Tonight I made a supper of salmon patties. I prefer pan fried salmon filets (and only wild caught at that) but sometimes I'll get a can of skin and bones straight from Alaska and fry up patties. I mix a short can with one egg, some black pepper, a splash of lime juice, and a good dose of Old Bay. Once a girl from New Orleans told me that using Old Bay didn't make me a gourmet but it definately makes a wide variety of things taste better. I'm sure she would have been less critical if I had used Zataran's.
Mix the above ingredients together then lightly coat each patty in corn meal. Be sure to have a hot frying pan with a good splash of olive oil in it ready to throw the patty into as soon as its out of the corn meal. I fried them about three or four minutes on each side over medium/medium high heat. I recommend to serve with tobasco or louisiana brand hot sauce at the table.
Steamed brussell's sprouts and triscuits go well as side items. As you can see I don't eat very complicated but its fairly healthy.
I'm meeting a friend out tonight so I had a ball jar of ice water to wash down dinner but if you're ready for something with a little more kick I recommend a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Goes great with the fish.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
A Short Epic Poem About Good Things
Short poems are not like taking a road trip to the Utah canyon country to have a spiritual awakening.
Short poems are like a dog wagging its tail...but not for long...like a dog does immediately before you feed it.
Short poems are not fun to sit and try to get into while reading in bed or on the beach;
Short poems are good for the long term of forever because they get stuck in that place in the brain just past annoying, the place where inspiration dwells
or comfort
or solace
or peace.
Our lives are epic poems with short passages worth remembering.
Her name was Alicia, her name was Susan,
Her name was Mazy and she was a good dog.
Her name was Elinor and she was a steep mountain
She was a river and her name was the Duck.
And if you only take one thought from this poem of the passage of my life and what I think is important then let it be:
I reach out my hand to pluck the golden orb of the ripe peach.But my fingers are only long enough to scrape the refreshing dew on its lustrous skin. So I smell the sweetly nectarized air and hold the fruit only in my mind, where it is surly sweeter than any peach ever tasted.
Short poems are like a dog wagging its tail...but not for long...like a dog does immediately before you feed it.
Short poems are not fun to sit and try to get into while reading in bed or on the beach;
Short poems are good for the long term of forever because they get stuck in that place in the brain just past annoying, the place where inspiration dwells
or comfort
or solace
or peace.
Our lives are epic poems with short passages worth remembering.
Her name was Alicia, her name was Susan,
Her name was Mazy and she was a good dog.
Her name was Elinor and she was a steep mountain
She was a river and her name was the Duck.
And if you only take one thought from this poem of the passage of my life and what I think is important then let it be:
I reach out my hand to pluck the golden orb of the ripe peach.But my fingers are only long enough to scrape the refreshing dew on its lustrous skin. So I smell the sweetly nectarized air and hold the fruit only in my mind, where it is surly sweeter than any peach ever tasted.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Crazy Horse September 2003
I call this photo Ambition. Honestly I can't think of a more ambitious undertaking than reshaping a mountain into the dynamic image of a great leader. Perhaps my favorite thing about this photo are the trucks, trailer, and unfinished road, showing that even Ambition is a work in progress. For more information about the sculptor go to
http://www.crazyhorse.org/story/korczak.shtml
His life story makes good reading (because I cringe at the term "inspirational").
Thursday, December 20, 2007
War Doesn't End
Here I am singing a song I wrote. I play it all over town and have had some interest from publishers (a couple of them are big time) but no one can figure out who would record this song.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
As I Lay Dying - A Review
Yesterday with a post Super Bowl aching head I finished off the last thirty-five pages of William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. I hadn't read a Faulkner book since Light In August back in '94. I was hesitant because he is sooo thick and heavy at times. What I rediscivered in As I Lay Dying is how much humor he injects in his writing while still being heavy, nihilistic, and existential. What I did find to be difficult still is that Faulkner doesn't exactly hit the reader over the head with a new developement. He slips it in from the side or back door with a well placed phrase that the reader must catch.
As I Lay Dying is the story of a family trying to bury their dead mother. They ride around nine days with her in the back of the wagon in summer...in Mississppi...and its raining a lot of the time. Faulkner tells the story from the point of view of a series of different charcters: there's pretty Dewey Dell, queer Darl, angry Jewel, lazy Anse, stoic Cash, observant Peabody, etc etc. At first the story moves at a snails pace but then one gets the groove of Faulkner's rhytm and the narrative takes form. Issues covered in the novel are adultery, abortion, class, and...and stupid kids or something. Vardaman keeps thinking his mother is a fish...I never figured that one out. The book is full of classic Faulkner sentences, my favorite being, "Squatting, Dewey Dell's wet dress shapes for the dead eyes of three blind men those mammalian ludicrosities which are the horizons and the valleys of the earth."
As I Lay Dying is Faulkner's fifth novel. It was written in six weeks and published in 1930 while he was working at a power plant. I remember the quip he made to his supervisor when he worked at the post office and he ignored his customers because he was deeply involved in wiriting on the job. When confronted about his poor customer service he said, "I'm not at the beck and call of every two bit sonofabitch who wants to buy a postage stamp!"
Yesterday I went to the used bookstore to pick up The Sound And The Fury to continue my Faulkner phase but wound up with Lady Chatterley's Lover.
As I Lay Dying is the story of a family trying to bury their dead mother. They ride around nine days with her in the back of the wagon in summer...in Mississppi...and its raining a lot of the time. Faulkner tells the story from the point of view of a series of different charcters: there's pretty Dewey Dell, queer Darl, angry Jewel, lazy Anse, stoic Cash, observant Peabody, etc etc. At first the story moves at a snails pace but then one gets the groove of Faulkner's rhytm and the narrative takes form. Issues covered in the novel are adultery, abortion, class, and...and stupid kids or something. Vardaman keeps thinking his mother is a fish...I never figured that one out. The book is full of classic Faulkner sentences, my favorite being, "Squatting, Dewey Dell's wet dress shapes for the dead eyes of three blind men those mammalian ludicrosities which are the horizons and the valleys of the earth."
As I Lay Dying is Faulkner's fifth novel. It was written in six weeks and published in 1930 while he was working at a power plant. I remember the quip he made to his supervisor when he worked at the post office and he ignored his customers because he was deeply involved in wiriting on the job. When confronted about his poor customer service he said, "I'm not at the beck and call of every two bit sonofabitch who wants to buy a postage stamp!"
Yesterday I went to the used bookstore to pick up The Sound And The Fury to continue my Faulkner phase but wound up with Lady Chatterley's Lover.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
When Reading Is Difficult Aim Higher
I've had a hard time reading lately. My mind races a thousand miles an hour until I lay down in bed and open a book then my eyes lids become sandbags and sleep the curtain. Brought down with an unflattering flourish of drool.
I've read:
- about half of Henry Miller's The Air Conditioned Nightmare - boring, no real narrative
- reread Hemingway's A Clean, Well-Lighted Place - awesome...makes more sense every five years or so when I reread it
- the first looooong chapter of Freethinkers by Susan Jacoby - okay but between the recent biographies of Roosevelt, Lincoln, and Jackson I need a break from history
- maybe a chapter of Return To Wild America - an aging bird watcher talking about watching birds...an AARP ad
- 1/3 of Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse - a bit depressing and a bit too theater of the absurd for my liking
- The Norton critical guide to T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land - a difficult poem and I hope to find the point of it all in the contemporary critical essays in this book.
But now, yesterday I settled on As I Lay Dying by Wm Faulkner. Excellent book. I'm 50 pages into and will finish it. Published in 1930, the book was written in six weeks while Faulkner worked at a power plant. This is the novel after his magnum opus, The Sound And The Fury. Faulkner is a writer one has to work up to. He is a challange, sort of like a sublime (or grotesque) John Steinbeck, but his characters are outstanding. This is the 3rd of his books I've read.
I've read:
- about half of Henry Miller's The Air Conditioned Nightmare - boring, no real narrative
- reread Hemingway's A Clean, Well-Lighted Place - awesome...makes more sense every five years or so when I reread it
- the first looooong chapter of Freethinkers by Susan Jacoby - okay but between the recent biographies of Roosevelt, Lincoln, and Jackson I need a break from history
- maybe a chapter of Return To Wild America - an aging bird watcher talking about watching birds...an AARP ad
- 1/3 of Steppenwolf by Herman Hesse - a bit depressing and a bit too theater of the absurd for my liking
- The Norton critical guide to T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land - a difficult poem and I hope to find the point of it all in the contemporary critical essays in this book.
But now, yesterday I settled on As I Lay Dying by Wm Faulkner. Excellent book. I'm 50 pages into and will finish it. Published in 1930, the book was written in six weeks while Faulkner worked at a power plant. This is the novel after his magnum opus, The Sound And The Fury. Faulkner is a writer one has to work up to. He is a challange, sort of like a sublime (or grotesque) John Steinbeck, but his characters are outstanding. This is the 3rd of his books I've read.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Three Pillars Of Civilization
This is the time of year for travel. I haven’t been flying about like I used to but it wasn’t long ago that I would roll up a couple of changes of clothes, pack them in a seabag and head for the airport. It was during this packing that I had to be sure to throw my trusty Swiss army knife into the bag so I wouldn’t wind up at security with it in my pocket. I’ve lost good knives that way.
I’ve had to ruin a good Zippo too. I did not know that lighters weren’t allowed on flights so I had to take apart a new lighter and throw away all the fuel soaked cotton.
These are small concessions when it comes to being more secure when we fly the friendly skies. But I’ve noticed a lot of people don’t carry knives and lighters in their day to day lives.
For all our technological advances I still think there are three basic implements of civilization that every person should carry with them:
A knife, matches or a lighter, and a pen.
A knife is the refined extension of the chipped flint of our earliest ancestors. I prefer to carry a Case yellow handled medium stockman model at the present time but there are a host of options to choose from. A good knife with an interesting handle of bone, stag antler, celluloid, or wood makes a handy tool and a great conversation piece. Another great thing about carrying knives is that people always know something safe to get you for Christmas. You never wind up with that pair of baby blue Izod pants like I once did.
Carrying a lighter could literally save your life. There is nothing more human than the ability and desire to make fire. That few people today can make a fire from rubbing two sticks together doesn't matter if you have a lighter. As Geico would say, “Its so easy even a cave man could do it.” You don’t have to smoke to need a lighter. What if you wanted to burn trash or destroy documents?
Lastly, a pen is the most important implement a person can carry. Unlike a knife or lighter there is hardly ever a time I go out that I don’t need to sign my name or write something down. And before using that plastic Bic the girl at the cash register shoves your way think how many people have picked their nose and then used that pen. In the Navy I used to tell the younger Sailors that a pen was a basic part of their uniform. The salty First Classes and Chiefs had already figured that out (and taught that lesson to me). I carry a medium point retractable Parker in my pocket. Though I am still fond of the Danish pen my dad gave me when I was a little kid. It has a photograph of a pretty girl on it whose swimsuit falls off when I turn the pen upside down. It survived getting confiscated by my tenth grade French teacher and sits on my desk waiting to be turned upside down to this day. Writing utensiles have come a long way since chisels and charcoal.
Your pockets are what you make them. I choose to make mine a triune testimonial to human achievement.
I’ve had to ruin a good Zippo too. I did not know that lighters weren’t allowed on flights so I had to take apart a new lighter and throw away all the fuel soaked cotton.
These are small concessions when it comes to being more secure when we fly the friendly skies. But I’ve noticed a lot of people don’t carry knives and lighters in their day to day lives.
For all our technological advances I still think there are three basic implements of civilization that every person should carry with them:
A knife, matches or a lighter, and a pen.
A knife is the refined extension of the chipped flint of our earliest ancestors. I prefer to carry a Case yellow handled medium stockman model at the present time but there are a host of options to choose from. A good knife with an interesting handle of bone, stag antler, celluloid, or wood makes a handy tool and a great conversation piece. Another great thing about carrying knives is that people always know something safe to get you for Christmas. You never wind up with that pair of baby blue Izod pants like I once did.
Carrying a lighter could literally save your life. There is nothing more human than the ability and desire to make fire. That few people today can make a fire from rubbing two sticks together doesn't matter if you have a lighter. As Geico would say, “Its so easy even a cave man could do it.” You don’t have to smoke to need a lighter. What if you wanted to burn trash or destroy documents?
Lastly, a pen is the most important implement a person can carry. Unlike a knife or lighter there is hardly ever a time I go out that I don’t need to sign my name or write something down. And before using that plastic Bic the girl at the cash register shoves your way think how many people have picked their nose and then used that pen. In the Navy I used to tell the younger Sailors that a pen was a basic part of their uniform. The salty First Classes and Chiefs had already figured that out (and taught that lesson to me). I carry a medium point retractable Parker in my pocket. Though I am still fond of the Danish pen my dad gave me when I was a little kid. It has a photograph of a pretty girl on it whose swimsuit falls off when I turn the pen upside down. It survived getting confiscated by my tenth grade French teacher and sits on my desk waiting to be turned upside down to this day. Writing utensiles have come a long way since chisels and charcoal.
Your pockets are what you make them. I choose to make mine a triune testimonial to human achievement.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Alternative Fishing Amid the Buzz of Modern America
Yesterday I assembled my new fishing pole and drove out to J Percy Priest Dam in Nashville to try it out. I sat just below the dam enjoying Nature with Interstate 40 rumbling by just downstream, jets loudly shredding the air a few hundred feet overhead, and titanic power line towers adding their electromagnetic buzz to the scene. A peaceful afternoon. Despite the encroachments of our running world I saw a least bittern and some ducks, female mallards I think. There was also a large buffalo which made a few passes up and down the shoreline right under my nose.
Not many people were fishing, just a few Mexicans enjoying the cheap entertainment, and like most uneducated people, they left their trash, their worm boxes and the plastic bag that held their Cheetos, behind on the river bank to be swept downstream by the next flood. I've never understood people too lazy to pick up their trash. But I admit a certain guilt: as a youth my job on boat outings was to fill the beer bottles my dad and his friends passed to me with water and sink them to the bottom of Center Hill Lake. But that took effort.
For a lure I used a small, floppy plastic crappie with a treble hook on the bottom of it. It didn't take many casts to decide this was not going to garner much attention in such a river setting. I needed worms or dough. What I had was a Cliff Bar. So I balled a small pinch of the energy bar around a barbed hook and cast out. Over the course of ninty minutes I caught zero fish but had about four good tugs. My conclusion: a Cliff Bar will catch a fish but you have to make sure enough of the point is exposed to set the hook.
Not many people were fishing, just a few Mexicans enjoying the cheap entertainment, and like most uneducated people, they left their trash, their worm boxes and the plastic bag that held their Cheetos, behind on the river bank to be swept downstream by the next flood. I've never understood people too lazy to pick up their trash. But I admit a certain guilt: as a youth my job on boat outings was to fill the beer bottles my dad and his friends passed to me with water and sink them to the bottom of Center Hill Lake. But that took effort.
For a lure I used a small, floppy plastic crappie with a treble hook on the bottom of it. It didn't take many casts to decide this was not going to garner much attention in such a river setting. I needed worms or dough. What I had was a Cliff Bar. So I balled a small pinch of the energy bar around a barbed hook and cast out. Over the course of ninty minutes I caught zero fish but had about four good tugs. My conclusion: a Cliff Bar will catch a fish but you have to make sure enough of the point is exposed to set the hook.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Southern Gothic Socialist Asparagus Eaters
Last night I cooked dinner for my parents. It was the first time they'd been to my little apartment so I had it extra clean but I think they were as or even more excited about seeing their "granddog" as seeing me. They had never had lamb chops so thats what I fixed.
I cooked six one-inch thick chops that I'd marianated in soy sauce, black pepper, and rosemary...plenty of rosemary. I pan fried them in EVOO on medium for about seven or eight minutes. If the skillet is too hot the meat gets tough. Lamb chops should be served with plenty of pink in the middle (or rare for those who prefer that).
I also roasted apsaragus and red potatoes and onions. Asparagus is easy, just drizzle with EVOO and course salt then bake at 450 for about ten or twelve minutes. When it turns bright green its done. The potatoes are similarly dressed with EVOO, salt, cracked pepper and paprika and put in the oven for about 20 to 25 minutes.
I served the lamb with horseradish and mint jelly, at my grandmother's recommendation. I was at first skeptical about the mint jelly but it is absolutely wonderful when paired with the horseradish on a perfectly prepared lamb chop.
I really enjoyed having my folks over last night.
Afterwards I went out to see a band with some friends and wound up outside making out by the old Cannery Building with a girl I knew. It was a good location, nestled between the 120 year old brick building and some hopper cars on the railroad track next to us. Southern gothic with a train whistle and rumbling railroad cars. The weathered dedication stone imbedded in the crumbling brick wall, facing the tracks read: 1883 - Laborers Shall Rule the Earth As The XXXXXX Inherits Heaven. If I only knew who the sign said would inherit heaven every thing would be alright.
I cooked six one-inch thick chops that I'd marianated in soy sauce, black pepper, and rosemary...plenty of rosemary. I pan fried them in EVOO on medium for about seven or eight minutes. If the skillet is too hot the meat gets tough. Lamb chops should be served with plenty of pink in the middle (or rare for those who prefer that).
I also roasted apsaragus and red potatoes and onions. Asparagus is easy, just drizzle with EVOO and course salt then bake at 450 for about ten or twelve minutes. When it turns bright green its done. The potatoes are similarly dressed with EVOO, salt, cracked pepper and paprika and put in the oven for about 20 to 25 minutes.
I served the lamb with horseradish and mint jelly, at my grandmother's recommendation. I was at first skeptical about the mint jelly but it is absolutely wonderful when paired with the horseradish on a perfectly prepared lamb chop.
I really enjoyed having my folks over last night.
Afterwards I went out to see a band with some friends and wound up outside making out by the old Cannery Building with a girl I knew. It was a good location, nestled between the 120 year old brick building and some hopper cars on the railroad track next to us. Southern gothic with a train whistle and rumbling railroad cars. The weathered dedication stone imbedded in the crumbling brick wall, facing the tracks read: 1883 - Laborers Shall Rule the Earth As The XXXXXX Inherits Heaven. If I only knew who the sign said would inherit heaven every thing would be alright.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
