I actually managed to get some TV watching in this weekend, something I don’t do as often as I used to. A few highlights of the weekend:
1. I got to watch the Military Channel’s coverage of this year’s Best Ranger competition. The team I was rooting for came in third, but I was impressed by all of the competitors. For me, the biggest hero of the competition was eliminated during the night after the first day of competition. The competitors work in buddy teams of two. One team had a member who had injured his ankle climbing during an obstacle course. At the end of the day, the teams had to race each other in a 21-mile march carrying 65 pound rucksacks. The buddy of the injured ranger, a young lieutenant, carried both rucksacks for his team. That’s 130 lbs plus of gear. They didn’t complete the course in the required 6 hours in order to remain in the competition, but they were still marching at the end. As the Lt. put it, “We may not finish in time, but we didn’t quit!” These are the people who are defending our freedoms, folks. Watch this show and feel a little more secure.
2. I found myself watching an Indian movie on the AZN network. It was a war movie, and while I can’t remember the title, it was set in the conflict between India and Pakistan over Kashmir. It was actually a very well-made movie. The actors, according to the menu guide, are some of the big names in “Bollywood”. It used some pretty standard and recognizable plot devices and themes, but the depiction of combat was intense but not gory, and the acting was as good as most you’d see in a Hollywood war flick. The soundtrack was an Indian/Rock fusion that worked well, and the cinematography, especially of the mountain climbing scenes, was amazing.
3. I watched bits of a National Geographic Channel special on animal communications, and especially enjoyed watching the section on dogs, especially a study that indicates that dogs can distinguish cancerous tissue from normal tissue just by their sense of smell. I’ll be honest; I was biased, because I’m a huge dog fan. I love my own dog like a family member (albeit not as much as I love my wife or child), and tend to like most dogs I meet. I like big dogs, small dogs, smart dogs, dumb dogs, active dogs, and lazy dogs. I admire their loyalty to their pack mates (us), their
general tendency to accept us unconditionally and even worship us, their playfulness, inquisitiveness, and empathy. I read the results of a study that indicates that dogs have an incredible aptitude for reading human body language -- even higher that that of animals with a reputation for even higher intelligence, such as chimps. Other studies indicate that just petting a dog or cat can lower your heart rate. So naturally, I was a sucker for even more praise for our canine den dwellers.
4. I watched the latest episodes of "The Next Food Network Star". So far I've been unsurprised and fairly in agreement with the eliminations. I'm torn between rooting for Hans, who's the best cook on the show, and Eric, who has the most enjoyable personality and seems the most like a truly good person.
I also find myself saying "My gosh, I could have done that better!" a lot. I really wish I'd tried out for the show. I've had a passion for cooking for a long time, and have even contemplated culinary school in the past, but I'm a bit intimidated by the process of becoming a chef. However, the more in love with cooking I fall, and the more praise I get from people who read my recipes and eat my food (especially from TFR. She's very blunt about any dish that doesn't stack up), the more I think I might have finally found my calling.
UPDATE (6/21/05)
Thanks for the Memory to a comment by Triticale for reminding me:
5. I watched one of those "Week in Science" shows that highlighted, among other cool stuff (Like the imminent launch of the first solar sail satellite), a new device that uses UV light to detect counterfeit Single Malt Scotches.
Anyone who would counterfeit good Single Malt should be soaked in cheap bathtub gin and then lit on fire.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Smoking Break
This week's Carnival of The Recipes has been up since late Friday, and I've had a good amount of traffic from it as usual.
This weekend, to celebrate father's day, I treated myself to some quiality time with the smoker. The results were hit and miss. I finally figured out that if I fill the bottom bin completely with charcoal instead of just adding a chimney's worth, it will maintain a good, even heat in the right range for about 6-7 hours. Armed with that knowledge, I did a rack of ribs that put my first efforts to shame. I made a couple of changes to the rub recipe, one accidentally and one intentionally, that I'll have to remember. Sunday I tried another batch of jerky, and was disappointed. The marinade I tried was ok but not spectacular, and I overcooked it, leaving me with crunchy jerky. Because of this, and despite the ribs, TFR has proclaimed that I am spending too much time with the smoker and must give it a rest for a few weeks. So my next few recipes will be either grill or other cooking forms, nothing involving a smoker.
Because of all the kind comments by Songstress from over at News from the Great Beyond, I thought I'd start out with a recipe that will not only NOT require that she purchase a grill, but heck, doesn't even require a stove. You DO have a fridge, don't you Ms. S?
Saturday night I whipped up a batch of ceviche and served it on Sunday to TFR. She was so impressed she had to call her mom, her sister, and her boss lady to brag. For those of you unfamiliar, ceviche is a Mexican seafood dish which relies on the chemical reaction of lime juice and salt rather than heat to cook the fish. I like to refer to it as "Sushi Salsa". It's delicious if done right, and is an excellent hot weather dish, as it's light, refreshing, and requires NO contact with a hot stove. So here, without further ado, is my:
Sushi Salsa Ceviche
Ingredients:
1 lb. fish (I use tilapia, but cod, halibut, sunfish, or any white meat fish will do.)
1 large onion
2 tomatoes
3 cloves garlic
1 pepper (I prefer habanero, but jalapeno or Serrano would also work.)
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tbsp. oregano (obviously, for a Mexican dish, Mexican oregano is preferred.)
1 cup lime juice (Fresh squeezed is best, but bottled will do. Try to get key limes or key lime juice if possible.)
Salt
Pepper
Cut the fish into quarter-inch cubes. Any smaller and they’ll tend to fall apart, any larger and they’re too thick for the marinating process. Place the cubes in a large glass bowl It’s important to use glass. If you can’t, don’t bother making Ceviche. If you insist, use plastic or stainless steel. Avoid at all costs aluminum or copper, as the chemical reaction with the lime juice will ruin the taste. Salt the fish generously. Cut the tomatoes and onions into similarly sized chunks, mince the garlic finely, and add the tomatoes, onion, garlic, cilantro, and oregano to the bowl. Salt and pepper generously.
Next, add the pepper. Most people use jalapenos, but I don’t like their flavor – it tastes too much like a strong bell pepper, and tends to dominate a dish. I prefer habaneros for two reasons: they’re hot as Hades; and their flavor aside from the heat is much more subtle. Using a habanero adds heat, but doesn’t interfere with the other flavors of the dish. If it’s too hot for you, a good compromise between the jalapeno and the habanero is the Serrano chili.
The next step is very important, especially if you decide to go with a habanero: Put on a pair of gloves. Habaneros are serious business. They are the hottest chili in the world, around 100 times hotter than a jalapeno. If you get any of it on your hands, and then touch sensitive tissue like your eyes, nose, or mouth, you will hurt. Trust me. Using a very sharp paring knife cut the pepper as finely as you possible can: the smaller the pieces, the better. Add to the bowl.
Pour in the lime juice, mix thoroughly. Add enough lime juice so that the entire mix is soaking in lime juice. Cover bowl, refrigerate. Marinate for 18-24 hours. Serve on tostadas or tortilla chips, garnish with avocado and more cilantro.
This weekend, to celebrate father's day, I treated myself to some quiality time with the smoker. The results were hit and miss. I finally figured out that if I fill the bottom bin completely with charcoal instead of just adding a chimney's worth, it will maintain a good, even heat in the right range for about 6-7 hours. Armed with that knowledge, I did a rack of ribs that put my first efforts to shame. I made a couple of changes to the rub recipe, one accidentally and one intentionally, that I'll have to remember. Sunday I tried another batch of jerky, and was disappointed. The marinade I tried was ok but not spectacular, and I overcooked it, leaving me with crunchy jerky. Because of this, and despite the ribs, TFR has proclaimed that I am spending too much time with the smoker and must give it a rest for a few weeks. So my next few recipes will be either grill or other cooking forms, nothing involving a smoker.
Because of all the kind comments by Songstress from over at News from the Great Beyond, I thought I'd start out with a recipe that will not only NOT require that she purchase a grill, but heck, doesn't even require a stove. You DO have a fridge, don't you Ms. S?
Saturday night I whipped up a batch of ceviche and served it on Sunday to TFR. She was so impressed she had to call her mom, her sister, and her boss lady to brag. For those of you unfamiliar, ceviche is a Mexican seafood dish which relies on the chemical reaction of lime juice and salt rather than heat to cook the fish. I like to refer to it as "Sushi Salsa". It's delicious if done right, and is an excellent hot weather dish, as it's light, refreshing, and requires NO contact with a hot stove. So here, without further ado, is my:
Sushi Salsa Ceviche
Ingredients:
1 lb. fish (I use tilapia, but cod, halibut, sunfish, or any white meat fish will do.)
1 large onion
2 tomatoes
3 cloves garlic
1 pepper (I prefer habanero, but jalapeno or Serrano would also work.)
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 tbsp. oregano (obviously, for a Mexican dish, Mexican oregano is preferred.)
1 cup lime juice (Fresh squeezed is best, but bottled will do. Try to get key limes or key lime juice if possible.)
Salt
Pepper
Cut the fish into quarter-inch cubes. Any smaller and they’ll tend to fall apart, any larger and they’re too thick for the marinating process. Place the cubes in a large glass bowl It’s important to use glass. If you can’t, don’t bother making Ceviche. If you insist, use plastic or stainless steel. Avoid at all costs aluminum or copper, as the chemical reaction with the lime juice will ruin the taste. Salt the fish generously. Cut the tomatoes and onions into similarly sized chunks, mince the garlic finely, and add the tomatoes, onion, garlic, cilantro, and oregano to the bowl. Salt and pepper generously.
Next, add the pepper. Most people use jalapenos, but I don’t like their flavor – it tastes too much like a strong bell pepper, and tends to dominate a dish. I prefer habaneros for two reasons: they’re hot as Hades; and their flavor aside from the heat is much more subtle. Using a habanero adds heat, but doesn’t interfere with the other flavors of the dish. If it’s too hot for you, a good compromise between the jalapeno and the habanero is the Serrano chili.
The next step is very important, especially if you decide to go with a habanero: Put on a pair of gloves. Habaneros are serious business. They are the hottest chili in the world, around 100 times hotter than a jalapeno. If you get any of it on your hands, and then touch sensitive tissue like your eyes, nose, or mouth, you will hurt. Trust me. Using a very sharp paring knife cut the pepper as finely as you possible can: the smaller the pieces, the better. Add to the bowl.
Pour in the lime juice, mix thoroughly. Add enough lime juice so that the entire mix is soaking in lime juice. Cover bowl, refrigerate. Marinate for 18-24 hours. Serve on tostadas or tortilla chips, garnish with avocado and more cilantro.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Food for Thought
I'm sure they were referring to the salads in the counter case, but why is it that when I heard my fellow customers in the deli next door say, "We'll take a large chef and a small chef", my first thought was, "Emeril Lagassi and Giada DeLaurentis"?
Personally, I think Rachel Ray is more attractive than Giada. She's got a fuller, softer, curvier figure. Mind you (and if you ever tell TFR I'll deny it), if I were single, I wouldn't mind being the deli filling in a Rachel-Giada sandwich. Rowr.
Personally, I think Rachel Ray is more attractive than Giada. She's got a fuller, softer, curvier figure. Mind you (and if you ever tell TFR I'll deny it), if I were single, I wouldn't mind being the deli filling in a Rachel-Giada sandwich. Rowr.
Alphabet Stupor: A Study in Contrasts
Thanks for the Memories to the Llama Butchers.
Apparently, the latest concept in parenting is Alpha Moms -- women who can do everything, do it perfectly, and do it better than any other mother. I tried to read the whole article, but found myself quickly turned off by the cold, calculating approach to parenthood it represented. A daycare provider interviewed said it best:
If there were any truth in advertizing, it'd be called "Stepford Parenting". I was horrified to read this:
The meeting involved the business she was founding: an all-day, all-night, on-demand cable channel where “mothers seeking excellence,” according to press releases, would be able to find “the latest, best-of-breed information”
Good God, people, these are children, not show dogs!
Right. Because the LAST thing a baby needs is, you know, nurture. Why am I not surprised she comes from the same city as a commenter who told me that nursing our 4-month-old infant son was "pandering" to his "whims"? I guess after test tube babies, the next step is lab-sterile childhoods.
I can't say any more than has already been said about the irony of a woman claiming to represent the capable, can-do mother, when she subcontracts out the care of her child. So I'll borrow what's already been said:
That quote is from an excellent article by Susan Konig presenting a counterpoint view of parenting, that of the "Beta" Mom and "Gamma" Dad. It's an excellent read. When I read things like:
and
I start looking in my house to find where she's planted the hidden cameras. Konig's take on parenting is frighteningly familiar.
Kallman's is just frightening.
Apparently, the latest concept in parenting is Alpha Moms -- women who can do everything, do it perfectly, and do it better than any other mother. I tried to read the whole article, but found myself quickly turned off by the cold, calculating approach to parenthood it represented. A daycare provider interviewed said it best:
"...it seems people these days have a more professional attitude toward raising their children. A lot of it is very intellectually thought-out and very scheduled, almost like they have a business plan for their children.”
If there were any truth in advertizing, it'd be called "Stepford Parenting". I was horrified to read this:
The meeting involved the business she was founding: an all-day, all-night, on-demand cable channel where “mothers seeking excellence,” according to press releases, would be able to find “the latest, best-of-breed information”
Good God, people, these are children, not show dogs!
Isabel, with a saucy wag of the head, would later describe the typical member of this breed as, “you know, the maven of mommyhood, the leader of the pack.”
“Definitely dominant,” she said.
Which didn’t sound too cuddly, but as Isabel’s business partner, Vicky Germaise, explained, that was the point. The logo of Alpha Mom TV is not pink and blue but red, white, and black, she said. If not to become strong, for what should a modern mother strive? “Soft and mushy mom?” Come on, said Vicky. “Betty Crocker’s over!”
Right. Because the LAST thing a baby needs is, you know, nurture. Why am I not surprised she comes from the same city as a commenter who told me that nursing our 4-month-old infant son was "pandering" to his "whims"? I guess after test tube babies, the next step is lab-sterile childhoods.
I can't say any more than has already been said about the irony of a woman claiming to represent the capable, can-do mother, when she subcontracts out the care of her child. So I'll borrow what's already been said:
The article suggested that Alpha Moms can do it all, but by the second page I found out how — they have help. "It takes a village," the mom in the article actually said. And she apparently hired a village to watch her kid so she could work 100 hours a week on starting a TV network. Not just a nanny or a babysitter as many parents do, but a nanny and a babysitter and a night nurse. The more she learned about successful motherhood, the more people she hired to achieve it for her, the article said.
That quote is from an excellent article by Susan Konig presenting a counterpoint view of parenting, that of the "Beta" Mom and "Gamma" Dad. It's an excellent read. When I read things like:
The dog licks the top of the baby's head when within reach. I think she thinks he's a puppy.
and
Besides projectile vomiting on me several times a day necessitating various wardrobe changes for both of us, the baby seemed to continuously pee out the back of his diaper all over his bedding. (Three sons and I still have not figured out this mystery.)
I start looking in my house to find where she's planted the hidden cameras. Konig's take on parenting is frighteningly familiar.
Kallman's is just frightening.
PETA: People for the Evil Treatment of Animals
Thanks for the Memory to Darth Apathy:
I used to make the comment that I found it ironic that people could support abortion while also rooting for animal rights groups like PETA.
I guess I can't make that argument anymore.
I used to make the comment that I found it ironic that people could support abortion while also rooting for animal rights groups like PETA.
I guess I can't make that argument anymore.
Fun with Theology
Thanks for the Memory to The Maximum Leader for pointing me to this quiz:
Suprisingly accurate, especially considering my upbringing, which was as the son of a pastor in a denomination with Wesleyan and Arminian influences.
 | You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan. You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavly by John Wesley and the Methodists.
What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com |
Suprisingly accurate, especially considering my upbringing, which was as the son of a pastor in a denomination with Wesleyan and Arminian influences.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Erring on the Side of Caution
Thanks for the Memory to Darth Apathy.
The results of Terry Schiavo's autopsy have been released.
Let me join Bill Frist in saying, I was wrong. Everything I've read about the autopsy indicates that Terri's brain was as gone as was claimed, and that her parents' claim that she wasn't that bad off were wrong.
It had to be heartbreaking for everyone personally involved, but I'm glad, one way or another, that Terri's suffering is over. Had I known then what I know now, I would not have been so quick to jump in on the side I did.
But I didn't know then what I know now. Had I to do it all over again, with the exact same information I already had, I'd still take the course I did. I'd been presented by several sources with what I felt was evidence sufficiently compelling to call into question the claims of Michael Schiavo and his supporters. In hindsight, that evidence was not accurate.
But hindsight, while 20/20, is also too late. And at the time, I had to go with what I knew. In a case where a life is on the line, it's a hard choice to make. I can't imagine what it was like for those whose choice in the matter actually effected its outcome. It's tempting to just "err on the side of caution", to assume that any possibility that Terri was not as bad off as she has turned out to be means we should give her a chance to prove us wrong. That's the error committed by all of us who spoke out against removal of the feeding tube. It turns out it was a tragic error.
But had we been right, the error by those on the other side would have been just as tragic, or more so. How much more awful would it have been if the autopsy hadf proven Terri's parents' case?
In the end, I don't think anyone "won" here. Terri's dead, lives are devastated and hearts broken, and a great deal of ill will has been generated by both sides. For me, my first step in helping to make things right is to admit I was wrong. The next is to express my sincere empathy for those people, the judges, the medical personnel, and the familiy members, who had no choice but to take a side, and who have, more than the rest of us, to live with the results.
The results of Terry Schiavo's autopsy have been released.
Let me join Bill Frist in saying, I was wrong. Everything I've read about the autopsy indicates that Terri's brain was as gone as was claimed, and that her parents' claim that she wasn't that bad off were wrong.
It had to be heartbreaking for everyone personally involved, but I'm glad, one way or another, that Terri's suffering is over. Had I known then what I know now, I would not have been so quick to jump in on the side I did.
But I didn't know then what I know now. Had I to do it all over again, with the exact same information I already had, I'd still take the course I did. I'd been presented by several sources with what I felt was evidence sufficiently compelling to call into question the claims of Michael Schiavo and his supporters. In hindsight, that evidence was not accurate.
But hindsight, while 20/20, is also too late. And at the time, I had to go with what I knew. In a case where a life is on the line, it's a hard choice to make. I can't imagine what it was like for those whose choice in the matter actually effected its outcome. It's tempting to just "err on the side of caution", to assume that any possibility that Terri was not as bad off as she has turned out to be means we should give her a chance to prove us wrong. That's the error committed by all of us who spoke out against removal of the feeding tube. It turns out it was a tragic error.
But had we been right, the error by those on the other side would have been just as tragic, or more so. How much more awful would it have been if the autopsy hadf proven Terri's parents' case?
In the end, I don't think anyone "won" here. Terri's dead, lives are devastated and hearts broken, and a great deal of ill will has been generated by both sides. For me, my first step in helping to make things right is to admit I was wrong. The next is to express my sincere empathy for those people, the judges, the medical personnel, and the familiy members, who had no choice but to take a side, and who have, more than the rest of us, to live with the results.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I Love Living In Oregon Reason #28
A night sky so clear and free of light pollution that I could see moonlight reflecting off of a jet's contrail, like a phosphorescent wake behind a ship at sea.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Diversion
I found this at What Attitude Problem?
| Your IQ Is 120 |
 Your Logical Intelligence is Exceptional Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Above Average |
Breast Feeding
Ally over at Who Moved My Truth has a post on breast feeding, apparently prompted by a comment by Barbara Walters (one I haven't heard). In it, she is quick to point out that mothers who breast feed should show decorum when doing so in public.
I can see her point, but I fear that she has overreacted a bit. Speaking as the father of an infant, I have some familiarity with the issue. Let me address a few of Ally's comments:
I don't want to see a bare breast hanging out and a baby eating from it.
Most of the women I know who breastfeed, my wife included, show a hell of a lot more decorum than that. You're creating a straw man and doing a lot of decent women a disservice if you mean to suggest that "a bare breast hanging out and a baby eating from it" is the norm.
I remember the case where the woman was asked to breast-feed in the bathroom of a restaurant, and not at the table.
Yeah, THAT'S sanitary. Would YOU eat in their bathroom?
I don't know the situation, but if that is the restaurant's policy, either follow the rules or eat elsewhere.
You can bet your ass I would. Eat elewhere, that is. I vote with my wallet and my feet.
I put breast-feeding in the same category as public displays of affection.
Funny, they seem to be at extremely different point on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, as I recall. PDA is an optional behavior. Feeding a hungry child shouldn't have to be.
There are places where these are appropriate
Unfortunately, they can be bloody few and far between, even in places you have to go of necessity. Next time you're in a grocery store, take a look around and find the best place to breast feed. I'd like to hear it. Or maybe breastfeeding women should just stay home where they belong? Do you know how often an infant needs to eat? Ending up feeding them in public is eventually unavoidable.
Your right to feed your child does not mean you lay out a blanket in the middle of the mall and go to.
Again, that sounds like an exaggeration to me.
Motherhood does not mean you have the right to do whatever you want, and the rest of world must stand aside.
Since when is tending to your child "Doing whatever you want?" Motherhood, and fatherhood, means doing whatever it damn well takes to care for your child, and if that means you find yourself in situations where you must offend someone in order to see to that child's basic needs, so be it.
It is about respect, folks. Something that is poorly lacking the world today. And it goes both ways.
Sure, you show as much decorum and respect as you can, but in the end, it's all about the baby. Anyone who can't appreciate that is not worth my respect.
I can see her point, but I fear that she has overreacted a bit. Speaking as the father of an infant, I have some familiarity with the issue. Let me address a few of Ally's comments:
I don't want to see a bare breast hanging out and a baby eating from it.
Most of the women I know who breastfeed, my wife included, show a hell of a lot more decorum than that. You're creating a straw man and doing a lot of decent women a disservice if you mean to suggest that "a bare breast hanging out and a baby eating from it" is the norm.
I remember the case where the woman was asked to breast-feed in the bathroom of a restaurant, and not at the table.
Yeah, THAT'S sanitary. Would YOU eat in their bathroom?
I don't know the situation, but if that is the restaurant's policy, either follow the rules or eat elsewhere.
You can bet your ass I would. Eat elewhere, that is. I vote with my wallet and my feet.
I put breast-feeding in the same category as public displays of affection.
Funny, they seem to be at extremely different point on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, as I recall. PDA is an optional behavior. Feeding a hungry child shouldn't have to be.
There are places where these are appropriate
Unfortunately, they can be bloody few and far between, even in places you have to go of necessity. Next time you're in a grocery store, take a look around and find the best place to breast feed. I'd like to hear it. Or maybe breastfeeding women should just stay home where they belong? Do you know how often an infant needs to eat? Ending up feeding them in public is eventually unavoidable.
Your right to feed your child does not mean you lay out a blanket in the middle of the mall and go to.
Again, that sounds like an exaggeration to me.
Motherhood does not mean you have the right to do whatever you want, and the rest of world must stand aside.
Since when is tending to your child "Doing whatever you want?" Motherhood, and fatherhood, means doing whatever it damn well takes to care for your child, and if that means you find yourself in situations where you must offend someone in order to see to that child's basic needs, so be it.
It is about respect, folks. Something that is poorly lacking the world today. And it goes both ways.
Sure, you show as much decorum and respect as you can, but in the end, it's all about the baby. Anyone who can't appreciate that is not worth my respect.
Keep Away From Children
I suppose Blogging on th Michael Jackson case at this point would combine the worst of both jumping on a bandwagon AND brating a dead horse AND a lot of other cliche metaphors, but what the heck.
I've heard a lot of disgust over the verdict, and from a parent's point of view, I can understand it. But we must remember that this is how the judicial system is designed to work, with the burden of proof on the prosecution. If anything, people who wanted to see him convicted should be disgusted with the prosecution for failing to carry that burden. The Defense did it's job, raising a "reasonable doubt" as to the proof. What that reason was is a bit mystifying to me, but there it is.
So did he molest kids? I have my opinion on the matter, but I'm not the jury. What I do know is that now that he's been acquitted, Michael Jackson should stay as far away from children, especially underage boys, as he possibly can. It's the smart and right thing to do -- because if he didn't do anything wrong, he doesn't need to muddy the waters any. And if he DID, you know he will again, and next time he might just get caught.
And finally, he should be as far away from kids as possible because, given what he admitted he DID do, regardless of the issue of molestation, he's a bad influence on kids. Pornography? Alchohol? What self respecting parent would LET him near their kids at this point?
I know for myself, if I saw him anywhere near The Lad, I'd provide him with a free additional rearrangement of his facial features.
Update:
Kathy over at Cake Eater Chronicles agrees with me.
Update II:
Kathy's reader Russ from Winterset weighs in with the quote of the day on Jackson and his supporters:
I've heard a lot of disgust over the verdict, and from a parent's point of view, I can understand it. But we must remember that this is how the judicial system is designed to work, with the burden of proof on the prosecution. If anything, people who wanted to see him convicted should be disgusted with the prosecution for failing to carry that burden. The Defense did it's job, raising a "reasonable doubt" as to the proof. What that reason was is a bit mystifying to me, but there it is.
So did he molest kids? I have my opinion on the matter, but I'm not the jury. What I do know is that now that he's been acquitted, Michael Jackson should stay as far away from children, especially underage boys, as he possibly can. It's the smart and right thing to do -- because if he didn't do anything wrong, he doesn't need to muddy the waters any. And if he DID, you know he will again, and next time he might just get caught.
And finally, he should be as far away from kids as possible because, given what he admitted he DID do, regardless of the issue of molestation, he's a bad influence on kids. Pornography? Alchohol? What self respecting parent would LET him near their kids at this point?
I know for myself, if I saw him anywhere near The Lad, I'd provide him with a free additional rearrangement of his facial features.
Update:
Kathy over at Cake Eater Chronicles agrees with me.
Update II:
Kathy's reader Russ from Winterset weighs in with the quote of the day on Jackson and his supporters:
Somewhere, near the vicinity of the real world, there's a 35 year old virgin living in his mother's basement who watched the Jackson verdict coverage while practicing conjugating verbs in Klingon. . . . and he's disturbed by the sheer creepiness of these wackos.
Monday, June 13, 2005
MICHAEL JACKSON VERDICT IMMINENT!
I just got off the phone with The Feared Redhead, who tells me the jury has reached a verdict. A van is currently transporting Michael Jackson from Neverland to the courthouse, and the verdict should be read by 2:00 PM PDT.
Update (2:25 PM PDT):
NOT GUILTY!
Update (2:25 PM PDT):
NOT GUILTY!
Theory v. Practice
This is Post #2 in a series of posts about my father and his Navy stories. Any misuse of military jargon is due to my spotty civilian memory of my father's explanation.
As I've mentioned before, my father was a sonar man during his days in Uncle Sam's Yacht Club. Sonar, you may know, is an acronym for SOund Navigation And Ranging. This means that it emits sound waves through the water which then bounce off of objects and return to the source, where detection gear receives them back and uses the information to determine an object's size, shape, and relative position and speed in relationship to the emitting ship.
Thanks to movies like The Hunt for Red October, we civilians tend to be most familiar with the Detection portion of the equation, mostly because it's the more exciting use, and to a certain extent because the Navigation part has been taken over in modern times by things like GPS. But in my father's day, navigation was an essential role of sonar, especially in harbor. By taking a sonar reading of the relative position and speed of a known fixed object, like a navigation buoy, it is possible to determine the location, heading, and speed of the ship. The process by which this was accomplished in my father’s day was well-established and had a routine to it. The officer on duty whose job was to navigate would call for a reading from the sonar man on his mark. When he said “Mark!” the sonar man would call out the reading, and the officer would plot it on the ship’s charts.
The officer charged with this duty on my father’s destroyer was a young ensign who had been assigned to the ship directly from the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, an Ensign E. Ensign E. was what military types refer to as a “Ring-knocker”, that is, a graduate of a military academy who believes in his own inherent superiority just by virtue of his Alma Mater. Ensign E. was the quintessential such individual, regularly showing contempt for the enlisted men under him and treating them with undue harshness, unwilling to learn from his own mistakes, unable to distinguish from his academic training and real life experience. One example of this was his inability to grasp a concept called Advance and Transfer. As explained to me by my father, Advance and Transfer means that, in the days before GPS, when navigational readings and computations occurred at a speed slower than light, the fact that the ship is moving while you’re navigation means that there will always be a slight discrepancy between where you were when you took your readings and where you are when you plot them. What this means in practical terms is that while in a classroom with a set of coordinates provided from a textbook, you can calculate an exact fixed location, on a ship at sea moving over the water, the coordinates will always be an approximation, albeit a highly accurate approximation with a good crew. My father and his fellow sonar men on the Bausell prided themselves in being such a crew. Ensign E. was not satisfied with anything short of perfection. During the days leading up to a WestPac deployment, as the ship exited San Diego Bay and returned each day, he had them work on navigational readings. And because there was always a margin of error, no matter how slight, on the last night before the deployment, he denied them shore leave. The men would not be given one last night on US soil before the deployment.
Now, in general, treating your men with undue harshness is not a wise course for any officer. It degrades morale, for one thing. But it’s even more foolish when you’re the least experienced officer on board ship, and the men you choose to alienate are the most intelligent, highly trained enlisted men on the entire vessel. My father and his buddies vowed revenge. They would have it, and it would be swift and sure. They spent that last night doing just what Ensign E. had ordered them to do – studying the navigational charts of San Diego Bay, and practicing their navigational skills.
The next day, as the ship slipped its moorings and got under way, Ensign E. took his place at the chart table and began calling for readings. My father, stationed at the sonar equipment, would call out the readings and recorded them in the navigational log. But as the ship began to make the final turn and leave the harbor, my father began calling the readings not from his sonar scope, but from a prepared cheat sheet hidden on his person (though the readings recorded in the log were still from the actual scope). Ensign E. looked puzzled as he plotted the reading. He looked at the chart, looked out the hatch at the harbor, muttered “that can’t be!” and then called out, “Give me another reading!” My father complied. Ensign E. became more confused, more frustrated, and more frantic. For while the official log shows an uneventful cruise up the bay and out to sea, Ensign E.’s chart showed that the USS Bausell had made its turn early and was cruising down the main runway of North Island Naval Air Station.
It’s at this point that my father introduced me to the other officer who plays a part in the story, the ships XO (Executive Officer, the Second-in-Command to the Captain). The XO was the opposite of a “ring-knocker”, he was a “Mustanger”, as my father called him, someone who began his career as an enlisted man but who had server so long and with such distinction that he had earned an officer’s commission, and further had reached an impressive rank even as an officer. He was also as typical of this kind of officer as Ensign E. was of the other. He had a great deal of respect for enlisted men, understood them, and judged them on their character and performance, not their rank. Furthermore he had no tolerance for incompetence, from either enlisted men or officers.
The XO was on the bridge that morning, and Ensign E.’s discomfiture quickly got his attention. He wandered over to the navigation area and watched for a few minutes. Then he walked over to the charts and looked at Ensign E.’s plots. Then he walked over to my father’s station, bent down, and looked at the logs. He looked from the log to my father to the charts, back to the log, and then at my father again, giving him a wicked, sly grin. He straightened up, shifted his foul-smelling briar pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, and addressed Ensign E. by asking him, “What rinky-dink trade school did you come from?”
As I've mentioned before, my father was a sonar man during his days in Uncle Sam's Yacht Club. Sonar, you may know, is an acronym for SOund Navigation And Ranging. This means that it emits sound waves through the water which then bounce off of objects and return to the source, where detection gear receives them back and uses the information to determine an object's size, shape, and relative position and speed in relationship to the emitting ship.
Thanks to movies like The Hunt for Red October, we civilians tend to be most familiar with the Detection portion of the equation, mostly because it's the more exciting use, and to a certain extent because the Navigation part has been taken over in modern times by things like GPS. But in my father's day, navigation was an essential role of sonar, especially in harbor. By taking a sonar reading of the relative position and speed of a known fixed object, like a navigation buoy, it is possible to determine the location, heading, and speed of the ship. The process by which this was accomplished in my father’s day was well-established and had a routine to it. The officer on duty whose job was to navigate would call for a reading from the sonar man on his mark. When he said “Mark!” the sonar man would call out the reading, and the officer would plot it on the ship’s charts.
The officer charged with this duty on my father’s destroyer was a young ensign who had been assigned to the ship directly from the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, an Ensign E. Ensign E. was what military types refer to as a “Ring-knocker”, that is, a graduate of a military academy who believes in his own inherent superiority just by virtue of his Alma Mater. Ensign E. was the quintessential such individual, regularly showing contempt for the enlisted men under him and treating them with undue harshness, unwilling to learn from his own mistakes, unable to distinguish from his academic training and real life experience. One example of this was his inability to grasp a concept called Advance and Transfer. As explained to me by my father, Advance and Transfer means that, in the days before GPS, when navigational readings and computations occurred at a speed slower than light, the fact that the ship is moving while you’re navigation means that there will always be a slight discrepancy between where you were when you took your readings and where you are when you plot them. What this means in practical terms is that while in a classroom with a set of coordinates provided from a textbook, you can calculate an exact fixed location, on a ship at sea moving over the water, the coordinates will always be an approximation, albeit a highly accurate approximation with a good crew. My father and his fellow sonar men on the Bausell prided themselves in being such a crew. Ensign E. was not satisfied with anything short of perfection. During the days leading up to a WestPac deployment, as the ship exited San Diego Bay and returned each day, he had them work on navigational readings. And because there was always a margin of error, no matter how slight, on the last night before the deployment, he denied them shore leave. The men would not be given one last night on US soil before the deployment.
Now, in general, treating your men with undue harshness is not a wise course for any officer. It degrades morale, for one thing. But it’s even more foolish when you’re the least experienced officer on board ship, and the men you choose to alienate are the most intelligent, highly trained enlisted men on the entire vessel. My father and his buddies vowed revenge. They would have it, and it would be swift and sure. They spent that last night doing just what Ensign E. had ordered them to do – studying the navigational charts of San Diego Bay, and practicing their navigational skills.
The next day, as the ship slipped its moorings and got under way, Ensign E. took his place at the chart table and began calling for readings. My father, stationed at the sonar equipment, would call out the readings and recorded them in the navigational log. But as the ship began to make the final turn and leave the harbor, my father began calling the readings not from his sonar scope, but from a prepared cheat sheet hidden on his person (though the readings recorded in the log were still from the actual scope). Ensign E. looked puzzled as he plotted the reading. He looked at the chart, looked out the hatch at the harbor, muttered “that can’t be!” and then called out, “Give me another reading!” My father complied. Ensign E. became more confused, more frustrated, and more frantic. For while the official log shows an uneventful cruise up the bay and out to sea, Ensign E.’s chart showed that the USS Bausell had made its turn early and was cruising down the main runway of North Island Naval Air Station.
It’s at this point that my father introduced me to the other officer who plays a part in the story, the ships XO (Executive Officer, the Second-in-Command to the Captain). The XO was the opposite of a “ring-knocker”, he was a “Mustanger”, as my father called him, someone who began his career as an enlisted man but who had server so long and with such distinction that he had earned an officer’s commission, and further had reached an impressive rank even as an officer. He was also as typical of this kind of officer as Ensign E. was of the other. He had a great deal of respect for enlisted men, understood them, and judged them on their character and performance, not their rank. Furthermore he had no tolerance for incompetence, from either enlisted men or officers.
The XO was on the bridge that morning, and Ensign E.’s discomfiture quickly got his attention. He wandered over to the navigation area and watched for a few minutes. Then he walked over to the charts and looked at Ensign E.’s plots. Then he walked over to my father’s station, bent down, and looked at the logs. He looked from the log to my father to the charts, back to the log, and then at my father again, giving him a wicked, sly grin. He straightened up, shifted his foul-smelling briar pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, and addressed Ensign E. by asking him, “What rinky-dink trade school did you come from?”
Friday, June 10, 2005
Desserting the Grill
NSFD*
Don't any of you EVER tell my wife, The Feared Redhead, that I compared her to a rodent, but she has to be the world's happiest guinea pig, since I test all my new experimental food recipes on her, and most are successes. Last night was no different. She wanted something from the grill, and I didn't feel like coming up with a new entree, so I cooked my shrimp tacos as I've mentioned. But I did feel like trying SOMETHING new, so I ventured into new tewrritory: grilled dessert. The result was a hit, so I'm sharing it here:
Candyaki Fruit Kebabs
This dish gets its name from the fact that the sauce reminds me of a teriyaki sauce in color and how it’s made, even though it has a completely different flavor.
To make this recipe you will need:
Kebabs:
Bamboo skewers
Fresh fruit (I like using apples, bananas, nectarines, and pineapple, but feel free to experiment.)
Candyaki Sauce:
20 oz. bottle Coca-Cola
1 cup dark rum (Myers is fine, you might also try a lighter spice rum for extra flavor. I used a black strap rum that’s so dark, it’s essentially spiked molasses.)
½ cup brown sugar
¼ cup lime juice (key lime if you can get it)
1 tbsp. grated ginger or ginger paste
1 tsp. cinnamon
Vanilla ice cream
Preparation
Soak bamboo skewers for 30-45 minutes in cold water.
Cut the fresh fruit into chunks. You want the chunks to be big enough to stay on the skewers, but not so big that they don’t cook through. It’s also important that all the fruit be cut into chunks of similar size for even cooking.
Insert skewers through the fruit, alternating chunks of different fruit.
Cooking:
In a saucepan over medium heat, combine the Coca-Cola, rum, lime juice, ginger, brown sugar, and vanilla. Heat the sauce to a low boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat and simmer, letting sauce reduce.
Place the skewers on a grill over medium high heat. Transfer saucepan to grill next to skewers. Brush skewers with sauce frequently, turning each time to avoid burning. Cook until the fruit is cooked through and coated with sauce and the coating is caramelized.
Serving:
Remove fruit from skewer. Place fruit over vanilla ice cream, spoon the excess sauce over the top. Makes 4-6 skewers.
*Not Safe For Diabetics
Don't any of you EVER tell my wife, The Feared Redhead, that I compared her to a rodent, but she has to be the world's happiest guinea pig, since I test all my new experimental food recipes on her, and most are successes. Last night was no different. She wanted something from the grill, and I didn't feel like coming up with a new entree, so I cooked my shrimp tacos as I've mentioned. But I did feel like trying SOMETHING new, so I ventured into new tewrritory: grilled dessert. The result was a hit, so I'm sharing it here:
Candyaki Fruit Kebabs
This dish gets its name from the fact that the sauce reminds me of a teriyaki sauce in color and how it’s made, even though it has a completely different flavor.
To make this recipe you will need:
Kebabs:
Bamboo skewers
Fresh fruit (I like using apples, bananas, nectarines, and pineapple, but feel free to experiment.)
Candyaki Sauce:
20 oz. bottle Coca-Cola
1 cup dark rum (Myers is fine, you might also try a lighter spice rum for extra flavor. I used a black strap rum that’s so dark, it’s essentially spiked molasses.)
½ cup brown sugar
¼ cup lime juice (key lime if you can get it)
1 tbsp. grated ginger or ginger paste
1 tsp. cinnamon
Vanilla ice cream
Preparation
Soak bamboo skewers for 30-45 minutes in cold water.
Cut the fresh fruit into chunks. You want the chunks to be big enough to stay on the skewers, but not so big that they don’t cook through. It’s also important that all the fruit be cut into chunks of similar size for even cooking.
Insert skewers through the fruit, alternating chunks of different fruit.
Cooking:
In a saucepan over medium heat, combine the Coca-Cola, rum, lime juice, ginger, brown sugar, and vanilla. Heat the sauce to a low boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat and simmer, letting sauce reduce.
Place the skewers on a grill over medium high heat. Transfer saucepan to grill next to skewers. Brush skewers with sauce frequently, turning each time to avoid burning. Cook until the fruit is cooked through and coated with sauce and the coating is caramelized.
Serving:
Remove fruit from skewer. Place fruit over vanilla ice cream, spoon the excess sauce over the top. Makes 4-6 skewers.
*Not Safe For Diabetics
Escargot Away!
With it's damp, mild winters, Oregon is heaven for gastropods. The banana slugs are huge. It's a matter of perverted pride and humor here.
So last night, I opened the grill to cook up some of my shrimp tacos, and right in the middle of the grill was a snail. And all across the grill were snail tracks.
Now, I was duly grossed out and spent a good deal of time scrubbing the grill, but I was also impressed. This snail had crossed the gap from one bar of the grill to another.
So last night, I opened the grill to cook up some of my shrimp tacos, and right in the middle of the grill was a snail. And all across the grill were snail tracks.
Now, I was duly grossed out and spent a good deal of time scrubbing the grill, but I was also impressed. This snail had crossed the gap from one bar of the grill to another.
Followed
The last two mornings, as my carpool partner and I have walked from his truck to the door at work, we've been followed by someone with criminal intent. I know this to be so, because I saw them shadow our movements, hiding behind trees as they did. They're looking for a chance to rob us blind. I've gotten a good look at the thief, and know from bitter experience how quickly this criminal can victimize you. He already has a reputation, and his picture's on file:
This is a Steller's Jay. It's our West Coast equivalent of the Blue Jay, and like the Gray or Canadian Jay, we refer to it as a Robber Jay. I've had these little buggers swoop in to a table at a campsite and steal food from a plate less than a foot in front of me. They're related to crows, and they're brazen, shamelsss thiefs.
I also think they're gorgeous.
This is a Steller's Jay. It's our West Coast equivalent of the Blue Jay, and like the Gray or Canadian Jay, we refer to it as a Robber Jay. I've had these little buggers swoop in to a table at a campsite and steal food from a plate less than a foot in front of me. They're related to crows, and they're brazen, shamelsss thiefs.
I also think they're gorgeous.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
It's About Damned Time!
Thanks for the Memory to Blogfather Rusty.
It's been a long time coming, but finally, the US and NATO are going to intervene in Darfur. It's too late for almost a quarter of a million people, but at least now we'll get off our arses and help.
It's been a long time coming, but finally, the US and NATO are going to intervene in Darfur. It's too late for almost a quarter of a million people, but at least now we'll get off our arses and help.
Top Ten List for Thursday, June 9, 2005
So I give my friend Vulture Six a lot of ribbing about how much I prefer my beloved home state of Oregon to his beloved Texas, and he gives me just as much ribbing back. But he is a good friend, and quite fair-minded. So, to be fair and respond in kind, I present:
Top Ten Reasons Houston Isn't As Bad As I Let On
10. Cheap gasoline. Saved our budgetary arses, it did.
9. Johnson Space Center. If you love science, love astronomy, love the space program, Houston has a special place in your nostalgia. I just wish I'd had time to go see it.
8. Tex-Mex. I prefer Baja cuisine myself, but I have to admit to enjoying Tex-Mex, especially those fried dessert things... what were they called? And I wonder why I need to lose weight.
7. Chik Fil-A (sp?). OK, so it's found other places, but that's where I was introduced to it.
6. Shiner Bock. Damned good beer. I still favor local brews, but Oregonians pride themselves on appreciating good beer as much as making it, and so I have to give it its props. It sure as hell beats Sam Adams five different ways from Sunday.
5. Whattaburger. Mmmmmmm...... best damned restaurant hamberger I've ever had. Puts In-N-Out or my local favorite, Burgerville, to shame (notice a trend here?).
4. Texans know how to throw a party. Seriously, Scott, that was the best spread I've ever seen. Brisket, chicken, sausage... I'm starting to drool.
3. It's home to one of the best friends you could ever ask for.
2. Give me a second, I'll think of something.... Oh, Yeah:
1. IT'S NOT CALIFORNIA!!!!!!
Top Ten Reasons Houston Isn't As Bad As I Let On
10. Cheap gasoline. Saved our budgetary arses, it did.
9. Johnson Space Center. If you love science, love astronomy, love the space program, Houston has a special place in your nostalgia. I just wish I'd had time to go see it.
8. Tex-Mex. I prefer Baja cuisine myself, but I have to admit to enjoying Tex-Mex, especially those fried dessert things... what were they called? And I wonder why I need to lose weight.
7. Chik Fil-A (sp?). OK, so it's found other places, but that's where I was introduced to it.
6. Shiner Bock. Damned good beer. I still favor local brews, but Oregonians pride themselves on appreciating good beer as much as making it, and so I have to give it its props. It sure as hell beats Sam Adams five different ways from Sunday.
5. Whattaburger. Mmmmmmm...... best damned restaurant hamberger I've ever had. Puts In-N-Out or my local favorite, Burgerville, to shame (notice a trend here?).
4. Texans know how to throw a party. Seriously, Scott, that was the best spread I've ever seen. Brisket, chicken, sausage... I'm starting to drool.
3. It's home to one of the best friends you could ever ask for.
2. Give me a second, I'll think of something.... Oh, Yeah:
1. IT'S NOT CALIFORNIA!!!!!!
Mountain Vistas
Since I moved back to Oregon, and settled here in Lane County, this has become my favorite time of year. One of the reasons I favor it is because it's early enough in the year that there is still snow in the High Cascades, but the weather is nice enough down here in the valleys that you get clear air and a good view of the mountains. In fact, because of the placement of one of our local freeways, I-105/Hwy 126, as it passes over I-5, our daily drive home points us straight at a picture-framed view of this:
albeit from a different angle and a greater distance, it's a gorgeous sight each day. Those are the Three Sisters, and they're among the most likely volcanoes in the central Cascades to reactivate during my lifetime.
albeit from a different angle and a greater distance, it's a gorgeous sight each day. Those are the Three Sisters, and they're among the most likely volcanoes in the central Cascades to reactivate during my lifetime.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Candle in the Windows (And Mac and Linux)
Thanks for the Memory to Nickie Goomba.
I often get annoyed when people from "Red States" express their annoyance with West Coast politics by expressing a wish, however sarcastic, that the Left Coast would just secede or be nuked by North Korea or some such stupidity. For starters, there are plenty of us out here who are just as fed up with our leftists, thank you, and we're doing the best we can to change things. Secondly, the implication that this region is any less American is just stupid. Do I really have to trot out the statistics on how many Guards and reserves from Oregon alone are serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, or the number of casualties they've suffered? I guess they don't count as Americans because they're from Blue states, huh? I swear, sometimes I'm as embarassed by my political allies as I am amused by my opponents, and just as outraged.
I'd do well to remember that the next time I feel the urge to make disparaging remarks about all Europeans just because the majority over there is at political odds with me. Nickie Goomba has pointed me to an encouraging Blog called Free Thoughts, out of Sardinia.
At first I thought the writing style was a bit unpolished, but that's understandable as she's an Italian Blogging in English. She's bright, well-informed, expressive, and has a passionate love of freedom. If I were single and ten years younger, I'd be in love!
Go check out Free Thoughts, give it a read. If you like it, leave a comment encouraging her. And if you have a Blog, please, give her some link love.
I often get annoyed when people from "Red States" express their annoyance with West Coast politics by expressing a wish, however sarcastic, that the Left Coast would just secede or be nuked by North Korea or some such stupidity. For starters, there are plenty of us out here who are just as fed up with our leftists, thank you, and we're doing the best we can to change things. Secondly, the implication that this region is any less American is just stupid. Do I really have to trot out the statistics on how many Guards and reserves from Oregon alone are serving in Afghanistan and Iraq, or the number of casualties they've suffered? I guess they don't count as Americans because they're from Blue states, huh? I swear, sometimes I'm as embarassed by my political allies as I am amused by my opponents, and just as outraged.
I'd do well to remember that the next time I feel the urge to make disparaging remarks about all Europeans just because the majority over there is at political odds with me. Nickie Goomba has pointed me to an encouraging Blog called Free Thoughts, out of Sardinia.
At first I thought the writing style was a bit unpolished, but that's understandable as she's an Italian Blogging in English. She's bright, well-informed, expressive, and has a passionate love of freedom. If I were single and ten years younger, I'd be in love!
Go check out Free Thoughts, give it a read. If you like it, leave a comment encouraging her. And if you have a Blog, please, give her some link love.
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