Sunday, December 11, 2011
Dijon-Braised Brussels Sprouts
i forgot to take a picture. but go here and look how fabulous they look at smitten kitchen. mine looked just liked deb's, and her photos are much better than mine, so it's better that i didn't take a pic. these are BY FAR the best brussels sprouts i've ever eaten. i feel sorry for people who think they don't like brussels sprouts, or won't try them. a scene stealer, for sure!
Friday, November 4, 2011
Who Watches The Birders?
gavin cardigan walked into Poor Yorick's Pub, hung up his fedora, and walked up to the bar. "danny boy, i'm hungering for something but i have no idea what it is. i hope you do, hoss."
his friend danny blake poured him a Bass and said, "i reckon it's for cowboy bacon chili fries. if not, you're getting it anyway since that's all i've got."
gavin snapped his fingers and grinned. "you hit the nail on the head, my friend. that's exactly what i was craving."
he walked back to his regular table to join his friends but noticed an odd group of people at a nearby table listening to taylor young talking about an ugly bird.
"gymnogyps californianus, more commonly known as the california condor," taylor said, pointing at a poster of a pink-headed vulture. "it was nearly extinct, and is one of the rarest birds in the world, with only 181 left in the wild."
"what's going on? who are these people?" gavin asked sierra charles as he took the seat next to her.
"it's taylor's birdwatching group," she told him. "he's leading the group out on halloween to look for a condor."
"taylor's a birdwatcher? that doesn't sound very vampirish."
"that's a good thing," taylor's girlfriend, marian elfman, put in. "i'm all for encouraging his non-vampire interests." she frowned at the flock of freaky feather fanatics. "although i might prefer his vampire friends."
gavin turned to see one of taylor's group, an intense young woman with multiple facial piercings, combat boots, and a tye-dyed t-shirt shaking her finger at taylor. "we'd have to head down to big sur or pinnacles national monument to see gymnogyps californianus. nobody has spotted one in the bay area for decades. we should look instead for asia otus. it's a good fit for halloween, too."
a slight asian man wearing a bucket hat adorned with an egg wisk and a feather looked uncomfortable. "the long-eared owl? why is everyone talking about such vicious birds? can't we look for a pretty xanthocephalus xanthocephalus?"
taylor sighed. "vinh, we went over this. this is a halloween birding trip, so we want a bird that fits the season. the yellow-headed blackbird isn't very halloweeny. as for the long-eared owl, chaos, it's not challenging enough."
sierra snickered. "taylor just said halloweeny."
"her name is chaos?" gavin was puzzled.
danny arrived with gavin's chili fries. "i'm surprised they're not going after vampire bats."
"it's not really a bird," marian explained. "since it's a mammal, serious birders don't look for it."
"and birders seem to be serious people, indeed," gavin noted, scooting his seat a little further away from taylor's group.
a stout woman of uncertain age and accent wearing red-and-yellow striped wellies was poking at taylor's map. "we need cliffs, man, if we're to spot a condor. we should drive down the coast this way."
"is it legal to carry a machete around town?" danny whispered, pointing at the blade slung across her back.
taylor gulped. "y...yes, your ladyship. you're probably right."
"ladyship?" Mysterious Lurker suddenly popped in from out of nowhere...but whether is was from literally nowhere or literary nowhere, nobody was quite sure. "taylor's hanging out with royalty now?"
"she claims to be royalty, the widow of an earl or something," marian told them. "they're all kind of intimidated by her."
"well, taylor's only a count, right? he's outranked."
"he's actually a viscount. the UK doesn't have counts; they exist in the other european countries," marian informed.
"and the pasture," the Lurker noted. "remember when taylor was inspired by marian's children's book and he decided to write his own?"
sierra laughed out loud (really, she did). "Count Hoofula the Vampire Cow!"
"she sucked the milk out of people instead of blood," cardigan recalled with a grin. "and said moo instead of boo."
marian wiped tears from her eyes. "but she never could bite anybody because the bell around her neck always warned people that she was sneaking up on them, so she had to go buy milk at the store, instead!"
"i say there, would you mind keeping it down over there? you're interrupting our meeting!" taylor scolded them.
that earned a chorus a scary moos.
that earned an indignant hmph.
his friend danny blake poured him a Bass and said, "i reckon it's for cowboy bacon chili fries. if not, you're getting it anyway since that's all i've got."
gavin snapped his fingers and grinned. "you hit the nail on the head, my friend. that's exactly what i was craving."
he walked back to his regular table to join his friends but noticed an odd group of people at a nearby table listening to taylor young talking about an ugly bird.
"gymnogyps californianus, more commonly known as the california condor," taylor said, pointing at a poster of a pink-headed vulture. "it was nearly extinct, and is one of the rarest birds in the world, with only 181 left in the wild."
"what's going on? who are these people?" gavin asked sierra charles as he took the seat next to her.
"it's taylor's birdwatching group," she told him. "he's leading the group out on halloween to look for a condor."
"taylor's a birdwatcher? that doesn't sound very vampirish."
"that's a good thing," taylor's girlfriend, marian elfman, put in. "i'm all for encouraging his non-vampire interests." she frowned at the flock of freaky feather fanatics. "although i might prefer his vampire friends."
gavin turned to see one of taylor's group, an intense young woman with multiple facial piercings, combat boots, and a tye-dyed t-shirt shaking her finger at taylor. "we'd have to head down to big sur or pinnacles national monument to see gymnogyps californianus. nobody has spotted one in the bay area for decades. we should look instead for asia otus. it's a good fit for halloween, too."
a slight asian man wearing a bucket hat adorned with an egg wisk and a feather looked uncomfortable. "the long-eared owl? why is everyone talking about such vicious birds? can't we look for a pretty xanthocephalus xanthocephalus?"
taylor sighed. "vinh, we went over this. this is a halloween birding trip, so we want a bird that fits the season. the yellow-headed blackbird isn't very halloweeny. as for the long-eared owl, chaos, it's not challenging enough."
sierra snickered. "taylor just said halloweeny."
"her name is chaos?" gavin was puzzled.
danny arrived with gavin's chili fries. "i'm surprised they're not going after vampire bats."
"it's not really a bird," marian explained. "since it's a mammal, serious birders don't look for it."
"and birders seem to be serious people, indeed," gavin noted, scooting his seat a little further away from taylor's group.
a stout woman of uncertain age and accent wearing red-and-yellow striped wellies was poking at taylor's map. "we need cliffs, man, if we're to spot a condor. we should drive down the coast this way."
"is it legal to carry a machete around town?" danny whispered, pointing at the blade slung across her back.
taylor gulped. "y...yes, your ladyship. you're probably right."
"ladyship?" Mysterious Lurker suddenly popped in from out of nowhere...but whether is was from literally nowhere or literary nowhere, nobody was quite sure. "taylor's hanging out with royalty now?"
"she claims to be royalty, the widow of an earl or something," marian told them. "they're all kind of intimidated by her."
"well, taylor's only a count, right? he's outranked."
"he's actually a viscount. the UK doesn't have counts; they exist in the other european countries," marian informed.
"and the pasture," the Lurker noted. "remember when taylor was inspired by marian's children's book and he decided to write his own?"
sierra laughed out loud (really, she did). "Count Hoofula the Vampire Cow!"
"she sucked the milk out of people instead of blood," cardigan recalled with a grin. "and said moo instead of boo."
marian wiped tears from her eyes. "but she never could bite anybody because the bell around her neck always warned people that she was sneaking up on them, so she had to go buy milk at the store, instead!"
"i say there, would you mind keeping it down over there? you're interrupting our meeting!" taylor scolded them.
that earned a chorus a scary moos.
that earned an indignant hmph.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Snapshots: Shakespeare or Fakespeare?
The greatest English playwright ever known,
His stories will forever be performed.
But when a light on his own tale is shone
We find that we are not too well informed.
He never spelled his name the same way twice,
And seems to have not ever been abroad;
His education just would not suffice,
So some say he's the greatest ever fraud.
Perhaps Sir Francis Bacon was the scribe?
Still others nominate Edward de Vere.
Kit Marlowe had the talent, some subscribe,
Or did the Queen herself compose King Lear?
Poor Yorick's Pub is where the answers hide--
Read on and let these snapshots be your guide!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Costume Foolery
gavin cardigan entered the Pub and hung his fedora on a peg. "danny boy!" he called out. "what's for supper tonight?"
"chicken and waffles," danny blake responded from behind the bar, pouring cardigan a Bass. "you game?"
"chicken, waffles, and beer," cardigan mused. "i find nothing to complain about there. thank you, sir."
cardigan walked back to join his friends in the back. "what's up, guys?"
"we're trying to figure out our costumes for burkie's annual halloween party!" marian elfman announced excitedly.
cardigan's enthusiasm was less than apparent. "i didn't even now that burkie had an annual halloween party."
"this will be the first in a new tradition," Mysterious Lurker stated with certainty, her black locks nicely framing her Elvira makeup. "he just doesn't know it yet."
"it promises to be at least as popular as his not-quite annual winter solstice party," sierra charles predicted. "granted, that wouldn't take much."
"gavin, old chap," taylor quipped, "i'm thinking of not going as a vampire. a bit obvious, you know. any suggestions?"
"i don't know," cardigan shrugged. "why don't you & marian go as sonny & cher?"
sierra applauded the suggestion. "i'd like to see marian dressed up as cher!"
marian scowled. "um, no. besides, i was planning on going as zooey deschanel. taylor is on his own on this one."
"ooooh, i like that one!" the Lurker exclaimed. "you'll be a great zooey, marian."
"hmph," taylor muttered. "perhaps i'll go as chef gordon ramsay, then. we have the same accent."
"please use rubber knives," danny pleaded, recalling taylor's natural clumsiness as he delivered cardigan's meal. "so who will you be, gavin?"
cardigan dug into his meal. "mmm, this is great. i don't know...maybe as that kid from jerry maguire. you know, the one that just goes around spouting trivia like there are more songs about memphis than any other city. it'll probably annoy the hell out of burkie."
"is that true about memphis?" sierra asked. "i would have thought new york."
"no, it's definitely memphis," tucker confirmed for everyone, then began strumming an E chord in a slow boogie-woogie. "even i have one."
(NC) in (E) memphis
(NC) in (E) memphis
the Lurker looked surprised. "sounds like you've been there too, danny. i didn't know that."
danny shrugged. "i've been a lot of places. one doesn't have to lurk to be mysterious," he added with a wink as he walked back to the bar.
"i guess danny's going as an enigma," sierra observed.
"an enigma that knows how to cook," cardigan added as he dragged a piece of chicken through the maple syrup.
"chicken and waffles," danny blake responded from behind the bar, pouring cardigan a Bass. "you game?"
"chicken, waffles, and beer," cardigan mused. "i find nothing to complain about there. thank you, sir."
cardigan walked back to join his friends in the back. "what's up, guys?"
"we're trying to figure out our costumes for burkie's annual halloween party!" marian elfman announced excitedly.
cardigan's enthusiasm was less than apparent. "i didn't even now that burkie had an annual halloween party."
"this will be the first in a new tradition," Mysterious Lurker stated with certainty, her black locks nicely framing her Elvira makeup. "he just doesn't know it yet."
"it promises to be at least as popular as his not-quite annual winter solstice party," sierra charles predicted. "granted, that wouldn't take much."
"gavin, old chap," taylor quipped, "i'm thinking of not going as a vampire. a bit obvious, you know. any suggestions?"
"i don't know," cardigan shrugged. "why don't you & marian go as sonny & cher?"
sierra applauded the suggestion. "i'd like to see marian dressed up as cher!"
marian scowled. "um, no. besides, i was planning on going as zooey deschanel. taylor is on his own on this one."
"ooooh, i like that one!" the Lurker exclaimed. "you'll be a great zooey, marian."
"hmph," taylor muttered. "perhaps i'll go as chef gordon ramsay, then. we have the same accent."
"please use rubber knives," danny pleaded, recalling taylor's natural clumsiness as he delivered cardigan's meal. "so who will you be, gavin?"
cardigan dug into his meal. "mmm, this is great. i don't know...maybe as that kid from jerry maguire. you know, the one that just goes around spouting trivia like there are more songs about memphis than any other city. it'll probably annoy the hell out of burkie."
"is that true about memphis?" sierra asked. "i would have thought new york."
"no, it's definitely memphis," tucker confirmed for everyone, then began strumming an E chord in a slow boogie-woogie. "even i have one."
(NC) in (E) memphis
there's a (A) barefoot girl named (E) presley
(NC) in (E) memphis
she will (A) wait for me ex(E)pressly
(B7) she knows that i'm gonna be there sunday
(A) we'll have a ball that night i daresay
(E) memphis
(A) whoah-oh in (E) memphis
(NC) in (E) memphis
there's a (A) beat that keeps you (E) groovin'
(NC) in (E) memphis
you will (A) find the tunes a(E)pprovin'
(B7) rockabilly, soul, and blues and gospel
(A) dance steps just this side of lawful
(E) memphis
(A) whoah-oh in (E) memphis
(NC) in (E) memphis
there's a (A) rib joint by the (E) freeway
(NC) in (E) memphis
get some (A) soul food at the (E) Four Way
(B7) this ain't a town for counting cal'ries
(A) come get a belly full of mem'ries
(E) memphis
(A) whoah-oh in (E) memphis
(A) whoah-oh in (E) memphis
(A) whoah-oh in (E) memphis
danny, unexpectedly, clapped his hands. "bravo, tucker. sounds like you've been to memphis."
the Lurker looked surprised. "sounds like you've been there too, danny. i didn't know that."
danny shrugged. "i've been a lot of places. one doesn't have to lurk to be mysterious," he added with a wink as he walked back to the bar.
"i guess danny's going as an enigma," sierra observed.
"an enigma that knows how to cook," cardigan added as he dragged a piece of chicken through the maple syrup.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Snapshots: Cardigan and the Cuban Miss Crisis
damn.
my investigation was going nowhere fast, like a chess club president at a cheerleader convention. i had been hired by a cuban refugee in miami to find his 21-year old daughter, yelina garcia. she left her father a note saying sayonara, papa. or maybe it was adios. at any rate, she left for san francisco two months ago and hadn't been heard from since. he wanted to know that she was safe, and wanted her to come home.
i asked if he had contacted the police; he dodged the question. since there was no need to dodge the answer, i told him my fee and instructed him to send it to my paypal account.
three days into the investigation and i had zilch. bupkis. nulo. ms. garcia had not entered the bay area by bus, train, or plane, and her father said she didn't have a car. long-distance inquiries back to miami had not uncovered a friend who was also missing. so, either she never arrived, or arrived under another name, or arrived with an as yet unknown acquaintance. or walked. or swam. to make matters worse, she had emptied her bank account before leaving miami.
the information age made finding missing persons easier than ever, but people who used cash and left no paper trail were the bane of my profession.
bastards. don't they know i have bills to pay?
i was running out of time on this case. if i didn't uncover something soon, señor garcia was going to stop subsidizing my lavish lifestyle. there wasn't a large cuban population in the city, but there was a cuban club in the mission district called Club Ernesto that served a mean mojito. the first rule in private detection was go with your gut, especially if it leads you to alcohol.
Club Ernesto was an homage to hemingway's time in cuba. straw hats, cigars, and classic american cars were celebrated in photos on the wall while sluggish ceiling fans circled overhead. it was hot and steamy inside. it sure as hell didn't feel like northern california in here. rivulets of sweat were racing down my back, but i didn't care about the winner. i went to the bar and ordered a mojito.
a few minutes later, i took my second mojito and sat down at a table on the far side of the club, where i could see everything. there was a small dance floor, crowded with couples, triples, and even singles swaying sensuously to a smoky song called guateque campesino.
"enjoying the view?"
i turned to my right. her neckline was as low as her voice, and just as enticing.
"i am now," i told her. "it would be much improved if you had a drink in your hand, though."
she signaled for a waitress as she took the chair across from me.
"mojito. and he'll need another one, too."
the waitress nodded and left us in silent study of one another's attributes.
"so, handsome. do you dance?"
i shook my head. "my body isn't very supple, i'm afraid."
"i'm sure it's good for something else, then," she said as the waitress delivered their drinks. "what brings you here if not the dancing?"
"i'm looking for a girl."
she clinked her glass against mine. "congratulations. you found one."
i certainly had, and a fine specimen at that. however, i was on the clock and had to spoil the moment. "a specific girl, actually. yelina garcia, recently of miami. do you know her?"
she took a leisurely sip from her drink. too leisurely. "what do you want with yelina?"
jackpot. she knew her. hell, maybe she even was her. was my luck that good?
"nobody has heard from her since she left miami and her father is worried. is she safe?"
she spun the gold and silver bangles around her lovely brown wrist, refusing now to meet my eyes. that made me sad. i could have happily stared into those coca-cola eyes all night.
"you a cop?"
"nope. private investigator." i tapped my finger on the table. "is yelina in trouble?"
"not in san francisco, she isn't. you can tell her father that she is safe, but she's not coming home."
my job was done. i had earned my money and could walk away now, find some air conditioning, and think about how to spend it. i kept going, though.
"is there trouble in miami? i found her pretty easily, without even a photo to go on. her father, at the very least, knows that she's in san francisco. others probably do, too."
"the only person yelina has trouble with is her father, and he knows she can cause him more trouble than he can cause her. tell him she'll stay out of his life if he stays out of hers."
i nodded. "okay, then. business is over, let's get back to pleasure."
she stood. "no, i don't think so."
i watched her walk away. as a consolation prize, it wasn't bad. the lady knew how to walk. still, it was only a consolation prize.
damn.
my investigation was going nowhere fast, like a chess club president at a cheerleader convention. i had been hired by a cuban refugee in miami to find his 21-year old daughter, yelina garcia. she left her father a note saying sayonara, papa. or maybe it was adios. at any rate, she left for san francisco two months ago and hadn't been heard from since. he wanted to know that she was safe, and wanted her to come home.
i asked if he had contacted the police; he dodged the question. since there was no need to dodge the answer, i told him my fee and instructed him to send it to my paypal account.
three days into the investigation and i had zilch. bupkis. nulo. ms. garcia had not entered the bay area by bus, train, or plane, and her father said she didn't have a car. long-distance inquiries back to miami had not uncovered a friend who was also missing. so, either she never arrived, or arrived under another name, or arrived with an as yet unknown acquaintance. or walked. or swam. to make matters worse, she had emptied her bank account before leaving miami.
the information age made finding missing persons easier than ever, but people who used cash and left no paper trail were the bane of my profession.
bastards. don't they know i have bills to pay?
i was running out of time on this case. if i didn't uncover something soon, señor garcia was going to stop subsidizing my lavish lifestyle. there wasn't a large cuban population in the city, but there was a cuban club in the mission district called Club Ernesto that served a mean mojito. the first rule in private detection was go with your gut, especially if it leads you to alcohol.
Club Ernesto was an homage to hemingway's time in cuba. straw hats, cigars, and classic american cars were celebrated in photos on the wall while sluggish ceiling fans circled overhead. it was hot and steamy inside. it sure as hell didn't feel like northern california in here. rivulets of sweat were racing down my back, but i didn't care about the winner. i went to the bar and ordered a mojito.
a few minutes later, i took my second mojito and sat down at a table on the far side of the club, where i could see everything. there was a small dance floor, crowded with couples, triples, and even singles swaying sensuously to a smoky song called guateque campesino.
"enjoying the view?"
i turned to my right. her neckline was as low as her voice, and just as enticing.
"i am now," i told her. "it would be much improved if you had a drink in your hand, though."
she signaled for a waitress as she took the chair across from me.
"mojito. and he'll need another one, too."
the waitress nodded and left us in silent study of one another's attributes.
"so, handsome. do you dance?"
i shook my head. "my body isn't very supple, i'm afraid."
"i'm sure it's good for something else, then," she said as the waitress delivered their drinks. "what brings you here if not the dancing?"
"i'm looking for a girl."
she clinked her glass against mine. "congratulations. you found one."
i certainly had, and a fine specimen at that. however, i was on the clock and had to spoil the moment. "a specific girl, actually. yelina garcia, recently of miami. do you know her?"
she took a leisurely sip from her drink. too leisurely. "what do you want with yelina?"
jackpot. she knew her. hell, maybe she even was her. was my luck that good?
"nobody has heard from her since she left miami and her father is worried. is she safe?"
she spun the gold and silver bangles around her lovely brown wrist, refusing now to meet my eyes. that made me sad. i could have happily stared into those coca-cola eyes all night.
"you a cop?"
"nope. private investigator." i tapped my finger on the table. "is yelina in trouble?"
"not in san francisco, she isn't. you can tell her father that she is safe, but she's not coming home."
my job was done. i had earned my money and could walk away now, find some air conditioning, and think about how to spend it. i kept going, though.
"is there trouble in miami? i found her pretty easily, without even a photo to go on. her father, at the very least, knows that she's in san francisco. others probably do, too."
"the only person yelina has trouble with is her father, and he knows she can cause him more trouble than he can cause her. tell him she'll stay out of his life if he stays out of hers."
i nodded. "okay, then. business is over, let's get back to pleasure."
she stood. "no, i don't think so."
i watched her walk away. as a consolation prize, it wasn't bad. the lady knew how to walk. still, it was only a consolation prize.
damn.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Squash Casserole
Friday, September 2, 2011
Snapshots: Burkie In Your Pocket
there are a number of characters that haven't had any snapshots, yet. one of them is yours truly. i'm gonna tell you a story about my criminal past.
wait, burkie had a criminal past?! i know, you're shocked. or disappointed. or possibly impressed.
it all started during my second year of college, either fall of 1981 or spring of 1982. i know it was then because i remember my roommate and me in our apartment on riverside drive in austin, honing the craft of our new career.
let me tell you a little about my roommate, roy (his middle name was dale and i suspected that he was named after roy rogers & dale evans, though he always denied it). roy was one those guys who always wanted to be an accountant. actually, he always wanted a nice salary but decided early on that majoring in accounting was the best way to pursue that goal. i'll tell you this, roy needed the money. he had the worst car ever. it was a 2-door chevy vega hatchback. the vega, if you're not familiar with that model, was a crappy car at best.
and roy's vega? it was never at best. i can't tell you how many times we'd have to push it down the street to build up enough speed so that one of us could jump into the driver's seat, put it in gear, and pop the clutch in order to get the engine started (does anybody do this anymore?). there were also times when that didn't work and we needed to get his car home, but he couldn't afford to have it towed. at those times, we'd call another friend of ours to come help us do a 3-man tow job. i guess i shouldn't say tow, since we actually pushed the car home. here's how it worked: roy would be in the driver's seat of his vega, and i would drive up behind him in my plymouth gold duster (unlike the vega, the gold duster was a fantastic car) and stop about a foot short. then our other friend had the unenviable job of sitting on the hood of my car and placing his feet on roy's car. i would then start driving and, using the third guy's feet (because bumper-to-bumper action could damage both cars), roy's car would be pushed along in front of me and roy would steer us home. once there, he'd spend a couple of days banging on it and, eventually, through sheer doggedness and a little baling wire and duct tape (he regularly used these items in his automotive repair activities, i kid you not), he'd get that ridiculous car running again for a little while. (later that year, roy would finally give up and have the vega committed to a scrap heap. god love him, he went and purchased an even more pathetic vehicle, the plymouth arrow pickup truck).
that was roy's situation. what you need to understand about my situation at that time is that i was changing my major every semester without any clue as to what i wanted to do when i grew up. never did. not sure i do now, come to that.
so, one night, we watched a movie on TV called Harry In Your Pocket. you've probably never heard of this movie; it wasn't that popular. roy and i, however, were greatly inspired. you see, Harry In Your Pocket was a movie about pickpockets. it taught you how to do it, and how to work as a team when picking pockets. it was so cool, and it starred james coburn, who was like the living embodiment of cool. we realized that by becoming professional pickpockets, roy would have plenty of money; i would have a career; and we'd both be cool (which, i confess, neither of us were regularly accused of being. maybe one day i'll tell you the story of our failed attempt to try marijuana).
we started that night. we each put on a jacket, placed our wallets in the inside pocket, and started practicing. we'd walk toward each other, accidentally bump, and one of us would try to steal the other's wallet. then, we'd place the wallet in the back pocket of our jeans (not the pocket holding the Skoal, of course) and practice lifting it from there without the other realizing it. most fun of all, we'd each carry a newspaper. the one who picked the wallet would place it inside the fold of his newspaper and then, walking by the other, nonchalantly slide the wallet from his newspaper to the other's newspaper. that way, you see, the one who had just picked the pocket is no longer holding the evidence in case the victim realizes he's just been robbed and sends a cop after the guy who bumped into him. cool, no?
well, when james coburn does it, it's really cool. when it's two college guys spending their friday and saturday nights doing this because they don't know how to get high and they don't have girlfriends, it's just...sad. fortunately, we were terrible at it. the newspaper trick, we could manage that, but a dead man would know we were trying to pick his pocket. roy would never be able to steal enough even to buy another retread tire (and he bought a lot of them), and my career as a pickpocket would have been even shorter than my career as a door-to-door bible salesman. instead, roy started painting people's houses after class and on the weekends, and i got a part-time job at the frame shop in the mall.
i haven't seen roy in decades. i hope he's well. and not in jail.
wait, burkie had a criminal past?! i know, you're shocked. or disappointed. or possibly impressed.
it all started during my second year of college, either fall of 1981 or spring of 1982. i know it was then because i remember my roommate and me in our apartment on riverside drive in austin, honing the craft of our new career.
let me tell you a little about my roommate, roy (his middle name was dale and i suspected that he was named after roy rogers & dale evans, though he always denied it). roy was one those guys who always wanted to be an accountant. actually, he always wanted a nice salary but decided early on that majoring in accounting was the best way to pursue that goal. i'll tell you this, roy needed the money. he had the worst car ever. it was a 2-door chevy vega hatchback. the vega, if you're not familiar with that model, was a crappy car at best.
and roy's vega? it was never at best. i can't tell you how many times we'd have to push it down the street to build up enough speed so that one of us could jump into the driver's seat, put it in gear, and pop the clutch in order to get the engine started (does anybody do this anymore?). there were also times when that didn't work and we needed to get his car home, but he couldn't afford to have it towed. at those times, we'd call another friend of ours to come help us do a 3-man tow job. i guess i shouldn't say tow, since we actually pushed the car home. here's how it worked: roy would be in the driver's seat of his vega, and i would drive up behind him in my plymouth gold duster (unlike the vega, the gold duster was a fantastic car) and stop about a foot short. then our other friend had the unenviable job of sitting on the hood of my car and placing his feet on roy's car. i would then start driving and, using the third guy's feet (because bumper-to-bumper action could damage both cars), roy's car would be pushed along in front of me and roy would steer us home. once there, he'd spend a couple of days banging on it and, eventually, through sheer doggedness and a little baling wire and duct tape (he regularly used these items in his automotive repair activities, i kid you not), he'd get that ridiculous car running again for a little while. (later that year, roy would finally give up and have the vega committed to a scrap heap. god love him, he went and purchased an even more pathetic vehicle, the plymouth arrow pickup truck).
that was roy's situation. what you need to understand about my situation at that time is that i was changing my major every semester without any clue as to what i wanted to do when i grew up. never did. not sure i do now, come to that.
so, one night, we watched a movie on TV called Harry In Your Pocket. you've probably never heard of this movie; it wasn't that popular. roy and i, however, were greatly inspired. you see, Harry In Your Pocket was a movie about pickpockets. it taught you how to do it, and how to work as a team when picking pockets. it was so cool, and it starred james coburn, who was like the living embodiment of cool. we realized that by becoming professional pickpockets, roy would have plenty of money; i would have a career; and we'd both be cool (which, i confess, neither of us were regularly accused of being. maybe one day i'll tell you the story of our failed attempt to try marijuana).
we started that night. we each put on a jacket, placed our wallets in the inside pocket, and started practicing. we'd walk toward each other, accidentally bump, and one of us would try to steal the other's wallet. then, we'd place the wallet in the back pocket of our jeans (not the pocket holding the Skoal, of course) and practice lifting it from there without the other realizing it. most fun of all, we'd each carry a newspaper. the one who picked the wallet would place it inside the fold of his newspaper and then, walking by the other, nonchalantly slide the wallet from his newspaper to the other's newspaper. that way, you see, the one who had just picked the pocket is no longer holding the evidence in case the victim realizes he's just been robbed and sends a cop after the guy who bumped into him. cool, no?
well, when james coburn does it, it's really cool. when it's two college guys spending their friday and saturday nights doing this because they don't know how to get high and they don't have girlfriends, it's just...sad. fortunately, we were terrible at it. the newspaper trick, we could manage that, but a dead man would know we were trying to pick his pocket. roy would never be able to steal enough even to buy another retread tire (and he bought a lot of them), and my career as a pickpocket would have been even shorter than my career as a door-to-door bible salesman. instead, roy started painting people's houses after class and on the weekends, and i got a part-time job at the frame shop in the mall.
i haven't seen roy in decades. i hope he's well. and not in jail.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Snapshots: A Day In The Park
the setting: san francisco, california. it's august and unusually bright and warm.
scene 1: golden gate park. it's morning and there are several rows of people performing tai chi. most of them are adult asians though there are also a couple of aging hippies and a 16-year old boy.
relax. breathe. let your arms float.
as he took his initial stance, he heard the words in his mind, but it wasn't his voice or that of his tai chi master that he heard.
head up. part the wild horse's mane to the left. exhale.
his sister's voice had set the tone. he felt the coarse hair of the mane in his fingers, his sister's warm breath against his ear. as he moved into the next form, he transcended his normal plane of awareness to a place that was both familiar and unkown to him. his body continued to flow from one form to the next.
grasping the swallow's tail. single whip. waving hands like clouds.
his consciousness, though, was elsewhere. it wasn't san francisco. it wasn't a place at all. his senses were void. he saw nothing, he smelled nothing, he felt nothing. his sister's voice was gone. but she was there. there was no evidence of her, but she was there. he knew it. twins had that connection. she was part of his world, and she was still with him.
scene 2: golden gate park. it's afternoon and an old man is playing chess against a 16-year old boy.
the boy opened by pushing queen's pawn forward two spaces. "rabbi ori, i was performing tai chi in the park this morning and...and i think i may have reached enlightenment."
the old rabbi raised a bushy grey eyebrow at his opponent, then moved his knight out into the field of play.
"did you, now? and what makes you think that, my young friend?
the boy paused. he was looking at the board, but his mind was on his experience that morning. when he had ended his forms, he was back in the normal, waking world. the presence of his twin sister had lingered, though. he found himself looking around to see if she was watching him. she wasn't there, though. nobody was.
he slid another pawn forward and said, "i was doing my forms, but it felt like my body was doing the movements on its own while my mind was...somewhere else. i don't know where. it was empty. nothingness, really, except for the feeling that my...that somebody i haven't see in a long time was there, and she was safe. i've never felt anything like that before. it was real, though. i swear it."
the rabbi nodded noncommittally, and pushed one of his pawns out into the fray, opening up a bishop and his queen. "in the eastern philosophies, reaching a state of enlightenment brings an end to suffering and an understanding of the complexities of the universe, no?"
the boy shrugged, and captured a pawn. "something like that, yeah."
the moves on the board seem to match the flow of the conversation: probing, unsure, deflecting, penetrating.
"so what mysteries did your enlightened mind unlock?"
"i don't know. i mean, i didn't solve any mysteries. i just...i just felt that this person was alive and safe, even though i have no real way of knowing."
"we've played many a game of chess, my young friend, and i've watched you here in the park. may i make an observation? yes?"
the boy nodded.
"you are lost. you exist in this world, but you are not part of it. the eastern philosophies, you are drawn to them because they would have you to turn away from the world and look inside yourself for answers. for them, the world is nothing but pain and suffering. it is something to ascend from, yes?"
another nod.
"for us jews, that is unthinkable. we live in our world. family and tradition, they are where we look for answers. the torah and talmud give us mitzvot--the commandments of god--to help us find our way in the world and make it a better place. we don't want to ascend from this world; we want to make this a better world, you see?"
another nod, but accompanied by a frown. "so, i didn't reach enlightenment?"
the old rabbi tilted his head to the side in a half-shrug. "meh, who knows? but we jews, we have a word called kavannah. do you know this word? no? well, it is a kind of enlightenment. it means directing one's heart toward heaven. oftentimes, we jews just go through the motions with our laws and prayers and rituals, doing them because we're supposed to, because we always have. sometimes, though, the rituals awaken sudden clarity inside of us and click! we understand. in that very moment, it all comes together. we feel the connection that we all have to god, and to each other, and to this world. that is kavannah. it's very zen, no?"
the boy looked impressed. "that's cool."
the old rabbi smiled. "i'm glad you think so, my young friend. now, maybe you experienced kavannah; maybe you did not. who knows? but my advice is to remember that connection you felt, the connection to that other person whom you loved, your connection to this world."
the boy nodded. "is that all, rabbi?"
"no, my young friend. you must also remember not to expose your king. checkmate."
scene 3: golden gate park. it's evening and a woman is sitting on a plaid blanket, eating a picnic dinner with an old shaggy dog and a 16-year old boy.
"danny, these sandwiches are delicious. where did you get them?"
"a jewish deli that rabbi ori told me about," the boy told her as he handed her a bottle of coke. "he said it's the best pastrami he's ever had."
"it's certainly the best i've ever had," the woman said. "i'm glad you thought to bring a bowl of yorick's regular food for him, though. i don't think the pastrami would be good for him and, besides, i don't want to share."
the boy said nothing, but reached over and rubbed the old dog's head affectionately. his aunt watched him, her eyes sad.
"you're remembering them, aren't you?"
he nodded. "it was six years ago today, you know."
"i know."
"annie's still alive."
"what?!" she wasn't prepared to hear that. "how do you know?"
"i don't know. i mean, i know it, but i don't know how i know it. i mean--" he took her hand. "aunt lucy, you've heard how twins have a special connection? they can speak their own language, finish each others thoughts?"
she smiled. "yes. your mother and i used to marvel at how you and annie used to talk gibberish to each other as toddlers. we couldn't understand a word you'd say, but you understood each other perfectly."
"we always had our own language. and we knew things about each other. like, i knew if she was sick, and she knew if i was lying about something, or hiding something. i knew if she had a bad dream, even when she was in the other room."
the woman looked closely at his face. "and you think you felt something today?"
the boy started petting the dog again. "yes. no. i mean, i realized something today. that connection is still there. it was always there. i just never paid attention to it. i guess...i guess it hurt too much. but today at tai chi, i found it again. if the connection is still there, then she's still alive. she's okay, aunt lucy. i know it. i know it."
the woman pulled him close. "i hope so, honey. i hope so."
the shaggy dog stood up and walked over to then and fell in between them, as if to join their embrace. the woman and boy laughed and each extended a hand out to rub against the dog's black & white coat, prompting a happy tail-thumping against the plaid blanket.
scene 1: golden gate park. it's morning and there are several rows of people performing tai chi. most of them are adult asians though there are also a couple of aging hippies and a 16-year old boy.
relax. breathe. let your arms float.
as he took his initial stance, he heard the words in his mind, but it wasn't his voice or that of his tai chi master that he heard.
head up. part the wild horse's mane to the left. exhale.
his sister's voice had set the tone. he felt the coarse hair of the mane in his fingers, his sister's warm breath against his ear. as he moved into the next form, he transcended his normal plane of awareness to a place that was both familiar and unkown to him. his body continued to flow from one form to the next.
grasping the swallow's tail. single whip. waving hands like clouds.
his consciousness, though, was elsewhere. it wasn't san francisco. it wasn't a place at all. his senses were void. he saw nothing, he smelled nothing, he felt nothing. his sister's voice was gone. but she was there. there was no evidence of her, but she was there. he knew it. twins had that connection. she was part of his world, and she was still with him.
scene 2: golden gate park. it's afternoon and an old man is playing chess against a 16-year old boy.
the boy opened by pushing queen's pawn forward two spaces. "rabbi ori, i was performing tai chi in the park this morning and...and i think i may have reached enlightenment."
the old rabbi raised a bushy grey eyebrow at his opponent, then moved his knight out into the field of play.
"did you, now? and what makes you think that, my young friend?
the boy paused. he was looking at the board, but his mind was on his experience that morning. when he had ended his forms, he was back in the normal, waking world. the presence of his twin sister had lingered, though. he found himself looking around to see if she was watching him. she wasn't there, though. nobody was.
he slid another pawn forward and said, "i was doing my forms, but it felt like my body was doing the movements on its own while my mind was...somewhere else. i don't know where. it was empty. nothingness, really, except for the feeling that my...that somebody i haven't see in a long time was there, and she was safe. i've never felt anything like that before. it was real, though. i swear it."
the rabbi nodded noncommittally, and pushed one of his pawns out into the fray, opening up a bishop and his queen. "in the eastern philosophies, reaching a state of enlightenment brings an end to suffering and an understanding of the complexities of the universe, no?"
the boy shrugged, and captured a pawn. "something like that, yeah."
the moves on the board seem to match the flow of the conversation: probing, unsure, deflecting, penetrating.
"so what mysteries did your enlightened mind unlock?"
"i don't know. i mean, i didn't solve any mysteries. i just...i just felt that this person was alive and safe, even though i have no real way of knowing."
"we've played many a game of chess, my young friend, and i've watched you here in the park. may i make an observation? yes?"
the boy nodded.
"you are lost. you exist in this world, but you are not part of it. the eastern philosophies, you are drawn to them because they would have you to turn away from the world and look inside yourself for answers. for them, the world is nothing but pain and suffering. it is something to ascend from, yes?"
another nod.
"for us jews, that is unthinkable. we live in our world. family and tradition, they are where we look for answers. the torah and talmud give us mitzvot--the commandments of god--to help us find our way in the world and make it a better place. we don't want to ascend from this world; we want to make this a better world, you see?"
another nod, but accompanied by a frown. "so, i didn't reach enlightenment?"
the old rabbi tilted his head to the side in a half-shrug. "meh, who knows? but we jews, we have a word called kavannah. do you know this word? no? well, it is a kind of enlightenment. it means directing one's heart toward heaven. oftentimes, we jews just go through the motions with our laws and prayers and rituals, doing them because we're supposed to, because we always have. sometimes, though, the rituals awaken sudden clarity inside of us and click! we understand. in that very moment, it all comes together. we feel the connection that we all have to god, and to each other, and to this world. that is kavannah. it's very zen, no?"
the boy looked impressed. "that's cool."
the old rabbi smiled. "i'm glad you think so, my young friend. now, maybe you experienced kavannah; maybe you did not. who knows? but my advice is to remember that connection you felt, the connection to that other person whom you loved, your connection to this world."
the boy nodded. "is that all, rabbi?"
"no, my young friend. you must also remember not to expose your king. checkmate."
scene 3: golden gate park. it's evening and a woman is sitting on a plaid blanket, eating a picnic dinner with an old shaggy dog and a 16-year old boy.
"danny, these sandwiches are delicious. where did you get them?"
"a jewish deli that rabbi ori told me about," the boy told her as he handed her a bottle of coke. "he said it's the best pastrami he's ever had."
"it's certainly the best i've ever had," the woman said. "i'm glad you thought to bring a bowl of yorick's regular food for him, though. i don't think the pastrami would be good for him and, besides, i don't want to share."
the boy said nothing, but reached over and rubbed the old dog's head affectionately. his aunt watched him, her eyes sad.
"you're remembering them, aren't you?"
he nodded. "it was six years ago today, you know."
"i know."
"annie's still alive."
"what?!" she wasn't prepared to hear that. "how do you know?"
"i don't know. i mean, i know it, but i don't know how i know it. i mean--" he took her hand. "aunt lucy, you've heard how twins have a special connection? they can speak their own language, finish each others thoughts?"
she smiled. "yes. your mother and i used to marvel at how you and annie used to talk gibberish to each other as toddlers. we couldn't understand a word you'd say, but you understood each other perfectly."
"we always had our own language. and we knew things about each other. like, i knew if she was sick, and she knew if i was lying about something, or hiding something. i knew if she had a bad dream, even when she was in the other room."
the woman looked closely at his face. "and you think you felt something today?"
the boy started petting the dog again. "yes. no. i mean, i realized something today. that connection is still there. it was always there. i just never paid attention to it. i guess...i guess it hurt too much. but today at tai chi, i found it again. if the connection is still there, then she's still alive. she's okay, aunt lucy. i know it. i know it."
the woman pulled him close. "i hope so, honey. i hope so."
the shaggy dog stood up and walked over to then and fell in between them, as if to join their embrace. the woman and boy laughed and each extended a hand out to rub against the dog's black & white coat, prompting a happy tail-thumping against the plaid blanket.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Good Help Is Hard To Find
gavin cardigan walked into Poor Yorick's Pub and greeted his friend danny blake behind the bar.
"what's on the menu tonight, danny?"
"flank steak with bloody mary salad," danny replied as he poured a Guinness for his best customer.
"you make living worthwhile, you know that?"
"are we living?" danny asked as he handed cardigan his pint. "i thought we were just written."
cardigan grimaced. "haven't i told you not to bring that up? it's bad for my blood pressure."
"but we don't have blood pressure."
"fine. in that case, throw a fried egg on top of my steak. it has no effect whatsoever on my font pressure."
cardigan walked back to join his friends and found marian talking to her laptop.
"carlotta, find me a travel package to new zealand this fall."
"you named your laptop carlotta?" cardigan asked.
marian shook her head. "no, it's a Computer-Assisted Research program, version 2.0. you know how people interact with their cars' GPS systems? you tell the GPS where you're trying to go and the GPS tells you how to get there? well, CAR applies the same concept toward doing research on the internet. you tell her what you're looking for and she tells you what she's found, so you don't have to run a bunch of queries in a search engine. i call mine carlotta. she's a real time saver. and she's cute, too!"
marian turned her screen to face cardigan and he saw a bubble with expressive eyes and mischievous lips. the expression, however, was one of annoyance. marian noticed, frowned, and said, "what's wrong, carlotta?"
the eyes drew in slightly and the lips began to speak. "i'm engrossed in a novel and you come along and order me around without so much as a please. wtf?!"
marian matched her program's face of annoyance. "carlotta, would you please find an affordable 2-week vacation package to new zealand this fall for taylor and me? if it's not too much trouble, that is."
carlotta's eyes looked upward to the left, then to the right, as if considering. "sure thing, boss!"
marian sighed. "people complained that version 1.0 didn't have any personality. they may have over-corrected with 2.0."
"i heard that!" marian winced as carlotta yelled at her.
"ducky, why can't we go to romania?" taylor young, marian's boyfriend with vampire characteristics, wanted to know. "you got to choose where we went on our last vacation, and i'd wager that romania is cheaper than new zealand."
taylor opened up his PDA and said, "carpathia, be a dear and find a nice 2-week vacation package for marian and me this fall in transylvania, preferably in a castle. thanks!"
"you can count on me, count!" came the flirtatious reply from taylor's device.
"carpathia? let me see that," marian took taylor's PDA and saw carlotta's eyes and lips, the latter sporting two fangs.
"i got the same program, but chose the avatar with fangs," taylor informed her. "she's highly customizable."
"that drippy twilight-wannabe version of me doesn't know a search engine from a fire engine," carlotta huffed from marian's laptop. "i found a fabulous package for you: air from san francisco to auckland, rental car, and a book of vouchers good for 3-star hotels all over the country for two people for a grand total of $3500. beat that, vampirella!"
"very amusing," carpathia retorted. "i've got roundtrip air to bucharest, rail travel to transylvania, luxury accommodations in a haunted castle with breakfast included for $3200!"
"hmph. how do you define luxury in transylvania? the rats wear tuxedos?"
"stop it, you two!" marian scolded the programs. "taylor and i will have to discuss this."
danny came over to drop off cardigan's meal. "i've never not regretted not having a computer as much in my life," he muttered.
gavin had to roll that triple negative over in his mind a few times before comprehending danny's meaning. "yeah, i know what you mean. though i have to admit, this is rather entertaining."
"is there a male version of carlotta?" sierra wondered. "it might be fun having a carlos at my beck and call."
marian shook her head. "the male version has bugs."
"more like fleas," carlotta added with a chuckle.
carpathia giggled. "and the disembodied mustache is creepy."
"even creepier than fangs," carlotta noted.
"hey, my fangs are sexy!"
"well, you have a point there. or two. ha!"
"carlotta, don't you have a book to read?" marian sounded exasperated. "and carpathia, shouldn't you be in a coffin or something? i'm sure it's daylight in transylvania."
"hmph."
"hmph."
"when does version 3.0 come out?" sierra inquired.
"i don't know. i'm a little scurred," marian admitted.
"what's on the menu tonight, danny?"
"flank steak with bloody mary salad," danny replied as he poured a Guinness for his best customer.
"you make living worthwhile, you know that?"
"are we living?" danny asked as he handed cardigan his pint. "i thought we were just written."
cardigan grimaced. "haven't i told you not to bring that up? it's bad for my blood pressure."
"but we don't have blood pressure."
"fine. in that case, throw a fried egg on top of my steak. it has no effect whatsoever on my font pressure."
cardigan walked back to join his friends and found marian talking to her laptop.
"carlotta, find me a travel package to new zealand this fall."
"you named your laptop carlotta?" cardigan asked.
marian shook her head. "no, it's a Computer-Assisted Research program, version 2.0. you know how people interact with their cars' GPS systems? you tell the GPS where you're trying to go and the GPS tells you how to get there? well, CAR applies the same concept toward doing research on the internet. you tell her what you're looking for and she tells you what she's found, so you don't have to run a bunch of queries in a search engine. i call mine carlotta. she's a real time saver. and she's cute, too!"
marian turned her screen to face cardigan and he saw a bubble with expressive eyes and mischievous lips. the expression, however, was one of annoyance. marian noticed, frowned, and said, "what's wrong, carlotta?"
the eyes drew in slightly and the lips began to speak. "i'm engrossed in a novel and you come along and order me around without so much as a please. wtf?!"
marian matched her program's face of annoyance. "carlotta, would you please find an affordable 2-week vacation package to new zealand this fall for taylor and me? if it's not too much trouble, that is."
carlotta's eyes looked upward to the left, then to the right, as if considering. "sure thing, boss!"
marian sighed. "people complained that version 1.0 didn't have any personality. they may have over-corrected with 2.0."
"i heard that!" marian winced as carlotta yelled at her.
"ducky, why can't we go to romania?" taylor young, marian's boyfriend with vampire characteristics, wanted to know. "you got to choose where we went on our last vacation, and i'd wager that romania is cheaper than new zealand."
taylor opened up his PDA and said, "carpathia, be a dear and find a nice 2-week vacation package for marian and me this fall in transylvania, preferably in a castle. thanks!"
"you can count on me, count!" came the flirtatious reply from taylor's device.
"carpathia? let me see that," marian took taylor's PDA and saw carlotta's eyes and lips, the latter sporting two fangs.
"i got the same program, but chose the avatar with fangs," taylor informed her. "she's highly customizable."
"that drippy twilight-wannabe version of me doesn't know a search engine from a fire engine," carlotta huffed from marian's laptop. "i found a fabulous package for you: air from san francisco to auckland, rental car, and a book of vouchers good for 3-star hotels all over the country for two people for a grand total of $3500. beat that, vampirella!"
"very amusing," carpathia retorted. "i've got roundtrip air to bucharest, rail travel to transylvania, luxury accommodations in a haunted castle with breakfast included for $3200!"
"hmph. how do you define luxury in transylvania? the rats wear tuxedos?"
"stop it, you two!" marian scolded the programs. "taylor and i will have to discuss this."
danny came over to drop off cardigan's meal. "i've never not regretted not having a computer as much in my life," he muttered.
gavin had to roll that triple negative over in his mind a few times before comprehending danny's meaning. "yeah, i know what you mean. though i have to admit, this is rather entertaining."
"is there a male version of carlotta?" sierra wondered. "it might be fun having a carlos at my beck and call."
marian shook her head. "the male version has bugs."
"more like fleas," carlotta added with a chuckle.
carpathia giggled. "and the disembodied mustache is creepy."
"even creepier than fangs," carlotta noted.
"hey, my fangs are sexy!"
"well, you have a point there. or two. ha!"
"carlotta, don't you have a book to read?" marian sounded exasperated. "and carpathia, shouldn't you be in a coffin or something? i'm sure it's daylight in transylvania."
"hmph."
"hmph."
"when does version 3.0 come out?" sierra inquired.
"i don't know. i'm a little scurred," marian admitted.
Remember when? Me, neither.
gavin cardigan hung his fedora on a peg as he walked into Poor Yorick's Pub and greeted his friend behind the bar with, "what's on the menu tonight, danny boy? i'm a mighty hungry man."
"bangers & mash," danny blake replied as he poured a Bass.
"i like the way you think," cardigan grinned. "i'll take extra banger."
"you got it, hoss," danny handed him his pint. "now you'd better get back there. they might need your expertise."
cardigan frowned but walked back to join his friends at their regular table. when he got there, he a stranger sitting among the regular crew. he was a small, neat elderly man wearing a salvation army suit and bow tie, and he had the others enraptured.
"...told him, 'if i knew that, i wouldn't be checking myself into a loony bin!"
the others laughed and then sierra charles looked up. "cardigan, meet our new friend."
the old man stood up and extended his hand. "dash chandler at your service, young man."
"gavin cardigan at yours, sir."
as they took their seats, marian elfman explained their new friend's situation. "mr. chandler is an amnesiac, gavin. he woke up in san francisco several years ago and couldn't remember who he was, how he got here, or any details about his life."
"really?" cardigan was professionally interested. "i thought that kind of thing only happened in fiction. oh, that's right, we are--"
"gavin! don't confuse matters!" Mysterious Lurker scolded him, her red hair turner two shades darker in the process.
danny delivered cardigan's bangers & mash to the table. "i'm with The Lurker on that one."
"just that one?"
danny winked, The Lurker blushed, marian grinned, and cardigan high-fived sierra. taylor looked around and said, "what?"
dash looked at the Pub's resident vampire and said, "i'm insane and new here, but even i picked up on that."
"you're not insane, mr. chandler," sierra reached over and squeezed his hand. "you're just charmingly forgetful."
"so you woke up one morning and didn't remember anything?" cardigan promoted the old man.
"that's not entirely accurate," chandler told him. "i remembered all the books i had ever read and every movie i had ever seen. what i couldn't remember was anything about me or my life. i didn't know my name, where i lived, where i had ever been, if i ever had a family, if i ever had a job."
"that must have been frightening. what did you do?"
chandler shrugged. "i went to the police. i knew to do that much. they checked missing persons reports, they took my fingerprints, and they checked me into a hospital. i didn't want to be a 'john doe' so i invented the name 'dash chandler.'"
"taken from dashiell hammett and raymond chandler, right?"
chandler smiled. "they told me you were a private investigator. yes, hammett and chandler were my two favorite authors, and bogart was my favorite actor. the hospital kept me for several days and ran all kinds of tests, but couldn't find any neurological damage. so, they checked me into a state mental hospital to look for a psychological reason for my amnesia."
"how long were you there?" cardigan asked.
"three years. it was very interesting, and the staff seemed quite professional. unfortunately, none of their techniques were able to uncover anything. to this day, i know nothing more than i did they day i went to the police, other than i have never been arrested or served in the armed forces. and i was either utterly alone or completely loathsome as nobody ever reported me missing," he noted sadly.
"i'm sure that's not true," marian told him. "you've been a perfect gentleman with us."
"thank you, my dear," chandler gave her a warm smile. "whatever the reason, the police had no leads on my identity. and the hospital had no leads on my amnesia, but determined that i was not a risk to myself or to others, and released me."
"so what have you been doing? where have you been staying?" marian sounded concerned.
"the fog city mission," he replied. "just a couple of blocks from here. the beds are comfortable, the showers are hot, and the soup is filling. the basic amenities are satisfactory. i spend a lot of time in the library, reading. and sometimes i go down to the wharf and perform for pocket change."
"what kind of performances?" The Lurker wanted to know.
"i re-enact movie scenes. although i don't know how to be myself, i'm pretty good at being other people."
"will you do one for us?"
he affected a menacing yet digusted look. "you know, i have one simple request. and that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that cannot be done. ah, would you remind me what i pay you people for, honestly? throw me a bone here!"
the group applauded. "that was an amazing mr. evil!" sierra complimented him.
"it's dr. evil. i didn't spend 6 years in evil medical school to be called mister, thank you very much."
it was not mr. chandler alone who said this, but every male at the table, who then followed it up with knuckle bumps and shouts of yeah, baby, which was followed by every female at the table rolling her eyes and muttering boys.
cardigan drummed his finertips on the table. "you know, i had an idea some time back to get an apprentice, but i never followed up on it. would you be interested in some part-time work? i could always use a gifted actor to get information for me."
"that's a great idea, cardigan!" sierra punched him the shoulder, and marian nodded in agreement while muttering that she should have thought of it.
the old man's eyes lit up. "to play private investigator in sam spade's own city...i don't know what to say. of course i'll do it. i'd be honored, sir!"
"good! i'll get you a cell phone and camera equipment. Lurker, can you hook him up with a fedora? you can't be a private detective in san francisco without a fedora."
"what do i look like, a millener?! oh, wait, that's right," The Lurker's indignation changed quickly over to cooperation as she remembered burkie's unpublished chapter. "no problem."
"by the way," chandler leaned forward and lowered his voice. "those ladies in the corner over there. any of them available?"
cardigan glanced over at the witches, who quickly turned their collective attention back to their own table, cackling softly.
"available? maybe. advisable? no."
"bangers & mash," danny blake replied as he poured a Bass.
"i like the way you think," cardigan grinned. "i'll take extra banger."
"you got it, hoss," danny handed him his pint. "now you'd better get back there. they might need your expertise."
cardigan frowned but walked back to join his friends at their regular table. when he got there, he a stranger sitting among the regular crew. he was a small, neat elderly man wearing a salvation army suit and bow tie, and he had the others enraptured.
"...told him, 'if i knew that, i wouldn't be checking myself into a loony bin!"
the others laughed and then sierra charles looked up. "cardigan, meet our new friend."
the old man stood up and extended his hand. "dash chandler at your service, young man."
"gavin cardigan at yours, sir."
as they took their seats, marian elfman explained their new friend's situation. "mr. chandler is an amnesiac, gavin. he woke up in san francisco several years ago and couldn't remember who he was, how he got here, or any details about his life."
"really?" cardigan was professionally interested. "i thought that kind of thing only happened in fiction. oh, that's right, we are--"
"gavin! don't confuse matters!" Mysterious Lurker scolded him, her red hair turner two shades darker in the process.
danny delivered cardigan's bangers & mash to the table. "i'm with The Lurker on that one."
"just that one?"
danny winked, The Lurker blushed, marian grinned, and cardigan high-fived sierra. taylor looked around and said, "what?"
dash looked at the Pub's resident vampire and said, "i'm insane and new here, but even i picked up on that."
"you're not insane, mr. chandler," sierra reached over and squeezed his hand. "you're just charmingly forgetful."
"so you woke up one morning and didn't remember anything?" cardigan promoted the old man.
"that's not entirely accurate," chandler told him. "i remembered all the books i had ever read and every movie i had ever seen. what i couldn't remember was anything about me or my life. i didn't know my name, where i lived, where i had ever been, if i ever had a family, if i ever had a job."
"that must have been frightening. what did you do?"
chandler shrugged. "i went to the police. i knew to do that much. they checked missing persons reports, they took my fingerprints, and they checked me into a hospital. i didn't want to be a 'john doe' so i invented the name 'dash chandler.'"
"taken from dashiell hammett and raymond chandler, right?"
chandler smiled. "they told me you were a private investigator. yes, hammett and chandler were my two favorite authors, and bogart was my favorite actor. the hospital kept me for several days and ran all kinds of tests, but couldn't find any neurological damage. so, they checked me into a state mental hospital to look for a psychological reason for my amnesia."
"how long were you there?" cardigan asked.
"three years. it was very interesting, and the staff seemed quite professional. unfortunately, none of their techniques were able to uncover anything. to this day, i know nothing more than i did they day i went to the police, other than i have never been arrested or served in the armed forces. and i was either utterly alone or completely loathsome as nobody ever reported me missing," he noted sadly.
"i'm sure that's not true," marian told him. "you've been a perfect gentleman with us."
"thank you, my dear," chandler gave her a warm smile. "whatever the reason, the police had no leads on my identity. and the hospital had no leads on my amnesia, but determined that i was not a risk to myself or to others, and released me."
"so what have you been doing? where have you been staying?" marian sounded concerned.
"the fog city mission," he replied. "just a couple of blocks from here. the beds are comfortable, the showers are hot, and the soup is filling. the basic amenities are satisfactory. i spend a lot of time in the library, reading. and sometimes i go down to the wharf and perform for pocket change."
"what kind of performances?" The Lurker wanted to know.
"i re-enact movie scenes. although i don't know how to be myself, i'm pretty good at being other people."
"will you do one for us?"
he affected a menacing yet digusted look. "you know, i have one simple request. and that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that cannot be done. ah, would you remind me what i pay you people for, honestly? throw me a bone here!"
the group applauded. "that was an amazing mr. evil!" sierra complimented him.
"it's dr. evil. i didn't spend 6 years in evil medical school to be called mister, thank you very much."
it was not mr. chandler alone who said this, but every male at the table, who then followed it up with knuckle bumps and shouts of yeah, baby, which was followed by every female at the table rolling her eyes and muttering boys.
cardigan drummed his finertips on the table. "you know, i had an idea some time back to get an apprentice, but i never followed up on it. would you be interested in some part-time work? i could always use a gifted actor to get information for me."
"that's a great idea, cardigan!" sierra punched him the shoulder, and marian nodded in agreement while muttering that she should have thought of it.
the old man's eyes lit up. "to play private investigator in sam spade's own city...i don't know what to say. of course i'll do it. i'd be honored, sir!"
"good! i'll get you a cell phone and camera equipment. Lurker, can you hook him up with a fedora? you can't be a private detective in san francisco without a fedora."
"what do i look like, a millener?! oh, wait, that's right," The Lurker's indignation changed quickly over to cooperation as she remembered burkie's unpublished chapter. "no problem."
"by the way," chandler leaned forward and lowered his voice. "those ladies in the corner over there. any of them available?"
cardigan glanced over at the witches, who quickly turned their collective attention back to their own table, cackling softly.
"available? maybe. advisable? no."
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Pumpkin Cake with Cream Cheese Swirl
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Snapshots: Faith Off
"father leo, do you believe in god?"
the portly priest gave his volunteer help a small smile. "it's a job requirement, i'm afraid. why do you ask, lily?"
the 16-year old girl didn't answer. she ran her feather duster around the inside pane of the church's stained glass window depicting jesus walking on water before asking another question. "can you serve the church without believing in god?"
a fair question, he thought, and he might have answered no in his more zealous novitiate days. now in his third decade as a parish priest, his own faith was as strong as ever but he was more accommodating about how faith manifests itself. lily herself was an interesting case study in faith. she truly loved the church, but seemed indifferent to The Church. she always volunteered to help pull weeds, dust, paint, file, or anything else that needed to be done. when not helping, she would often spend time around the parish reading books, doing homework, drawing, or simply talking to him. he didn't mind; he quite enjoyed her company. indeed, she had become a good friend, as odd as that may seem and as...unseemly...as that may be for a catholic priest.
however, as much time as she spent at church, she only went through the motions during mass, and on those rare occasions when she went to confession, she only confessed that it had been a long time since her last confession. there were many adjectives one could apply to lily dupree: intelligent, serious, beautiful, industrious, curious, generous. however, the one that father leo always thought of first was guarded. except for sophie and mack, she never let anybody too close, not even him. not even god, he suspected.
"you're serving the church now, lily. do you believe in god?"
"i don't know, father. sometimes, i'm not even sure i want to believe."
father leo felt he had just witnessed a miracle--lily dupree answered a direct question. her answer, as he would expect, was honest though it made him sad to hear a 16-year old say this. "why do you spend so much time here, lily? are you trying to find god?"
"no. you say that god exists everywhere. if that's true, i shouldn't have to try to find him, either at church or anywhere else."
he suppressed a grimace. he always had to be at the top of his game with her.
"most 16-year olds are with their friends on saturday nights or out on a date, not sweeping and dusting a moldy old church with their fat parish priest."
"you're as much my friend as anyone at school, and i have no interest in hanging out at the mall. as for boys," she shook her head. "they're so dull."
father leo laughed. "you have a point, there."
"and it's not a moldy old church!" she scolded him. "it's beautiful, and fascinating. houses and stores are built as rectangles, to maximize functional space within, with external visual aspects such as gables or columns added as an afterthought. here," she swung her arm around, "it's not about functional space. it's about inspiration. look how high the ceiling is! and the stories told in the stained glass windows! it's like being inside of a painting."
the priest smiled at her outburst of passion. "so you come here for inspiration! how are you inspired? do you want to be an architect?"
she didn't answer right away. she placed a finger on the window and began tracing a small crack in the stained glass. "i used to want to build things. i wanted to be an architect or engineer and design big things like skyscrapers or bridges. now...i'm more interested in preserving than creating. i want to study restoration architecture, especially church restoration." she tilted her head at the window. "and i'd like to learn how to make and repair stained glass windows, too. do you think i could work for the church as a restoration architect?"
father leo raised an eyebrow. lily was, uncharacteristically, revealing a lot about herself, though each answer generated even more questions. he hoped his luck (not that he believed in luck) would hold out and she'd continue to answer. "i think that is a fascinating and worthy field of study, lily, and there is certainly a demand. after all, the church has been building churches and missions and monasteries and convents for centuries. but, why is it important to you, especially if you don't believe in god, or even want to believe in god?"
she sat in a pew, frowning at the frayed edge of the thin cushion there. "a church represents more than spirituality, father. it also represents sanctuary. it's a place where you're always welcome and safe, no matter who you are, what you do, or what you believe. it's always here for you. yes, there is inspiration here, but there's also comfort, peace, and salvation. i want to preserve that."
he smiled at her choice of words. "and you believe you can do that, do you?"
"yes."
"i believe you can, too. now, let's go back to something you said said, earlier. god exists everywhere. that means he exists in you, too, lily. and if you believe in yourself, you believe in god."
she didn't buy it. "but you're the one who believes god exists inside me, so that only means that you believe in god."
he shrugged. "perhaps you're right; you're smarter than i am. let's put it another way. you believe in yourself, but you also believe that this simple building--or the concepts that this simple building represent--can inspire peace, salvation, and even spirituality. you have faith, lily. belief in god is a subset of that. your desire to serve a church built on faith is not inappropriate."
she gave him a mischievous grin. "does that mean i can be a priest?"
"i'm not getting into that with you again, young lady. now, back to work!"
the portly priest gave his volunteer help a small smile. "it's a job requirement, i'm afraid. why do you ask, lily?"
the 16-year old girl didn't answer. she ran her feather duster around the inside pane of the church's stained glass window depicting jesus walking on water before asking another question. "can you serve the church without believing in god?"
a fair question, he thought, and he might have answered no in his more zealous novitiate days. now in his third decade as a parish priest, his own faith was as strong as ever but he was more accommodating about how faith manifests itself. lily herself was an interesting case study in faith. she truly loved the church, but seemed indifferent to The Church. she always volunteered to help pull weeds, dust, paint, file, or anything else that needed to be done. when not helping, she would often spend time around the parish reading books, doing homework, drawing, or simply talking to him. he didn't mind; he quite enjoyed her company. indeed, she had become a good friend, as odd as that may seem and as...unseemly...as that may be for a catholic priest.
however, as much time as she spent at church, she only went through the motions during mass, and on those rare occasions when she went to confession, she only confessed that it had been a long time since her last confession. there were many adjectives one could apply to lily dupree: intelligent, serious, beautiful, industrious, curious, generous. however, the one that father leo always thought of first was guarded. except for sophie and mack, she never let anybody too close, not even him. not even god, he suspected.
"you're serving the church now, lily. do you believe in god?"
"i don't know, father. sometimes, i'm not even sure i want to believe."
father leo felt he had just witnessed a miracle--lily dupree answered a direct question. her answer, as he would expect, was honest though it made him sad to hear a 16-year old say this. "why do you spend so much time here, lily? are you trying to find god?"
"no. you say that god exists everywhere. if that's true, i shouldn't have to try to find him, either at church or anywhere else."
he suppressed a grimace. he always had to be at the top of his game with her.
"most 16-year olds are with their friends on saturday nights or out on a date, not sweeping and dusting a moldy old church with their fat parish priest."
"you're as much my friend as anyone at school, and i have no interest in hanging out at the mall. as for boys," she shook her head. "they're so dull."
father leo laughed. "you have a point, there."
"and it's not a moldy old church!" she scolded him. "it's beautiful, and fascinating. houses and stores are built as rectangles, to maximize functional space within, with external visual aspects such as gables or columns added as an afterthought. here," she swung her arm around, "it's not about functional space. it's about inspiration. look how high the ceiling is! and the stories told in the stained glass windows! it's like being inside of a painting."
the priest smiled at her outburst of passion. "so you come here for inspiration! how are you inspired? do you want to be an architect?"
she didn't answer right away. she placed a finger on the window and began tracing a small crack in the stained glass. "i used to want to build things. i wanted to be an architect or engineer and design big things like skyscrapers or bridges. now...i'm more interested in preserving than creating. i want to study restoration architecture, especially church restoration." she tilted her head at the window. "and i'd like to learn how to make and repair stained glass windows, too. do you think i could work for the church as a restoration architect?"
father leo raised an eyebrow. lily was, uncharacteristically, revealing a lot about herself, though each answer generated even more questions. he hoped his luck (not that he believed in luck) would hold out and she'd continue to answer. "i think that is a fascinating and worthy field of study, lily, and there is certainly a demand. after all, the church has been building churches and missions and monasteries and convents for centuries. but, why is it important to you, especially if you don't believe in god, or even want to believe in god?"
she sat in a pew, frowning at the frayed edge of the thin cushion there. "a church represents more than spirituality, father. it also represents sanctuary. it's a place where you're always welcome and safe, no matter who you are, what you do, or what you believe. it's always here for you. yes, there is inspiration here, but there's also comfort, peace, and salvation. i want to preserve that."
he smiled at her choice of words. "and you believe you can do that, do you?"
"yes."
"i believe you can, too. now, let's go back to something you said said, earlier. god exists everywhere. that means he exists in you, too, lily. and if you believe in yourself, you believe in god."
she didn't buy it. "but you're the one who believes god exists inside me, so that only means that you believe in god."
he shrugged. "perhaps you're right; you're smarter than i am. let's put it another way. you believe in yourself, but you also believe that this simple building--or the concepts that this simple building represent--can inspire peace, salvation, and even spirituality. you have faith, lily. belief in god is a subset of that. your desire to serve a church built on faith is not inappropriate."
she gave him a mischievous grin. "does that mean i can be a priest?"
"i'm not getting into that with you again, young lady. now, back to work!"
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Snapshots: Lurking Out My Back Door
"i wonder what's going on here?" the Mysterious Lurker wondered as she began lurking in a new story.
she wiped the sweat from her brow as she walked along a country road on an early june mississippi day, then stopped to watch a teenage girl with a ponytail chopping cotton. in an adjacent field, a shirtless young man with sun-bronzed skin was bailing hay.
the Lurker hastened for the shade under a live oak tree near a farmhouse. after a few minutes, a woman opened up the back door and called her laboring children in for dinner. the Lurker watched as they rushed into the house, not stopping to wipe their dirty feet.
"that's not right," the Lurker murmured to herself as she made an adjustment to the dialogue. when she walked in herself, she found them passing black-eyed peas and biscuits around the dinner table. she inhaled appreciatively, only half listening to the conversation until she realized they were talking about a suicide.
"nice use of local color," she nodded approvingly as the backstory unfolded. the brother's recollection of a prank that he and his friend had pulled on his sister made her frown, though. "ice down the back of a shirt isn't very memorable," she thought. "a frog! now that would be memorable!"
she made a couple of other minor revisions, then listened with interest as the mother related a story about the daughter and the victim. "holy shit!" her eyes went wide at the latest revelation. "i can't believe they'd throw something like that off a bridge!"
as she listened to the finale, she slumped in her seat, emotionally drained. "it's too much. i just...it's too much."
she went back to the couple on the bridge.
"i can't leave that in there," she decided. "what if...what if they were spotted throwing 'something' off that bridge, but nobody knows what it was?" she mused. "yes, much better. instead of being left emotionally devastated by the song, people will be left forever wondering about the mystery of what was thrown off the tallahatchie bridge!"
the Lurker gave a maniacal laugh, made the change, and danced away in search of another target.
she wiped the sweat from her brow as she walked along a country road on an early june mississippi day, then stopped to watch a teenage girl with a ponytail chopping cotton. in an adjacent field, a shirtless young man with sun-bronzed skin was bailing hay.
the Lurker hastened for the shade under a live oak tree near a farmhouse. after a few minutes, a woman opened up the back door and called her laboring children in for dinner. the Lurker watched as they rushed into the house, not stopping to wipe their dirty feet.
"that's not right," the Lurker murmured to herself as she made an adjustment to the dialogue. when she walked in herself, she found them passing black-eyed peas and biscuits around the dinner table. she inhaled appreciatively, only half listening to the conversation until she realized they were talking about a suicide.
"nice use of local color," she nodded approvingly as the backstory unfolded. the brother's recollection of a prank that he and his friend had pulled on his sister made her frown, though. "ice down the back of a shirt isn't very memorable," she thought. "a frog! now that would be memorable!"
she made a couple of other minor revisions, then listened with interest as the mother related a story about the daughter and the victim. "holy shit!" her eyes went wide at the latest revelation. "i can't believe they'd throw something like that off a bridge!"
as she listened to the finale, she slumped in her seat, emotionally drained. "it's too much. i just...it's too much."
she went back to the couple on the bridge.
"i can't leave that in there," she decided. "what if...what if they were spotted throwing 'something' off that bridge, but nobody knows what it was?" she mused. "yes, much better. instead of being left emotionally devastated by the song, people will be left forever wondering about the mystery of what was thrown off the tallahatchie bridge!"
the Lurker gave a maniacal laugh, made the change, and danced away in search of another target.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
King Phillip Came Over For Guinness Stout
gavin cardigan walked into Poor Yorick's Pub, hung up his fedora, and called out, "what's for supper, danny boy?"
"hot dogs," danny blake replied as he poured a beer.
"just hot dogs?" cardigan sounded disappointed as he took the beer.
"okay, spicy mango-pineapple hot dogs, to be precise."
"now you're talking. i'll take two to start," cardigan grinned.
sierra charles pushed an empty stool toward cardigan. "cop a squat, cardigan, and tell us about your day."
"i'm investigating the background of a duck hunter who wrecked his truck coming back from a hunt," the private investigator told them. "a pediatrician was driving by and stopped to provide medical care. the hunter was unharmed but his dog couldn't breathe, so the pediatrician performed an emergency tracheotomy."
"did the dog live?" Mysterious Lurker asked anxiously, reaching down to scratch monte the pub dog behind the ears."
cardigan took a swig of beer and nodded. "yes, the doctor saved his life. however, he can't bark anymore, which makes him useless for duck hunting. so, the hunter is suing the doctor for malpractice."
"that's not right!" marian elfman exlaimed. "i hope a duck sues the hunter for...for malhunting!"
danny chuckled as he delivered the hot dogs. "there's probably a lawyer already working on that."
cardigan nodded. "no doubt. thanks, danny. these look great." he took a bite then continued. "so i'm helping the doctor's lawyer build a case that the hunter is an unfit master for the dog."
"good for you, cardigan!" sierra punched him on the shoulder.
monte woofed and wagged his tail.
tucker strummed an A-minor chord and began singing:
they say it's a dog's life
what's that really mean?
lots of bones and frisbees
not a drop of listerine
i don't dream of rabbits
i don't bite the mailman's leg
you'll never catch me howling
and i won't sit up and beg
i'm a dog
i'm a dog
if you think you understand my life
your brain is full of fog
i'm a dog
i'm a dog
just because you scoop my poop don't
mean you know the real scoop
i'm a dog
linda nulo applauded her boyfriend. "i like that one, honey! but i thought you were a cat person?"
"mother tucker is a dog person so i've been around dogs all my life," tucker explained, oblivious to the giggling inspired by this explanation as he continued:
they say i've got nine lives
how do they know that?
did they live the life of every
other once-live cat
you feed me friskies beef stew
i just wonder how
nobody ever thought to make
mouse-flavored kitten chow
i'm a cat
i'm a cat
if you think you understand my life
your brain is full of crap
i'm a cat
i'm a cat
when i'm away, the mice will play
but you're away today
i'm a cat
"that's true," gavin observed. "cats don't eat cows and sheep. cat food should be mouse-flavored, or sparrow-flavored, not beef- or lamb-flavored."
"ewww," marian wrinkled her nose. "that's gross."
"what about the ducks?" the Lurker asked. "do you have a verse for them, too?"
"water off a duck's back"
that's what people say
when all their petty problems
just up and fall away
we don't deal with politics or
economic slumps
we don't get prescriptions filled
when we're down in the dumps
i'm a duck
i'm a duck
if you think you understand my life
you brain is full of muck
i'm a duck
i'm a duck
i walk like one, i quack like one,
i take to water like one
i'm a duck
"you know what i've always wondered?" sierra wondered out loud. "if you call a female duck a duck and male duck a drake, shouldn't donald and daffy be known as donald drake and daffy drake?"
"and why do they both have speech impediments?" the Lurker put in. "that seems rather...racist, doesn't it?"
"ducks aren't another race," marian noted. "there another species, genus, order, and class altogether. you should say orderist or classist instead of racist."
"i would have thought classist would describe discrimination based on social class rather than on class within the animal kingdom," taylor mused. "how about keeping it simple and just saying duckist?"
"i miss conversations like this," caridgan muttered as he drained his beer.
"really?" shakespeare asked as he bussed the tables.
"no."
"hot dogs," danny blake replied as he poured a beer.
"just hot dogs?" cardigan sounded disappointed as he took the beer.
"okay, spicy mango-pineapple hot dogs, to be precise."
"now you're talking. i'll take two to start," cardigan grinned.
sierra charles pushed an empty stool toward cardigan. "cop a squat, cardigan, and tell us about your day."
"i'm investigating the background of a duck hunter who wrecked his truck coming back from a hunt," the private investigator told them. "a pediatrician was driving by and stopped to provide medical care. the hunter was unharmed but his dog couldn't breathe, so the pediatrician performed an emergency tracheotomy."
"did the dog live?" Mysterious Lurker asked anxiously, reaching down to scratch monte the pub dog behind the ears."
cardigan took a swig of beer and nodded. "yes, the doctor saved his life. however, he can't bark anymore, which makes him useless for duck hunting. so, the hunter is suing the doctor for malpractice."
"that's not right!" marian elfman exlaimed. "i hope a duck sues the hunter for...for malhunting!"
danny chuckled as he delivered the hot dogs. "there's probably a lawyer already working on that."
cardigan nodded. "no doubt. thanks, danny. these look great." he took a bite then continued. "so i'm helping the doctor's lawyer build a case that the hunter is an unfit master for the dog."
"good for you, cardigan!" sierra punched him on the shoulder.
monte woofed and wagged his tail.
tucker strummed an A-minor chord and began singing:
they say it's a dog's life
what's that really mean?
lots of bones and frisbees
not a drop of listerine
i don't dream of rabbits
i don't bite the mailman's leg
you'll never catch me howling
and i won't sit up and beg
i'm a dog
i'm a dog
if you think you understand my life
your brain is full of fog
i'm a dog
i'm a dog
just because you scoop my poop don't
mean you know the real scoop
i'm a dog
linda nulo applauded her boyfriend. "i like that one, honey! but i thought you were a cat person?"
"mother tucker is a dog person so i've been around dogs all my life," tucker explained, oblivious to the giggling inspired by this explanation as he continued:
they say i've got nine lives
how do they know that?
did they live the life of every
other once-live cat
you feed me friskies beef stew
i just wonder how
nobody ever thought to make
mouse-flavored kitten chow
i'm a cat
i'm a cat
if you think you understand my life
your brain is full of crap
i'm a cat
i'm a cat
when i'm away, the mice will play
but you're away today
i'm a cat
"that's true," gavin observed. "cats don't eat cows and sheep. cat food should be mouse-flavored, or sparrow-flavored, not beef- or lamb-flavored."
"ewww," marian wrinkled her nose. "that's gross."
"what about the ducks?" the Lurker asked. "do you have a verse for them, too?"
"water off a duck's back"
that's what people say
when all their petty problems
just up and fall away
we don't deal with politics or
economic slumps
we don't get prescriptions filled
when we're down in the dumps
i'm a duck
i'm a duck
if you think you understand my life
you brain is full of muck
i'm a duck
i'm a duck
i walk like one, i quack like one,
i take to water like one
i'm a duck
"you know what i've always wondered?" sierra wondered out loud. "if you call a female duck a duck and male duck a drake, shouldn't donald and daffy be known as donald drake and daffy drake?"
"and why do they both have speech impediments?" the Lurker put in. "that seems rather...racist, doesn't it?"
"ducks aren't another race," marian noted. "there another species, genus, order, and class altogether. you should say orderist or classist instead of racist."
"i would have thought classist would describe discrimination based on social class rather than on class within the animal kingdom," taylor mused. "how about keeping it simple and just saying duckist?"
"i miss conversations like this," caridgan muttered as he drained his beer.
"really?" shakespeare asked as he bussed the tables.
"no."
Blueberry & Peach Schnapps Pound Cake
this recipe actually calls for raspberries and kirsch, but i didn't like how the raspberries looked at the store so i got blueberries, instead. and, i don't have any kirsch, so i used peach schnapps as peach & blueberries are a nice match. it's really good; better than the raspberry version (i've made that before). it's moist; not very sweet; and lighter than 2½ sticks of butter & 5 eggs might suggest. worth doing again, even though i'm a pie person ;)
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Cold Sesame Noodles
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Caprese Salad-stuffed Profiteroles
Friday, July 15, 2011
Macerated Strawberries
Roasted Cauliflower & Poblano Soup
(from a few nights ago) this is from bobby flay's Mesa Grill Cookbook. i like roasted cauliflower; i like creamy soups; i like roasted poblanos. this sound like a great soup! and it was good, but i'll say it wasn't great. flay suggested garnishing this soup with a goat-cheese topped blue corn tortilla chip that had been placed under the broiler to make a nacho. i decided to improve the iron chef's recipe (yes, i said it!) by roasting some extra cauliflower separately and sprinkling it onto the pureed soup as well, for some more interesting texture. my addition? added a lot. the iron chef's nacho? didn't work, in my opinion. i agree with adding some crunch factor to this soup, but i thought the goat cheese detracted from rather than added to the soup's flavor (and i love goat cheese). i love the roasted poblano in this, though. this is worth making again with a different kind of crunch (croutons or fried tortilla chips or something). and bacon, of course. it could definitely be improved with bacon.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Bird Is The Word, Part The Second
((if you haven't read Part the First, read this chapter first))
"so, hep. has anybody figured it out yet?" burkie asked his special assistant.
"no," s.a. hepzibah told him. "AND DON'T CALL ME HEP!!!"
"looks like your readership of five may have shrunk even fewer, burkie," cardigan smirked.
burkie fixed his disagreeable protagonist with a stare. "without readers, there's no blog. with no blog, there's no cardigan."
"um...perhaps they're on summer vacation," cardigan suggested meekly.
"or busy with summer activities," sierra put in hastily.
"we can figure this out ourselves," marian stated confidently. "let's look at the first clue again!"
Mr. Monotone: oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?
"honey, didn't you say you know something about this?" linda asked her boyfriend, tucker.
the folksinger nodded. "The Monotones had a song in the '50s called The Book of Love. the bird quotes the signature line, but in the original they only said wonder twice. this bird says it, what, seven times?"
marian typed s-e-v-e-n w-o-n-d-e-r-s into her laptop then yelped. "oh! oh! oh! seven wonders! the seven wonders of the ancient world!"
"very good, marian!" sierra told her.
after a short victory dance in her seat and a thank you to tucker for the assist, marian brought forward the next clue:
Winston Churchill: what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?
"taylor," burkie turned toward to clumsy vampire-wannabe. "you're supposed to be british. what does that mean?"
"cor blimey, i don't know," taylor ran his fingers through his hair. "except that an englishman would call it a torch, not a flashlight."
"that's true," cardigan looked impressed. "that might be it, taylor. what's the next clue, marian?"
Hannah Graham: sure, i know that song. old bar hit.
"i've never heard of Hannah Graham. who is she?" s.a. hepzibah asked.
sierra snapped her fingers. "anagram! Hannah Graham sounds like anagram! we need to figure out an anagram for 'old bar hit."
"bridal hot!"
"broad hilt!"
"loath bird!"
"bart hold i!"
marian typed in all the possibilities. "okay, next!"
Bertrand Russell: this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!
"the first part of that is an actual bertrand russell quote," foxy noted. "the original runs thus: This is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities."
"so what's all that about the village of great neck?" taylor wondered.
"easy," said cardigan. "the bird used the word zip. marian, what's the zip code for the village of great neck?"
marian ran a query on her laptop. "11023."
"but notice how the bird emphasizes the word patently," mr. franklin pointed out. "do you think that's important?"
"maybe 11023 is a patent number," danny suggested.
"you're doing well, guys," burkie nodded. "i'm proud of ya! what's next, marian?"
Robert Downey, Jr.: i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude.
"that's from the movie Tropic Thunder," taylor reminded them. "ducky, what was the name of downy's character in that movie?"
"kirk lazarus," marian typed it in. "okay, last one!"
Joan Dunn: it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it.
"no man can handle it," judge st. bishop mused. "no man...no man...no man is an island. isn't that a john donne quote? it has a metaphysical feel to it."
"and john donne sounds like joan dunn," hepzibah pointed out. "so...a woman is an island?"
"spell it all out for us, marian" burkie ordered.
"yes, sir!"
Seven Wonders
Torch
Bart Hold I
Patent 11023
Lazarus
Island
they all looked at each other and groaned. "of course! how stupid are we!"
"here it is," marian pulled the poem up on her laptop. "let's all read it together now, quickly!"
they all read the poem out loud together. as soon as they were done, the Mysterious Lurker popped in.
"about time!" she muttered. "but thank you! it really is a poor poem, you know. am i allowed to say that?"
"you are uniquely qualified to say that," danny assured her as her gave her a quick hug. "come on, i'll fix you some tea."
"great job, everyone! high five!" burkie put his hand out toward marian and pulled it away just as she extended hers.
"psych!"
words cannot described the face that marian made at this gesture.
"so, hep. has anybody figured it out yet?" burkie asked his special assistant.
"no," s.a. hepzibah told him. "AND DON'T CALL ME HEP!!!"
"looks like your readership of five may have shrunk even fewer, burkie," cardigan smirked.
burkie fixed his disagreeable protagonist with a stare. "without readers, there's no blog. with no blog, there's no cardigan."
"um...perhaps they're on summer vacation," cardigan suggested meekly.
"or busy with summer activities," sierra put in hastily.
"we can figure this out ourselves," marian stated confidently. "let's look at the first clue again!"
Mr. Monotone: oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?
"honey, didn't you say you know something about this?" linda asked her boyfriend, tucker.
the folksinger nodded. "The Monotones had a song in the '50s called The Book of Love. the bird quotes the signature line, but in the original they only said wonder twice. this bird says it, what, seven times?"
marian typed s-e-v-e-n w-o-n-d-e-r-s into her laptop then yelped. "oh! oh! oh! seven wonders! the seven wonders of the ancient world!"
"very good, marian!" sierra told her.
after a short victory dance in her seat and a thank you to tucker for the assist, marian brought forward the next clue:
Winston Churchill: what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?
"taylor," burkie turned toward to clumsy vampire-wannabe. "you're supposed to be british. what does that mean?"
"cor blimey, i don't know," taylor ran his fingers through his hair. "except that an englishman would call it a torch, not a flashlight."
"that's true," cardigan looked impressed. "that might be it, taylor. what's the next clue, marian?"
Hannah Graham: sure, i know that song. old bar hit.
"i've never heard of Hannah Graham. who is she?" s.a. hepzibah asked.
sierra snapped her fingers. "anagram! Hannah Graham sounds like anagram! we need to figure out an anagram for 'old bar hit."
"bridal hot!"
"broad hilt!"
"loath bird!"
"bart hold i!"
marian typed in all the possibilities. "okay, next!"
Bertrand Russell: this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!
"the first part of that is an actual bertrand russell quote," foxy noted. "the original runs thus: This is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must learn not to be frightened by absurdities."
"so what's all that about the village of great neck?" taylor wondered.
"easy," said cardigan. "the bird used the word zip. marian, what's the zip code for the village of great neck?"
marian ran a query on her laptop. "11023."
"but notice how the bird emphasizes the word patently," mr. franklin pointed out. "do you think that's important?"
"maybe 11023 is a patent number," danny suggested.
"you're doing well, guys," burkie nodded. "i'm proud of ya! what's next, marian?"
Robert Downey, Jr.: i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude.
"that's from the movie Tropic Thunder," taylor reminded them. "ducky, what was the name of downy's character in that movie?"
"kirk lazarus," marian typed it in. "okay, last one!"
Joan Dunn: it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it.
"no man can handle it," judge st. bishop mused. "no man...no man...no man is an island. isn't that a john donne quote? it has a metaphysical feel to it."
"and john donne sounds like joan dunn," hepzibah pointed out. "so...a woman is an island?"
"spell it all out for us, marian" burkie ordered.
"yes, sir!"
Seven Wonders
Torch
Bart Hold I
Patent 11023
Lazarus
Island
they all looked at each other and groaned. "of course! how stupid are we!"
"here it is," marian pulled the poem up on her laptop. "let's all read it together now, quickly!"
they all read the poem out loud together. as soon as they were done, the Mysterious Lurker popped in.
"about time!" she muttered. "but thank you! it really is a poor poem, you know. am i allowed to say that?"
"you are uniquely qualified to say that," danny assured her as her gave her a quick hug. "come on, i'll fix you some tea."
"great job, everyone! high five!" burkie put his hand out toward marian and pulled it away just as she extended hers.
"psych!"
words cannot described the face that marian made at this gesture.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
The Bird Is The Word, Part The First
gavin cardigan walked into Poor Yorick's Pub, hung his fedora on a peg, and said hello to his buddy danny blake behind the bar.
"hello yourself," danny replied as he poured a beer and handed it to cardigan. "i'm serving totchos tonight. interested?"
"if you're making 'em, i'm eating 'em, but what the hell are totchos?"
"nachos made with tater tots instead of tortilla chips," danny explained with a grin.
"pure genius," cardigan raised his glass in praise. "bring 'em on!"
cardigan took his beer back to his customary table to join his friends and stopped short. "um, whose bird?"
the bird, which appeared to be a brightly colored parrot, looked at cardigan and squawked, "oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?"
cardigan looked at the others, raising an eyebrow.
"it just appeared here," taylor young explained with a shrug. "a tag on the cage said 'Mr. Monotone.'"
"he stutters. who ever heard of a stuttering parrot?"
"i have," came an authoritative voice behind them. cardigan groaned as their handsome creator approached.
"burkie, is this your parrot?" sierra charles asked.
"i'm afraid not," burkie shook his head. "i think he was sent by my arch nemesis."
"you have an arch nemesis?" danny sounded dubious as he delivered cardigan's totchos. "why?"
"yes, his name is archibald knemesis," burkie told them as he plucked a tater tot off of the plate.
"of course it is," cardigan muttered as he moved his plate out of burkie's reach, only to have sierra snag another tot.
"he sent me an email saying that he has trapped the Lurker," burkie told them.
"what?!" marian exclaimed. "where? we have to rescue her!"
"don't worry," burkie said calmly. "like all arch nemesises...nemeses..nemesii...villains, knemesis goes to complicated extremes to show off how clever he is, which will always be his downfall. now, he explained that the only way to release the Lurker is for all of us to read where she's trapped at the same time."
"but where's she trapped?" danny sounded worried, despite burkie's confidence.
"knemesis said it might be a book, a play, a poem, or a song, but six blasts from my past would lead us to her." burkie pointed at the parrot. "and there is the first blast."
"a stuttering parrot?"
burkie nodded. "knemesis must know that one of my favorite books ever is The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot, book 2 in The Three Investigators series. if i'm right, there will be more parrots."
as if on cue, judge st. bishop walked in carrying a bird cage with a grey bird inside. "hey, what's going on here? i was sent this bird and told to come here."
"does he say anything?" danny asked.
the bird himself replied. "what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?"
"what the hell is that supposed to mean?" cardigan wondered.
the judge shrugged. "beats me. the tag on the cage says Winston Churchill."
tucker and linda nulo walked in next, carrying another cage.
"does that bird say anything?" sierra asked before they could say anything.
they nodded and the bird spoke: "sure, i know that song. old bar hit."
marian was typing the words into her laptop. "what's the bird's name?"
"Hannah Graham," linda told her. "what's this all about?"
"Mysterious Lurker has been kidnapped...er, lurknapped," taylor tried to explain.
"that's three birds," cardigan noted and looked toward the door. "foxy!"
sierra's sister walked in with another cage. "hey, guys. somebody delivered this bird--"
"we know," sierra told her. "burkie's arch nemesis had the Lurker trapped and the birds have clues to help us rescue her. what does your bird say?"
"this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!" the bird told them.
"weird," cardigan murmured. "but at least it mentioned a place; that gives us something to work on. what's the bird's name, foxy?"
"Bertrand Russell."
"that's the second brit, counting Winston Churchill," sierra pointed out. "i wonder if that means anything?"
"i don't know," marian shook her head. "i've never heard of a Hannah Graham or Mr. Monotone before."
"Mr. Monotone is a reference to--" tucker started to explain but was interrupted by the entrance of founding father benjamin franklin, carrying a cage with a black mynah bird inside.
"the most extraordinary thing has happened!" mr. franklin told them. "i was given this bird and a note to come here. just listen to him talk!"
"i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude," the bird exclaimed.
"i've heard that before!" taylor said excitedly. "roberty downy, jr. said that in that movie where he was playing an australian actor who was playing a black man in a movie."
cardigan looked pained. "as if this thing wasn't confusing enough as it is."
mr. franklin nodded. "that's the name on the cage--Robert Downey, Jr."
"that leaves only one bird," marian observed. "i wonder who has it?"
they all looked toward the door and, sure enough, somebody walked in carrying a bird cage. it was special assistant hepzibah, burkie's special assistant.
"hepzibah, thank goodness you're here," burkie told her. "what's your bird's name and what does he say?"
"it's not a he, it's a she of the species," hepzibah explained. "her name is Joan Dunn."
the bird shook her wings and said, "it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it."
sierra snorted. "that doesn't narrow it down much at all."
marian snickered. "you snorted!"
sierra glared at burkie. "i don't snort, burkie! change that, now!"
burkie glowered. "we don't have time for that, sierra. we have to find the Lurker. marian, list all the clues again for us."
Mr. Monotone: oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?
Winston Churchill: what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?
Hannah Graham: sure, i know that song. old bar hit.
Bertrand Russell: this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!
Robert Downey, Jr.: i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude.
Joan Dunn: it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it.
"right. now, these clues are supposed to tell us where the Lurker is stuck. any ideas? anybody?" burkie looked around but nobody had anything to offer.
"okay, let's ask for help," burkie decided. "dear readers, if you know where the Lurker is trapped, please email me at burkie47 -at- gmail -dot- com. if you can tell me what each clue means and the book or song or play or poem in which the Lurker is trapped, you'll win something. okay? thanks for your help, and happy solving! oh, and don't leave any spoilers in the comments!"
"hello yourself," danny replied as he poured a beer and handed it to cardigan. "i'm serving totchos tonight. interested?"
"if you're making 'em, i'm eating 'em, but what the hell are totchos?"
"nachos made with tater tots instead of tortilla chips," danny explained with a grin.
"pure genius," cardigan raised his glass in praise. "bring 'em on!"
cardigan took his beer back to his customary table to join his friends and stopped short. "um, whose bird?"
the bird, which appeared to be a brightly colored parrot, looked at cardigan and squawked, "oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?"
cardigan looked at the others, raising an eyebrow.
"it just appeared here," taylor young explained with a shrug. "a tag on the cage said 'Mr. Monotone.'"
"he stutters. who ever heard of a stuttering parrot?"
"i have," came an authoritative voice behind them. cardigan groaned as their handsome creator approached.
"burkie, is this your parrot?" sierra charles asked.
"i'm afraid not," burkie shook his head. "i think he was sent by my arch nemesis."
"you have an arch nemesis?" danny sounded dubious as he delivered cardigan's totchos. "why?"
"yes, his name is archibald knemesis," burkie told them as he plucked a tater tot off of the plate.
"of course it is," cardigan muttered as he moved his plate out of burkie's reach, only to have sierra snag another tot.
"he sent me an email saying that he has trapped the Lurker," burkie told them.
"what?!" marian exclaimed. "where? we have to rescue her!"
"don't worry," burkie said calmly. "like all arch nemesises...nemeses..nemesii...villains, knemesis goes to complicated extremes to show off how clever he is, which will always be his downfall. now, he explained that the only way to release the Lurker is for all of us to read where she's trapped at the same time."
"but where's she trapped?" danny sounded worried, despite burkie's confidence.
"knemesis said it might be a book, a play, a poem, or a song, but six blasts from my past would lead us to her." burkie pointed at the parrot. "and there is the first blast."
"a stuttering parrot?"
burkie nodded. "knemesis must know that one of my favorite books ever is The Mystery of the Stuttering Parrot, book 2 in The Three Investigators series. if i'm right, there will be more parrots."
as if on cue, judge st. bishop walked in carrying a bird cage with a grey bird inside. "hey, what's going on here? i was sent this bird and told to come here."
"does he say anything?" danny asked.
the bird himself replied. "what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?"
"what the hell is that supposed to mean?" cardigan wondered.
the judge shrugged. "beats me. the tag on the cage says Winston Churchill."
tucker and linda nulo walked in next, carrying another cage.
"does that bird say anything?" sierra asked before they could say anything.
they nodded and the bird spoke: "sure, i know that song. old bar hit."
marian was typing the words into her laptop. "what's the bird's name?"
"Hannah Graham," linda told her. "what's this all about?"
"Mysterious Lurker has been kidnapped...er, lurknapped," taylor tried to explain.
"that's three birds," cardigan noted and looked toward the door. "foxy!"
sierra's sister walked in with another cage. "hey, guys. somebody delivered this bird--"
"we know," sierra told her. "burkie's arch nemesis had the Lurker trapped and the birds have clues to help us rescue her. what does your bird say?"
"this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!" the bird told them.
"weird," cardigan murmured. "but at least it mentioned a place; that gives us something to work on. what's the bird's name, foxy?"
"Bertrand Russell."
"that's the second brit, counting Winston Churchill," sierra pointed out. "i wonder if that means anything?"
"i don't know," marian shook her head. "i've never heard of a Hannah Graham or Mr. Monotone before."
"Mr. Monotone is a reference to--" tucker started to explain but was interrupted by the entrance of founding father benjamin franklin, carrying a cage with a black mynah bird inside.
"the most extraordinary thing has happened!" mr. franklin told them. "i was given this bird and a note to come here. just listen to him talk!"
"i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude," the bird exclaimed.
"i've heard that before!" taylor said excitedly. "roberty downy, jr. said that in that movie where he was playing an australian actor who was playing a black man in a movie."
cardigan looked pained. "as if this thing wasn't confusing enough as it is."
mr. franklin nodded. "that's the name on the cage--Robert Downey, Jr."
"that leaves only one bird," marian observed. "i wonder who has it?"
they all looked toward the door and, sure enough, somebody walked in carrying a bird cage. it was special assistant hepzibah, burkie's special assistant.
"hepzibah, thank goodness you're here," burkie told her. "what's your bird's name and what does he say?"
"it's not a he, it's a she of the species," hepzibah explained. "her name is Joan Dunn."
the bird shook her wings and said, "it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it."
sierra snorted. "that doesn't narrow it down much at all."
marian snickered. "you snorted!"
sierra glared at burkie. "i don't snort, burkie! change that, now!"
burkie glowered. "we don't have time for that, sierra. we have to find the Lurker. marian, list all the clues again for us."
Mr. Monotone: oh, i wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder-wonder who-who-who-who who wrote the book of love?
Winston Churchill: what's a bloody englishman doing with a bloody flashlight?
Hannah Graham: sure, i know that song. old bar hit.
Bertrand Russell: this is patently absurd; but whoever wishes to become a philosopher must zip over to the village of great neck!
Robert Downey, Jr.: i know what dude i am. i'm the dude playing the dude disguised as another dude.
Joan Dunn: it takes a woman to be one of these; no man can handle it.
"right. now, these clues are supposed to tell us where the Lurker is stuck. any ideas? anybody?" burkie looked around but nobody had anything to offer.
"okay, let's ask for help," burkie decided. "dear readers, if you know where the Lurker is trapped, please email me at burkie47 -at- gmail -dot- com. if you can tell me what each clue means and the book or song or play or poem in which the Lurker is trapped, you'll win something. okay? thanks for your help, and happy solving! oh, and don't leave any spoilers in the comments!"
小笼包 (Shanghai Soup Dumplings)
道可道
非常道
小笼包
非常好!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Mesa Grill Corn Muffins
Monday, June 20, 2011
Blueberry Cobbler
mira says my photos will look better if i place the food on white plates. this is about all i had, so...i hope you're happy, mira :)
blueberries were on sale at 3 pints for $5. i couldn't pass that up! so i bought 'em, then looked for a recipe and found this one in The New Best Recipe. i love this kind of dessert. quick & fruity and--bonus!--there's a little bit of cornmeal in the topping, which i love. this is really, really good cobbler!
by the way, the pioneer woman also recommends white plates for food photography, but she broke her own rule today with her cobbler posting (rhubarb, and it looks great!).
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Butter Rum Popcorn
i wanted to make something to snack on while i watched the final round of the U.S. Open. i remembered this fabulous gingerbread popcorn and decided i'd mess around with it. instead of warming gingerbread flavors, i decided to give this batch a nice butter rum flavor. i basically left out the spices and used all light corn syrup instead of half corn syrup & half molasses, and added a little more salt. once the caramel mixture was done, i added about a tablespoon of rum and then the baking soda before stirring it into the popped popcorn, followed by an hour in a 250 degree (stirring every 15 minutes), and then letting it cool on the counter for a good half-hour before breaking apart and serving/eating. yums. (the gingerbread popcorn was better and less sticky than this one, but this is still good.)
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