Crunch Time

We forewent (is that a word?) Thanksgiving this year because none of our friends could make it. But we had bought a frozen Butterball turkey and had grand plans. Notwithstanding that I've never made a whole turkey in my life, it has been rescheduled for Saturday.

With my usual gusto, I did all the research I could on making whole turkeys, and, as usual, there are three million differing opinions on how it should be done. So I picked #s 1.65M, #2.98M and #.94M and mixed 'em up.

So, here's my thinking, and bear with me here: the damn thing is frozen, it's Thursday and I don't want it to be an iceball come Saturday. Defrosting in the refrigerator at this point is going to take a week. So I prepared a brining solution of one part sea salt (about one cup), one part sugar, one nugget palm sugar (exotic, don't you know), two batons of cinnamon, a couple of cloves and about eight crushed cloves of garlic, boiled it in about a gallon of water for twenty minutes, put it on the balcony (it snowed this afternoon) until cool, then discovered we didn't have a pan big enough to put it in.



No matter. We had a pail that had been used to store feta cheese and that I had cleaned and adapted for strawberry daiquiris for our wedding earlier this summer, so I decided to repurpose it. I lined it with a plastic bag, put the (now carefully washed) still-frozen turkey in, poured over the brining solution and topped it up with water, put the lid on and put it on the balcony.

I know it looks slightly unappetizing, but just you wait, my faithful!

I figure it will brine until tomorrow sometime, then I will pull it out, wash it and put it on a drying rack on the balcony for 24 hours. According to Cook's Illustrated (and I've done this before, but with chicken) the drying action will produce an incredibly crisp skin.
Then I'll put slits in the skin and insert slivers of garlic and rosemary, rub the whole thing with slightly melted duck fat, and PUT IT IN DA OVEN. Baste every half hour or so with pan juices, then towards the last half hour baste with honey/dijon (according to my friend Barry, if I lay on the honey early, it will burn) and then see how it goes.

I'm very excited. My first-ever whole turkey!

But I'm even more excited about what I made tonight: Potatoes Hassleback. I got the inspiration from the site in the link, and mine certainly didn't come out as beautiful as those, but take a look:


The above is the spoon that I used to cut the potatoes so the cuts didn't go all the way through. But it was a bitch cutting those thin slices. Must be a better way.

But they turned out pretty well -- I inserted slivers of garlic between the slices and topped the potatoes with garlic butter, parmesan and breadcrumbs. An hour of closely-watched ovenwork, and they were delectable.

Round one for the turkeymeister.

No.

Brigitte often mentions that she wants to travel. "All over the world!" she gushes.

No. The list of the places I will not travel to is very, very long. Any place that is regularly in the news for any reason. Nope. Africa -- forget about it. India and most of South Asia, ain't happening.

Even Europe is off the list (cost of living). South America? Well, I haven't heard anything about Uruguay or Paraguay lately, if ever. This is a good thing. But the whole of the rest of South America: forget about it.

Hmm. In fact, about the only places I WOULD travel to are the Antarctic, possibly Finland and maybe Uzbekhistan. Maybe. Okay, sorry, the "stans" are out, I made a mistake.

How's about across town to Walmart?

Is Michael Still Dead?

Here's a post in my old blog, way back in 1998. I forgot what a lunatic I was.

:

Saturday, February 7, 1998, 7:17 am - Interview with Michael!

Bastard fans! An amazing coup! Through a relentless campaign of spam, harrassing phone calls and mass-mailings, the Bastard managed to secure an interview with Michael Jackson!

It's exclusive - in return for the interview, the Bastard agreed to "go away and never fucking bother Mr. Jackson or come within 50 miles of his person or property"- and it's hot.

Feb. 4, 11 am B.S.T., poolside at Neverland ranch. The Bastard has been sitting for two and a half hours in the now-baking morning sun in a sumptuous rubber deck chair, making obscene doodles of Michael touching small animals in his notepad and blowing kisses at Gunther the pool guard every so often, just to watch him blush uncontrollably, flex his tanned biceps and unconsciously check his "bulge."

Suddenly, a large group of people round the edge of the cabaña - fifty or sixty, at least. It's Michael's entourage!

The head "bodyguard," a stocky, muscular young man called Hans, stops the throng a little bit away from the Bastard's table with an "Okay, kids, now it's time to play with your Beanie Babies and not bother Michael. Yes, Satchel, it's okay to play with Dylan - no, don't wipe your hands on your shirt - here, let me help you." A moment later, there's an "Ooooo!" of frustration. Hans certainly has his hands full.

And then, well, then Michael himself appears, looking resplendent in a gold-lamé Arab headdress. We settle down to the interview. Michael sips a tall glass of bleach while the Bastard starts guzzling Jack Daniels.

The Bastard: Michael, I understand you're an inventor as well as the charismatic, nimble-fingered leader of roving bands of small-waisted 11-year-old boys of all nationalities.

Michael, his characteristic high-pitched murmur relaxed and friendly: Yes, yes. But please don't call them boys. They're children! They're all my children.

The Bastard: I stand corrected! Or rather, I sit corrected. I sit corrected and I stand on my honor. Oh, Michael, don't you just know how much the Bastard fans are going to appreciate this interview?

Michael: My hands go out to every one of them.

The Bastard: Michael, you know what we're all here for, I'm sure . . . uh, could you just give us a glimpse of it?

Michael: The Ranch is here for all humanity to enjoy. There's Jacko the chimpanzee - I prefer "primate" because humans are so close in brain structure, you know - and Audrey the Ostrich, she's, well, a little temperamental . . . (gets far-away look in eyes) and DeVon . . . he's going to be twelve on Thursday . . . remind me to get him one of those Elmo things . . . DeVon's always fighting with Joel these days (*sigh*) . . can you believe Joel doesn't like his pillow to touch Edwigg's? They're SUCH a pain in the . . . uhh . . . what was your question again?

The Bastard: Michael, don't play coy! (leans forward conspiratorially) The Tickler! The Tickler! Everyone wants to see the Tickler!

Michael (a cool shadow crossing his neatly-sculptured features): My hands go out to every one of them. There are private parts of my life that I wish to keep private. The allegations . . . the allegations! I deny the allegations. Those who know me will support me against these cruel allegations . . . my dear friend Elizabeth Taylor, you know, she came to Edwigg's eighth birthday party - that was the night Robbie argued with Gabor about who got the middle of the bed, you know, that's how I remember it . . . all these horrible rumors . . .I DENY them all . . . (slight sound of sobbing. Bodyguards move in and firmly escort the Bastard away.)

Sorry, folks!! The Bastard obviously fucked up and asked The Wrong Question. He's going to try again - and be assured this time he will do everything in his power to continue to try to get you a look at the Wiggly Bum- tickler . . . stay tuned!!

Movies

I find it incredible that I can walk into a video rental store (in this case Movieland on St. Catherine), wander the aisles for fifteen minutes looking at, I don't know, maybe 20, 30,000 titles? and not find a single one of them that I'd be tempted to watch.

What kills me is that probably each one of them was an expensive production involving hundreds of people -- casting, crew, writers, actors -- well, you get the picture -- and 99% of them are dreck. I mean, two hours of complete and utter waste of time.

Okay, okay, I admit that if you went to any library and looked at books, and realised that human beings had taken the time out, in many cases years of their lives, and 95% of the books were still dreck, but those probably involved a maximum of ten people to come up with. Not 1,000 people.

How can 1,000 people, day after day, churn out so much garbage? Why was the writing/editing/casting/concept so inept yet the movie was made anyway? Didn't anyone along the way stop and say "Hey, hey, guys, TIME OUT. This is a horrific movie and no one, including my own daughter, is ever going to watch it. So why don't we all go home NOW instead of bothering to finish this stinking piece of shit and save ourselves all the aggravation?"

But the miracle is, that they don't. So I wander the aisles looking at title after title -- randomly, maybe "Alien Versus Predator," "My Cousin Dupree," "Battlefield Earth," anything with Meg Ryan or Adam Sandler and on and bleeding on until your eyes blur, and realise that most of them are complete and utter pieces of shit, yet a lot of people made those pieces of shit.

Well, for an example, why don't I quote an analysis of the movie "Catwoman" from Wikipedia? "The Village Voice summed up reviews of the film under the title "Me-Ouch." The movie was the winner of four Razzies for Worst Picture, Worst Actress, Worst Director (Pitof), and Worst Screenplay. Berry arrived at the ceremony to accept her Razzie in person (with her Best Actress Oscar for Monster's Ball in hand), saying: "First of all, I want to thank Warner Brothers. Thank you for putting me in a piece of shit, god-awful movie . . . It was just what my career needed."

And this movie probably cost around $100M and involved thousands of people.

Or, about a movie called "Alone In The Dark," this absolutely brilliant quote: "Critic Rob Vaux states that this movie is so bad that "the other practitioners of cinematic drivel can rest a little easier now; they can walk in the daylight with their heads held high, a smile on their lips and a song in their hearts. It's okay, they'll tell themselves. I didn't make Alone in the Dark."

I swear, I need a career change. This stuff is hilarious.

Unbelievable. Okay, last night we were able to rent four movies, one of them the excellent "Backbeat," but it's hard to imagine a more wasteful use of human ingenuity than moviemaking.

Unless it's hockey.

Jupiter Condos Update IV

As anticipated, things have been progressing rapidly with this project. The website, galacticproperties.net should be up and running shortly. On the website, you will be able to fund the purchase of your new condominium on Jupiter via PayPal.

However, please note that the current purchase price for a studio suite with one bathroom is 58.5 billion dollars. (This includes all costs of transport to and from Jupiter, and includes the transportation of one (1) pet and two carry-on items. Children currently travel free and food and beverage services are included. However, you will be required to provide a service fee of $6 USD for the purchase of a blanket and a pillow. Estimated flight times are 4.87 years).

However, please note that this purchase price is only available until December 6, 2009 (escrow services are available upon request).

If you act within the next ten days a stuffed toy of your choice will be included for your child or future child.

Please be advised that there are only 575 million square miles of property still available, and demand is high, so you would be advised to reserve your condominium package now.

When the website goes live, you will be able to see architects' plans of your chosen home on Jupiter.

Updates to follow in due course.

Jupiter Condos Update III

To all our customers who have been patiently awaiting news of the progress of the construction of condominiums on Jupiter, we have important news.

Young, Bolton LLC architects have finalized the blueprints for all six pre-planned configurations according to the recommendations received from your numerous cards and emails.

We are now looking at site plans. As you know, Jupiter is a gas giant. This has to be taken into consideration when marking property claims. Currently, sites near the Great Red Spot are still being withheld due to legal restrictions. It is expected that these restrictions will be lifted in the next two months, as this matter is still before the courts. If you wish your condominium to be situated near the Great Red Spot, please advise our office in advance, as sites will quickly become unavailable due to demand. Also be advised that the area around the Shoemaker-Levy comet strike is currently unavailable, although it is expected that sites will open up in the next few months.

The first Jupiter launch is tentatively scheduled for November of 2012. Now is the time to peruse our brochure and reserve your new home, as the interest has proved considerable.

This Blog

You know, it's been a while since I started this blog. But what you don't know is that I was "blogging" waaay before the word blog was invented. I just didn't know it. I had a little home page and I used it pretty much for my own amusement, since lurkers didn't exist in 1999, and even if they did, they would never have found my page. I would post idiotic things, such as a poem for Saddam Hussein, or something about Michael Jackson's Wiggly Bum Tickler. I pretty much knew that no one was going to read it, but it amused me immensely.

You know what? My own writing has me in stitches, and always has. It alarms Brigitte when I start laughing for nothing in the middle of the night. Much as my fingers surprise me when playing the guitar, they also surprise me when typing in this blog. Sometimes I don't have a clue where the post is going to lead me -- the fingers tap on the keyboard and the words come out.

My friend Dave took a look at this blog and said I was a certifiable lunatic. And HE is a certifiable lunatic.

When the word "blog" started circulating I just hated the word. I just hated it. It's just a fucking Web page where someone posts their issues. But now it's become just another part of the World Wide Web (do they call it that any more?)

But sometimes I wonder what to post on it. I've read (and hang around on) very specialised blogs, about some specific issue, be it aviation, food or just whatever the person's thinking at the time. The latter is kind of annoying, as most bloggers can't write to save their lives. But others can. Others can write extremely good pieces that I would bet would make it to a newspaper.
I don't know what this blog is about. I wonder why random people would check in to see some drivel that just came to mind, but you'd be surprised.


Some people have remarkably focused blogs. But this one is the exact opposite. I know you're reading this now, but do you care about what happened to me today? Why should you? Twitter and Facebook to me are absolute jokes. Who the fuck cares what random thought you came up with? "Ate chicken at Almovar but it wasn't good."

What is that? That is not writing. But people comment on it anyway.

But it comes back to the question: what should a blog be about? I've realised that mine has degenerated into completely random entries, some of them meant to be funny, some to be absurd, and lots of rants. I use lots of expletives and I realise that can turn a lot of people off, but it's how I talk in real life (but not with everyone and certainly not with people I've just met).

The conclusion I've come to is that if you post something on your blog, write it as though you were writing for a newspaper. It might not seem to be at the time that actual people are reading your posts (I certainly didn't think anyone was reading anything on my previous pre-blog website, so I just posted anything I wished and didn't give a shit) but obviously there are people who visit this blog. I know I have a list of favorite blogs that I visit often and comment on. They're all extremely different.

I often post one-liners or some dumb joke that I just thought of, but is that good? Should I be saying what I did today, as many people do? Should I involve the names of people around me?

I joke around a lot. Hey, Dave called me a lunatic, and that's coming from a reputable source.

But I guess people like that. And I guess that's the only thing that matters. Just please stop coming to this blog by Googling "Spicy garlic dill pickles." All 100,098 of you can just go to Hell.