The mrs. has been away for nearly a week exploring Costa Rica with her ma and sis. So, what's a guy to do? I've been doing a lot of cooking, sleeping, enjoying an occasional vodka cocktail and playing guitar. One day, I got it in my head to go crazy with the Garageband and let my inner Joe Satriani out. Yes, I am a guitar nerd.
I also rented some movies the mrs would never watch. Like The Empire Strikes Back, Family Guy's Blue Harvest, and Cloverfield (although I had to stop the movie when the people started walking through the subway tunnels. Too scary).
Got called to do an assignment for work that involved driving to Winona, MN (140 miles one way). During the course of my 14 hour work day, I spent about 5 hours in the car.
Next day - the alternator in the car goes on the fritz and I spend $482 for the repair. Also, my battery is weak and will need to be replaced before winter.
However - Saturday is a beautiful day. Wife and I ride downtown to BluesFest for the afternoon and then hang out at a backyard bbq in the evening. Over the course of the day, I got to hang with good friends and their adorable children, hear some good music, ingest lots of beer, grilled meat and vodka. And, to top it off, I got lucky.
...because they just might be planning our demise.
The following is a 10 minute presentation by Joshua Klein, who has a thing for crows. In the first 5:00 minutes of the lecture you'll see something that will blow your mind about how smart these little buggers are. Apparently, crows can make tools AND hold grudges against people, so don't piss them off.
By the way, I also highly recommend the TED Talks website as a great way to spend 'non-porn' minutes in front of the computer.
WARNING: this post is a little longer than usual. Most of it focuses on Michael Pollan's book In Defense of Food: An Eater's Manifesto. He's much better at talking about his research than I am, so if you're so inclined, check out the video of this Google chat he did a few months ago (it's an hour long, but it's the best non-porn hour in front of your computer you will ever spend):
And here's my little food testimonial:
I’ve noticed a pattern among my male friends. As we get to be 40-ish, we’ve come to the realization that we can’t eat like we were still 18. We used to believe we were indestructible and we ate like it. I remember being able to eat (and keep down) a Big Mac, large French fries and three hamburgers; pizza several times a week; and then there was the day me and Bill downed a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken between the two of us.
Now we are reminded by our bathroom scales, blood pressure levels and cholesterol test results, that we are not only mortal – but we are on the road towards heart problems, diabetes and other serious health problems that are linked to poor diets.
Hypertension (high blood pressure) and diabetes spot my family tree. I remembered my grandma Minnie, who had both afflictions, taking a handful of medications and giving herself insulin shots daily. It horrified me. My father also had a couple scares with high blood sugar and cholesterol and my own tests showed that I was pre-hypertensive, pre-diabetic and my bad cholesterol was kicking my good cholesterol’s ass.
I knew that I could get these levels under control by going on a low-calorie, low-fat, low-carb diet. But I also knew that, for me, that’s not a sustainable diet. Anyway, I don’t believe in diets. All a diet makes you do is crave the food you can’t eat and then fills you with guilt at any little slip. Face it, it’s no way to live.
Lucky for me, my wife read Michael Pollan’s book The Omnivore’s Dilemma. The book challenged her to look more closely at how and what she ate. And she challenged me to do the same. I first read Pollan’s follow up to ‘Dilemma’ a shorter read called In Defense of Food – An Eater’s Manifesto. It contains a lot of the info from the previous book. And in seven words Pollan sums up a reasonable approach to eating:
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
Here’s what I’ve taken to heart and have tried to adopt – not as a diet – but a lifestyle change (there’s a big difference):
Eat food. Eat real food -- not a bunch of processed stuff. Why? Because processing eliminates the natural goodness in food (and it puts a lot of harmful stuff in its place in order to give it shelf life). Plus, when food companies try to put the good stuff back in, scientists have found that the nutrients don’t behave in the same way. Meaning, all the supplements and “vitamin fortified” shit you eat – isn’t making you healthier.
Real food is more than the sum of its nutrients. For example, scientists have extracted the beta-carotenes from carrots and put them in other food. Now the evidence shows, you’re better off just eating the friggin’ carrot.
It goes the same for all the so-called ‘bad stuff’ like animal fats, carbohydrates and cholesterol. Remember, there are societies where their main source of protein is animal fats. Think about it. Herding societies and Eskimoes eat a lot of meat and fatty fish and whale blubber. Think of the French diet, full of butter and other fatty goodness.
The point Pollan makes is to look at the lifestyles together with the diets. Long story short – fat alone is not the enemy. And the fear of fat is driving people to eat artificially produced ‘low fat’ foods. I used to think I was eating healthy by eating those Boca burgers. But if you look at the ingredients, you’re going to find a bunch of other crap in there, that may be making you worse off than if you’d just had a burger.
The same goes with carbs. People have been eating pasta made from white flour, eating white rice, and white bread for years. Why all of a sudden are these verboten? (read the book.)
Not too much: Portion sizes are way out of control. We really just don’t need to supersize everything. I now cringe at ads on television for Taco Bell which extol the virtues of stuffing your food sac for $1.99.
I learned a little tip: if you’re full, you’ve eaten too much.
Mostly plants: Notice he doesn’t say ONLY plants. Although he says there are plenty of good reasons to go strictly vegetarian, there is a movement that recognizes the benefits of eating pasture-raised animals. Thank the gods. Because, to be honest with you, I’m just not giving up the meat. But, I’m certainly more willing to make a serious effort to eat pasture-raised, naturally fed chickens, pigs, turkeys and cows. These animals live better, die much more humanely and taste better than their feedlot brethren. Plus, because these animals have eaten what they’re supposed to – cows are meant to eat grass, not corn (its bad for them) – their meat becomes more healthful.
The challenge for me is to incorporate more plants into my life. And I have to say, after reading about the process under which plants convert sunlight into nutrients, I’ve attained a much higher respect for the little beings. They are amazing little sources of all kinds of things that are good for you, AND, when prepared properly (meaning not overcooked), they’re tasty to boot. And for the record – you will not cancel out the goodness of properly wilted greens by adding a little pork fat.
So I’m making more room for them on my plate. Whereas, I used to have just meat and potatoes – now the meat portion is smaller and there’s some kind of dark leafy green, like spinach or kale or chard. And there’s some kind of rice (brown rice is actually quite lovely) or bean dish.
The more plants you eat, the less room you have for meat. It’s as simple as that.
Pollan says, and I’ve come to agree – that America’s got an eating disorder. We don’t know what to eat, so we’ve turned to the food scientists for advice. That has led to a national obsession with the nutritional value of everything. We count calories and carbs. We buy butter substitutes, fake yogurt artificially infused with good bacteria and vitamins, we swallow vitamin supplements by the handful, we buy vitamin-fortified water (are you shitting me??) and we buy fiber substitutes – All because we refuse to just eat a balanced diet. Remember, all the good stuff you need is in the food – no supplements are needed.
So, after reading In Defense of Food, I decided that what I needed was not a diet – but a lifestyle adjustment. That means I put more time into selecting and preparing the food I eat. I look forward to seeing the butcher at Clancey’s and getting the low-down on the farms where the best cuts of the day come from. Also, Mecca and I signed up for a half a farm share, which will bring us 10 lbs of organically-grown veggies every other week. That means I’m going to have to learn some new recipes that involve fresh veg.
And really, the extra few hours it may take me to shop and prepare this food every week, is time that I would otherwise be spending either in front of the computer or the television.
I did start exercising a lot more than I used to. It has helped bring my blood pressure down -- at last check it was 110/60. And, personally, I think the exercise has helped keep me from huffing and puffing in the sack (if you know what I mean.)
Here are the results of the food lifestyle change so far.
I’m slowly losing weight. Which is fine - because diets encourage rapid weight loss and then when the diet fails, the weight goes right back on. I’m still about 20 lbs over my BMI or whatever. I don't really care. Interestingly enough, at my last physical, my doc didn’t say anything about my weight. She was more concerned about my lipid and blood glucose counts. My tests came back and to my pleasure, my good cholesterol is back to where it should be and my blood sugar is around 80 (it used to be close to 100 which is pre-diabetic).
When you think about it, food is not medicine. It is to be enjoyed. Share it with people you love. Don’t worship the food, but respect it enough to get the good stuff. Veggies and critters that have been properly raised are also good for the environment as well as your health.
Michael Pollan knows a lot of people have read his books and taken his research and advice to heart. So he often says in interviews – don’t freak out if you can’t always get to the farmer’s market for organically grown food. A peek in his fridge once revealed some processed food, including a can of spray whip cream. He said his son likes the whipped cream on his Belgian waffles.
“I’m not a fanatic,” he said.
So I’ll add this to his seven word manifesto:
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants. Don’t freak out.
When I sit at the computer at 9:30 a.m. on a Sunday, here's what I see. The sun is busting through a big pine tree right outside the window. If I listen closely, I can hear the sounds of springtime: the many patrons of the coffeeshop next door chatting and sipping Peace Coffee; their bored children squeak as they chase each other around on the sidewalk.
About this time of the morning, the little cat Baci is vying for my attention by rubbing up against my shins and occasionally, reaching a paw up to tap me on the leg. Most times he adds a little 'claw' to ensure some sort of response.
That's my cue to pick the little dickens up and harass him.
I took a day off of work last week and got bit by the grill bug. Chicken is one of my favorite things to cook. I like the indirect heat method of grilling because it takes longer and the chicken gets mega-juicy. Put a drip pan underneath and catch the tasty leaks. Don't get me wrong, I love burnin' burgers and steaks, but they're done in a matter of minutes and then all those hot coals just go to waste.
There are more protests over cartoons depicting the prophet - er what's his name? The protests are being held in Afghanistan, mind you. To that I say, 'dudes, you live in a country being torn apart by war. Isn't there something else worth raising your fist and yelling about?'
The Mormon church recently decided to throw its support behind a state law banning the sale of wine coolers in grocery stores. According to the AP: "I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that these alcopops are directed to our kids. It is a gateway drug," said Rep. Mike Noel, R-Kanab.
Restrictions on wine coolers were almost guaranteed after the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints said last month that it supported doing so. Sixty percent of the state's residents are Mormon, but 80 percent to 90 percent of lawmakers are. ----
Last week Mother Jones released a list of songs that are reportedly used as 'torture music' on terror suspects.
Says Mother Jones: "Music has been used in American military prisons and on bases to induce sleep deprivation, "prolong capture shock," disorient detainees during interrogations—and also drown out screams. Based on a leaked interrogation log, news reports, and the accounts of soldiers and detainees, here are some of the songs that guards and interrogators chose."
Topping the list is "F*ck your God" by Deicide. You can listen to a clip from the song on the Mother Jones website. What jihadist wouldn't crack after listening to this satanic, speed-core (complete with 'cookie monster' vocals) played at earsplitting levels 24 hours a day?
The list also includes the Barney song, the Meow mix jingle and curiously "Raspberry Beret" by Prince. Really?
Here are a few of my suggestions that didn't make the list:
Anything by Celine Dion (that bitch just annoys me) the commercial jingle for Kay Jewelers "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go" by Wham The entire score of "Guys and Dolls" "Proud to Be An American" by Lee Greenwood
Of course, there's more. But any of this stuff played 24 hours a day would cause me to either dig out my eardrums with a melon-baller, or confess to being a terrorist.
I've often wondered that if I was a character in a movie, what my theme music would be? Well, I've found it in a song called "That Kind of Man," by a band called The Heavy.
What better musical accompaniment could a soul brother like me ask for? That driving beat and Curtis Mayfield-esque vocals bumping as the camera follows me as I cruise through downtown Minneapolis in my dope Ford Focus.
"duh-nah nah, duh duh nah nah, duh duh nah nah..."
I'm on my way for a big meeting with 'The Man.' Now I'm walking down an alley, wearing a full-length black leather trench coat, black beatle-boots and a turtle neck sweater.
"duh-nah nah, duh duh nah nah, duh duh nah nah..."
Valentine's day cards are generally way too sappy and fake. I mean, really, a card with a picture of a silouetted couple on the front and a canned message inside is supposed to get you some leg?
Not for me. I've decided to post my superior-awesome Valentine's Day poem to my beloved on my blog for the whole world (or the three or four people who read it) to see:
Your love is better than bacon or finding a 20 dollar bill in my coat
Your love is better than sunshine and chocolate and freedom and whiskey or clean laundry or curried goat
without you life would be cruel, nasty and banal it would suck, much worse, than being hungover at the dentist getting a root canal(with Celine Dion music playing in the background)
I love the things you don't like about yourself like the body parts you think are too big
I love you more than the gays like the showtunes I need you more than Harry Connick Jr. needs a gig (really, what's he been doing lately?)
Your beauty makes me feel giggly and warm like a schedule one drug
And right now I need a fix, c'mon baby gimme a hug (like 50 cent)
You're prettier than new money sexier than a rare, ribeye steak
You smell nicer than a Bed Bath and Beyond you make other women jealous and say 'gimme a break'
Some may hate you cause you're beautiful but let them haters hate
All that matters is I love you This is a celebration bitches - let's celebrate!
Watched the Spike Lee documentary, "When the Levees Broke" last night. It is probably the closest any outsider can get to what happened to the people who got flooded out of their homes and their lives.
I took this photo of an old cemetery in New Orleans in 2006. Mrs. M and I loved our visit. The people were great; food spectacular; music amazing. But after watching the documentary last night, we realized that we missed so much. The city will never be what is used to be.
This is the first car I bought with my own money. A 1971 Plymouth Valiant. I bought it for $600 from a dude who used to drive the inter-campus shuttle which I took from class to work everyday when I was in college.
The bus driver was a Jehovah's Witness. I found out after I asked him one day if he voted during the last election. He told me his religion forbade him from taking part in such earthly, secular activities. I asked him, 'well, what if someone that you thought was evil was running for president. And your vote was the best way to stop him?' He told me that was up to the lord to handle.
Anyway, I loved the Valiant. In this picture it's parked behind the house I lived in during much of my college days. The house was located downtown, 1212 S. 7th street. 1212 was the scene of a lot of keggers, brawls, all kinds of sex, drug use and a few mice.
Oh yeah, the car. It was so cool. But one day, while I was stuck in traffic, it overheated and burned up the engine. It would have cost three times what I paid for the car to fix it. I was heartbroken, but, then again, it was just a car.
I got another one later. But you never forget your first.
Hats off to the 'Breakfast Blogger' for bringing the 'bacon weave' to my attention. How many times have you been eating a supertastydelicious BLT or bacon double cheeseburger, and you have to keep re-adjusting your bacon? It shifts around because the lettuce and mayo is slippery. And of course, you want to make sure you get some salty, smoky goodness in every bite.
This is me and my big brother Niel. The photo was taken almost 40 years ago. My mom tells me that when I was this age, I followed my brother everywhere. I tried to emulate everything he did. I looked up to him and he could do no wrong in my eyes. Had my brother been a real dick, he could've done some cruel stuff to his little brother. But he never did.
I still look up to him and think he can do no wrong. He lives in California with his wife and two kids. One, Jett, is a little boy about as old as I am in the photo.
Niel is one of the coolest people you'll ever meet. He's only three years older than me, but I still want to be like him when I grow up.
Sometimes when it gets this cold, I get mad at white folks for the whole slavery thing. I think, 'hey, if they didn't take my people out of Africa, I'd be in some warm country right now.' Sure, I might be dodging bullets or machetes in the coup attempt of the week. But I'd be able to unclench my shoulders and neck once in a while.
So, if you're white and you drive by a group of black folks shivering in the cold waiting for a bus. And they scowl at you -- all warm and content in your sensible compact car. Chances are they're thinking the same thing I am: "Damn, it don't get this cold in Africa."
I just got a new scanner. So I've been scanning some pictures that are tucked away in photo albums on a shelf in our bedroom. My goal is to bring them back into the light of day and make them more accessible.
So far, I've gotten through pics taken about the time me and the Mrs. first met and some of our informal wedding shots.
There are so many pictures from parties. Most of the photos feature our guests mugging for the camera as they grip their drinks. It's funny to see clothes you used to wear; that ugly lamp we used to have in the living room of the old duplex we lived in over north. Some of the pictures feature couples that are no longer together. And some of the wedding photos show loved ones who are no longer with us.
You also notice how seven or eight years have changed the people around you. Back then our faces were a little thinner; us dudes had more hair.
Check out the wedding pic. It makes me think, 'dang, I looked pretty sharp. No wonder she wanted to marry me.' heh.
Somebody probably said this before me, but pictures really are bookmarks. And these are stuck in a book that's still being written.
The older I get, the more I utter a similar phrase - like "I remember when" or "back in the day." Sometimes I feel like Dana Carvey's 'Grumpy Old Man' character. "In my day, the girls didn't wear underwear made of strings. They wore big, white bloomers that covered them from head to toe. And we liked it!"
For today's installment of 'remember when' I turn to college football.
Remember when the only college football bowl games were played on New Year's Day?
Now, there are way, way too many bowl games and most of them are played anywhere between Thanksgiving and like, mid-January. It used to be just the Fiesta, Orange, Sun, Cotton, Gator, Rose and Sugar Bowls. Then the bowls started to 'run out of money' so they needed sponsors to bankroll them. So, you started getting the 'Federal Express Orange Bowl' or the 'Tostitos Fiesta Bowl' and stuff like that.
That led to shit like the 'Chick-fil-A Bowl'. Never heard of Chick-fil-A? Neither have I. I think they're a fast food chain or something. Not McDonalds, or Burger King or some other established fast food chain. WTF? Of course, there's the Outback Bowl (named after the mediocre restaurant chain).
Here are a few others, "The Gaylord Hotels Music City Bowl" and the "Meineke Car Care Bowl." So do the winners of this one get coupons for free oil changes? There's the "San Diego County Credit Union Poinsettia Bowl." I kid you not.
I count a little over 30 bowls this holiday season. So that also means just about every college team in the nation gets to play in a bowl game. It used to be just the best teams got in. Now, apparently all a team needs is to have an above .500 record.
Political columnist Molly Ivins died in 2007. So as a little tribute, I cut up a speech she gave at Tulane U in 2004 and made some video snippets. Each clip is two to three minutes - very short.
Personally, I'll miss Ivins because she had a knack for espousing very populist, progressive views without clobbering people over the head with it.
Here are some things I love about this time of year.
Lights everywhere. It makes sense that during the darkest time of year, that people celebrate light. Whether you follow the traditional pagan recognition of the solstice or you believe Jebus is the light of the world.
And by the way, isn't it funny to hear the Christians complain about the 'war on xmas?' Or complain that Santa - a make believe character - is replacing Jebus as the symbol of the season? I find it just as plausible that a dude in a sleigh drawn by eight flying reindeer can deliver toys to children all around the world in one night - as I do that god decided to impregnate a virgin and that his son would perform magic tricks, get nailed to a cross and then rise from the dead.
Well, maybe that's all I like about this time of year. Nice having a day off work too I suppose.
Hey, my buddy Bill just started a blog. Check out his photos, he's a smashing photog.
My Mrs, already beautifully sun-browned and delicious from over a week in Playa met me at the bus station. In the first half hour she got me a chicken tamale from a street vendor, gave me a few shots of tequilla and then 'put it on me' back at the hotel.
That pretty much set up how the next five days went.
Me, the Mrs and her sister - the kid Dominique - kept the following schedule:
a.m. - breakfast, beach p.m. - beach, nap, 1st dinner and drinks late a.m. - more drinks and 2nd and third dinner (usually found at a taco stand or pizza joint).
Other highlights:
Drinking all of the tequilla in Playa (or at least trying) smoking a real Cuban cigar food and drink everywhere you go lots of friendly dogs hanging out at the bars. warm sunshine, blue waters and tropical breezes taste of the ocean and Resposado Tequilla on wife's lips sitting on the beach at night in Tulum, watching the waves crash onto reefs and sand and spending the night in a cabana with the Mrs which was reminiscent of our honeymoon seven years ago.
(And just for the record, my wife is already more beautiful than 99.9% of the mortal females. But she got even more gorgeous with a few extra layers of sun darkened skin contrasting against her white bikini.)
In short, my five days in Playa was all about love, sunshine, tequilla, ocean, sky, good eats, family, friendship, sex, dreams and art.
My cat Baci nearly burned down the friggin' building this week.
I went out for a few hours to a friends house and when I got home and opened the door to the building, I immediately smelled gas. When I walked into the apartment and entered the kitchen, I found a pan full of tomato sauce on the floor next to the stove and the right front burner nob turned all the way up, filling the kitchen with natural gas.
I launched into a tirade of profanity as I began to open windows and break out the fans to get the dangerous fumes out of the building. I knew it was Baci, because he'd lately taken to jumping on the stove on his way up to the top of the refrigerator. I wanted to choke that little cat, but first I had to alleviate the threat of an explosion. I had to move fast because at any moment a spark could have blown us all to kingdom come (and I half expected Baci to try and finish the job by lighting a cigarette or something).
Not only did he nearly kill us all, he spoiled the rest of the very lovely tomato sauce I'd made the day before. I was hungry and looking forward to eating it over some linguini.
That little fucker might have 9 lives, but I've only got one. So every morning I tape up the nobs on the stove before I leave the house.
Reason #45 why taking a week off of work and putzing around the apartment is a good idea:
Grilling chicken.
What can I say? It was sunny and 70 degrees. I had a grill. I had charcoal. I had chicken. I had rum.
I took some time off from enjoying the new iMac and ventured outside to fix some vittles and the gods smiled on my face. And they blessed my chicken with crispy skin and wonderfully smokey flavor.
This video sums up the last four days I spent with the mrs and some close friends down in Houston. All we did was eat, drink, eat, drink, hang by the swimming pool and sleep.
On the first night, my man Nate grilled some fillet Mignon. The next night, the Mrs made a shrimp scampi with fresh, wild caught gulf shrimp. Then there was grilled pork tenderloin with what I call 'magic potatoes.' And the final night, grilled beef tenderloin sandwiches w/ Mexican style corn on the cob. The sandwiches were made with croissants, cheddar cheese AND horseradish mayo.
Creamy, fatty, goodness.
Did I mention, that every morning we fought back hangovers with waffles, bacon, Keri's special French Toast (right) and hash browns?
I've declared the week of Oct. 1 through Oct. 5 to be "Geek Week." And to celebrate, I bought myself my dream computer and have taken the week off of work. Throughout the week I'll be nerding-out in style exploring the vast features and bells and whistles of the new 24" iMac. If you are also a geek, then I'll tell you it also contains a 2.4 ghz duo-core processor, 320 gb hard drive and 2 gbs of RAM. It'll burn DVDs and CDs faster than a, er, well it's pretty darn fast. Plus, it's a bajillion times more powerful than my old iMac which I got seven years ago.
Tomorrow, I’ll be 40 years old. That’s as close to 50 as I’ve ever been in my life. So it’s got me thinking about a few nuggets of wisdom I’ve accumulated. Allow me to share a few:
Try something new --- If you dread doing things that take you out of your comfort zone, ie: traveling, eating new food, exercising, meeting new people – that’s a signal that you must do them. I have found that more often than not, the activities or experiences that I think will make me uncomfortable turn out to be just fine – even enjoyable.
Meet your demons --- Like most people, I have personal demons who inhabit my subconscious mind. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know them on a first name basis. First there’s Argok – the Lazy. He’s a smug, fat, slovenly demon who tells me to stay in my comfort zone and not try anything new. Argok constantly reminds me that I’m pretty cool the way I am and don’t have to worry about improving myself.
Then there’s Grakeziel – the Seductress. She’s the demon who compels me to seek instant gratification and generally messes with my self-discipline. She whispers to me when I’m hungry, “One little New York slice of pepperoni pizza isn’t going kill ya.”
And there’s Sharshamel the Timid. He’s a cowardly demon that pushes me away from conflict. His mantra is: “If you make people mad at you, they won’t like you anymore.”
Do you have demons like these?
Accept the randomness of the universe --- Shit really does ‘just happen.’ And any attempts to explain or rationalize why that’s the case are futile. Holding a lucky rabbit’s foot, or four-leaf clover is just as good of protection against calamity as is a cross. Bad things happen to people to who pray several times a day; who abstain from liquor; sex and all manner of vices; who volunteer their time to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.
So do all that if you want to, but don’t expect that’s going to keep you from getting eyeball cancer, or stop an anvil from falling on your sister or from your house from being destroyed by a rabid beaver infestation or some other awful act of nature.
The universe is random and mysterious and scary and wonderful.
"Questions about the origins of the displaced undergarments briefly replaced chit chat about the weather among Post Office customers and clerks for an entire day. That's saying something, since folks in Hastings take their weather talk very seriously.
"Molly Gustafson, who owns the sewing shop on the other side of Main street from the Post Office, was the first to see the crumpled underpants as she arrived just as the office opened. It was Monday, and Molly was mailing a stack of coupons announcing 15 percent off black thread spools to her repeat customers.
"She told postal clerk Marjorie Olsen about the dainty and now dirty unmentionables lying next to the lone handicapped parking space. Molly asked Marjorie if she'd ever consider wearing 'such a thing.'
"Marjorie was not a small woman. She grew up on a farm where she was brought up on whole milk, butter and healthy portions of Midwestern modesty. She snorted jocularly as she considered the sadistic design characteristics of the g-string. 'Oh Heavens,' she laughed. 'I don't even floss my teeth.'"
"It was a line she repeated several times that day."
If I’m in a hurry to get through a line at a grocery store or one of my favorite downtown lunch spots I make an effort not to stand in a line that contains more women than men.
It is a decision based less on gender and more on the fact that a certain part of the population carry purses that contain separate pockets for change, bills and cards. For example, the woman in front of me at Taco John’s orders a Number 5 burrito combo (with the free Churros) which comes to $5.78.
First, she reaches into the bill compartment and pulls out five singles and THEN opens the little change compartment to collect the 78 cents.
Then of course, after the transaction is done, instead of stepping aside and letting me order my taco salad with chicken, she has to reassemble the purse through a series of snaps and zips. Apparently most purses come with extra-secret compartments in which to hide change or cyanide tablets – just in case the owner of the purse is captured by the Nazis.
Indeed, some guys carry a wallet which does require an extra step. (Personally, I don’t carry a wallet. Wallets encourage pickpockets. Plus, they create an unsightly bulge on my otherwise shapely butt.) But I’ve never seen a dude subsequently pull out a change purse after laying down a couple bills.
I ask you, what is wrong with getting some spare change? Give it to panhandlers or take it home and put it in a jar. If you have free laundry, set it aside and take it to the bank after a few months. I used to get anywhere from $65 to $100 each time I took a bag of change to the bank.
Fall is nearing here in DT Minneapolis. And the cooler temps mean more business-suited individuals are returning to the Skyways to get around. The homeless and other displaced wanderers are also more prevalent inside the human habitrails.
Personally, I'm a fan of fall. The weight of humidity is gone from the air and I feel like I can stand up straighter when I walk outside. Plus it's becoming soup and stew weather. Once again, I can hunker down in my flourescently lit workcube and enjoy a warm bowl of goodness and a chunk of bread.
Fall is also the beginning of pro football season. It's a time of year when we lifelong Vikings fans can enjoy at least a few weeks of optimism, until the crushing reality of the Purple's consistent mediocrity compels us to downgrade our playoff hopes, to 'well it'd be nice if they came out 9 and 7.'
While going through a box of mementos I happened upon an envelope full of ticket stubs of some shows I went to years ago. I was flooded with memories of my youth and here are some highlights:
The Replacements and Soul Asylum @ the Entry Oct. 15, 1985. Soul Asylum bass player breaks bass string and the Mats open with "Color Me Impressed."
The Red Hot Chili Peppers @ First Ave Mainroom Oct. 9, 1989 -- Flat out one of the best shows ever. The ticket was a birthday present and my roomies also bought me beers all night. I got seriously altered.
Fishbone and Primus @ First Ave. Mainroom - Nov. 2, 1991 The show came right after the huge Halloween Blizzard of '91. I was so afraid the show would be cancelled because the roads were in horrible shape. But it wasn't. Bass guitar god Les Claypool was dressed in a dark blue hoodie for the whole show and he just rocked it.
Public Enemy and Stetsasonic @ First Ave. Mainroom - Dec. 12, 1988 The stage in the mainroom kept vibrating and making Terminator X's records skip, so Chuck D and Flavor Flav had to tone down the stageshow. But they still killed me. It was my first big hip hop show and I knew every rhyme to every song they did.
Monsters of Rock @ the Metrodome - July 13, 1988 My first time and only chance to see Eddie Van Halen play guitar. It was worth it, even though Sammy Hagar was fronting the band. Metallica blew my head off. Scorpions were boring. Dokken lackluster. But here's the worst part of the show: I was living in a house across the street from the dome and invited some of my old high school buddies to park next to my house during the concert. Unfortunately, my landlord wasn't amused and had all their cars towed. My friends were pissed at me.
Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jeff Beck @ the Northrop Auditorium - Oct. 25, 1989 My third and last time seeing the great SRV. Beck did a set. Stevie did a set. And then they jammed together. Oh god was that amazing. Weirdest memory from the show was there was some jarhead douchebag sitting behind us and he kept getting pissed everytime one of us stood up. So we sat. And then Stevie did "Voodoo Chile," so we said F-it and stood up. The guy got up came around in front of us and tried to pull one of my buddies down to the floor. He was then ejected from the building.
Other memorable shows - The Suburbs @ the Mainroom in 1984, Violent Femmes in the Mainroom in 1985, Ice-T and Body Count @ the Mainroom Feb. 10, 1992 (the brothers weren't havin' none of the moshpit); House of Pain w/ Rage Against the Machine @ the Mainroom April 5, 1993 (Rage Against the Machine melted my face off and I hooked up with cute chick after the show); Living Colour w/ Bad Brains @ Mainroom April 26, 1993 (dude - Vernon Reid and Dr. No in one show) and Prince at Glam Slam - July 25, 1994 - The Love Experience consisted of Prince, Michael Bland on drums, Sonny T on bass and Tommy Barbarella on keyboards. Prince played guitar all night and tore the shit down.
There's a bit of narrative with the photos that explain why in the hell anyone would do such a thing. But I'll tell you it was done, not out of bloodlust, but out of a sense that one should know where their food comes from. And, that folks should know that if you eat meat, something's gotta die first.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
I was inspired by a recent post from whiskeymarie with eight interesting things about her. So what the hay, here it goes:
1. I'm a grown-ass man who thinks puppets are funny. From the Muppets to Sifl and Olly - non-stop hilarity.
2. As a kid I was on the back of 'monster cereal' cereal boxes: Count Chocula, Franken Berry, Boo Berry and Fruit Brute. It was a promotion selling little dolls of the monster characters. And yes, I did get all four dolls. (fyi - the photo above is not a pic of the box. I have a framed cutout which i keep in a safe place.)
3. I'm a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. I dabble in writing, art, music - a halfway decent guitar player - but don't ask me to sit down and play you a song, because all I do is noodle.
4. I don't like cilantro. It tastes like soap.
5. I'm a night person and a morning person. But I'd rather be napping during the afternoon.
6. People think I'm smart because I can remember and recall lots of trivial information.
7. My favorite part(s) of my own body: my hands.
8. My dad is more interesting than me. He's a freelance screen/voice-over actor who's appeared in television commercials and he had a speaking role in a Disney movie which also starred Hulk Hogan and Lonnie Anderson.
Recently, while standing at the corner of 7th Street and 2nd Ave. at evening rush hour, I witnessed a frustrating scenario. An ambulance, with its lights flashing and siren blaring, is trying to make its way north on 7th. There is considerable gridlock. And none of the drivers of the cars who are by now seeing the ambulance in their rear-view mirrors, feel the necessity to drive forward to get out of the way.
So the ambulance just sits there, for what must be an eternity while the drivers slowly figure out that in order for the emergency vehicle to get by them, that they'll actually have to make room.
Who knows what type of emergency it's speeding off to: a heart-attack? a stabbing? shooting?
Meanwhile, a woman standing next to me on the corner, voices the same frustration, I'm starting to feel (except her voice sounds much more Minnesotan than mine). "What if that ambulance was trying to save someone they love? Would they get out of the way then? Jeezus!"
I was going through the security checkpoint at the Hennepin County Government Center yesterday when I caught a noseful of 'body stank.' It was a powerful odor. Best described as obese-construction-worker-making-gravy-in-the-tropical-sun smell. In front of me in line was a young man wearing a dark hoodie pulled over his head. The security guard eyed him suspiciously and asked him why he was wearing a full sweatshirt on a 90+ degree day with a 70 degree dewpoint which, in my opinion, made the temperature actually feel hotter than Satan's bunghole.
Dude, sounding like Chester of Sifl and Olly fame, says, "I'm doing that Atkins thing. Heh, heh. Trying to sweat it out, you know."
Mind you, homeboy was skinny as a beanpole. He went through the metal detector without a bleep. So luckily, the most lethal thing he was carrying today, was the stank.
Me and my special sweet baby M went for dinner in downtown Minneapolis. By the way, the food was great - particularly the lamb chops. Anyway, I'd parked in a nearby ramp (U.S. Bankcorp) that I found out later didn't have an after hours attendant. But it had one of those machines to stick your ticket in and pay.
Unfortunately, this machine didn't have a credit card slot. Only room for cash and below it a coin return receptacle. So what happens when I stick in my 20 dollar bill to pay for my four dollar fee? Like a Vegas slot machine it spits out 64 quarters.
No, not talking about Suzy Quattro. Talking about the tasty snack treat that I've loved since childhood. Some say the Twinkie is the best thing to come out of the Hostess laboratories - er kitchens, but me, I'm hooked on the Q.
I know that just a few skyway jumps away are pastries that are actually baked in ovens, not created in test tubes. But there's something about the firm little rectangular chocolate nerf cakes - and the goo, man, the goo.
A brief salute to the hardest working, under-appreciated members of the downtown workforce:
The coffee jockeys.
These are the people who without batting nary an eyelash, nor roll of eye, will take an order for a “large, carmel, double-vanilla whip, latte -- with a hazelnut flavor shot. And can you make sure the milk is heated to 103.5 degrees?”
They do so without ever once reaching over the counter to bitch-slap a customer, even those who request a beverage that takes longer to order, than it does to actually make.
I salute you coffee jockey for your infinite patience and restraint.
One of the other sometimes frustrating realities of working downtown is parking in a ramp. I’m extremely fortunate that my employer pays 100 percent of my parking – which ain’t cheap – but daily parking in a ramp is one of the small pinpricks that contributes to the overall deflation of the soul.
The other day I got stuck behind a woman driving a Lincoln Navigator. This SUV has the turning radius of a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier. Indeed, she couldn’t get close enough to the ticket-dispenser, so she had to open the door and dangle one of her legs out to grab the ticket.
As she crept forward at a snails pace, the roof of her tank just barely missed the concrete ceiling beams of the ramp. The Northstar ramp is an obstacle course of a ramp and I held my breath watching the behemoth on wheels skim past the parked cars as it slowly edged around the tight corners.
I wasn’t necessarily in a hurry to get to work. I was more looking forward to getting at my morning coffee fix. So I was a bit anxious. My anxiety grew as the monument on wheels in front of me lumbered around corner after corner. Fed up, I angrily turned into the first nook of a space that I could find. Part of my car came to rest just over the yellow line that separates the parking spaces. No big deal. I see many cars parked like this everyday. Upon my return to my car at the end of the day, I’ve got a note stuck in my door from ramp management scolding me for parking in ‘two spaces’ at once.
(Mecca and Beans just back from a trip to the vet)
I first met Beans on the day I returned from a grueling canoe trip in the Boundary Waters. I'd emerged from the bathroom after a long-anticipated hot shower and was intercepted by this barking 25 lb dog. I had no warning that we'd be getting a dog, although Mecca had always talked about how much she wanted one. I like dogs, so I said, 'sure, no problem.' While I was off paddling and portaging, Mecca travelled to the Humane Society and found Beans. The dog was left at the humane society because her previous owner -- an old lady -- had died.
At first, Beans treated me like a stranger. She growled and barked as I approached my wife to give her a hug and kiss. And until the day she died, Beans continued to express disgruntlement at each display of affection between me and Mecca.
It didn't take Beans long to warm up to me, and we hit it off just swimmingly. We often enjoyed the same activities together, mainly lying on the couch with the TV on and napping. She also liked chasing our two cats around the house and would sometimes playfully head-butt our little cat Baci.
Like many dogs, Beans was afraid of thunderstorms and firecrackers. But she also feared the sound of flatulence. And if the offending noise came from her, Beans would try to run away from her own butt.
In 2006, at the age of 9, Beans was diagnosed with diabetes. So we began giving her twice daily insulin shots. Despite a little flinching every now again, Beans was a trooper and accepted her medicine. A few months after that, I noticed her having a harder time than usual negotiating the back stairway. She kept bumping into things. And to my horror, realized that Beans had gone blind.
We rushed her to the emergency vet who told us that indeed Beans' slowly growing cataracts had rapidly grown overnight. Our little dog could no longer see. But that didn't stop the Beans. Her energy, her appetite and her enthusiasm for life were unbowed.
She would maintain that attitude through several more bouts of illness and (expensive) trips to the vet. But on June 1, 2007 the sickness returned and knocked her down for the last time. She went peacefully at the hands of a skilled veterinarian who assured us that putting her to rest was the best thing for her. And we knew it. The fight had gone from her eyes. Mecca held Beans as the doctor applied the lethal overdose of anesthetic. I held Mecca. We both sobbed as we felt the life finally slip away from our little dog.
Over the five years we had Beans, we spent thousands of dollars on her. Maybe as much as 10 grand. If you would have told me - before we got her - that I would spend that much money on a dog, I wouldn't have believed it. But she wasn't just a dog. Beans was a member of the family. She was our baby. And we miss her so much.
It is my 'stranded-on-a-desert-island-one-choice' food. So how great is it that there's a slice joint just over in the TCF skyway? Well, maybe not so great. I've got the nearing 40-year-old, male health concerns: watching the blood pressure, sodium and fat intake. Plus if you're black - like me - you bear the additional burden of the 'predisposition factors.'
Brothers don't live real long, relatively speaking. So any food pleasures we may enjoy ie: fried chicken, bacon, Fanta Red Pop, etc. will likely kill us before we're 55.
But sometimes, like today, you gotta just say if this greasy slice of pizza is going to kill me, then it was worth it.
Spicy Minnesota rolls and the spicy tuna/California roll combo at Tensuki Sushi
I used to reserve paydays as 'Sushi day' here at the office. But now, 'sushi day' is just about anytime I feel like it. Apparently, I'm not alone. Sometimes it's hard to fit into the little shoebox of a joint to get to the cooler where they place trays of rolls and nigiri style sushi. I'm a sucker for spicy tuna rolls.
I used to go to Falafel King (located in the TCF bldg skyway) only for the falafel. But after a while I kept getting mealy balls of fried chickpeas that appeared to have been sitting in the steam table for a little too long. So I gave up. Which is too bad because a fresh falafel is a glorious thing.
It's apparently harder to screw up a gyros, so that's what i ate today. The fries are an extra indulgence. But I'm going to have a long day, so I need to fill the tank to the rim.
Au Bon Pain is where I go when I don't have a craving for any particular food. The fare at the Pain isn't bad - in fact the chili corn bisque is creamy, yet contains no cream. It's also quite flavorful AND there's no meat in it. (I'm trying to cut back on the carnivoring).
But there's nothing there that when the clock strikes 11:20 a.m. makes me go 'ohh, I'll go have some soup and bread."
However, the soup and bread is cheap. Just give them five bucks and you'll get 80 cents change - enough for a sweet snack later in the afternoon. And, if you're like me and trying to decrease the volume and the fat content of your food intake, then Au Bon Pain is a fine default.
Though I try to do right by my cardiovascular system by walking up the six flights of stairs to my office everyday - I often take the easy way out. And while it's a short trip, often the elevator ride is full of little vignettes that would make great plots for episodes of "Curb Your Enthusiasm."
These events evoke thoughts in my head, that only the show's creator and star Larry David would say out loud.
Here's a common occurrence. I stand in the back of the elevator as a pack of heavy duty office honies, fresh off a lunchtime smoke break and a 'run to the border' (they're still carrying the 64 oz. Taco Bell cups of soft drink). These are ladies with low centers of gravity. They wobble but they don't fall down.
We start on the skyway level - 2nd floor - and one of them pushes '3.'
I imagine Larry David - were he in my place - would follow the women to the edge of the elevator door and offer a suggestion and a smirk as they waddle away.
"Excuse me ladies. Ah, you know maybe walking up a flight a stairs wouldn't kill you. I mean, I'm not saying you're...But I'm just saying."
As a member of the downtown Minneapolis workforce, I regularly forage the human habitrails - or skyways - as they're more commonly known - to get food.
Lunch is my 2nd favorite part of the day (next to quittin' time). And there's a vast array of food options to choose from. In my immediate vicinity - meaning within two or three blocks - there's several asian joints, a decent pizza slice vendor, a Falafel King, sushi and of course your chain establishments: Au Bon Pain, Taco Bell, Taco Johns, Brueggers, etc.
Today? The veggie curry from Zen Box Eatery. A simple, no humble, bowl of white rice, and chunks of carrots covered in a rich, spicy curry. It's cheap - 4 bucks and change, it's tasty and it's filling. Once I slipped and ordered the Katsu curry, which includes a panko-encrusted, cheese-filled, deep-fried pork chop. Huh? Of course I had to eat the pork chop. However, it may as well have been panko-encrusted, cheese-filled, deep-fried shoe leather. Way overcooked.
At this time last week I was waking up, throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and having coffee by the pool.
Nope, not a dream. We were visiting some good friends who recently moved to Houston, Texas. For about 2 and a half days we ate well, drank wine (no bottle cost under $30 - the good stuff), swam, hot-tubbed, laughed (a lot) and generally had a great time.
(me and Mec chillin' by the tub - photos courtesy of Moxie Photography)
We didn't really leave the house, actually Mec aptly dubbed it Nate and Keri's pleasure palace. Located in a suburb outside Houston, the house was lovely and equipped with great amenities. Along with the pool and hot tub, there was a movie room and a pool table. Plus, it wouldn't have been complete without more good friends, Bill and Liz.
(a view from Northern Kentucky looking at downtown Cincinnati) I was in Cincinnati for a few days on official public radio business - very serious stuff. I stayed downtown for two nights, but only had one night to really look around.
I was staying at a pretty nice Hilton, with three very nice looking restaurants and bars. But, they were all full of white dudes in suits - who were all apparently apart of some big corporate gathering. And since I didn't want to get stuck at the bar drinking and listening to a bunch of inebriated businessman gabbing on about whatever they do, I decided to get out and find some locals. Plus I was feeling like some greasy bar food.
The weather wasn't bad, maybe mid 40s so I walked down toward the Ohio river with my camera to do some shutterbugging. I walked across an old historic bridge that was under renovation. The Roebling suspension bridge, originally built in the 1860s. (more info here: http://www.cincinnati-transit.net/suspension.html). I walked across to the other side and snapped a photo of downtown Cincy. Little did I know, I had walked all the way to Northern Kentucky.
Dude, I was in Kentucky, all by myself and it was getting dark. So I hightailed it back across the bridge to find some food.
I found O'Malley's in the Alley. A very quaint looking Irish theme bar - not a pub. I walked in and was glad to see that it was an attraction for locals. Most local white folk, a few with thick southern accents (afterall we were just across the river from Kentucky).
Seeing no Confederate flags, i decided that the place was probably at least safe enough for a brother to get a sandwich and a beer. I sidled up to the bar and ordered a Killian's and a 'smasher'. That's like a panini that's been flattened and then fried, so it's crispy. Mine was full of Colby cheese and bacon. Just what I was looking for.
I quietly ate my fried sandwich and drank my beer, soaking in the local flavor. At the corner of the bar a group of three dudes and one woman were cussing and laughing. One guy was playfully harassing the bartender, a 20-something guy, as he made a margarita.
On my right side was a guy getting quietly drunk by himself. The bartender referred to him 'crazy man.' At one point, Crazy Man got up and weaved over to the jukebox and played a Rammstein song (a live track). It took me a little by surprise, because the dude looked more country than he did scary-German-Industrial-Metal.
I was getting tired and decided to hit another bar before I settled into an evening of watching cable TV in a little hotel room, so I settled my tab (a whopping $4.80) and wandered out.
I made a stop at an unremarkable, and nearly empty Mexican joint (it was a few hours past Fiesta Hour) and grabbed a rum and coke.
For the most part, downtown Cincy resembled many other downtowns I've visited. It had a lot of the same stores and chain restaurants (TJ Maxx, Mortons Steakhouse) as you'll find in many other places.
It's cold with windchill temperatures that can kill you instantly -- sort of.
So what's there to do? Explore the great indoors, that's what. Hibernate, mate.
I made a kick ass pot roast, put a fake log in the fire place, grabbed a beer or two and I'm chillin like Sub Zero.
The Timberwolves are playing on the TV (of course they're losing) and the dog is curled up on the couch next to me. I've exercised, lifted weights, cleaned myself up. Basically, I'm just making the best out of a nasty weather situation.
I believe in rare red meat, sharp cheddar, strong coffee, over-the-top guitar solos, foofy cocktails, Marshall Amplification, Mac computers and blue humor.
Don't believe in: Meanies, stupids, gods, compassionate conservatism and freeway ramp meters
