As I may or may not have mentioned, The Feared Redhead just took employment at a new spa, which I shall refrain from naming to protect her. This new spa, like many businesses in her line of work, tends to be a bit on the umm... New Agey side (this is Eugene, after all, but it's a universal trend in that industry), and tends to advocate products and services that help people focus their chi and cleanse their energy etc. etc....
Last Saturday, TFR brought me into the spa for a tour. While their, I needed to use the little Bloggers room. TFR showed me to the guest restroom and left me to fend for myself. In the room, I observed a lovely, very pseudo-zen arrangement on a metal table of a bamboo mat on which was a lit candle surrounded by various sizes of polished river stones. I decided to switch the places of two to see if it would ever be noticed. As I picked up one small stone, I realized someone had beaten me to it. It wasn't a stone. It was a Milk Dud.
I have a new hero.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Another Brick in the Wall...
...As Long As It's Not A Red Brick
(Originally Posted April 4, 2005)
Thanks for the Memory to The Llama Butchers.
TFR and I have already decided that, if at all possible, The Lad will receive his primary education either at home or at a private school.
This article sealed that decision.
Apparently, schools are discontinuing the use of red pens for grading and correcting papers because it "stresses children out".
Now, those who know me personally know that, due to my own educational background (I was diagnosed as having an unspecified "learning disability"), I'm no fan of hidebound approaches to education. But this seems a bit over the top.
The article goes on to describe the negative connotations associated with red ink, and that it focuses too much on the mistakes in a paper. I believe they've missed the point.
When I was a child, the connotation of red ink had nothing to do with the quality of the student's work. It had everything to do with the teacher's authority. Red ink was reserved for teachers. So when you saw red ink, you knew that whatever was written in it carried weight. I remember one algebra teacher who had a tendency to mark GOOD papers with more red ink than he did the poor papers.
In the end, the message conveyed has more to do with the teacher than their pen. If they're good, they'll find ways to convey to a student both the areas in which they did well, and those that need improvement. I recall looking forward to words of praise written in red ink!
The article itself ends with a comment that I think sums up well my own response:
Sadly, it would seem that in too many cases these days, that's just fine with educators.
Update (6/7/05)
The Llama Butchers are weighing in on this issue again, in response to an essay by Christina Hoff Summers. Both are excellent reading.
(Originally Posted April 4, 2005)
Thanks for the Memory to The Llama Butchers.
TFR and I have already decided that, if at all possible, The Lad will receive his primary education either at home or at a private school.
This article sealed that decision.
Apparently, schools are discontinuing the use of red pens for grading and correcting papers because it "stresses children out".
Now, those who know me personally know that, due to my own educational background (I was diagnosed as having an unspecified "learning disability"), I'm no fan of hidebound approaches to education. But this seems a bit over the top.
The article goes on to describe the negative connotations associated with red ink, and that it focuses too much on the mistakes in a paper. I believe they've missed the point.
When I was a child, the connotation of red ink had nothing to do with the quality of the student's work. It had everything to do with the teacher's authority. Red ink was reserved for teachers. So when you saw red ink, you knew that whatever was written in it carried weight. I remember one algebra teacher who had a tendency to mark GOOD papers with more red ink than he did the poor papers.
In the end, the message conveyed has more to do with the teacher than their pen. If they're good, they'll find ways to convey to a student both the areas in which they did well, and those that need improvement. I recall looking forward to words of praise written in red ink!
The article itself ends with a comment that I think sums up well my own response:
In Charles County, Maryland, reading and writing specialist Janet Jones helps other teachers lead their lessons. The students at Berry Elementary School in Waldorf, Maryland, use colored pencils to edit each other's papers. By the time teachers get to grading, Jones said, the color they use isn't that important.
"I don't think changing to purple or green will make a huge difference if the teaching doesn't go along with it," Jones said. "If you're just looking at avoiding the color red, the students might not be as frightened, but they won't be better writers."
Sadly, it would seem that in too many cases these days, that's just fine with educators.
Update (6/7/05)
The Llama Butchers are weighing in on this issue again, in response to an essay by Christina Hoff Summers. Both are excellent reading.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Dad's Navy Days: The Pie Story
Over the weekend, I had a chance to discuss my Memorial Day post over the phone with my good friend Vulture Six, who had the honor of knowing my father before his death. Dad and V6 got along famously because they were both Navy vets. Like I did as a child, Vulture loved to listen to my dad's Navy stories. In the time he was in the Navy, my father managed to cram in a lot of interesting experiences, and loved to regale us with memories of them. Scott is of the opinion that I shoul,d commit some of those stories to my Blog so that I can preserve them for posterity. I think it's a capital idea. So today I am going to share my favorite story:
My father was a sonarman on a destroyer in the early 60's. Back in those days, he would tell me, on a small ship like that you were often called upon to do jobs not normally associated with your rate. In my father's case, he had some experience as an electrician, so he often found himself doing wiring in addition to his sonar duties. One day, that job took him into the ship's galley (kitchen) as he rasn wiring through it.
My father's ship was one of the best run destroyers in the navy, and was the flagship of its Desron (Destroyer Squadron). This meant that in addition to the skipper of the ship, it was home to the Commodore (an officer of the Navy rank of Captain who was in command of a group of ships) of the Desron. The Commodore had on board with him his own cook, who was also busy working in the galley at the same time. He had placed out to cool two blackberry pies. I've already mentioned how dearly Oregonians love blackberries.
The Electrician's toolbox that my father was using consisted of an upper tray full of tools, and a lower compartment with two curcular cutouts to hold spools of wire. As it would happen, these circular holes were of an ideal circumference fgor holding a pie plate. When the cook was not looking, my father lifted out a spool of wire, set the pie in its place, replaced the tool tray, and continued to work. A little while later, he left the compartment to continue his work elsewhere. Late than night, while standing watch in the sonar shack, he ate the pie.
Now, the commodore's cook was no dummy, and he put two and two together. A few days later, as they were having inspection, the Commodore approached my father.
Commodore: "B., do you like pie?"
Dad: "Yes, sir, I love pie."
Commodore: "Do you like Blackberry pie, B.?"
Dad: "I'm from Oregon, sir, that's probably my favorite."
Commodore: "B.?"
Dad: "Yes, sir?"
Commodore: "My cook would like his pie plate back."
Dad: "Aye aye, sir!"
My father was a sonarman on a destroyer in the early 60's. Back in those days, he would tell me, on a small ship like that you were often called upon to do jobs not normally associated with your rate. In my father's case, he had some experience as an electrician, so he often found himself doing wiring in addition to his sonar duties. One day, that job took him into the ship's galley (kitchen) as he rasn wiring through it.
My father's ship was one of the best run destroyers in the navy, and was the flagship of its Desron (Destroyer Squadron). This meant that in addition to the skipper of the ship, it was home to the Commodore (an officer of the Navy rank of Captain who was in command of a group of ships) of the Desron. The Commodore had on board with him his own cook, who was also busy working in the galley at the same time. He had placed out to cool two blackberry pies. I've already mentioned how dearly Oregonians love blackberries.
The Electrician's toolbox that my father was using consisted of an upper tray full of tools, and a lower compartment with two curcular cutouts to hold spools of wire. As it would happen, these circular holes were of an ideal circumference fgor holding a pie plate. When the cook was not looking, my father lifted out a spool of wire, set the pie in its place, replaced the tool tray, and continued to work. A little while later, he left the compartment to continue his work elsewhere. Late than night, while standing watch in the sonar shack, he ate the pie.
Now, the commodore's cook was no dummy, and he put two and two together. A few days later, as they were having inspection, the Commodore approached my father.
Commodore: "B., do you like pie?"
Dad: "Yes, sir, I love pie."
Commodore: "Do you like Blackberry pie, B.?"
Dad: "I'm from Oregon, sir, that's probably my favorite."
Commodore: "B.?"
Dad: "Yes, sir?"
Commodore: "My cook would like his pie plate back."
Dad: "Aye aye, sir!"
Maximum Leader on Immigration
Yet again The Maximum Leader over at Naked Villainy says for me what I've been intending to say but never got around to. And probably much better than I would have.
I Love the Smell of Charcoal in the Morning.
It smells like… Barbecue!
Despite weather that couldn’t make up its mind what it wanted to do, I managed to cook outside on both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I grilled chicken on the gas grill using a marinade recipe I learned from the cook at a church I attended in San Diego. The recipe works best if you can marinate your meat in it at least 24 hours, but I left my chicken in it for only about 10 hours and it still worked well. In addition, I discovered that it makes a great flavor base for jerky made on the smoker, and also tastes good basted onto grilled veggies:
Sunday, as I mentioned earlier, was spent barbecuing. I find very interesting the various permutations of barbecue found throughout the Southeast, Southwest, and Lower Midwest (Missouri). The debate over which are the proper methods of preparing the meat, and which meat to use, leave me bemused and drooling. Not living in or being from any of those regions, I have no vested interest in or philosophical commitment to any one method. For me, it’s all about the end result: does it taste good? That works for me.
So yesterday, I decided not to take sides in the great debate over wet vs. dry. I decided to borrow from, and probably to offend, ALL interested parties, by combining several different methods.
I started by selecting pork as the meat of choice for this round, since I’d already tried my hand at beef (brisket). I had two cuts of meat – a loin and a rack of baby backs. Friday afternoon I started marinating them in two bottles of red wine vinaigrette dressing. Sunday after church, I fired up the smoker, and removed the pork from the fridge. I patted it dry and applied a dry rub of my own concoction. The spices in it included ground sun dried tomato, paprika, cayenne, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, mustard powder, turmeric, cumin, sage, oregano, sugar, salt, and white pepper. After applying the dry rub, I started cooking. After an hour or so, when the dry rub had time to cook in to the meat, I turned it over to let the other side cook, and applied a wet sop. The sop was made up of V-8 Juice, orange juice, pineapple juice, and a package of zesty Italian dressing mix. I continued applying this sop and turning the meat for another two hours, then started applying barbecue sauce. I confess that I didn’t make my own, but relied on a high quality commercial sauce out of Texas called Stubb’s. I cooked the meat for the last two hours continuously applying Stubb’s Spicy. The last half hour or so, I ran out of charcoal and the smoker couldn’t keep up sufficient heat, so I finished it on the gas grill. That may horrify the purist, but it got the job done, and by that point, the meat had absorbed plenty of smoke.
For sides, I tossed a couple of ears of corn, still in their husks, onto the grill, and in my grill basket I cooked up some green beans with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. I finished the meal with dinner rolls and a bottle of Pinot Noir Blanc (I didn’t think a white wine could stand up to the intensity of the BBQ sauce, and a red would probably be too dry -- a blush worked perfectly).
I was quite pleased with the results, and so was The Feared Redhead. I was informed, and I quote, “You can make this recipe again”. How generous of her. The one thing we agreed on is that next time, I could probably save myself some trouble and skip the sop in the middle, relying only on the dry rub and the sauce.
Despite weather that couldn’t make up its mind what it wanted to do, I managed to cook outside on both Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I grilled chicken on the gas grill using a marinade recipe I learned from the cook at a church I attended in San Diego. The recipe works best if you can marinate your meat in it at least 24 hours, but I left my chicken in it for only about 10 hours and it still worked well. In addition, I discovered that it makes a great flavor base for jerky made on the smoker, and also tastes good basted onto grilled veggies:
Monkey Meat Marinade
1 medium sized ginger root
5 cloves garlic
1 10 oz. bottle of soy sauce
1 20 oz. bottle 7up or other lemon-lime pop
¼ cup sugar
Peel and grate ginger, chop garlic finely. Combine all ingredients in a glass bowl. Pour over chicken or beef, cover and refrigerate, marinate 1-3 nights.
Sunday, as I mentioned earlier, was spent barbecuing. I find very interesting the various permutations of barbecue found throughout the Southeast, Southwest, and Lower Midwest (Missouri). The debate over which are the proper methods of preparing the meat, and which meat to use, leave me bemused and drooling. Not living in or being from any of those regions, I have no vested interest in or philosophical commitment to any one method. For me, it’s all about the end result: does it taste good? That works for me.
So yesterday, I decided not to take sides in the great debate over wet vs. dry. I decided to borrow from, and probably to offend, ALL interested parties, by combining several different methods.
I started by selecting pork as the meat of choice for this round, since I’d already tried my hand at beef (brisket). I had two cuts of meat – a loin and a rack of baby backs. Friday afternoon I started marinating them in two bottles of red wine vinaigrette dressing. Sunday after church, I fired up the smoker, and removed the pork from the fridge. I patted it dry and applied a dry rub of my own concoction. The spices in it included ground sun dried tomato, paprika, cayenne, chili powder, garlic powder, onion powder, mustard powder, turmeric, cumin, sage, oregano, sugar, salt, and white pepper. After applying the dry rub, I started cooking. After an hour or so, when the dry rub had time to cook in to the meat, I turned it over to let the other side cook, and applied a wet sop. The sop was made up of V-8 Juice, orange juice, pineapple juice, and a package of zesty Italian dressing mix. I continued applying this sop and turning the meat for another two hours, then started applying barbecue sauce. I confess that I didn’t make my own, but relied on a high quality commercial sauce out of Texas called Stubb’s. I cooked the meat for the last two hours continuously applying Stubb’s Spicy. The last half hour or so, I ran out of charcoal and the smoker couldn’t keep up sufficient heat, so I finished it on the gas grill. That may horrify the purist, but it got the job done, and by that point, the meat had absorbed plenty of smoke.
For sides, I tossed a couple of ears of corn, still in their husks, onto the grill, and in my grill basket I cooked up some green beans with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. I finished the meal with dinner rolls and a bottle of Pinot Noir Blanc (I didn’t think a white wine could stand up to the intensity of the BBQ sauce, and a red would probably be too dry -- a blush worked perfectly).
I was quite pleased with the results, and so was The Feared Redhead. I was informed, and I quote, “You can make this recipe again”. How generous of her. The one thing we agreed on is that next time, I could probably save myself some trouble and skip the sop in the middle, relying only on the dry rub and the sauce.
Carpe Diem Blogging
I decided to take Ally's advice and seize the (birth)day yesterday. Saturday I went out and bought myself a birthday cake, which we took to church with us yesterday and shared with the congregation. They sang Happy Birthday to me. I also informed TFR that while I would help with The Lad, no Honey Do projects would be undertaken yesterday. I spent the whole afternoon in one of my favorite pursuits, namely cooking, as I barbecued a rack of pork baby back ribs on the smoker. They were awesome, and I shall blog on them later today. I received several phone calls wishing me happy birthday, including from my mother, my sister, my good friend Vulture 6, and fro ma group of old and very dear friends down in San Diego. The Feared Redhead gave me a pair of pajamas and a pocket watch for my birthday, and we finished the day with a DQ ice cream cake.
All in all, a much better birthday than I anticipated. Thanks to all of you for your kind thoughts too.
All in all, a much better birthday than I anticipated. Thanks to all of you for your kind thoughts too.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Baby Blogging
I guess I wasn't ready to catch the "They grow up too fast" bug so early on, but I knew it would happen. Four months after his premature birth, and The Lad is already wearing size 3 diapers, and yesterday I got to watch him roll over from his belly to his back for the very first time. It was so cool! He graduated this week from a basinet to a crib. I remember watching him laying there in the NICU, so tiny and fragile looking, and now while he's still just a wee bairn, he's a chunk, and squirmy and active and expressive. It's amazing to watch him grow.
UPDATE
Along with the good comes the bad. The Lad had his four month checkup today, and the doctor says he has a hernia and may need surgery. Please pray for him.
UPDATE
Along with the good comes the bad. The Lad had his four month checkup today, and the doctor says he has a hernia and may need surgery. Please pray for him.
Birthday Blues
Sunday's my 37th birthday, and quite frankly, I'm viewing it's approach with a bit of malaise. I'm not dreading it, like some big number (50 or 60 or even 40), I'm just not that excited about it. No party is planned, I doubt we'll even get a cake. Last night we had to buy some baby supplies, so while we were at the mall, TFR asked me to show her some ideas for gifts, then made me disappear for a while. So there's very little surprise to what I'll receive as a gift. It's my own damned fault, because I make myself hard to shop for by never really making it clear what I'd like. I tried the idea of making a running list on the computer, but I forgot to print it out for her in time.
I guess what really gets me down is that it's been a very long time since a big deal was made out of my birthday, or since I had a party. I've never in my life had a surprise party thrown for me, and the last few years, I haven't had a party at all. I'm a grown man, so I'm not supposed to care about such things, but for once, I'd like to be the Birthday Boy.
I guess what really gets me down is that it's been a very long time since a big deal was made out of my birthday, or since I had a party. I've never in my life had a surprise party thrown for me, and the last few years, I haven't had a party at all. I'm a grown man, so I'm not supposed to care about such things, but for once, I'd like to be the Birthday Boy.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I'm Running Away to Join the Carnival(s)
As I mentioned over the weekend, my recipe for grilled chicken with a cordon bleu-like twist was in the latest Carnival of the Recipes. I saw the biggest one-day spike in reader traffic in as long as I can remember. Now, I am not as driven by stats as I used to be (a phase all Bloggers go through), but a little positive reinforcement is always a good feeling. So you can bet your assets I've already submitted my shrimp taco recipe. Heck, if I ever post ANYTHING that's remotely related to a Blog Carnival, I'm submitting it!
Well, today I got even more of the same kind of attention. Last weeks post on Britain's proposed knife ban, and the connection to gun control, made the latest Carnival of Cordite (if only with a cursory Reynoldsesque "heh"). This is not normally a topic I Blog on, but not because it doesn't concern me. In fact, I'm quite a staunch supporter or the Second Amendment. But prior to last week, I didn't feel I had anything useful to add to the conversation.
One of my readers, and a dear friend, suggests that my views will changew as The Lad gets older. She may be right, but as it stands now, I highly doubt that. In fact, if you read the comments to this old post, you'll see that it has been fatherhood that has changed me from being a supporter of the Second Amendment to considering actively exercizing my rights under it. As I told my friend Vulture Six on the phone this weekend, if it became necessary, I would end the miserable existence of anyone who tried to harm my child.
I suppose my friend's concern has to do with the possibility of a gun in the house itself being the danger posed to The Lad. To that, my response is to remind my readers about my main annoyance at the article about knives in Britain -- Personal Responsibilty.
For the record, I grew up in a household which contained firearms, and yet I am here today having never shot anyone or been shot by anyone as a result of a tragic accident. In fact, the only life I ever ended with any of those firearms was that of a harmful four-legged varmint damaging farm property. The secret? I was taught at an early age not to go anywhere near those guns without my father's supervision, and when I was old enough to handle them, I was taught HOW -- never point a gun at anything you don't intend to shoot, always treat every gun as if it is loaded, keep your finger off of the trigger until you are ready to fire, store guns and ammo separately... if you have guns, you'd damned well BETTER know what I'm talking about.
To be fair, I do intend to practice even more stringent safeguards in my household than my father did, including keeping the guns locked when not in use. I most certainly don't want my son to be put at risk as a result of MY negligence.
But by the same token, I am painfully aware of the numerous and growing thrats outside the home, and refuse to limit myself to the options available to me to protect him from them.
Well, today I got even more of the same kind of attention. Last weeks post on Britain's proposed knife ban, and the connection to gun control, made the latest Carnival of Cordite (if only with a cursory Reynoldsesque "heh"). This is not normally a topic I Blog on, but not because it doesn't concern me. In fact, I'm quite a staunch supporter or the Second Amendment. But prior to last week, I didn't feel I had anything useful to add to the conversation.
One of my readers, and a dear friend, suggests that my views will changew as The Lad gets older. She may be right, but as it stands now, I highly doubt that. In fact, if you read the comments to this old post, you'll see that it has been fatherhood that has changed me from being a supporter of the Second Amendment to considering actively exercizing my rights under it. As I told my friend Vulture Six on the phone this weekend, if it became necessary, I would end the miserable existence of anyone who tried to harm my child.
I suppose my friend's concern has to do with the possibility of a gun in the house itself being the danger posed to The Lad. To that, my response is to remind my readers about my main annoyance at the article about knives in Britain -- Personal Responsibilty.
For the record, I grew up in a household which contained firearms, and yet I am here today having never shot anyone or been shot by anyone as a result of a tragic accident. In fact, the only life I ever ended with any of those firearms was that of a harmful four-legged varmint damaging farm property. The secret? I was taught at an early age not to go anywhere near those guns without my father's supervision, and when I was old enough to handle them, I was taught HOW -- never point a gun at anything you don't intend to shoot, always treat every gun as if it is loaded, keep your finger off of the trigger until you are ready to fire, store guns and ammo separately... if you have guns, you'd damned well BETTER know what I'm talking about.
To be fair, I do intend to practice even more stringent safeguards in my household than my father did, including keeping the guns locked when not in use. I most certainly don't want my son to be put at risk as a result of MY negligence.
But by the same token, I am painfully aware of the numerous and growing thrats outside the home, and refuse to limit myself to the options available to me to protect him from them.
More from the Grill
despite yesterday's foibles and Sunday's work, and the fact that it rained Saturday, Friday night I did get a chance to use the grill, and Saturday the smoker. On saturday I tried my hand at making jerky. It worked out ok, plenty smoky and the right consistency, but the flavor was weak. I think I need to work on my brine recipe.
Friday, The Feared Redhead wanted a break from red meat, so I suprised her with a seafood dish. I whipped up some grilled shrimp, then served it on tacos. I wanted to try something different with the salsa for it -- standard hot sauce or salsa didn't seem to really do it justice, so I created a Cocktail Salsa -- a combination of salsa and cocktail sauce. It worked surprisingly well. Enjoy.
Grilled Tequila Lime Shrimp Tacos
For the shrimp you will need:
1 lb. raw 26-30 count shrimp, peeled & de-veined
1 packet taco seasoning mix
1 cup tequila
¼ cup lime juice
¼ cup minced fresh cilantro
For the tacos you will need:
Grilled Tequila Lime Shrimp
6-8 medium corn tortillas
Shredded cabbage (most grocery stores carry bags of pre-shredded cabbage in the salad section, often labeled as Cole Slaw Cabbage. This does quite nicely.)
Grated cheese (Mild or medium cheddar, jack, pepper jack, Colby jack, or your personal favorite)
Cocktail Salsa (see below)
Cooking spray or vegetable oil
For the cocktail Salsa you will need:
¼ cup ketchup
1 tbsp. Mexican hot sauce (Tapatio and Cholula are both popular choices.)
2 tbsp. chunky salsa
2 tbsp. horseradish
In a glass mixing bowl, combine the shrimp, taco seasoning, tequila, lime juice, and cilantro, mix well. Cover and refrigerate for 10-15 minutes.
In a small bowl, combine the ketchup, salsa, hot sauce, and horseradish. Refrigerate.
Preheat the grill to medium/medium high heat. Lightly spray both sides of the tortillas with cooking spray or lightly rub on a small amount of vegetable oil. Place the tortillas on the grill, cooking for only 30 seconds to a minute on each side. They can then be wrapped in foil and kept warm on the grill away from direct heat.
Remove the shrimp from their marinade and grill. You can probably use skewers, though I use a grill basket. Cooking time will vary, usually around 5 minutes a side, though you definitely want to watch shrimp closely, and if you are tossing them in a grill basket it can take a bit longer. Once the shrimp are a solid pinkish color and no longer translucent, remove them from the grill.
Place 4-5 shrimp in each tortilla. Spoon on some of the cocktail salsa, and top each tortilla with cabbage and cheese. Makes 6-8 tacos.
Friday, The Feared Redhead wanted a break from red meat, so I suprised her with a seafood dish. I whipped up some grilled shrimp, then served it on tacos. I wanted to try something different with the salsa for it -- standard hot sauce or salsa didn't seem to really do it justice, so I created a Cocktail Salsa -- a combination of salsa and cocktail sauce. It worked surprisingly well. Enjoy.
Grilled Tequila Lime Shrimp Tacos
For the shrimp you will need:
1 lb. raw 26-30 count shrimp, peeled & de-veined
1 packet taco seasoning mix
1 cup tequila
¼ cup lime juice
¼ cup minced fresh cilantro
For the tacos you will need:
Grilled Tequila Lime Shrimp
6-8 medium corn tortillas
Shredded cabbage (most grocery stores carry bags of pre-shredded cabbage in the salad section, often labeled as Cole Slaw Cabbage. This does quite nicely.)
Grated cheese (Mild or medium cheddar, jack, pepper jack, Colby jack, or your personal favorite)
Cocktail Salsa (see below)
Cooking spray or vegetable oil
For the cocktail Salsa you will need:
¼ cup ketchup
1 tbsp. Mexican hot sauce (Tapatio and Cholula are both popular choices.)
2 tbsp. chunky salsa
2 tbsp. horseradish
In a glass mixing bowl, combine the shrimp, taco seasoning, tequila, lime juice, and cilantro, mix well. Cover and refrigerate for 10-15 minutes.
In a small bowl, combine the ketchup, salsa, hot sauce, and horseradish. Refrigerate.
Preheat the grill to medium/medium high heat. Lightly spray both sides of the tortillas with cooking spray or lightly rub on a small amount of vegetable oil. Place the tortillas on the grill, cooking for only 30 seconds to a minute on each side. They can then be wrapped in foil and kept warm on the grill away from direct heat.
Remove the shrimp from their marinade and grill. You can probably use skewers, though I use a grill basket. Cooking time will vary, usually around 5 minutes a side, though you definitely want to watch shrimp closely, and if you are tossing them in a grill basket it can take a bit longer. Once the shrimp are a solid pinkish color and no longer translucent, remove them from the grill.
Place 4-5 shrimp in each tortilla. Spoon on some of the cocktail salsa, and top each tortilla with cabbage and cheese. Makes 6-8 tacos.
The Last Thing I Wanted to do on Memorial Day
I'm a big believer in NOT making Memorial Day just another excuse to shop. But I'm also married to a redhead and have a keen survival instinct.
TFR's sister and her husband live up in Portland. Our youngest nephew just graduated from a crib to a toddler bed, and The Lad is read to move from a Basinet to a crib, so it was decided that we would spend Sunday driving up north to pick up their crib. We decided to meet about half way (or thereabouts). The SIL came down with a case of stomache flu on Sunday, so the rendezvous was postponed until Monday. It was decided, furthermore, that we should meet a bit farther north than half way, in Woodburn. This suggestion immediately caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, because Woodburn is home to... an outlet mall (cue ominous soundtrack).
Yup, sure enough, that mall's parking lot was picked as an ideal meeting spot, being easy to find and all. I made it clear that I didn't want to spend all day there, especially since the day before had been spent on chores and housecleaning. It was agreed, a little time with the SIL, an hour or so of looking around, and then home. We arrived promptly at 11 AM.
We got home at 8 PM.
So for all those who got to spend Memorial Day, Y'Know, Memorializing, or even just resting, you have my undying envy.
TFR's sister and her husband live up in Portland. Our youngest nephew just graduated from a crib to a toddler bed, and The Lad is read to move from a Basinet to a crib, so it was decided that we would spend Sunday driving up north to pick up their crib. We decided to meet about half way (or thereabouts). The SIL came down with a case of stomache flu on Sunday, so the rendezvous was postponed until Monday. It was decided, furthermore, that we should meet a bit farther north than half way, in Woodburn. This suggestion immediately caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, because Woodburn is home to... an outlet mall (cue ominous soundtrack).
Yup, sure enough, that mall's parking lot was picked as an ideal meeting spot, being easy to find and all. I made it clear that I didn't want to spend all day there, especially since the day before had been spent on chores and housecleaning. It was agreed, a little time with the SIL, an hour or so of looking around, and then home. We arrived promptly at 11 AM.
We got home at 8 PM.
So for all those who got to spend Memorial Day, Y'Know, Memorializing, or even just resting, you have my undying envy.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Back at the Griddle Again
This week's Carnival of the Recipes (#41 to be precise) is up, and I'm back in it again, with the chicken grill dish I posted a couple of days ago. I have plenty of good company, go drool.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Seduced by summer
The place of business where The Feared Redhead works is just a short mile from the place where I work, so on pleasant days, I walk the distance instead of her picking me up here. With record-setting temperatures, yesterday was just such a day. The route passes the Eugene Country Club and an empty field before reaching Oakway. Yesterday, as I walked the route, my olfactory senses were aroused by a scent that was at first hauntigly familiar, but which, when recognized, ravished my memory with a flood of old sensations.
The blackberries are in bloom.
Most Oregonians will readily admit to being absolute blackberry fiends. They grow as weeds here, and the hybrid Marionberry (not to be confused with Marion Barry)was developed here in Oregon, up in, of course, Marion County. I am no different. I am addicted to them.
Growing up in southern Oregon, I loved to pick blackberries as much as I loved eating them. In part, that is because eating blackberries is a significant protion of picking them. For ever berry that hits the bucket, usually two manage to reach the bucket's escape velocity, only to be inexorably pulled in by the gravitational forces of your mouth.
And eating blackberries, especially right off of the plant, is, if you'll pardon the expression, quite a sensual experience, almost erotic. The buxom fullness of the berries, the flood of juices as you devour them, the alternating tartness and sweetness of berries of varying degrees of ripeness. Eating blackberries is not a casual experience. And the atmosphere of picking them adds to this -- the silence of a remote country berry patch, disturbed only by the droning hum of bugs and the occasional call of a bird, the soaking heat of the sun, the sudden chills as you step into the shade and the wind picks up. Picking blackberries involves all the senses, you find yourself sleepy and aroused and hungry and sated all at the same time.
Now if I can just remember where I put my bucket.
The blackberries are in bloom.
Most Oregonians will readily admit to being absolute blackberry fiends. They grow as weeds here, and the hybrid Marionberry (not to be confused with Marion Barry)was developed here in Oregon, up in, of course, Marion County. I am no different. I am addicted to them.
Growing up in southern Oregon, I loved to pick blackberries as much as I loved eating them. In part, that is because eating blackberries is a significant protion of picking them. For ever berry that hits the bucket, usually two manage to reach the bucket's escape velocity, only to be inexorably pulled in by the gravitational forces of your mouth.
And eating blackberries, especially right off of the plant, is, if you'll pardon the expression, quite a sensual experience, almost erotic. The buxom fullness of the berries, the flood of juices as you devour them, the alternating tartness and sweetness of berries of varying degrees of ripeness. Eating blackberries is not a casual experience. And the atmosphere of picking them adds to this -- the silence of a remote country berry patch, disturbed only by the droning hum of bugs and the occasional call of a bird, the soaking heat of the sun, the sudden chills as you step into the shade and the wind picks up. Picking blackberries involves all the senses, you find yourself sleepy and aroused and hungry and sated all at the same time.
Now if I can just remember where I put my bucket.
Guns Don’t Kill People, Sous Chefs Kill People
Not being a pure libertarian, I tend to shy away from using the hyperbolic phrase Nanny State. But considering this news story from the BBC, sent to me by a coworker, I’m making a prediction as to who will be the next Prime Minister of Great Britain:
Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. In the United Kingdom, which has some of the most stringent gun control laws on the planet, violent crime is on the increase??? But… but… I thought guns were the cause of violence!!!
No, I’m afraid you were mistaken. Guns don’t make people more violent, they make violent people more efficient. In fact, that’s the object of any weapon. I believe the root of the Greek words for tool and weapon are the same, because that’s what a weapon is – a tool for violence, a “Force Multiplier”, if you will. Humanity has been committing acts of violence as far back as we can remember. As soon as we realized that we could use tools to make our work easier, I suspect it was about twenty minutes before one of our ancestors realized, "Hey, this makes folks easier to KILL, too!" Ever since, we've just kept getting better at it (or worse, depending on your point of view). And I'm sure that even without handy death gadgets, we'll still find other means. Ban our guns, people will use knives. Ban the knives, it'll be clubs. Pretty soon, we'll live in foam-padded societies equipped only with KFC sporks, and we'll still be using those to gouge out eyes. Violent nature begets weapons, not the other way around.
The second idea put forth here to which I strenuously object is this:
I've heard the same comment put forth by those who argue that certain types of guns should be banned because "You don't need automatic weapons to hunt deer".
First of all, people who sday that have never seen some of the people I grew up with. Their shooting was so bad, the only chance in hell they had of bagging game was to lay down volumes of fire vaguely reminiscent of Omaha Red.
But removing my tongue from my cheek, this is where I do agree with true libertarians. "Because you don't need it" is not a valid reason to ban something, nor should it even be part of the equation with regards to adults. There's a saying that expresses the fear of many with regards to this attitude by the state, and it goes something like "What is not required will be outlawed". Frightening prospect. But it seems to be where our society is heading: Abrogating free will and personal responsibility; entrusting the State with the power and duty to make our decisions for us. Protect us from ourselves, we seem to be saying.
Well, some of us. But not me. I'd rather the government spend more of its time protecting me from itself.
Doctors' kitchen knives ban call
A&E doctors are calling for a ban on long pointed kitchen knives to reduce deaths from stabbing.
A team from West Middlesex University Hospital said violent crime is on the increase - and kitchen knives are used in as many as half of all stabbings.
They argued many assaults are committed impulsively, prompted by alcohol and drugs, and a kitchen knife often makes an all too available weapon.
The research is published in the British Medical Journal.
The researchers said there was no reason for long pointed knives to be publicly available at all.
They consulted 10 top chefs from around the UK, and found such knives have little practical value in the kitchen.
None of the chefs felt such knives were essential, since the point of a short blade was just as useful when a sharp end was needed.
The researchers said a short pointed knife may cause a substantial superficial wound if used in an assault - but is unlikely to penetrate to inner organs.
In contrast, a pointed long blade pierces the body like "cutting into a ripe melon".
The use of knives is particularly worrying amongst adolescents, say the researchers, reporting that 24% of 16-year-olds have been shown to carry weapons, primarily knives.
The study found links between easy access to domestic knives and violent assault are long established.
French laws in the 17th century decreed that the tips of table and street knives be ground smooth. [
A century later, forks and blunt-ended table knives were introduced in the UK in an effort to reduce injuries during arguments in public eating houses.
The researchers say legislation to ban the sale of long pointed knives would be a key step in the fight against violent crime.
"The Home Office is looking for ways to reduce knife crime.
"We suggest that banning the sale of long pointed knives is a sensible and practical measure that would have this effect."
Government response
Home Office spokesperson said there were already extensive restrictions in place to control the sale and possession of knives.
"The law already prohibits the possession of offensive weapons in a public place, and the possession of knives in public without good reason or lawful authority, with the exception of a folding pocket knife with a blade not exceeding three inches.
"Offensive weapons are defined as any weapon designed or adapted to cause injury, or intended by the person possessing them to do so.
"An individual has to demonstrate that he had good reason to possess a knife, for example for fishing, other sporting purposes or as part of his profession (e.g. a chef) in a public place.
"The manufacture, sale and importation of 17 bladed, pointed and other offensive weapons have been banned, in addition to flick knives and gravity knives."
A spokesperson for the Association of Chief Police Officers said: "ACPO supports any move to reduce the number of knife related incidents, however, it is important to consider the practicalities of enforcing such changes."
Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. In the United Kingdom, which has some of the most stringent gun control laws on the planet, violent crime is on the increase??? But… but… I thought guns were the cause of violence!!!
No, I’m afraid you were mistaken. Guns don’t make people more violent, they make violent people more efficient. In fact, that’s the object of any weapon. I believe the root of the Greek words for tool and weapon are the same, because that’s what a weapon is – a tool for violence, a “Force Multiplier”, if you will. Humanity has been committing acts of violence as far back as we can remember. As soon as we realized that we could use tools to make our work easier, I suspect it was about twenty minutes before one of our ancestors realized, "Hey, this makes folks easier to KILL, too!" Ever since, we've just kept getting better at it (or worse, depending on your point of view). And I'm sure that even without handy death gadgets, we'll still find other means. Ban our guns, people will use knives. Ban the knives, it'll be clubs. Pretty soon, we'll live in foam-padded societies equipped only with KFC sporks, and we'll still be using those to gouge out eyes. Violent nature begets weapons, not the other way around.
The second idea put forth here to which I strenuously object is this:
The researchers said there was no reason for long pointed knives to be publicly available at all.
They consulted 10 top chefs from around the UK, and found such knives have little practical value in the kitchen.
None of the chefs felt such knives were essential, since the point of a short blade was just as useful when a sharp end was needed.
I've heard the same comment put forth by those who argue that certain types of guns should be banned because "You don't need automatic weapons to hunt deer".
First of all, people who sday that have never seen some of the people I grew up with. Their shooting was so bad, the only chance in hell they had of bagging game was to lay down volumes of fire vaguely reminiscent of Omaha Red.
But removing my tongue from my cheek, this is where I do agree with true libertarians. "Because you don't need it" is not a valid reason to ban something, nor should it even be part of the equation with regards to adults. There's a saying that expresses the fear of many with regards to this attitude by the state, and it goes something like "What is not required will be outlawed". Frightening prospect. But it seems to be where our society is heading: Abrogating free will and personal responsibility; entrusting the State with the power and duty to make our decisions for us. Protect us from ourselves, we seem to be saying.
Well, some of us. But not me. I'd rather the government spend more of its time protecting me from itself.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
These Hands
You all know my buddy Vulture 6?
Well, he's gone and started an internet business, and I've got to admit, it's amusing. I promised him I'd plug it, so here goes:
How many times have you jokingly said, "These hands are registered as Deadly Weapons"?
Well, now they can be. For a small fee, DeadlyHands.net will register them, and even send you a certificate and a wallet card.
It's gotta be good for a laugh, if not a free beer on occasion.
Well, he's gone and started an internet business, and I've got to admit, it's amusing. I promised him I'd plug it, so here goes:
How many times have you jokingly said, "These hands are registered as Deadly Weapons"?
Well, now they can be. For a small fee, DeadlyHands.net will register them, and even send you a certificate and a wallet card.
It's gotta be good for a laugh, if not a free beer on occasion.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Speaking of Warbirds
I had to drive home at lunch so that TFR could have the car this afternoon. As we headed back to my work, we stopped at a light on westbound Centennial, when all of a sudden, TFR pointed up at the sky. She didn't know what she was looking at, but she knew it was out of the ordinary. As a guy and a history geek, I knew right away. It was a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, one of the planes that won WWII, flying around over Eugene.
I think this grin's about to pull a face muscle.
I think this grin's about to pull a face muscle.
Proof I Have the World's Weirdest Imagination
Yesterday as I was singing to The Lad, I found myself imagining what it would be like to hear Marlene Dietrich, in her smokiest, suktriest, Cabaret-style voice, singing "I Know an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly".
Stop me before I think again!
Stop me before I think again!
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
More Recommended Reading
Twice in one day I'm recommending that you read excellent things written by people who don't exactly see eye to eye with me.
If you've read my Blog for a while, you'll recall that I on occasion take respectful exception to things written by Smallholder over at Naked Villainy, but that at the end of the day, I respect him highly.
Well, he's gone and done it. He's written something I agree with.
Dammit, man, you're going to take all the fun out of Blogging. But I do thank you for the moral support.
Now, I must confess there are a few details on which I disagree with you. I do believe that abortion is the taking of a human life. I do believe that there are some basic doctrines of the faith which are the truth, and must be accepted as such on informed faith in order to be classified as an orthodox believer. But I also agree that there is plenty on which we can agree to disagree -- In all things charity, isn't that how it goes? And I also agree with your assessment that theism and atheism require similar measures of faith.
If you've read my Blog for a while, you'll recall that I on occasion take respectful exception to things written by Smallholder over at Naked Villainy, but that at the end of the day, I respect him highly.
Well, he's gone and done it. He's written something I agree with.
Dammit, man, you're going to take all the fun out of Blogging. But I do thank you for the moral support.
Now, I must confess there are a few details on which I disagree with you. I do believe that abortion is the taking of a human life. I do believe that there are some basic doctrines of the faith which are the truth, and must be accepted as such on informed faith in order to be classified as an orthodox believer. But I also agree that there is plenty on which we can agree to disagree -- In all things charity, isn't that how it goes? And I also agree with your assessment that theism and atheism require similar measures of faith.
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