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  • “A bumper of good liquor will end a contest quicker Than justice, judge, or vicar” Richard Brinsley Sheridan

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    In a weird twist, a major chain of liquor stores have declared bankruptcy here lately.

    I live in a dry town, which means that we have to go outside city limits for booze. Yesterday Rod and I realized we were short some bottles. We headed down to the local store, part of the chain, and there was no hard liquor at all. At ALL. It was all wine. There’s about six other stores in the vicinity of this one store, but guess what? They’re all owned by the same company!

    So I asked the guy where the closest non-Centennial owned store was, and he pointed us down the road.

    We headed in that direction, and what should I behold as we come around the bend? A Spec’s. SPEC’s people! SPEC’S!!!!

    A Houston import, but I didn’t realize they’d opened one so close to my house. A sign on the door read “Pardon our Construction” but they were set to sell. Yes indeed.

    Really weird how SPEC’s was right there….and the other stores are now bankrupt. Weird indeed.

    In another bizarre twist, it’s snowing here today.  It’s quickly turning into slush, but whatever.

    snew


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  • “Sorry, miss. I was giving myself an oil-job.” Robby the Robot

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    I sometimes get his name mixed up, sometimes I call him Robby, sometimes it’s Robbie. Either way, got some absolutely killer art from Brad McGinty – he of the Predator/Alien prints (of which I have one as well.)  I had to steal the image from Brad’s Instagram page since the actual picture is too big for my scanner.

    rob_pin

    Muchas Gracias to TokenBlackGirls.com for getting this artist on my radar! And super  thanks to Brad for a great job!


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  • “You silly twisted boy.” Spike Milligan

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    So, PBR and Advil – bad idea?

    My TMJ is killing me. Thanks to a hellaciously stressful week at work, my jawbone muscles are sore and aching. Rather than do my facial exercises (yes, they do look as goofy as you’re imagining right now), I’m opting for the beer and Advil relaxation method. Maybe I’ll call it PBAdvil. Or Advipbr.

    I don’t really feel like detailing my boring work. Let’s just boil it down to: Troubleshooting.

    After five days of solving severe, severe problems, (well, severe in my line of business anyway) I took a long lunch and went to Guitar Center.  Managed to get my hands on a doublecut Gibson that I’d been curious about the neck on.

    tv2_doublecut
    Ole Yeller

    I’m not a fan of doublecuts. At all. I was interested in the neck, and the P90. (PBR90?) The P90 sounded cool, but was missing some bottom end. *DING* The lightbulb goes on over my head.  That’s what the bass guitar is for. Duhhh.  For some reason I’ve had it in my head that some of that bass *thunk* should be pushed out of whatever guitar I’ve been playing. Duh (again). Sometimes I don’t know why my brain works that way, I swear. I would borrow the kiddo’s bass, but it’s a lefty. Last time I faked some bass I used one of my guitars and an octave pedal. Bleah.

    Some of my recording equipment has made it out near the amps; I’ve now realized that I’m never going to practice enough that I feel comfortable recording – so I might as well practice while I’m writing songs and recording.
    So here is my pet peeve for today: Removable Trailer Hitches

    If you live anywhere in the Southern States, you’re likely to see them on the backs of big trucks. Also to be found on cars of People-who-need-to-get-stuff-done™.

    hitch_tha_bitch

    Here’s my problem with them. They’re REMOVABLE. So why the HELL doesn’t anyone remove them??

    When I was in my slight fender bender a while back,  the truck that hit the car that hit me had one. There was a mid-size SUV behind him, impaled onto his trailer hitch.  I vividly remember him jamming on the accelerator dragging her car with him (dangerous) while she had her wheels screaming in reverse (unsafe). He was obviously a working dude, so I’m not going to fault his hitch-ness.  When I’m driving home, however, I have to consciously think about the truck in front of me – whether I need to possibly plan for a 6-8 inch metal spear that may pierce my radiator should I happen to rear end anyone.  There was also a time at one of my old apartments where a dude in huge truck had backed up to the mailboxes, and I caught his (removable) hitch with my shin.

    You know pain, right? The blinding, cripping, I’m-not-moving and unable to even cry out in pain kind of pain?

    My shin had that pain. Boy oh boy did I have that pain. Luckily I was a nice guy and swore under my breath. I’m pretty sure I blamed myself for running into it.  I should have….uh….ok, I’m not posting that on the internet.

    My point is that there is only a small percentage of people who use trailer hitches on a daily basis. Just take the damn things off your trucks if you’re a weekend warrior or something. You really need to leave it on 24/7? Are you going to lose it if you take it off? You must have bigger problems.


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  • “Ecstasy is a glassful of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.” Alexander Pushkin

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    I was going to write a post about what a bizarre, bizarre week it has been at work but at the last-minute I got lazy. Here we go.

    When I was a kid, as I have mentioned before, my mother was very strict on sugar. Back in the 70’s, they hadn’t started diagnosing kids with ADD or ADHD (as far as I know).  I’d had some behavioral problems at school (acting out, talking back, fights, etc) and my mother was cleanly convinced that sugar was a culprit. Either that, or she was trying to counteract my poor diet (no fault of my own) by limiting sugar around the house.

    As we know now, limiting yourself from anything is a bad idea; it makes your body crave it more.

    So I became a sugar fiend. Massive massive sugar fiend. If I had money, we would walk down to Cunningham Pharmacy (where the giant Kroger is now) and buy lots and lots of candy – that I obviously wasn’t supposed to be eating.

    One of the side effects of the embargo on sugary substances was that none of the trashy, sugary, immensely bad for you cereals made their way in. Sure, occasionally they’d throw me a bone. I clearly remember getting a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur skeleton out of a box of Fruity Pebbles (my cereal-crack of choice) and hiding out in the closet with it.

    But somehow, some way, I was tricked into thinking that I liked Kix.

    Yes, Kix. (Vintage box because I couldn’t find an 80’s version)

    Kix_box

    I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t like it at some point.  I can’t imagine how that even satiated my sugar craving (it didn’t). I do recall Pele appearing on a Kix box at one point, and I can’t be sure, but at some point I decided to play soccer.  Probably peer pressure from all the jocks at my school that I was mysteriously forced to hang around. Not sure how that worked.

    My parents dutifully got me a pair of cleats and I played my first and last game of soccer.

    Turns out there’s a lot of running.

     


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  • “It is a very windy, wet and wild part of the world.” Mike Sanderson

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    I don’t live in a particularly rough neighborhood.  I don’t think, anyway. Maybe I’m oblivious.
    On the far right is an example of a .38 caliber bullet. To the immediate left is a 9mm bullet. Just to the left of that is a .38 special bullet. And finally on the left is a .44.

    The three on the right I scammed off of my friend when he was showing me the differences between calibers. We had been drinking, and if there’s one thing I’m sorely lacking, it’s weapon knowledge. Suffice it to say that my daughter has been to gun ranges more than I have.

    The tricky part is the .44. I was grocery shopping yesterday (near the organic aisle) and I hear somebody walking behind me. Ka-ching-Kaching!! Something bounces off the floor as he passes, skitters between my legs and rests in front of me.  I look down, and reach for it. It looks like a bullet! So I pick it up and sure enough it is. At the same time, I look up and the person who was behind me is dressed in the store color – and is heading right into the back room. The timing was such that I didn’t get to say anything. What WOULD you say? “Hey buddy, you dropped this really large caliber bullet? While on duty?”  At first I thought it was one of those bullet keychains. Nope.

    So I pocketed it. Paid for my stuff and left.


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  • “A good cook is a certain slow poisoner, if you are not temperate” Voltaire

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    Yesterday I finally successfully cooked something out of one of the Bitchin’ Kitchen cookbooks.  “Rockin’ Roast Beef”.  Since it would be kind of crappy to post the whole recipe, I’ll walk you through how the whole planning and execution went.

    Two Weeks Ago:

    I invite friends over indicating that they have cooked for me often, and I would like to repay in kind……in two weeks.   Upon making this announcement, I am immediately stricken with the thought that I might not be able to pull it off.  Thinking quickly, I squash this thought in case it might turn out to be true – not giving myself any room to say, “I told you so” after the fact.

    A week ago: 

    Realizing that I need to start buying ingredients, I start putting a list together and planning on what things I need to buy last minute (meat and probably vegetables). All other (unique) items I start hunting immediately. There was a lot of driving over the week, looking for some of the oddly specialized ingredients.  I went to Kroger, Tom Thumb (Safeway), Sprouts, Whole Foods, and finally Central Market. The offending items that took the longest? Honeycup Mustard (found at Central Market) and prepared purple horseradish (never found).  I guess we’re just big on creamed horseradish here in the South. Plenty of that everywhere.  So, heading into the week, even more stressful was the realization that I need to ALSO clean my house in prep for visitors. Not that it’s ever truly horrible, but it stands to be cleaned with definitely more effort than I normally put into it.

    Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. One of those cleaning situations where you clean something, then out of the corner of your eye you spy something else that needs to be cleaned. Then as you’re cleaning that, you spy something else…. yeah. So a lot of over the week cleaning done.

    Friday: 

    So I’ve gotten all the ingredients that I need (exception being the purple horseradish) and I’m ready to pick the meat up tomorrow and get all the vegetables.  Checked the liquor stash and realized I have no “entertaining” vodka and I’m dangerously low on Cognac.  Lunchtime at work I headed for the liquor store, one of the smaller ones near-ish the office. (Don’t get me started on “dry” counties OR the “blue law“). I was somewhat disappointed that their vodka selection wasn’t huge – since I’m always on the lookout for some weird bottle shapes. In terms of taste, most vodkas are the same for me, so buying goofy looking bottles is fun. I did buy some Conjure cognac. Oops, didn’t realize this was a rapper-endorsed brand. Oh well, it’s got a nice bottle and tastes good.

    Saturday: 

    Head to Whole Foods and pick up some boneless beef rump and a pint of Voodoo beer.  Start preparations around 1pm for a 5-6pm dinner.

    Step 1. Open the beer. Pour a glass. Realize this beer is the equivalent of chicory coffee to regular coffee. Drink.

    Step 2. Google what I’m supposed to do with pearl onions. (Do I just wash them? Throw them in the pan?) A: Boil them for three minutes then ice them. Cut off the end at the bulb and then just squeeze them out of their skins.

    Step 3. Wash potatoes.

    Step 4. Rinse Mushrooms.

    Step 5. Pour another glass of beer. Realize that you haven’t eaten much today. Good times.

    Step 5.5 – put the honeycup and salt/pepper on beef to marinate. (2:00pm)

    At this point, my stress level is low, but slowly rising. The beer is helping as a topical anesthetic…so far.

    Step 6. Combine most of the ingredients for the Teriyaki sauce. Realize that buying two huge hunks of ginger was probably a waste.  Slice ginger into a lot of tiny slivers. Get halfway through that, realize that this is actually a lot of work. Simultaneously realize that my knife skills have a long way to go. Keep going.  Combine ginger and garlic into the other ingredients and start to boil.

    Step 7. Start making the chipotle mayo. Realized I was buzzing a little when the teriyaki sauce started to boil and I rushed getting the mayo into the processor and spilled a little. Oops.

    Step 8. Drop the heat on the teriaki sauce, finish getting mayo INTO the processor and add the salt/pepper and chipotle peppers. Blend. Taste. Realize that’s pretty spicy. But tastes good. Scoop it into a bowl and put in the refrigerator. I think it was about 3:30 by this point.

    Step 9. Get a coffee filter and strain the teriyaki sauce – don’t want all the chunks of ginger and garlic.

    Step 10. Pour the last of the beer into the glass.

    At this point, I’m done with the mayo, the vegetables are prepped, the teriyaki sauce is straining.

    NOW, NOW is when I started getting paranoid about cook time. The googling I had done indicated that the vegetables didn’t cook as fast as the meat. As I’d consumed a whole pint of hardcore stout beer, I really started second guessing when I was going to put the meat in the oven.  I had about an hour of “known” cook time, then add vegetables and cook until the meat reaches a certain temp.  Then I had to think, “I don’t want them walking through the door and have to sit down immediately!”

    My original start cook time of 4:00pm I let slide until about 4:45pm.  Played some Zynga poker to kill time while occasionally glancing into the kitchen realizing that I might actually pull it off.  Played until about 4:45 and panicked – “I need to get this in the oven!”  Put it in the oven, realized I have no beer. Make myself a vieux carre.  Get mellow and play some more poker.

    So around, 5:45pm, I add the vegetables. I get a call from the friends that they’re running late. I start to really stress out, and lower the temp on the oven as the meat thermometer is creeping toward the expected temp.

    They arrive around 6:30 or so, and I immediately talk them into a vieux carre – which will blunt any expectation of “fine dining”.

    Well, sure enough, the meat was ready to be pulled, the onions and mushrooms were fine. I did have to put the potatoes in the microwave, but I got stellar raves for the meat. I blame/give credit to the Honeycup Mustard for that.

    I didn’t bother taking a picture of the final product since my blog has long since been past the point of documenting EVERYTHING visually.  The meat gets put on a cutting board and surrounded by the mushrooms, onions, and potatoes. The teriyaki and chipotle mayo, and some cranberry horseradish sauce that I found as a substitute on the side.  Dig in.

    All in all, very successful.  I don’t have any closing thoughts.  Gold star to you if you made it this far though. 😉


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  • “The more successful the villain, the more successful the picture” Alfred Hitchcock

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    First, was the knife.  Then it was the keytags. Followed closely by my Mp3 player. Okay, okay, it was an old 2nd generation iPod, but still.

    I work in a decent sized company, essentially a cube farm,  surrounded by what I think are fine upstanding individuals.  Still, I believe that. I also believe that one of them is a raging kleptomaniac.

    Last week was a hellaciously busy week for me.  Small amounts of sleep, large amounts of work. I’d arrive and throw all the extra junk in my pockets next to my lunch box.

    Apparently that was a mistake.

    Swwwwwooooooossssssshhhhh. Away they went.

    I didn’t bother dog paddling through all five stages of grief, I’m already at “Acceptance”. So, I need to buy a new knife, start collecting stupid shopper key tabs again, and get myself another ipod.

    More interesting to me is my “go forward” plan.  Do I bait my cube and plant a motion sensitive webcam? For sure, I’m not leaving my sunglasses alone, undefended. Have to be a little more careful from now on.

    Lastly, I need to thank Tokenblackgirls.com for pointing out that Louis CK’s hosting stint on Saturday Night Live last night will surely bring more Abraham Lincoln fans to my blog.  I can’t explain why, but Abe Lincoln is a pretty popular guy.


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  • “Hustlers of the world, there is one Mark you cannot beat: the Mark Inside.” William S. Burroughs

    Posted on by The Thousand Yard Stare Comment

    I just lost $11.50 playing pool, and I really enjoyed it.

    Was hanging around a local bar waiting for a friend and started making conversation with a guy and his date.

    He made a quality shot. Like super quality. Like, the “I shouldn’t be showing this shot for guys who are watching me” shot. So I said, “Nice shot man.”

    He said, “Well, we’re playing for $3000.”

    I responded, “W0w, I need to get in on that action.”

    A little later, my coin-table was taken over by some frat boys whom I had hopes of beating senselessly, but the guy I talked to earlier was like, “Hey, wanna play? $20?”

    I got him down to $10 – because that’s all the cash I had on me, but I was just fooling around.  I lost initially,and paid up, but had some fun. It’s easy to recognize someone who can really play, even if they’re really trying to hide it. So I asked him what pool hall he hung out in. He played it off, but then he realized I wasn’t a real target, so he told me that he had a table at his house.

    I lost, we played for fun then went to $.50 a game. Just for fun. We had some kicks giving each other some crap, but we were laughing and having fun. It was nice to have some real competition. His date was ready to go, but we ended up trying to bank the 8 on the last game….so he was a good guy.

    Need to be doing that more often. With less losing. 🙂


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