Lunch with Katie

I had lunch with Katie Couric today.

Well, sort of.

She was in New York and I was in Houston, but we coordinated things through space and time.

I hope her lunch was as good as mine.

Los Cucos has transformed its menu to a seafood theme and I must say successfully.

I had a Rollo Mariscos which is a piece of white fish wrapped around a seafood stuffing of shrimp, crab and scallops, baked and served with a white sauce with rice.

The Rollo wasn’t the only thing stuffed.

Katie and I both changed jobs today. Katie went to a new day job at a major news network, and I went to a new day job at the pool out back.

Yes, I have slipped my chains and am no longer working for the Man. It turns out that my Have Enough and Had Enough curves crossed, a bell rang, and it was time to go.

Poor Katie. She’ll be reading the news, aloud, and I’ll be reading the news on my laptop by the pool. Katie, baby, you checked the wrong box!

Tomorrow is June 1, and Day 1 for me. A new beginning. What can possibly happen? I had a dream that every day was Saturday. I woke up and it was.

Let’s go out and play!

Fresh

“Oh, lookie here! Strawberry pancakes! My favorite.”

“Can I take you’re order, Hon?”

“Yeah. About the strawberry pancakes, are the strawberries fresh?”

“Sure are, Hon.”

“Great. I’ll have the strawberry pancakes, but don’t put anything else on them like whipping cream or powdered sugar or strawberry syrup, as some places do.”

“Well, Hon, that’s the way they come, with the syrup juice that is.”

“I thought you said the strawberries were fresh.”

“They are, Hon, fresh froze. Thawed ‘em out this mornin’ jus’ for you.”

“Ah. I see. On second thought, Ranch Breakfast Number Two looks good.”

“Good choice, Hon, we only use the freshest eggs.”

Internetless in Missouri

I have found a place without a connection to the Internet.

Hard. To. Breathe...

I'm. In. Misery-ouri. Send. Help.

Great Caesar’s Salad!

This salad was originally created in 1924 by Caesar Cardini at his restaurant in Tijuana, Mexico and was prepared and served right at the table.

I decided for Mother’s Day to prepare an Original Caesar’s salad and therein lay the rub.

What was the Original Caesar’s Salad?

Most schools of thought point to the following ingredients: romaine lettuce, olive oil, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, croutons, parmesan cheese, garlic, egg and fresh ground pepper.

The proportions go along the lines of:

5 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
½ cup parmesan cheese
2 garlic cloves
1 head of lettuce
shake of Worcestershire
1 egg

Variations include a can of anchovies (my favorite!).

Further variations include avocado, tomato, cashews, chicken and other things, perhaps a bowling ball. Who knows?

All cockfloppery aside, my Mother’s Day Great Caesar’s Salad turned out splendiferous and I’ll share the blueprint here.

First, I baked, not fried, the croutons in the oven by brushing slices of La Madeline bread with olive oil, sprinkling some salt, pepper and garlic powder and baking at 350 for about 10 minutes.

Next, I broke up a head of romaine lettuce into half-inch pieces. Into separate small bowls I prepared the olive oil, anchovies minced with two cloves of garlic, parmesan cheese, and fresh lemon juice.

Next, I coddled the egg by dropping a room temperature egg into boiling water for 45 seconds, then dumping the egg into iced water.

To prepare the salad I dumped in the olive oil, lemon juice, anchovies/garlic and parmesan cheese, croutons and tossed with great panache. Then I cracked the coddled egg over the salad and tossed until it was incorporated. Finished with fresh black pepper per serving.

Two words:

Rave. Review.

I don’t know if it was the preparation of the salad at the table, or the fact that all the ingredients were fresh or that the croutons were baked or that the parmesan was Italian.

Who knows?

The combination was fantastic, the anchovies added some salt and the fresh lemon juice provided just the right snap.

I think I’ll try this again with some variations and I’ll check out using Worcestershire sauce instead of anchovies just for grins.

Personally, though, I love those little salty, oily fishes!

Death of a Blogger

The Blogoverse is a strange place filled with the thoughts, musings, lives, hopes, frustrations and most of all words of millions of nameless people, most of whom are just trying to get from A to B.

Occasionally, a voice surfaces above the babble to speak loudly, strongly and with the kind of clarity we all hope we could achieve.

Such was the voice of CancerBaby who wrote about her battle with ovarian cancer.

We all pulled for CancerBaby as her treatments yinned and yanged. Her hold on life was strong and her outlook totally positive. CancerBaby’s gift for writing was a beacon of optimism. Such clarity is rare and she was clear and strong and purposeful and…

Right up to the end.

CancerBaby, whose name we are told was Jessica, died today at age 33.

I don’t know why her death has affected me as it has, other than as a fellow blogger there is a form of kinship that results from reading blogs, commenting on blogs and receiving feedback. The Blogosphere is mostly a fun place. Although I never received an acknowledgement from CancerBaby, I nevertheless poured in my support and wished her well.

CancerBaby, Jessica, is a total stranger to me, but I feel a profound sadness at her loss. It also causes me to reflect on the social phenomenon that is blogging and how it might affect the relationships between people in the future. It can only help.

Rest in peace, Jessica.

Inez

Inez. I think that’s Spanish for “sphinx.” Inez the indestructible. Inez the indecipherable. Inez the unattainable.

Inez is the consummate checker: quick, efficient, impassionate, professional. A perfect employee. Inez the Magnificent.

I, on the other hand, am the oddball customer, although I’d prefer to be called “extraordinary.” I like to joke around, tell tall tales and play the fool. (play?)

Inez has no time for me. She’s like checkcheckcheckcheck…sign here…thankyouandpleasereturnsoon.

“And, don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” is implied.

Don’t get me wrong, Inez is an excellent employee; fast and efficient, remember. But, I want something more in a checker. I want that special relationship.

So, yesterday as I was waiting in Inez’s line I hatched a plan.

As I was checking out I started a conversation with the sacker.

“You know, I’ve been a customer here for years and years.”

“Uh huh.”

“Yep, and I know all the staff. There’s Mel the store manager, and Carlos the floor supervisor (ah, Carlos we shall meet again!), and AJ in vegetables, and Evan in meats and Bud in the pharmacy.”

“Uh huh.”

I could tell Inez was listening.

“But my favorite employee in the entire store is…” I paused for dramatic effect,

“Inez.”

“Uh huh.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Inez hesitate momentarily. It was just a brief pause in her scanning rhythm that tipped me off that she was listening. Her dark eyes narrowed slightly and her lips pursed. To the casual observer she would have been impassive, but I knew. I knew.

As the last item was scanned and the total rang up I knew there would be The Question.

“Is that all?” Inez asked, looking up, casting her Sphinx-like expression on me.

I was ready.

“No, that’s not all. I have something else.”

Inez looked impassive. The sacker looked up sensing something was about to happen.

“I’ve been coming here quite a while, haven’t I?” I didn’t wait for a response.

“I’ve checked out in your lane maybe a hundred times, wouldn’t you say?”

No response.

“I’ve been your customer for quite some time, wouldn’t you say? Several years, possibly. A long time without doubt. We know each other.”

Inez gave an infinitesimal nod.

The sacker looked up sensing something different was in the air. He looked around for support, but none was there.

I looked into Inez’s eyes, leaned close and whispered, “Knock, knock.”

Inez’s eyes narrowed. She gazed at me intently. Her hands came up from her sides and gripped the side of the counter. She turned her head slightly not taking her eyes off me.

She swallowed hard and her eyes darted from me to the sacker and back again. She licked her lips, drew a deep breath, leaned forward towards me and whispered back

“Who’s there?”

It was the first time Inez had ever spoken to me and I was nearly derailed from my plan. Her breath was like a Gulf breeze across a morning stretch of sand. “Who’s there?” almost hypnotized me, but I recovered quickly and pressed on with the script.

“Oh, Inez,” I whined in my best whiney voice, “you’ve forgotten me already?”

Silence descended on the store. A lone ceiling fan somewhere over the deli creaked out a cricket’s love song. The sacker watched intently. Shoppers, checkers and sackers throughout the store stopped and wondered what was going on.

Inez looked at me.

I looked at Inez.

Then, slowly as a Spring dawn unfolding over a sheep-ridden meadow the corners of Inez’s mouth started to quiver and rise up across her cheeks as she broke out into an ear-splitting grin.

Her eyes sparkled and she began to inhale all the air in the store, and when she had done that she let loose with the heartiest guffaw known to Krogerdom. Tears sprung from her eyes as she grabbed her ribs and fell to the floor in uncontrollable mirth. She was giggling uncontrollably, kicking her heels on the floor.

As Inez pounded the floor in an attempt to gain control, I signed my ticket and quietly slipped out the door.

In the parking lot the Old Hand was collecting shopping carts near my truck.

As I approached, he turned to look at the store and back at me. I loaded my shopping into the truck and the Old Hand approached.

“Lots of laughing going on in there,” the Old Hand said.

“Yep,” I replied.

“If I had to guess, it would be the old reverse knock-knock joke. Just a guess,” the Old Hand said.

“Yep,” I said, “I figured that Inez was just ripe enough. Just ripe enough.”

“Ah, so, Sackmeister,” the Old Hand mused, “you are wise beyond your years.”

“Knock, knock,” I said.

Stab Me with an Icicle

I have a weakness for bar-b-que.

That is not to say that I am a connoisseur of bar-b-que or that I even like it. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, and by stating this I run the risk of losing my Texas citizenship, bar-b-que is OK.

That’s it. Just OK. Not great or wonderful or “to die for”. Just OK as in if there’s something else going like, say, squid eye soup, I’ll take the soup.

So, my weakness for bar-b-que is that I’m not proficient at cooking it. Like my lust for bar-b-que I’m OK.

To my rescue came Shane of The Backyard Series and a serious bar-b-quer who sent me a collection of “dry rubs” and sauces.

Following Shane’s instructions to a T-bone I applied the rubs, granted the ribs the correct amount of season time, cooked them with loving care and basted them regularly.

I must say that Shane’s Ribs came out better than anything I had ever attempted in the past, including the:

Night of the Black Ribs

Unfortunate Class 9 Too-Spicy-to-Eat Ribs

Bone Dry Ribs

What’s That Smell? Ribs

and the classic You’ve Got to Be Kidding! Ribs.

Shane’s Ribs became the Yummy Let’s Do This Again Ribs.

And, with all that in mind came tonight’s conversation at Kroger’s. Let’s listen in:

“Oh, look, ribs are on sale. Let’s have ribs tonight!”

“Yes, let’s!” (I’m thinking, OK, dry rub, sit for an hour and wet mop with Shane’s sauce every 10 minutes for 2 hours. Dinner at 8:30. Yes, can do.)

(upon arriving home)

“Be a sweetie and put the grill on, please.”

“Well, hang on, I need to get the dry rub on the ribs and all that stuff before I fire up the grill.”

“Uh, dry rub?” Wrinkles nose.

“Yeah, like I did last time, dry rub, mopping, ribs. You know.”

“Ah, yes. I do know. Tell you what, I’ll do the ribs tonight.”

“But, but, but remember the last time? You said they were the best ribs you had ever eaten? What about that?”

“What I said was they were the best ribs you had ever cooked. They were hardly the best ribs I have ever eaten.”

Ouch! Take that icicle and shove it right in my heart why don’t you. Just hammer it in. Doesn’t hurt a bit. Nope. Just whack, whack, whack.

Shane! Come back, Shane!

I spent the rest of the evening looking up recipes for squid eye soup.

Turkish Adventure

My eldest daughter spent the summer of 2005 working at Space Camp in Izmir, Turkey. (see Links in the left-hand sidebar) One of the gifts she brought home was a Turkish cookbook: 77 traditional recipes with pictures.

I like pictures. Saves writing a thousand words.

The first thing I did was to lose the cookbook for nearly a year. It simply grew legs and walked off. Good-bye ezme, good-bye imam bayildi.

Until this weekend when like Jason in Haloween 45 it surfaced in my closet and screamed “Cook me!”

That brings me to the subject of lamb and my first question is this:

When did lamb replace gold as the standard for our currency? Hmmm?

I have heard of lamb bullion but this is ridiculous. Currently, or should I say currency, lamb is more costly than filet mignon.

That. Is. Just. Wrong.

Beef should be King of the Meats, not laaaamb. I mean we’re talking about great thundering herds of cattle on the hoof, Rawhide, get along little doggie and what made the West and why men were men and the Blazing Saddles campfire scene all that versus what?

A goat? Baaaaa.

No wonder there were range wars, I’m ready to take on a shepherd right now! Bring it on, wool-boy!

But, really, $17 a pound for “lamb?” Something is wrong in the Universe.

The very wise (I bow down at the mention of her name, I am so unworthy) Julia Child said the same thing about artichokes.

Bear with me on this.

A classic way to prepare the artichoke is to top the tail and end, trim the leaves around the fat bit near the stalk, and, eventually, discard the top leaves and the choke leaving a small disc of very tasty artichoke meat. Julia notes that preparing the artichoke in this manner assumes you can buy them for literally a dime a dozen, not $3.79 EACH.

Getting back to lamb it’s clearly a case of supply and demand. With the nation producing one goat per year it’s no wonder his stringy little carcass goes for top dollar.

And all that, believe it or not, brings us to tonight’s recipe: braised lamb with mushrooms Turkish style.

Except I substituted butterfly pork chops for the lamb. I think I made my case and, besides, pork is the new lamb. Think “baaaaaaaoink” and you’re there. Of course, in doing so I've offended all the Muslims and Jews of the world, roughly a billiion people, to whom I say "Can't you do something about the price of lamb in America?" We need to work together on this. I'm serious.

Here’s the blueprint:

2 large butterfly pork chops cut into 1 inch cubes
1 large onion, chopped very coarsely
4 cloves garlic, smashed
bunch of mushrooms, quartered
3-4 cherry tomatoes, quartered
2 jalapeno peppers, halved, seedless

Season the pork with salt, pepper and a dredge of ground cinnamon.

Saute the pork in some butter, add the onions and garlic, sauté some more, add the mushrooms.

Meanwhile, heat the oven to 375 F and prepare some chicken stock or vegetable stock or any stock you have. About 1 ½ cups.

When the pork is browned transfer to an ovenproof dish, add the stock, toss in the jalapenos and tomatoes and place in the oven.

Cook until liquid is reduced and contents are brown, about an hour or 90 minutes.

Here’s the blueprint for rice and chickpeas:

1 cup uncooked rice
knob of butter
can of chickpeas (garbanzo beans)
stick of cinnamon
2 cups stock
sliced tomatoes
farmers cheese (optional)

Cook the rice in butter until lightly browned. Add the stock carefully as it will boil instantly and splatter everywhere. Add chickpeas, cover and cook normally for rice.

Prior to serving, transfer the rice mixture to an oven proof dish, garnish with some sliced tomatoes and grated cheese (if desired) and broil until heated through.

I’ve got some Mexican farmers cheese that I’m going to try.

Here’s the blueprint for an invention I’m going to try:

1 bag spinach
1 handful salted almonds, chopped
farmers cheese

Cook the spinach in a tablespoon of water (more steam than boil) being very careful not to scorch. Add the almonds and cheese. Toss and serve. This might go well with some chopped red bell pepper or pimentos.

And that’s it for Turkish Adventure night. Too bad about the lamb. The pork will benefit from the braising treatment.

Braise or broil, what’s up with that?

Broiling involves placing the meat on a pan or skewer and holding it right over the heat. Birds and fatty meats broil best because they provide a lot of intrinsic moisture and, if you’re careful, won’t dry out. However, if drying happens there’s always the magic of gravy.

Braising involves submerging the meat half-way in a liquid and cooking at a moderately high temperature. Pot roast, for example is best braised because it’s a tough cut of meat and benefits from the moisture of braising.

Postscript:

After dinner I asked the loaded question: How was it?

"Very nice and different!" came the replies, "...but..."

"But, what?"

"Well, the pork was nicely done, but I have this nagging feeling it would have been better with lamb."

Slowly I turned...

Mango, please.

Son: “We have to do a video for English.”

Voice: “Oh? What on?”

“We’re doing Pygmalion.”

“Ohhhhh, My Fair Lady! My favorite!”

“We’re doing it in accents. I’ve been practicing.”

“What kind of accent?”

“Chutney.”

“Chutney? Are you doing it Bollywood-style?”

“What?”

“Bollywood-style, you know, it’s all the rage.”

“No, we’re doing it normal style. Like London. London accents.”

Pause.

“Earlier, when you said ‘Chutney’ did you mean to say ‘Cockney?’ “

“Yeah, thas it, gov! Cockn’y stoile. Whad’you fink oy said? You deaf or sumpin’?”

Blogethics Question

What kind of ill-mannered scoundrel would leave a derogatory comment on a blog using someone else's e-mail address and name as a cover?

Words that come to mind are unethical, cowardly, anti-social, small-minded, inconsiderate, selfish, base, shallow, insecure, uncreative, felonious...

Thanks to L for bringing this assault to my attention.

Simple as ABC

The ABC meme. Are we having fun yet?

Accent: Depends on where I am. In Arizona I do a mean Arizonian. In the UK I do a mean Londoner. In Texas I do a mean Texan. So, I guess, it’s “mean.”

Booze: Gin and Tonic. What else?

Chore I Hate: Laundry, but the alternative isn’t great, either.

Dog or Cat: Cat. It’s the licking thing.

Essential Electronics: Macintosh Powerbook.

Favorite Cologne: Eau de Summer Camp.

Gold or Silver: Gold!

Hometown: Scottsdale, Arizona.

Insomnia: Not after B.

Job Title: Job?

Kids: Three.

Living arrangements: Married with children.

Most admirable traits: Sense of humor. (You’re mileage may vary.)

Not going to cop to: Not going to cop to.

Overnight hospital stays: Enough.

Phobias: Spiders, but I’m working on it. Spiders are nice. Spidersare nice! Spidersarenice, spidersarenice! Ewwwwww.

Quote: If we don’t change direction we’ll end up exactly where we’re going.

Religion: Big fan of Christmas.

Siblings: One sister.

Time I wake up: 5:15 am soon to change to 8:00 am! Yea, me!

Unusual talent or skill: Being unusual.

Vegetable I love: Brussels sprouts! With chestnuts.

Worst habit: Procrastination.

X-rays: Teeth, lungs, kidneys.

Yummy foods I make: Texas chili.

Zodiac sign: Capricorn.

Around the World in 80 Hours

I haven’t been blogging much because I’ve been traveling.

A lot.

Here’s the report.

First, I did some domestic traveling visiting the places I’ve lived. I went to Scottdsdale to visit the family home, then up to Flagstaff where I went to college. Then, I cruised down Highway 40 past Meteor Crater, through New Mexico, past the Arch in St. Louis and up to West Lafayette, Indiana, the home of Purdue University.

Then I headed south to Louisiana where I was born and raised as a child. I found my childhood home and the elementary school where I spent my first six years, and its first six years, too. The school was new when I entered the first grade and I and a few friends were the first class to attend all six grades. The first graduating class, as it were. I wonder where those guys are now?

I headed south through Mexico City on my way to the Panama Canal. I had no idea that the canal was in pieces, linking a bunch of lakes. I followed some ships through the Canal before heading to Peru.

In Peru I visited Machu Pichu, the Inca capital high in the Andes. Man, is it remote! Heading south I followed the coast of South America right to the tip at the Straits of Magellan. I confess great admiration to that sea captain who braved those stormy straits over 500 years ago.

From South America I headed west through the South Pacific to China where I followed the Great Wall from Beijing through Mongolia. From western China I followed part of the Silk Road to Nepal and across Mount Everest to Katmandu. Once in Nepal I sang the Bob Seger song at the top of my voice and hoisted a prayer flag for future adventurers.

Descending Nepal I went through India, picked up the Silk Road again and traipsed through Iran, Iraq and into Turkey. I was getting a little tired by this point so decided to skip to the highlights. I flew to Athens and took in the Parthenon, zipped down to Cairo for the pyramids and up to Rome for the Coliseum. I decided to skip most of Europe but couldn’t pass up Paris where I scaled the Eiffel Tower then crossed the Channel to London where I spent the night in Trafalgar Square.

After touring London I headed straight for New York and traveled around the east coast taking in Philadelphia, Niagra Falls and parts of Canada.

Finally, on a whim, I scooted over to Seattle and took the Inner Passage up to Alaska, and down to San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego before flying home via the Grand Canyon.

Whew! I’m exhausted.

And, I whole-heartedly recommend Goggle Earth to anyone who has an itch to travel but doesn’t want to be bothered by all the airlines, boats, cars, luggage and hassle.

I’m done traveling for the year. I hope the rest of the family understands!

Perfecto

Z Tejas in Austin, Texas, may have created the perfect enchilada:

Santa Fe Chicken Enchiladas– Layered with smoked chicken, corn tortillas, Jack cheese and New Mexico chili sauce, with Tejas rice and black beans.

Cooked to perfection.

I had a dream, and in the dream there was a word, and the word was

enchilada

Word

Her heart beats against mine.

I am enraptured by her heat.

I am intoxicated by the smell of her hair; the flow of it across my brow is mesmerizing.

Smooth sweaty hot.

The pulse quickens.

Her breath upon my ear is hurried.

I am one with her word:

Enchilada!

Dutch Treat

I had the privilege of judging a Dutch Oven Cook-Off this weekend and I have to tell you that if you’ve never cooked with a Dutch Oven you’re missing quite a treat.

Dutch Oven cooking is an adventure. First, you have to understand that anything you can cook in a regular oven can be cooked in a Dutch Oven. The only challenge is how.

This weekend I tasted the following:

Pork ribs
Beef stew
Chicken stew
Lasagna
Texas chili
Fajitas
Lemon cake
Peach cobbler
Apple cobbler
And baked bread

All cooked in a Dutch Oven.

For those of you not familiar with this cast iron marvel let me say that the Dutch Oven can serve as both stew pot and oven. You an apply heat both above and below.

The Dutch Oven is a cast iron pot on legs with a lipped top. The legs allow the oven to be placed on a bed of coals and the lipped top allows coals to be placed on top. In general, a Dutch Oven will maintain an internal temperature of 350 degrees F (Mark 4) with coals placed above and below.

Why would anyone cook in a Dutch Oven? Well, for a start you do this outdoors. If you’re not an outdoors person then there’s no point! Cook indoors and enjoy! But, if you’re the outdoors type and enjoy camping then the Dutch Oven is the cook’s tool of choice for any recipe.

So, which recipes won the competition?

Standing Pork Ribs with Mango Sauce
Fresh Bread with melted butter
Apple cobbler with cinnamon crunch topping

And

Beef stew with dumplings
Cucumber and tomato salad
Lemon cake with raspberry glaze

I’ve already signed up for next year as Head Judge. Can you blame me?

Le Bump

Have you ever wondered why speed bumps in parking lots are painted yellow? I researched the subject and discovered that speed bump paint is specially formulated to chemically neutralize any desire by drivers to race through parking lots.

Yes, it’s true. The paint is designed to emit hydro-moronic vapors which temporarily paralyzes a driver’s higher order functions turning him or her, in an instant and for a moment, into a moron.

The symptoms include a heightened fear of speed typified by slowing down to 0.001 miles per decade, a sudden fear of heights as one climbs the steep flank of the speed bump and uncontrolled anxiety that one’s front end alignment will suddenly shift 90-degrees.

Apparently, the effects are magnified by orders of magnitude and long lasting if one drives a Volvo.

So, last week there I was in a Major Hurry. Somehow time got away from me and the day was ripening fast; almost too ripe, even for a professional procrastinator like me. As I sped towards Kroger’s to pick up a couple of bags of ice I got passed by a pick-up truck, obviously in a hurry, too, as I was boogying along at a ticketable speed.

Instinctively, I pulled in behind the truck. “Plow the road, baby!” I yelled, “I got your back!” And we flew down the highway, swerved into the turn lane and bounced into the parking lot.

The ensuing collision that would have happened next was prevented only by my mongoose-like reflexes. Unexpectedly, the driver of the truck was overcome by hydro-moronic vapors, braked hard and nearly stopped in front of a tiny, itty bitty, little speed bump that I normally take at flank speed.

Ever. So. Slowly. The driver crept. Over. The. Bump.

(There was a total eclipse of the sun.)

All the time I had gained in our mad dash to the parking lot was lost, and then some, in our glacial creep through the parking lot.

What was wrong with that guy? Why did he stop? I couldn’t believe it. In a truck no less! Talk about adding insult to injury.

Then I noticed a bumper sticker that read:

I brake for poodles.

That explained it! I should have known he’d stop for speed bumps.

He was driving a Ford F One-Fifi.

Memo

Memo

To Chefs everwhere:

Do not put jalapenos in Corned Beef and Cabbage soup.

Ever.

Thank you for your attention.

Sucat, his eyes uncovered!

You know, that puts the bow on the package.

Too right, I’m on it like a duck on a June bug.

Naw, that dog won’t hunt! We need to ripen that avocado.

That’s only because he’s all hat and no cattle.

He’s not playing with a full deck ‘cause he’s one can short of a six pack.

I agree, it’s like herding cats.

OK, let’s put that idea in the parking lot and check the expiration date in a few weeks.

Meeting adjourned!

What meeting? Did something go on here I missed? Ducks and cats and dogs and June bugs? What kind of meeting was that, Future Farmers of America? How come I didn’t get the memo? I didn’t even have my boots on.

I started listening to what people actually say recently and I’m amazed at how much we rely on metaphors. The Star Trek – Next Generation episode, “Darmok”, in which the Tamarians communicated entirely in metaphors, illustrated the most extreme example of that.

Why was that so difficult to figure out?

Temba, his arms wide.

Iron Cactus - Again!?

There's something about the Iron Cactus in Austin that brings out the flamingo in me, much to my contributor Amy's dismay.

The fish tacos were taco-y and the margaritas were a blur, er, blue. I couldn't resist a Dooce Redux photo shoot outside the restaurant after dinner.

Write Right

Ironically, I’m reading Stephen King’s “On Writing.” I should say “reading” because what I actually do is pick up the book, read a few pages and then let it sit on a shelf for a few weeks. At this rate I should be able to finish it during the winter of 2031.

Asked if he wrote every day Stephen observed that when he was writing he wrote every day, and when he wasn’t writing he didn’t write at all. It’s not work, he said, it’s where he goes to play. Not writing is work.

I puzzled over that for a while, realizing that I have been in the “off” position for a week or so, and concluded not to fret about it.

Tonight it’s back to Austin for a day or so and another dinner at the Iron Cactus. I envy myself.