Fried Chicken...

Fried Chicken.....

Since we have another pig being butchered soon Karla told me that we needed to start making room in the fridge.  I dug around and when I found a package of frozen chicken my mouth began to water as I remembered all the fried chicken that my mom used to make when I was a kid.  Fond memories.....Fond memories.

It always seemed like fried chicken came after a series of somewhat visually disturbing (yet tasty) Filipino dishes -- usually the ones that dad wouldn't touch.  I can still see the look on his face when Dad entered the kitchen and asked Mom what she was making for supper.  When she pulled the cow tongue out of the pot Dad's eye's bugged out a little bit as he quietly turned and walked quickly out of the kitchen.

We had also sorts of funky stuff to eat....and I don't mean funky in a bad way; it all tasted good.  Just funky in that there was most likely no one else in town eating what was, to us, normal cuisine.

Pig's feet, tripe, chicken heart, cow tongue, and that funky little fish we used to eat as a snack.  I don't know what kind of fish it was, but it looked like a miniaturized version of a sardine. Or more accurately, a slew of tiny minnows that had been dumped out of a bait bucket after a bad fishing trip. These tiny fish were dried, head and all, and packaged.  We used to grab these tiny swimmers by the handful and chow on them.  I honestly don't know if I could eat it now.

One food Mom made that I (nor anyone else) couldn't stomach was squid.  You know that strong, over powering, smell that is ever so common at the Asian fish market?  Yeah, squid.  Well, that's at least the smell I remember the most.

Squid was the food mom cooked that literally drove everyone out of the house.  It could have been 115 degrees outside and it wouldn't have mattered....It.....was.....bad.....Friends who happened to be over suddenly had to leave......Take me with you....

Come to think of it, if that stuff is cheap enough I should try it as catfish bait.

Fish eyes were another Asian delicacy that I couldn't stomach.  It didn't smell bad, but I couldn't bear to eat something that was looking at me.

As a kindergartner I remember watching mom eat the eyes right out of the fish's head.....A quick slurp and an empty eye socket later Mom was happily eating away as I left the kitchen to find something better to do --- like stick a screw driver in a light socket or something.

One time I got in trouble when I went to school and told my classmates about Mom sucking the eyes out of fish and eating them.....I guess Mom was sensitive about her fish eyes.  After that I never saw Mom eat fish eyes ever again.

Anyway, I believe how it worked in the Meyer household was that Mom would cook Filipino food until Dad ran out of either bologna or his beloved hot dogs with Hormel chili...Then mom would break down and cook something a little more in the way of midwestern fare.

And when Mom fried chicken ----- oh, man ---- it was the best.  KFC, Church's,  Strouds?  Nah, they didn't have shit on Mom's fried chicken.  Gluttony may be one of the seven deadly sins, but it was conveniently forgotten as I stuffed myself to the point of misery.  Fried chicken was a treat that you didn't get very often.  You had to take advantage of the moment.

"Tera, Toby, how does fried chicken sound?"

"GOOD!!"

Awesome.  I throw the chicken in the microwave to defrost and have Tera look up how to fry chicken.

Nope....I don't have a clue but, hey, how hard could it be?

The answer is:  right up until frying it's very easy.  Brine, flour, and seasoning.....Piece of cake.

Frying it however....

Growing up there were two places that I stayed out of: the garage and the kitchen.  I don't know if it was the look on my face suggesting to everyone that I was absolutely clueless or what but I was not trusted in either of those places.

Tim, on the other hand, cooked all the time.  He worked on his truck in the garage; a truck that he got his freshman year in high school.  I was almost a senior before I got a vehicle.

One time I asked dad how Tim managed to earn such privileges.  This was the same kid that forgot about a pot of eggs he was boiling.  Not only did he burn the eggs to the pot but he stunk up the entire house in the process.  This is also the same kid that wrecked MY car and knocked the neighbor's garage wall off it's foundation with his truck.

"Well," said Dad, "Tim just seems like he knows what he's doing."

Ah.....

Gotta give Dad credit.....At least he's honest.

Nobody told me that you needed a hazmat suit to pan fry chicken.  What I also didn't realize was that if the grease is too hot it will burn the shit out of the outside of the chicken but leave it a cold, bloody, mess in the center.  Thank God I only put one piece in the pan to experiment with.

The first piece of chicken that I put in the pan was placed there with a barbarian's attempt at delicacy.  I received an unhealthy dose of grease splatter all up and down my arm.

"AHHHH......JESUS!!!!!!"

From that point on I adopted a tactic I call the "dump and jump".  I stand a good distance away from the pan, lean over as far as I can, chuck the chicken in and jump back.

I would ease in with my fork, holding it before me as if I were a warrior on the battlefield.....All I needed was a shield and my ridiculously moronic look would be complete. With a shaky hand I try to turn the chicken over as carefully as I could.......TSSSSSS.....Splatter....

"Ah....Shit that hurts!"

I thought for sure that Toby was about to take advantage of this incredibly dumb moment as he pulled out his phone.  I could just see the Instagram caption now....."Idiot cooks chicken"

Fortunately, Toby was just taking a picture of the frying bird carcass.

"Man, that looks good."

Well, ok then.  Yes, son...Focus on the chicken.

It took me a while to figure out the right setting to cook with.  I'd pull a chicken leg out, cut it, blood would run out from the center, I'd cuss and throw gently place it back in the pan.  Grrrr.........

I also learned that a berm home with small windows and no kitchen vent is ill equipped in regards to frying chicken.  Smoke rolled, thick and light gray, and visibility was greatly impaired.....I had been in bars that didn't look this bad.

Tera: "Hey dad, I'm going to open the front door."

"Good idea, pumpkin....I'll open the windows."

Cooking and coughing, I keep working the chicken over.  By the time I am finished I am totally dismayed.  Each piece of chicken I had cut to see if it was cooked and, each time, I cussed as I put the chicken back into the pan.

Now, sitting on the plate, the chicken looked to be the victim of a botched attempt at dismemberment.

I didn't bother taking a picture, it was bad.  The picture on the internet showed this plate of mouth watering golden brown chicken.

Mine?  Well, in between black spots, it was a kind of brown color....Not golden brown, but brown...brownish.....dark brownish.....Shit....This is going to be a disaster.

But to my surprise, after a small exploratory bite, both kids chowed down.  I was amazed as I watched this ugly, botched, charred bird get taken down one piece after another.  They both had three pieces and the tell tale sign that I did alright was that Tera never got the ketchup, her solution to all things food, out of the fridge.

Wow....Just.....Wow.

I look around the kitchen.....Flour everywhere (not real sure how I managed that).  Smoke still hanging thickly in the air.  Grease splattering out of the pan and the plate of ugly bird almost completely gone.

I rubbed my burnt forearms and smiled....Hell, I did alright.  I did alright.  I didn't do Mom's fried chicken any justice, but I did all right...

Summertime odds and ends....7/24/14

I swear, the house WAS clean......

I think I have it figured out.  It takes hours to clean a house but only ten minutes to destroy it.

Kids in school:  Karla comes home and tells me that the house looks great -- (even though I clean like a man.....She will never hear the end of it)

Kids on summer break:  "Dear, I swear, the house was clean like an hour ago....I don't know how this could have happened."

Frustrating.......Very......Frustrating......

Do you think if I put a backboard on the laundry hamper that everyone's clothes will actually go IN it and not all around it?

I think attempting to keep a house clean with kids in it would give you much the same feeling you would get if you were being sent into a tank battle with a bicycle and a slingshot.......Freaking hopeless.

And the toilet.......why can't a certain teenage boy hit the damn toilet?  You can kick a field goal from twenty five yards away but you can't stand over a toilet and hit the mark?  Should I put a bullseye in the bottom of the bowl?

Although, I have to say, that every time I see a yellow stain on the side of the toilet I can't help but smile and remember the tale of the wide left bandit.....

My brother Tony and I used to work in the same factory and, let me just throw this out there --- factory work sucks.  Every high school freshman should be made to work in a factory for a year. I'm willing to bet that you will see more kids going to college or learning a skill after spending a year working on an assembly line.....But, I digress....

For those of you that have been subjected to the monotony that is factory work; you will completely understand the bizarre behavior of the story I am about to tell.  For those who have not worked on an assembly line, it's many, many, MANY long hours of repetitive motion and lack of mental stimuli has a way of rotting your brain. If I were to ever ask some stranger out in public why he is talking to himself and he says, "I work in a factory" I would nod and say that I completely understood....Carry on....

Anyway, Tony became obsessed with finding out who the individual was that kept missing the toilet in a certain bathroom and leaving a stain on the floor. In his mentally deranged state it totally drove him crazy.

And so, young Sherlock began a long, painstaking investigation in search of the wide left bandit.

He would "stake out" the bathroom from the adjoining break room.  He would carefully monitor all who entered and departed.  He managed to narrow down the "time of incident" to around two hours.

"It's clean before two and stained before four.....Dammit, I'm close."

Sadly, the investigation was brought to a halt.  The plant shut down and Tony had to relocate to a new facility....The case went cold, tucked away with the DB Cooper and the JFK assassination files....Some mysteries are just not meant to be solved.

But Tony does have his theories........(And, no, it wasn't me)

Ok....enough complaining....It's time to do my job....

My Science Project:
I was digging through the freezer when I found a brand new bag of bagels.

"Booyah!" I said as if I had just struck gold, "Why are these in the freezer?"

I get no answer from Karla because she has her nose buried in a book.  When she is reading she hears absolutely nothing......a perfect time to come clean should I ever need to.

"You know I'm having an affair with an elderly woman from the senior center?"

No answer....

"She's loaded and promised to leave me a tidy sum of money in her will."

Silence.

"Beauty is only a light switch away. That's how I rationalize."

"Ugh."  Karla looks up from her book, "What?"

"Never mind."

I throw the bagels on the counter so that they will be thawed by morning.  I remember that I had three different flavors of spread in the fridge...I think I'll have strawberry for breakfast.

I get up the next morning and dig the strawberry spread out of the fridge:

Whoa!!!!  That got an involuntary gag.......Cough....Oh, god.  How on earth did I miss that?

You know, peanut butter goes good with bagels.....Let's do that.....


Working towards a goal....


This is the patio before....(Yes, I've been terrible about keeping the grass out)

This is the patio -- work in progress:

What I love about this project is that the kids worked hard and never complained.  What I love even more is that they impressed their granddad -- and when you can impress a farmer that is saying a lot!!!!

Toby has been through these kind of projects enough times that it's all just part of the gig for him.  Early on I put Toby into my own version of the "scared straight" program.  It has nothing to do with juvenile delinquency, instead it has everything to do with finding ways to encourage him to get more use out of his brain than his muscles.  I have put him on any kind of low wage shit job I can find as a way to enforce the value of an education.  At the very least, if college isn't his thing, I would like for him to at least learn a skill.

For every doctor and lawyer out there, the world also needs a plumber, an electrician, a welder.  Just stay out of the factory, son.  Don't put yourself in a situation where you are fifty years old with a bad back and are suddenly forced to start over at minimum wage because the factory work you did for thirty years didn't provide you with any "skills"....

 I have to admit, I would love to see him get a degree.  There aren't many members on my side of the family that have a college degree...In fact, I can only think of a few.

But, he has to do what makes him happy....and I will support him in whatever he decides to do.

Tera is just getting started, but I have found that she is totally motivated ------ for My Little Pony figurines.

Any job that is not considered normal household duties is a job that comes with an hourly wage.  Wait, scratch that....How about "extra allowance"?  God forbid I violate any labor laws here.

Tera has become obsessed with My Little Pony and she has been busting her tail trying to earn as much as she can so that she (after she puts a percentage away in savings, of course) can buy up as many My Little Pony figurines as possible.

(When I told a friend of mine about this obsession she told me that all the ponies had stripper names with tramp stamps on their asses....LOL....I have to admit, though, I think tattoos are cool.)

Tera pulled grass out of the old patio, hauled and laid paving stones, spread sand and wet down the patio.  All the while dreaming about all the ponies she could cross off her want list; a notebook filling four pages.

Tera spent time online researching websites and finding the best bargains.  (She didn't acquire that tendency from me.....If I find what I want at the first sight I buy it.)  She figured out what she could afford, submitted her purchase requisition to mother, and the two sat down together to buy ponies.

There was a tense moment during the online purchase when Tera learned about sales tax and shipping and handling.  She was livid when she found out that she couldn't buy as many ponies as she thought she could.

"THAT'S STUPID!!! WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?"

Ah....Life lessons....

She also learned how to track her package, which I hope gets here soon......She's starting to drive me crazy.

At the end of a hard work day, Tera gets out all her ponies and lines them up in front of the television so that they can all watch My Little Pony on Netflix.  Normally, I'm not big into letting her marathon watch, but the little blisters on her hands suggests that she had earned it.  I only wish I had a couple of shots of whiskey to make this unfortunate event a little more tolerable.

Is she obsessed?  Yeah, just slightly.  But I was a kid once and I remember being obsessed, too.  For me it was Star Wars; for Tony it was He-Man.  We both tried to collect action figures and we both ran into the same problem -- we had little brothers that took great joy in beheading our action figures.  Needless to say our collecting days were over before they even began.

But for Tera there's hope.  I'm not into My Little Pony at all, but I understand the desire; it's something we all go through as kids.  And Tera won't have a little brother around to behead her ponies.

And besides, annoying ponies and all, it's does this dad's heart good to see his little girl happy.....

Now, if you don't mind, I have to go dig the paint scrapers out of the shed.  Tera will be looking for another project.

Tera dives....and Dad gets a little more gray....

Double Standard  (Noun) :  a situation in which two people, groups, etc., are treated very differently from each other in a way that is unfair to one of them.

Thank you http://www.merriam-webster.com/ for the definition.


When Toby first took an interest in diving, I was all for it.  I was right there with him throughout all of the classes and certification dives.  I made plans to go see all of these awesome places and to take awesome underwater pics of us and the marine life that we encountered.  Diving would be just the sort of adventure that would bring the family closer together.  We could travel the world and create tons of fond memories.

One trip to the ER and one nasty bout of motion sickness later, I have hung up my dive mask; happily accepting the fact that the best place for me to be is on the beach.

Then Tera decided that she wanted to dive.......

The over protective dad in me felt my chest and sphincter tighten and I just knew that I could feel new gray hairs forming on my head.

This is where the double standard comes in.....Even though I did not have a good experience with it, I am still okay with Toby diving.

Tera?  Hey, this is my little girl, dammit........

But, despite my worries, I know I can't hold her back.  Tera was not a happy camper when she was informed that she was not old enough to take diving lessons last year with the rest of the family and she has been impatiently counting down the days until her tenth birthday.

She's only nine now.  But, when you have an uncle who is dive certified and has a large pool in his back yard, it provides an opportunity for some early exposure. (I, too, am dive certified......But you don't want me teaching anyone to dive!)

Having Tim teach Tera how to dive does make me feel a lot better about the situation.  I can think of no one that I trust more with Tera than Tim.  The one thing I have learned about my brother is that he may be crazy, but he is very well educated on all matters he pursues.  He knows exactly when he needs to be serious and is very thorough in regards to safety.

Equipment Check

Learning about the BCD (Buoyancy Control Device) 

Learning to read the pressure gauge

First breath with regulator

Clearing water out of the dive mask

   

My trip to the ER was nobody's fault but my own.  It's one thing to dive in a pool; something completely different in a lake.

To cut to the chase, I did not do my due diligence in regards to buoyancy control.  When you dive, you learn about the art of attaining neutral buoyancy in the water.  When you are neutrally buoyant, you do not have to work as hard, fatigue is lessened, and it just makes your diving experience much more enjoyable.

Ways to control your buoyancy include your BCD (Buoyancy Control Device), a weight belt, and controlling your breathing.

In all my previous dives I had no problem whatsoever with my buoyancy --- but I never dove any deeper than thirty feet.

I ran into trouble during my deep water certification.  Long story short, I failed to correctly use my BCD and worked way too hard to get to sixty feet.  On top of that, despite being well informed, I was not prepared for the cold shock that awaited me at that depth.

In the ocean, you don't have to worry about a thermocline; in a lake that's just part of the gig.

The thermocline is basically the separation of warm water from cold --- and it happens faster than you think.  When it hit me, it felt as if I had just been thrown into a deep freeze.  I involuntarily sucked in and lost control of my breathing.  Add to that fact that my lungs were already burning from over work due to my buoyancy problem and things went down hill from there.

An experienced diver would have motioned for help, found a place to rest, and just sat there until he/she got his/her breathing under control.  As soon as everything was ok, the dive could resume as if nothing had ever happened.

But I was not an experienced diver.  All I knew was that I couldn't get enough air in my lungs.  I knew all too well that I was supposed to stop and decompress at thirty feet......Screw that -- I need air.....

The end result was not a good feeling; for which I am thankful that I was in a little bit of a daze.  I remember my extremities going numb and having a shooting pain from my jaw all the way down to my fingertips.  The rest was just kind of an in and out experience.

I remember Life Flight being called in but was fortunate that the dive masters had everything under control before the helicopter made a landing.

I felt really bad for my friend who was teaching the class.....I was his first ever incident.  I felt like I totally failed him.

I was taken to the ER where I went through a battery of tests.  X-Ray, EKG, Urinalysis, Blood samples.....there were others but I forgot what they were.

It was just a bad day.....and it was no one's fault but mine.  I was lazy in the classroom and paid for it in the water.

Two weeks later I went back and completed my deep water dive.  I just wish I could say it felt like redemption, but it didn't.....I'm not used to failing and the accident did a lot of damage to my psyche....

So now that Tera is diving, I am determined to help her learn from my mistakes.  You can bet your ass that she when she gets out of class that she will have another class with me.  My little girl is going to know all the tricks like the back of her hand.....She will not go through what I went through.


I sat on the deck, amaretto sour in hand, and admired Tim at work.  He has always been a people person, a strong communicator, and has a gift for explaining things in a way that a nine year old girl can easily understand.

Like I said, I can think of no one I trust more with Tera than Tim.  I kicked back in my chair and felt at ease.

Then Tera went under for the first time.....and I felt the air leave my lungs.

I shot out of my chair and stood on the edge of the deck, worried.....Shit, I should have had a few more drinks.

But everything went fine.  Tera went under and stayed under for almost twenty minutes swimming lap after lap after lap.  It was almost as if Tera was meant to live under the water.

The ocean is waiting for her.......I better prepare myself.

I never did make a dive in the ocean.  It all started with a motion sickness patch.  Knowing that I have a queasy stomach, I had brought Dramamine to take before getting on our cruise ship.  Then it was recommended that I try a patch.  Ok, whatever.

I only figured it out after our trip was over, but when I put on the patch I basically went blind.  That revelation occurred on my first night on the ship when we attended a formal dinner.  I looked at the menu and the whole thing was just a blurry mess.  I leaned over to Karla.

"Dear, I can't read the menu."

Karla: "What do you mean?  It's in English."

"NO, dammit.....that's not what I mean.  I literally can't read the menu...It's all blurry."

The entire trip was a blurry mess....I couldn't see shit; which did nothing to help me get excited about the next day's dive in Cozumel.

The next morning, blind as a bat, I waded through the streets of Cozumel in a torrential downpour; water up to my shins and thinking there is no way in hell we were going to dive.

The dive shop had other ideas......

As we made our way to the dock I could see the big, rough, waves beating the hell out of the boat and tossing it around like a rag doll.  The sky was gray and overcast and looked nothing like the tropical pictures on all the vacation guides I had been perusing through.

The personnel at the dive company also did not appear as I thought they would.  Instead of the (obviously doctored) bright white smiles and sunshiny demeanor seen in the guides I saw set jaws, squinty eyes, and a look of grim determination.....We were going to dive, dammit!!!!

As soon as I sat down in the boat I knew I had made a mistake.  The boat felt as though it had dropped out from under me only to be violently shot upward as a big wave smacked it with a great amount of force.

The patch did a wonderful job of rendering me sightless, but it did nothing to help my stomach. About halfway to our destination I pulled the plug...There was no way in hell I was getting in the water.

So the captain of the boat handed me a five gallon bucket and motioned me to follow him to the back of the boat,  I sat down.  He leaned over.....

"WEE DRAHP YUU AHF AT DEE BEECH....YUU CAHL TAXEE!"

Whatever you say brother, just get me the hell off this boat.

About thirty feet from shore the captain weighed anchor and told me to jump.  The current was rough and I, sarcastically exaggerating, estimated that by the time I made the shore I might be a mile or two down from the jump off point.  I cursed the jolly captain and prayed he would get either a nasty bout of scurvy or have an octopus drag him by his crotch down to Davy Jones' locker.

The best part was after I jumped into the water I gazed up in time to see a trash bag with all my shit in it being hurled at me.  Awesome....Let's just hold this bag over my head as I swim with one hand.....I'm so up for the challenge.

When I finally made it to shore I rolled over on my back and just lay there......This...is...it.  I knew at that moment in time my diving days were over.  Eventually I got up, found a bathroom, and ripped off the wet suit that I did not deserve to wear.

I put on some dry clothes, (the bag never hit the water......still pissed about it, though), turned down a massage, went to some little shop, bought a knockoff pair of Oakley's, and became best friends with the shop owner after I tipped him a dollar.

"Yuu cahm back....breeng familee and I hook yuu up goood...."

Yeah, ok bud, let's not get too chummy.....

All in all......I would still cruise again.  The patch worked well enough on the cruise ship to make it enjoyable.  I got to pet a stingray and had my first taste of Cuban coffee (OH....MY...GOD....it was awesome)

But, next time I told Karla that we should go all inclusive.  The drinks were way too expensive.

The week that was..... 7/10/14

The Garden:

Simple....Nothing special to any one else but me.  If you would have told me ten years ago that I would enjoy having a garden I would have told you to shut up and get me another beer........I must be getting old.  :)

I have to admit that Tera has been putting most of the work in but next year I plan on getting a lot more ambitious.  Owning a garden is therapeutic --- even if only to sit on the swing and look at while sipping on a glass of iced tea.

(Tom, your man pills are on the kitchen counter.  Take it while slamming a beer and taking a shot of whiskey.  I fear you are sprouting breasts....)

Whatever......It's all good.....Well, not the breast part; I'm too old to learn how to wear a bra.  Actually, I'd just burn it anyway.  I'm all for women's rights!!!  (That is as far into politics as you will see me go on this blog)

Yeah, I'm definitely getting old.  But, you know what?  I'm kind of diggin' it.


Mellow:

My grooveshark play list:

http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/My+Happy+List/98921580

Time has a way of calming a person down.  To say that I have mellowed is a slight understatement.  Anyone that knew me in high school or shortly thereafter would never have imagined me listening to country music, gardening, or wanting to do nothing more than kick back on the beach, nursing a drink with an umbrella in it.  Yes, I have mellowed.

 It's too bad that it's not a smooth kind of mellow -- I'm still an uncoordinated bull with an inner ear infection in a very small China shop -- but, hey, it's all good man....It's all good.

Don't get me wrong; there are some things about getting older that I don't enjoy like a slower metabolism and nagging injuries.  But the trade off is I'm no longer angry and emotional.  Metallica has given way to Mendelssohn (Actually, Tchaikovsky is my favorite...I just like the way Metallica to Mendelssohn sounds), a six pack of beer that would have lasted a couple of hours on a Saturday night now lasts a couple of months in my refrigerator, and all that fishing and hunting that took up my entire weekend has taken a back seat to my kids.

Fine by me....I couldn't be happier.

A New Goal:

I have no idea where the urge to kick field goals came from but, hey, I'll roll with it.  Neither Toby nor myself haven't the foggiest idea what we are doing but with the help of youtube and sheer stubbornness I'd say we are making progress:

No.....The colleges wont' be lining up and banging on our door any time in our near future.....But we have time, I'm sure we will figure it out.

Feeling Uneasy:

In my first full week of the "off season" I have been going to the ball games of family and friends.  By the end of the week I will have gone to five games in as many days and I'm quite certain there will be a couple of Saturday games in there as well.

I've been telling Karla that once the kids are done playing I am going to "retire" from coaching.  However, after spending a few nights sitting in the stands I'm not sure I'm going to be able to.

I firmly believe in the saying "Players play, coaches coach, and parents cheer". (Umpires?  Who really know what the hell their doing... :)....)  But I have since found that saying, when put to the test this week, a lot harder to follow through on.  Not even a half of an inning into the first game and I found myself rocking a little in the bleachers and muttering under my breath.

"Get a bigger lead.....Aaahh, you should have had second on that play."

"Hands back."

"Hit your cut!!!!!"

"C'mon third, where were you on that bunt?"

"NOOO!!! The play is not at home!!!! CUT TWO, DAMMIT!!!!"

I will say that I did a remarkable job of holding it in.  No one sitting beside me suspected I was on the verge of losing my mind.  And that's nothing against any coaches or players; that's just me wishing I were back in the dugout....I feel totally helpless sitting in the bleachers.

So I'm thinking that Toby's first year of high school baseball will be an absolute hell for me......I may just have to stay on my feet and walk (pace) about because I don't think sitting will be good for me.

Little Boy:  "Daddy, why does that guy keeping rocking back and forth and mumbling?"

Dad: "Ignore him, son.....He's obviously and idiot."

Maybe Karla's right.....Perhaps I should keep coaching.


Still can't cook.....dammit  (Happening right now -- blogging/bitching as the whole mess progresses)

Somehow I turned fried rice into fried paste this week.  I seriously have an entire wok of rice that I can mold like clay.......Hey, that's an idea --- edible art.  Well, except that it's not edible....Shit.

I could patch dry wall and seal cracks in concrete with this crap.

Fried rice is now fried experiment.  As soon as it cools I will be chucking it outside and see if the local wildlife will find it palatable.

Actually, I can't even call it fried rice -- it's just sticky slop.  When I posted the picture of it on FB a friend commented that she thought it looked like oatmeal.  Hell, as long a someone thinks it looks like A food I'll gladly take it.

I could offer it to a starving person and he would say...."You know, I just ate a bug and a pile of dirt....Mmmm... full, man.  Thanks anyway."

Grrr...Just a big pile of smoking horse shit......

I am now calling for pizza........AARRRGHHHH!!!!!


Hmmm......My blog started out with a happy garden and ended with.....with......Grrrrr.....

Well, can't be happy all the time.  But, overall, it was a damn good week.

Cultural Appreciation.....sort of...

I really should look into my family history; you know, find my roots.  I know that my granddad is German and that my Mom is Filipino.  But I don't really know where my grandmothers' roots lie.

I wonder if there could possibly be some Scottish ancestry flowing through my grandma's veins.  I mean how else can I explain my odd attachment to the bagpipes?  Every once in a while I will pull up Pandora and play the station "Scottish National Pipes and Drum Corps" --- and it drives everyone else in the house stark raving nuts.

Seriously, I could listen to "Scotland the Brave" over and over and over again......It fascinates me.  Upon hearing the thundering drums and the shrill pipes I have this incredible urge to march about the house; visions of Mel Gibson and his painted face dancing inside my head.

THEY MAY TAKE OUR LIVES, BUT THEY WILL NEVER TAKE OUR......FRREEEEEDDDOOOMMM!!!!

"How can you not like this, kid?"

Tera:  "It sounds like a dying flamingo."

"What?  How would you know? Do you even know what a flamingo sounds like?"

Out of curiosity, I looked up flamingoes on youtube and gave a listen.

"Huh.....I'll be damned."

I have to admit, with a little imagination, I can make the connection between a pain stricken, dying flamingo and a bagpipe.  Tera wasn't too far off.

Yeah, whatever.....Don't ruin it for me kid.

Tera: "Dad, can I watch TV now?"

"You know, I have always wanted to try haggis.  Do you want to see what it's made out of?"

Tera: "No, not really."

"Hold on, I'll find it on youtube."

Tera: (Sigh) "You're such a dork."

Haggis, it turns out, is sheep lungs, kidneys, heart, liver, among other things, cooked inside a sheep stomach.  Yummo.......

When the man in the video cut open the stomach and pulled out what bore some resemblance to a rather unappetizing form of stove top stuffing, Tera's nose curled.

Tera: "That's just gross."

"You never know....It might actually taste really good."

Tera: "Yeah, get back with me on that."

I want to try haggis, dammit.....Just to say that I did.

And what better way to try haggis then after spending the day at the Highland Games watching burly men prove their manliness by heaving logs into the air for no apparent reason whatsoever.

Actually, I would love to try the caber toss.  But, at 180 lbs., I am all too aware that I do not have the muscle to pick up a 175 lb. caber.  Add a slight lack of coordination and the end result is one flat Filipino.  I will have to be content with just watching the event.

One last attempt to convince my daughter of the awesomeness of the pipes......

I pull up a video of seven hundred pipes and drums, marching across an open field and playing "Scotland the Brave".

The first time I watched it the hair on my neck stood up.  The pipes blared, the drums thundered, and seven hundred strong marched on.  What I would have given to have been there in person.  I can't imagine any Scotsman not seeing that and puffing out his chest, heart filled with pride.  It was a magnificent sight to behold.

So I played the video for Tera.  As soon as the pipes began to play I was already in another world.  My kilt, my sword, my shield, my fellow countryman at my side.....I was ready for battle.

And then Tera began to laugh......

Tera: "WAIT.....GO BACK!!!"

"What for?"

Tera: "Just go back to the beginning...."

I just knew that this was not going to end well....But I did as I was told.

I restarted the video....Twenty seconds in Tera pointed to a man a couple of rows in.  She could hardly stop laughing.

Tera: "LOOK!!!!!  HE HAS TOILET PAPER STUCK TO THE BOTTOM OF HIS SHOE!!!!"

There was no denying it.  My beautiful video.....seven hundred strong playing "Scotland the Brave" had just been ruined by two feet of shit paper stuck to the bottom of one man's shoe.

I sunk back in my seat; totally dismayed. One simply cannot go into battle with toilet paper affixed to his boot. Tera ---- my precocious daughter -- had found the turd in the punch bowl; and she continued to laugh hysterically...... My beautiful video was now completely ruined......

"Shit...."

Tera: "Yep, that's what it's....."

"Don't you have a cartoon to watch?"

Tera:  "Hooray!!!!  Thanks, dad...."

Yeah.....Whatever.....