White Lightning Axiom: Redux

Okey-dokey ... let's get this party started! First off, I would like to initiate you all into this round of blogging where I am once again, getting ready for a tour of duty on the support phone. Bleh. But enough of my 'whining' about having to do actual work; on a more trivial subject I would like to wish you all a happy Ground Hog's day and an additional 6 weeks of winter. Damn Global Warming, causing it to be all cold and stuff. Just to add insult to injury, there was an ice storm this morning. Oh goody. Rats, there I go again with all them negative vibes. I'll have to use a set of bombastic proclamations regarding how wonderful things are for me right now. So, let's talk about the arse whoopin' I got this weekend at the TSD test. The Tyrants did wonderfully. Ghengis Jake had some problems with his staff form due to close quarters. He, as a 5 year old boy, had some issues with being distracted by all the cameras and had to repeat the form alone in front of the evaluation board. No biggie for him though, he is enthusiastically ambivalent and oblivious to his audience. That is a good thing though, it makes it a simple task for me to catch him misbehaving. He believes me to be a prognosticator of deity like qualities as I seem to always catch him when he exhibits his favorite misbehaviors. Alexis had her usual board-anxiety ... Master Smith walked her though it and she did fine. Then there was me. You see, the Tyrants were tested at 1000 so we were up at 0700 to let the dogs out and complete the usual morning activities. I had a difficult time getting to sleep the night before so the morning was a rough event. My examination started at 1145. I did not eat either so I was fairly depleted of all raw blood sugar by the time we started. After I finished my 1000 push-ups, I was drained. Very much so. That did not preclude me from doing the palm-strike board-break with 2 board where I I managed to bruise my finger-tips and the heel of my palm because I failed to retract my digits properly. Serves me right. But with all that, it was a rather successful event. No dehabilitating injuries, little blood drawn and my fellow testers were too exhausted to help me celebrate my 40th birthday (on the 3rd) by presenting my with punches to my arm. That will be saved till tonight, I am certain.

Sunday was not well received. The Wunderbar Mrs presented me with a gift on my day of reckoning, she took care of the fire, tyrants and hounds for me so I could sleep in for an extra 90 minutes. Much needed, if I do say so myself. Then, I had to get going. Sunday School would not wait, and neither would the weekly visit to Dunkin Donuts. I paged thorough the various fan letters and birthday cards from my adoring subjects ... fielded calls from the press and the TSD Black-Belt Brigade regarding my thoughts on making it through my first 4 decades without mortal injuries ... and received an early valentines day card from Rachel at Sunday School. Not too shabby. Here is the odd part of it all though: I spent the rest of the day doing laundry, bringing in firewood, taking naps and tending to various chores about the Manor. This is how Sunday should be spent EVERY week, but I will note that I fail to see how this could become a regular event. First off, even if I were a neophyte of the greenest shade, could I ever want to be this sore every week. My arms were like rubber bands weighed down by 100lb barbells so the firewood restocking took twice the normal time. Even grilling my standard 4 steaks for the week was a laborious endeavor! I'm not anticipating my next test in 3 months.

Technorati Tags:Weekend | Chores | Karate | Children | Birthday

Labels: Birthday, Children, Chores, Fatigue, Karate, Meat, Tang So Doo, Weekend, Wood

Nothing happened yesterday (other than nearly messing up my knee and then getting the living hell pounded out of me in TSD practice), so I'm going to talk about spam (which is what my bloodied nose looked like this morning).

Gingered Spam Salad

1 cn Spam, sliced matchstick size (ed. Obviously)
1/4 c Finely chopped ginger root
1 ea Small red onion, finely
Chopped
1/2 ts Garlic powder
1/4 c Freshly squeezed lime juice
Zest of 1 lime (ed. because we need to use only the best ingredients!)
1/2 ts Oriental dried chili powder
1/4 c Chopped cilantro leaves
8 ea Cherry tomatoes
Thai bird peppers (ed. Yeah, that will cover the taste, but what of the texture!)
and Cilantro sprigs to garnish

Combine all ingredients in a sealed glass or plastic container to
marinate. Refrigerate at least two hours or preferably overnight (ed. Indeed, a fortnight.).
Stir or shake occasionally to evenly coat. One hour before serving,
stir in cilantro. Serve on a bed of torn lettuce of your choice.
Garnish with quartered cherry tomatoes, Thai bird peppers and
cilantro sprigs.

You know, I just don't get the cilantro. Is this a Californian recipe? I mean, spam isn't REAL meat so I could see that. But still ... did you notice that there is no mention of actually cooking the dish ... or even heating it? Is Spam pre-cooked ... do you trust that?

Technorati Tags:Spam | Blogging | Meat | Tang So Doo

Labels: Blogging, Meat, Spam, Tang So Doo

I waited too long for this post, my tardiness is inexcusable. This quick, abrupt and brutal scrabble of a post will do no justice to the chronicles of the Haupertonian Manor's inhabitants. But alas, I cannot allow this lacunae of posting to continue or it may go on for weeks. I can be negligent that way. So, on Friday, we enjoyed the Killer Dodge Ball of Dooom after TSD practice ... except Jake who got a time-out for failing to heed instruction. He got to play the second game, but was promptly nailed within minutes of the game starting. Hard for him, hard for me. I know he enjoys the game so much ... he'll get more opportunities. Then on Saturday, I goof off. Pick up some dog dip, tinker about the Manor, but nothing of consequence other than restocking the wood brackets and doing the week's laundry. I felt a bit empty though. The lack of accomplishment was like a detox session to me. The laundry was a quick hit at the methadone clinic. Not the same, you know. I had a second chance at happiness on Sunday though. We did sunday school and ALL the children arrived and attended. The Tyrants and I went shopping where I happened upon the weekly 'Meat Bonanza' where the butcher slashes prices on the various cuts because their impending expiration date will cause them to mutate into some horrible zombie heard animal. I can see the slices of tenderloin slapping their way down the street now. Limpets of liver writhing about my feet. Vicious without caramelized onions, you know. Shaking off that peculiar visage ... we bought a few bricks of cheese and then some flowers for the Mrs. And, ran into her at the checkout. She was astounded at the damage one hungry pack of Khans can do with a credit card. Nearly $200 dollars in milk, meat and associated products ... donuts. So, we quickly paid the cashier and escaped her momentarily stunned countenance before she could react. Bwa-ha-ha! Chicken tonight!

Later on, I took down the miles of exterior lighting and started removing the ornaments from the decrepit Christmas Tree that had not been watered all week. I hauled it off to the Christmas tree graveyard where all of our trees go to decompose., scratching at the ground and whimpering the whole way. Then, after the long journey back, the Mrs asked me if I had found that last decoration on the tree. Urgh. No, so we back track to the graveyard, inspecting the ground the entire way and appearing to be some sort of cross between human and flamingo. Bent half over, scanning back and forth, searching for a little green tree amongst the grass and leaves. We turn the particularly hostile tree over and over to see if it was still in the branches. No luck. We surrender it to the tides of time and turn to return back to the Portcullis (we expected the Tyrants to have set fire to the living room by now) and out of the corner of my eye, I spot it on the lowest branch of the tree. What fortune! I must have saved 100 orphans from killer monkey-dog attack beasts in a previous life and this was my karmic return. To boost my karma account tally, I spend the afternoon practicing the staff form with the Tyrants and playing kiddy soccer with Joyous Jake in the Cybernetic hounds. He ran his fool head off till he was completely drained of energy, but not of will to continue chasing that damned ball. The rest of the day was spent in the kitchen, cooking up the chicken in a nice provincial herb oven roast recipe in my big cast iron skillet and vac-packing the rest of the meat for its final destination, the Near Zero Deep Freeze. I should name it, the freezer. Little Alaska? Sounds about right.

Technorati Tags:Weekend | Chores | Karate | Children | Church | meat

Labels: Banalities, Children, Chores, Church, Dodge Ball, Family, Meat, Mundane, Slacker, Sunday School, Tang So Doo, Weekend

Not much ... it's Friday after all. I try to make sure that this final day of forced labor is as quiet as possible with the exception of dodge ball. And yes, there will be swimming too. Speaking of swimming, Mrs Gwen stopped by the pool yesterday. She was concerned that she had not seen us for so long. She is awfully attached to the Tyrants. They seem to have that peculiar ability to attract adoptive grandparents. On that topic, we had another attack of 'How cute and devilish can I be' from the Haupertonian Scion. Jake invaded our bed again last night, but had the good sense to climb in from the foot of the bed instead of over my head. He let me get some sleep and siphoned heat off of the Mrs instead. Vampires have to let their prey (stock?) recuperate between feedings, you know.

And now, for the progeny of the title for this post. I found this at Varifrank and could only think 'about time'. Like flying cars, zap pistols and faster than light space ships ... it is a 'taste' of the future. Yes, bacon salt. Not only does it make food DAMN GOOD, it will protect your from islamist terrorists! I'm going to talk to the Mrs about quitting my job and becoming a QA Specialist in charge of the bacon salt production line. Oh, and they have a blog too! Boy, wouldn't this stuff make and awesome Christmas present. Eh? EH?

Technorati Tags:Work | Swimming | Karate | Children | Bacon Salt

Labels: Bed, Children, Dodge Ball, Meat, Sleep, Spam, Tang So Doo, TGIF

Behind the 8-Ball again here in the wonderful world of Haupertonian HyJinx. Friday was an abnormally mundane day. It got A LOT cooler around here so I could mow the lawn with little consequence. On top of the lack of measurable rain, the non-use of the sprinkler system of biblical proportions has resulted in a very un-healthy lawn. I did not need to empty the clippings till I had finished the whole front pastoral expanse. I could see every spot where I planted the drought tolerant zyosia grass though. Looks like it is spreading exactly where I wanted it to. I'm thinking about buying another sheet to fill in those 'less healthy' areas. Next year, it should really start taking over like some sort of alien kudzu. Saturday, I slept in till nearly noon. How I managed to subvert the Mrs into letting me get away with that, I cannot remember. I'll wager I signed a contract in blood that involved me surrendering a critical part of my anatomy at a nebulous future date. Hrmmmm ... I'll bet she mind-wiped me while I was sleeping. I'll have to take a look at my cerebral log files to see what happened. She is trick though ... probably edited them too. Ungh ... getting a headache thinking about this ... some sort of ... synaptic virus ... REBOOT, REBOOT! .... [static]

Wha? Oh, yes Saturday. Watched the kids play on the driveway while I was busy with the wee-eater in the back. Trimming some of the areas that the mower could not get at. Fixing up little things with the Twin AAA Towers in the Sand pit and mucking about in the agricultural sector. Typical puttering about type tasks that seem to gather en-mass towards the end of the week. We did have a minor outing to the Local Home Depot Temple to see if we could pick up the beveled mirror doors for Jake's closet. Much to my disappointment, they no longer carry the preferred product in stock ... it's a Stanley Special Order item now. GRRR.... We decided to make some measurements back at the manor and get doors for the other closets as well so we would only have to go through the red-tape again. It is getting harder and harder to make purchases for these type of 'big ticket' items. I think the Usurper Lowes is really putting a hurting on LHDT (Local Home Depot Temple). Dejected and disgruntled, we went off to Giant and picked up some butchers discount stew meat. Yeah, it was probably getting 'ripe' but since I have an iron gut and I intended on using it for shishkabobs on Sunday, I had little worry about spending 7$ on the 3 packs. Sunday: in short consisted of an early mass with the Twin Tyrants, the habitual stop at Dunkin Donuts and a early departure for Sesame Place. We got there by 1030 hours (it opens at 1000) so the usual line of cars leading out of the lot had dwindled considerably. Now, you would think that with a full parking lot we would have to contend with a horde of eager masses at the entrance. Indeed, there was a MONSTROUS gaggle of unwashed population queued up. We have a season passport which has a special line. It took us about 5 minutes to clear the gate. Oh yeah! (Doing a chair dance, stirring the pot, etc...) We then spent the next 7 hours getting roasted because we were about 3 feet from the sun all day long. Alexis broke out of her shell and went on the 'Giant Ducky Ride' as well as the big tube ride twice. It was a very good trip. We ate beef jerky on the way home and I made the kabobs with the garlic sauce marinated meat. A fitting conclusion to an untypically awesome weekend.

Oh, and gasoline is now at USD $2.59/gal. Not perfect, but getting better.

Technorati Tags:Gas | SwimmingChildren | Sesame Place

Labels: Children, Family, Gas, Lawn, Meat, Mundane, Swimming, Water, Weekend

I've been having problems getting down to writing about the fantastic vacation we just got back from. You know how it goes; you go away for a week and when you come back there is double the work stacked on your desk, all with a deadline posted the day you left. The manor is in total disarray and I have a honey-do list that would crush most mortal men. Gha.

In any event, a Sassy friend from way back (wow, 15 years since college) directed me here ... My God, it's full of stars calories.

On top of that, blog-buddy MaggsBunny sent me this:

Imagine if you will... the leader of the fifth invader force
speaking to the commander in chief...

"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars."
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?"
"Spare me. Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!"
"So... what does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"
"Omigod. You're serious then. They're made out of meat."
"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"So what does the meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat?"
"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. 'Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact
pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe."
"That's it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."
"And we can mark this sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe would be if one were all alone."

By Terry Bisson
http://www.terrybisson.com/

Technorati Tags:Meat | Banalities

Labels: Banalities, Meat