Before Having Kids

 

I had this hobby called photography.

Once a budding independent filmmaker/videographer in college (it's called getting a Mass Com degree folks!),I soon turned to photography because it seemed cheaper and less cumbersome then the latter.

I turned out to be dead wrong but I was too far gone for the cause to turn back.

Much like music, it became a necessary and accepted flaw.

Might As Well

 


I was a music editor at a local weekly and my job involved - or so I thought at least and one could call it research - going to see a lot of shows.

But unfortunately, we had a limited budget for freelancers and back then a photographer had to incur the cost of film & processing plus their time and energy for an assignment [uh, analog]. I felt bad only being able to pay them what I could pay them so I took to taking pictures myself (satisfying my latent desires under the guise of "job responsibility").

This is a picture of Mac McCaughan eating a fish taco. I believe this was part of a story I wrote about Merge Records turning ten.

Or maybe it was just for a new record they had released.

Back when they released new records and back when I had the time to write about people releasing new records.

Photo Fetish

 

I soon developed a fetish for foot shots.















[That last line is going to kill me on Google searches...]

Yer Soaking In it

 


PIPE set list.

Suffice it to say, I saw a lot of PIPE shows...

Game Grub

 

One thing that I like about watching championship football is the ability to drink and eat to my hearts desire by the warm hearth of a fire.

Nothing says football grub like pigs in a blanket so of course we had to have that on the menu. Also on tap was prosciutto-and-swiss wrapped asparagus (ever notice the the smell of your urine after consuming asparagus? It must be in the chlorophyll as a recently had white asparagus and it was quite noticeably absent) and Moroccan-spiced salmon (served on sliced baguette brushed with olive oil and crisped under the broiler) that was leftover from the shift I worked on Saturday.

The wife nixed my plan for beer cheese fondue but soldiered on to make cream cheese and crab wontons in our frydaddy, the making of which turned into a family affair.

It was a good day...

Tooth Fairies, Home Invasion, and Lying

My eldest son recently lost his third tooth.

He's seems like he's a little behind the curve as far a loosing teeth goes as far as compared to most of his classmates.

His first tooth he inadvertently swallowed (and no I didn't sift through his shit to find it).

I remember the tooth fairy giving him five dollars since it was his first tooth (and since it met such an unsavory demise).

My wife and I couldn't remember how much money the tooth fairy gave him for No. 2 so we asked him and he had this elaborate story about how the tooth fairy left him three dollars in a tiny box under his pillow.

Not knowing what the fuck he was talking about with the whole box thing my wife interjected saying that the fairy doesn't always leave money in a box thus covering our asses.

Or so she thought.

That night the kid was all high anxiety, much the same way he's been in recent years with Santa - about the prospect of some stranger entering our house and coming into his room. To him it's straight up home invasion of the sort you'd see on reality television like COPS. To relieve him of this stress, we suggested he put the tooth in a zip loc bag and leave it outside his door (which would also help us from a.) forgetting and b.) not having to possibly wake him while digging around under his pillow for a tooth).

At the eleventh hour he decided he wanted to indeed have the tooth under his pillow and not outside his door.

The next morning he awoke with a clatter and came barging into our room...

"You lied, mom!" he said.
"You lied. You are the tooth fairy!"

We both looked at each other quizzically and then he explained that he had told us three dollars as a test and that he had told us three dollars when in reality he had only gotten one dollar for the previous tooth.

Since he told my wife three dollars, deductive reasoning led him to conclude that my wife was the tooth fairy.

"My mom is the tooth fairy!" he said with a wry smile.
"I can't wait to get to school and tell my friends my mom is the tooth fairy."

"That might not be a wise idea," I said.
"Why don't you just keep that to yourself for the mean time."

Sheesh.

Man, kids are just too smart these days.

It makes keeping those parenting secrets alive harder and harder...

Three Years Ago Today

I started this blog.

Fuckin' Squirrels, Man

 

I got a new bird feeder for Christmas from the family because I really like birds.

I really do.

I've managed to make friends with the wrens from the summer and have been tossing them old bread from time to time and then I figured since winter was upon us that maybe it would be nice to put some food out there on a regular basis for them.

I hung the bird feeder up in one of the trees right off our back deck; one that had an easy vantage point from the window over the sink in the kitchen (where I spend most of my time rinsing and cleaning dishes) as well as out the back door (which I go through all the time to toss beer bottles into the recycling bins).

It seemed like the birds were ignoring it or hadn't discovered it yet because every time I looked out the window the feeder was still full. Yet my backyard is full of birds like cardinals, wrens, orioles, finches, tufted tit mice and the occasional owl, hawk or falcon.

The one day the feeder was empty.

Completely empty.

And the I noticed that the fucking squirrels had chewed their way through the little beak size holes and made them big enough to stick their heads in there.

Don't get me wrong, I like squirrels for the most part.

We almost adopted one this past summer

But goddamn if they aren't a total fucking nuisance when it comes to trying to maintain a bird feeder.

I always hear of talk of squirrel-proof feeders but then everybody I know who has purchased one said that the squirrels eventually figure out a way to get at the food.

Somebody help me... or help the birds!

Bands and Beers and Shit

 

Over the weekend I was the doorman at a local hotel and bar for an event called

Elvisfest

It was about twenty bands over two nights with the catch being that each band had to include two Elvis songs into their set.

As you can probably imagine, the place was crawling with pompadors, chain wallets, chubby Betty Page wannabes, and plenty of tattoos. There was capes, kilts and cowboy hats.

All things considered it was a fairly sedate crowd and there wasn't any problems with the general douchebaggery you get anytime you have that many bands in one place. Although I did catch shit from putting on people's wristbands too tight and marveled at how skinny some women's wrist can be.

There was a lot of people and a lot of those people got drunk.

At the end of night two some guy stumble in the door with a handful of stickers and gave me one. It pretty much summed up the general attitude of the weekend.

"C'mon Dad!"

I spent the better part of Saturday morning teaching my 7-year-old how to ollie.

An ollie is a skateboard trick that involves smacking the tail end of the board on the ground with your foot (or front end... that would be a nollie) and making it pop up into the air. It is to skateboarding what the bunny hop was to BMX.

He's got this obsessive nature and is an imprintable freak which can be both adorable and annoying at time so he was thrust into this early morning ollie session after spending a week play Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4 on PS2.

We did a lot of this type of stuff over the summer where I would use a stick as something innocuous to jump over. So we found a stick in the yard and put it in the middle of the street.

One of the older neighborhood kids rode by on his bike and decided to watch and see my son practice his ollies. My wife came out to watch as well. At one point I was getting aggravated because he refused to listen to the instruction I was giving him when all of the sudden my wife chimed in, "Well let's see you do it!" And then my son came at me as well, "C'mon Dad!"

Game on.

I nailed it on my second attempt but my son was up the street and claimed it wasn't a "clean one." But his friend said that I made it.

So I did it again.

The neighborhood kid seemed impressed.

Food, Glorious Food

 

It's been some time since I wrote about food despite that fact that the holidays innudated me with fine grub so I'm going to try and get back to doing more food posts.

Yesterday I made beer brats with carmelized onions and dijon mustard served with "chips" (as those Brits like to say).

Take notice of the paper plate: in my wife's quest to reduce water usage in the midst of this crazy drought the Southeast has found itself in, she has taken to paper products.

So we've traded one problem for another.

It's always something ain't it?

Guitar Hero Heroes

 
My wife always swore that there would never be a video game console in our house.

And then came Christmas and the PS2 from her sister.

And then came Madden 08, NHL 07 and Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4.

And then came the saddened cry to the world, "I've lost my family to Playstation!"

But that all changed when we scored the Guitar Hero I & II bundle off of craigslist - complete with two wireless guitars - for $100.

Then the family spent the waning hours of 2007 standing in front of the family room TV taking turns at songs like Danzig's "Mother," Cheap Trick's "Surrender," and Wolf Mother's "Woman" to name a few.

And now my wife is a video game junkie on her way to being a Guitar Hero hero

Fathers & Sons

 


I spend so much of my time these days trying to figure and discover just what it means to be a father to sons that sometimes I forget that I still am son to a father.

Over the holidays I got the chance to spend some time with my parents and – in particular – my father. I had been in contact with my mother over the past month or so trying to nail down the specifics of a visit be it them coming here or my family going to them.

Eventually it boiled down to the ‘rents coming to me.

So I put a plan in motion and succeeded: I scored a pair of UNC basketball tickets for me and my dad. Nothing says “I love you” in a more manly father-and-son way then getting much-sought after tickets to a legacy basketball team currently ranked Number 1 in the polls.

It was the least I could do for a man who took me to God knows how many Redskins games – my dad has had season tickets since before I was born. Of course I still curse him for exposing me to that sports radio prick Ken Beatrice because I can’t think of any Skins memories without thinking of waiting out parking lot traffic at RFK listening to his post game wrap-up.

Not only was my dad an avid Skins fan but he was almost all things sports growing up; he was elemental in the formation of the Olney Boys & Girls Clubs and was a coach, ump and referee throughout my upbringing.

It was probably a necessary respite from spending his days toiling away in the bowels of the Dept. of Defense, Crystal City, The Pentagon or whatever type of government jimjam he had his hands in at the time.

Yes, my dad was a high school football referee. Which I guess is sort of like having a dad as a cop except he had only access to a yellow flag not a gun

My dad coached me in CYO track when I was in elementary school. I’m not sure how it came about like was there no one to coach the 12 under boys team and my dad stepped up or that he wanted to take a stab at it and I was his entry to that world. I think he coached my sister’s softball team and my brothers’ football team at various points but that seemed fairly long ago in my mind by the time he got to me. And what did he do? He made this sprinter - 100, 200, 4x100 and long jumper - tackle the 800 meter run. Maybe he saw something in me that I didn’t but I always thought it was because we needed someone to run the 800 and there was nobody else to do it and being the coach’s son I was the default guy. I still get razed by my brother Mike for making it to the championship during my inaugural year at the 800, finding myself tied for second on the final turn, yet I managed to finish dead last.

During the game we talked about many things fathers and sons talk about – old neighbors, relatives, and the state of the union (ha! That last one’s a joke folks. I don’t go near politics or religion with my parents), but one of the things we talked about was what makes a good coach. He said good players. But I said a good coach knows how to recruit the right players. We went on at length about “coach-ability” but in the end it came down to being able to lead or finding those who will follow your lead which is a lot about what being a parent is about – it’s a lot like coaching and sometimes your dad might be like Bobby Knight but despite his warts-and-all disposition he still might posses some decent qualities. While my father by no means was a Bobby Knight, I’d say more like Dean Smith or Joe Gibbs where intellect came before emotion.

This could probably merit a longer post but I hate reading long winded posts myself so here you go. Pictured above is the rally towels they gave out at the UNC vs. Nevada game we went to. I’ll be selling these on eBay for top dollar when they finish the season undefeated…

Did You Know?

- the moon will be at its farthest point from Earth for the month of January. The Earth’s closest approach to the sun for the year is called

perihelion

- that

tonic water

has about the same amount of sugar as other carbonated drinks like soda

- what the purpose of the

Iowa caucus

is

Ah, Finally... Christmas

 

When you are the parent of two boys Christmas can get pretty hairy - there's not a toy on the market that these kids didn't want although we did somehow managed to trim the fat as they say and get them to buckle down and make a list of the "important stuff" as my oldest son said.

Of course just about everything we got them was trump'ed by the Playsation 2 my sister-in-law got them. It's been sore thumbs and blood-red eyes since then!

It is quite humbling to have your 7-year-old son kick your ass at Madden 08 but downright exciting that despite our age differences we still can muster up competitive game play. The next day they took some of their gift money and we headed off to the game store to get some used games. We picked up NHL 07 and Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4 (plus some ATV game for my youngest) which should tide them over for some time. Now the focus is on a memory card... or so I'm told.

There's still lots to digest - both literally and figuartively - about this holiday season (and the joys of Guitar Hero III!) but I'm glad it is finally coming to close and the family can now focus our attention on 2008.

Sweet, Dude, Sweet...

 

"Dad," said my 4-year-old son.

"Can I see the camera?"

"Sure," I said and then turned and went about my business of checking my work schedule online, making a few phone calls and folding some clothes.

All of the sudden I heard "Ah! Sweet, dude, sweet!"

This is the picture he took.

Is Santa Real?

My 4-year-old walked into the family room this weekend and proudly proclaimed that Santa Claus is not real.

"Who told you that?" I asked.

"Nobody," he said. "I just know."

"Well that's news to me because last I checked Santa was real," I said.

His brother never really questioned the existence of Santa until recently. The last two years we've taken to writing their names on presents from Santa left handed so that they wouldn't be able to recognize our hand writing.

This year my 7-year-old said he was going to ask Santa for his autograph because then he'd know it wasn't me - because after all - I would be asleep when Santa came to deliver the goods. This is the same kid who asked me how Santa got into houses that didn't have fireplaces; we need to update our folk tales quickly if we want to keep up with the future generations.

I've gone to great lengths already to preserve the lore surrounding Christmas.

For instance,there was that Rudolph story

My youngest also told me that the Santa at the mall was fake. I rallied and explained that Santa can't be everywhere during the Christmas season so he has people stand-in for him. "The elves are fake too Dad," he said.

If you were at the mall, you probably saw the wind go out of my sails at that moment.

"Yeah, those are fake elves," I said.

Then we sat there in silence watching kids get their pictures taken on Santa's lap.

The B Brothers Live

 

Where my kids get some of this stuff is beyond me.

Anyway, the B Brothers played their show on Saturday. I didn't have a mic for the vocals so it's pretty much awash in noise but you still get the overall vibe of their performance. I'd tried to post the mp3 but apparently BLogger won't let me.

The Set List:

-Life Is A HWY
-Tony Hall (aka Tony Hawk)
-Gems Today
-Snake Attack
-Hard Cour Wreslers (that's hardcore wrestlers, yo!)
-Hot Wheels Beat That
-Race Track
-Go Kart
-Kids From The Future
-Soul Boy
-Run, Run, Run (which features the nugget, "one thing you can't run from and that's yourself")
-Shark Attack

All songs from the forthcoming CD The B Brothers in Outer Space...

O, Christmas Tree

 
The family went out last night and got our Christmas tree. While it's not the cool-as-tits black goth tree that Rock Star Mommy is sporting I still think it's a pretty freakin' awesome tree.

We've gone to the same place for the last three years and their trees always seem to be spot on: always symmetrical and fresh.

When we got back home we whipped up some snacks and got to the business at hand of decorating the bad boy.

Decorating the Christmas tree requires background music. But since I'm in the business of working at holiday parties, I'm just about at my wit's end with kids' choruses backed by cheap Casio keyboards or that insipid James Taylor holiday CD I was forced to endure at a recent celebration. Fortunately, I've been in the business [could you say "business" one more time Greg? - Ed.] of writing about music for the last fifteen plus years and possess some fairly eclectic Xmas discs.

I usually save my Etta James 12 Songs Of Christmas for Xmas morning and the opening of presents because her voice is so pure and divine it seems appropriate and definitely sets the setting. Last night I decided dig deep and go for Merry Axemas Volumes 1 and 2. And while Al Di Meola, Steve Vai and Joe Satriani make my skin crawl, tucked between cuts by them are seminal holiday favorites tackled by guitar virtuosos. Some of my favorites tracks are Steve Stevens' "Do You Hear What I Hear," Zakk Wylde's "White Christmas," Robin Trower's "O Little Town Of Bethlehem," Joe Perry's "Blue Christmas," and the Brian Setzer Orchestra's "Jingle Bells." Shit, even the Nuge's "Deck The Halls" is tolerable!

I hope everyone has a very rockin' Holiday Season.

I Heart Shudder To Think

Last night, while tending bar at some neighborhood holiday party in Chapel Hill, a Shudder To Think song popped into my head. Shudder To Think has been on the tip of my tongue and on Recently Played in my brain for a few weeks now.

I'd like to go on and on about what a great band they were - often overlooked and almost always misunderstood - but I'll just let this clip speak for itself. Not the best quality but they signed to Sony towards the end of their career (and quite possibly could be argued as the band's death knell - like so many other early '90s alt.rock bands who gave up the indie label ghost for the majors). So Sony vids can't be embedded. Bastards.

Awesome Show Coming Up!

 

I worked late last night and when I woke up to make the kids breakfast I saw this gig poster stuck to the pantry.

These guys rock!

Hopefully I'll have a show review to post after their gig but be forewarned - they've pulled a George Jones on me before and just never showed up for their performance.

And they've bailed me several times when I had the studio booked for their inaugural (and soon-to-be seminal!) recording session.

Fucking rock stars...

[UPDATE: I've since noticed two more gig posters - one in the hallway and one on the back of my bedroom door - for the upcoming show. One even has an admission price: "Two bucks."]

Found Art, Lost Friend

 


I recently found this little drawing in my desk from Craig Grasso.

Craig was a pro freestyle BMX'er back in the late '80s/early '90s [he once road naked during a King Of Vert contest!] that I met through my bmxing friends. He fell in love with a girl who lived in Maryland and ran with my circle of friends so he came out from Southern California a few times to visit. I even put him up with a place to stay at my parents' house during a summer between college semesters when I was home in Aspen Hill.

I showed him all the trails we rode and the old, hot jumping grounds from when I was a kid riding Torkers and P.K. Rippers and doing crossed-up kick outs at places like the Alligator Pit, the big launcher at Wood Jr. High, and that big ass hill behind Peary High School (which is now totally overgrown and wooded by the way). He would do the same a few months later when I came to Hermosa Beach to visit some of my friends. Only Craig's repertoire involved wall rides, something I was not well-versed in.

He was a super nice guy and crazy talented both on his bike and off it: the guy had this Mark Gonzales style of illiterate outsider art going on. I was never quite sure if Craig really couldn't spell or if misspelling words was part of his style.

After I relocated to Southern California in '91, I still kept in touch with Craig even though he lived in San Francisco where he was part of the storied bicycle messenger scene and a soap box derby racer. He also had the claim to fame of living at one time with Puck from the Real World.

Once during a visit to SF, Craig and his buddy took me to some crazy ass warehouse party where we drank assloads of Jagermeister and then on the way home from the party, before we could stop at some "killer burrito joint," they initiated me into the seedy world of gay SF.

They pulled over curbside in what appeared to me to be some random place in town and instructed me to get out of the car. They said they had a dare for me. This was the pre-Jackass days of skate/bmx culture which was - and still is - filled with fiesty challenges of bravado and courage.

My request seemed simple enough: I was to walk down the alley in front of me and they would meet me on the other side.

Didn't seem like much of a challenge so I eagerly flung into action.

About 25 yards down I realized something wasn't right. The alley was littered with bottles and condoms and wreaked of piss and shit. And soon enough I was greeted by a man in a 10 gallon hat and leather chaps, cock in hand being stroked asking me if he could "service me."

"No thanks," I said and just kept walking only to find the entire alley overrun with gay male prostitutes all who resembled in one way or another a member of the Village People.

When I got to the end of the alley, Craig was hunched over holding his ribs laughing his ass off.

My face must have been pale. I'd had never seen anything like that before.

"Welcome to the Castro!" said Craig.

And with that we got back into the car and got ourselves some "killer burritos."

I lost track of Craig sometime before I moved from SoCal to NC in '95 and haven't heard a peep from or about him since then...

[UPDATE: A contemporary told me that last he heard Grasso was living and working in that alley he dared me to walk through...]

No Shit

 

We took the kids to the Chapel Hill/Carrboro Christmas parade on Saturday morning. We've been going to that parade and camping out in front of the Orange County Social Club since before we had kids. Even though we moved to Durham it still is an annual tradition.

Usually I don't get to make it because of my catering work schedule and usually it is cold as hell out but this year the temperature was downright balmy and I managed to squeeze in some free time.

And just to show you how serious they take their basketball here in Chapel Hill, the fire engines are painted Carolina blue and have the patented Tar Heel logo imprinted on them.

I wonder, are there any other college towns out there who eschew the traditional red fire engine in favor of the local university's colors?

Looking Back

One thing I love about blogging is the archives. Having always been one to keep some sort of diary or journal, being able to word search your archives or go back to a certain date in time appeals to the archivalist in me.

The first week of December in 'O5 I was

being abducted by aliens

and in '06 I was

channeling my middle age rage

Well, I haven't had any visits from aliens lately but I'm still channeling my middle age rage: Chest Pains with

Gun Metal Black

and

Tooth

tonight in Durham...

A Task Of Herculean Proportions

Well maybe many tasks but starting with the show my band played last night, I will either have to work a catering gig or play with my band 11 out of the next 13 days.

That's pretty brutal if I may put it bluntly: Imagine getting up with your kids at 7:30am everyday, making them breakfast (and lunch for school), doing household chores for the next few hours while Number 2 is at playschool (and writing to meet deadlines), entertaining both kids afterschool until dinner (which I will have to make) and then head off to work some party until God knows when (or in the case of last night play in some smoky club until God knows when). Then come home and pray for a good night's sleep so you can wake up and start the whole process over again... like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.

This is my life right now.

In two weeks I'm sure I'll be writing about having bronchitis or the flu or some shit.

I'm smart enough to wade through the waters with caution but being dead dog tired doesn't ward off the cooties very well.

I Smell Like An Ashtray

It's one of the downsides to being in a band.

You sit around for hours in a club pounding your free beer, waiting to play, then make $40 and come home smelling like an ashtray.

I've already showered and still wreak of cigarette smoke.

Playing smoke-free clubs is such a pleasure...

I Regret To Inform You All

I have passed down SAS to my 7-year-old son.

It's true, I had my suspicions for months now but last night was the deal sealer.

I heard him calling me from behind the bathroom door.

It was the sound of distress.

I open up to see what was the matter and was greeted by the most heinous smell ever.

Seriously.

His ass fucking stunk like a cesspool baking in the hot, humid sun.

I gagged and then asked him what he needed.

"I can't reach that book," he said.

So I grabbed the book in question, the one the finger was pointing to and gave it to him.

Then made a hasty exit and bowed my head in shame for passing on the Stinky Ass Syndrome to my son.

But I did look up and say a quick prayer to God and tell him that I'm thankful, thankful we've got two fucking shitters up in this joint!

And yes, the little fella reads on the toilet.

Wonder where he got that idea?

Product Review - The Baby Butler

When I recently received an email about reviewing some baby products, I figured what the hell. We at-home dads are sailing in unchartered waters so any light I can shed on the situation I feel is a good thing.

It took me several years being the at-home primary caregiver before I decided to reach out to other dads on the interweb and seek guidance and counsel.

And when I did find web sites and blogs dedicated to the AHDs of the world, well it was sorta like replying to a classified ad in the back of the punk zine Flipside as a teenager – suddenly I found myself surrounded by like-minded people in a similar situation.

I’ve been extolling the virtues of punk rock D.I.Y ideologies since as long as I can remember and if you really think about it, me being an at-home dad is just an extension of the do-it-yourself philosophy.

So I am eager and excited to be able to help educate the world on the needs of fathers who are the primary caregiver: 7 years ago there were no black diapers bags, rather it was world filled in pink and covered in bunnies and bears. We have truly made some strides in the last few years.

This brings me to the Baby Butler – a unique and clever way to free up your hand during bottle-feeding an infant. Now I must say that my boys are way past the days of bottle feeding but damn I do recall wanting to grow another appendage to help me out in my day-to-day dealings with a baby. Which is exactly what the Baby Butler does for you: it essentially gives you a third hand.

The basic premise is that you have a burp cloth with a velcro’ed spot to affix a bottle. This is all fine and good but one thing that is often overlooked in the kid market is versatility. Because what might seem like a wise investment now will only end up being an item taking up closet space the next. Kids develop at an alarming rate of speed (take note you non-parents out there) and spending your hard-earned cash on something your child will age out of in mere weeks can dissuade the frugal parent from exercising their purchasing power. The beauty of the Baby Butler is that its not only a weighted burp cloth slash bottle holder but can also double as a diaper changing pad and even has a pocket to store your binky, er, pacifier. And it is the Baby Butler's ability to be utilized in many different ways that makes it a good thing. Plus, at $22 a pop, they are reasonably cheap.

Now all we need is to take it one step further and invent the ManBoob™ so that fathers can truly enjoy the breastfeeding experience.

*click the headline for a link to product website

And Still More Talk About Food

 

So here it is: the veggie quesadilla I made from grilled leftovers.

I know cheaters never prosper but suffice it to say I didn't make the salsa or guacamole from scratch and I substituted Mexican-blended cheese for goat cheese.


But damn it was still really good!

Call Me Crazy

 

Apparently I didn't get enough to eat over the Thanksgiving holidays because I had the urge to fire up the grill yesterday. It had been some time since I got to do some grilling and in some sense I guess the urge to have a campfire and I used the grilling as a way to supplant that jonze.

But it was a rainy, overcast day and really not conducive to either. It got dark quicker than I expected so I had some concerns about being able to tell when the food was done. The backporch light just didn't cut it - my wife said I needed a coal miner's hat.


So I hunkered down and made some grub anyway. Much like Thanksgiving, I usually try to grill enough food to make it through two meals if not three.

On the menu yesterday was a piece of salmon marinated in soy sauce and maple syrup and seared with a coat of crushed red pepper. I also made mini-burgers (because nothing is worse than your kid leaving a half-eaten burger on his plate), grilled some veggies (orange/red peppers, zucchini and red onion) as well as some bread.

I know I have gone on at length about the joys of grilled bread but that shit is awesome. This morning my wife made a sunny side up egg, took some leftover bread, topped it with the egg, salmon and hollandaise sauce. Fucking grilled bread cannot be denied!

I made jalapeno and cheddar mini-burgers for lunch (often called sliders on popular restaurant menus).

Tonight I'm thinking about making veggie/goat cheese quesadillas with the rest of the batch of food.

Can't you just smell it?

What I do smell is a hardy exercise regime in my future!

A Story About Beer

Just click the header...

As Usual

 

Well Thanksgiving was a blur, as usual, but it was good to spend plenty of time with my family and friends. We hosted dinner this year and had two families over for a total of 14 people (6 adults, 8 kids). As you can imagine - lots of food and beverages were consumed.



Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. But it wasn't until college when it became a full scale blowout. Wednesday night Thanksgiving eve I'd usually go to a beef & beer kind of thing at my old high school with my brother. Thanksgiving morning was spent with my neighborhood friends mountain biking and then the day long feast at my parents watching football, eating, drinking (sometimes napping!) and then reconvening with my homies at a select bar in DC.

But by the end of college everything change: I moved to Los Angeles. Those were dire days back then when money was scare so I don't recall ever making it home for the holidays. One year I drove to Seattle with my roommate. It never occurred to me to look on the map - I just took his word for it that it was 16 hours like he said. Since I had nothing better to do, I opted to join him for the drive. I believe it took us close to 22 hours to get there. We left Wednesday, arrived Thursday as dinner was being served. slogged through Friday and then left Saturday to arrive back in LA on Sunday night. Crazy stupid shit that you only do when you are young, dumb and care free.

I remember another Thanksgiving in LA where I spent the majority of my day at work as a pool boy at the Beverly Hills Hilton. It was like a ghost town there. On my way home from my shift, I was hit by an uninsured, illegal immigrant who told me in broekn English that he would fix the damage to the door on my truck at his garage. I opted to take the $60 he had in his wallet and go our separate ways. It totally sucked; I spent the money at the liquor store...

When we relocated back to the East Coast in '95, we made the trek back up to my parents' house in Maryland for the holidays but with family scattered all over the place and few friends still left in the area, it had lost its luster. The five hour drove back home took us 8 and since then we haven't really made it back to my parent's place for Thanksgiving.

But now that we have our own family and a gaggle of friends and some relatives around us, it feels like it has come full circle - we even hosted my parents a few years back.

So aside from the gluttonous feast that it has become and a consumer wet dream, it still is a day that I will always want to spend with family and friends.

And maybe it is because I have had to endure Thanksgiving without those close to me that makes me appreciate when I get to do that all the more.

Let the holidays begin!

Snacks That Saved The Day

 

We needed some snacks to watch one of the greatest of sports rivalries this past weekend: the Redskins versus the Cowboys.

Let me just say that I grew up in a die hard Skins household - my father has had season tickets since before I was born and I'm going to be 40 next year so that's a mighty long time. [Also, the last song played at my wedding reception was the Skins Fight Song...]

I been to and watched many a Skins vs. Cowboys game. I seen beat-downs of gloating Cowboys fans in the parking lot by the hand of drunken angry Skins fans after a severe defeat; another loss at the hands of the Cowboys ruined a family Thanksgiving dinner as the house fell sullen and dejected.

I've also been on hand for victories at RFK stadium where you could see the upper deck bouncing for Redskins fever and had my conversations with my brother or dad drowned out by a thunderous, excitable crowd.

So now it's a favorite tradition I'm passing down to my sons: when the Redskins and Cowboys play all chores are put on hold and we get to the task of eating, drinking and hollerin' at the TV.

While I'm not happy about the outcome of yesterday's game, it was still enjoyable to watch (although I don't understand how any team much less the Skins could leave T.O. open. Duh).

Food served: beef tenderloin with goat cheese on toasted bagettes and brie cheese tarts. Nothing too elaborate but tasty none the less.

The Story Of The Leaning Pine

 

At least once a month for the last I don't know how many years, somebody would knock on my door or ring my door bell and as I'd could to answer the door I'd see them smoking a cigarette and staring at my leaning pine tree.

"Yawanmetatakerdown?" they'd ask.

Or they'd tell me what kind of damage it would do to my house if it did fall like I wasn't aware of this lumbering pine tree in my yard.

Usually I'd tell them that it survived a couple of hurricanes and a wicked ice storm or two and that despite the looks of it, I wasn't too concerned about the tree coming down on my house.

I'd usually ask them for an estimate or a card and tell them I'd call if I ever needed the job done.

And that was that.

Until the drought hit this summer and some report on the news said that dry, brittle trees could pose serious problems this winter having been weakened by the drought.


Not that we could spare the money but we finally decided it was time to take it down before it took us down...

The Tree Guy

 

The Tree guy knew how to use a chainsaw with such precision.

It was damn'ed impressive to watch.

Was Bad Ass

 



















He took the pine down and had the branches chipped and timber loaded onto a truck in less than an hour.

Feeling Naked

 


My front yard minus one big pine tree.

Neighbor: "It really makes the front of your house pop out."

Me: "Yeah, I guess now I'll have to do something about those shrubs and that flower bed..."

Neighbor: "You'll probably have to mow your lawn more now."

Me: "Damn, you're probably right."