. In the morning Chuck would have ended up in the river, where the shallows ran around a gravel bar, sitting on a lawn chair, refusing to speak to anyone.<br />
<br />
All the children would begin their day by poking Dick's carcass with sticks, then they'd steal his beer-box to play with.<br />
<br />
One evening the kids came running into camp shouting that Princess Di was dead. Their parents had no interest in such lies, and they were ordered to go to bed early. The children missed seeing Uncle Dick streak across the freeway bridge that night, and have never gotten over it, although they've stopped blaming the monarchy.<br />
<br />
The campground was badly maintained. The washrooms were revolting, and the "heated showers" were ankle-deep with soil. The management was obnoxious and unhelpful. The other guests were loud and rude, but couldn't hold a candle to my in-laws.<br />
<br />
They and their friends numbered about thirty people in all. They would gather and take over one edge of the campground entirely, a single row of sites which was bounded by a raised road on one side and river on the other. There were still noise complaints, and the manager <i>hated</i> them like high school.<br />
<br />
They had to change names every time they reserved the lots, and finally things came to a head one evening when Dick waved his finger in the manager's face and dared him to oust them all for "noise", threatening to kick the man's ass if he <i>ever</i> bothered them again.<br />
<br />
What happened an hour later was ... <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XVDdG_9CRQw/T2vWhiyMNBI/AAAAAAAAADw/94sMZZaP8eA/s1600/police-state-post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XVDdG_9CRQw/T2vWhiyMNBI/AAAAAAAAADw/94sMZZaP8eA/s320/police-state-post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Overkill. </span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We had no idea that a town of 3000 even <i>had </i>a riot squad. But there they were, not too busy to assemble and come to camp. They did impress the tourists; the whole place went silent.<br />
<br />
They advanced up the road slowly, in perfect unison, batons in hand, followed by two cruisers full of backup. My brothers-in-law were stupefied. The procession met them just on the slope above the campsites on either side.<br />
<br />
Reactions were mixed:<br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dyT4u7MbGAE/T2vc-ipljeI/AAAAAAAAAD4/PPnCmYahLaI/s1600/ramboIII.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dyT4u7MbGAE/T2vc-ipljeI/AAAAAAAAAD4/PPnCmYahLaI/s320/ramboIII.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>WHAT the?!</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
My bros-in-law offered the police beer. The squad declined. The manager ran up and made his case, then the bros made theirs. The guy was was <i>upset.</i> It went a lot like this:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/G-b-CfHbPGQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Guess who the manager played?</b></div>
<div>
<br />
Entirely on the judgment of who among them was most irritating, Chuck & Dick avoided a mass beat-down. They were banned from ever coming back to that campground, and had to find somewhere else to descend.<br />
<br />
But they left their mark, like salting the soil. One of my supervisors at The Warehouse Store was a large, belligerent alcohol and prescription drug addict with a following among the most aggressive men and women there.<br />
<br />
Turns out that group book those very same sites in that campground every year now and act exactly the same way, with the addition of one woman who started biting people and disappeared into the woods for the week. The cops don't come any more, and that manager has moved on.<br />
<br />
Let's call it a tie.<br />
<br />
Soon: <i>Our</i> camping.</div>
</div>
</div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-8261131782376191402012-03-22T14:21:00.000-07:002012-06-08T23:12:34.658-07:00Recipe Time: Monkey Curry<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">I have a post on the way, but I won't finish it today. Instead, please consider this curry recipe, which I have bastardized until it only reflects the way my family used to do it, and not really any region of India. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Makes lots, and freezes really well. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #990000;"><b>Update: </b><span style="color: black;">There were no monkeys hurt making this curry. It's by a Monkey, for Monkeys like you all, </span></span>and you can monkey around with it. If you put monkeys in it (or bats) you're on your own.* </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><i>*You'd want to increase the cumin, pepper & ginger, for one thing. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><i>I mean, I would guess.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><u>The Recipe:</u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">It's not simple, and it takes a while, but it is my favorite dish in the world. </span><span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">I prefer to put the garlic into the saute last, not as directed, for only about 30 seconds. You'll smell when it's done. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Then add the tomatoes to stop it burning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Make it with chicken and chickpeas, or just chickpeas. Add partly-boiled potato cubes before baking if you like. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">I prefer brown basmati rice, although it takes an hour longer.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Please don't put fruit in it. I just don't understand that.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;"></span></u></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">Monkey Curry<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Serves 4-6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">-
3 hours preparation -<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Requires
one 4-litre covered casserole/baking dish (if not element-safe then ALSO one 10-inch frying-pan)</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">Seasonings<o:p></o:p></span></u></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1½ teaspoons salt
(maximum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">¼ teaspoons ground
cayenne pepper, (maximum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">5 teaspoons medium curry
powder (minimum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">2 tablespoons
(total) ground coriander and/or fresh minced cilantro (maximum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">½ teaspoon
freshly ground cumin seed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">½ teaspoon
freshly ground fennel seed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small; position: relative; top: -3pt;">1</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">/<span style="position: relative; top: 3pt;">4</span> teaspoon ground cardamon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 teaspoon Garam Masala<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-align: center; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">Main ingredients<o:p></o:p></span></u></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 kilogram
chicken breast, in approx. 1 inch square pieces (maximum) or pork or lamb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">vegetable oil<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 tablespoon garlic,
chopped (minimum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1½ teaspoons fresh
ginger, minced (minimum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1½ cups onion, chopped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 medium-large zucchini,
finely chopped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">14 ounces
(minimum) canned tomatoes (1 can) plus liquid or fresh tomatoes (canned is
preferred)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">11 ounces
tomato paste (two small cans)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1½ cups plain
yoghurt (minimum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 tablespoon lemon or
lime juice (or concentrate)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 85.5pt; text-indent: -13.5pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Preheat
oven to 350º Fahrenheit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">In
a 10-inch frying pan or 4-litre element-safe baking dish:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1. Fry chicken lightly in oil -- just until
white and slightly firm, about 3 minutes, setting aside pieces as each is done.
DO NOT BROWN. Cover and set aside all chicken for later in recipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">2. Sauté onion, garlic and ginger in oil --
medium heat, about 6-8 minutes total. After about 3 minutes add zucchini. DO
NOT BURN (brown) THE GARLIC OR THE ONIONS. The onions should just get
transparent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">3. Reduce heat to low. Add curry and 1-2 tablespoons
of the tomato liquid (or juice, if fresh). Sauté for 1 minute then add tomatoes
(breaking each to avoid burstings). Stir in tomato paste. Add coriander, cumin,
fennel and cardamon. Stir in yoghurt. Add up to ½ teaspoons cayenne and up to
1½ teaspoons salt, tasting to confirm amount required. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Heat up to
medium.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">NOTE:
frying-pan may be full now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">4. Either add chicken to pan or put contents and
chicken in element-safe baking-dish sprayed with non-stick oil. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Bring to a
boil, stirring constantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">5. Transfer contents (if not already in) to
covered casserole/baking dish. Add lemon/lime juice and stir. Sprinkle with
Garam Masala.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Bake at 350º F
for 1 hour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">6. Stir and serve with (or over) turmeric rice
and peas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 25.2pt; text-indent: -25.2pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Provide
chutney and roti (or substitute warm, buttered pita bread, whole-wheat or
white). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;"><br /></span></u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><u><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">Turmeric Rice</span></u></b></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Serves 4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal;">- 40 minutes preparation -</span></i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 94.5pt; text-indent: -22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1½ teaspoons
ground turmeric (absolute maximum)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 94.5pt; text-indent: -22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 <span style="position: relative; top: -3pt;">1</span>/<span style="position: relative; top: 3pt;">4 </span>teaspoons
salt<span style="position: relative; top: 3pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 94.5pt; text-indent: -22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">1 tablespoon
butter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 94.5pt; text-indent: -22.5pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">2 cups raw
basmati rice<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 72pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Wash
the rice well in cold water. Soak it in a bowl with 5 cups water and ½ teaspoon
salt for 30 minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Drain
out the water. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Melt
the butter in a rice pot (heavy or copper bottomed with a tight lid) over
medium heat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Pour
in the drained rice and stir for a minute or so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Add
2<span style="position: relative; top: -3pt;">1</span>/<span style="position: relative; top: 3pt;">4 </span>cups water
and the remaining salt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Bring
to a boil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Cover,
lower heat to very low and cook for 20 minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Lift
lid, mix rice gently with fork. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Cover
again and cook for another 10 minutes or until rice is tender.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Bodacious-Normal; font-size: small;">Sprinkle
with parsley or fresh coriander leaves and serve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-48029500007237228932012-02-18T16:37:00.000-08:002012-06-08T23:12:48.392-07:00Not "fat" just friendly.<div class="tr_bq">
I used to live in the nicest, most integrated neighborhood in the area. Every kind of person who could afford 50% more rent than the rest of the city lived there in old rental units that were beautifully kept up and reasonably spacious. </div>
<br />
Everyone got along well, and there were great little restaurants with cheap but excellent lunch specials. The scenery and the people-watching were unparalleled. Everyone seemed to own a dog, and there were all kinds, even unto a number of Great Danes.<br />
<br />
In the summer, art galleries would mount outdoor sculptures by various artists along the beach walks to surprise and delight the locals. There was Tai-Chi and yoga in the parks and green-spaces and outdoor and indoor chess almost everywhere there was a table. People flew beautiful kites along the short stretch of beach, and we were a short walk from the bustling downtown, with its theaters, cinemas, malls and and pretentious restaurants and nightclubs.<br />
<br />
Every year there was a world-class fireworks festival in August and the streets would be jammed with tens of thousands of people from all around.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
Gay men ruled that part of the land and it was good. It was pretty clean and every stranger wanted to talk. There were more independent coffee shops than parking spots, and the one local McDonald's <i>failed,</i> and had to shut down in disgrace and go move to a mall somewhere else, because there were none around. Smoking was forbidden indoors, and frowned upon everywhere else. Most people were reasonably fit and friendly, and it made you want to look after yourself, too. In short, it was my Heaven.<br />
<br />
Ironically our family and acquaintances from the suburbs seemed convinced that gay men were heroin users who ate babies and would rape and kill you for your shoes, and that they were 99% of the local population. They visited rarely, nervously, and kept their teenage children close until they could flee early enough to avoid "the traffic".<br />
<br />
Currently I live in a struggling municipality about an hour away by car, which I need to use to get to anything around here. Although there are numerous playgrounds for the local children, there is real crime; there have been three incidents serious enough to cordon off our whole block since we moved in five years ago.<br />
<br />
There is no beach, and the train-yard bars us from walking the waterline. The trains blow their horns for hours at night. During the day no one lingers outdoors unless they have a child to mind, or a need to smoke, which they put out on the ground. No one meets anyone else's eyes, and far too many of the few dog owners don't clean up like they are supposed to. There are ethnic divides, and everyone seems as straight as an arrow, unimaginative and as dull as dirt. Nothing colorful happens here; nothing daring; nothing new; nothing provocative.<br />
<br />
This is the cost of owning your home when you aren't demonstrably rich. I miss our last neighborhood, but I try not to think of it. It's awkward to go there and not be able to stay. To be exiled by choice. I'm reconciled to this place now, I think. I hope.<br />
<br />
But while we lived in our last rental, in Heaven, I used to walk the streets with pleasure, just to get out under the many trees and see whatever I might see; everything in my life seemed to be going well and I was finally living where I wanted to. In my element, as it turned out. Perhaps for the last time.<br />
<br />
There were a few odd things that happened, and some really interesting people to meet. Once I saw a 450lb woman walking the world's smallest pot-bellied pig on a leash about six years ago, shortly before we left.<br />
<br />
She was six feet tall and wore a purple mu-mu that brushed the ground. The pig was ten inches long and about 6-8 lbs. It was dragging its belly, as they do, and wheezing audibly as it came. It had the cutest, tiniest little nose, considering its huge jowls and watery, baggy little pig-eyes. Its belly was as distended outward as a pregnant goat's; it had internal saddlebags, and a bowed back. Cute, though, for a pig.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nXM0_8ZXH_I/T0BAngObDOI/AAAAAAAAACo/EsYkmtK5u6k/s1600/IMG_4270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nXM0_8ZXH_I/T0BAngObDOI/AAAAAAAAACo/EsYkmtK5u6k/s320/IMG_4270.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keeping the park safe from truffles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote>
"Oh, I haven't seen one of those in years! How cute! That must be as miniature as they get. How old is it?"<br />
"Four. She's four."<br />
"Is she difficult to keep? I understand that they can be cat-box trained."<br />
"Noooo, not difficult ..." Frowning slightly. Perhaps she was tired, or a bit slow.<br />
"Is this the smallest breed? The Korean ones are about three feet long, but this is ideal for a small apartment. Did you have any trouble getting permission?"<br />
"This ... this is my <i>chihuahua.</i>" Uncomfortable silence.<br />
"Oh. Well have a nice day." </blockquote>
I used to be 75lbs heavier than I am. My gall-bladder gave me an unforgiving lesson that I hope to never forget about fat intake when it failed. I chose to combine that with giving up white flour and sugar and refined anything. I get a lot of fiber and some veg every day and very little meat. The weight really came off on its own within a few months when I stopped over-supplying myself. I went from an XXL to a medium-small and had to throw out every piece of clothing I owned.<br />
<br />
I think of that woman, too, when people I know complain that they aren't responsible for their obesity; on the one hand it was good that this couple was walking, but on the other, it was brutally clear to me that nature didn't take an already distorted dog and inflate it with fat until it looked like another animal entirely, rheumy-eyed and morbid.<br />
<br />
That woman did that to both of them. And we do it to each other, as well as ourselves. We eat what our friends and family eat so as to not divide ourselves. The first non-smokers were seen as tight-assed worriers making trouble for most people, who either smoked or didn't mind if they lived in a cloud of other people's smoke. They crusaded for the right to breathe just air, and the resentment by the <i>status quo</i> was loud and intemperate.<br />
<br />
I don't think it's fanatical or divisive to do the math and be responsible for your well-being, even if it means waiting for your friends or family to come around. But it's not convivial or comfortable or easy.<br />
<br />
I do it anyway, and end up eating alone, or off the suggested menu.<br />
<br />
Exception-seeker. Attention-hound. <i>Trouble-maker.</i><br />
<br />
Or maybe it's not for me to judge what these relationships are worth. In my life I eat one way, and everyone I know eats another. When I eat without restraint I feel like I am being social, and when I don't, I feel rude and judgmental. It's awkward for my family and friends, even as they are trying to be kind. Some treat me like I'm diabetic or allergic or just mental.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NxmcfQv5HUE/T0BCgzQLJ4I/AAAAAAAAACw/apvFUOG9FUA/s1600/biggest-hamburger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NxmcfQv5HUE/T0BCgzQLJ4I/AAAAAAAAACw/apvFUOG9FUA/s320/biggest-hamburger.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm definitely crazy. <i>This</i> is sane. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
These are the same people who go on maple-syrup and lemon juice fasts for a week at a time to lose five pounds. They gain it all back within the month and have to do it again. They go to so much trouble like it's a repair, or tune-up that should be done seasonally. What is the point of that extreme?<br />
<br />
It is that they do it with friends, and they do it as an event. There is no reckoning involved -- no calorie counting. It's wacky, it's <i>fun. </i>It stresses-out your pancreas, but don't think about that. It's not important.<br />
<br />
When do they give up fighting the math? Why do I care what they do?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Calories eaten - calories burned = How much of you there is.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>What do you do, eat to live or live to eat?</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Do you live with someone whose lifestyle is so different that it divides you? </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>How do you cope with different personal outlooks like this? </b></div>
<br />
<br />OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-33060481787881482922012-02-14T10:54:00.000-08:002012-06-08T23:13:03.811-07:00Welcome Aboard, it's LOVE!<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span><br />
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><u>Happy Valentine's Day!</u></span></b></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Love for Everyone</span></i></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Thank heaven for the lover(s) and friends who make living worthwhile; rest assured that your love will deepen and grow as the years pass, and that life has many more treats in store for you both.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br />The </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Milk of Human Kindness</b><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"> is sweet and filling, and it will keep your heart young. Science has proven that it will prolong your body as well as your soul's melody.</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Finding each other really meant something, and changed the path of your lives. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">If anyone can make a difference in this crazy, hurly-burly world, even just to each other, it's you two!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">It's suddenly possible now. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Now that you're no longer alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Congratulations! Enjoy the day. </span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Seriously. I'm happy for you.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IGgYHN2Bh98/Tzqq1RvmCcI/AAAAAAAAACg/wkgV4iu9c_o/s320/ra-heart.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">We looked up and found another <b>Special Moment</b> to Treasure for Always.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a name='more'></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IGgYHN2Bh98/Tzqq1RvmCcI/AAAAAAAAACg/wkgV4iu9c_o/s1600/ra-heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span></a><br />
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Stop reading here. Go snuggle together.</span><br />
<hr />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">
</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">When you've been on that road for long enough, things change. If you can't fit the stars back into your eyes any longer then there is always:</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><u>Ambivalent Obligation Day!</u></span></b></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Valentine's Day for the Stoic Realists </span></i></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Time wears down all illusions. You're not the people you thought you could be. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">You are both the product of your time, and of your blood. You always were. </span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">No more denying it; if you enter a relationship on the hope that you both will blossom into some other super-people as you go, or that you will intertwine like neighboring trees then you are <b>Doing It Wrong.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The <b>Milk of Human Kindness</b> has a date on it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The <b>Yoghurt of Complacency</b> is only served plain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Stop making that face and get used to it.</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Love the one you're with, as much as you can. As they are. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Give just what they'll take, take what they give graciously. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Life is for the long haul.</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Make that work, and you're <b>Doing Something,</b> if not <b>Doing it Right. </b></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><b>Decide not if that <i>is</i> enough, but if it <i>could</i> be.</b></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">And buy them a fucking card and some flowers or candy, already. </span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><a href="http://oglaf.com/obligationday/">http://oglaf.com/obligationday/</a>
</span></div>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FpYQ6Bj_08c/TzqguwonOJI/AAAAAAAAACI/ViE9Xhc0BRE/s1600/st_valentine1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"><img border="0" height="312" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FpYQ6Bj_08c/TzqguwonOJI/AAAAAAAAACI/ViE9Xhc0BRE/s320/st_valentine1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">The Church looks so romantic today!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-92004662008812024142012-02-02T21:33:00.000-08:002012-09-14T09:30:35.746-07:00EtiquetteTonight before the poker game I was sitting with John, who is very Zen, being deaf and for all I know, mute.<br />
I like him. He is very relaxing to be with, and his hand shakes when he's got great cards.<br />
<br />
This happens:<br />
<br />
Ancient Bart, beard like a shoe-brush, dressed as always in his flannels, down vest and baseball cap, collars me, pulls a baggy out of his back pocket and says "Wouldya smell that?" while fixing me with his beady eyes.<br />
<br />
People there are always trying to sell each other things, most recently golf-club covers, of all things. I saw no immediate harm in it.<br />
<br />
Fool. It was something biological.<br />
<br />
<i>What was I to do? </i><br />
<i>What would you?</i><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Poker is nothing without etiquette -- it's war, it's chaos.<br />
I inched up gingerly to the open bag and inhaled. A wad of something pink and rumpled lay inside, cradled gently against his calloused palm. It smelled vaguely like leather.<br />
<br />
"Nice." I managed to nod. <br />
<br />
"Have you ever smelled something so good? Heaven, ain't it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, OK, very nice, Bart." <i>Pleasepleaseplease--</i><br />
<br />
"Have some! It's pastrami!" The bag wouldn't move away. He squished it slightly to advance the pale pink meat inside.<br />
<br />
God help me I put my hand in that bag and peeled out a piece of unsettlingly warm, pale pink pastrami.<br />
<br />
At least it's cured beef, I thought. How bad could that be?<br />
<br />
There were large areas of fat. I never saw beef so marbled or so pale. I put it in my mouth and ate it.<br />
<br />
I'm a big boy, and have eaten snails, squid, octopus, haggis, raw eggs, sea urchin, and tongue with the buds still on.<br />
<br />
<i><b>This felt like a quarter-inch-thick hand-sized flap of warm latex and</b></i><i><b> tasted like </b></i><i><b>burned insulation.</b></i><br />
<br />
I did not gag, but nodded as I swallowed it, and avowed it was good. Uncomfortable questions arose.<br />
<br />
"Bart, what is that, exactly? You ... <i>made</i> this, didn't you?"<br />
<br />
"It's pastrami, like I said. My buddy makes it. You take a big piece of ham, you cure it and squeeze it between a shop vise for about five months. In my buddy's homemade smoker. Gotta keep cinching it up and relighting the fire every couple of days. I cut it real thin myself. Ain't that amazing?"<br />
<br />
"Thank you, Bart. I expect that's the most amazing pastrami I've ever had." And it really is.<br />
<br />
I can feel it right below my heart, refusing to become less amazing as the evening wears on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CEX6W_2LC8Y/TytuXzzb5_I/AAAAAAAAACA/YWbxwBrE-Io/s1600/crow+stump+hamweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CEX6W_2LC8Y/TytuXzzb5_I/AAAAAAAAACA/YWbxwBrE-Io/s1600/crow+stump+hamweb.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is as ugly as Google believes ham can get. Google, I'd like you to meet Burt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
So what is the most polite thing you have ever done that you instantly regretted?</div>
OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1293567443274976308.post-68099342077801929342012-02-02T10:16:00.000-08:002012-06-08T23:19:00.131-07:00Life in Our Fishbowl - Updated:<div style="color: black;">
<br />
As I posted earlier, we got a new Betta and two replacement neons. Everyone seems happy. </div>
<div style="color: black;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Day 1: <br />
</span></div>
<div style="color: black;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Last night 3 neons were brutally slain. 3 Black-stripe tetras have nothing to say without the Betta present. I'm looking at you, Mr. Catfish, a.k.a "The Cleaner". You know something.</span></div>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Day 2:<br />
OK, earlier the largest black tetra was looking kind of beat up and concussed. The betta was hanging close to him, claiming he was helping him swim. Now that tetra is just gone. I know he has been terminated and stuffed in the weeds, just like one of the neons was this morning.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I am registering "Underground Fish-Fighting Ring" so that I can use it exclusively.</span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a name='more'></a>Day 3:<br />
So I found the other tetra, also stuffed in the weeds, kind of wrapped up long-ways. Creepy. <br />
</span></h3>
<div style="color: black;">
Today I'm less surprised to find the betta harassing the remaining 2 neons this morning, than I am to see him stop suddenly and smile at me when I turn on the tank light. Truly a psycho fish. </div>
<div style="color: black;">
Also the first solid candidate for my Ultimate Underground Fish-Fighting Ring (tm). The UUFFR.</div>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Day 4:<br />
It's a clean sweep. All 6 neons now. Chesterton Betta, you BASTARD! I sentence you to solitary confinement at Mom's work. See how you like THAT you MURDERER! ...oh, I am a bad person for letting all this happen...</span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Day 5:<br />
Rest in Peace, Chesterton Betta, I blame your hidden illness for your murderous rampage. Unless you somehow did yourself in, in which case, maybe it's for the best. No one would want to live in Mom's office, especially not Mom. </span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now all alone at the bottom of the tank, Gervais The Fat Catfish remains bewildered by these tragedies. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">He's a Roomba in an empty house. Only uglier, and lonelier. I don't want him to die, since he's like a big, ugly, friendly dog. But I don't want to buy him friends just to watch them die. Neither of us want that.</span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> Final Update: The catfish had wounds around his gills this morning. The ghost of Chesterton Betta wants everyone in the bowl dead. On the other hand, I should look this up. Maybe it's a sympt--OK. It seems I am a fish murderer. </span></h3>
<h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Apparently if I had carried out the sentencing of Chester to Mom's work he would be alive today. When you add too many fish at once to a small tank and then <i>slightly</i> overfeed them the water turns into poison. They get red gills and die off in groups. I think Gervais will be OK now, I am doing what I can, and his gills are getting better. Now I have to test the water before adding more fish. At least I know what I did wrong, and can stop kicking myself. </span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></h3>OneDayIllBeThatGuyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08593745869256203644noreply@blogger.com3