beauty is in the eye of the beer holder

its 9 :25 at night, cold, dark, quiet.  i’m tired, my eyes are heavy, my stomach is full of fried things, i should sleep, but i felt like i needed to write here.  it’s been so damn long since i’ve written here, i think about it, but i don’t follow through.

i feel like ive aged 20 years over night.  i feel old and slow, fat and lethargic, i feel like i’m moving through treacle, and i don’t even really know what treacle is.

going to vegas next week, should be a hoot.  there will be a few more parties, then some road trips, and then, the adventure truly begins.

this is little more than a place holder.  a dusting off of cobwebs.  a function check.

the killing banana

it wasn’t long after i woke up, only a few minutes or so, when i got the text on my phone.

snowboarding?

that is all it said.  hells yeah i agreed, so i called her back and asked if there was new snow.  she didn’t know.  asked if a bunch of people were going, she didn’t know.   “i’m in, just call me and tell me the plan” i said, and she agreed.   i got online to check conditions, it looked pretty shitty outside.  nope, just fog, there was no new snow on the mountain, and i had just gone yesterday.  there was snow, but it was pretty much all skiied and boarded in.  packed powder.

she called, we were going, just she and i, i quickly grabbed two small oranges and a banana to munch on after the day on the way home.

it was cold, but clear, sharp, everything was in High Definition.  “i really gotta get me one of those HD tvs, if it looks as good as this,” i thought to myself.   i put my cell phone in the same pocket in my backpack as my banana, thinking i’ll have a nice snack halfway though the day.  i didn’t want to keep my phone in my pocket where it could get damaged if i hit a tree or fell off the lift or whatever.

we stopped to pee halfway, i was a bit peckish, so i went for the banana.  apparently, cold temperatures make bananas turn brown and squishy, and banana spooge  leaks out of the peel and onto whatever they are packed with, namely a cell phone.  also, apparently, squishy banana jizz gets into the nooks and crannies of cell phones, and can damage their circuits.    i found this out when i took out my banana goo encrusted cell phone and attempted to make a call.  at first i couldn’t hear, cause there was banana spooge all in the earpiece, then i couldn’t dial out, i would hit the dial key and it would show as the number 9, as if i dialed the number 9.  the keys got all messed up, and the more i tried to fix it, the worse it got.

so i had to drag my embarrassed ass into the phone store, and tell the guy i needed a new phone cause my was killed by a banana.  he hadn’t heard that one before, so at least i gave him something to tell his friends.

who knew bananas could take out technology.  hows about at the next war, we get a planeload of bananas, fly them in cold weather, and drop them on the enemy, taking out his communications ability.   it will be the new age of banana warfare.  we could use bananas to jam signals, kill radar, and take out whole powergrids, as well as replace potassium and provide fiber.

who knew bananas could be so damn deadly?  i wish i didn’t find out by the death of my cell phone.

fucking bananas.

mousse hunting

woke up to snow, lots of snow.  it was a perfect day for snowboarding.  i checked the local hill, it had a good base,fresh  accumulation, and it was still snowing.   so did i surf the mountain?

no, my super ultra laziness power kicked in, and i didn’t go, i wasted the powder and the perfect snowboarding day.

instead i made a mousse.   thing is, i had so many damn mousse recipes, i didn’t know which one to use.  i finally settled on the julia child version, that uses butter instead of heavy cream.  it says to beat the egg yolks until it’s like mayonnaise.   i was afraid what i ended up with, but i melted the chocolate and when i added it to my possibly overcooked yolks, it came out ok.     at the end, it worked.

so i have dessert, but what the fuck am i gonna make for dinner?   well, it’s cold and snowy, i have some bread left over from last night, so i figured i will make some onion soup.  it’s gonna be a french night, french onion soup and mousse, all i need now is some stinky cheese.

but to make the onion soup i need beef stock, and i don’t have any.   so i zipped down to the store and got a hunk of beef that had a bone, and i’m making the stock as i type.  it should be ready to use by this evening when i make the onion soup.   i love onion soup, so tasty, so rich, so damn easy.

perhaps i shall get off my ass and go snowboarding tomorrow.

awesome is not so awesome and treasure in the spam filter

i don’t know what wordpress is doing, but my blog has been a bit fucked up lately.  so i was going through my spam bin, to see all the spam comments i had, and i found three legitimate comments from real people.  wow.  i didn’t know anyone would actually read my blog, and its always cool and nice to have a comment.  even though i don’t usually reply to comments, i do read them a few times over and over, as some sort of validation or whatever.  it’s nice to know some of the crap i spew may occasionally make someone laugh or think or affect them in a positive way.

so yesterday at lunch, i realized i use the word “awesome” entirely too damn much.  it’s my automatic response for everything.

“how was the meal?”

“awesome.”

“we fixed your car, its ready to be picked up”

“awesome.”

“you were driving 96 in a 75, here is your ticket”

“awesome.”

i sound like a stoner.  after a while it loses it’s meaning, it’s sting, its flair.  and i feel extra stoooopid, as if i only know one word to express whatever i feel.  out of a bazillion words or so in the english language, it’s sad that i only use about 200 to express everything.

and so i am making a conscious effort to use different words, better words, to express my thanks and gratitude and how things are going.   yesterday, after lunch, when the waitress came and asked if everything was ok, instead of my usual response of “awesome” i smiled and said “splendid!”   then, later that day, someone asked me how things were going, and i said “delightful!”

splendid and delightful, two words you just don’t hear so much anymore.  they are fun words, fun to say, fun to hear, and conjure up images of white dresses, green lawns, earl grey tea on a summer day, and tasty spreads on little pieces of toast.

thing is, there are so many wonderful words out there, so diverse, each word with it’s own melody, music, sound, timbre, why only play one note? you end up sounding like the part in the guitar solo of cake’s version of i will survive, which is a fantastic version and i love it, but still, that one note over and over…come on man.

so from now on, i shall endeavor to use different words to express myself, and not the same old hackneyed ones i always rely on.

it should be pretty awesome .

monday morning status update

the magical alternate reality universe of the holiday season is over, now i have to get back to real life, where things have to get done.  it’s monday morning, i’m sitting at my kitchen table with a hot cup of tea and a sore elbow.    haven’t written here in what seems like forever.   we went to st louis, had an overall good trip, except for the speeding ticket, the trip back was pretty good.   we did some culinary tourism, stopping at bones in denver, a place in kansas city on the way out, various places in st louis, and Jack Stack Barbque in kansas city on the way back. we stopped off in kansas and bought a bottle of OZ wine from some local kansas winery.  the had surprisingly decent wine, so i got a bottle.

back home we didn’t really do shit.  we eventually put up a tree, christmas was pretty uneventful, just like i like it.   i got a goose from the local farm and roasted it.  christmas dinner was nice, roast goose, a sausage and apple corn bread dressing, brussels sprouts cooked in cream with pecan basil and lemon zest crumbs, and a tasty zinfandel to wash it all down.  it was pretty damn good.   i’ve also been making zabaiglione over black berries a lot, i am loving the zabalgione, its so damn easy and tastes so damn rich and decadent.  we didn’t go snowboarding, the snow wasn’t all that happening, so we just sat around eating and drinking doing nothing.

i realize now i have tennis fucking elbow, which sucks the balls.  i just want it to go away, apparently it doesn’t’ just go away, and i have to actually do something to heal it.  motherfucker, i have no idea how i got it.   i can’t really work out and lift like i used to, so now i sit around and eat and am getting fat.   the only good thing that may come out of it all is, since i have to baby my elbow, i am using my other arm to do most of the things i do, and that might make me more creative, cause of the whole “use your other hand to do things and stimulate the other side of your brain” sort of thing.  my dumb ass laptop went on the fritz, so i took it in and upgraded to windows 7, so now it’s like i have a brand spankin new laptop, so that is kinda cool.    the year is almost over, next year will be an interesting one.  L will be gone for a year and a half, i’ll be living in the house alone, with the dumbass cat, for a year and a half, on my own, left to my own devices.   i have plans, i am really good at making plans and not following through, so i will have to see what happens.   for now i’ll keep writing, trying to write more creatively, for no reason other than giving me something constructive to do.   once the good weather gets here i’ll spend lots of time in the mountains.

and now i gotta go do real life errands and crap.  right now the only thing really driving me is what i’m gonna cook for dinner.  today i think i shall make green lentil curry, mixed with shredded goose from the left over goose i cooked for christmas.  i’ll also make the mexican chocolate pots de creme, cause i fucking love pots de creme.  and now, off to start the day and get shit done.

hitting the open road with a closed fist

woke up this morning in the softest bed in the world, in the moonrise hotel, st louis, mo.  been here for five days, heading home today.  it will be nice to be back home, i just have two more days of driving to endure.  this trip has been ok, not the best.

driving out here i got a fucking speeding ticket.  the first three nights in the hotel there were parties and idiots on my floor yelling in the halls between midnight and two in the morning.   i got punched in the junk by a three year old in the mall (not on purpose and it didn’t hurt, it was more funny than anything).

the upside to all this has been the culinary tourism on the way.  we stopped at bones in denver, strouds in kansas city, ate at some super awesome joints here in st louis, and today heading back we will eat at some barbcue joint in kansas city.   so i’ve been eating like fucking madman, and not exercising, so now i’m fat.  not quite “biggest loser” fat, but give me a few more weeks, i can do it.

weather is ok today, i just want to get on the road and be home.   i would totally live in st louis, there is so much to do here, i miss the city.

now we gotta pack up and get out.  home in two days.

the author (an idea for a story)

Russell Hoisington became super creative one day, stories just flooded into his head.  they would get stuck and he would go mad if he couldn’t’ get them out, the only way to exorcise these “story demons” was to write, and that is what he did, and he became a somewhat successful author doing so.

his favorite writing spot was the small coffeeshop in town, about a mile from his home.  he would pack his laptop in his backback, ride his bicycle down to the shop, get  a coffee, and write the words that burned in his head, tell the stories that his mind would come up with and wouldn’t let go.  He would get all sorts of great ideas at that coffee shop, it was his most creative place to go.

it was a slow morning one day, he was the only one in the store.  he was furiously typing out his latest novel when Tom, the new barista who had been there for about a month, asked him how it was going, and asked what he was typing.   “it’s a story about a guy who is having an affair with his brother’s wife and he ends up killing the brother.  it’s odd, it’s told from the murdered brother’s point of view,” explained Russel, as if even he didn’t know how it would turn out or what would happen.

Tom looked daggers at russell, muttered something about “wow, crazy story,” and went back to the coffee counter.

what Russel didn’t know was  his “Creativity” was actually people telling their stories through him, spirits unburdening themselves so they could move on.  Tom was in fact exorcising spirits from this world.   The story of the guy who murdered his brother was the story of Tom, and Tom thought Russel somehow knew about the true circumstances of Tom’s brother’s death.

Tom decided he had to get rid of russel somehow, and planned to poison his coffee.

Russel kept writing, and suddenly, there was a new character in the story, a writer, who meets the murdered guy’s brother.  The brother, in the story, thinks the writer knows what happened and plans on poisoning the writer.  Russel realizes he is the writer and the murderer is Tom and has to figure out a way to tell the authorities and keep from getting killed.

ennui

he sat on his futon, staring at the wall in front of him, one hand resting on the back of a purring cat, one hand holding a hot cup of licorice spice herbal tea. his body was a cacophony of stink, made up of various accumulated smells that clung tenaciously to his clothes and body. he hadn’t washed in three days and was wearing the jeans and t-shirt he put on three days before. the smells included, but were not limited to, the bourbon he spilled on his pants the night before, the rancid sweat from the twenty minutes he exercised the day before, and the cum from the masturbation earlier that morning.
it was sunny outside, there were things to do and places to go, but he sat, motionless, paralyzed by too many choices and too much time. time had lost all meaning, he didn’t have to be anywhere, no one was expecting him. he had a life that people dreamed of, and threatened to live if they won the lottery, but they didn’t know, couldn’t know, the painful torture and soul numbing agony of “no responsibility.”
perhaps man wasn’t meant to live a life of leisure, perhaps resting is actually rotting. the human body seems to be the only machine that improves and gets stronger the harder it works. people who seem to be the most productive always seem to have the busiest and fullest lives. having only a limited time to enjoy hobbies and “relax” makes people appreciate the time, and use it wisely, and fully live in those brief moments.
but his life was a vacation, and it was killing him.
his cat looked at him with soulful eyes, as if to say “i’m worried about you, you need to go out and do something.”
he took another sip of tea, exhaled deeply, and went over the list of all the things he could do, all the things he wanted to do, and none of them seemed all that appealing. he had too much time, nothing was important, there was no rush, he could do all those things tomorrow, or the next day.
the clock ticked, his cat left the couch, went over to it’s little bed, and resumed it’s important cat duties of laying about.
he sat there, alone on a couch, holding an empty cup, staring at the wall.

spit takes = great parenting

i’m thinking i should have done more spit takes when my daughter was young, i would have been a much better parent. at the time she wouldn’t have understood what was going on, she just would have known that every time she told daddy what she did at school, or about her friends, he would spit out the glass of water he was drinking and soak everything within a two foot radius.

first off, it would train her to stay on her toes, be alert at all times.   it would also help her develop a strong sense of patience and calm in adverse situations.  and it would have been hilarious.

ok, it may or may not have been hilarious at the time, but it would have really paid off years later, when she is an adult. if nothing else, she would have this insane story about her crazy dad who would do spit takes all the time. what a great ice breaker on a date or at a party. “you know, when i was a child, my father would do spit takes all the time.” it would make for seriously interesting conversation, and would give her pleasant, if not strange and surreal memories of me to grow old with. she could regale her kids with stories of crazy grandpa.
if i had to do it all over again, if i ever had to raise a child, i would make sure that, starting at about the age of three, i woudl do spit takes all the damn time. it would make for a much better adult, i think.

floating babies shooting lasers out of thier hands

her:  i’m gonna get to hold the baby today at work for like an hour.

him:  really? why’s that?

her:  cause Marcy has to go on a delivery and can’t take her newborn with her, and there is no one else around to watch it.  she asked me yesterday if i wouldn’t mind.

him:  and so you get to spend an hour with a baby?  should i be happy for you?

her:  yeah!  it’s a baby!  it will be so cute.  it might snuggle me, maybe it will sleep in my arms.

him:  maybe it will float around the office shooting lasers out of it’s palms.

her:  it might, but i doubt it.

him:  what if it starts speaking aramaic in a deep gravelly voice while you are all alone with it?  it could be possessed.

her:  you think?

him:  yeah, shit like that happens all the time, you just don’t hear about it because they can’t explain it and the atheist media and atheist academia don’t want to have to argue against proof of god.

her:  its a fuckin newborn.  it will probably just sleep and poop.

him:  what if it poops laser beams out of it’s butt while floating around speaking ancient languages in a booming deep voice?

her:  you’re an idiot.

him:  ok, but i warned you.