Blogging challenge - Day #3

Tiger Woods.

I'm kidding, why beat a dead horse with a sand wedge?

It's late, I'm tired, so this blog shall be short. And no I'm not going to cheat and just repost something I wrote two years ago on MySpace. But it's tempting.

And so...another recipe.

I did NONE of the cooking for the Womens Christmas Dinner at our church this year. Mike gets all the credit. But he did say I gave him the idea, which is somewhat true.

So heres my interpreation of what was served tonight. Been doing this for a few years, is food that will kill you.

Boudain Stuffed Pork Loin

you need:
1 pork loin, say 3 pounds, bout 12 or 15" long or as big or small as you want it.
1 stick of good boudain. If you don't know what it is, or if it's good or not, stop and go find a Cajun.
A big roasting pan or Dutch oven (big cast iron Dutch oven is my preferred weapon)
1 big onion sliced
1 carton mushrooms, cleaned and destemmed
seasonings as you see fit. I go with Creole seasoning, kosher salt, lot of garlic, whatever feels right at the time. Maybe some bay leaf.
You could also add a mirepoix or trinity instead of the shrooms. Anything that tastes good roasted with meat works.

Take the loin and cut a slit down the middle or butterfly the whole thing open. Season liberally inside and out as you see fit. Then insert the whole stick of boudain in the loin. If you want you could tie the whole thing up with twine at this point. Preheat an oven to 350.

Get the dutch oven hot on the stove, add a little oil, lay the loin down and allow to brown for a few minutes, turning to get color on all sides. Then add water to cover 1/3 to 1/2 of the loin. Add the onions, shrrom, mirepoix, etc, tucking all around the meat. Cover and throw in the hot oven for..1 to 2 hours. It's pork, cook it till it's done.

The shrooms and onions cook down nicely, the boudain falls aprt inside the loin.

It's just good.

Later...

Blogging Challenge Day #2

Tiger Woods.

Now before I get into this, let me preface it.

I am in no way saying I condone cheating. When you say I do, you better mean it. Marriage is work, it gets rough at times and a lot of people just don't want to put the work in to make it last. When things get bad, you shouldn't run to the first warm body to get a quick fix. You suck it up and fight it out. If it doesn't work and cutting the lines is the only way, then do it and do it decisively. And if you are going to step out, realize that if and when you get caught, it'll be Hell to pay. So be ready.

Furthermore, as Christians (no offense to my Jewish friends) we should realize it is not our place to cast judgement on someone when we see they have fallen. I know society and the media preaches otherwise, but you have to hold yourself to a higher standard. We're supposed to forgive the sinner, but not the sin. We're supposed to extend a hand and help someone up, not trample on them when they have fallen. Remember, but for the grace of God go YOU and I.

And lastly. I write to entertain. Much like a comedian. Not Jim Norton though. I'm safe around kids. (few folks will get that) So realize that satire and ripping on the news of the day to a point is part of it.

Now. As I was saying.

Tiger Woods.

I have listened to the audio of what he told the alleged mistress. The voicemail he left asking her to take her name off her voicemail, leave just the number cause his wife might be calling. In his words it was "...huge. Quickly."

As one guy, one dude to another, I have this to say to Mr. Woods.

GOOD GOD! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?

The guy is a multi-millionaire, nay, BILLIONAIRE, with huge sponsorships, is friends with the President and other powerful folks and has a pack of rabid lawyers at his beck and call. And no one bothered to mention to him, "Dude, have some sense. Don't screw around and if you are, don't mess with psychos and don't leave tracks." He should also realize his wife is Swedish. Of Nordic descent, in other words VIKING bloodlines. I have no doubt she took a Nike 9 iron and went berzerker on the Escalade and had the neighbor not stumbled out at the sound of the crash, she'd have teed off on his skull and not worried about doing it under par.

It's a shame his family has to got though thus. That his kids will be reading about this for years when they're older. That there dad may not be remembered for being a truly gifted athlete. That the media will be feasting on this for weeks cause there's no real "serious" things going on right now. Like a recession. And massive unemployment. And two wars.

He'll survive this. It'll cost some cash, some sponsors, lot of fans (doubtful). But the ability to knock a ball into a hole from a great distance has little to do with moral standing. Guess that's how he figures it.

I think he's wrong.

Later...

The Blogging Challenge: Day 1

So Erica has challenged the world at large to post a blog every day until Christmas. 25 days of blogging.

And thus, I throw myself into the fray, probably on my own sword.

And now....

A recipe.

This recipe came from a guy my dad worked with out at the paper mill in Orange, Julio. It's good, it's easy and unfortunately, most of you can't make it. Why you say? You'll find out.

You need:

a blender or a food processor

1 big can whole tomatoes (26 oz can I think it is)

1/3 cup chopped onion

1 TBS Kosher salt (Shabbat Shalom y'all.)

1 TBS garlic powder

big dash of cumin

1/4 cup white vinegar

and...the most important thing, the one thing that will make this or break it, the one thing most of you don't have and can't buy. 1 RED jalapeno pepper.

Yes, it has to be red. You can use green, it'll taste wrong. You can use green and bad things will happen to you.

One option, that I do approve of, is try and find red FRESNO peppers. They will work and can occasionally be found at Central Market. So how do you get red jalapeno? Simple. Grow them yourself.

Throw everything into the blender and hit chop, puree, fold, spindle, mutilate...you know the drill.

It tastes best after sitting in the fridge for a few days, will keep for about three weeks.

Later...

Halloween 2009

Yes I know. A few days late. SO? What of it?


He stood over his victim, a look of intensity on his face. In his right hand was a butcher knife, its edge gleaming with silver light, sharp as his soul was hollow.
“Don’t worry my beauty. This won’t hurt a bit. A least…not for me.”
A Widmarkian laugh came from his throat and he dragged the point of the knife slowly along the lines he had dawn earlier, not hard enough to cut, but enough so she could feel what awaited her. Then he grabbed her, holding her face steady in his left hand and brought the knife down slowly.
“First your eyes; yes, they must go first.”
The blade cut through the flesh with ease and he twisted and dug driving the edge in deep. First the right and then the left, leaving vacant staring sockets with bits of pulpy flesh hanging out.
“Oh dear, I will have to trim those up a bit later. Now your nose.”
Again the knife came down and now a vaguely triangular hole lay where a nose should be. With each cut and stab he became more excited, his actions more frenzied as if he could not contain the lust the cutting drove him to.
“And now. Your lovely mouth.”
He drove the blade in, slashing and gouging till he was satisfied with his creation. No lips to be seen, teeth shattered and jagged, a horrific mess of flayed flesh that bore no human resemblance.
“And now…you’re beautiful”
Suddenly, the door swung open. He turned and there stood…
His mother.
“DAVID PERRY! Young man, just what do you think you are doing? I have told you, you do not use my good kitchen knives to carve a pumpkin. We have a kit from Wal-Mart for that! And just look at this mess. You will clean up this kitchen and clean up this pumpkin and make it look presentable or there is no way you are going out to get candy tonight. ARE WE CLEAR?”
He hung his head in shame, the blade slipping from his hand as if it had been plunged into his own heart.
“Yes ma’am.”

Thanks to Rachel Taylor for the suggestioin of a pumpkin for a topic. And I hope you all had a Happy Halloween.

The Halloween Story

As most of you know, I write occasionally, used to a lot. But due to the trouble it can bring and generally feeling non creative, I don't as much anymmore.

However.

For the past two years I've cranked out a short, hopefully unsettling, story for Halloween. These are 2007 and 2008's. 2009 I'm still having issues with, but I'll find it. Just have to keep ripping open crypts and digging up graves.

Enjoy.

2007

And all at once, I saw it.
A form, a shape, something that was real and yet unreal, beginning to appear from the inky blackness of the woods. It grew in density and brightness till there before me stood the fully realized vision of a man at arms, a solider of the olden times. My heart quickened, my mind raced, my only purpose to communicate, to send thought across the void. My words came out in a stammer.
“Hello, can you hear me? Do you understand me?”
The form turned slowly towards me and at once I saw that this was no kind specter, but a fiend out of Hell. White flames flickered where eyes should be and from its mouth uttered a sound like the compressed cries of a thousand damned souls. I recoiled from it, trying to flee and turned to face…
Another.

2008

Connie lay on the couch watching a horror film. An American remake of a Japanese film starring the latest batch of Hollywood 20-somethings. She was half asleep, barely aware of the television flickering when a noise brought her fully awake. It was the creaking of the stairs then soft footfalls on the carpeted steps.
"Melissa?" she called out, thinking it had to be her young daughter coming down from her bedroom.
"Mommy, come here."
She sat up on the couch and turned to face the landing of the stairs. Something in Melissa's voice, flatness…something was wrong.
"Melissa, honey, what is it?"
Connie saw the little girls foot step off the last step and then her daughter was facing her, barely visible in the flickering light from the TV. Suddenly the screen brightened and she could see her daughters face, deathly white. The paleness was set off even more by the red trickle of blood from the corner of the girl's mouth. Connie started to cry out, to rush off the couch. But the sight of what could only be described as a dead hand or claw reaching out of the dark to fondly caress the child's cheek stopped her. A scream rose up from her lungs but the horror of what she saw stopped it, strangled it in her chest.

"Mommy, come here. They want to play."

2009 to follow.

Later...

Looking backwards to the future

"Long time between dreams" as the Kinkstah would say.

I haven't written a meaningful blog in around 6 months or longer. And haven't written ANYTHING besides social histories with any merit to it in a long time.

Why?

Got no real clue.

It's work to write things. It's hard work. In the past three years, including the time before the Unpleasantness, I've written close to 170 blogs consisting of rants, short stories and recipes. And then ripped them down from MySpace for varying reasons. The only ones on Facebook are a short story about my wreck (GOOD TIMES!!!) and a short rant on not judging folks. For the record I have NO blogs on Myspace at this time. Since Tom decided to destroy a friend of mine, ChickenBoy, I am off the Space as far as creative expression. If Facebook gets a good music system, MySpace is dead.

So whats the deal tonight? Why take up the keyboard and pen again?

I finished rereading a book today for about the 10th time. Legends of the Fall by Jim Harrison. For those that haven't picked up the book, it has little to do with BrAngelina's movie. It's three novellas in which Harrison addresses the three great forms of conflict found in literature and life

Man vs Man, Man vs Self, and Man vs The World.

In each story, the past must be forgotten, overcome, faced and beaten and from it a new man emerges. Sometimes better for it, sometimes worse. The point is from our past we shape our future. Without what we were we cannot be what we are and what we want to be. The past molds the future.

But it doesn't control it.

The control issue I see as a problem because too many people want the past to never end. They fixate on what was and want that fixed point in time to be the standard by which all the rest of their existence is judged by. That was the high point, the rest is regret and looking back
For instance, they want the good ole days of HS to come round, to relive those magical 4 years. As I've stated before, the amount of money it would take to get me to go back and relive HS would allow me to buy Roman Abramovich's fleet and get the boats repainted maroon and white.

We must learn from the past and not let control us, not let it be the guiding factor for the future, because despite it all, you can change and make things into what you want them to be. I was talking on here earlier tonight to an old acquaintance from HS, someone I've honestly not interacted with since June of 1991. We both agreed that the early years of our lives had sucked and that only when we left and left all that behind could we become who we wanted to be. But at the same time, the tears, the scars, the bad memories of 20 years back have a value. And despite my own myopic insistance she reminded me there were some bright spots back in the day.

Added all together it makes us who we are.

But it doesn't dictate what we have to be.

Later...

Because I'm pissed off

Take this for what it is. If it bothers you, then it should.

A friend of mine is in trouble. The full reasons and range of things is truly not known to me nor to most who think they know. Such is the nature of small towns in Texas, Tazmania, and Turkistan. Everyones an expert and knows the law because they watch a lot of CSI. Thus I say ignorance is universal.

As a rule, I don't have may friends. I can't stand most folks for more than 10 minutes at a time. If you have to wonder if you're in that group, then you are. I say this because someone I consider a friend I support. So long as no harm has been done to my family, my children, my well being, I will support them in times of trouble.

Some would look down on this attitude. Some would say guilty till proven innocent then still guilty cause we think so. To you I say back off and shut up. To you I say read your Bible, the one that you break out every Easter, Mothers Day and Christmas, the one with dust on it. Read Matthew 6:14-15 (did Dan just quote Scripture?!! SIGN OF THE END A COMING!!!!) Go look back at the things you've done, the stuipidity in your life and ask yourself, would you want it all drug out for public viewing?

If backing up a friend brings judgement, brings scorn on me, then I say fine. Get in line. Theres a lot ahead of you.

Later...

It happens fast

It happens fast.
You look down at the radio, a glance at the station number. One hand on the wheel, one holding your morning Dr. Pepper. Suddenly, no warning, no sound, the car skids. The back end kicks around. All those things you learned in drivers education, in the one defensive driving course you had to take in high school, all the bullshit Hollywood movies and Discovery Channel specials on stunt driving; all that absorbed random knowledge on handling a car.
It vanishes like fall leaves whipping over the windshield at 70 mph.
The back end keeps coming around, you trying to steer out of it. Do I hit the brakes or gas? Steer in or out of the skid? What the hell? Then it's backwards, facing North when you were going South.

A thought occurs.
There should be a chip truck coming over that hill right now. Or a log truck. Something. Something should be slamming into me right now.
But it doesn't come. God and the angels that watch fools smile on you. The skid continues, the car seeming to accelerate, leaving the laws of physics in its wake. You've rotated 270 degrees from when this ride started and now the edge of the road appraoches. And the ditch. And you sail over it, feeling a strange lightness as the car leaves the ground.
Then.
The first hit. A tree, the car still in mid flight off the ground a few feet. Back corner, right side, straight into it. The sudden stop that kills those who fall from on high, a bone jarring boom that breaks the locks on your seat adjuster and sends you backwards on the rails. Then your own fall. Down into the valley of the ditch, the car ricocheting off the longleaf pine.
The second hit. The whole car settling as one in the ditch, the front end bending up, the sound of metal and fiberglass shearing and buckling. Your head lashes sideways into the door pillar. A sharp crack, not enough to knock you out, a guttural shout from you at the pain. .
You sit there for a long moment; the only sound the radio and your own breathing. You unclench a hand from the wheel and feel your head, checking for blood, bone, grey matter. Do a quick wiggle of all extremities to make sure they all function. Then you call the office, you call a friend at the police department, you call your wife.
They all come. They all ask why. They make sure you're okay, they all offer theories, they all hurl accusations. What can you say?
It happens fast.

For those who's first thought after reading this is to my welfare and health, I thank you. Yes, the story is true, happened in 2002, on my birthday.
But to my main point...how'd you like the story?

Later...