Cheeta - Who Knew?

As a young lad I was an early riser. On Saturday's, that is!

The TV festival started early and I didn't want to miss a bit of it. Sky King. Commander Cody. Bullwinkle and Friends. And, of course, Tarzan Theater.

We all loved Tarzan, Jane and Cheeta the mischevious chimp. Tarzan saving the explorers, Jane soothing Tarzan's fevered brow (or so we thought) and Cheeta stealing the important jewel, map, key or one of a thousand important things to steal. Cheeta came through in the end, though, and there was a happy ending.

Of all the actors and actresses in all the Tarzan films from the 30's and 40's, one actor remains: Cheeta.

Yes, Cheeta the Chimp is alive and well and living the Life of Riley. He's 76 years old which makes him the oldest chimpanzee on record. He's also an accomplished artist and produces what has been called "ape-stract" paintings.

And, believe it or not, you can purchase a painting from Cheeta and support him through his old age.

Just go to the Cheeta website and navigate to the Want a Picture link to make your contribution. In a few weeks you will receive your very own, unique painting by Cheeta, a couple of autographed photographs and a Certificate of Authenticity.

Here's my painting. The black smudge at the botton right is a thumbprint.



And here's a picture of Cheeta with Tarzan star Johnny Weissmuller. Cheeta is on the right.

Chickened Out

If you have been watching the news then you may have seen the report about ConocoPhillips teaming up with Tyson Foods to produce a hybrid fuel based on chicken fat.

Now, what exactly does that mean?

Well, I can tell you that the CEO’s of the two companies were mighty pleased with themselves during the announcement. Mighty pleased.

“The bonus to consumers may even meet the level of my annual bonus,” the Oil CEO squawked, a feather clinging to his lips.

“You’re kidding,” the Chicken CEO clucked, who’s bonus was chickenfeed by comparison.

“Yes, I’m kidding,” the Oil CEO confessed, “my little joke.”

And the two CEO’s fell about laughing and slapping each other on the back; feathers flew.

Now, think about this for a moment.

A chicken in your tank. What does that mean?

I’ve heard of a tiger in your tank, but I’ve never heard of a chicken in your tank.

Tiger. Sleek jungle animal racing through the underbrush in pursuit of prey. Fierce, strong, agile, fast. Claw and fang.

Chicken. Clumsy bird that can’t fly, can’t cross the road, in pursuit of cracked corn. Cowardly, one might say “chicken,” weak and tastes like chicken. Beak and egg.

Which would you rather have in your tank? Tiger? Chicken? Tiger? Chicken?

Just imagine. You’re driving down the freeway in your Binford 3000 Cobra XTi and, bing, the low fuel indicator chimes.

To your left is an Exxon station featuring Tiger Gas. Put a Tiger in your tank, you hunky guy, you!

To your right is a ConocoPhillips station featuring Chicken Gas (reminding you of that bad episode with KFC last weekend.) Put a Chicken in your tank, you total loser. Braaakkk!!

What are you going to do?

Well, I can tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to go out and buy a couple of Hummers and some Exxon stock!

But, that’s all hypothetical. I mean, who’s going to drive around with a fake chicken’s head hanging out of their gas tank like people did with tiger tails? More important to consider is how the fuel is going to be made.

Think about it. Chicken fuel.

They’re going to, like, pump chicken fat from the chicken farm in Arkansas to the oil refinery in Texas. Does this mean they’ll have to construct a chicken fat pipeline through Louisiana? What are the environmental considerations? What if there’s a chicken fat rupture in Monroe?

“Monroe schools were evacuated today following a rupture of the Chicken Fat Pipeline. Hazardous material specialists from Shreveport were flown in to contain the spill which was being channeled into a local bayou where the fat was consumed by local alligators. Protesters from POTA, Prevent Obese Treatment of Alligators, were present, objecting to the industry practice of using alligators to clean up chicken fat spills.”

No, I think this a bad move. It’s going to encourage copycat fat fuel refining. No telling where this will end.

BP: Put a pork pie in your tank!

Shell: Put an oyster in your tank!

Valero: Put a bull in your tank!

Believe me, this is a slippery slope for oil companies to be on. I mean, what if the chickens don’t produce enough fat? How will it be made up?

Chicken fat production is down. Meanwhile, at Big Oil Company headquarters the annual employee physical…

“Whoa, Bill, looks like you’ve gained a few pounds! Been at those donuts at staff meeting have you? Well, we’re going to have to transfer you to refining. Yes, to refining. You’ll do well at refining…”

And in the Big Oil cafeteria a new line of Soylent Green wraps opens.

Ranch or BBQ?

Egged On, Not!

I’m an expert cook. Who says? Me!

I can cook anything. Moose? I’ll do a moose mousse. Pig? A pit I’ll dig. Squab? Give me a kibab.

Boil an egg. Please, don’t insult me. I can boil water and I can boil an egg, thank you very much.

Hard boiled or soft boiled? I can calculate the time to within a nanosecond of perfection. Hah! Egg, bring it on.

So I thought.

Egg Number 1.

Ever the consummate expert I prepared the landscape: Canadian bacon in the microwave to heat up, crumpets in the toaster to toast. Boiled egg with Canadian bacon on crumpet…yum-o! What’s not to like?

The crumpets popped up right on cue as the microwave beeped and and the stove timer chirped that the egg was done.

Taking the egg to the sink all looked right with the world. The crumpets were brown and warm, the Canadian bacon at the right temperature and, sure enough, the egg was cooked to perfection.

Carefully, I broke the shell on the edge of the sink and worked the shell off. I nearly had the egg shelled when…

Then, without warning, a furry paw reached around, snagged the egg and pulled it out of my hands.

“No!” I shouted, but it was too late! The egg and Kink’s furry paw fell to the floor in a yellow and white splatter on the tile. Kink proceeded to lick up his kill and I entertained thoughts of killing.

Egg number 2.

Undaunted, I left Kink to his ill-gotten gains and pulled another egg out of the fridge. Come on, I’ve cooked chocolate soufflés and Moose mousses. What could be difficult about a boiled egg? I placed the egg in the pan of water, turned up the heat and let it go. Meanwhile, Kink was licking the kitchen tiles. Good for you, Kink, point to you. Kink 1, Egg 0.

Bang! What bang? There was a bang, a clank and a fire. Soon I realized that the egg in the pot had exploded and blasted egg white and yoke all over the stove. I looked in the pot and the eggshell was empty. The egg had inverted itself and was a slimy mess.

Dang.

Egg number 3.

I will not be defeated by an egg. I’m an expert cook. I’m a pro. Boiling an egg is like the most elementary of dishes.

I can boil an egg.

I cleaned out the pot, filled it with water, selected a nice, free range, brown egg and set the timer. Boil, boil it went. Tick tock went the timer.

Ding!

Egg done and a perfectly cooked egg if I must say so myself. Smugly, I cracked the shell on the sink and proceeded to unwrap my lunch treasure.

Purple spots. Wha? There were purple spots on my egg! No, purple spots shouldn’t be on eggs. I examined the spots closely and in the end decided it wasn’t worth the risk to eat the egg.



You know, I’ve gone off the whole idea of eating altogether. Just as well. I could use losing a few pounds.

Kool Kink

Repeat

I've said it once and I'll say it again:

Annie Lennox

Catnip Jones

Sandy never showed an interest in gardening until we bought some catnip.

Now he's doing a month at Betty Ford.

Day at a time, Sandy old pal, day at a time.

Migas

Migas is a Mexican egg dish that has as it's core onions, corn tortillas and eggs. I am on a journey with migas having only just discovered it. I feel like Christopher Columbus in this endevour. A New World.

Migas means "crumbs" and there are migas-like dishes from around the world.

I'll concentrate on the Southwestern variety using leftover corn tortillas torn into little bits. A general recipe for migas would be as follows:

Saute some chopped onions in oil. When they are well cooked and turning brown toss in a handful or more of corn tortillas torn into little pieces, about half an inch in size. Cook this for a while. Meanwhile, beat some eggs with a little milk, then add the eggs to the onions and tortillas. Cook for a few seconds then add some chopped tomatoes and nopalitos (if you have them). Season with salt, cumin and anything else you like. Toss in some chopped jalapenos, for example. When the eggs start to set crumble in some Mexican hard cheese or feta cheese or grate some sharp chedder on top. Reduce the heat to very low, cover and let cook for a few minutes.

Uncover and shout, "Migas!"

For a small migas:

1 onion chopped
2 tomatoes chopped
6 corn tortillas, torn to pieces
2 eggs
3 tbsp milk
1/2 cup shredded cheese

For a large migas, serving 6-8:

2 onions
3 tomatoes
12 eggs
10 corn tortillas
1/4 cup milk
1 cup cheese

Additional things that could be added are chopped jalapenos, nopalitos, bell pepper, garlic and other stuff you think might be good to eat. Since this recipe is sort of like a flan, then chopped ham, bacon or sausage would work.

Avocado Lives

We thought we lost it.

We had a couple of frosts this winter and after each frost more leaves turned brown. Then, they started to drop. After the big wind in February most of the leaves were gone and we had this stick that used to be a tree. OK, a very skinny tree, but considering it started as a refugee from a bowl of guacamole it was doing fine, just fine.

Now, lookie, lookie! Leetle green leaves!



I hope it grows lots and lots of leaves this summer. Millions and billions of leaves!

Do you know what you call a tree with 6.02 x 10 ²³ leaves?

An Avogadro.

Bacon Saving

You need to eat more vegetables, she said.

I’m on the Atkin’s Diet, he said.

Since when, she said?

Since this morning, he said.

I smell bacon, she said.

You’re having an olfactory hallucination, he said.

No meat for the rest of the week, she said.

!!!, he said.

I mean it and you’d better produce something good, she said.

*#$@%**, he said.

It so happened that just that very day an interesting recipe had been posted on one of the prime food blogs that just might fill the bill. Vegetarian and with no spices. Hmmm, no spices? What’s up with that?

The dish is called “mujadara” and it derives its wonderful flavor from caramelized onions combined with lentils and basmati rice.

You can read all about it at Orangette but I’ll provide the blueprint here.

You’ll need a couple of onions (I used red Spanish onions as I would for onion soup), a cup of lentils, half a cup of rice and some olive oil and salt. That’s it.

Chop the onions into small pieces and fry them in about a quarter cup of olive oil until they’re golden brown, same as you would for onion soup. Scrape and turn, scrape and turn for about 20 minutes until the onions are golden, brown and possibly black in spots. Cooking the onions thoroughly is essential to this recipe.

While this is going on, as if you have nothing better to do, cover the lentils with about an inch of water in a saucepan, bring to a boil and simmer, covered, for about 20 minutes. You probably won’t need to drain them and I wouldn’t bother because of what happens next.

Add the rice to the onions and mix it up. Add the lentils, a teaspoon of salt, two cups of water, mix well, bring to a boil then simmer for 20-30 minutes.

That’s it.

I was a little worried that the recipe didn’t call for garlic or black pepper or cumin or curry powder, but I needn’t have been concerned.

This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked, she said.

You always say that, he said.

Yeah, but this time I really mean it, she said.

He said nothing but thought, “Thanks, Molly!”

Kink 1, Cutting Board 0

I don't know how he did it. The cutting board weighed as much as he did and it was sitting flat on the counter. I heard the crash and went into the kitchen in time to see Kink pawing playfully at the remains.

Just as well. I "need" to go to Williams-Sonoma, anyway! I need a new cutting board, yep, and a new sauce pan, a knife (can't have too many knives. I always say that.) and one of those French things that I don't know exactly what it does but it's French and I could probably use it. Somehow.

Rolled

We got rolled!

But, the question is why? Why would anybody roll us? We have no kids in high school. We live in an ordinary house on an ordinary street in an ordinary subdivision. So why pick our pitiful trees from which to hang toilet paper?

On the plus side, I gathered up about a months supply so Woot to that!

In fact, roll me in a month. I could use the supplies!

Ouch, No and Owww!

Kink the Kitten is a well-trained little cat. At a mere five months Kink has learned how to ask for food (bite my ankle), how to ask to play (bite my ankle) and how to go outside (bite my ankle).

What a smart kitty!

New with Kink is sharpness. He is sharp in mind and claw. I caught him the other day sharpening his claws on a tree, after which he honed them to razor sharpness with his teeth.

Silly me, I thought he was flossing.

Not so.

Witness the following recent conversation:

What happened to you?

Nothing.

What do you mean “nothing,” you look like you went through a shredder?

Just a scratch.

Looks like a zillion scratches.

Please! It’s not like I get a transfusion every day. I mean, once a month, isn’t that the norm?

What’s to be done with a sharp, playful kitten with razor sharp claws and teeth and did I mention sharp?

Number One: Avoid confrontation. When confronted with a sharp kitten, the sharp kitten will win. Back away slowly and chant “Nice kitty, nice kitty.”

Number Two: Feed often. A fat kitty is a slow kitty. A fat kitty is a sleeping kitty. However, the corollary is a fat kitty is an energetic kitty. (See Number One)

Number Three: Assert yourself! You’re the king of the house! Act like one. Failing this fall back to Number Two and Number One.

I’d write more but I have to staunch a recent wound to my ankle. And feed Kink who’s looking a little famished in spite of my blood dripping off his left fang.

Future Chefs

In a few hours I will be up to my eyeballs in young chefs hopefully learning some of the basics of cooking.

It was a moment of madness that I agreed to serve as Merit Badge counsellor for Cooking, but, hopefully, by this time tomorrow some of the 40 young men who take my course will be more confident in the kitchen, at the camp stove or around a fire.

In addition to Health and Safety I'll try to impart some basic knowledge about food and our relationship with it, how to season lightly, when time in the pot is necessary and how to pack lightly while eating well.

My kitchen is strewn with bags of chopped food, trail mix, charcoal and plasic bags. At the end of the day tomorrow I will have supervised the cooking of over 150 meals. Don't people get paid for this sort of thing? Naw, that would ruin the adventure!

p.s. Kink is laying on the keyboard and I'm having to "mouse" around him which is sort of weird if you think about it too much.

Seems Reasonable to Me

You'll die from an Unlikely Illness (like the plague).

You will unfortunately succumb to a random and unlikely disease. Only to find out after death that eating more broccoli would have cured you.

'How will you die?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I like broccoli! More?

Blog-a-Day March

I had a plan. I had it all mapped out. With all the time in the world I would do this and that, go here and there, have my people call your people and we'd do lunch.

The plan is still there but I'm not on it. I'm not with it. I'm out of it.

Shiny objects are my bane and I confess that I've been attracted by them. Chalk it up to no discipline and no willpower. Where did it go? I used to have both, at least a little bit.

Well, it's time to get back on track. March is Blog-a-Day month, go to the gym month and clean the garage month.

Really.

No, really!

This time I mean it.

Mouser

Kink has lived a sheltered life, literally, but he knows a toy mouse when he sees one. The mouse is spyed with keen vision, stalked with stealthy precision and pounced upon with great pounceatude!

Witness -

The Kink

I Knew It

Your results:
You are Dr. Doom

Dr. Doom 77% Apocalypse 62% Lex Luthor 62% Mr. Freeze 61% The Joker 61% Magneto 54% Juggernaut 49% Riddler 47% Dark Phoenix 43% Poison Ivy 38% Venom 37% Green Goblin 37% Kingpin 36% Catwoman 26% Two-Face 25% Mystique 13%

Blessed with smarts and power but burdened by vanity.

Click here to take the Supervillain Personality Quiz

Sharp

Is that a pulsating artery in your neck I see?

Let me have a closer taste, er, look.

The Giver

The bench at the animal shelter started to dig into my rear end. I figured the estimated maximum butt time on this bench was about 30 minutes and I had been sitting there 45.

Done my time. Where's the t-shirt?

Please, spring my ass and let me out of here, I have been listening to barking dogs and smelling dog and cat smell for long enough. It must be part of the "experience."

I was at the animal shelter picking up an animal. Saving an animal, really. A cat with a broken tail named Kink. I had filled out the paperwork and was just waiting for Kink to get done with his exit interview and we would be outta here.

Exit interview. What were they going to ask him?

"How was the Cat Chow, Kink?"

"Well, for the most part the Cat Chow was fresh, and I liked how you alternated between fish and chicken. That was a nice touch. However, you could use a bit of pimento from time to time to add to the color and spice it up a bit."

Right.

I waited for Kink to complete his physical. People came and went. Some came to get rid of animals which for some reason they couldn't keep, and some came for other reasons altogether.

An elderly couple came in clutching a bundle of blankets. After a while the girl behind the counter asked if they were there to pick up an animal.

No, the lady said, we're here to donate some blankets and food.

Fine, the girl said, wait a moment and I'll get a cart and the paperwork.

The lady turned to me. She was in her seventies I would guess, moving well and with purpose. Her husband followed behind pushing the cart full dog food, blankets and dog medicine. He had a grim expression, resigned to his task and not questioning.

We stood there for a while, the three of us. Grim man, elderly, weepy woman and guy waiting for a cat.

Finally, the woman turned to me with the saddest eyes I had seen in 20 years and said, "She died last night."

I thought, Oh my God her daughter died of cancer. Or her even more ancient mother died of some unknown and rare disease. But, it turned out it was her dog. Her faithful companion of many years.

I looked at her as a tear welled in her eye, pooled in the corner, overflowed, and trickled down her cheek.

"She was our baby for 15 years..." her voice trailed off.

I'm not the kind of person...I don't know why...look, it's not me, but I was there and she was looking at me and...

I reached out, pulled her to me, stroked her hair and said, "I know, I know."

She sobbed great heaving sobs, her shoulders hunching up and down and her fingers digging into my back. Finally, she pulled back.

"I loved that dog for so many years," she choked the words, "from a puppy. We rescued her from the rain. The neighbors moved and just left her. She was almost dead but so sweet and she was my friend for so many years and now she's gone."

"You were her friend, too," I said, "you gave her life purpose. She loved you for that. You must know that."

She sobbed a bit more for a few minutes then pulled back. We all reached for some hankies and found a box by the sign-in sheet on the counter. Apparently, the Shelter people anticipate some emotion by people who pick up or drop off animals.

She dabbed her eyes and I dabbed mine.

I thought of the animals I had lived with over the years and how, over time, they had died and I thought of the love we give those animals and their trust and reliance in us and thought of this lady's grief.

After signing the invoice for her donation of blankets, food and medicine she turned to leave. Her husband, bent though age, followed.

She paused at the door, turned and looked at me.

"I don't think we'll be getting another dog," she said, but she wasn't convincing.

I looked at her and said, "I'm not so sure about that. I think there's a dog here who needs you, you know, someone who knows and loves dogs. There are lots of dogs here who need love. Maybe you should come back here in a week or so and check it out."

She looked down and pulled one of the paper Kleenex she had picked up from the shelter and blew her nose. She looked at me and said, "Yeah, maybe I will. We've always had dogs. Maybe I will."

We sort of half waved at each other, she climbed into the passenger side of a pick-up truck which roared to life, backed out slowly, and she was gone.

Shortly, one of the staff members came out with a small kitten.

"I've got Kink, here. Who's taking Kink?"