I LOVE COOKING

I love cooking. Eating as well, but, mostly cooking. Ok, I lie. I REALLY REALLY REALLY love eating.

I will eat just about anything. Believe me when I say that. I have eaten things that have left me with the partial function brain that I do now (is that really a sentence?). You know, stuff like: library paste; paint chips (the good old fashioned lead based kind); mercury from a thermometer (once, and it was an accident. I accidentally bit through it); and last but not least, my dads cooking.

Dad was a career military man (over 28 years) so his idea of "tasty" cooking involves replicating the wonderful "chow hall" experience by utilizing extremely high heat (think White Dwarf Star going Supernova, kind of heat), long cooking times (use a calendar, not a timer) and differing combination's of the following seasonings:

1 Salt,
2. Pepper,
3. Flavor-A-Way, and/or
4. Taste-B-Gone

Dad's cooking motto is "Let the oven do the cooking". And by cooking I mean, leaching out every lick of moisture imaginable, rendering a 22lb succulent turkey into a 5lb mummified "turkey shaped"cigarette ash. Yummy!!! He also says "the meat fell off the bone". Yep, just like that cigarette ash fell off the filter. When he says he is making mashed potatoes, that is what you are getting. Mashed potatoes. No milk, butter, salt, pepper, garlic, etc. Mashed potatoes!!!

It took me moving away from home to realize that all vegetables do not come out of a can. There are actually even more choices than Creamed Corn, Whole Kernel Corn, String Beans and Peas. When I discovered the joys of fresh veggies, boy howdy did I freak out. I couldn't believe there were vegetables that were colors other than green or yellow.

And don't get me started on seafood. The most exotic seafood we would eat was Fish Sticks. Sometimes it was Friend Shrimp (but only in a restaurant). Fish Sticks aren't even fish. Ok, they do have "some" fish in them, but they have more filler than Hot Dogs or Head Cheese. I've seen how they get the fish. I was on fish processing ships in the middle of the Bering Sea. I've seen the assembly lines of cutting fish and the squeegees pushing the leftover parts into openings in the floor where the "fish stick" ingredients get sluiced. I digress. Woof. Back to cooking (and EATING!!!).

The one thing that I have yet to master, while cooking, is portion control. I am unable to cook for 1 or 2 people. Even though there are only 2 of us in the house, I invariably end up cooking for the entire neighborhood. If the neighborhood in question was, say, Chicago, there will still be leftovers. My friends love it, cause they get to eat yummy stuff as well. Corned Beef and Cabbage, Pasta with Meat Sauce/Seafood Sauce/etc. Sauce, Prime Rib, Crab Cakes. There are always too many. Our poor freezer is so jammed packed with leftovers, we couldn't fit a string of dental floss into it, if we wanted to.

Because I cook, I can be very judgmental about others cooking. I don't mean to be, I just am. Silently. Unless they ask how I like it. Then I have to tell them. In my own way. Which can be a bit crude, but then again, if Mother Theresa spent over 20 years in the military, I think she might of had the language of a sailor too. I only really have 3 food compliments.

Here they are (from worst to best):

"It's Good"- meaning it's not. It's the worse compliment I can give. I may as well
say "it's just like Dad used to make".

"It Doesn't Suck"- I'll even eat seconds.

"It'll Form A Stool"- You have to eat a lot of "something" to form a stool. I'm talking the "loosen
the belt Marge and keep your hands away from my face, I'm going in" kind
of helpings. There haven't been many meals that receive this compliment.

That's all I want to say about cooking and eating. I'll be in the kitchen having a bowl of cereal. There will be leftovers. Trust me!

THOUGHT FOR FOOD

Ok, so when you're eating, please make as little noise as possible. I'm thinking it may save you a tasering/stabbing/shooting/fill in your own worst nightmare.

Don't get me wrong, even I have been a noisy eater. But nothing like some rude cud chewing, gravel eating, talky McSpewersons I've run into (and against). Lemme sum up- nope too short. Lemme 'splain:

I've got a thing for loud noises. Not really noises, per se. More like food noises. It turns my stomach when I can hear someone's saliva predigesting their meal, even before it hits their gut. I've been like this for as long as I can remember.

Growing up, I had the pleasure of listening to my dad "squeak" when he chewed. It didn't matter what he ate- he squeaked. Hard candy- Squeak. Mashed potatoes- Squeak. Water- Squeak. How the hell he did that, I have no idea. It would drive me absolutely batshit crazy listening to him squeak. I could leave the room and the noise would follow. Gaaaaahhhh!!!

I also know someone, near and dear to me, that chews incessantly with their mouth open. Woof!!! From the smallest mouthful to great white shark sized bites, it mattered not. Crap would be churning around that open gob like some insane cement mixer. Talking, smacking lips, etc. You know the drill. Urrrrp... Oops. Just thinking about that, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Oh well.

This is also the same person that can crunch one potato chip for 20 minutes. ONE!!! With an open mouth chewing frenzy, it sounds like they are eating gravel. And not those small bits. NO! I'm talking quarry sized, rock crusher smashing, asteroids. Multiply that by a gajillion to the Nth power and you get the idea.

The last thing that really works me into a berserker-like rage is slurping. Sipping hot tea (or coffee), to make sure that it isn't "center of the earth" magma hot, is one thing. Doing that "inhale, suck whistle" while nursing a tepid, piss warm cup of anything, is enough to push me over the deep end. In some countries, that is grounds for justifiable bludgeoning.

This evening, while at a sushi dinner, I sat in front of some guy who sounded like a sea cucumber trying to suck his guts back in after being attacked by an octopus. You know, they throw them up to get away from predators? I actually thought it sounded like someone being fellated by the Blob. He was eating soup. For the love of all that is sacred, if it's that hot, let it cool down! I'd rather have lukewarm soup, than a mouth full of dead skin and a blistered esophagus. It took all my energy to keep from jamming my chopsticks into his ears and turning his head into a bizarre "cranium on the cob".

Oh, that reminds me. I have to go to the store and get more pork rinds to take into the movies with me on Friday. Just joking. They're corn nuts.

TALES OF FIREFIGHTING

I joined the Coast Guard in 1982. Once out of boot camp I left the beautiful East Coast never to return (except to see family). Yay!!!

My first job in the Coast Guard was as a firefighter. I was 19 years old and had never been away from home. Never really had much responsibility, but then, Bam!!! I was driving firetrucks. Not just firetrucks, but big ones. The kind that they use on airports to put out airplane fires.

I worked my way up slowly. First just riding in them and putting out fires, and then driving them, and then becoming the crew chief on them. I was in charge of the truck and the team inside. Holy crap for crap!!! By the time I was 20 I was in charge of a 20 ton fire truck. A "Crash Truck". I'm talking turrets for blasting water at planes (or snowy owls that got too close) and speeds up to 65 mph. I never had to put out plane fires, but we practiced enough to know that we could.

Now, everytime you get inside your truck you have to be properly dressed out. In the crash truck, that meant wearing the silver suit. As the driver, I usually only wore the pants. Plus, I sat right in the middle of the cabin. There were 2 others in there with me, one on each side.

One day, I had horrendous gas. I'm talking stuff that would gag a maggot. It was a warm day and one of the other crewmen was a real jerk. Always thought he knew better than anyone else. So, I fire up the heater, after eating a meal of Mexican food the night before, and having a really full breakfast of bacon, eggs and raisin bran. My belly was gurgling and making all sorts of not so human noises.

So we have to practice approaching planes, in case of emergencies, and I am going slow just to let things build up. Every now and then I would let rip with an SBD (you know "Silent But Deadly") and just let it stew in my pants. This guy had to follow me out of the truck, so once we stop, I let loose with a "nuke". I thought I had crapped myself, it was that bad. Then I start fanning my pants. Letting all of the pent up "atmosphere" escape from my trow (trousers that is). all of a sudden, the guy starts gagging. And trying to push me out faster. By the time he finally gets out, he is hunched over the side of the truck, just yakking!!! He is green and spit, and the remainder of his breakfast, is flying from his mouth faster should be possible.

Needless to say, he never opened his mouth around me again, and never road shotgun as well. Ahhh, life was good!!!

Being One With My O-Ring

Ok, so I heard from my nephew Jared that he doesn't much care for bidets. I wholeheartedly agree with him. There is something unnatural about having warm water squirted on my "grommet", to clean up after going #2.

I've experienced that once myself. Uh uh, not ever again. If I want warm water sprayed on my "bungalow" then I will be in a shower. That's it. That's only it.

Speaking of O-rings. My wife and I got into a discussion about whether someone knows whether a fart is going to turn out "juicy" or not. I believe that this is an inherent genetic ability of men. We just know when a fart is a fart and when it is not. Of course, there are instances when we fool ourselves.

Take for instance: Once, in my much younger days, a bunch of us guys were sitting around the firehouse lighting farts. Man, you should have seen all of those flames shooting out of our nether regions. Some were like flame throwers, other like little balls of flaming gas.

I was sooooo ready when it came to my turn. I was wearing coveralls and work pants. The minute I got my legs up and that flame ready, I let go. Literally. Woof. And I am not talking flamage. I am talking leakage. Major leakage. Seems my rings was a bit loose from something I had eaten over the last few days. Whether it was the Raisin Bran or other greasy stuff, I let loose.

It is incredible how fast your sphincter can clamp down the minute it discovers an escapee from the colon factory. *Ka-Chang*!!! "All hands set Dog Zebra". We have a leak. My butt cheeks slammed together tighter than the skin on Bruce Jenners face.

I stood up, non-chalantly walked (waddled) slowly towards the bathroom, with my butt cheeks locked together so tight, you couldn't have slid a credit card between them. This ATM was closed!!!

Once in the bathroom, I hit the shower. Slid off my coveralls, checking for noticeable "bacon strips" or grease marks, and then removed my pants. These went immediately into the garbage, as did my tighty "non-whiteys". After a quick shower and change of clothes, badda boom, badda bing, I was back in action. Never to be remarked on or mentioned in front of others again.

Ah the joys of youth!!!

Welcome to Britain- Don't Clog the Crapper

Ok, so flying 15 hours isn’t that big of deal. Sure the meals were sparse and the soda divvied out more stingy than water to one of those “Survivor” contestants. All I can say is, I got on a plane, blah blah blah, got off the plane and got on another plane, blah blah blah blah blah (notice the more blah’s- longer flight).

We got to England at about 1pm UK time, which is like the day before yesterday, or something like that, US time. We made it through customs quicker, and with fewer bag and cavity searches, than my last VA exam. “Clean as a whistle”.

We met out charming hosts, David and Becky and they tamped our luggage into their car. I think we over packed. Theone had one bag that was just slightly larger than our walk in closet back home. It even had a basement full of unpacked boxes we need to go through when we get home. Grrr! Ok, so maybe I exagerate on that point, but we did check 4 bags and carried on 2 bags (each). Never again. Next trip I am going to pack like it was survival school on Biorka Island, again. Nothing that can’t fit in a gallon size zip lock stays at home. End of story!!!

The drive back to David and Becky’s was a wonderful trip. Lots of oooh’s and aaah’s, like a Disneyland ride, except you’re driving on the wrong side of the road and they have more road signs than a pallet load of Milles Bornes games. They were every shape, color, direction and language. I think I saw a couple that were in Klingon ,just outside of Kent.

Our first plan of action once we arrived at D&B’s B&B (as their very cool home will now be called) was to excavate the luggage from the boot (that would be trunk in Americanese). That took about 4 hours of poking, prodding, taking pictures and marking out the area where the boot was supposed to have been originally. Somehow it shifted over the drive home. We climbed the 2 flights of steps to our room, unceremoniously shoved everything in and then went about making acquaintences. They are very cool folks. Quiet, reserved and much more mannered than this Polish, Lithuanian, Irish bohonk.

So, the B&B is a converted Oast. This is a place where brewer’s would dry their hops and stuff. Built in the late 1800’s it is 3 or 4 stories tall and just the coolest. Pictures will be posted to our Flickr site so you can revel in the coolness of D&B’s B&B.

Once unpacked we had to do the first thing that came to mind. We went for fish and chips on thr beach at Whitstable. It is just around the corner from homebase. Of course, everything is around the corner from homebase. There are so many roundabouts, there is absolutely no way I am going to drive. I am sure the first time I got behind the wheel and took off, we would end up in Ecuador or some other impossible place to get to from here.

Fish and chips were ok. Needed more ketchup, but that’s my call. I had a chuck of Rockfish that appeared to have been fried whole. It was quite the treat. During this time we were pointed out a shack that had just sold for £35,000. That is $70,000. I’ve seen larger ice fishing shanty’s on Lake Michigan than this place. Pictures on Flickr as well.

After fish and chips it was time to head back homeward. I hit the sack for a quick nap (3pm) and woke up at 9am. Woof!!! I must’ve been a bit jet lagged. Oh and bloated. I needed to hit the head right off the bat once awakening.

Let me tell you, their toilets are different, and you have to be taught the nuances to using the plumbing facilities. Or things will stop up. I mean plug up. To the point where your wife will need to find a cat litter box cleaner to make things better. Flushing the toilets here are like kick starting a Harley. I damn near blew out my R. elbow ratcheting up the 6^th attempt at starting the unforgiving toity. In the end (heheheh), Theone saved the day and this problem has not occurred again.

Oh, they have the coolest shower. It has push button controls for the shower and a jet style bath as well. Of course, read instructions (or get them and listen to them) before using the shower. There are 4 main switches. Stop, 2 Red Squiggly Lines, 1 Blue Quigly Line and 1 Red Squiggly Line. Reds are easy: Heat. Blue, cold. Those 2 red lines though, hoochie mama. Do not be inside ready to get wet once those things go on. You can steam a lobster (or other sensitive areas) in the time it takes for that first jet of water to come out. I learned the hard way. Like always. I know better now.

Day 2 was much better. We took a couple of trips to a couple of Norman Churches. They were built around the 1100’s, maybe earlier. It was incredible. Once of them had a baptismal font that was from the 1500’s and there were grave markers inside the church. One was from 1623. America is such an infant (in more ways than one) compared to the UK and overseas in general.

Next stop- Canterbury Cathedral. All I can say is woof. Other than the Starbucks just inside the main gate (my god, are they everywhere now???), it was like stepping bak in time. We breezed through the Catherdral in record time, but saw many interesting things. The memorial stone of Thomas Beckett (Archbishop of Canterbury killed in 1170) and graffitti from the 1300’s. I took some pictures of a dainty hand and foot that had been carved into the wall and saw tons of names and scribblings from all down the centuries.

Our next trip to Canterbury will be by bus. There is absolutely no parking and the lanes, roundabouts, Archimedean Geometrical Road anomalies, et al., make me want to scream: “How do you get around???”. First off, the lanes may as well be bike lanes. I’ve seen narrower sidewalks and rope bridges than the roads in Canterbury. It may be like this in every large city. Guess I will have to wait and see. There is no way my Pacifica would be able to maneuver around these streets. I would be better off driving a snow plow with one of those huge V-plows in front.

Other than that, and the fact that the dollar is so low here (I paid $100 American for £41 Pounds British). Wow!!! Lucky for me the customs man was so gentle with his exam. I’ll get over it though. It’s only money. And we have 2 ½ more weeks of this. If I keep on about the cash I’ll be a nervous wreck. So no more.

More to follow. I am looking forward to what next adventure awaits

Hey You!!! Out of the gene pool!!!

Ok, so today was the day. After a bitch of a day yesterday, wife going blind (but getting better now), blah blah blah, I cancel my vasectomy appointment.

Suprise, Suprise!!! I get a call today. Seems they have a 3pm appointment open and how would you like to come down and have your "boys poked and snipped"? What the hell, it was my day off and there is nothing like the feeling of having needles jabbed into your scrotum, a blade poked through it (once numb- sure like that was going to happen) and then the Doc playing Indiana Jones searching for the "Ever Shrinking Baby Making Delivery Tube".

Picture this: Laying out on a table, private area scrubbed to a lovely shade of yellowish brown and a lovely blue pad covering everything but your sack. Next thing ya know- "Relax", it will just be a "little stick". Woof, I'm sorry but the needle size was comparable to the one that stuck Moby Dick (no pun intended). It was a harpoon. Doesn't matter how little the needle is, but once it makes contact with the scrotum, it becomes the size of a Pole Vaulters stick. And yea it hurt. Not a "cry like a school girl" kinda hurt, just the kind that reminds you that you are alive and a man. A man who has just been jabbed in the beanbag with a javelin.

Picture that twice. And that is just to prepare you for the actual pulling of the cord (or the hunting and fishing session I endured), the numerous clips that were attached (think roach clips and multiply by 8 or 10) and then the cutting and cauterizing. "Cauterizing you might ask"? I'll come back to that.

The Right Side only took 10-15 minutes. There was the requisite fishing for the cord, cause it was dropped. Think tightly stretched rubber band within a conduit. Fish out the conduit, it gets tighter, you drop it, it loosens. You drop it, you fish around until you find it. Then pull it out a tiny hole you had punctured in your sack, clip it numerous times, cut it twice (so you get one long piece that won't reattach of it is cut too short), the comes the cautery. That's the electrical piece of equipment that sends a little bit of electricity through the hand piece, to a wire that gets really really hot a burns the ends, that are remaining clipped, closed. Ahhhhh... The smell of burning nut flesh. Not like a burnt pecan pie, or over cooked brownies, but flesh. Burning flesh. Did I mention burning flesh? That was the Right Side.

The Left Side was just a bit shorter in time. Not that they didn't have to numb me up more, cause they did. Seems I could feel the cord being pulled out of the little whole and I could feel the rubber band stretching within my conduit. No Sir... Don't like it!!! No crying from the kid though. Took it like a man. Squeezing my fist till I wrapped my fingers around my hand twice, but dammit, like a man!!! More clips, More cuts, More burning flesh then as fast as you can say "Viola", the job is done. They pack some little (4x4- Manly Sized, of course) gauze pads into my Underdog Briefs (hey they were the only ones that didn't allow for saggage of the baggage), then they give me a couple of scripts for pain meds (Percocet and Valium) and I was off to Rite-Aid. Bastion of the soapless, shampooless and laundryless ones. It was close and I needed drugs!!!

That was a trip. I stumble out of my car and ramble over to the check in line like John Wayne with hemorrhoids. I go up to the tech and ask her if it was possible to get these filled quick,
cause I just had surgery. She looked at me with the compassion of a babboon with a fist full of lizards and said it would be 20 minutes, so "Why don't you just gimp over to the magazine racks and pretend you give a shit about what's happening to Lindsay LoDuffSpearsAnistonJolie"!!!

So, 20 minutes or so later, I waddle over and am told it will be another 10 or 15 minutes. Seems as though a couple of shopping basket cases came in just before me (these are the folks who walk up with a money clip around a couple of dozen prescriptions- each). I have no idea where they get the money for these because they must have Medi(Don't)Care cards.

So finally, after 2 and a half days in line (ok, so maybe it was only 10 more mintes) I get my pills. Immediately pay for them and my half drank Diet Pepsi, and then Ta-Dah!!! My packing material drops out like I've laid a Yellowish Brown gauze egg. I'd like to say I was embarrased, but NO!!! I was in pain and wanted to get to my car and poke 3 Perc's and 2 Valiums down my neck quicker than Anna Nicolle Smith with a 5th of Gin and a handfull of Dumbass Pills.

The drive home was much better. I had my baby making tubes in the car (have to show them babies off) and was ready for a long nap. Nope, didn't happen. Sure would like it to...

Oh, bottom line, I would recommend this to any guy who wants one.

CEREAL

You know, Cereal is just not for breakfast anymore. My friend Mike turned me on to the late night joys of the Jethro sized bowl of sugary goodness, while in isolated Alaska. We would eat bowls the size of soup turreens, seconds even. We could chow down a box of Lucky Charms in one sitting (2 bowls).

Now my vice is Malt O' Meal Cocoa Krispies (or whatever name they use to get away from copyright infringement). I can wolf down a bag of these in 3 servings, depending on the size the bowl I have handy. Right now I have a medium sized tupperware bowl, spewing with cereal. Got a 1/3 of a bag into it. The last 1/3rd. So, If I am lucky, I may have enough milk leftover to crack the fresh bag. We shall see...

Check it out, choose your poison. Most cereals will work, other than those healthy ones (Granola, Bran Chex, yuk!!!). The more sugar the better.

ON TO THE NEXT PROJECT

The show is over- *sniff* "Lewis and Clark" is now history and the wait begins for my next theater experience.

The show went well. Other than the one audience, we had full houses and very energetic houses. They loved us!!!

The sketches that won (in order of 1st-3rd):

Directions (Casey, Shannon and Clark)
Hollywood (Full Cast)
Discovery Cafe (Shannon, Clark and Lori)

I would like to work with most of the cast again. We had a lively bunch, but one who was not so team oriented. Grrr!!! Oh well. Don't have to hang around him anymore.