Just a quick reminder
The party is still going at Jeff's come on by and bring a friend!
"I'm not gonna hit chya, no I'm not gonna hit chya" (winds back) "the hell I won't!" (throws punch!) -- John Wayne in "McClintock" "Out here, due process is a bullet." -- John Wayne "Green Berets"
The party is still going at Jeff's come on by and bring a friend!
Its coming, its coming, I can't wait!!!! If you don't know what I am talking about, you need to read the Guide or thumb a ride, or perhaps just have a spot of tea! Don't misplace your towel. Whoo Hoo, its here!
Caltechgirl has the new Carnival of the Recipes up and she did a great job. Go now!
Here is a picture of the Boy when he was about three months old and lifting himself from the ground for the first time. On this particular day, he rolled over for the very first time. And yes, his eyes are that blue (but they change color to a deep grey on occassion). Who woulda thunk it! I have very brown hair and brown asian eyes, and my baby has blue ones (his daddy has the prettiest ice blue eyes, and my daddy has hazel eyes (heavy on the blue-green) So there you have it a 1/4 asian baby with blue eyes. Wasn't he delicious?
I love portobello mushrooms. Grilled, sauted or even baked. So, here is an easy Portobello Mushroom Pasta! 2 cups farfalle (bow-tie pasta) 1 tablespoon olive oil 2 garlic cloves, minced 2 cups sliced portobello mushrooms 2 tablespoons dry sherry 1 (16-oz.) bag frozen broccoli, thawed, steamed to crisp-tender 2 tablespoons chopped fresh basil Salt Freshly ground pepper 1/2 to 3/4 cup (2 to 3 oz.) shredded Parmesan cheese 1. Prepare farfalle according to package directions. Drain. 2. Meanwhile, heat oil in large skillet over medium heat until hot. Add garlic; cook 1 minute. Add mushrooms; cook 6 to 8 minutes or until mushrooms are tender and slightly brown. Add sherry; remove from heat. Scrape bottom of pan to remove any brown bits. 3. Place farfalle in large bowl. Add mushroom-garlic mixture, broccoli, basil, salt and pepper. Top with cheese, and not crappy cheese, but good Asiago or freshly grated Parm!
Go here for directions: INCOMPREHENSIBLE
Sparky, Spot and Gus guard momma's car while she's gettin her hair done. See, Billy Joe, momma's ex-boytoy wants to get back at momma, so he's been a threatnin to slash her tayors. Sos, she needs these here guard pups to alert her when anyone touches her car. I think momma dun lit on a great idea! uploaded by cszar.Check out what our noisy naybors have to say here: basil's blog Bobo Blogger Cranky Neocon Cry Freedom Dangerous Logic Fistful of Fortnights Hector Vex's Infotainment It Is What It Is MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy Rachael Ray Redux Riehl World View Six Meat Buffet The Ebb & Flow Institute The Jawa Report Toner Mishap Vince Aut Morire
The Better Half is a volunteer fire-fighter. For those of you who don't live in a city, your fire department and possibly your EMS are volunteer. Redneck jokes aside, these deparments usually hold breakfasts, dinners, auctions and dances in order to raise money for the department. Every year, local governments decide that they "just can't help fund the department this year cause money is tight" while tossing tax money to duplicative services or their favorite slush fund. Remember, these are guys who might have to save your life or property one day. They need new gear, new trucks, insurance, new facilities and manpower, so . . . If it strikes your fancy, donate to those departments by eating there or dancing there. They could use your help. That is all . . .
The party was a success. Grandma never expected a thing, and was genuinely surprised. The turnout was impressive about 100 people. She said "how did you get these people here? I think its everyone I know!" So to anyone thinking about Grandma yesterday, thank you! Oh, and she got a special treat, my 2-year old sang her happy birthday. . .
Here is a picture of my Better Half pushing the Boy up the hill on the Boy's first sledding trip. He was a hoot! He would get down to the bottom of the hill, roll around in the snow and then jump up, dust himself off and yell "Again! Again!"
My grandma will be 80 next week. My dad and I have come to the conclusion, aided by some digging, that gran has never, ever in her 80 years had a birthday party. *Lightbulb on* So on Sunday, we are throwing a surprise party for my grandma. We have invited all the family we could think of, all the church friends, etc... We, as in my mom and me, are making all the food (I have already told you how we over do things . . . ). We expect about 100 people. Grandma's pastor is going to tell her congregation to join him for a "light lunch" at the fellowship hall. Then we will surprise, her by singing Happy Birthday. We can't yell surprise, the ole bat might have a heart attack! Let me tell you about my grandma. She doesn't look 80 (her birthday cake will say 'Happy 35th Birthday' on it). She has always been there for me. She took me in for a year when I was a wayward teen. She came to every significant event in my childhood and young adulthood. She selflessly gave to me when she really shouldn't. She's my grandma and I love her. Grandma took me to the beach, took me camping, to horse shows, to fairs, to rodeos, fishing, shopping, and even shooting. Grandma taught me to cook, taught me to bake, taught me to swim (with my mom of course). She taught me that sharing even special days was important. On my birthday she always baked a "companion cake" for my sister and gave her a small gift so she wouldn't feel left out on my special day. I couldn't imagine life without Grandma. Now, I am realistic. I know that there will come a time when I have to go on without her, but not right now. So, we are giving her a special day, one 80 years in the making. I hope she is as happy with it as we are in the planning. If you think of it, raise a toast to my Grandma, may she live longer and healthier still. She is much loved.
This weeks Carnival of the Recipes is up here! Every now and again, my Better Half makes me my favorite "rich people" dessert . . . Poached Pears. They are unbelievably simple, and can be poached in just about any sweet liquid. Here is a variation we have used: Chianti Chianti Poached Pears 3 tablespoons lemon juice 6 ripe but firm pears 1 bottle Chianti 1 cup sugar 1 tablespoon grated orange peel 2 (2-in.) cinnamon sticks 4 or 5 whole cloves 2 whole allspice Fresh mint sprigs 1. Fill large bowl half full with cool water; stir in lemon juice. Peel pears, leaving them whole with stems intact; place each pear in water before peeling the next one. 2. Place Chianti, sugar, orange peel, cinnamon sticks, cloves and allspice in medium saucepan; cook over medium heat until boiling and sugar dissolves, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to low. Drain pears; place, one at a time, in Chianti mixture. Add enough water to cover completely. Simmer 15 to 30 minutes or until pears are tender but not mushy. Cool pears in liquid; place in clean dry bowl. 3. Return saucepan to medium heat; simmer 10 to 15 minutes or until liquid is reduced by two-thirds. Strain; discard spices. Place 1 pear on each serving plate; drizzle with sauce. Garnish with mint sprigs. And serve with a generous helping of vanilla ice cream or an itty bitty dolop of whipped cream!
If'n you were wondrin where I lived, my traylor's back down off the stilts and I'm now the third on in on the left, right nexta cousin red! Hey basil? That you visitin Beulah Mae's there?Check out my noisy naybors fer more trash . . . basil's blog Bobo Blogger Cranky Neocon Cry Freedom Dangerous Logic Fistful of Fortnights Hector Vex's Infotainment It Is What It Is MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy Rachael Ray Redux Riehl World View Six Meat Buffet The Ebb & Flow Institute The Jawa Report Toner Mishap Vince Aut Morire
So, Jeff of Oh Dark Thirty is shipping out . . . going to the Army he is. While his blog is left unattended, a party will be raging. There are some requirements in his absence, so stop on over and get the party started!
|Your Inner European is Irish!|
Ok, so, hiding my email address wasn't enough because Ogre still tagged me with his silly meme. You know the drill, if I tag you then you have to answer at your place and tag three more, make sure you trackback to Ogre cause the Ogre's trying to keep track of his creation . . .
Here are my answers:
If I could be a gardner, I would build several acres of greenhouses and raise orchids. I am obsessed with orchids. Then I would sell them at outrageous prices and become a very wealthy gardner.
If I could be a farmer, I would wear my John Deere hat, while I drove my John Deere tractor and I would sing "John Deer Green", ah . . . I like green, its the color of money. Oh and I would plant rutabegas cause who plants those?
If I could be a doctor, I would find a cure for
that itchy burning sensation the ailment that causes stupidity . . . you know the one. The ill that makes you pull out in front of me when I am doing 90 on my way to work, the ill that makes you utter that snide remark while I am fondling my glock. Yes, a cure for stupidity is necessary. Oh, and I'd make money doin it!
If I could be an athlete, I would be a professional stockcar driver. Fast cars, beer, screaming fans, beer, oh and money, lots and lots of money *said with Homeresque drool escaping mouth*.
If I could be a writer, I would actually take all the useless thoughts and stories that occupy my brain and put them to paper with magnificent prose. I would of course win awards and accolades, and I would also earn money, lots and lots of money. . . Hmm. Screw the jobs, just give me the money!
So here's how it works. Immediately following there is a list of 19 different occupations. You must select at least 5 of them (feel free to select more). You may add more if you like to your list before you pass it on (after you select 5 of the items as it was passed to you). Each one begins with "If I could be..." Of the 5 you selected, you are to finish each phrase with what you would do as a member of that profession.
If I could be a scientist...
If I could be a farmer...
If I could be a musician...
If I could be a doctor...
If I could be a painter...
If I could be a gardener...
If I could be a missionary...
If I could be a chef...
If I could be an architect...
If I could be a linguist...
If I could be a psychologist...
If I could be a librarian...
If I could be an athlete...
If I could be a lawyer...
If I could be an innkeeper...
If I could be a professor...
If I could be a writer...
If I could be a llama-rider...
If I could be the oddybobo's maid. . .
I tag Tom the Pooklekufr (cause he is sweet and smart), Two Dogs (cause he's the Mean Ol' Meany) and VW of OneHappyDogSpeaks because outside of mine, her boys are just the cutest!
I've been seeing this test all over the blogosphere this a.m. So, here goes . . .
Your Linguistic Profile:
|75% General American English|
|0% Upper Midwestern|
This one is for Tom because my sappier posts seem to make his day . . . The sun has been shining for several days in a row here, not an easy feat in Pittsburgh as it is usually overcast or raining. While the air has still been crisp it is reminding me of summertime. My perch here on the 41st floor of my building has an exquisite view of the Point, the place where the three rivers converge in Pittsburgh (oh and for you baseball fans, I can see PNC Park and all that goes on there . . . ) Anyway, what has been reminding me of summertime is the glisten of the water when the sun hits it at just the right angle. It reminds me of crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge on our family vacations which we always spent on Assateague Island in Maryland. My sister and I would pack a bunch of bathing suits and shorts and tanktops for the trip (we literally slept in our suits). We'd sing along with the radio in the car as we drove from Western PA to Maryland, getting more and more excited as we got closer to the shore. Once we hit the bay, the windows were rolled down so that I could smell that musty-salt filled air that I love so much. If I lived there, it probably would not affect me as much, but that scent lingers in my mind, and I can close my eyes and smell it right now. The windows, rain or shine, would stay down until we got to Assateague. Funny thing about Assateague, it always seemed to rain, torentially, as we were setting up our tent, but then the sun would burst forth and there wouldn't be a drop during daylight hours for the rest of our days there. As soon as we would get the car parked, I ran to the top of the dune to say "Hello" to the ocean. The waves would lap the beach as if they were welcoming me, their old friend, back for the summer. I'd zip back to camp to do my part, then off to the beach to sit and listen to the waves, watch the sun glisten off the water and hear the call of gulls as they said Happy Summer in their strangely melodic calls. The rest of the time was spent sun-bathing (I looked good in a bikini in my teen years), crabbing, fishing, canoeing, swimming and eating. We'd troll the boardwalk in Ocean City, which went through its own changes over the years. My sister and I always managed to meet a new guy for the summer, our summer crush. One year it was the creepy guys who ran the photo shop, another it was a group of skaters, still another we each met several guys, a traveling Beach Volleyball team (we were older then). We didn't care, it was all good. Those were some of the happiest days of my life. We'd take with us our best friends, or adopted family, and we'd make so many new friends we'd fill a lifetime of pages about them. Some that spring to mind, two guys who went to the University of Maryland and who were just Freshman at the time. I was probably 13 or 14. I was madly in love with one. I, being a little hippie then, taught him, he was the park naturalist, how to tie-dye for events. We got on well. Over the years, my crush faded, but we remained very good friends. Then there were the twins. They were a good deal younger than my sister and I. Spitfires they were. Both were so full of life that everyone around them was happy to know them. We've lost touch over the years, but I remember their faces as boys when I think about the beach. I imagine they've grown into great young men. The last time I was at Assateague for a vacation, was my honeymoon. Yep, my Better Half and I stayed in a tent on the beach for our long awaited honeymoon and it was great. I got to share with him the love I had for that place, we camped, went to an all-you-can eat crab boil and had a blast. I have been back to visit, but not to camp. I plan to take the Boy there when he is a bit bigger. I want to share with him the joys of being with family, seeing the beach, smelling the smells. I hope he is as fascinated by the sound of waves at night as I was. I hope he loves the outdoors as much as me. I hope that he will cherish memories made on summer days the way that I do. I hope I am as good a parent as my parents were. As I stare out at the Point today wishing I could jump into that inviting water at Assateague, I hope my son looks back in years to come and says to himself "my mom showed me the best that this world has to offer and I want to share it with someone too." That'll mean I did my job and did it well.
Ok, I know, you were all waiting with baited breath, so, here are the responses to my "ten things about me" post: 1. I was a bully in school. This one's true folks. I was a bully, sorta. See, I lived in an all-caucasian school district and was picked on endlessly because I am 1/2 Asian. In fact, starting in kindergarten I got called all kinds of less-than creative things like "chink" and "jap" and "ching-chong wing-wong" and the like. I didn't get mad, just even. My baby sister got upset, cried all the time. Not me, I jumped in and pounded on those that would try to tease me. My dad had really wanted boys I think. Cause he'd tell me stuff usually reserved for the boys. For example "if you ever get hit, hit back, but keep hitting until someone stops you cause the other guy might get back up!" So, I took his advice and let fists fly whenever challenged. A very typical episode in my childhood was this: I sat in the same seat on the school bus for years(because they had tried to assign seating but it didn't work except that I liked my seat) . In the 6th Grade, a new kid was riding the bus and sat in my seat. I asked him to move, he didn't. I asked again, he told me to buzz off. My best friend Nate told him he needed to watch out cause I'm mean, he said something to the effect of "stupid chink." I gave him my classic (6th grade) warning, which was something like: "If you say that again, I'm gonna hit you." He burst into song: "Ching-chong wing-wong, bang a gong, ching-chong" so I hit him, hard. Poor boy had a black eye and went home crying, ha ha, (he never sat in my seat again). His dad confronted my dad about my dad's "kid" beating his kid up. My dad's response? "You should ask your son why he got beat up by a girl!" He He. I developed a bit of a reputation, but no one picked on me more than once. I did get kicked off the bus a lot. . . wonder why :) 2. I once chased a swimming bear around Jackson Lake in Wyoming so I could take his picture. Yep, did this too. Was back-country camping in the Grand Tetons when a juvie brown bear got into the lake so he didn't have to walk past my camp site. I spotted him and went running down the banks of the lake in my bare feet trying to get a picture of him. Terrified, he jumped out of the water, and ran into a tree. I felt so bad. Didn't get a good picture of him either. Oh, and the Better-Half screamed at me for 10 minutes about wild animals and getting too close, blah blah . . . I was just having fun! 3. I was once attacked by a rooster and kicked in the chest by a horse on the same day. I was attacked, and I mean attacked by a rooster that we had when I was a kid. The damn thing didn't want me near his "girls" and jumped on my shoulders and began pecking my head till I bled. I was more than a little shaken, but I still had to feed the horse. The horse didn't like the fact that the rooster was chasing me into the stall, and so promptly kicked out, right into my chest. Damn horse! Anyway, I had the shape of a horse shoe between my adolescent breastesses for a week. I declined the hospital cause I didn't want to get heckled about the rooster and horse teaming up to do me in. 4. I used to sing in a garage band, old hippy tunes and Metallica . . .As Kris put it, who didn't? I sang Janis Joplin tunes and played cords for the Metallica tunes. Had a grand time. Even threw a "concert" in my living room for 20 of my closest friends, mom wasn't pleased to learn of the "party" in her absence. He He He. . . good times! 5. I "dated" one guy on and off for 5 years before marrying my current "Better Half". I married my Better Half at the ripe ole age of 20, and "dated" the other guy from the 6th grade until the 11th grade. I put the "dated" in quotes cause we were in junior and senior high, and cause he was never faithful when we reached the riper ages. Also because we would go a few months without speaking, both "dating" others, and then would hook up again. He became my first real "boyfriend" when we were in the 6th grade. You know, school dances, boy-girl parties. We did date for real as we got older, he was even my junior prom date, but ditched me at the last minute (for good) for the woman he is now married to. But, believe it or not, to this day, he is one of my best friends. Sicko part? he dated my sister too, yuck! At least I dated him first. My Better-Half and I started dating at the end of my 11th grade year and have been together ever since, my last and best high-school sweetie! 6. I like ketchup but can't eat tomatoes, and I like onion rings but not onions. I'm really weird. I also don't eat eggs unless they are boiled or in soup, nor do I eat peppers, unless they are the caliente kind. And I hate sweet pickles, but drink sour pickle juice on occassion. I drink lemonade or put lemons in my tea or water but don't eat lemon anything else. I don't eat chicken thighs. I don't eat fish (usually) but love crab-meat and these tiny dried, fried fishies that are a native dish in Korea. I don't eat the cabbage on stuffed cabbage rolls, but I eat egg rolls, sourkraut and kimchi. I don't eat bleu cheese. Cause they spell it the french way and for no other reason. I don't eat baked beans, ever, never, ever. But, my favorite candy is the little peanut candies called "boston baked beans." There, more than you ever wanted to know about my eating habits. 7. I swam with a school of sharks off the coast of Maryland. Yep, really did. They were little sand sharks, and there were tons of them (ok, not tons, but a few). How many fish do you have to have in one place for it to be a school? The lifeguards made us get out of the water because a report of a "school" of some kind of feeder fish came in that was being chased by a bunch of barracuda close to the shore, and the little sharks were waiting for their meals too I guess. It was really surreal. The water was unusually clear, eerily so (mostly cause it is never that way in Maryland), and you could see the sharks and other fish everywhere. You could even see the crabbies before you stepped on them! The water was also unusually still. I remember because it was like being in a different place completely. Instead of freaking out, I was like--cool, I'm staying in for five minutes so I can forever say, I swam with sharks, so I did. In fact, alot of us did, cause it was just too cool to be in the water with these little sharks and not be like Ahh! JAWS!! Then we got chased out of the water so that we wouldn't get accidentally bit by a barracuda. Apparently they like shiny things like jewelry and stuff. Oh, yes, and I swam near a shark in the bahamas, but not knowing what kind of shark it was, I hightailed it to the boat! 8. I was a *gasp* cheerleader. FAKE, FAKE, FAKE! I am not a cheerleader, never was, never could be. First, I was always chunky. Cute, but chunky (as opposed to the blob I am today). I wasn't cheery, either. I was the sarcastic, one, the freak, the geek, the bully. I was always popular but not *Popular*. Also, it was way more fun to make fun of the cheerleaders than to actually be one. I went to keggers, not to pep rallies. Don't get me wrong. I'm a lovable girl. I got along with everyone (but for those who insisted on calling me chink). In fact, some of my closest friends were cheerleaders and jocks, I even had band-geek friends (still do), it just wasn't for me. I was the true-nerd, but no one could tell. I got the best grades in the class but hung out with the toughs, the burn-outs. I had the respect of all my peers, cause I'd always help out in a jam, oh yeah, and cause I'd let the jocks cheat off me in class as long as they promised to miss enough questions so they didn't get me in trouble. . . I was, hmmm, an anomaly? No one could figure me out. They still can't. (Some of you thought I was too sweet to be a bully, after all). Oh yeah, and I still watch those cheerleader competitions on ESPN and make fun of people. But secretly I wish I was as athletic, if I could only do that with my legs . . . 9. I got hit in the head with a wooden clog at a Dead Milkmen Concert and required 6 stiches (ala that "Clueless" Alicia Silverstone Movie from the mid-90's). This happened. I was in the mosh-pit during a 'Bitchin Camero' 'Punk-Rock Girl' medley and, you know how people throw beach balls at sporting events? Well, someone threw a shoe, not just any ole shoe, a wooden clog (who the hell wears wooden shoes to a concert?) I got smacked just at the crest of my eye socket. Split my face open and I needed 6 stiches. But, first, I taped a bar napkin to my face with scotch tape, drank a shot of Jack and danced for another hour, my white tank-top splotched with blood (the Trocadero in Philly didn't have a 1st aid kit then, hmmm. lawsuit?). I still have the scar, it twitches when I'm stressed out. Its a cool battle scar! Cause *you're for me punk rock girl!* 10. The first car I bought myself was named "Dave" and it talked. My first car was a silver 1984 Chrysler Laser. The dash panel would talk saying things like "the door is ajar" or "the headlights are on" and the like. Anyway, the Dave Thomas Wendy's commercials were big then, with customers saying "Thanks Dave!" for their burgers. I named the car Dave so I could say "Thanks Dave!" I wanted a Mercury Zephyr with 2 Holly 4-Barrels but my dad said "too much power for a girl" so I got Dave. I loved Dave. sold him to get a girl car: a pontiac sunbird. Now I have a truck (an F-350, Full-sized Powerstroke! Oh Yeah!)
posted at basil's breakfast
Originally uploaded by Reddline.
How U like My New Traylor? I'm Higher en any body else! No, really, I am!Check out my noisy naybors fer more trash . . . basil's blog Bobo Blogger Cranky Neocon Cry Freedom Dangerous Logic Fistful of Fortnights Hector Vex's Infotainment It Is What It Is MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy Rachael Ray Redux Riehl World View Six Meat Buffet The Ebb & Flow Institute The Jawa Report Toner Mishap Vince Aut Morire
Not much more time to get your guess in about which thing is false here! Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock (gratuitous "24" theme sounds . . .)
Ok, I am stealing this one from Kris, who stole it from SarahK, who stole it from Jennifer: here are ten things about me--which one is not true? 1. I was a bully in school; 2. I once chased a swimming bear around Jackson Lake in Wyoming so I could take his picture; 3. I was once attacked by a rooster and kicked in the chest by a horse on the same day; 4. I used to sing in a garage band, old hippy tunes and Metallica . . . 5. I "dated" one guy on and off for 5 years before marrying my current "Better Half"; 6. I like ketchup but can't eat tomatoes, and I like onion rings but not onions?; 7. I swam with a school of sharks off the coast of Maryland; 8. I was a *gasp* cheerleader; 9. I got hit in the head with a wooden clog at a Dead Milkmen Concert and required 6 stiches (ala that "Clueless" Alicia Silverstone Movie from the mid-90's); and 10. My first car was named "Dave" and it talked. I'll post the fakie in a day or two . . . ok, guess . . .Now! Update: Haloscan just went all crack-whore on me so I'll post trackbacks later! If you can't comment, come back later and do it!
Posted at basil's Lunch
I spent every lighted moment this weekend, outside. The boy and I rode the 4-wheeler all over on Saturday, and we went for a long walk and rode bikes on Sunday. It is spring. Time for me to enjoy the air outside and the flowers and grasses and birds . . . Ok, public service announcement over. I hope you all had as nice a weekend as I.
Ok, so today is the sixth anniversary of Harvey of Bad Example and TNT of Smiling Dynamite, other members of the Bad Example Family and Friends will likely post some funnies, but since I am not that funny . . . I will send them the following wishes:
May the anniversary wishes that you receive today, remind you of the vows you both took. May you revel in all the wonderful memories that you have made together. May you always take time to show your love and appreciation for one another. May you never forget to laugh together. May you have many, many more anniversaries to share. Happy Anniversary to you both *raises glass of champagne in your honor*. Now, on with the festivities *switching from champagne to bourbon . . .*Ok, so the 6th Anniversary is the "Iron" anniversary (though the modern equivalent is "Wood" or "Candy") so I've gone ahead and picked out some appropriate gifts for the two of you and have covered all the bases just in case one of you is a traditionalist and one is a modernist: 1. Iron Handcuffs; 2. His and Hers Candy Underwear; and 3. Wood, to spank one another repeatedly with (of course, Harvey, feel free to supply your own, wood that is!) I hope you both have a wonderful Anniversary, and that you continue to share many more years with one another. I have only met your blog-personalities, but feel like you both are old friends. My very best wishes to you both. Have fun tooling around the blogosphere and reading all the good wishes, oh and the cuffs and underwear will go together nicely!! Don't worry TNT, Harvey will bring the wood! Bwahahahahaha!
UPDATE: Find candy underwear here
When I was a kid, my best friend, Nate, was the little boy up the street. We used to play "wargames." I am not entirely sure how it is that we knew what wargames were, but we played them, nonetheless.
We would dress in camo and warpaint, don fake weapons, and plant fake incendiary devices around his grandma's house. Then we'd lie in wait. We would hang back until someone came out of the house calling us and we would pick up pots and pans (conveniently stashed near our hideout) and begin banging relentlessly until we scared the bejesus out of Nate's gram. We were about 8 years old at the time.
We also would play "V"- for those that don't remember, V was a tv show in the 80's that was about aliens who came to earth to steal our water and eat people. They looked like humans but were really lizardy. Oh and they talked funny(for the first season) and ate live rats. I always got to play the Starchild-Elizabeth (the one with powers) cause I was the only girly one.
Anyway, the playground monkey bars were our homebase and all the other kids in class were the aliens (we were the resistance), recess always ended in someone (not one of us) crying cause they got knocked in the mud (usually by me). I was an elementary school bully, not like a mean bully, but, well, yes, exactly like that . . .
Here is my point. I am reminded by all of this because of my young son. He recently hid in a closet and proceeded to bang pots and pans at me to scare me. He thought it was funny and said "that was funnier than pushing you in the mud
It just reminded me of when I was a kid. My baby's gonna be a bully. I'm so proud. . .
Ok, so I love everything Sesame. I even love the word. Like as in "Open Sesame" or "Sesame Street" or "Sesame Seeds" or "Sesame Oil" the list goes on. So for this weeks Carnival of the Recipes which is being hostedby Aussie Wife, I offer this easy side dish: Sesame Green Beans Ingredients 1 1/2 pounds green beans, washed and trimmed 1 tablespoon wok or vegetable oil, 1 teaspoon dark sesame oil, (several drops or a drizzle) 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds (a handful) Coarse salt Steam green beans covered in 1/2-inch boiling water for 2 minutes. Transfer beans to a colander and run under cold water. Drain well. Heat a wok shaped skillet or large nonstick frying pan over high heat. Go once-around-the-pan with wok or vegetable oil, add several drops sesame oil, and crushed pepper flakes. The pan will smoke. Add beans and stir-fry for 2 minutes. Add sesame seeds and coarse salt and toss to coat beans evenly. Enjoy with steamed rice and your favorite asian flavored meat dish, YUM!
See my post here. To see more of what those gathered on this day have to offer see here: Absinthe & Cookies The Country Pundit Tributaries Not Exactly Rocket Science Lintefiniel Musing The Pirate's Blog Ninjababe's Ramble Margi Lowry *dot* com BabyTrollBlog Miasmatic Review TacJammer A Celt Misplaced Keys Mixolydian Mode Bobo Blogger The Bull Speaks!t Frizzen Sparks Llama Butchers Jenna Thomas-McKie Physics Geek Daily Vegetable Aaron's cc Boudicca's Voice MB's Blogasm Blackfive - The Paratrooper of Love Swanky Conservative MB's Blogalicious Doggie's Blog The Gun Line Grim's Hall The Laughing Wolf Villanous Company Straight White Guy
This "Queen of the Trailer Park" creatively developed her own cup holder soes she'd have a hand free to pick her butt. Check out my noisy naybors fer more trash . . .basil's blog Bobo Blogger Cranky Neocon Cry Freedom Dangerous Logic Fistful of Fortnights Hector Vex's Infotainment It Is What It Is MY Vast Right Wing Conspiracy Rachael Ray Redux Riehl World View Six Meat Buffet The Ebb & Flow Institute The Jawa Report Toner Mishap Vince Aut Morire
I haven’t done any political blogging in a little while so here goes: As we know, John Bolton is the President’s nominee to the United Nations. The left has started a campaign to smear him as he has the necessary votes to be confirmed. In fact, they have publicly stated that although they can’t defeat him they have the questions which will make his confirmation hearings uncomfortable, for those that don’t know, this is liberal speak for: “you are the President’s pick, so we don’t like you, no matter who you are, and it is our job to make you squirm.” Recent talking points for left are to publicly state that Bolton is a “Lone Ranger Type” (in conservative speak = Leader), an “Unadulterated Nationalist” (in conservative speak = someone who puts his country first) and an “Enemy of Multinationism” (in conservative speak = someone who recognizes the failings of the UN and is poised to help fix them!). Sounds like the President in his infinite wisdom, has yet again picked a winner! There. Now everyone knows how I feel about John Bolton.
In response to this tag by blog-son The Babaganoosh, I am to tell you who I would pick to "head"; get it? Mount Rushmore 2. Well, since I have been to Mount Rushmore, there can be no #2. Also, we have a living changing museum dedicated to all our Presidents, it is called Washington, D.C. Therefore, my picks for Mount Rushmore 2 are the oft overlooked Presidential pets. 1. "Nelson" George Washington's beloved horse upon whom he accepted General Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown, ending the Revolutionary War. 2. "Nanny and Nanko" Abe. Lincoln's pet goats who were privileged to ride in the Presidential Carriage alongside Lincoln. 3. "Rebecca" Calvin Coolidge's beloved pet raccoon for whom he built a special house and whom he took for long walks on the whitehouse grounds by leash. Once, while the first family was out of the Whitehouse during repairs, Coolidge, fearing Rebecca would be lonely, had the presidential limo pick her up and bring her to them. 4. "Old Ike" the tobacco-chewing ram and representative of Woodrow Wilson's flock of sheep which roamed the grounds of the Whitehouse and were used to cut groundskeeping costs during World War I. The flock's wool was auctioned off for the American Red Cross during the war. And there you have it, my picks for Mount Rushmore deux, Influential Presidential Pets. I shall tag FrankL of Manic Viking, because he has way too much time on his hands lately! Update: Manic Viking has posted his disturbing example of Mount Rushmore 2!
Yep, folks, it's called the sun! I was in the mountains of Tennessee this past weekend where last week it was in the 70's and upon my arrival it quickly dipped to about 35 degrees. See, mother nature was aware of my penchant for camping (in a tent) and pulled a fast one on me. Seeing as how it was snowing on the evening of Saturday, I awoke to find a cloudy sky on Sunday. Brain-dead me, forgetting that mother nature spits upon me, did not take a hat, nor sunscreen, nor protection of any kind . . . Well, that 10 a.m. sky quickly burned off the remainder of the clouds. 7 cloudless hours later, and Whamoo! Sun-burnt and dehydrated, I limped back to my campsite to pack up for the 8 hour drive home. Curse you Bristol, TN/VA Curse you! Oh yes, and see you next year, with sunscreen and long-johns!
Evil Glenn, in his quest for world domination will have developed an automated ping that sends the following link to everyone's blogger account: I was cruising round the blogosphere and found this very insightful and humorous blog [insert blog name here]. Everyone should go there now! Of course, the link on Evil Glenn's site would simply say: Gotcha Sucker! . . . and the link would jump back to his own site in an evil plan to rise in the TTLB Ecosystem until there has to be a new category just for him!
I woke up this morning, and what did I find? IMAO gone, Harvey in a state of depression and basil stirring mayhem in the blogosphere. All was going well until I saw this! I guess I must admit, that while participating in the defeat of Evil Glenn, I indulge in his daily delights (of reading) it is a guilty pleasure, yes. But now, oh why! Why????
Did I mention I'm a "sweet transvestite, from transexual, Transylvania?" Having a Rocky moment . . . ok, it's over.
Ok, evil spawn, Go now! Its up over at TexasBestGrok.