Never The Bride…
It would seem that, as usual, I’m a few years late to the party.
The “Blogging” party, that is.
My Blog Idol Steve over at Hog On Ice is in the process of lamenting that the blogosphere should be written off as a meaningless lost cause, even though he has written two cookbooks, self published one of them, and has a new deal with a publisher for a book about Nigerian spammers warming up on the presses as I write these apparently meaningless words.
I tend to disagree.
I think that the blogosphere is alive and well, simply because you are here reading my rantings and ravings. Further, I revel in the idea that I can indiscriminately utter the words “shit”, “damn”, and “H-E-double hockey sticks” in any political context along with verbal images and allegory involving words like “anal” and I AM SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT OF MY WEBSITE.
Love it or leave it, I have a giant billboard out there on the information superhighway, and Al Gore be damned, if you Google my name—Virgil Rogers—I am by-God # 1 on the list delivered to your computer screen.
I, personally, think that blogging has yet to reach its ultimate potential.
For instance, this very moment I happen to be sitting atop of a huge news story here on our little island and the only thing that has kept me from publishing it is my fear of ending my life, figuratively if not physically, due to the far reaching repercussions that will ensue as a result.
Blogging is the ultimate news format—it just requires that the consumer follow the old Latin adage “Caveat Emptor”—“let the buyer beware…”
Most people aren’t used to owning and paying the quantity and type of intellectual currency that is required to exist in a market such as this.
Rather than relying on receiving your news from a bunch of idiots that managed to make it past the entrance board of the Columbia School of Journalism, why not look down the street or across the planet to someone that has lived and died in a given process or situation and can tell you why they know more about a given subject than the apologists that tell us that we aren’t winning the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people?
I, personally, want information, not rhetoric.
I want facts and figures upon which I can base significant decisions I have to make in my life, not a bunch of pre-processed crappola regurgitated by morons who’s only qualifications are a badge saying “journalist” on it and a sheepskin tendered after four years of spending Mom and Dad’s money living at the Sorority or Fraternity house.
This is where the blogs are best suited to filling in the gaps.
Now me and my friend Mr. Sasquatsh are going to get on our UFO and fly back to the mother ship...
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
The FORCE Is With ME
Unfortunately…It’s Too Late For It To Really Matter
I have a talent that apparently doesn’t exist in most people. When you are cursed with this talent, you are also blessed with the knowledge to keep your ability to yourself, lest trouble ensue.
Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve realized that I can do what I call “internalize” any number of subjects in life.
That doesn’t mean that I know every single little detail about a subject, and it obviously doesn’t mean that I can make a fortune using my knowledge (just look at my tax returns and bank account balance), but I can honestly tell you that I know just enough about hundreds if not thousands of subjects to talk intelligently with anyone that holds themselves out as a so called “expert” on said subject.
I like to cut to the chase, and I can identify a charlatan and a “wanna-be” in about thirty seconds and believe me when I say that they are everywhere, in every discipline and every single profession.
The bad news is that my ability tends to piss people off. I guess that I come across as a “know-it-all”, but in fact I happen to know about a lot of stuff (pop culture being a singular exception.)
People that skipped school to drink beer and smoke dope all day and currently make their livings based on fraud and the ignorance of the masses hate me. This covers at least 75% of the population. Even worse, really smart people that have PHD’s but can’t pick out clothes that match and have to resort to getting dates from internet dating services despise me for my innate abilities.
And of course almost everyone in the “arty farty” theater crowd down here on the Georgia Coast that can’t carry a tune in a very large bucket, can’t dance because they weigh 350 pounds, but seem to believe that hanging around the theater for twenty years makes them an actor (like me hanging around a used car lot makes me an Oldsmobile) refuse to acknowledge my existence and do everything that they can to marginalize my participation in “the arts.”
That’s OK with me, however, because I’ve decided to start using a “nom de plume”—Max Raymond, and I will enter this next Art’s exhibit and possibly write my books using this “Pen Name.”
This situation is necessitated because, not one, but TWO of the major players in this next art exhibit happen to bewizzened senior citizens, blue-haired bitches, lovely, but mean spirited women, that have crossed swords with me in the past while working building sets for the Island Players Theater Company.
I’m going to make their lives so miserable that they can’t stand it because I’m going to enter their little competition using my “nom de plume”, follow their instructions to the letter, and then let the chips fall where they may.
I GUARAN-DAMN-TEE you that would NEVER let my work into their little Sorority Art Party any more than they would let John Belushi’s character Bluto from the movie "Animal House" into their little cotillion.
Oh...The HUMANITY...someone's going to need a new box of Depends...
I have a talent that apparently doesn’t exist in most people. When you are cursed with this talent, you are also blessed with the knowledge to keep your ability to yourself, lest trouble ensue.
Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve realized that I can do what I call “internalize” any number of subjects in life.
That doesn’t mean that I know every single little detail about a subject, and it obviously doesn’t mean that I can make a fortune using my knowledge (just look at my tax returns and bank account balance), but I can honestly tell you that I know just enough about hundreds if not thousands of subjects to talk intelligently with anyone that holds themselves out as a so called “expert” on said subject.
I like to cut to the chase, and I can identify a charlatan and a “wanna-be” in about thirty seconds and believe me when I say that they are everywhere, in every discipline and every single profession.
The bad news is that my ability tends to piss people off. I guess that I come across as a “know-it-all”, but in fact I happen to know about a lot of stuff (pop culture being a singular exception.)
People that skipped school to drink beer and smoke dope all day and currently make their livings based on fraud and the ignorance of the masses hate me. This covers at least 75% of the population. Even worse, really smart people that have PHD’s but can’t pick out clothes that match and have to resort to getting dates from internet dating services despise me for my innate abilities.
And of course almost everyone in the “arty farty” theater crowd down here on the Georgia Coast that can’t carry a tune in a very large bucket, can’t dance because they weigh 350 pounds, but seem to believe that hanging around the theater for twenty years makes them an actor (like me hanging around a used car lot makes me an Oldsmobile) refuse to acknowledge my existence and do everything that they can to marginalize my participation in “the arts.”
That’s OK with me, however, because I’ve decided to start using a “nom de plume”—Max Raymond, and I will enter this next Art’s exhibit and possibly write my books using this “Pen Name.”
This situation is necessitated because, not one, but TWO of the major players in this next art exhibit happen to be
I’m going to make their lives so miserable that they can’t stand it because I’m going to enter their little competition using my “nom de plume”, follow their instructions to the letter, and then let the chips fall where they may.
I GUARAN-DAMN-TEE you that would NEVER let my work into their little Sorority Art Party any more than they would let John Belushi’s character Bluto from the movie "Animal House" into their little cotillion.
Oh...The HUMANITY...someone's going to need a new box of Depends...
I Look Like Ben Franklin
Where's My Kite?
I wandered around the island and the mainland yesterday with my friend Bucky (Dartmouth Class of 1942) taking pictures of three additional churches for my new artistic spasm.
On our way home I stopped by, of all places, the local Ace Hardware and $4.24 later I was the proud owner of my first set of 1.75 diopeter reading glasses.
I hate to admit it, but they (the glasses) work quite well, and further, I hate even worse to admit that with my long hair pulled down laying on my shoulders that I bear a striking resemblence to this guy:
Excuse me while I call the US Patent office about my royalty checks...
I wandered around the island and the mainland yesterday with my friend Bucky (Dartmouth Class of 1942) taking pictures of three additional churches for my new artistic spasm.
On our way home I stopped by, of all places, the local Ace Hardware and $4.24 later I was the proud owner of my first set of 1.75 diopeter reading glasses.
I hate to admit it, but they (the glasses) work quite well, and further, I hate even worse to admit that with my long hair pulled down laying on my shoulders that I bear a striking resemblence to this guy:
Excuse me while I call the US Patent office about my royalty checks...
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Vegetation!!!
Less is More...
Excuse the image color, but my flash was killing the contrast and I want you to see the poor conditions at my coffee table where I'm trying to do excellent work. The photo really doesn't do the image justice, but just like a camera adds pounds to your carcass, it has helped me refine my image over the past six hours.
I need to stop while I'm ahead...
All the real nerds in my audience will also notice that I screwed up the design at the top of the center window, but I salvaged the drawing any way and unless you are looking at a picture of the building you'll never notice. What started out as a test drawing I think is a keeper, even if it only hangs in the hallway here in our condo.
I'm also going to Ace Hardware or CVS today to buy my first pair of reading glasses because I can't see a damn thing sitting 8" away from the paper.
Good God I hate glasses, because they're something else that I can misplace or lose.
I don't normally wear ANY jewelry and I'm usually happy to make it to bed with my head attached and my pants and underwear on (to Pat's relief) each evening, but I hate to admit that I need reading glasses now to see inside of arm's length.
Getting old sucks royally...
More Artistic Crap
I Guess That I'm Hooked...
For those of you that have never visited, you wouldn't know that the Georgia Coast is loaded with really old church buildings. I'm not talking bricks and mortar or prefab steel here--I mean amazing old frameworks built with lumber back when men were men and a saw was powered by brawn and sweat.
Many of the building sites and congregations date back to the late 1700's, although the asshole Yankees must have decided that we were using our churches like the Iraqi's use Mosques and burned many of the original old buildings to the ground during General Sherman's infameous "March to the Sea."
Political statements aside (the south has arisen again--and everyone wants to retire here...) I'm rushing to complete some pen and ink drawings to enter in another Juried Art Exhibit here on St. Simons on March 1st, and I've decided that my theme will be the old churches of the Golden Isles.
Of course I'm possibly guilty of taking advantage of the fact that all of the old "blue haired" ladies that are responsible for these type exhibits love religious themes, but shush...don't tell anyone...
Here is a picture of the old Episcopal Church located up in Darien, Georgia. It is an amazing old structure that was built by Boatwright carpenters in the mid 1800’s.
I did a test drawing in about two hours tonight, trying out my new pens and paper and getting the rust off of my fingers, having not used a Rapidograph pen in about 15 years.
Here is the results of my effort…
Now I've got to wipe the dust off of my landscape and tree techniques and figure out the final composition style. I'm thinking of including vegetation, but taking some artistic liberties in order to minimize the trees obscuring the forrest (and the buildings.)
For those of you that have never visited, you wouldn't know that the Georgia Coast is loaded with really old church buildings. I'm not talking bricks and mortar or prefab steel here--I mean amazing old frameworks built with lumber back when men were men and a saw was powered by brawn and sweat.
Many of the building sites and congregations date back to the late 1700's, although the asshole Yankees must have decided that we were using our churches like the Iraqi's use Mosques and burned many of the original old buildings to the ground during General Sherman's infameous "March to the Sea."
Political statements aside (the south has arisen again--and everyone wants to retire here...) I'm rushing to complete some pen and ink drawings to enter in another Juried Art Exhibit here on St. Simons on March 1st, and I've decided that my theme will be the old churches of the Golden Isles.
Of course I'm possibly guilty of taking advantage of the fact that all of the old "blue haired" ladies that are responsible for these type exhibits love religious themes, but shush...don't tell anyone...
Here is a picture of the old Episcopal Church located up in Darien, Georgia. It is an amazing old structure that was built by Boatwright carpenters in the mid 1800’s.
I did a test drawing in about two hours tonight, trying out my new pens and paper and getting the rust off of my fingers, having not used a Rapidograph pen in about 15 years.
Here is the results of my effort…
Now I've got to wipe the dust off of my landscape and tree techniques and figure out the final composition style. I'm thinking of including vegetation, but taking some artistic liberties in order to minimize the trees obscuring the forrest (and the buildings.)
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
(m)ASSachusetts
Are They All Crazy, Or Just Plain Stupid?
Whir, whirrrr, Whirrrrrr, WHIRRRR (the sound of my head reaching orbital rotational Velocity)
OK, this does it…just when I thought that I was about to manage to get through a morning without a good rant, I found this example of Government induced Retardation:
Boston--The state board that oversees pharmacies voted Tuesday to require Wal-Mart to stock emergency contraception pills at its Massachusetts pharmacies, a spokeswoman at the Department of Public Health said.
The unanimous decision by the Massachusetts Board of Pharmacy comes two weeks after three women sued Wal-Mart in state court for failing to carry the so called "morning after" pill in its Wal-Mart and Sam's Club stores in the state.
The women argue state policy requires pharmacies to provide all "commonly prescribed medicines."
The board has sent a letter to Wal-Mart lawyers informing them of the decision, said health department spokeswoman Donna Rheaume. Wal-Mart has until Thursday to provide written compliance.
Dan Fogleman, a spokesman for Bentonville, Ark.-based Wal-Mart, said the company hadn't heard about the decision, but would comply with any order.
Wal-Mart carries the pill in Illinois only, where it is required under state law. The company has said it "chooses not to carry many products for business reasons," but declined to elaborate.
The concept of a licensing board forcing a company to carry a product that is counter to their own business model and moral judgment has got to be the biggest, dumb-shit, idiotic example of government meddling that I think that I’ve seen so far—EVER.
Suppose I owned an auto parts store, but I refused to carry radar detectors and aftermarket turbo chargers because my son had been killed by a speeding driver operating a twin turbo Ford Pinto with three radar detectors mounted on their windshield and dash.
Can the county government come in and force me to sell radar detectors and turbo chargers else risk losing my business license? After all, people can always walk or drive down the street to another auto parts store and buy a radar detector and a turbo charger and make their car go 250 MPH if that is a personal goal in life.
Likewise, if some silly bitch has a few too many shots of Tequila and ends up spreading her legs for some undesirable moron in the “heat of the moment”, couldn’t she manage to drive down the street PAST Wal-Mart to CVS or Walgreen’s to get her “morning after” pill?
You know what else Wal-Mart doesn’t carry?
Lubricants for anal sex.
Should Wal-Mart be forced to carry ASStroglide in order to make the ever tolerant liberals and the balance of the gay population happy?
What about sex lubricants that get hot when you blow on them?
Where does it end?
They certainly don’t carry my favorite condom—it’s called speed bumps—“ribbed for her pleasure…” I like to wear them inside out because I’m really a selfish bastard when it comes to sex.
This whole story is yet another outgrowth of CLASS ENVY and the liberal’s hatred of the success of Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart stores are filled with women employees that without the presence of the local Wal-Mart would otherwise be standing behind the cash registers at convenience stores, plucking and gutting chickens, or sitting on their fat asses at home watching Oprah and otherwise doing nothing. Rather than being thankful for the relatively good jobs and even careers provided by Wal-Mart, the MEDIA, the UNIONS, the GOVERNMENT, and these THREE SILLY BITCHES elect to spend their time attacking Wal-Mart, looking for the opportunity to extract a CHECK from their presumably deep pockets.
If I were the CEO of Wal-Mart, you know what I would do?
I would stock a single bottle of these pills in each Massachusetts Wal-Mart store and charge $1000 per pill for them. Further, I would require that the poor downtroddenskank, whore, slut, woman bring the offending sperm donor with her so that I could take a photograph of the happy couple and post their picture on the company website. The pills would be readily available, but if they don’t like the price and other terms they can go down the street to Eckerd’s Drugs.
You know what else I found this morning? There is a web site called Get The Pill that allows you to fill out a form online and get a prescription forwarded to the pharmacy of your choice.
How easy is that?
Just don’t have it sent to Wal-Mart.
Whir, whirrrr, Whirrrrrr, WHIRRRR (the sound of my head reaching orbital rotational Velocity)
OK, this does it…just when I thought that I was about to manage to get through a morning without a good rant, I found this example of Government induced Retardation:
Boston--The state board that oversees pharmacies voted Tuesday to require Wal-Mart to stock emergency contraception pills at its Massachusetts pharmacies, a spokeswoman at the Department of Public Health said.
The unanimous decision by the Massachusetts Board of Pharmacy comes two weeks after three women sued Wal-Mart in state court for failing to carry the so called "morning after" pill in its Wal-Mart and Sam's Club stores in the state.
The women argue state policy requires pharmacies to provide all "commonly prescribed medicines."
The board has sent a letter to Wal-Mart lawyers informing them of the decision, said health department spokeswoman Donna Rheaume. Wal-Mart has until Thursday to provide written compliance.
Dan Fogleman, a spokesman for Bentonville, Ark.-based Wal-Mart, said the company hadn't heard about the decision, but would comply with any order.
Wal-Mart carries the pill in Illinois only, where it is required under state law. The company has said it "chooses not to carry many products for business reasons," but declined to elaborate.
The concept of a licensing board forcing a company to carry a product that is counter to their own business model and moral judgment has got to be the biggest, dumb-shit, idiotic example of government meddling that I think that I’ve seen so far—EVER.
Suppose I owned an auto parts store, but I refused to carry radar detectors and aftermarket turbo chargers because my son had been killed by a speeding driver operating a twin turbo Ford Pinto with three radar detectors mounted on their windshield and dash.
Can the county government come in and force me to sell radar detectors and turbo chargers else risk losing my business license? After all, people can always walk or drive down the street to another auto parts store and buy a radar detector and a turbo charger and make their car go 250 MPH if that is a personal goal in life.
Likewise, if some silly bitch has a few too many shots of Tequila and ends up spreading her legs for some undesirable moron in the “heat of the moment”, couldn’t she manage to drive down the street PAST Wal-Mart to CVS or Walgreen’s to get her “morning after” pill?
You know what else Wal-Mart doesn’t carry?
Lubricants for anal sex.
Should Wal-Mart be forced to carry ASStroglide in order to make the ever tolerant liberals and the balance of the gay population happy?
What about sex lubricants that get hot when you blow on them?
Where does it end?
They certainly don’t carry my favorite condom—it’s called speed bumps—“ribbed for her pleasure…” I like to wear them inside out because I’m really a selfish bastard when it comes to sex.
This whole story is yet another outgrowth of CLASS ENVY and the liberal’s hatred of the success of Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart stores are filled with women employees that without the presence of the local Wal-Mart would otherwise be standing behind the cash registers at convenience stores, plucking and gutting chickens, or sitting on their fat asses at home watching Oprah and otherwise doing nothing. Rather than being thankful for the relatively good jobs and even careers provided by Wal-Mart, the MEDIA, the UNIONS, the GOVERNMENT, and these THREE SILLY BITCHES elect to spend their time attacking Wal-Mart, looking for the opportunity to extract a CHECK from their presumably deep pockets.
If I were the CEO of Wal-Mart, you know what I would do?
I would stock a single bottle of these pills in each Massachusetts Wal-Mart store and charge $1000 per pill for them. Further, I would require that the poor downtrodden
You know what else I found this morning? There is a web site called Get The Pill that allows you to fill out a form online and get a prescription forwarded to the pharmacy of your choice.
How easy is that?
Just don’t have it sent to Wal-Mart.
Tiramisu
Almost Better Than Sex…
As some of you already know, I write a cooking blog called The Redneck Gourmet that I’verecently neglected worked at continuously for about 15 months now. I’m in the process of editing the blog entries into a uniform package of recipes in an effort to produce a professionally published cookbook later this year (hopefully.)
I developed two new dishes for this year’s Valentine’s Day extravaganza at my house—and my efforts included a true “Redneck Gourmet” dinner last night consisting of Baked Eggplant Parmesan and a dessert called Tiramisu. Unfortunately I got so busy cooking the Eggplant dish that I completely forgot the Balsamic Vinegar dressed salad, but who noticed…??
I’m taking the liberty of cross posting here on this blog the Tiramisu recipe that I improvised and that came out awesome, if I do say so myself. My only problem will be reproducing my results again with any consistency, but I’m gonna give it my best shot in the future.
And now…as to the ingredients:
For the coffee sauce:
1-1/2 to 2 cups strong, Strong, STRONG Coffee (make it double what you drink)
2 tsp sugar
3 tbsp Kahlua liqueur
2 tbsp Grand Mariner liqueur
For the Zabaglione filling (it’s basically a custard):
4 egg yolks
½ cup of sugar
½ cup Marsala Wine
(2) 8 OZ containers of room temperature Mascarpone Cheese
(1) cup heavy whipping crème
And Finally:
About 4 dozen ladyfingers
Bittersweet coco powder
Small block of semi-sweet dark chocolate
This looks tougher than it really is, just be patient, stay organized, and get ready to dirty up virtually every mixing bowl in your kitchen.
First you make your coffee. As I said in the recipe listing—STRONG coffee—even Espresso if you have a machine. Make the coffee ahead of time, stir in the sugar, and then let it cool off to room temperature. Now add your Kahlua and Grand Mariner. Dump the cooled mixture in a medium saucer or appropriately sized mixing bowl for later use.
Meanwhile your Mascarpone Cheese and your eggs should be sitting around on the countertop coming up to room temperature.
Crack your eggs and separate the yolks from the whites. Some Tiramisu recipes call for whipping up the whites and including them in the Zabaglione filling but, being the wasteful bastard that I am, I just tossed my egg whites down the drain. I’m such a pig…
The egg yolks end up on the stovetop in a double boiler over medium heat. Ideally the water in the lower boiler doesn’t touch the bottom of the upper boiler. The idea is to whisk the egg yolks until they are nice and frothy, then add the ½ cup of sugar and the Marsela wine and keep whisking and cooking the mixture over the steam until it thickens, about 10 minutes on my stove.
When you have a minute you can take a spatula and mush up your Mascarpone Cheese in a large mixing bowl, and you need to beat your whipping cream with an electric mixer in YET ANOTHER MIXING BOWL until it forms stiff peaks.
Don’t worry too much, because you are through dirtying up bowls and pots by now (I actually still had a dozen or so clean ones waiting in the wings if I needed them…), except for the 9” x 13” Pyrex dish that you are going to use to put the desert together in.
By now you should have one bowl of room temperature coffee, one bowl of well whipped “whipping crème”, and one bowl of Zabaglione filling.
Is that what you have? If not, step back from the stove and figure out where you went wrong.
After the Zabaglione filling has cooled off a bit, dump it into the bowl with the mascarpone cheese and mix it all up with the electric mixer.
Now “fold” your whipped crème into the mixture. By folding I mean not beating it with the mixer, just stir it up enough to combine it and get a uniform consistency. Don’t beat it to death or you will cause the crème to collapse.
Now comes the fun part—putting it all together.
One at a time, lightly dip both sides of your lady fingers into the coffee mixture, then neatly position ½ of them in the 9” x 13” pyrex dish to form a uniform single layer. Next you spoon ½ of your filling over the layer of ladyfingers and smooth it out. Now repeat the process with another full layer of ladyfingers, and top it all off with the rest of your filling mixture.
Smooth it out real nice and pretty.
Cover it with saran wrap and refrigerate for at least four hours (mine sat overnight.)
When you are ready to serve your Tiramisu, pull it out of the fridge, sprinkle the coco powder evenly over the top, and shave some of the bittersweet chocolate into “curls” with a vegetable peeler (it helps if you refrigerate the chocolate block for a half hour before cutting your “curls.”)
Now cut out a couple of generous portions for yourself and your significant other, grab yourself a fork, and eat!
Regards Y’all,
The Redneck Gourmet
As some of you already know, I write a cooking blog called The Redneck Gourmet that I’ve
I developed two new dishes for this year’s Valentine’s Day extravaganza at my house—and my efforts included a true “Redneck Gourmet” dinner last night consisting of Baked Eggplant Parmesan and a dessert called Tiramisu. Unfortunately I got so busy cooking the Eggplant dish that I completely forgot the Balsamic Vinegar dressed salad, but who noticed…??
I’m taking the liberty of cross posting here on this blog the Tiramisu recipe that I improvised and that came out awesome, if I do say so myself. My only problem will be reproducing my results again with any consistency, but I’m gonna give it my best shot in the future.
And now…as to the ingredients:
For the coffee sauce:
1-1/2 to 2 cups strong, Strong, STRONG Coffee (make it double what you drink)
2 tsp sugar
3 tbsp Kahlua liqueur
2 tbsp Grand Mariner liqueur
For the Zabaglione filling (it’s basically a custard):
4 egg yolks
½ cup of sugar
½ cup Marsala Wine
(2) 8 OZ containers of room temperature Mascarpone Cheese
(1) cup heavy whipping crème
And Finally:
About 4 dozen ladyfingers
Bittersweet coco powder
Small block of semi-sweet dark chocolate
This looks tougher than it really is, just be patient, stay organized, and get ready to dirty up virtually every mixing bowl in your kitchen.
First you make your coffee. As I said in the recipe listing—STRONG coffee—even Espresso if you have a machine. Make the coffee ahead of time, stir in the sugar, and then let it cool off to room temperature. Now add your Kahlua and Grand Mariner. Dump the cooled mixture in a medium saucer or appropriately sized mixing bowl for later use.
Meanwhile your Mascarpone Cheese and your eggs should be sitting around on the countertop coming up to room temperature.
Crack your eggs and separate the yolks from the whites. Some Tiramisu recipes call for whipping up the whites and including them in the Zabaglione filling but, being the wasteful bastard that I am, I just tossed my egg whites down the drain. I’m such a pig…
The egg yolks end up on the stovetop in a double boiler over medium heat. Ideally the water in the lower boiler doesn’t touch the bottom of the upper boiler. The idea is to whisk the egg yolks until they are nice and frothy, then add the ½ cup of sugar and the Marsela wine and keep whisking and cooking the mixture over the steam until it thickens, about 10 minutes on my stove.
When you have a minute you can take a spatula and mush up your Mascarpone Cheese in a large mixing bowl, and you need to beat your whipping cream with an electric mixer in YET ANOTHER MIXING BOWL until it forms stiff peaks.
Don’t worry too much, because you are through dirtying up bowls and pots by now (I actually still had a dozen or so clean ones waiting in the wings if I needed them…), except for the 9” x 13” Pyrex dish that you are going to use to put the desert together in.
By now you should have one bowl of room temperature coffee, one bowl of well whipped “whipping crème”, and one bowl of Zabaglione filling.
Is that what you have? If not, step back from the stove and figure out where you went wrong.
After the Zabaglione filling has cooled off a bit, dump it into the bowl with the mascarpone cheese and mix it all up with the electric mixer.
Now “fold” your whipped crème into the mixture. By folding I mean not beating it with the mixer, just stir it up enough to combine it and get a uniform consistency. Don’t beat it to death or you will cause the crème to collapse.
Now comes the fun part—putting it all together.
One at a time, lightly dip both sides of your lady fingers into the coffee mixture, then neatly position ½ of them in the 9” x 13” pyrex dish to form a uniform single layer. Next you spoon ½ of your filling over the layer of ladyfingers and smooth it out. Now repeat the process with another full layer of ladyfingers, and top it all off with the rest of your filling mixture.
Smooth it out real nice and pretty.
Cover it with saran wrap and refrigerate for at least four hours (mine sat overnight.)
When you are ready to serve your Tiramisu, pull it out of the fridge, sprinkle the coco powder evenly over the top, and shave some of the bittersweet chocolate into “curls” with a vegetable peeler (it helps if you refrigerate the chocolate block for a half hour before cutting your “curls.”)
Now cut out a couple of generous portions for yourself and your significant other, grab yourself a fork, and eat!
Regards Y’all,
The Redneck Gourmet
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
More Hunting Horror Stories
The Plot Thickens...
As usual when something happens in the world that gets major attention, the "lamestream" media just can't help themselves--they just got to produce sideline and background stories and toss every conceivable moron with an ax to grind onto the pages of the newspapers and onto your TV screen at night.
I winced my way through Paula Zann's CNN broadcast this evening and they were running around lamenting kids being taught to shoot at a young age and wondering if they were psychologically prepaired to grasp the meaning of their actions. You see, liberals lament a lack of gun safety in our culture, but we can't even be allowed to solve the problem by teaching young people to safely handle weapons.
Then I ran across this silly "gun safety" story about a guy mistaking his hunting partner's elbow for a squirrel:
Golden Township, Michigan--A man was shot and injured when his hunting partner mistook his elbow for a squirrel, authorities said.
Michigan State Police said George Arthur Sikkenga, 64, of Muskegon, Michigan was wounded Sunday morning in Golden Township, in Michigan's west-central Lower Peninsula.
Sikkenga was wearing camouflage clothing except for an orange hat, which he had covered with a hood after sitting down behind a tree, The Muskegon Chronicle reported.
His clothed elbow was all of him that was visible when his friend, Gregory Scott Wood approached from behind the tree and fired his weapon, which the Ludington Daily News described as a .17-caliber rifle.
Sikkenga was transported to a local hospital, where he was treated and released.
Police were investigating the shooting.
You got to love a story like that, and of course the media will probably try to tie it into VP Dick Cheney's little hunting accident last weekend. Besides trying to impune all hunters as ingnorant, inbread, mouth breathing morons or some kind of anarchists. they will probably be quite excited to announce the introduction of the new "Cheney-Meaney" line of camouflage clothing.
I did a little photoshopping and came up with this picture of my prototype for their first offering in this distinctive product line:
I'll be placing my order by telephone later this morning.
Why don't YOU call up and order a complete outfit for the hunter in your family?
As usual when something happens in the world that gets major attention, the "lamestream" media just can't help themselves--they just got to produce sideline and background stories and toss every conceivable moron with an ax to grind onto the pages of the newspapers and onto your TV screen at night.
I winced my way through Paula Zann's CNN broadcast this evening and they were running around lamenting kids being taught to shoot at a young age and wondering if they were psychologically prepaired to grasp the meaning of their actions. You see, liberals lament a lack of gun safety in our culture, but we can't even be allowed to solve the problem by teaching young people to safely handle weapons.
Then I ran across this silly "gun safety" story about a guy mistaking his hunting partner's elbow for a squirrel:
Golden Township, Michigan--A man was shot and injured when his hunting partner mistook his elbow for a squirrel, authorities said.
Michigan State Police said George Arthur Sikkenga, 64, of Muskegon, Michigan was wounded Sunday morning in Golden Township, in Michigan's west-central Lower Peninsula.
Sikkenga was wearing camouflage clothing except for an orange hat, which he had covered with a hood after sitting down behind a tree, The Muskegon Chronicle reported.
His clothed elbow was all of him that was visible when his friend, Gregory Scott Wood approached from behind the tree and fired his weapon, which the Ludington Daily News described as a .17-caliber rifle.
Sikkenga was transported to a local hospital, where he was treated and released.
Police were investigating the shooting.
You got to love a story like that, and of course the media will probably try to tie it into VP Dick Cheney's little hunting accident last weekend. Besides trying to impune all hunters as ingnorant, inbread, mouth breathing morons or some kind of anarchists. they will probably be quite excited to announce the introduction of the new "Cheney-Meaney" line of camouflage clothing.
I did a little photoshopping and came up with this picture of my prototype for their first offering in this distinctive product line:
I'll be placing my order by telephone later this morning.
Why don't YOU call up and order a complete outfit for the hunter in your family?
Monday, February 13, 2006
Why Are They Shooting Their Mouth Off…
When They Actually Don’t Know How To Shoot?
OK, remember that I’ve said that I practically grew up with a gun in my hand?
BB gun at 8 years, 22 at 10, 22 magnum rifle at 12, and my own 12 gauge shotgun when I was about 15 years old.
Oh, and just to make the anti-gun liberal's heads spin around nice and fast, I'll mention my compensated S&W 10 shot semi-auto 22 target pistol and the additional 30-06 rifle and the lovely Belgian-made Browning 12 gauge semi-auto shotgun that I inherited from my Grandfather.
(Please feel free to call the FBI, the CIA, the ATF, and possibly your local PTA if your kids live nearby because I'm likely to attempt to teach them how to safely handle and shoot my weapons if I get the chance...did I mention today that my idea of gun control is HITTING THE INTENDED TARGET, EVERY DAMN TIME?)
I didn’t say anything here on the blog this weekend, but I just knew that all of the limp-wristed, pansy-assed, liberal, city slickers that think that guns jump out of closets unsupervised and kill people would be all over Vice president Dick Cheney’ hunting mishap on Saturday.
They can’t decide if Cheney is stupid, just a plain menace, or if he is just a secretive bastard for helping take care of his fellow hunter rather than running to the media to give them an extra day’s head start on bashing him in the headlines.
As usual, I have a little piece of information that you need to know about this incident, and it is really ALL you need to know to absolve Mr. Cheney of any guilt other than pulling the trigger in a hunting ACCIDENT.
According to my sources, the 78 year old ex-lawyer and real estate investor Harry Whittington had walked away from the hunting party, then re-appeared on VP Cheney’s right flank—UNANNOUNCED—a serious no-no in hunting vernacular.
I’ve hunted birds in an open brush covered field with three or four people before and you always agree on your positions and fields of fire prior to beginning the hunt and you do not encroach on your fellow hunter’s range area unless you want to go home picking lead out of your ass and other more sensitive and important areas of your body.
I know that the press will have their way with this story and that the late night talk show hosts will lampoon him for a few weeks, but remember…
WAAAY back when Candidate sKerry went goose hunting during the 2004 presidential campaign in an attempt to pander to the NRA and the rest of the pro gun lobby? As I recall, he donned $2,000 worth of clothes, grabbed a $20,000 custom Beretta shotgun, wandered out into a marsh, and supposedly shot several geese.
The only thing was that the stupid bastard was too chicken shit to actually carry his trophies out of the swamp—he had his hunting guides do it so his panty wasted liberal supporters and the PETA people wouldn’t see him in the midst of the carnage.
I bet the NY Times would have rather that Cheney’s party tied the old man hand and feet to a big tree limb and hauled his bleeding carcass out of the woods to a campfire in front of reporters rather than call an ambulance and worry about digging a few tiny pieces of birdshot out of his flesh with a scapel and forceps.
The press has never, never ever, ever been kind to Cheney, and what they are really mad at him about here is that a little newspaper in Texas was allowed to "scoop" the Whitehouse press corps.
Think about it this way...Cheney was on one of the much lamented "vacations" from the Capitol, hunting on private land as a private citizen. Emergency medical aid was rendered, the proper legal authorites were contacted, what else would you or I be expected to do if we had been involved in a situation like this?
Nothing?
Now you’ll have to excuse me… but I’ve got to go clean my guns before I hurt someone ...
OK, remember that I’ve said that I practically grew up with a gun in my hand?
BB gun at 8 years, 22 at 10, 22 magnum rifle at 12, and my own 12 gauge shotgun when I was about 15 years old.
Oh, and just to make the anti-gun liberal's heads spin around nice and fast, I'll mention my compensated S&W 10 shot semi-auto 22 target pistol and the additional 30-06 rifle and the lovely Belgian-made Browning 12 gauge semi-auto shotgun that I inherited from my Grandfather.
(Please feel free to call the FBI, the CIA, the ATF, and possibly your local PTA if your kids live nearby because I'm likely to attempt to teach them how to safely handle and shoot my weapons if I get the chance...did I mention today that my idea of gun control is HITTING THE INTENDED TARGET, EVERY DAMN TIME?)
I didn’t say anything here on the blog this weekend, but I just knew that all of the limp-wristed, pansy-assed, liberal, city slickers that think that guns jump out of closets unsupervised and kill people would be all over Vice president Dick Cheney’ hunting mishap on Saturday.
They can’t decide if Cheney is stupid, just a plain menace, or if he is just a secretive bastard for helping take care of his fellow hunter rather than running to the media to give them an extra day’s head start on bashing him in the headlines.
As usual, I have a little piece of information that you need to know about this incident, and it is really ALL you need to know to absolve Mr. Cheney of any guilt other than pulling the trigger in a hunting ACCIDENT.
According to my sources, the 78 year old ex-lawyer and real estate investor Harry Whittington had walked away from the hunting party, then re-appeared on VP Cheney’s right flank—UNANNOUNCED—a serious no-no in hunting vernacular.
I’ve hunted birds in an open brush covered field with three or four people before and you always agree on your positions and fields of fire prior to beginning the hunt and you do not encroach on your fellow hunter’s range area unless you want to go home picking lead out of your ass and other more sensitive and important areas of your body.
I know that the press will have their way with this story and that the late night talk show hosts will lampoon him for a few weeks, but remember…
WAAAY back when Candidate sKerry went goose hunting during the 2004 presidential campaign in an attempt to pander to the NRA and the rest of the pro gun lobby? As I recall, he donned $2,000 worth of clothes, grabbed a $20,000 custom Beretta shotgun, wandered out into a marsh, and supposedly shot several geese.
The only thing was that the stupid bastard was too chicken shit to actually carry his trophies out of the swamp—he had his hunting guides do it so his panty wasted liberal supporters and the PETA people wouldn’t see him in the midst of the carnage.
I bet the NY Times would have rather that Cheney’s party tied the old man hand and feet to a big tree limb and hauled his bleeding carcass out of the woods to a campfire in front of reporters rather than call an ambulance and worry about digging a few tiny pieces of birdshot out of his flesh with a scapel and forceps.
The press has never, never ever, ever been kind to Cheney, and what they are really mad at him about here is that a little newspaper in Texas was allowed to "scoop" the Whitehouse press corps.
Think about it this way...Cheney was on one of the much lamented "vacations" from the Capitol, hunting on private land as a private citizen. Emergency medical aid was rendered, the proper legal authorites were contacted, what else would you or I be expected to do if we had been involved in a situation like this?
Nothing?
Now you’ll have to excuse me… but I’ve got to go clean my guns before I hurt someone ...
Eighteen Months 'O Bloggin'
Wo0o0o Ho0o0o...Que Up The Balloons and Cake...
I forgot to mention that this weekend represented yet another milestone in my blogging career--18 months of writing a few thousand words almost every darn day.
For Free...(read that no remuneration or compensation)
I also just passed 12,500 visiters of which probably half were unique hits, hardly spectacular as blogging standards go, but hey--I have no standards and neither should you if you elect to hang around this website.
All I know is that my typing and writing skills have vastly improved (ok, stop snickering) and I swear that I'm going to get a real paying book deal out of my cooking blog, The Redneck Gourmet before 2006 is over with.
I also believe that my investigative news skills are improving and that I am going to be able to get some freelance magazine and news articles published this year.
Yeah, I know you don't believe me, but my Mom and my Sister and Pat and Pam and Bucky and Rusty and I do, and that's all that really matters to me...
I forgot to mention that this weekend represented yet another milestone in my blogging career--18 months of writing a few thousand words almost every darn day.
For Free...(read that no remuneration or compensation)
I also just passed 12,500 visiters of which probably half were unique hits, hardly spectacular as blogging standards go, but hey--I have no standards and neither should you if you elect to hang around this website.
All I know is that my typing and writing skills have vastly improved (ok, stop snickering) and I swear that I'm going to get a real paying book deal out of my cooking blog, The Redneck Gourmet before 2006 is over with.
I also believe that my investigative news skills are improving and that I am going to be able to get some freelance magazine and news articles published this year.
Yeah, I know you don't believe me, but my Mom and my Sister and Pat and Pam and Bucky and Rusty and I do, and that's all that really matters to me...
Digital Blasphemy?
Lazy Gratuitous Monday Linkage
It’s cold as heck outside, and for some reason I just don’t really feel like writing a damn thing this morning.
Besides, if I do write, all of you weekday readers that waste time at work clicking on my blog will just miss the two excellent rants I wrote early Sunday morning. Go take a look if you have time.
Annnnndddddd...
On second thought, in order to not have a day go by without publishing something new let me point out the goings on over at “The Official Jesus Dance Page”. There they have the lyrics to the song “Plastic Jesus” that Paul Newman sang in the movie Cool Hand Luke.
Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
{Refrain}
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,
You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're traveling far…
What a truely great movie, including guys like Strother “what we have here is a FAILURE to communicate” Martin, George Kennedy, Wayne Rogers, J.D. Cannon, and Dennis Hopper.
See, if you were all Muslims and I was posting lyrics to a song about Muhammed you could run out with some gasoline and matches and set the nearest convienance store on fire or possibly overturn your neighbor’s or co-worker’s cars and behead an innocent bystander or something.
If that isn’t enough to make you start your own personal Jihad, perhaps you’d like to wander over and take a look at the Dancing Mohammed web page.
Lightning is certain to strike me if the Muslims don’t beat my front door down first for pointing this site out.
I’ve got to go flush my Koran now…
It’s cold as heck outside, and for some reason I just don’t really feel like writing a damn thing this morning.
Besides, if I do write, all of you weekday readers that waste time at work clicking on my blog will just miss the two excellent rants I wrote early Sunday morning. Go take a look if you have time.
Annnnndddddd...
On second thought, in order to not have a day go by without publishing something new let me point out the goings on over at “The Official Jesus Dance Page”. There they have the lyrics to the song “Plastic Jesus” that Paul Newman sang in the movie Cool Hand Luke.
Well, I don't care if it rains or freezes,
Long as I have my plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
{Refrain}
Plastic Jesus, plastic Jesus
Riding on the dashboard of my car
Through all trials and tribulations,
We will travel every nation,
With my plastic Jesus I'll go far.
I don't care if it rains or freezes
As long as I've got my Plastic Jesus
Glued to the dashboard of my car,
You can buy Him phosphorescent
Glows in the dark, He's Pink and Pleasant,
Take Him with you when you're traveling far…
What a truely great movie, including guys like Strother “what we have here is a FAILURE to communicate” Martin, George Kennedy, Wayne Rogers, J.D. Cannon, and Dennis Hopper.
See, if you were all Muslims and I was posting lyrics to a song about Muhammed you could run out with some gasoline and matches and set the nearest convienance store on fire or possibly overturn your neighbor’s or co-worker’s cars and behead an innocent bystander or something.
If that isn’t enough to make you start your own personal Jihad, perhaps you’d like to wander over and take a look at the Dancing Mohammed web page.
Lightning is certain to strike me if the Muslims don’t beat my front door down first for pointing this site out.
I’ve got to go flush my Koran now…
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Tell Me Again Why We Keep Tolerating This Crap?
Parental Obligations
As I’ve said a zillion times before—I haven’t elected to reproduce—never have, never will.
Further, my only sibling—my sister—waited until she was past forty to have the one and only bouncing baby grandson in our family.
There is no basic genetic or physical reason why the massive intellect and superior spirit of our branch of the Rogers family tree has come to a virtual roaring stop with our generation—we just chose education and careers over diapers and formula. Beyond that, I think that the ridiculous political and world situation has served as my own personal deterrent to procreation.
I never will forget a conversation I had with one of the female sales weasels at a engineering consulting firm I worked for back about 1990. In the discussion of why I chose my work and career over having a family, the older woman struck me dead in my tracks with a comment to the effect of “by default you and your wife are leaving the human race and your country’s future to other, sometimes inferior, citizens.”
How do you answer a comment like that?
That said, look at this news story about a woman delivering her premature baby in a toilet, and then LEAVING IT THERE UNTIL IT WAS RETRIEVED BY PARAMEDICS.
Littleton, Colorado--A premature baby survived after being delivered in a toilet, police said.
"I just had a baby," Salina Newman told the operator when she dialed emergency services Tuesday, according to transcripts released to the media on Thursday. "I was only six months pregnant and I went to the restroom and the baby is in the toilet."
Littleton police officer Bob Carmody said when he arrived at the apartment, Newman told him the baby had been miscarried.
"I looked in the toilet bowl and I could see movement, and the baby was enclosed in the sac and everything," Carmody told Denver television stations. He pulled the baby out of the toilet with rubber gloves.
"I could see the hair, the hands up by the face, and parts of the legs and stuff, but I didn't take a lot of time to look at it. I just made sure and covered up the blanket."
Another officer ran down three flights of stairs to paramedics who had just arrived.
The baby girl, named Nevaeh (heaven spelled backwards), weighed 1.5 pounds and was taken to Littleton Adventist Hosptial, where she's expected to remain until she reaches 6 pounds, police said.
Hospital spokeswoman Allison Hefner declined to release information when contacted by The Associated Press Thursday, citing federal privacy rules.
What kind of woman wouldn't reach into the toilet and pull the baby out of the water herself?
Did she just cut the cord and go back to watching Oprah?
My Mother would have dove in and tried to swim down to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean (she can't actually swim) to retrieve my stupid undeserving carcass today if she saw me there.
Do we raise people like this here in the US or are we allowing them to immigrate here from other planets?
Not having any kids of my own doesn't mean that I don't care about children, and I say that Mother Salina should be spending a few days in Jail with her head stuck in a toilet bowl as a minimum, and that DFACS should be seriously considering taking this baby away from the so called "mother" (read that walking ovaries and uterus or simply "the egg donor") and placing it with a real set of parents.
But I know that it won't happen, because stray and abused cats and dogs are better taken care of by the Humane society in most states than are the poor abused and needy children by DFACS (The Department of Family and Children's Services.)
In retrospect, I think that I could have been a pretty good father if I had decided to take that route in life, because I had a world class father of my own as an example. As a result I probably could have avoided most of the disasters I managed to wander into if I had needed to be responsible for raising kids rather than running around raising Hell in my younger days.
Kids gravitate to me like the Pied Piper because I ignore them and let them come to me in their own time, then I treat them like people rather than idiots or animals. Seriously, I can walk into a house or swimming pool full of little people and within an hour I look like a jungle gym, and I'm in serious risk of being injured by the little critters as they climb around on my head and stand to leap off of my shoulders in a Virgil induced hysterical spastic frenzy.
Just for fun I like to inherit a group of munchkins (parents will let you play babysitter at the drop of the hat if they can get ten minutes of peace) and then I say things like "OK guys...lets take this butcher knife, sharpen ourselves some nice pointy sticks, then run outside and play in the street in traffic" just loud enough to see if the parents are actually paying attention.
Then there are fun games like "hold your breath" with prizes for the best shade of blue and "bathroom cleaner chemistry class" and...for the older kids there's "Explosives 101"...you get my drift, I'm more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
By selectively deciding when to play my games, I can lose my foster family as fast as I inherited them if I need to and it's time for some peace and quite of my own.
Any Way...my heart goes out to any child that begins life outside the womb in a toilet bowl, because chances are that with a mother like that that their life is going to continue to contain more shit stains that anyone should be expected to endure.
Let's all say a little prayer...
As I’ve said a zillion times before—I haven’t elected to reproduce—never have, never will.
Further, my only sibling—my sister—waited until she was past forty to have the one and only bouncing baby grandson in our family.
There is no basic genetic or physical reason why the massive intellect and superior spirit of our branch of the Rogers family tree has come to a virtual roaring stop with our generation—we just chose education and careers over diapers and formula. Beyond that, I think that the ridiculous political and world situation has served as my own personal deterrent to procreation.
I never will forget a conversation I had with one of the female sales weasels at a engineering consulting firm I worked for back about 1990. In the discussion of why I chose my work and career over having a family, the older woman struck me dead in my tracks with a comment to the effect of “by default you and your wife are leaving the human race and your country’s future to other, sometimes inferior, citizens.”
How do you answer a comment like that?
That said, look at this news story about a woman delivering her premature baby in a toilet, and then LEAVING IT THERE UNTIL IT WAS RETRIEVED BY PARAMEDICS.
Littleton, Colorado--A premature baby survived after being delivered in a toilet, police said.
"I just had a baby," Salina Newman told the operator when she dialed emergency services Tuesday, according to transcripts released to the media on Thursday. "I was only six months pregnant and I went to the restroom and the baby is in the toilet."
Littleton police officer Bob Carmody said when he arrived at the apartment, Newman told him the baby had been miscarried.
"I looked in the toilet bowl and I could see movement, and the baby was enclosed in the sac and everything," Carmody told Denver television stations. He pulled the baby out of the toilet with rubber gloves.
"I could see the hair, the hands up by the face, and parts of the legs and stuff, but I didn't take a lot of time to look at it. I just made sure and covered up the blanket."
Another officer ran down three flights of stairs to paramedics who had just arrived.
The baby girl, named Nevaeh (heaven spelled backwards), weighed 1.5 pounds and was taken to Littleton Adventist Hosptial, where she's expected to remain until she reaches 6 pounds, police said.
Hospital spokeswoman Allison Hefner declined to release information when contacted by The Associated Press Thursday, citing federal privacy rules.
What kind of woman wouldn't reach into the toilet and pull the baby out of the water herself?
Did she just cut the cord and go back to watching Oprah?
My Mother would have dove in and tried to swim down to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean (she can't actually swim) to retrieve my stupid undeserving carcass today if she saw me there.
Do we raise people like this here in the US or are we allowing them to immigrate here from other planets?
Not having any kids of my own doesn't mean that I don't care about children, and I say that Mother Salina should be spending a few days in Jail with her head stuck in a toilet bowl as a minimum, and that DFACS should be seriously considering taking this baby away from the so called "mother" (read that walking ovaries and uterus or simply "the egg donor") and placing it with a real set of parents.
But I know that it won't happen, because stray and abused cats and dogs are better taken care of by the Humane society in most states than are the poor abused and needy children by DFACS (The Department of Family and Children's Services.)
In retrospect, I think that I could have been a pretty good father if I had decided to take that route in life, because I had a world class father of my own as an example. As a result I probably could have avoided most of the disasters I managed to wander into if I had needed to be responsible for raising kids rather than running around raising Hell in my younger days.
Kids gravitate to me like the Pied Piper because I ignore them and let them come to me in their own time, then I treat them like people rather than idiots or animals. Seriously, I can walk into a house or swimming pool full of little people and within an hour I look like a jungle gym, and I'm in serious risk of being injured by the little critters as they climb around on my head and stand to leap off of my shoulders in a Virgil induced hysterical spastic frenzy.
Just for fun I like to inherit a group of munchkins (parents will let you play babysitter at the drop of the hat if they can get ten minutes of peace) and then I say things like "OK guys...lets take this butcher knife, sharpen ourselves some nice pointy sticks, then run outside and play in the street in traffic" just loud enough to see if the parents are actually paying attention.
Then there are fun games like "hold your breath" with prizes for the best shade of blue and "bathroom cleaner chemistry class" and...for the older kids there's "Explosives 101"...you get my drift, I'm more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
By selectively deciding when to play my games, I can lose my foster family as fast as I inherited them if I need to and it's time for some peace and quite of my own.
Any Way...my heart goes out to any child that begins life outside the womb in a toilet bowl, because chances are that with a mother like that that their life is going to continue to contain more shit stains that anyone should be expected to endure.
Let's all say a little prayer...
Valentines Day Preparations
If You’ve Waited Till Now—It’s TOO LATE!
This posting goes out to all of the Men in the world. Ladies, you can avert your eyes, hit your browser's "back" buttons, or if you insist you can read along because you might actually agree with me on this subject. Here goes...
I’ve noticed with amusement a couple of Valentine’s Day marketing trends this year that absolutely drive me crazy.
The first one is the bombardment that has occurred in my E-mail inbox of offers from Proflowers.com and FTD.com. “Last chance offer,” “order now for free delivery,” “order by midnight tonight for guaranteed delivery” scream the subject lines of the messages.
I simply hit the delete button and send them off into the oblivion of my internet wastebasket.
Sorry Proflowers and FTD, but I already have my Valentines Day plans made and they don’t include an $80 vase of roses.
The most obscenely blatant marketing campaign out there this year has to be the one being conducted on TV by the Vermont Teddy Bear Company.
Have you seen it?
This posting goes out to all of the Men in the world. Ladies, you can avert your eyes, hit your browser's "back" buttons, or if you insist you can read along because you might actually agree with me on this subject. Here goes...
I’ve noticed with amusement a couple of Valentine’s Day marketing trends this year that absolutely drive me crazy.
The first one is the bombardment that has occurred in my E-mail inbox of offers from Proflowers.com and FTD.com. “Last chance offer,” “order now for free delivery,” “order by midnight tonight for guaranteed delivery” scream the subject lines of the messages.
I simply hit the delete button and send them off into the oblivion of my internet wastebasket.
Sorry Proflowers and FTD, but I already have my Valentines Day plans made and they don’t include an $80 vase of roses.
The most obscenely blatant marketing campaign out there this year has to be the one being conducted on TV by the Vermont Teddy Bear Company.
Have you seen it?
You know the ad, the one with the three girls that look like strippers with pouting Botox-injected lips that squeal and squeak their way through opening a box containing a masked Love Bandit Bear in their office cubicle?
Meanwhile three of their fellow “office geek” male coworkers witness the scene and promptly dial the phone to order their own bears in order to obtain the attentions of their “stripper chick” co-workers.
Speaking of “geeks” and “nerds”, I’m sort of insulted that the Vermont Teddy Bear Company doesn’t have a bear called “computer nerd” or “rocket scientist” or "Georgia Tech Graduate", so I took the liberty of doing a little Photoshopping this evening and came up with this little guy.
Now THAT'S what I call a good looking Teddy Bear... cheesy toupe and all...
But seriously, my real message here--Guys--is the following:
If you’ve waited until Valentines Day to get your act together with your current wife, future ex-wife, girlfriend, or prospective “main squeeze” I say that you’re in big trouble and dropping eighty or a hundred bucks on some soon to be wilted flowers or a cheesy costumed bear is not going to get make up for 364 days of neglect.
You're in BIG TROUBLE.
And another thing...I learned years ago to avoid going out to dinner on Valentines Day because of having to deal with a human stampede of wild eyed guys like YOU and starry eyed women all clamoring to celebrate one “special day,” marketed and revered by the owners of Hallmark Cards and the Rose Grower’s Association of the World is a formula for DISASTER.
Unnnthhh Uhhhhhh, Count me out....Yes Sireeee.
I can’t and won’t deal with it.
Dinner out in a restaurant on Valentines Day is actually worse than dinner out in a restaurant on New Years Eve. The only thing guaranteed is that your favorite restaurant that normally provides excellent service and food will let you down and hurt your feelings, thereby wasting perfectly good wine and a hundred or so dollars.
Not to look like a cheapskate, but I like to avoid the rush and go out a day or two before or after Valentines Day and leave the dining seats open for all of the bad husbands and clueless single morons that have to do something in order to save their collective asses and relationships.
I'm smarter than that.
You aught to wish that you and your date were going to be dining at MY house this year on Valentines Day.
I'm making a nice salad with organic field greens covered with a dressing made with ANCIENT Basamic vinegar, cooking a big dish of my special Eggplant Parmesan with a spicy Italian Sausage tomato sauce, and then for desert--the "coup de grace"--the Italian desert called Tiramisu.
It’s a combination of Mascarpone Cheese, Whipped Crème, Coffee, Chocolate custard, Grand Marnier Liquor, and lady fingers…all molded together in a loaf pan and chilled. The good thing is that it has ZERO calories and fat grams (if no one sees you eat half a pan of it.)
Now get out there and figure out something last minute to do for Valentines Day that is original.
Yes YOU there...go...get going...NOW!!!
