Alright, it's that time of year when it's blistering cold; and the best thing to warm you up is a hot bowl of hearty soup. Seriously, between this soup and beef stew; there's no need for central heat. Talk about comfort foods - gah.
Boil and mash three or four large 'baking potatoes' (Russett's). Dice two more (or three red potatoes) and leave raw. I use red potatoes in this second part becuase they give the soup more body. But whatever.
Sweat three leaks (sliced, white stalks only), a medium yellow onion, and a couple cloves are garlic until soft; not translucent. Add a couple teaspoons of thyme.
Add a quart or two of milk to the sweat, salt and pepper to taste, and bring to a bare simmer.
Toss in both the mashed and diced potatoes, maintaining a bare simmer. Salt and pepper to taste again, as this drastically changes the volume of the soup. Cook until the diced potatoes are soft enough to your liking. Check the spicing again, and when you're satisfied; remove from heat and stir in a cup or two of heavy cream. Garnish with parsley.
A note about the milk/cream: That's just a guideline. I was making this recipe one night and realized all I had was less than half a gallon of milk and a 1qt container of half-and-half. I couldn't leave the house, and using two quarts of milk was impossible. Instead I used: maybe two cups of milk, a cup or two of chicken broth, a cup or two of water; and instead of cream at the end I used a cup and a half of half-and-half. When I mashed the potatoes I mashed them up with maybe a tablespoon of lard just to make sure I got some of the fat back into the soup.
Regardless, the consistency should be not as thick as mashed taters, but not as thin as chicken noodle soup. Think thick chowder or something.
So I was hanging out with the neighbor the other day. More and more, I enjoy tagging along with the guy. He's like my grandfather; battle-worn, self-reliant; but I suppose he probably drinks a little heavier than Grandaddy did at his age.
We were just having a couple of beers really, sitting in some rockers on the porch.
"So, looks like the economy might take a turn for the worse in the next couple months," I say.
"Meh," he grunts. "You know, a poor man never survived this life without being a do it yourselfer. I was raised in the Depression, and damned if we didn't grow or make nearly everything we had. There was no plumber or lawn maintenance crew when I grew up here. Hell, there was barely a grocery store. If we needed it, we had to figure out how to do it ourselves. That's how people live when they don't have money. Nowadays, people buy shit just to buy shit."
I sip my beer and stay quiet. I like to see how long his momentum lasts before he needs any kind of conversational input to keep him rolling.
"You know, I'll tell you a secret boy. Those people you bought your house from, they took out a line of credit on that home as soon as they could, and damned if they didn't get upside down in a jiffy. And for what? A boat. A big shiny truck to drive around town in. Both of which they had to dump like they dumped the house when they got divorced. You kids are morons, you know it? I'm not a money man 'er anything; but I've got some common sense, I tell you what."
"Wait. You've got a big truck just to drive around town," I motioned to the monster in his driveway. It's too big for his garage. "So what the hell?"
He rolled his eyes. "Boy, that's a 1989 Dodge Ram with a Cummins turbo diesel. I've put more miles on that one truck than you've driven or ridden in every car you've ever been in. It was paid for before your narrow ass was old enough to drive, and I keep it because it's free. See, common sense."
"Well, it's a real peice a shit. I can see why you so proudly display it in your front yard like that."
"Up yours city boy."
Religion, bringing the reason to the season since. . . 0.
I had a wild one last night. Actually, late this morning. I was at a beachfront hotel/resort with extended family. My wife, brother, his wife, Dad, Mom (!?), uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents. I was snorkeling with two of my cousins, while the rest of the family ate lunch on a nearby veranda. I also noticed that some good friends from highschool and their kids had joined the party, as well as an old girlfriend and her child. I remember feeling really good, because all of these people were here and getting along. So I got out of the water and walked to the counter to return my rental snorkle equipment. While standing there waiting for the receipt, I notice this huge explosion a couple hundred yards offshore. Me and the rental guy are all "Holy shit!", and then I notice that there's at least one battleship out there, and a giant cruiseliner - the latter of which is steaming directly for the hotel.
I immediately assume that the cruise ship means me no good will, so I start sprinting up the stairs to the front exit with the rental guy in hot pursuit. Some of the guests are doing the same, while some of them simply clap and continue to sip cocktails like they're being ambushed by a dinner theater or something. As I'm running out of the hotel, I hear a swell of panicked shrieks well up behind me, and I shout to my family to head out to the street, putting the hotel building between themselves and the approaching behemoth.
As I'm running across the front patio, I look behind me and see that the cruiseship actually looms taller than the hotel, as its bow smashes through the roof and upper stories of the building. I try to judge where the debris is going to fall, if I should keep running or let it fall in front of me and then just climb over it. I decide to make a mad dash for the street since everyone else already has a headstart on me.
Looking behind me again, I can see the cruise ship backing up with a grinding metal growl. The screaming begins to swell again, as people realize this can only mean a second kamikaze run. I reach the median of the main street, maybe 100 yards from the hotel, which is about 100 yards from the beach, and begin to sweep the scattering crowd for familiar faces. I see my brother, yell at him, then see Mom, Dad, and my aunt and uncle running together. We collect ourselves into a group, and try to figure out what to do next. My brother and I are frantically trying to figure out where our wives are, wondering if maybe they're together, when I wake up. Sweating.
I had the strange sensation when I woke up that I wanted to stay in the dream. I guess to find out where my wife was. Odd.
My Mother told me,
'for she passed away,
said 'Son when I'm gone, don't forget to pray'.
'Cuz there'll be hard times.
Alright, I won't do it anymore. She never was one for fanfare. She wouldn't appreciate it; matter of fact she'd feel downright uncomfortable about the whole goddamn deal. All these people harrassing themselves about something they can't change. They'd be better off just rolling with it and letting the whole damn deal be. But I won't deny that I'm so pissed. Mom, as much as you know I love to tell stories, I never thought the best ones would leave such a sour taste in my mouth.
So, in your memory, and in the only way I can figure how; I celebrate the one and only anniversary. I love ya, I miss ya; always will. But I won't piss myself away over your passing, no matter how much I want to. I know; 'I've got my own life, I'll have my own kids...' You were always that way. Why did you have to be that way. So much better than the rest of us. But I will, for you. I'll raise my kids and tell them about their parents, and their grandparents; and one day. Oh one day. They'll do something and it will remind me of you.
Why couldn't your legacy...
But you were the most...
It's so...
Dammit, you would say that!
From the Washington Times.
Key Quote: "Nothing creates cognitive dissonance in the mind of a true believer."
Oh, and 'Heh'.
Finished painting the livingroom/entryway/hallway last night. It looks a lot better than the shit-brown the previous owners had slapped up. Quite honestly, it looked like they'd put a paintbrush in the hands of a blind epileptic and just let 'em go at it. We still need to go around the trim and ceiling to get all the overlapping brown off. They call it painter's tape for a reason. Yeesh.
Now that the holiday season is upon us, it's time to look back on the year 2007:
Britney Spears. Quite possibly the quickest celebrity spiral since Pee Wee Herman was caught in a skin flick theater in flagrante delicto. Words of advice to Britney? Well darling, you've pretty much screwed the pooch with complete abandon this year, so it can only get better. As long as you don't get caugh masturbating in a public theater. Well, on second thought, that might be a step up.
Michael Vick. I have to admit 23 months is pretty harsh, especially considering this is a man who pretty much has zero future left. I mean, we all know what goes on in prisons these days, and you can bet your ass (or, more appropriately, Mr. Vick's) that there's at least 17 seperate sick mofo's in the big house who can't wait to be the first to make Vick their girlfriend. Two years of that is going to turn him into the NFL's version of Mike Tyson, and the first time they let him back on the field he'll be biting people's ears off. The rest is history.
George Bush. He's like the crappy girlfriend or boyfriend. He makes stupid mistakes, your friends don't respect him, he says the wrong things at the wrong time; but you just can't get enough of the sex. That's right America, you're having sex with the president. If the man turns you off, don't sweat it because according to all the pundits, you can look forward to having sex with Hillary Clinton in the near future.
Appalachian State University. The only I-AA team to ever beat a I-A team, at Ann Arbor no less; and consecutive 3-time national champions. You wish you went there.
Hollywood writers. Rich people haven't complained this much since Cape Wind. Get over it you moaning dickbags!
Well, that's pretty much everything that happened in '07. I know you could swear that more things happened this year, but they didn't.
So I started this new game, it's called "What Would You Do". Basically, I give a couple of scenarios and see what people would do given those circumstances. One of my new neighbors is this guy who's a real live yokel. He was born in the rural area we moved out to, worked there as a plumbing contractor his whole life, and is now retired. He gets up every morning as I'm leaving the house for work (about 7am), opens his garage door, and begins his daily activities. From what I can tell his daily activities include but are not limited to: smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee and cans of beer, talking on the phone, working in the yard, bringing everyone's garbage cans in, and rachet-jawing us all near half to death. In all honesty though he's a real character; so I decided to make him my first unwitting contestant the other day.
"So, what would you do if Hillary Clinton was elected president?"
"Holy shiet son!" His eyeballs got all wide and sunken in. "Don't say that kin' ner stuff out loud boy, you're liable to give me the vapors. Jaysus."
"If you could pick anyone for president, who would it be?"
"Oh. Hmm." He rubbed the permanent white stubble on his face. It's like he never shaves, but it never gets long either. "Do they have to be alive?"
"Well, yeah; I mean, then everyone would just pick John Wayne."
"Yeah, you prolly right on that 'un." More thoughtful hands rubbing thoughtful stubble. I began to wonder if maybe he'd forgotten the question when he said flatly, "Jimmie Johnson."
"What would you do if the entire Internet collapsed due to some kind of worldwide worm?"
"The inner what?"
"What would you do if the whole social order was disrupted, and we fell into utter chaos?"
"Boy, let me share something with you that my father used to say: 'If flies carried shotguns, frogs wouldn't fuck with 'em so much.' You see what I mean?"
"Um. What?"
"If your aunt had balls, she'd be your uncle!"
"WTF!?"
"Dammit boy, let me put this in words you'ns can unnerstand: Worrying about hypothetical bullshit is a waste of time, because things out of your control are either inveitable or impossible, in which case all you can do is deal with them as they develop."
The Wife and I closed on our new house last month. I had heard that kind of thing was stressful, but boy did I underestimate the situation. Every day there was some kind of crisis: lost social security cards, inspection punch lists, then the moving began.
Now that we're in, there's a seemingly endless list of projects to take care of. Unfortunately, it sounds like the kind of stuff that will only end in the kind of hijinks a guy like me always gets caught in. So if I ever have any spare time between painting, hanging shelving, tiling backsplashes, and cleaning up all the resulting messes; there might be some new posts here at some point in the future.
