Facebook Friend Request
A few of my FaceBook friends:
I haven’t ‘penned’ anything for months, it seems.
No one’s anxiously awaiting my next missive. 95% of my hits are the results of searches for “newcastle brown ale” or “froot loops.” The other five are my regular readers.
Hey, newcastle and froot loops people…. how’re you doin’?
I forget, sometimes, that this blog thing is for me (It’s OK if you read it, and its more than OK if you like it — don’t get me wrong — you’re welcome here) and me alone.
I use it when playing online poker for pretend chips doesn’t do it for me any more.
I use it when there’re no football games worth watching on the mesmeric screen in the other room.
I use it when something itches and I can’t seem to effectively scratch it.
I use it when I can’t concentrate (writing stream of conscience jabberwocky can sometimes be fruitful — more fruitful than the storied room full of monkeys with typewriters, I guess.)
I’m using it now.
People around me are getting more and more into story-telling — I do this.
I have a long, involved story that’s rather hard to tell. There was a lot going on.
I’ve written little bits and pieces of it. Tiny chunks of my life laid artificially (minimally) bare.
I’m not sure I like where this little bit’o'fluff is going.
OK. Here’s a little story.
I was reading someone else’s wall on FaceBook a few weeks ago, and came across a comment by this guy I’d gone to high school with. I fired off a ‘friend request’ (I don’t usually do that. I keep a low profile and let the ‘friends’ come to me – thus proving their worthiness) right then. The next day, I got a message from him:
“Hi Bob.I don’t seem to remember you from high school.Do you remember me?If so let me know.”
You don’t remember me?
How, when I spent my whole being keeping a low profile, sitting away from the center, speaking quietly if I ever spoke at all, rarely reaching out to anyone, can you say that you don’t remember me??
I’m shocked!
… and i was … until I remembered who I was, and who I had been in school.
Why should anyone remember me?
I looked at my senior yearbook and read my “accomplishments.” Not much there.
You can read “throwing People away” to see how I treated people back then.
Why would anyone remember me? I’m just lucky that the people who did, did. (— it’s awkward, but I like it —)
So, I wrote back, and told him who I was, and who my best friend back then (see that blog post again) was, and some other stuff.
He accepted my ‘friend request.’
Vindicated.
End of story?
(man, I knew I didn’t like where this was goin’)
Chili Powder Day
I need to make chili powder for the pie/casserole/whatever Saturday. I’m down to just one tablespoon of my last batch. The following recipe is based on Alton Brown’s 2004 chili powder recipe. I’ve changed the varieties of chilies to what I can get here in lil’ ole Cartersville, substituted regular paprika for the virtually unavailable smoked variety, and added onion powder.
I make chili powder the same way I make everything — a little differently each time.
A friend asked me about the recipe for a spaghetti pie I made for home group a few months back, and I was stymied as to my reply. First, I don’t remember making the thing, and, second, I didn’t use a recipe.
I probably made a sauce from (shh!) canned concentrated crushed tomatoes, some herbs (italian parsley,rosemary, and marjoram) from the little raised bed out front, herbs/spices from the cupboard (oregano, thyme, sage), fresh chopped garlic, a touch of something chile hot (pepper sauce or the like), and something sweet (molasses, honey, sugar, brown sugar — just whatever strikes my fancy while I’m there.) The protein was whatever we had — usually chicken breast or ground turkey, unless we were being evil that week with beef.
Anyway, that’s the process. check the cupbord, and make something with that stuff.
Except for bread — any bread. For bread, I follow the recipe. My biscuits are getting better, but I wouldn’t put them up against anyone else’s in a competition.
Anyway. Chili Powder We have in the cupboard today:
Dried Ancho chiles, New Mexico chiles, and chiles Japones.
The Anchos have very little heat, but are packed with flavor. The taste of dried Ancho is reminiscent of prune, raisin, and red wine (to me, anyway.)
There’s a touch more heat in the New Mexico’s, but not much. They add a lighter fruit / sweet flavor to the mix.
The Japones put the heat into this powder. They are not as hot as the De Arbol — the recommended chile for this powder — but they’re what I got, eh?
OK, now. I take six each of the above named chiles, and remove the stems and (most of) the seeds. Then with a pair of kitchen shears, I slice the chiles into manageable sized pieces.
There. The prep work’s done. Time to get cookin’. I take half the chopped chiles and cook them in a large skillet at medium-high (7 on my electric stove) with two tablespoons whole cumin.
This cumin happens to be Indian cumin. I’m not sure where the cumin I usually use comes from.
— NOTE: A quick side trip through google-land tells me that there’s really no difference between my ‘Indian’ cumin and any other cumin. —
Cook this stuff until you can really smell the cumin releasing its essential oils.
Caution! If you cook this mixture too long, the wonderful essential oils from the chiles will release in force and you will feel a catch in the back of your throat. If you have a stove-top vent that vents to the outside, go ahead and turn it on. If you have one of those so-called vents that vents into your kitchen, DO NOT – Repeat – DO NOT turn on that fan. It will blow that pepper gas right into your face, and your next hour or so will not be happy.
OK. Once the first batch is done, remove it to a bowl to cool and cook the rest of the peppers with another couple of tablespoon of the cumin.
Now, take a short break. The next step is to grind all the cumin, peppers, and and two tablespoons of oregano in a blender, coffee grinder, or whatever pulverizer you’re happiest with. But don’t do that until the peppers are cooled to room temperature.
Repeat. don’t grind the peppers until they have cooled off. Think pepper spray. Mace. Tear gas. Be patient.
When everything’s cool, pour the mix into your grinding apparatus.
It’s up to you, but I chose to pour a glass of Cabernet for the next part of the process.
Then, SEAL the grinder. You don’t want this explosive dust flying around your house.
Then, grind it until you like the consistency:
Once you like the size of the granules, sit down and wait again. Wait until the dust inside that appliance settles (again, think mace.) Enjoy that glass of wine. Then, when you’ve given the chiles time to settle down, mix in 4 tablespoons of garlic powder, two tablespoons of onion powder, and 2 teaspoons of paprika.
Pour the mix into your favorite storage container,
Cover, and remove to the fridge.
You now have a great starter ingredient for your next chili.
Pour another glass of wine and think about how you’re gonna use your new, home-made chili powder. And don’t answer the phone from downstairs.
Stupid Men
Johan C. Karremans, Thijs Verwijmeren, Tila M. Pronk, and Meyke Reitsma, after grueling study, say,
“Interacting with women can impair men’s cognitive functioning”
From thelondonpaper.com, “Researchers: Talking to women makes men thick”
Or as The Telegraph says. “Men lose their minds speaking to pretty women.”
We needed this study.
A group of heterosexual men (others were excluded from the test) were given a memory test. Each of them then was put in a situation where he talked exclusively with a man or a woman for a period of time. After the talk, each man took the test again.
After talking to a man, each man scored essentially the same as before the talk.
After talking to women, the men all scored lower.
After talking to what the study called attractive women, the men scored even LOWER in the after-test.
Women subjected to a similar experiment scored essentially the same before and after, no matter who they talked to.
The researchers think that we men expend our brain power preening and generally showing off ( the instinctive mating dance, they say) for the women-folk. Then, brain-spent, we take the test again and score lower.
I don’t wait until after the talk to get stupid. I immediately turn into a dumb-ass around women. I always have. No preening period for me. I’m a quick stupid. I think that’s what they may find so endearing about me.
I do, however, pretend to be not-me. I don’t waste brain-power on showing off, I spend everything I have just trying hide who I really am, and not to trip over my tongue, my feet, or some other obstacle. Maybe hiding is my mating ritual….
---- hiding ----
I don’t know how I’d score on the test though….
What do you think? Are these researchers right? I’d like to see the experiment extended to see the result with those of other sexual persuasions….
Smiling…
A younger blogger from the east said this earlier today:
“Now that things have changed, I have started to feel, “is that all to life?” I have new desires, new wishes and new dreams. I have evolved. I can almost feel my wings now. I want to fly . . . There will always be more to life than what we are conditioned to think. There will always be more beauty in the world than what we have seen or believe.”
Another (from just down the road this time) recently posted:
Similar attitudes from such divers folk.
Young people make me smile.
Do What You Say You Will Do
My very first blog entry (a whole 18 months ago) was a little blurb about how we don’t.
Do what we say we will do.
Back in CorporateLand when I had the window office and thought people actually listened to what I said and wrote, there was a placard on the wall just above my head and behind me. It was positioned so that anyone who sat in one of the chairs facing my desk could not help but to see it.
It read, “DO WHAT YOU SAY YOU WILL DO.”
I used to think it strange how many people wouldn’t. Do what they said they’d do.
I used to think I did. Do what I said I’d do.
Now I know I can’t. And I shouldn’t expect you to, either.
But I do wish we’d both try harder.
I’m still disappointed when either of us don’t. I just don’t throw things across the office anymore. They’re my things, and I’d just have to fix’em.
Something to make us all happy?
“Cause I just don’t have the words right now….
Dear Mister Fantasy play us a tune
Something to make us all happy
Do anything take us out of this gloom
Sing a song, play guitar
Make it snappy
You are the one who can make us all laugh
But doing that you break out in tears
Please don’t be sad if it was a straight mind you had
We wouldn’t have known you all these years
Bee(r) Stingers
My sister-in-law was stung by a wasp yesterday.
She was outside, enjoying her above-ground pool at the time. She reached for her can of beer, put it to her mouth, and turned it up.
With the onrush of cool, refreshing Milwaukee’s Best (ugh!) came a wasp who had innocently been enjoying the brew in the shade inside the can.
She (I read somewhere that male wasps don’t have the capability to sting) was washed out of the can, and ended up in Carol’s mouth. Her natural instinct (as it is with many females in an awkward situation) was to defend attack.
She stung Carol on her tongue.
That’s gotta hurt.
According to brother-in-law’s report, her tongue began to swell, and she soon was unable to swallow.
Uh Oh.
No swallow, no more beer!
He took her to the local emergency room, where she was put on a benedryl drip IV and forced to undergo “quiet time.”
Brother-in-law went home and got some quiet time himself.
After three hours of IV and rest, Carol was allowed to leave the medical palace and return home.
I think her episode is one of the most compelling reasons to only drink beer in the bottle or on tap, don’t you?
My advice — buy a six-pack of Milwaukee’s Best, 
and buy enough Newcastle Ale
(or similar middle of the road amber ale) in the bottle or mini-keg to last through the day.
Open all six of the Milwaukee’s Bests and place them strategically around your group, at least fifteen feet away from anyone. Let these cans draw and drown all wasps, flies, etc.
Chill and drink the Newcastle Ale.
When your idiot neighbor comes over to complain about the noise/music/acrid smell/etc., offer him a Milwaukee’s Best.
A Three Year Plan — Yikes!!
I was scheduled to attend participate in a meeting tonight to begin to develop a “Three Year Plan.”
Thankfully, the event was postponed.
Sadly, it was postponed due to the Boss’s illness.
Thanks, Boss. I hope you are better now that the meeting has been set back to at least Thursday.
A three year plan.
“Where do you want to be in three years?”
I want to be alive and well, and I want my family and friends to be the same. I’m not too sure what else I want.
Ive written about this before.
Inertia — Newton’s First Law, I believe.
An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
An object at rest tends to stay at rest —- THAT’S ME! —
— unless acted upon by and unbalanced force.
God, it seems, and my fellow board members, as it were, are an unbalanced force (you don’t know how much I enjoy writing this!)
And they (the board members, at least) want a three year plan.
I hate three year plans. They are unrecognizable after six months — never mind three years.
We’ll look into our crystal balls, and lay out a vision for the next 6 months.
We’ll extraploate that out to three years and go away happy. I hope.
Anyway.
I gotta go now. And develop my three year vision for Thursday’s meeting.
Wish me luck.
Not Intentional
This evening, the teacher asked us what we were doing for our spirtual renewal.
“What are you doing about your spiritual growth?”
“What do you do, each day, each week, each hour, whatever, to achieve spiritual renewal?”
“Specifically, what do you do?”
This question battery was a lead in to a talk on Lectio Devina, but I don’t want to talk about that (uh oh…)
I did not participate, other than to listen to the other attendees. My lovely wife elbowed me and urged me to talk about my growth activities, but I decided (as is usually my case) not to volunteer any information.
She didn’t like that, and let me know about it on the ride home. I told her that my revelations would not have added much to the evening (and they probably wouldn’t have.) She really didn’t like that. I think she’s convinced that my words will cause awe and wonder. I don’t think so. So be it.
But that wasn’t why I kept silent. The real reason I didn’t volunteer my growth activities is because I don’t have any. I don’t have a plan. I don’t have a strategy, and I don’t plan activities to enhance my growth. I am just not intentional about my spiritual renewal.
I didn’t spout off about my plan and activities, ’cause I didn’t have any. And I was embarrassed to admit that I didn’t.
Anyway. While the others in the room were describing their activities (reading the word, meditating, memorizing prayer, etc.), I was looking at a picture. A picture in my head.
I saw one of those red and white fishing floats (a bobber — fitting) 
on the surface of a body of water, rising and falling with the waves on the surface. I was the bobber.
No intentionality. None. Just riding the wave.
Now don’t get me wrong. I read, I pray, I memorize, etc. I do the same activities the others described. I just don’t do them with intentionality.
I read my Bible. Daily. OK, I LISTEN to the audio version for Job, Psalms, Isaiah, and the other books that are broken up into lines of poetry. I cannot read poetry, or any other text where the lines are broken like that (maybe I do have a form of autism or Asperger’s.) Do I grow spiritually from regularly reading (listening)? I think so. But I don’t feel right telling a group of people that I read my Bible daily in order to grow spiritually. I don’t read with the intention to grow. I read because I love and have to read.
I pray (funny — every time I say or hear the word “pray” I immediately hear Fleetwood Mac’s “Oh Well” in my head.) I’d like to be able to talk to God like Job did. But mostly I just ask, “Why?” I’m not very good at personal relationships. I think my inability to relax in interpersonal relationships (with normal folks and with God) is an area of my life in which I’m still insisting on autonomy (now that’s interesting –in the one area of my life where I’m actually trying to interface with the creator of the universe, and I’m insisting on control. Get me.)
I don’t meditate. While I can sit for hours without moving, I cannot seem to quiet my mind. I’ve been taught more than one technique, and have tried many times. Meditation was huge in the 70’s and 80’s when I was going through all those alcohol rehabilitation programs. I just never got it.
I’m looking for a graceful way to end this little ditty.
I’ll just aplogize to Mary for not talking (again) and go away…..
