To Forgive

Apparently only God can forgive. And you have to jump through some hoops first. You have to talk to some old wank.

I mean I guess I can see really wanting to be forgiven for murder or some such.

But do you have to only confess to a designated representative under specific circumstances?

Baptism seems pretty fluid, at times, pun intended.

Maybe confession is too, is more, is the most.

Maybe you just need to get it off your chest.

To take on any responsibility for divine forgiveness seems like hubris and possible madness.


Maybe forgiveness is not divine at all.

Nor revenge, mind you. Some have to be put down like dogs. Maybe some people should never be forgiven.

But the silly shit. Shit where no one died or was crippled.

Don't do it again. Don't establish a pattern. Right?

Anyway, I want to be able to tell people they're cool in the hope that one of them will tell me the same.

Hrmm

One blog to comment on the other, and also provide cooking advice. Just so crazy it might work.

My writey write blog is all over the park. I feel as if I must straighten it out.

But that's not how blogs work. If you read them in order chapter 5 comes first. Should I write backwards? Only if I can do it before people read.

I'm not happy with the blog. That will be the next revolution.To post the beginning/middle/end as such, so they appear as such.

I understand the value of the non linear story. I can write the non linear story, but I don't want to be limited by non linear.

y'dig?

Firing on All Cylinders.

I had a job once, temp job, not pleasant but not particularly hard. Just boring. Eventually you get into a rut of when you eat lunch and what you have for lunch and how many cigarettes you can smoke on a break. The idea was to make money and....? Go, I guess. Cos that's all I wanted back then, to get in the car and go.

I sat outside, one summer day, eating my sandwich, drinking my can of coke. Staring across the grass patch and the grill of my car. "We gotta get out of here," I thought.

I always felt like I was born maybe 10-20 years too late. Like I had missed out on the ground floor, which was then covered in sand, buried in gravel, and replaced with the next floor. I think I would have fit in on that old ground floor.

When I was Going places it was a romantic notion of a bygone era already. All those road monkeys of old never described the crippling loneliness well enough to dissuade me. Or the hours sitting in a hot car, wondering where the hell you fit in with the world.

Ah, it's a rich man's game now, the cross country road trip. Gas is expensive. Time is expensive. Should you really be doing THAT to the environment?

One day you realize that there is no loneliest place on earth. One day you realize it's good to just be alive. That's a hard mindset to get rid of, try as you might.

This...is?...Your Grandma's Molasses.

I bought six chicken drumsticks. I separated them into groups of two. The first two were part of an experiment to use up the last of the molasses I had in the house. Here's what I did.

First, I brined the two drums. Basically two cups of water, two tablespoons of salt. I let them bathe in the fridge for two and a half to three hours. Wasn't really paying attention to time.

I had 1/8 of a cup of molasses. I mixed it with a tablespoon of soy sauce, a teaspoon each of powdered garlic and powdered ginger, a half teaspoon of cumin, a pinch of thyme, and two dashes of dark sesame oil. After some stirring, it was still sticky, but not as thick as regular molasses.

Once the chicken was brined, I brushed the mixture onto the pieces. Yeah, brushed. I bought a Kitchen Aide brush a while back. Synthetic bristles, big plastic handle. It was pretty cheap and well worth it. Just be sure to dunk it in some water after brushing, and it will clean pretty easy.

Then I broiled the chicken in the toaster oven. One of the drums was pretty thick, and got dangerously close to the heating element, but the whole thing went off without a hitch. Took about a half an hour to cook.

The sides were peas and mashed potatoes.

The coating didn't so much sink in to the meat, but I guess I didn't expect it to. Where it was on the meat: damn tasty. Where it wasn't: still good chicken. I was kinda thinking this recipe might be good for some broiled (or grilled) chicken breast. I'll try that out sometime.

Boil the Breakfast Early

I want to talk to you about boiled potatoes.

My grandfather was a fan. On the side, next to a piece of meat, with ketchup. My mom made them rarely for us. If she was gonna go to the trouble of peeling the potatoes (or having us peel them, we were willing, for some reason) she would either french fry them or mash them. I would have to request that I get some pre-mashed, if I was in the mood, and was looked upon disapprovingly.

But here's the thing, my grandfather was wrong.

The hell with ketchup. Slather them with butter or margarine, and lay down some fresh ground pepper. Damn.

And by lay down, you can 'sprinkle' or you can carpet bomb. It's up to you.

Now let's talk about some things. First off, boiling potatoes. Some of you may be insulted by too much detail here, but I knew two women, working together, who destroyed Kraft mac and cheese because they didn't realize they were supposed to drain the pasta before they added the butter, milk and cheese.

They were not bad people, they were raised wrong. They learned, and now they are productive members of society. There is Hope.

Two things you should have in your kitchen are a potato peeler and a pepper mill. Now my grandmother (other side) could peel a potato with a knife. She was old school. We shall not see her like again. The pepper mill...man, I thought that McCormick ground pepper in the little tin was fine, shuffle it into a pepper shaker, all good. I was wrong! This is America. We don't have to live like animals here. You don't need as much pepper, for one. And it's just better. No, really. No.....really. It honestly is a small, small investment that makes your life so much better.

Salt grinders, from what I hear, crap.

Anyway, the potatoes. Peel 'em. Wash 'em. Throw some water and a dash of salt in a saucepan and get it on the path to boiling.

Now how much of all this? Here's the thing, this is a fine food to heat up later as a snack, so go a little over and work down. But say, one medium sized potato per person as a side. Two as a 'meal'.

Water wise, you're not using that little pot you have, that you make ramen in. Use that next size up. Fill it half way for one or two potatoes. More than that, use the big pot and congratulations on having friends. (If it's just you, you can use the little pot, but it's really more advanced. Boiling over is fine, but boiling off the water is no good.)

Cut the potatoes into cubes, not chunks. A chunk is the width of your pinky. A cube is bigger than your pinky, and should be about a pinky and a ring finger all around. Since the potato is not square (please ignore this if you are in Japan, so I hear) some will be smaller. It's OK.

Once they're cut, drop them in the water and let them go. If the water isn't boiling before you drop them in, who cares? If you cut them before you even drop them in the water and only add heat after water, salt and potatoes are mixed, fine.

Balance the heat so they don't boil over all the time. Stirring them helps too. But you can walk away for a bit. You really don't have to watch.

The potatoes are done when the edges look fluffy and you can push a fork through with little resistance.

DRAIN THEM. Pour them into a colander, pick them out with a slotted spoon, your choice.

Butter and pepper.

Point is, boiled potatoes are stupid easy. But so damn good. Yeah, I still like them with ketchup now and again. But they're a side. Don't get worked up.

So much. So much you can do with the lowly potato. I could write a whole blog. But won't. I am gonna try other toppings on the boiled potato. Garlic powder, dill. Maybe rosemary. I'll report back.

Coffee

I think most tea party members drink coffee. I'm not hassling coffee drinkers, by the way. I think there are more coffee drinkers than tea party members, by far. Hell, I too drink coffee more than tea. I'm just saying it's disingenuous is all.

After Dark

At some point in the night, you get cold. The formerly warm socks turn clammy. One part of your shoulder feels...off? Your fingers don't work so well.

You wait.

One day, I will be warm again. We wait.

Zombie Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve

Enough of Dick Clark, and I'm not alone on this. The man had a stroke, can barely speak, but gets pulled out every countdown to mumble and stumble his way through...what? Frankly, starting each New Year's with a depressing reminder of our mortality is not Rockin'.
Ryan Seacrest is peppy and pretty and on point. Just the kind of white bread, 'fat kids from Georgia can become famous too' message that the US wants on it's NYE celebration.
Frankly, I don't think this country can turn around the malaise that it's in until someone can stand up to Dick Clark and say, "Dick, you show up in the first few minutes of the show, mush mouth your way through some inspiring crap that no one can understand and then turn it over to Seacrest, life will be good."
Instead of Dick Clark depressing us from some studio a few minutes before the ball drop, put him in some warm clothes, have him out on the platform waving, but SAY NOTHING.
Sorry, Dick, but you were the 'man who doesn't age', you were a representative of a youthful, hopeful America. Now you're a sign that even America is fucked up. Seriously. Just stop it. Let it go.