| ....... |
[Jul. 16th, 2009|02:31 pm] |
Drunk. Yep, that's me. Pain is so bad, so bad. This is the second time in a week I have left work early to come home and get drunk. I can't take this pain any more. Why won't it stop?
I think I need help. |
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| Another year older |
[Dec. 2nd, 2008|04:26 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  chipper | ] |
Hi!
Sorry for the hiatus, I've been dealing with quite a bit in the past several months. The biggest issue I dealt with was twin hernia surgeries, yep two surgeries for hernias on the same day. It kept me down for the entire month of August.
As luck would have it, the doctor made a slight little nick in my nerve on the left side while doing the surgery. The result? Constant pain until, doc says, next spring. It's impossible for me to sit for long periods of time, which really bothers. It also keeps me on a daily dosage of a medication called Lyrica, which diminishes the pain a great deal but also has the lovely side effect of making me feel as though I've had six or seven shots of tequila. So those are my choices: Live in pain that pretty much debilitates me, or stumble around like a drunk dumbass. Heh.
Today marks the beginning of thirty-nine years on the planet. I'm sitting at my parents' house writing this, while my nephew-in-law puts up Xmas lights outside and my mom stands at the screen door bellowing at him how to do it. LOL. It's funny! Jesse says: "Well..no, I was going to put them along here.." and Mom busts in with: "I'm not entirely sure that's going to have the effect I want, love. Might you put them around the other way a bit?" LMAO. I feel for Jessie. Jessie is dating my niece Chantelle, and wedding bells are certain. We just don't know when yet.
I got no presents and no cake, but my mom is making her earth shattering nummy Macaroni Cheese so it's all worth it. Good food going into my belly! Macaroni Cheese.
A co-worker freind of mine from work, David, is supposed to read this tonight. So hi David! Welcome to my soapbox. And yes, we need to get Helen in hotpants. mmmHmmm. |
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| Another song for Mary |
[Aug. 3rd, 2008|08:01 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  happy | ] |
This is another song for my beautiful, wonderful, beloved Mary. The videos is just a pair of Asian actors, but the song is by the fabulous Dusty Springfield. I love you, Mary.
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| Why..so...serious? |
[Jul. 9th, 2008|04:43 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  excited | ] |
A new Batman dawns on the horizon, and with him comes unarguably my favorite all time criminal mastermind, the Joker.
J has always been a favorite of mine, the very first batman comic I ever read featured the Joker as the criminal. Since his inception in the late 1930's, J has undergone numerous transformations, including three live portrayals by actors.
When Joker first crashed into Gotham City in I believe it was 1936, he was abjectly terrifying. The background given for him was nothing more than a nameless, unidentifiable homicidal killer with no more motive for his crimes then simply to see what would happen. He was Chaos manifested, a serial killer and terrorist that was amazingly dark and brutal for the times.
The first on-screen performance of the Joker was Caesar Romero, and the camp of the 1960's batman television show turned this brooding malicious taker of lives into a hillbilly-esque villain that was basically nothing more than a sidekick to the Penguin. I give this Joker an F-.
In the seventies, the Joker was again transformed by the Comic Code that was introduced. The literary Joker was modeled more after the Romero version, a silly nit that robbed banks, stole skywriting airplanes to write his name in the sky, and broke into museums to still ancient Egyptian playing cards. *sigh* F-.
In the eighties, things changed with the arrival of Brian Bolland. An artist and writer for DC comics, Bolland's Joker once again became a serial killer, though still more pre-dispossessed to rob banks than actually kill people. But Bolland's Joker was frightening in that he forced his arch-rival to really take a good look at himself; he consistently compared his origin to batman's, and hatched several schemes to drive the Caped crusader insane; and very nearly succeeded. It was Bolland's Joker and origin that was the basis of Jack Nicholson's portrayal in the 1988 Batman movie, where not only J but The Bats himself got an upgraded, retro-gothic look that became the definitive look for future Batmen.
Nicholson's Joker struck me as being more of a gentlemanly sleazeball than someone that was truly dangerous and scary. I liked this version of the Joker but still disappointed that no J had ever been brought back to 'form', I created by own for my tabletop superhero game and tried to make his truly scary.
My Joker was Jerome Ward, a small time Rastafarian gang leader that found himself involved in a plot by a renegade group of villains to flood the players' city with lethal chemical gas. Ward, trying to escape that wrath of arriving superheroes, received a cocktail blast of chemicals that deformed him: yep, red lips, white skin, thick green dreadlocks. The pain of the chemical burn and his newfound looks convinced Ward that life itself was just one set of chaotic circumstances after another, and so he set out to see how much of the world's chaos could be manipulated. Revamping himself Rictus, he embarked on a crusade of child killings, terrorist bombings, food poisonings, and mass defenstrations. He remained at large for *eight years* of real life game time. My players loved and hated him.
And now, 2008 reveals a brand new Joker, the original as created by Bob Kane and infused with life by the late Heath Ledger. The 'new' Joker is completely true to form: No chemical deformities, just simply a psychotic that dyes his hair green, paints his face white, and commits atrocities simply to see what will happen. The correct background is amplified by Ledger's masterful performance. Ledger's Joker has a voice and facial expression that is disconnected; a warped mind that sees the world not as a series of linear events but rather a series of 'What Ifs?'. He is merciless, without compassion, and brutal simply because the world is, and he wants to see whether he or the world will win the contest. No saving graces for this Joker. From what I've seen, Heath Ledger has made this Joker unquestionably the truest to form and most terrifying ever portrayed. I am seriously looking forward to seeing what becomes of him. |
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| A Song for Mary |
[Jul. 8th, 2008|07:11 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  content | ] |
Because you mean everything to me.
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| There's Nobody Waiting, but too Many to Say Goodbye. |
[Jul. 8th, 2008|06:23 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  depressed | ] |
For the first time in twenty years, I am feeling suicidal.
Of course I'm not stupid enough to actually do it, so no panic buttons please. I am sitting here under the delightful sensations of both renal colic and a migraine, and I have discovered that taking Vicodin and Imitrex together has added cramping nausea to the mix. I suspect that the medications may be throwing my brain chemistry out of whack and telling me 'Hey, dead is fun! Go talk to God!' but of course I'm much too terrified of explaining to God I took my own life because of a headache and kidney stone, so instead I will discuss this with my doctor when I see him on friday and who knows, maybe I discovered a brand new side effect from taking two different medications. Anyway.
After a hot shower I went to lay down, and what should surface but the rampaging rage and bitterness of my childhood. To be specific, my school years. In a moment of perfect clarity I remembered every wrong that had ever been done to me, and what drove me to become such a teenage monster. If you've never heard all of this before, come with me into a journey into what my life was like between grades 8 and 12.
When I was in eight grade, bright eyed and bushy tailed, someone ( and to this day I still suspect who, Robby you asshole) decided that telling six girls I vaguely knew that I was spending my time writing pornographic stories about them would be hilarious. I remember the girls, too: Stacy, Shannon, Lisa, Tracey, Cynthia, and Christina. None of whom I really knew all that well, and none of whom had ever been a participant in any story I wrote. I was harassed by teachers, beaten up by boyfriends, and even had the wrath of two thoroughly humiliated parents fall on me. Never once did the horrible stories actually surface. Never once was my innocence believed. Never once did it occur to anyone that maybe I had never written such stories. My walk down the Dark Side ( forgive me Lucas) had begun.
The night of my ninth grade graduation was celebrated by two of the boyfriends: Shannon's and Lisa's taking turns pelting me to the pavement. Everyone but those two had forgotten the incident. Wen the matter was discussed with my mother's husband at the time, he in his infinite wisdom from the depths of a twelve pack told me I deserved to get my ass kicked if I wasn't able to fight back. I asked jerkoff if he had ever won a fight against two guys at once, and received a third beating for my lack of respect.
In tenth grade, I enrolled in a local kung-fu school and also, miraculously, became a close friend with Steve, himself both a black belt in martial arts and on the wrestling team. Steve was my hero. He taught me a lot, but he couldn't save me. I took what he taught me, maligned and twisted it, and used it to become the kind of tormentor I had been dealing with for two years. Tyche, Dark Lord of the Sith, for reals. Of course it cost me my friendship with Steve, but I didn't care then. Drunken Bastard learned that being fat and drunk is no match for focused rage. In that year I was arrested three times for assault on him, but I was never really punished for it because I had a sorely beaten mother and sister to claim either self-defense or defense of them. But he never raised his hand against any of us again, though he did find bravery behind a gun. That was an interesting night. Me grinning, his pointing the .22 at me. He went to jail that night, and I laughed for hours.
But Sith Tyche wasn't done. Any excuse was an excuse for violence, whether it be physical or verbal. I began to expect everyone around me of betraying me at some point in the future, and beat them to the punch. I learned to click off my emotions at whim, and cast away friends and a girl that honestly loved me merely because I thought they would betray me. I abandoned a long time friend Brandon, late at night, on the Sunset Strip in Hollywood; just pushed him out of the car and left him, because he innocently said something that irritated me. And then came the night that during a screaming match with my own mother I said something to her that caused her to look at me in absolute horror and pain for two seconds before she burst into tears. I won't repeat here what I said to her. I won't ever say it again, in any form.
And that's when I really saw what I had become, and I fled to Utah to survive, somehow, as a worthless, jobless, and largely homeless drunk until my sister found me and came to get me eight months later. I got sober, I got a job, I grew up.
And tonight I have guilt. And tonight my old demons are telling me to just die, because there's no other way to make amends for those years. They tell me that I fail in everything I try and they give examples: Failed novelist, failed chef, failed screenwriter, failed small business owner. They tell me that Mary will find something horrible about me and run away; that she never really wants to see me, and that I'll fail trying to get to her.
I tell them to stuff it. I blame the medications. I'm going to go lie down now. |
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| A good debate |
[Jun. 23rd, 2008|04:37 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  disappointed | ] |
I love a good debate. I love sitting with someone over coffee or a soda or even a whole meal and listening to well-reasoned, thought out suppositions and opinions that make me sit back and think. Paul is exceptionally good at stimulating me that way, so is Mary. All to often though, I run across people that state opinions blindly, without reason of any kind behind them. People that hold these views with no supporting facts except the belief that they're right. Let me share some with you and maybe you, like me, can sit there and wonder about what schools are teaching our kids these days.
Debate statement from the other:"If we encounter intelligent life on other worlds that don't have the same religious beliefs that Christians do, it proves God doesn't exist."
My counterpoints: How? Islam, Judaism, and Shintoism do not espouse the same religious beliefs Christianity does, but how does that prove God doesn't exist? If we encounter intelligent life that doesn't share a Christian mindset, how does it prove God doesn't exist? The supposition is so flawed as to be ludicrous. Also, what happens if we encounter an extraterrestrial species that has a Messianic Ideology that mirrors the Christian ideology? What does *that* prove?
Their response: What does Messianic Ideology mean?
Debate statement from the other: "Global warming is killing the planet, and humans are responsible for it."
My counterpoints: Thirty years ago environmentalists were insisting that by today the earth would enter another massive ice age because of global *cooling*. The majority of greenhouse gasses is water vapor, which is necessary for life on the planet. Carbon Dioxide emissions account for about .03% of greenhouse gasses, and the only way to eliminate it is to obliterate ALL life on earth, because we all breathe it. Mars is also experiencing global warming, how are humans responsible for that? Certain ice sheets are melting, of course. But others, particularly in Antarctica, are thickening. And the United Nations Intergovernmental Panel of Climate Change measured an increase in sea levels by the year 2100 of .48 meters. And the National Climactic Data Center says not only has the worst case of global rises in temperature occur 600 years ago, well before the burning of fossil fuels could be responsible, the winter of 2007 was cold enough to have eliminated the past century of warming trends.
Their Response: Research shows polar bears are dying.
Mmmmhm. The above debates would have been amazing to have and think about if theiy had been offered with substantative proofs or logical arguments. But sometimes, people just make me sad. |
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| Vex Ranting |
[May. 29th, 2008|04:23 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  angry | ] |
Yep, just me ranting about stupidity in government and in general.
Tyche's Dictionary: Golden Boy (verb): a male, usually between the ages of 18 and 21 that knows everything. About every subject. Ask him a question, no matter how far fetched, he will answer it with confidence. A Golden Boy is unable to admit he doesn't know something, and can absolutely under no circumstance admit he's wrong. See also: Immature
Tyche's Dictionary: Platinum Girl: (verb) A female, of any age, that under no circumstance can admit she made a mistake.
Okay. Now here's the state of things in immigration: we have 4 million illegal immigrants in California state alone, shutting down Emergency Rooms. Joining gangs. Smuggling drugs in. Driving illegally. Commiting acts of violence, rape, and torture. You think I'm exaggerating? To whit:
O: Park Ranger Kris Eggle, 28, is shot to death by illegal drug dealers entering the country through the Oregan pipeline.
O: Dance club owner David Nedel is shot to death by Juan Rivera Perez after Perez is ejected from the club for harassing club goers. Perez is found to be in the country illegally.
O: Two disable girls, on 14 and one 17, are gang raped by three men, illegals from El Salvador: Jose Oritz, 20; Carlos Miguel Escobar, 18; and Jesus Pleitiz, 18.
O: Barbara Vidlak has her identity stolen by an illegal Mexican. The rip-off of her Social Security number by an illegal immigrant has caused Barbara's phone to be turned off and loss of health insurance for her two kids.
O: 17 year old Trisha Taylor loses both of her legs after Jose Carcamo, in the country illegally, drives drunk, hops a curb, and smashes her into a wall. Not only does Carcamo not have a driver's license, he has 17 traffic violations since 1995. None of which he was brought up on.
And last but not least: Two nuns are attacked by illegal Mexican Maximiliano Esparza. Both are raped, one is murdered by strangulation with her rosary beads.
And what is our government doing to protect us against these animals? Offering them amnesty.
Source: Immigrationshumancost.org
In the state of California, gas and food prices have reached all time highs in history. We are billions of dollars in debt, we are facing a water shortage, and an energy crisis. And what is the legislature doing to help us?
1. Democratic assembly member Lloyd Lavine is trying to push through a bill that would impose a 25 cent tax *per bag* for plastic bags in supermarkets. So hey, not only will your gallon of milk cost $4.50, with food tax also you'll pay more than five dollars to get it home. Why is he doing this? because bags are bad for the environment. The real kicker? It passed the senate.
2. Mylar balloons will now be illegal to sell, thanks to democratic senator Jack Scott. Why? Because they've caused 63 outages since 1993 by hitting live power lines. The impact: Children will lose the balloons they love most, and businesses will suffer a huge hit financially as the balloons make up a large portion of their income. Once again, ladies and gents, the Libs in the California House and Sensate are trying to ensure your children are not allowed the things they enjoy in addition to ensuring that even more businesses will be driven out of California.
Why do morons keep electing these shitheads? |
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| Headbanging |
[May. 25th, 2008|07:41 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  amused | ] |
Okay, so get this. My mom is now an official headbanger. o.o
I kid you not. After I hung out on Taps last night as a mucho awesome death metal club, I went to my folks for dinner. On a whim, I decided to take my Amon Amarth compilation CD. Asked dad to pop it in, and watched cheerfully as he and my mom were shaken out of their shoes and fell over onto the floor.
Then my mom aksed what it was. I explained that Amon Amarth is Viking Metal. AND SHE ASKED TO BORROW THE CD SO SHE COULD LISTEN TO IT AGAIN!
Moms..you gotta love 'em. |
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| Metal. Oh yeah. |
[May. 10th, 2008|07:34 pm] |
Much to my surprise, I have become a fan of death metal. Have a nice little selection from Morbid Angel.
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| *sigh* |
[May. 3rd, 2008|08:13 pm] |
I love this song. Amy Lee is an angel, she has to be. Nobody mortal could have her rich, complex voice.
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| Caviar and stupidity |
[Feb. 10th, 2008|09:37 pm] |
So. Approximately eight minutes ago I was overwhelmed with a consuming craving for caviar. The problem with living where I do is that if you walk into basically any market and say, "Hi, I want caviar!" the teenage cashiers and store helpers look at you as if you just spoke Martian. Culinarily, I really hate living where I am because you can't get anything except basic meat and potatoes. Man, I'd kill for a tin for savory osetra right now.
So Friday I gathered with Paul and Kristin over at Tiff's for dinner. I was cooking again, and admittedly I was extremely nervous about it. So nervous, in fact, I forgot that I had taken Vicodin an hour before going. And so when I had my alloted five shots of tequila, the effect was as if I had taken twenty shots. I don't know how drunk I was, honestly, or how badly my speech was slurring. But I do feel like a complete moron. I can't escape the feeling that I embarrassed everyone, and that I won't be asked back.
Thinking back through the evening--and yes, I remember everything-- I can't honestly recall doing anything that would have embarrassed everyone except getting smashingly drunk. I know that Tiff didn't want me to leave when I wanted to, and I thank her for that because there's no telling how stupid I would have gotten trying to drive so smashed I couldn't walk straight. So when I did leave I was fairly sobered up, and got home safely. I'm hoping all I did really was embarrass myself, and didn't do anything that embarrassed them.
But still..there's that nagging doubt.
We'll have to wait and see what happens when I talk to them tomorrow. And I go to the doctor tomorrow evening for my echocardiogram. Wish me luck on both counts. |
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| Heroes Unlimited: Rictus Pt.3 |
[Feb. 9th, 2008|07:45 pm] |
I take a moment to regain my composure, taking off my glasses and massaging the bridge of my nose.
"All right," I say, "Enough strangeness. I don't know how you know so much about me, but I assume it's because you asked to see my file when you were told I was handling your case." I look at him. "Would that be correct?"
He just smiles.
I replace my glasses and look down at the folder.
"According to the story you told your attorney, you and..." I pause. I'm not supposed to mention his wife. I wonder why.
"You were caught in a storm coming home from dinner. You lost control of the car and had a head on collision with an Axis Chemical truck. It...changed your physiology and twisted your perceptions." I look up at him. "Is that true?"
He laughs, a rich robust sound.
"Twisted my preceptions. That's a very politically correct way of saying someone's crazy, Doctor," he says.
"But is it true?" I ask.
He sighs, still smiling.
"No. My name is James Andrew Ward. I was a reporter, dating a heroine called Caduceus. She got into a fight with...what's that guy's name? The guy without skin, who throws chemical clouds?"
"Biohazard?" I suggest. Rictus smiles wider.
"Yes," he says, "That's the guy. I got caught in the crossfire. It turned me from a fine black man into...this." He laughs. "And twisted my perceptions, as you so eloquently put it."
I shut the file and take my seat again.
"So we have three different names and backgrounds for the same man. You've never denied that your last name is Ward, so that's a good start. I know you've been told that your diagnosis is circumstance induced sociopathy with pathological lying and obsessive-complusive violent behavior. Would you agree with that statement?"
He's not smiling now, just regarding me.
"Do you have a cigarette?" He asks.
"I don't smoke, no. I'm sorry."
He smiles again, and says the next thing that shakes me to my foundations. There's no way he could possibly know this, even if he had read my file.
"Do you like your new car?" |
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| Heroes Unlimited: Rictus pt. 2 |
[Feb. 9th, 2008|07:40 pm] |
His eyes flash up at me, and I gasp. I didn't mean to but it happens. I've never seen eyes like his before. Deep rich dark caramel flecked with gold, and burning with passionate intelligence. His eyes lock onto mine and I remember what the orderly tolds me. I look down at my clipboard.
"Your defense attorney has asked me to spend some time with you, to help with your trial," I say.
"Hello Doctor Tennant."
There's two things about those three words that terrify me. The first is the calibre of his voice: dark and smoky, alluring. It makes me think of Barry White. The second is that he knows my name. I look up at him.
He's smiling now. I remember hearing somewhere that Rictus always smiled because his face was frozen that way. I know that's false. He wasn't smiling when I came in.
I ask him if someone told him I was coming.
"Nobody tells me anything in here, Doctor. They say information is bad for my soul. Do you believe a person has a soul, Doctor?"
He's prodding me, I can feel it. Trying to determine how much of myself I'm willing to reveal. I look back down at the file again.
"Your name is Jerome David Ward. You were the assistant district attorney until the chemical accident. Do you prefer being called Mr. Ward instead of Rictus?"
His smile widens. He looks amused.
"I don't know who's file that is, Doctor, but it isn't mine. I was never an attorney. I wasn't smart enough to graduate high school, let alone consider a career in the legal field. I grew up on the streets. I was the leader of a street gang called the South Side Posse. We were hard-core."
I sit in the chair and smile at him.
"And your amazingly eloquent for a street kid with little education," I say.
He chuckles. Yes, he actually chuckles.
"Okay," he says. "You got me."
I lean forward a bit, to show him through body language that I'm very attentive to whatever he might have to say.
"Tell me what happened to you, Mr. Ward."
He nods, aimiably.
"Okay. My name is David Frank Ward. I grew up in Chicago. I was the son of a medical doctor and a practicing psychologist. I never felt very well loved by my parents."
My heart starts to go cold. He's watching me, his eyes intense.
"But," he continues, " I met a lovely young woman that convinced me to pursue a career in psychiatry. And I was good at it too, I had several cases where the criminally insane were correctly treated. Until my daughter was born, I..."
I shoot out of my chair, boiling with rage and wilting with fear at the same time. What he's been describing is my life!
"How could you know that? How could you possibly know that?" I demand.
His smile widens.
"Are you scared yet, Marion?" |
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| Heroes Unlimited: Rictus |
[Feb. 9th, 2008|07:39 pm] |
The Rictus series of posts are for a tabletop superhero game I'm going to start running for friends.
Horror. The last time I really knew horror was when I was six, and saw my first roadkill. It made me sick, but dad was quick to comfort me and explain how life worked. But now, dad isn't around. And as I face these tight heavy bars leading deep into the depth's of Century City's Asylum for the Crimninally Insane, I know horror again. My stomach is turning into knots. It's hard for me to breathe.
In less than five minutes, I will be face to face with the most notorious and deranged serial killer in the city's history.
The orderly is watching me. He's a gigantic man, towering above me. But his smile is reassuring, his eye contact is gentle. He understands what I'm feeling. I take comfort in his nearness.
"Are you ready, Doctor Tennant?"
Even his voice is gentle. I nod. He nods also, and his voice loses it's gentleness. It becomes stern. It reminds me so much of my father's.
"Don't go within ten feet of the glass, even if he begs you to. If he asks for something, let me know. Don't take it on yourself to give him anything. Don't accept anything he might offer you. Don't look into his eyes, he'll take it as a challenge. Do not under any circumstance give him any personal information, even so much as your initials. Do not answer any questions not related to his case he may ask you. Do not discuss children. Do not discuss his wife. Do you understand?"
I nod again. The orderly gives me another reassuring smile and leads me inside. At first, it's clinical and pristine, the way I imagine all asylums must be. But as we take the stairs down--the elevator's out of order, the orderly tells me--it becomes darker. Dimmer. We pass doors set into walls with the insane staring out at me. I don't look back. We go down deeper, into what the orderly says they call The Hole. The most secure area of the asylum, where the most dangerous of the criminally insane are kept. We pass more cells, then down a long hallway that abruptly opens up into a single large room. There's only one cell here, a solid steel box with sheer plate glass on the front.
His cell.
I glance at the orderly.
"Does he really need all this?" I whisper.
"We don't take any chances with him," comes the reply.
I look back into the cell. I don't know what I was expecting: a manic, maybe. Bouncing all over the cell like a child on twenty pounds of sugar. Maybe whispering to himself, or pacing. But what I see is just....sad. He's seated in the center of the cell on a small wooden stool. His ankles are handcuffed to the legs of the stool, and the stool itself is bolted to the floor. His entire upper body is wrapped in from what I can tell are three straightjackets. He's gazing at the floor, taking no notice of us. His skin is so white it doesn't cast shadows; his neck seems to just merge into the straightjackets. Thick ropy dreadlocks, bright green in color, cascade like snakes down his shoulders to mid-back. He's terrifying to look at but also..eerily beautiful.
The orderly leaves.
I take a step forward, and call him by name.
"Mr. Rictus?" |
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| The Brilliance of Californians |
[Feb. 6th, 2008|04:38 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  confused | ] |
In the polls, most Californians list Taxation and Immigration as their biggest gripes with our government leaders.
On Februrary 5th, Super Tuesday, John McCain won the California primary.
This has simply convinced me that Californians are either liars, or morons.
Why? Well, look first at the McCain-Liberman bill: Lets throw on 50 cents MORE taxes onto the consumer for the price of gas, in order to appease the crazed environmentalists. If we add 50 cents more to gas, people will be forced to switch to hybrids, right? RiGhT?
And how about..oh..the McCain-Kennedy Bill: 0 Border enforcement, and a pathway to Amnesty for illegals via the Z-Visa?
In the polls, most Californians list Taxes and illegal immigration as their biggest gripes. And yet, they nominate the presidential candidate that will raise taxes and welcome illegals with open arms.
I repeat: Californians are either liars, or morons. I just don't get it.
Of course, it could simply have been a case of pick the republican candidate most likely to beat Clinton. Bad move, Clinton won the state anyway. If you were going that route, why not vote for Romney? Romney, unlike McCain, votes the way he speaks. meaning, he says he has a 0 tolerance policy for illegal immigration and doesn't believe in raising taxes. And his voting record reflects that. McCain not so much.
Here's a tip: McCain can't beat Clinton. You voted for a Liberal Republican with open borders and higher taxes policy hoping to beat a Liberal Democrat with...open borders and higher taxes policy. Why did this make sense? What am I missing?
Seriously. What am I missing? |
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| Raging |
[Feb. 3rd, 2008|10:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  pissed off | ] |
You know, you pour all your heart and soul into doing something nice for someone and the fucking universe does everything within it's power to knock you on your ass. I am so sick of this shit.
Helen's birthday is tomorrow, and I wanted to make her a cake. I was thinking a two layer sponge cake filled with butter cream and lightly frosted with vanilla icing. Simple, right? Of fucking course not.
I made FOUR. Count them, four! Each one came out so dense that I could kill my cat if I threw one at her. I followed two different recipes to the letter and ended up with four fucking brand new tires for my car. What the fuck? Why the fuck is the universe suddenly denying me the things I love to do best? I can't do shit any more.
Last two dinners I made? Fucked up. Pasta I make for myself comes out perfect. Over at Tiff's I used the same recipe I always do...limpid ravioli with no flavor and filling oozing out the sides. So when she came to hang out on thursday night, I made pasta again thinking maybe it was just working in a kitchen I'm not used to. NOPE! Fucked up pasta..this time undercooked. And now the cakes.
You know...I just don't get it. I gave up drawing because I can't do it worth shit. I can't write for fuck anymore, and now even cooking has deserted me. Was Hank right? When I went through my childhood with him telling me I was a god damned loser whom would fail at everything and never be anything more than a drooling worthless piece of shit, was he right? Everything has blown up in my face. Can't sell a fucking screenplay, can't get admitted into a culinary school, can't do shading to save my life. Why the fuck am I even bothering anymore?
Doctor says I could end up having a major heart attack within the next two years. Let's do it now, get this shit over with so I can move on and the world and joyfully forget about me. After all, what am I worth?
Gods, I want my Mary. |
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| Frank says: Baaaa. |
[Jan. 27th, 2008|09:55 pm] |
So the goat made me sick.
I was honestly surprised by the flavor. I kept the whole loin intact, seasoned it lightly with salt and pepper, and braised it for 15 minutes in the stock I made last night. The flavor was very delicate and it was very tender. The marbled veins of fat running through the meat really added to it. I don't know what taste I was expecting, but I suppose when one thinks of goat one associates foul smells. The meat *tasted* very good.
But, three hours later, my tummy was doing a major flip flop; on the verge of force-able expulsion. But, being the wizard of body control that I am I steel my stomach and kept it down. I assume the meat was bad, but it certainly didn't look or smell it. So..who knows?
I also made cheese today for the first time. Well, actually, still in the process of making cheese. Some whole milk, some buttermilk, let sit in a warm dry place 24 hours, then hang for eight. What you'll end up with is a traditional Farmer's Cheese, resembling cream cheese but more acidic in flavor. If it works, I'll start exploring other cheesy experiments: Tyche's Farmer Cheese, Tyche's Goat Milk cheese with Herbs, Tyche's Pepper Farmer Cheese....
Num num! |
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| Culinary adventures! |
[Jan. 26th, 2008|08:24 pm] |
Today I needed to do some grocery shopping. I just needed some basic things, so I got into my car and revved up the engine. And then I remembered a chat that Emmett and I had had on friday about variety meats.
If you don't know what variety meats are, they are the portion of the animal not generally considered edible or desirable by we silly Americans, although in many parts of the world they're considered delicacies: hearts, brains, ears, kidneys, stomach, ect. And I knew just where to get variety meats.
I went to Jons and took a look at the wonderous selections they had: Veal tenderloins ( probably actually goat, because anyone with food knowledge knows that veal doesn't produce tenderloins.) I picked those up, because I've never had goat. I've had veal before, and you can generally tell the difference after the meat is cooked. They look the same, but the texture is different: honest veal has a cooked texture something like very dry loosely crumbly hamburger. I also got my hot little hands on a package of beef kidney and a package of headcheese. Wonder of wonders, they also had quail! Woot, mouse has braised quail on the menu for tomorrow. Next step is to serve it to Kristin, Paul, and Tiffany. Quail is so delicate and tender, wonderfully sweet and aromatic. I love the stuff. I'm treating myself tomorrow.
Anyway. I'd never eaten headcheese. If you don't know what that is, it's basically the boiled meat of the cheeks, jowl, lips, and snout of a pig packed in salt and herbs and pressed together into a sausage. I ate it tonight, while waiting for the kidney. Naturally I had trepidations..I don't normally eat lips and noses...but once I convinced my brain that it wasn't toxic I was able to take a bite. And then another. And finally, a whole sammich. It was very good! The aroma was similar to olive loaf ( which I love to death) and the taste was mellow but sweetish, kind of chewy in texture, and it had a just wonderful peppery finish. Fair warning though: headcheese is NOT pretty to look at.
Now, the kidney. You have to soak kidney...oh and by the way, I ate this kidney for a reason. My kidneys form stones, and so by eating one I sent a message: Mess with me and I'll eat you! ;) Anyway, you have to soak kidney in salted water for two hours to tenderize the meat. Before you do that, it's a labor intensive process of scraping off the thin clear membrane covering the kidney, and then trimming off the chunk of fatty connective tissue in the center. So I labored and soaked, and then rinsed it gently and cut into into very thin slices. I dipped the slices in flour and pan fried them with a little butter and olive oil.
I don't think I'll eat kidney again. The flavor wasn't bad at all, it was terrific. If you sauteed liver and then covered it in mushrooms you'd have the same texture and flavor of kidney. But aside from that, it was very bland, and tough. I had a lot of kidney left over, so I'm making a stock out of it. The kitchen really smells super right now.
So..what have we learned? Variety meats offer a great derivation from your normal steaks and chops, and really are quite good. Also, we learned that we can go to Jons and buy meats, hot dogs, juice, fish, breads, cheeses, yogurt, and various hosehold needs and pay 32.75. Where as Vons, comparible checkout price would be twenty dollars more. |
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