I express my love with Pork

Last night I went and bought a 10 pound ham and took over the kitchen with a fit of frenzy. I prepared the ham in the tradition of my people, which involves pineapple slices and brown sugar.

Unsatisfied that ham alone is the full embodiment of comfort, I peeled, boiled and mashed potatoes with generous additions of butter, cream, salt and pepper.

I got some of those big foil roasting pans and prepared everything to take upstairs to Isaiah's grandmother. She was not home, which ulimately was a good thing as it gave the ham time to cool from third-degree-burn-straight-out-of-the-oven temperature to warm and ready to eat.

I heard the sound of people walking around which meant that someone was home.
When I got to the door, the next door neighbor saw me and just opened the door.

I walked into an apartment full of older women in flowered dresses all scuttling about. Isaiah's grandmother was not there, but one of the ladies helped me carry everything to the kitchen and then I departed. I hope that the ham goes to good use. I know it's hard to think of food when grieving, but I just hope that my love expressed through pork will warm their souls a bit.

Celebrating a Life/Losing Isaiah

Yesterday was K's birthday. We celebrated in grand style with a dinner of seafood namely our luxurious crustacean friend, mister Lobster. We then gathered with the lovely KL, DD and LMO for drinks. I feel very blessed to have K in my life and am
thankful that he was born and is alive and well. I could not have asked for
a better soul mate. I am truly blessed.

We were making our way back home, opening the apartment door when we ran into our friend Emma who lives one floor directly above us. She was on her way to the hospital. Her grandson Isaiah had been hit by a car and she informed us that he was unconscious. I could see the pain and distress in her eyes. I could sense the shock and I had a hard time taking in what she was saying. I tried to continue the acknowledgement/celebration of K's birthday, but I couldn't stop thinking about Isaiah.

We went about our evening trying not to think about Isaiah and finally went to bed.

This morning we woke to the sound of someone ringing our doorbell. K got up to answer it as I was still bleery-eyed and not yet ready to greet the morning. As soon as he opened the door, I could hear her cries "He's gone. He's gone" Everything else was muffled unintelligible echos swelling in the hallway. Konstantine returned to bed asking if I had heard and if I knew what she had said. I said I didn't think I wanted to know. He confirmed that I had heard correctly. He's gone.

Isaiah was 13 years old. He was a musician, a writer, a very special little man who
always addressed me by name and looked me in the eyes. He had kind eyes and a soul that glowed beyond his skin. There was something wise about him, an old soul. Isaiah had trouble walking due to being born with spina bifida. I'm not sure if this in part led to the tragic accident. I don't know all the details. I just know that he is gone and that his family now grieves. I find myself filled with overwhelming sadness to know that he died so young. He had many songs and stories to write that will go unwritten.

It is a tragedy like this that makes one really appreciate life and the loved ones we have. Every day could be our last and every moment is so important.

Isaiah, I am so sorry that you did not get to do everything you planned to do in this life. I hope that you are at peace. You will be missed.

I now find myself trying to decide what best food to cook for his family.
I know it's not exclusively a southern thing, but most of my upbringing being in the south, there is some automatic caserole instinct that kicks in and takes over. It is my knee jerk reaction to tragedy that I must turn the oven on. I must cook.

Pine Mouth

image randomly stolen from the internet following a google search. uncredited, so sue me.

"WHAT?"You may be asking yourself is pine mouth?

It is not some after-effect of chewing on a pinecone or a post holiday sydrome brought about by humping the Christmas tree. It may sound like a joke or a made-up phrase or some sort of sister to the dreaded pot smoker's cotton mouth, but I assure you that pine mouth is none of these things and is yet very serious business.

I will share my story with you today. Hopefully, my tale of bitter whoa will help to spare you from the agony that I suffered. Like countless others, I fell victim to this dreaded condition for almost two weeks, just in time for christmas dinner. Our stories are countless. Many of us suffer in silence, in the shadows. Today I step into the light to speak of my tribulation.

A few weeks ago, We received an early Christmas gift from my mother. It was a cuisinart griddler, a great tool in the making of panini, the Italian grilled glamour sandwich. I was so exciited that I ran to whole foods and bought a bunch of pine nuts to make pesto along with an assortment of cheeses, sun dried tomatoes and ecoutrement to immerse myself body and soul into the ancient art of panini.

I should mention that the bag of pinenuts I purchased was rather large. When I got home, I began ecstatically chopping up the garlic, basil and pine nuts for my pesto (using this recipe). I was hungry, which is a constant state for me. My pet tape worm felix requires constant attention, and I generally oblige. I shoved a handful of pinenuts into my mouth and gobbled them down. One handful led to two, led to three, led to....well, six. Ok. I'm a pig. I gorged myself on pinenuts and then ate a panini with lots of pesto on it. K and Laura did not consume the quantity of pine nuts that I did, but they did enjoy the luxurious lusciousness of my homemade pesto on their sandwiches.

In an ideal world my story would end here, with a full belly and a happily ever after and maybe a Post script titled "midnight bacon snack". Alas, dear readers, my story begins two days after my flirtation with panini and my glutenous mouth affair with the temptress known as pine nut.

On Thursday morning (2 days after panini) I woke up and grabbed my morning cup of coffee. When I took my first sip, it tasted, well, off. It was bitter and rotten tasting. I just thought perhaps my corner coffee shop had made a bad batch or something. Lunch time rolled around and I took a bight of my lunch. It tasted bitter, mettalic and rotten. I began to worry. What was wrong with me?

I contacted my doctor A.K.A. a google search of my symptoms...sudden bitter taste in mouth. Oddly enough an article about pine nuts came up. I read of the phenomenon known as pine mouth. Multiple people 1-3 days after ingesting pine nuts experienced a bitter metalic taste with all food and drink lasting for up to 2 weeks. I looked for a remedy and found that not only does no one know the cause of pine mouth but there is not cure except to just let it run its course. I also discovered that this phenomenon seemed to be specific for the most part to pine nuts grown in china.

I was confused because the pine nuts I bought were Whole Foods own brand. Surely Whole Foods with its whole organic produce philosophy would not be importing its pine nuts from a country with the most questionable farming practices in the world? right?
I called Whole Foods and was told that all their own label foods including the pine nuts were grown here in the United States. I didn't take their word for it though. I went into the store to double check this and surely enough MADE IN CHINA was on a sticker on the back of the pine nuts.

I went online and found multiple articles on pine mouth and chinese pine nuts and like the crazy cat lady that I am, I stapled and paperclipped all the articles and walked back into whole foods and asked to speak to the manager. He of course looked at me like I was crazy and I insisted that he look at my documentation on pine mouth and that the pine nuts should have a warning or be removed from the shelves. He said he would forward the information to their corporate headquarters.

Continuing on my rampage of outrage, I wrote and email to corporate Whole Foods. Almost immediately I received a form letter response that was specific to pine mouth. Whole Foods was completely aware that they were selling a product that could make everything their customer ate for up to 2 weeks taste bitter. Unsatisfied by this form letter, I sent an email of outrage and a request that they warn customers of this issue or find another source for their pine nuts. Their response was basically that I could return the pine nuts for a refund and that they were sorry.

I now have a boycott on whole foods. Any company that would knowingly sell tainted pine nuts and have a form letter prepared to fire off at angry customers is not a company that I will ever again support with my business.

My pine mouth lasted for two weeks. The only things that tasted normal were scotch and broccoli, but I forced myself to eat the bitter tasting things instead of becoming an alcoholic cruciferous vegetable addict. Actually I already am a bit of a cruciferous vegetable addict and with the many health benefits of being one, why not?

So, consider this your warning. Something strange is going on with pine nuts. The FDA is investigating it and nobody knows what causes pine mouth, but believe me, you don't want to have it.

Cooking and Cleaning and Scrubbing the Tub

Yesterday I went into a cleaning frenzy the likes of which hasn't been seen in our apartment in quite some time. I enlisted the help of K and dove headfirst into an all day scrub fest. Bucket of bleach and soap with yellow rubber glove in tow, I scrubbed every inch of tile and swept like a crazy person. We gave the apartment a very thorough head to toe cleaning. We took a break to make a brunch of sorts with poached eggs, steamed spinach, oatmeal and my good friend bacon.

We completely rearranged the living room which does double duty as my office/editing suite. We decided to part with two chairs that the cat has basically destroyed. They were these beautiful danish midcentury modern molded plywood chairs that someone had thrown into the trash. K and I had found them when we first started dating and he helped me carry them home. We carried both chairs out to the curb and ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the cycle was complete and they returned to the place from where they once came. There is a new zen quality to the space and everything is so much more open and flowing. It feels good to get rid of some of the clutter and get the space to a place where it can breath again.

The desk used to face a wall and now it faces a window. It seems so much more inspiring to sit looking out the window rather than staring at the cold plaster wall.

I feel like I'm going through my own personal spring. Doing the spring cleaning and preparing for my own garden to start blossoming. Lord knows it feels like spring with how much rain we've been getting. It never seems to stop. I know it will soon enough though. There are good things ahead.

May-oh-no-no!

Mayonaise is like the poor man's butter, you can add it to almost anything and increase the fatty goodness and flavor. What would Potato salad or tuna salad or a BLT be without mayo. I hobble through this world carrying many sinful vices , one of which is an overindulgance in foods of a fatty nature. Bacon is at the top of the list, but in a close third just behind butter there is Mayo.

Recently I thought it necessary to buy a giant tub of mayo as part of my stockpiling madness. I also recently turned up the temperature of the fridge because things had been freezing. I noticed more recently that milk seems to go bad so quickly, but attributed this to the fact that it was fresh milk from the farmer's market. Perhaps, I turned the temperature up too high in the fridge, yes the same one with the giant tub of mayo. Do you see the kitten tied to the railroad tracks? in other words the impending doom facing my belly?

We were invited to dinner on Thursday by our friends Jason and Simon. Jason cooked an amazing meal centered around one of my favorite forms of pig, the porkchop. We had wine, enjoyed music and the company of Jason's friend Heather. All was well in the world. We said our goodbyes and walked home.

When we got home I was a bit peckish, so I made veggie burgers from frozen patties and put some mayo and ketchup on the side. I awoke to the sound of K vomitting but thought nothing of it. People vomit. I made myself a sandwich for lunch slathered with a generous helping of mayo. A couple hours after eating said sandwich, I began to get extremely nauseous. I ran to the bathroom and went all Linda Blair on the toilet. I still did not make the mayo connection, but thought perhaps we had both gotten a stomach bug similar to the one I had wrongly blamed on the empanada place. I think they may have closed. I think it might have been my fault. Oh dear. The last stomach bug was extremely contageous and basically struck everyone. I watched all my friends fall like dominoes around me. Well, anyway I heard no word of anyone else being sick and I will spare you the gorry details, but I have never in my life vomitted like I did on Friday. I could not hold down water and the pain was horrific. I spent Saturday in bed most of the day just recovering from Friday, but luckily by Sunday I was back to normal.

So, with picnic season fast approaching, please heed the warning of making sure you keep all dishes containing mayo nice and cold. Don't let what happened to me happen to you. On the upside if it does happen to you, the weightloss side-effect is amazing. I lost that last stuborn 5 pounds around my waistline and just in time for spring break. ;)

Celebrating Lo Mein

Today I tip my hat to Shrimp Lo Mein and thank it for helping me to meet my daily dietary fat requirements.

The Right Foot

not the left foot,
the right foot. That's the one you're supposed to be starting this year on. Do you have your list or are you too cool for a list? I personally don't believe in them.
You probably believe in them, but then again, You're reading the rant, so you're probably absolutely perfect and in no need of change.

I'm going to make a rough resolution, just to get you started. Yes, I know we're already 8 days into the new year, but most people like me are procrastinators and you probably all got drunk on New Year's which means you started your year passed out in a pile of your own sick with ripped stockings and a missing pump next to a naked midget name Raul. Sorry, I know midget isn't politically correct. Please forgive me. Anyway, it's not me. It's you...oh no. wait. That's not right. It's not you. It's me. ok, so if I had problems, ya know, things I need to work on, well, I would sit down to write one of those listy thingies and it would go something like this...

1. Eat more butter and or things with butter
2. Smile More & Generally Be less guarded
3. Get more sleep
4. exercise more
5. drink less
6. listen more
7. talk less
8. save more
9. spend less
10. Become conversational in the French Language

Alright, so over the next week, let's talk about these 10 items, starting today with Item 4. Some of you may think that item 4 is in direct conflict with Item 1, but I strongly disagree. Anyhoo, here's the rant's very own exercise guru, Richard Simmons. Today he's gonna show us all how we can sweat to the oldies. There isn't a better way I could imagine losing that spare tire, than doing choreographed dance routines with Richard Simmons.

Blueberries or Botox?

These are the really important questions we have to ask ourselves as we age.
As a society we find ourselves constantly bombarded with images of the unattainable ideal of perfection. Every photo is meticulously airbrushed, every blemish and crow's foot miraculously erased. This used to be the case only for women, but men have found themselves standing at a cosmetic crossroad. We can thank marketing and advertising for this, but ultimately I blame the homos. I hate to pile more blame on the plates of a group who are constantly accused of being the cause of hurricanes, terrorist acts, and single-handedly unraveling the moral fiber of society. Oh and of course destroying the sanctity of marriage and ruining the once perfect American family.

Thanks homos. Thanks a lot. You needed hot airbrushed muscular tan asses for your brochure promoting South beach and now we have to choose between injection botulism into our faces or having our skin stretched so tight we look like Chinese alien babies (see Michael Jackson)

Anyway, I digress.
If you happen to find yourself a little older today, perhaps feeling as worn out as a hooker in Tijuana after a marathon donkey show, then there is hope for you. There's no need to cover your sagging bag of bones in a full-body gauze tent. You just need to eat some blueberries and it will all be better.
Here's a link to a WebMD article about aging gracefully....
Bye Bye Botox and hello Blueberries.

Typhoid Mary would like to retract her statement

Last week, after a meal of Empanada's at the newly opened location for Empanada Joe's on 22nd street, I became very ill with what I thought for sure was food poisoning. I have discovered over the course of the last few days as those around me have fallen ill , condemned to a similar fate of toilet hugging, that I was too quick to conclude food poisoning to be the source of my harrowing experience.

It is rare that I remove a post from this blog. However, in this case, I feel it is necessary to prevent any unfair criticism of Empanada Joes. I afterall did enjoy the food that I had there and it was reasonably priced. It is important to be able to admit when one has made a mistake, and in this case I have concluded that I was wrong.
I whole heartedly apologize to the folks over at Empanada Joes and wish them all the best with their new location.

That being said, Please everyone be aware that there is a highly contagious virus that can be spread with very little physical contact. (see here) I rode the train with poor Carrie Thomas on Thursday and on Friday night, she found herself bowing to the porcelain god.

On Saturday evening, Konstantine also fell to his knees and bowed his head in the confessional known as Jason and Simon's bathroom.

I sign this post typhoid Mary, admittedly wrong...but ultimately just happy to eat solid food again.

Solid Food=A beautiful thing

Slowly I am venturing back to solid food.
Tentatively I can say that it is a good thing.
I'm such a foodie. I love to cook, to eat.
I may not have empanadas for a long time but I plan on relishing this weekend in the splendors of solid food once again.

Ricky...Thank you for the kind wishes. They seem to have worked. :)

9 to 5

Something rather alarming happened over the weekend. For many this wouldn't seem alarming, but for me, well, it's a different story. We ran out of beans in the cupboard. I being a crazy stockpiler of canned goods and former grocery store employee, maintain my cupboard like a grocery shelf. As soon as I buy a can of beans, it goes behind the previous cans so that the oldest can is at the front and will be grabbed first. This is something we called "Rotating Shelves" in my previous life.

Being aware of shelf rotation when shopping, I pull cans off the shelf and buy the cans at the back knowing that they are the freshest. I do the same with milk and almost everything I buy, digging until I find the items with the latest expiration dates.
These neurotic behaviors most specifically the stockpiling have been brought into question in the past. With slightly raised eyebrow and subtle smiles, my boyfriend looks at me with that adoring look given only to one capable of coupling with someone as neurotic as my self.

We went to the corner store to put a bandaid on the situation and buy a few cans of beans only to discover that the beans were marked at 95 cents a can. I was shocked. 95 cents a can, really? I thought for sure someone dyslexic must have just started working at the grocery store, switching the 9 to a 5 and vice versa. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Upon visiting another store I discovered an outrageous bean price of $1.29 a can, I accepted the sad state of affairs with a tinge of regret. If only I had bought more cans of beans 6 months ago when they were 59 cents a can. It's amazing that the price of beans, a staple of my poor man's diet has doubled in less than a year.

I hate buying dried beans, but it looks like I will now be stockpiling dry beans in mason jars.

As a child, I remember being at my grandparent's house on their farm in Oklahoma. They had this walk-in pantry with enough food to survive for months without going to the store. Something about it always creaped me out because half the labels were faded and tinted a shade of green. The brands were some I had never heard of and I even think perhaps some of those cans had been placed in the cupboard during the 1st great depression. We find ourselves on the brink of a possible second great depression. My grandmother, having been forced to move to California during the dustbowl (see grapes of wrath aka her life story) has been preparing all her life for a second great depression. Knowing it was only a matter of time, she has been patiently building her reserves.

I live a world away in New York. I was born into the commercial excess of the 1980's and the proliferation of Public relations and marketing to the masses. I was part of the MTV generation but grew up in a town that didn't have MTV. I didn't even see MTV until it had morphed into the epicenter of reality television, a plague that has swallowed popular culture and vomitted out people like Paris Hilton, Clay Aiken, and a heard of forgettable ladder climbers clinging to their five to fifteen minutes of fame. Despite the distance in time, space and generation, like my grandmother I find myself stockpiling canned goods, building my reserves and preparing for some sort of tragedy. Sometimes I wonder if this makes my cynical, practical, crazy or all of the above. No matter what it means, instinctively, like a squirrel burying nuts, I forage through the isles of grocery stores looking for choice nuts to bury until some sort of winter brings hunger. It is impulse. It is instinct. It is what needs to be done. The urgency for which this task holds in my conciousness is ever growing. It is this urgency which scares me most.

My first cooking show...sorta

I am a foodie at heart. Last night I was cooking black bean quesadillas, a new favorite recipe I've been working on. I make them with chipotle peppers, freshly made achote oil(extra virgin olive oil + Achote), freshly cut cilantro, diced onion, bell peppers, pressed garlic, chili powder, garlic powder, a little salt and black pepper. These ingredients + extra sharp cheddar cheese are sandwiched between two tortillas and cooked to crispy perfection in a pan with Achote oil, which gives the quesadillas a beautuful golden color. Oh, they are soooo good.

On the subject of food, here's a little video with some great information on how to prepare and cook fish from "a Chef at Large" in Hong Kong. Turn up the volume around the 5:11 for a little surprise.

A Chef At Large- Episode 6 "Go Fish"

Temptation thy name is iphone

Much like the apple that tempted eve,
this little apple is another forbidden fruit,
a pandora's box if you ask me. Do I need the internet in my pocket? No one needs the internet in their pocket.
Oh so sleek. Must resist. Must be sensible and spend money on recording equipment.
I am buying a new preamp for the studio this week, afterall. Not as much fun as an iphone yet more expensive. ugh.

My phone is a $20 samsung brick off of ebay. It barely texts
and sometimes it just shuts off spontaneously.
so sad.I had a phone for a while where I had to shove a cuticle trimmer into it to turn it on and off. I referred to it as my phone tooI. I remember a stranger catching me in an ATM vestibule fighting with my phone, yelling at it and shoving the phone tool in and out of it. My reaction was to laugh hysterically further promoting a first impression that I might not be stable or sane. I feel like jesus wants me to have an iphone. My ipod now only plays music in one side...only one ear...and my phone spontaneously started shutting itslelf off 3 days before the launch of the new iphone. That has to be jesus, right?
Oh and I got a $30 gift certificate to apple for my birthday.... Jesus?

I can try to justify it all I want, but in my heart I know that I do not need an iphone.
I shall spend my money on rice, beans, bacon and recording equipment.
I must make sacrifices for the greater good. :)

Attack of the Phantom Chicken

I smell fried chicken. It took me a while to realize that there is no friend chicken cooking anywhere in the vicinity.
Maybe I have begun to run low on some essential vitamin or phytonutrient that can only be obtained by scarfing down a heaping helping of KFC or Popeyes. I don't know. It's weird. I'm like an amputee who feels an itch on his no longer present toe.

Is phantom fried chicken a sign of brain tumor?

You can stand under my umbrella

It's April in New York. In fact, it's April everywhere, well unless you live an an alternate dimension, but then again according the the show sliders, time is consistent in parallel dimensions so it would only not be April if the residents of said alternate dimension have developed a different calendar, which is totally plausable.
I digress.

The heavens have opened their floodgates pouring forth the nourishing showers that wash away the smell of urine and give life to spring flowers. An unfortunate consequence of this soppy month, other than rainsoaked uggs that smell like wet dog is the emergence of the super umbrella. Please see image above.

The super umbrella is the most selfish act of hatred perpetrated against the citizens of a city where space is limited and highly valued. These sociopaths have taken it on themselves to carry a personal tent that will knock you into the gutter and stab you in the eye as they open it coming up the subway stairs. You could fit a three ring circus with syncronized dancing baby seals under these damn things. I respect a person's right and need to stay dry during inclimate weather, but seriously, you people who assault innocent pedestrians with your barnum and baily brellas need to get up out of my grill, cuz I do have a dull nail file, and I will cut you. I kid, of course. I don't promote or condone violence toward assholes.

On another note, I'm pleased to announce that after months of searching for the perfect avacado, I have struck gold. Frequent trips to the produce section had proved to be unfruitful with avocados ranging from hard as a rock to soft as a sponge with little inbetween. I had become convinced that there was an army of mexicans who took all the edible avocados out of the stores at 4 am while I was sleeping. I however, am ok with this. Their need for good Avocados far outweighs mine and there are times when you have to suck it up for the greater good. Please note, not all mexicans eat avocados, in fact there may be some of our friends from south of the border who like bratwurst and KasseKuchen. This comment on avocados in no way should be taken as a blanket statement about Mexicans.

I do not condone or promote violence over avocados. I did however once fight a woman for a free ham at the local pathmark. She was black, I mean african american, actually she could have been jamaican, but I would have fought her for the ham if she were chinese or white. Actually, if she were chinese and old, I might have let her take the ham. I have a softspot in my heart for older asian women after reading Joy Luck Club. This should not be taken as a blanket statement about old asian women. Some are sweet as pie and some will claw your eyes out over a ham. Sometimes you have to make a judgement call, weighing your need for the prize ham against the need to keep your eyes. I won the hamfight, btw, and I've never had a ham that tasted so good.

***Disclaimer: The above post is in no way intented to disparage, degrade or otherwise stereotype any mentioned racial groups. I strongly believe in equality and respect for all people regardless of age, sex, race, sexual orientation, religion, lack of religion, and despite questionable fashion choices. I think laughter is the best medicine but should not come at the cost of hurting others. If you have found this article in any way, offensive, please let me know. I will enlist my half greek boyfriend in our predominantly carribean neighborhood to alter this posting in a way that will remove any offensive material***

A trip to the Swanson-Lowry Bed and Breakfast

We drove up to Simon and Jason's country home on Friday for Easter. It is this beautiful 200 year old house nestled between a pond and a dairy farm in upstate New York. There is a fireplace, no cellphone service and a real sense of peace and quiet about the place. It's the perfect spot to drink wine, eat num nums and sleep much too late.

On Saturday we went to the market to buy groceries, wine and pick up a salmon which Jason was preparing to poach via the kindly influences of Martha Stewart using his newly purchased fish poacher. We made a visit to the pond to look at the fish, who gather near the edge hoping for crumbs as tadpoles wiggled around in the water. We watched a woodpecker brutalzing a tree.

We returned to the house and boiled eggs for coloring. The kit came with one of those wax pens and in an adorable display of affection, Simon, Jason, K and I all wrote sweet little love notes on eggs. "I love K" "Jason and Simon 4ever" "Robert is hot" "I love Jason"...if you need a little bag to vom in, let me know. When the eggs emerged from their little plastic dye buckets our secret love notes were revealed along with an egg on which I wrote "jesus is risen" with a little cross.

In the evening we were joined by Lauren, Linda and Kyle and had a Roast with green beans, Yorkshire pudding and my famous wasabi twice baked potatoes.

After a lovely dinner, we sat by the fire until the consumption of wine and brandy turned the kitchen into a disco party. There are photos. If not too embarrassing, perhaps I will share.

On Sunday I made bloody marys and observed and occasionally helped with the preparations for an exceedingly delectable brunch centered around a highly pampered fish cooked with much love and care. I did not want to leave for the city, wishing we had one more day in the country,but alas, all good things must come to an end. With food in our bellies and the warmth of holiday cheer in our corroded hearts, we piled into a car and returned to the urban jungle.

Thank you to Simon and Jason for inviting us into your home and providing the utmost hospitality.

The Rant gives the Swanson-Lowry Bed and Breakfast 5 out of 5 stars.

Ho Ho Hooters (a Christmas backbLOG)

She swirled her purple pen across the napkin, signing her name with a heart and caressing it as she delicately placed it near the edge of our table.

"Hi, My name is Sasha, and I'll be your Hooters girl for the evening. Can I get you something to drink to start off?"

I never thought I would hear these words coming out of anyone's mouth let alone on Christmas day, let alone at Hooters. Yes, you read that right. Hooters.

I took off for Topeka Kansas with my father to catch a 4:30 showing of Sweeney Todd on Christmas day. We were on a tight schedule and our plans were thwarted after my father was pulled over by a police officer for speeding. The officer only gave him a warning seeing as it was christmas and all.

We got to the theater 15 minutes late and the next show wasn't until 7:25, so we had two hours to kill. We discovered that everything was closed for christmas including McDonald's which shocked me. I thought for sure that they pumped out artery clogging mystery meat 365 days a year.

Split between going to Denny's and Hooters, I chose the option that involved hot wings and booze.

I expected to see women writhing on greesy poles, oiled up like roasting pigs, bits of flesh and torn edges hanging as old men drooled and stuffed dollars into cleavage and crevices like a reverse ATM machine.

The reality was much more pedestrian. Hooters is a "family" restaurant or so it seemed on christmas day. It was no more scandalous than a Brooklyn dive bar. The food was good. The waitress was nice. Yes, she was wearing a santa hat. Yes she had a nice "rack" and a low cut neckline. I highly recommend the wings, so if you stop through Topeka, say hi to Sasha. Let her wet your napkin with her purple pen. Tip her well and tell her that Robert sent ya.

Rest in Peace, Ashes and Dust

Early this morning very quietly and I hope peacefully,
my grandmother took her final breath and slipped away from this world.

Leona Messer raised 7 children, one of whom is my mother.
I know that her life was hard at times. I know that she wasn't always
able to deal with the hardship. I understand.

My fondest memories of my grandmother are the car rides to the orthodontist
when I was only 14. I was allowed to drive because Kansas laws are strange, but
I had to have an adult in the car with me, so grandma would come along.
She would let me get fast food from McDonald's before they tightened my braces and the pain was so intense that I couldn't eat solid food for days. At the time, this felt like a naughty treat.
Grandma btw was a terrible driver. My sister once returned from a trip with her
saying that grandma had cut off a man, forcing him to take an exit to Amarillo, TX.
Apparently the man wasn't planning on going to Amarillo.

Over the last couple years my grandmother's health rapidly declined and dementia began
to take away her memories and eventually even her will to eat. She no longer recognized her own family members. The last time I visited her, she did not know who I was. After I left she kept asking where that boy had gone, wandering around looking for me.

In the last few months
her quality of life reached a place that was heartbreaking.
She no longer found anything in life that she enjoyed.

I am glad that she is no longer suffering and I hope that she is at peace in a better place.

The final song on my album is titled ashes and dust. I have never posted the lyrics. K and Laura both have requested this song played at their funerals. Today I post them in honor of my grandmother, a strong woman who lived a full life.

Ashes and Dust

In the beginning there was dust
the sun, the water
then there was us
but all the bridges began to rust
we must all return to dust when we are done

In the beginning there were ashes
there were no wars or social classes
now the buildings burn to ashes
we must all return to ashes when we're done.

In the end I wish you virtue
to hold the hand of the ones that hurt you
to heal the pain that is inside you
to hear your heartbeat and let it guide you
to have a smile for the ones that greet you
to find the time for the ones that need you
to let the love pour out like water from your soul.

Don't hold it in.
Just let it go.

I must have been hungry when I recorded that album

photo by the very busy Carrie Thomas

I am a foodie by nature, the food version of a Junkie.
I love cooking, eating and fantasizing about food. I guess it should come as no surprise that this obsession has creeped into the new album. I realized last night that I talk a lot about food on this album. As many of you know, I have a bacon fixation. Last Saturday was K's birthday. He asked for something fatty and decadent. I of course made him fried pork chops cooked in a blend of bacon fat, butter and Crisco. I swear I am not trying to kill him.

Thus far, the following food items have made it into the lyrics and let me just say that it sounds like I'm cooking up the heartattack special at the Greasy Spoon Diner.

chocolate, bacon, biscuits, gravy, pickles,flapjacks, mashed potatoes, milk, meatloaf, chicken, and eggs.

The Egg Report

In a previous post, I mentioned liberating the cooped up chickens with visions of their egg production doubling. I am please to announce that last week, the chickens laid their daily best of 17 eggs in one day. This tops the previous record of 9 eggs in one day and is more than double the 7 eggs a day that was their previous average production.

I receive periodic egg reports on which I will keep you updated.