The 'Rona Comes Home

I wasn’t too worried about the tickle in my throat Friday night (9/1). That usually meant I was early for my annual cold, I already had one in May. I get the same cold every year, or at least I did up until the ‘Rona, and I began working from home. I’ve hardly been sick since 2019. My usual cold starts in the throat, migrates to my sinuses, I get tired and lethargic, and it eventually lands in my chest, until I can hack it all out. The whole process usually takes a couple of weeks.

Sweetpea said she had a headache behind her eyes earlier in the week, but I didn’t think much of that.

When I woke up Saturday morning, it was a whole different ballgame. I felt like about nine bags of fuck. I had a sore throat like I was trying to swallow ground glass, aches all up and down my body, especially around my back, chest congestion, and a splitting headache. And the problem with that was that every time I had to cough, (which was often, as I tried to clear my chest and airway,) it felt like the top of my head was going burst open.

This was no gradual thing, more like,

Friday night: “Sweet dreams, don’t let the begbugs bite…”

Saturday morning: “Yaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! Welcome to Your Highway to Hell!”

At that point, I consulted a chart I had from 2020 at the onset of COVID. It looked to me like my symptoms lined up more with the flu than the ‘Rona, where I had 7 of the top 8 symptoms. (I did not have the trots.)

Also, I could still taste my food and drink, which I considered the telltale sign that it wasn’t COVID. So I just took some meds to fight the symptoms and waited for my immune system to kick in.

Sunday and Monday were even worse, with the headache intensifying. Nice long weekend, huh? I would get up around nine, have breakfast and do my crossword puzzles, then go back to bed about 11 and stay there for 2-3 hours. I was just beat. I ate a lot of soup, because that’s what I could swallow with the least amount of difficulty. I also lost 5 pounds, so if you want to jump start some weight loss, consider the Soup Diet.

By Tuesday, the headache let up and the body aches went away, and my throat was much less sore. I still had chest and sinus congestion, was easy to tire out. And just when I could swallow comfortably again, I lost the sense of taste.

At that point, Sweetpea and I both took at-home COVID tests and we tested positive.

Dammit! I had avoided it all this time. It wasn’t hard for us to figure out that Sweetpea brought it back to the house from her week of teachers training meetings she had the prior week. (I literally had not left the house for the preceding week.) But her symptoms were much less severe than mine. She just had the headache, some fatigue, and also lost taste.

By Wednesday, my headache and sore throat were gone, I had less chest congestion, but a dry cough at night at times. And my sense of taste returned; Sweetpea’s came back a couple days later. But as such, I lost my opportunity to eat a year’s worth of broccoli and other vegetables I can’t stand, but are good for me. I guess I’ll have to wait until next time.

From Thursday on, I’ve just had mild but clingy chest and sinus congestion, but my energy has been much better. I don’t have any reason to think it won’t continue to fade away, but I’m keeping an eye on things.

It’s been about a year since my last COVID booster and flu shot, so I’ll be anxious to go get jabbed as soon as they release the new versions for fall. I’m grateful that the previous shots kept me out of the hospital.

Yes, my case could have been much worse, but man, I do NOT want to replay those first three days again for anything! That was a truly miserable experience.

Take it from me: get your shots and take distancing and masking seriously.

That's the Vax, Jack!

Beware the next apparent affront to personal freedom, the “Vax Passport.” Right-wingers are already going nuts over the thought that there might be some kind of requirement for proof of vaccination before being allowed to participate in various formerly common endeavors.

I touched on this last December when debunking a meme claiming Liberals loved Vax IDs but not Voter IDs.

“If people are going to want the regain the freedoms to eat out, see movies or otherwise assemble without wearing masks, they’re going to have to demonstrate that they’ve had the shot. It’s not like you could take someone’s word on it. People are already lying about having “a medical condition” that keeps them from wearing a mask. So if not a card, then what? Chip implants under our skin? I’m pretty sure the Right would kibosh that on the basis that we’re already getting “chipped” by Bill Gates and the vaccine.

“They also ought to have something to differentiate someone from having one shot versus having both. Different colored cards, maybe? Or they can combine it with the flu shot or shingles shot and make it a punch card. After five shots you get a free small order of fries.”

Only Republicans would complain about life not being the way they want it and then actively work against efforts to make so. Look, this isn’t about some amorphous idea of “freedom,” this is the life and livelihood of everyone in the country at stake. They want you to show IDs to vote; how is that allowable, while showing you’re not at risk for COVID is not? (You know, using rational arguments, not “but we’ll lose otherwise!”) Whenever there’s a public need to do something, you can count on the Republicans to cry “But freedom…” Judging from their reactions to Michelle Obama, it includes eating their vegetables too.

A lot of it is because their news sources are awash in disinformation. People are railing against Biden’s involvement, yet there is no government-run proposal even on the table. So far, this is a 100% private enterprise.

Republicans went to the mat to have the law codify that businesses can’t be forced to serve people they don’t want to serve. Explain how denying service to someone who could be carrying a deadly virus is wrong and denying service to someone you don’t agree with is right.

If they really want to fight the prospective vax-passport, they should try another angle. When I first wrote about needing to prove you had the vaccinations, we didn’t quite know what they would do. I was under the impression that it would ward off catching the virus. Now they say you can still catch it, still spread it, but the vaccine keeps you from getting seriously ill.

So if you can still catch and spread, what’s the point of identifying who’s had the shot? Everyone should still be masking up until herd immunity is achieved.

Maybe it has something to do with business liability. People who don’t get deathly ill are unlikely to sue the establishment where they caught the bug or the municipality that approved the business rules. As usual in modern America, lawsuit avoidance is driving the culture.

It just sounds like more security theater to me, like taking our shoes off at the airport. But if a vax passport will allow me to do more of what I want to do, I’m in. No skin off my butt.

And now, onto some of our customary debunkery.

OK, Seuss again… the right-wing complaint that just won’t die.

First, let me say that I’d have a lot more respect (like 3% instead of 0%) for their reverence for the author if they could manage to spell his freakin’ name right.

So, Mr. Meme Writer, you’re saying that all of popular music should be designed for the needs of pre-schoolers? Surely there can be different standards between rap songs and children’s books. There is with movies and TV shows. Yes, you say? Then what’s the problem?

Obviously, hardcore rap is for older kids and Dr. Seuss is not. End of controversy. And again, let me emphasize that the publishers pulled the (6) books, not public uproar. They merely had the sense to look at the offending pages with fresh eyes and go, “Yeah, this really doesn’t fly anymore.”

I think the subtext is probably important here because what this really is, is another swipe at rap from an aging white man. But to just come out and say that would be racist so they have to come at it another way.

And now, another of the Former Guy’s greatest hits, The Wall.

Right off the bad, if your meme features Kid Rock, I guarantee it’s wrong. It starts wrong and just gets wronger. Here’s the rundown:

·        The wall does not and cannot keep “illegals” out. It is incomplete and can be gone around, over, and under. It’s the least effective way to control illegal immigration, a vanity project, and total waste of tax dollars.

·        No one “sent an invite.” This is a seasonal surge, less, even, than the one last year. The only difference is a change in plans regarding unaccompanied children. That added to crowding, but the “another guy” has people working on getting the kids processed rather than just keeping them penned up indefinitely.

·        The wall has not been taken down. It was really never even there… just pieces, which are still in place.

·        The “free room and board” is a holding chamber. Granted, these accommodations would probably be an upgrade for the MAGA crowd but they’re trying to infer that they’re being put up at a Hilton.

·        There is plenty of blame to go around because this has been a problem for generations. But the Former Guy is the one who dismantled the whole processing apparatus without clear plans for what to do next. The idea (conceived by Messrs. Bannon and Miller), was to make it such a tragic clusterfuck that no one would even bother trying to come in anymore. All they succeeded in doing was making turning our country into a joke. We used to be an example for the rest of the world. We still are, except now it’s an example of what not to do. It’s an example of where kowtowing to white nationalism gets you.

Debunkery - The Turkey-Stuffed Edition

Happy Cyber Monday! I hope you’ve awoken from your food coma. I feel like I’ve just gotten up from a 4-day feast, (mostly because I have.) I was off work since Wednesday so it feels like all I’ve done was sit at tables and eat various arrangements of carb and calorie-laden dishes. That’s another reason I’m thankful to be employed. If I was home all day, I’d probably never stop eating. Maybe I should rethink retirement. Or eat more vegetables. (Nah.)

As I perused the social media sites over the break, I found a fresh batch of BS to pick apart. Leave it to Family Values Conservatives to repeatedly miss the point. Like with this one:

This is an easy one because only half of this is true. Guess which half.

That’s right, it’s the second half. There is nothing truthful about California banning the Bible, thus negating the entirety of the inferred message.

The root of the misconception came from a hard-right media outlet, who during a Q and A, twisted California’s banning of gay conversion therapy into banning the bible. The thinking goes:

Some religious people believe homosexuality is a sin. Sinners can be redeemed if they repent, so they must be able to pursue treatment. California banned gay-conversion therapy; therefore, California banned the Bible.

And then blaming a natural disaster like a wildfire on a piece of legislation meant to keep people from being tortured? Please.

Gay conversion is a barbaric system of abuse that results in lasting damage done to the object of this “therapy” and has been disavowed as quackery by professional medical and psychiatric organizations.

The creator of this statement is either a con-artist who knowingly published this twisted logic because he knows that people will believe anything if it aligns with their worldview, or he’s as gullible as he is mean. Let that sink in.

***

This is another well-traveled road, which always leads to the same place.

It’s always some kind of binary equation that doesn’t have to be. As if you can’t accomplish anything unless (X-issue, usually homeless vets but not necessarily) is addressed first.

What it really is, is a good way to avoid doing anything. Conservatives love to deny help to anyone unless something is done about homeless veterans. Yet they never actually do anything about homeless veterans or even propose anything to help.

Republicans have had unlimited power since Trump took office. Where are the bills to help homeless vets? Any riders tacked on to funding bills? Any bills to address the decades-long problems at the VA?

Nope. Just a lot of righteous indignation at the prospect of helping someone else, especially brown people.

Here’s a news flash: We could accomplish both if Republicans actually wanted to. But they’re afraid they might have to give up some tax cuts for the rich, so anything proposed to help these other two communities is a non-starter.

Then the rich, in order to keep the spigot of tax dollars flowing, spend millions via Fox “News,” talk radio, and social media to convince poorly educated Americans that a bunch of brown women and children are a threat to their own existence, who then go on to create cynical memes like this.

***

Let’s not forget the police and military fetishists, who think their heroes can do no wrong.

This is only a statement of opinion, so there’s no technical “debunking’ do to here, just a counterpoint that there are problem employees in every field and police and the military are not exempt.

Any familiarity with the news over the past 10 years clearly shows that there is a significant amount of police officers who are scared stiff of black men and others who don’t even see them as humans. The “shoot first and ask questions later” attitude is going to tear this country apart, as unarmed black men are being killed right and left, especially as conservatives keep throwing out “more guns” as the solution.

As this weekend’s news showed, a “good guy with a gun” is only the solution when it’s a “white guy with a gun.” Black men need not apply, lest they be immediately mistaken for the perp and fired upon.

Yes, I appreciate the dedication it takes to enter into the military and law enforcement. Yes, I appreciate the bravery it takes to excel at the job. But goddammit, they can’t keep killing innocent people and expect it to be taken as the cost of doing business.

I’ve said it before, but this problem will not go away until the people doing the policing are the same color as the ones being policed. As long as people of one color are fearful of and hostile to those of another, neither side can effectively police the other. We will have a tinderbox on our hands that will flame up and burn everything in sight.

I readily acknowledge that there are tremendous people doing dangerous work as police officers, who work long hours for insufficient pay. But there are also some jacked up, power-mad thugs who enjoy wielding their power over those with none.

And they must still be in the mix because these police killings of armed and unarmed innocent people just don’t stop. You’d think that with all the negative attention that goes to these killings, there would be a concerted effort to stem the flow of innocent blood. The news tells us otherwise.

***

To end on a lighter note, here’s something that made me laugh out loud last week. I probably should have saved it for Easter but I’d have forgotten about it by then.

 Bonzai!

How You Can Tell if I'm Losing my Shit

I’m so happy to see baseball season here again!  I’ve been to two games so far, Wednesday night and Sunday afternoon.

This year, I resolved not to make the mistake of buying tickets when they first go on sale.  Every time I do that; when game day comes, it’s crappy out.  So this year I vowed not to buy any tickets until I’ve seen a weather forecast.  I went Wednesday because it was the first game after Opening Day and I was pretty antsy to go see a game.

It’s funny… Opening Day drew a sellout crowd… 44,000-plus people.  The very next game?  Not so much.

Attendance announced at 12,600. Most were dressed as empty seats.

What a difference between the first and second games of the year.

I had a nice spot, 1^st row of the upper deck, behind home plate.  But it was cold and windy and I was rapidly having less fun as the night went on.  With the Orioles up 4-1, I made a break for it in the 6^th inning and was home in time to watch the end.

Sunday, I saw it would still be cold, but sunny.  Game time temperature was about 48.  But I bought a seat where I knew I’d be in the sun the whole time; 3^rd row up from the left field wall.  It was fun and I got on TV again.  (I’d run the picture but due to my Orioles hoodie, I’m only identifiable as a big orange blob.)

These two games were the first times I ever tried to use the “iPhone Wallet” app.  When I got my tickets, I had the options to print or add to Wallet app, or both.  I did both, for a couple of reasons.

First, I wanted to try the Wallet app because it’s the new shiny thing.  And it’s easier to deal with than trying to fish the paper ticket out of my pocket.  I have to have my phone out of my pocket anyway, when I go through the entrance metal detector.

My e-ticket from Sunday.

But I still like to have the paper ticket for the souvenir and for tradition.  Having both means of ticketing allows me to have a backup system in case something goes wrong, like if I lose the paper ticket or my phone runs out of juice.  (I won’t even consider the possibility of losing the phone.)

As you may know, I keep all my stubs and after the game, record the score and attendance on them.  Sitcom Kelly and I have had extensive conversations about my ticketing quirks, for example, that I don’t like printing paper tickets (although not so much that I forego the convenience of buying tickets online over getting standard cardboard tickets from the box office). 

The paper tickets are printed on a full page; then after the game, I cut out the “ticket-shaped” portion for permanent storage.  I always print them in color too; the better to simulate a traditional ticket stub.

Last summer, Sitcom Kelly and I were going to a game and she ordered our tickets online.  When she gave them to me, she said, “Sorry, there’s a fold in the ticket.”

I said, “That’s OK, I’ll smooth it out with the iron when I get home.”

I was totally joking, but she never even questioned it.  She just assumed it was just another one of those weird things I do.  She’s so used to all my strange habits and quirks; she figured this was just one more.

It cracked me up because it made me wonder what exactly I’d have to do in order for my friends to think I lost my marbles.  See, it wouldn’t be the normal stuff… It’d have to be on a whole different plane.

So as a public service... or rather, a personal service, here’s a list of ways you can tell if Bluz’s elevator is no longer going all the way to the top:

• You see him eating vegetables with more than one syllable.
• He only takes one trip through the buffet line.
• He watches PBS.
• He finds his car in a crowded parking lot, right away.
• He turns on a Top-40 radio station.  Or any radio station.
• He books a trip to a third-world country.  On purpose.
• You hear him say, “No, I don’t want another drink.”
• He says something nice about the Baltimore Ravens.
• Wears an item of clothing without mojo implications, on game day.
• He answers the phone when the caller ID says “Unavailable.”
• He approaches a stranger and starts a conversation.
• He goes for a drive.
• He turns on a golf match on TV.
• He opens the hood of his car, without jumper cables or windshield washer fluid in his hands.
• He puts small, decorative pillows on the bed.
• You see him cleaning behind a large appliance or piece of furniture.
• He’s jogging.

Please; if you should witness this or any similar activity, please summon a representative from the Charm City Home for the Bewildered.

Quick Hits and Odd Bits

Let’s fire up that browser because it’s time to play, “Hey Bluz, what do you think of…”

…Obama trying to close Guantanamo Bay?

I don’t see what the problem is.  It kind of cracks me up.  I keep hearing “We don’t want to bring terrorists onto American soil.”

I say, it’s a big assumption that these people will ever see anything resembling “soil.”  I don’t see the harm in throwing known terrorists into the deepest, darkest jail cells we have and introducing them to some of the righteously convicted Americans dwelling within.

“You want to hate America?  We’ll give you something to hate America over.”

And as far as where to put any newly located terrorists, we don’t seem to be capturing them as much as blowing them the fuck up.

…President Obama not attending Nancy Reagan’s funeral?

Completely manufactured outrage.

The last line defines Obama’s entire presidency. It’s only a big deal because it’s Obama.

Same goes for the first lady.  I still can’t rationally understand why Michelle Obama gets so much shit.  Is fighting childhood obesity and growing a vegetable garden really that big of a deal?  Hell, it’s what your mother told you throughout your childhood…

“Put that junk down and eat your vegetables.”

Maybe it was just mine.

Then there are also those memes you see on Facebook lamenting our lack of a “classy” first lady.  Seriously?  I’ve never seen Mrs. Obama do anything that wasn’t classy or appropriate for the occasion. 

She is a first lady of our times and our times are not the 1940s or 1960s.  Oh, and she can’t be found online starring in nudie “modeling” pictures either, like one of our prospective first ladies.  Can’t seem to locate any public outrage over that development.

And if Michelle Obama ever spent $200,000 of anyone’s money to buy new china for the Whitehouse, like Mrs. Reagan did, Fox “News” would have a new graphics package up and the GOP Senate would have an investigation committee appointed so fast our teacups would spin.

I wonder what it is that makes Mrs. Obama so much different from the other two…  Hmmm.  What could it be?

…that 30+ hour filibuster in Missouri to try to scuttle a bill allowing discrimination via religious wavers?

It ultimately failed, so now state law allows the good, God-fearing, sincerely believing people of Missouri to pick a single item from the Bible and use it to deprive their neighbors of their civil rights.  Ain’t religion wonderful?

So who’s going to deny flower service to a wedding reception serving shrimp and scallops?  Hmm?  The same guy who says men laying with men is a sin said the same thing about shellfish.  Funny, I don’t hear anyone taking that part seriously.  Where are the pickets outside Red Lobster?

Could it be some conservatives are using religion to ban behavior they find icky?

Nah, couldn’t be.  At least not until one of their own kids comes out. 

…That Dad who protected his son from a flying baseball bat?

I admit, my first thought was that maybe Dad should have let it go and taught the boy a lesson, that you should pay attention when you’re sitting down there in the danger zone.

But no, I don’t really want to see some kid get conked like that.  But that’s totally a teaching moment.  Get your nose out of your phone, kid, and watch the game.

Yes, I know he was sending his mom a picture, but that’s what the inning breaks are for.  If you’re sitting down there, low along the baselines, you have to be alert at all times.  Otherwise, we’re going to end up with netting all the way around the damn ballpark, and where’s the fun in that?

…the 4-year old boy who shot her gun-enthusiast mother through the back seat of the car?

First of all, I’m glad she wasn’t killed and no one else was injured.  Secondly, that’s still pretty damned funny, if you ask me. 

If a “Second Amendment Activist” doesn’t have enough sense to keep her loaded handgun out of reach from her 4-year old, while she’s driving and unable to keep watch on the kid, where exactly are the common sense gun rights supporters?

I suppose the only answer is to get more 4-year olds with guns.  I can see it now… “Gunfight at the OK Daycare Center.”

…Republicans think it’s Obama’s fault there is violence at Trump rallies.

I agree, Obama is completely culpable.  He had the audacity to be black and the president at the same time.  He should have known better going in.

…everyone bellyaching about switching to daylight savings time?

I can’t believe this is a thing.  It’s been a fact of life since 1918.   That means every single person in this country has grown up with it.  Why exactly are we unable to cope with it now?

To me, it’s a mild irritation on a Sunday, but by Monday, it’s back to business as usual.  I still go to bed at 11 and still wake up at 6.  All year long, the same hour sees a different level of light.

I say, quit bellyaching, get up and go the fuck to work.  If it’s dark, sit tight; it will be light momentarily.  And if your kids are pitching a fit, maybe just take them to a baseball game and hand them your phone to play with.

Odd Bits - The Cold Cuts Edition

I know I covered this back in 2011, but here it is again.  Another female high school teacher has been arrested for “cleaning the erasers” with a male student.

As I asserted in a previous post, I fail to see the problem here.  To me, it sounds more like “The Year I Won at High School.”  So it cracked me up where in the article, they keep referring to the kid is The Victim.  (Yes, I know they don’t identify minors by name when they’re a “victim” of a sex “crime.”)

I guarantee this kid will be bragging to his friends about this story for the rest of his life.  “Victim,” my eye.  Sure, the teacher cleaned and polished the kid’s eraser in a closet at school.  But also notice that they had two other encounters at her place.  Think she tied him up and dragged him there?  That kid followed his pecker over there like it was a divining rod.

And not only that, he filmed an encounter on his phone.  You think he was “collecting evidence,” like it was a congressional “investigation?”  Hell no.  That was earmarked for the spank bank.

I just wonder about the teacher.  I know she was really young, (24) but I keep thinking, “Come on, lady, I’m sure you can do better than some boy…”  It’s not like 24-year old men are all old and over the hill…  So while she’s not exercising the best judgment, I can see her getting fired from the school.  But I don’t think she needs to go to jail. 

Maybe sentence her to 30 days on Match.com instead.

I Keep Telling Everyone, But No One Listened

Ah HA!  I knew it!  A new study just came out that said vegetarians are less healthy and have a lower quality of life than meat-eaters.  Revenge is mine!

How long have I been saying that vegetables are evil?  Huh?  For as long as I’ve had a blog, that’s how long.  All you vegetarians and vegans with your special diets and gluten-free this and non-dairy that… We omnivores get the last laugh!

OK, I’m done gloating now.  The truth is, I don’t really even fully buy the study’s conclusion, because they seem to make a lot of assumptions.  If you read carefully, there are a number of other factors that influence one’s health, like alcohol intake and smoking.   And a meat-heavy diet does come with legitimate concerns about obesity, clogged arteries and risk of heart attack.

But still, it’s nice to have a little support from the scientific community.  And now, bacon for everyone!

 The Dream

Great.  Flaming. Jesus.  I had the most unbelievable and traumatic dream Sunday night.  Check this out…

I was playing soccer, and got tangled up with another player, and we both went down in a heap.  When I got up, I realized that “Bluz Jr.” had been nearly sliced off and was hanging by a tiny strip of skin.  In fact, the top half came right off in my hand.

And I remember thinking (within the dream), “Damn, that’s the good part.”  No guy wants to live without the Angry Inch

You know how we guys are about our junk.  We’re highly protective of our little buddies. 

(Disclaimer: Not an actual willy.)

Though clearly unhappy about my schlong being reduced to a schlort, I was remarkably composed about the whole incident, which had been surprisingly painless.  (That should have been my first clue that it was a dream.)  Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a sort of “common room” that you might find in the main area of a frat house.   It appeared to be a house full of medical students.  Perhaps I was playing college intermural soccer.

Anyway, with the better half of Bluz Jr still in my hand, and the other half suffering from boneus interruptus, I asked the room if they might be able to find a way to put this thing back on, because I was pretty sure I was going to need it.  In fact, I had to pee right then.  There seemed to be a murmur in the room, as they discussed my plight and I considered what it might be like to live without a wang.

And then… I was never as glad as I was right then, to wake up in my own bed.  An immediate examination determined that Bluz Jr was just fine.  And all was well again in the land of Bluz.  Even if he didn’t have anywhere to go just yet, he still has potential.

So now: WTF????  Any of you amateur Freuds out there want to take a shot at what that meant?

Freud and So-crates… the Dream Team

First of all, me? Playing soccer???  I haven’t played a competitive game of soccer since gym class in junior high, and that was a one-off.  Where in the hell did that come from?  Just because I was a fan of Mia Hamm, doesn’t mean I wanted my lunch meat sliced.

My first instinct is to tie it to my experience of my boomerang relationship that just bounced out of the apartment.  Could that have been my brain processing the loss of autonomy that the relationship represented?  But if so, why did I have the dream when it was over, rather than when it was still going on?

Maybe it had something to do with my anti-vegetarianism, by making me consider a life without meat.

Or maybe it was a message for me to be less cocky.

Either way, you can bet your ass I’m never playing soccer again.

Vacation: First Intermission

Greetings from scenic Whitehouse, Ohio, Motto: Ain't I seen you around here before?

First off, I'm attempting this post via iPad, so any bizarre spellings or syntax errors are due to the Auto-correct function.  Oh, and so are all the errors in all 692 of my previous posts... Yeah, that's it...

The flight was  uneventful, if you don't count my sitting in Screaming Baby and Kicking Child Central. The 4-year old little shit behind me kicked my seat roughly every six minutes, from Baltimore clear to Detroit, no matter how often his daddy told him to stop.

If only there was more room in the overhead bins...

Meanwhile, I kept thinking back to what Pinky told me before I left: "Now be careful... You can't drink like you're a teenager any more."

To my way of thinking, I'm three times as old, so I should be able to drink three times as much.  But I kept that line of reasoning to myself.

My buddy John picked me up right on time and in no time, we were rolling dirty down I-75, heading for Toledo.  John was anxious to show off the new Bose speakers in his car, so I brought my digitally recorded CD of the Scorpions, with the Berlin Philharmonic.  My car speakers don't do it justice.  John's, however, certainly did.  As we were rocking out to "Rock You Like a Hurricane," cars in the other lanes were yelling, "Come on, turn that down... I can't hear my own passengers... With the windows UP!"

After picking up John's dad, (and turning the stereo down), Rik and his son Jake joined us at our regular haunt, Shawn's Irish Tavern.  After filling up on beer, food, and fellowship, we made a supply (beer) run and headed for the Dad Cave.

Usually my first night in town entails a long, noisy Garage Party, but Friday night also had our high school All Years Reunion.  We went to it last year, but I never saw anyone I knew from my class.  Sadly, this year was no different, so we spent the time yakking amongst ourselves, and the couple people I knew from non-school scenarios. (My buddys' assorted friends and relatives.)  

Eventually, we drifted back over to Shawn's.  We might have left earlier but John bought a lot of drink tickets at the outset, and was given more during the course of the night, so I felt we couldn't let them go to waste.  Friends don't let friends waste beer.

Saturday was pretty chill, after working it pretty hard the night before.  I got to enjoy a classic Northern Ohio thunderstorm that evening, complete with ominous clouds, giant bolts of lightning, and of course, crashing thunder.

This was the storm rolling in.  It looked much more ominous at the time.  I have better shots on my actual camera; this was all I got on the iPad.

Sunday morning, I got to reacquaint myself with a long lost friend:

My mother's nightmare... Her eldest eating Pop Tarts for breakfast.  "Revenge is mine!!"

On Sunday, we had two events scheduled.  First off, John grilled a turkey.  He had the grill lit by 9:30 and we were munching bird by 4:00.

The trick is to keep the coals on the right side, and the bird on the left. There's a vent by the coals and the smoke pipe over the turkey.  That brings the smokey heat right across, thus infusing the whole thing with a rich, hickory flavor.  Stuffed with sausage and onion, the whole thing was delectable.

I also heard there were vegetables present, but I can't confirm or deny.

There's no doubt that I wasn't the ONLY one that had enough turkey...

The Chairman of Fuck-Off, resting up for a big night.

Rik's daughter Kia came by as well.  This was the first time I got to meet her youngest, 8-month old Brogan, aka the Happiest Baby in the World.

Just look at that face!  He was like that the whole time.

Ready for the Mudhens game!

After dinner, we had a date with the Toledo Mudhens.  We sat in the last section down the left field line, before the outfield wall.  Sunday was the only day we could all make a game before the Hens went on the road, so we had to take it.  We didn't know it would be Fireworks Night, AND Kids Run the Bases Night.  I wish they would have Grownups Run the Bases night.  Probably too many drunks would face-plant along the way.  I'm not sure I could make it all the way around any more.  But when I got home and Pinky asked me how my trip was, I could say, "Well, I got to 2nd base Sunday night."

Of course I'd probably have to walk home from the airport...

I'll have more news as the week progresses.  The forecast... Lots of baseball.  We have Jake's game tonight, and a Tigers game on Thursday afternoon.  And I'm sure there will be beer sprinkled liberally throughout the week.  And tomorrow, I get to re-engage with another old friend, Myles Pizza.

This week may kill me.  Why can't I be 18 again?

Meat Me in Baltimore

Today I had the best work-lunch I’ve ever had.  My boss and I and her other 3 direct reports went to a Brazilian steakhouse called Fogo de Chão.  (foe-goe dee shoun) At first I thought that a “Brazilian” steakhouse would mean that the meat has all the trimmings ripped off of it with wax, but I was assured otherwise.  Fogo (not to be confused with Fubu) is a steakhouse where throughout your meal, the “gauchos” keep bringing to your table, hunks of different meats on a skewer, which they will cut off onto your plate if you so desire.

Apparently, “Churrascaria” is Brazilian for “Meat-O-freakin’-Rama.”

Holy crap, I tell you, I ate until I couldn’t move. 

When you first come in, they try to misdirect you by telling you all about the salad bar.  I mostly ignored that part because it was pretty much full of vegetables.  Well, to be fair, they also had exotic cheeses and fruits, smoked salmon, salami, prosciutto, artichokes, asparagus, mushrooms, various olives and other Mediterranea. 

This is one of the ends.  All the veggie/fruity stuff are along the sides; this is the meat and cheese side.  You can see the giant bowl of bacon on the bottom right, which is considerably less heaping than it was when we walked in.

For someone like Cassie, the salad bar her could be a banquet in and of itself.  But as you might remember from this post, I am not a vegetable guy.  In fact, I think they’re evil.  Regardless, the last thing I want to do during an all-you-can-eat meat-a-thon is fill up the salad bar.  But they also had a giant bowl of bacon, so I had to at least give that a try, along with some cheese.  It was the meatiest bacon I’ve ever had… not greasy at all, just crispy and perfect.

Bacon and Swiss!

At the table, everyone has a little cardboard disc that’s red on one side and green on the other.  When you’re ready to bring on the meat, you flip the disc from red to green.  Once you do, you are treated to a steady stream of dudes bringing you giant slabs of meat on a skewer.  You can ask for any level of “done-ness” and they will carve off the appropriate piece to meet your taste.  They can even carve off whole pieces from the top part of the skewer, where you’d think you’d have to slide off whatever was on the bottom.  It was very slick.

Hunk-O-Meat!

When you’ve had enough, or just want to work on what you’ve got, you flip your disc back to red.  It was all I could do, though, to remember not to put my water glass on it, like a coaster.

But you guys… it was So. Freaking. Good.

That’s a rib, bacon rolled chicken, part of a sausage, and a slice of Filet Mignon.  You can see the green disk at the upper right.

Slice of sirloin, the same rib, bacon-wrapped chicken, and the same Filet. The little 'grabbers' there at the upper right are to help the gaucho put the meat on the plate after he slices it off. Also note that the disc has been turned to red, so that I could catch up.

Two slices of lamb, (the rib bone), sirloin, and part of a pork loin.

I know it doesn’t look like there’s much going on here, but every time you eat a piece, a gaucho brings another option.  You rarely had very much on your plate at one time.  Each kind of meat was so good; you just had to try everything.  Also, as we learned at the end of the meal, the guys that bring out the meat are the same guys that cook it!  I wish I would have known that earlier, so I could have complimented appropriately.  Same goes for my boss.  Not only did she want to take one of the slabs of meat home, she wanted the gaucho to come and carve it off for her too.

There were so many variations…

Picanha (prime sirloin),

Bacon-wrapped Filet Mignon,

Alcatra (top sirloin),

Lombo (parmesan cheese encrusted pork loin),

Frango (Bacon-wrapped chicken breast),

Cordeiro (lamb leg and chops),

and also Beef Ancho (ribeye), Fraldinha (bottom sirloin), pork ribs,  and Linguica (pork sausages).

It’s not just that they were a bunch of different cuts of meat; they were all seasoned differently.  And all of them were tender and juicy… just perfect.  My favorites were the Filet Mignon and the pork loin.  And the bacon chicken.  And their “house specialty,” which was one of the sirloin options that had an unbelievable seasoning.

They also have mashed potatoes, light, fluffy cheesy rolls, polenta and caramelized plantains for the table.

As my cube-mate at work once said, “I ate ‘til I got stupid.”  I definitely did not need dinner tonight.  But boy, did I ever need a nap this afternoon…

Fogo is not cheap, but you knew that coming in.  Lunch came to about $40 per person (after tip), and that was with everyone drinking water and no desserts.

We tried to float the option of going there last year, as a group activity for the department.  But because there wasn’t the budget to pay for the whole thing, people would have to pick up part of the tab themselves.  That got the idea voted down right quick.  But we, (those that wanted to go anyway), filed the idea away for another day.  To me, $40 for the best lunch ever was a no-brainer.  Can’t wait to go again… (Like in two or three months, when this lunch has finally digested.

I had a thought as I was there… could you imagine if a football team came in for dinner?  Holy cow, Fogo would go Broke-O that night.  How much beef do you think this guy can eat?

Casey Hampton, aka The Big Snack, nose tackle for the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Now add in all the other monster linemen on the team.  I bet if the guy came over with a big skewer of meat, Big Snack would go, “Just leave it, man.”

I then see him picking up the skewer and eating the meat off it like corn-on-the-cob.

Director’s DVD Commentary: Obviously, this is not a paid or requested restaurant review.  It’s just me talking about today’s lunch.  BUT, if the kind people at Fogo de Chão would care to put me on their payroll as a taster, that would be swell.

If you’re interested, there are other Fogo locations in Austin, Dallas, Houston and San Antonio TX, Beverly Hills CA, Chicago IL, Denver CO, Indianapolis IN, Kansas City MO, Miami FL, Minneapolis MN, Philadelphia PA, Scottsdale AZ and Washington DC.  Plus, you know… Brazil.

The stock pictures come from the Fogo website.

The Bluzdude Rules of Vegetables

While I’m out here in Ohio eating enough grilled meat to choke a horse, I’m reminded of one of my earliest posts, in which I discuss, quite rationally, my likes and (mostly) dislikes regarding vegetables.  Just in case you think I’m arbitrary in that matter…

I read last week that not only do fruits and vegetables not taste as good as they did in your grandparent’s day, produce today is 5-40% lower in minerals than those grown 50 years ago.

I don’t have anything against fruit. They make candy, cereal, and Pop Tarts in fruit flavors, so it must be pretty good. Even the Vitamin C tablets taste good, kind of like a fortified Sweet Tart.

Vegetables, on the other hand… well… have you ever heard of Frosted Spinach Pop Tarts? How about Tropical Broccoli Lifesavers? There’s a reason for that.

Vegetables are evil and I’ve never trusted them. Now I find out they’re losing whatever scant upside they had to begin with? The only reason Moms have now to force-feed the peas to her horrified offspring is just to see the look on their faces.

It seems as good a time as any to revisit some of my “produce” from the past called: “The Rules of Vegetables”. I know that this blog is too new to be starting with reruns, but my plan all along was to bring over some of the favorites from the old site.  (Yes, this is a rerun of a rerun.  So sue me...)

People have always called me a fussy eater, especially when it comes to vegetables. I never thought so, but when confronted with the evidence, I had to scramble for logical reasons why I like what I like. Thus was born the Rules of Vegetables. For the longest time, it’s just been something I’ve explained to people, as a kind of performance art, but recently a friend asked me to forward it to one of his friends, and I realized that I had nothing to forward. I rectified the situation and now I proudly present, “My Rules of Vegetables.”

My Rules of Vegetables

1. The more syllables there are in the name, the worse they are.  The good veggies have 1 syllable… Peas, beans, corn.

  · Veggies with 2 syllables are good raw, but not cooked… carrots, peppers, spinach. (even Popeye didn’t cook his spinach.)

  · After that, the more syllables you add, the worse they become… asparagus, cauliflower. Any vegetable that gets compared to a boxer’s ear can’t be good for you.

2. There are several conditions that act as “multipliers” of badness. The more of these conditions that are present, the worse the taste of the vegetable.

  · Veggies that end in a vowel… broccoli, zucchini, origami. There must be something especially potent about a double “C”, which makes broccoli into my personal kryptonite.

  · Double letters… Brussels sprouts, eggplant. Regarding eggplant, I could also add that purple vegetables are also bad, but I don’t want to sound petty, or biased against “vegetables of color.”

  · Any veggie with a “Q” in it. Or as I call it, “The Squash Rule”. This rule also encompasses any little used letters, like “Z” or “X”. I don’t know if there are any vegetables with “X” in it, but if there are, I’m sure I won’t like it.

My Rules of Meat

The rules of meat are much simpler, and hark back to a simpler time when the menfolk found themselves hungry, they left the cave and went out a’huntin’.

1. Meat is Good.

2. Organs are Bad.

I’m quite certain that when the pack went out and brought down a mastodon or something, that the roasted the meat right there on the spot. This routine became the earliest know evidence of “grilling out”. (And the one thing that always helped get the fire started was the mastodon’s bushy tail, hence the enduring term, “tailgating”.)

Everyone participated in the hunt, except the women and, of course, the French. So when they realized that they ate all the meat out there in the field, they looked for something they could bring back home to the missus. Now, they knew that bringing home nothing but the oddly shaped and weirdly colored scraps would get them a real ration of grief, so they figured they’d better come up with a plan.

So these wretched leftovers were presented, with great reverence and fanfare, as “the best parts, the parts where all the nutrition is!” (This is also the birth of “Marketing”, as we know it) This pre-historic bait and switch took hold right down to our DNA, and the remnants remain to be seen today. Next time you’re at “Henri’s Bistro”, just take a look at who’s ordering the pancreas, and who’s serving it. And you can just smile knowingly, as you order the pork chops. With corn.

A Temp Job

This is not my post you are seeing.  I mean, it’s a post, but it’s not a real post.  My real post today is somewhere else.

My blog friend Miley of Musings of a Confused Woman is taking a small sabbatical to try to get her shit together concentrate on some pressing personal issues and for some inexplicable reason, she asked me to do a guest post.  If she’s turning to the likes of me for material, you can tell just how far in the dumper her life must be right now.

Never being one to pass up a chance to plug my low-rent blog all over the Internet help out a friend, I agreed.  So this morning, you can find my latest brain droppings by clicking here.  OK, maybe it’s not my latest… it is, after all, a reconstituted reworking of a couple of old posts from back in the dark days, when no one knew I was defiling the Internet.  It’s now a well-reasoned, thought-provoking “think” piece on how vegetables are evil.

I know, I know, it’s blasphemy to defame an innocent food group that way.  But it could be worse… I could be posting shit like this:

Completely unrelated note:  Yesterday was 11/11.  I love that date.  Next year it’s going to be even better.  But yesterday, I leapt at every opportunity to write the date on stuff.  You can do it really fast… it’s like you’re counting to 5 on a tally sheet.

Yes, I am, as I often admit, easily amused. 

Now go click to Miley’s site and read my goofy shit over there.

(Please?)

Tricking Our Nation's Youth

Vegetables are in the news again… this time, it’s a study that finds that kids eat more vegetables if the have a cool name. It goes on to list X-Ray Vision Carrots, Power Peas and Dinosaur Broccoli Trees as names that got 4-year old kids to eat as much as 50% more of the vegetable.

Sorry, but color me dubious. I can just see what would have happened if my parents tried that crap on me.

Mother: “Here, honey, try some of these nice Dinosaur Broccoli Trees!”

Me: “Only if you want 50% more Super Technicolor Hurl all over your nice lacy tablecloth…”

You just can’t hide “heinous”, no matter what you call it. If cheese sauce can’t fix it, it can’t be fixed.

This reminds me of a story from when I first moved to Baltimore. I had quit my lousy retail job in New York and moved here to try to kick-start a new life and I was staying with my brother and his wife until I could get back on my feet.

One night after I had just started working again, I came home for dinner to the unmistakable smell of the heinous broccoli. No big deal… I could live with it on the table… no one was forcing me to eat it. (It pays not to be four years old sometimes.) So my sister-in-law puts down a big bowl of ravioli in a white sauce. Mmmmmmm, yummy. Funny, I didn’t see any of the dreaded broccoli, but whatever. Time to go to town on this ravioli. I took my first bite and …

{Clench}

My stomach totally seized up. Broccoli… it’s in there somewhere…
I looked inside the ravioli and didn’t see anything… I looked around the table. No broccoli in sight, nor was there anything else to eat. I didn’t want to make a fuss… I figured I’d just try to gut it out and finish my ravioli. I took another bite…

{Serious, almost about to hurl, clench}

No way… it was not going to go down quietly; this was going to get messy.

My brother must have seen my stricken expression and asked what was wrong.

I said, “Is there broccoli in this?”

My sister-in-law said, “I made it with Cream of Broccoli soup…”

Bingo. There’s the culprit.

My brother offered me some breaded chicken patties as an alternative. Sold!

So that was that…mystery solved, hurl avoided and lesson learned. Also, I figured it was just about time to get my own apartment.

Picture by Becca Bond