Flicks!!!

I could use a tube right now.
Funny thing though, I don't remember the tubes looking quite like that when I used to have them as a kid in SF. For some reason I seem to recall less small type, and more "Flicks" written all over the wrapper.

Anyways, I just got home from work about 25 minutes ago, and I'm now sitting down to this blog entry well sated. I was a bit hungry before I even walked in the door. A quick review of the pantry found a nice can of Kirkland chunk chicken in a can, which was whipped up into a very nice chicken salad with pickles and jalapeños in no time. I spread that on a bit of bread with a slice of sharp cheddar, and grilled it up in my nice big cast iron pan that had preheated while I was mixing up the other stuff. Dessert was a small palm full of Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolated chips, but as I sat there looking at the bag I imagined, or should I say fantasized about having a nice big ol' tube of those Flicks that my sister and I loved as children. She always made her's last longer, but that always seemed to be the case in those days. Whether it was an ice cream cone from 31 flavors, of which she almost always got bubble gum flavor so she could chew the gum long after the cone was gone, to a bag of fries from McDonalds, she always had much more patience than I.

I still power through a treat these days, and I imagine that's part of the reason I'm a fatty and she's still skinny.

Yeah, so along that same impulsive thread, I'm jumping on the Bento wagon. I've convinced myself, most assuredly falsely, that my sons will eat everything they should if we could simply make it fun looking in a colorful lunchbox with a Japanese flair. I've even ordered special Bento boxes for each boy, as well as one for myself, so that I can finally break out some of the Japanese cookbooks I've got in the library and try some dishes like Onigiri, even if I'm the only one who'll eat 'em, which I find actually likely. As a warmup though, I picked up some ingredients for a staple dish from Hawaii that I haven't had in years, Spam and egg Musubi. For more details about that simply hit the old youtube and search for Spam Musubi. So I picked up a couple cans of Spam the other day, and somehow the boys found the cans in the pantry and demanded some from Mel. She gave me quite a fright when she called me to tell me she was cooking. I almost called 911. Then she said the boys were fighting over the can of Spam and demanding it be served to them at once. My joy at their enthusiasm for a food they had never tried before overrode my terror that my wife would burn down our family's home.

Have I ever mentioned that I do the cooking in our house?

Yeah, so following a brief tutorial about the finer points of sautéing a nice piece of Spam, I think she must have done a fine job, because I found no leftovers when I got home, and was informed that the boys ate the whole tin in minutes. Woo-Hoo, maybe I'll be able to get 'em to try Musubi this weekend!

WooHoo! (again)

The Anise Plant

So I got a treasured recipe yesterday. It's an old family favorite, passed down generations and a genuine crowd pleaser. I have made this recipe many times, but I didn't have my own copy of it until now.

As a young man, when I was often broke come holiday seasons, I made goody baskets full of cookies for friends and family. These weren't filled with run-of-the-mill Toll House™ cookies, which I do love, but rather with rare treats the likes of which most don't get to partake.

I think my favorite to make, and the ones I most wanted to keep for myself were the biscotti. These traditional Italian cookies, baked till they were crispy, were great on their own and hard like a crouton. They rewarded the teeth with a good bite, yet once on the tongue they released the sweet blended flavors of butter, anise and nuts. If you didn't want to give your jaw a workout for this kind of experience then you had better have a proper freshly brewed coffee ready in waiting to baptize your little biscuits.

This recipe was typed on an old piece of paper, with handwritten notes along the margins and many stains. The paper had multiple creases and wrinkles from being stored in different locations and in between the pages of various books.

So now, without further ado, I DON'T give you the recipe.

Sorry, like my Alfredo sauce, this one doesn't get to go public. It's for family only, and if you aren't in my tree you don't get the recipe.

Don't let that get you down, though, as I am known to make these cookies in larger quantities, and they travel and store extremely well, so friends and acquaitances are highly likely to partake in the family treasure.

Family members who might wish to receive a watermarked and numbered recipe, complete with DRM that makes Apple's iTunes products look wimpy, contact me and be prepared to give hair and oral swab samples for DNA verification. Of course a non-disclosure agreement will be required and strictly enforced.

As for the Alfredo recipe, no one, save for one of my two sons (whichever one proves more worthy) will inherit that.

I gotta say I'm a bit concerned if...

This is what we have to look forward to with a national socialized health plan.

On that health related note, I have been really lax in my brewing as of late, and with Wally starting T-ball and the cold weather we had for the past couple months, I just haven't really be that into making any beer. Hopefully with Spring on the way I'll start back up and get some more beer made soon, because I only have about a 12'er left of my Bratwurst Brown Ale, and that's it. Well, that's it except for the California Common 12'er I made for my brother quite a while back, and I really need to shop that out to him. It was a good beer.

Next on my alcohol related wishlist at the moment is an after dinner drink. I'm on a mission to find Fernet-Branca in North Carolina. I imagine I'm going to be calling a few different ABC stores to find that one. It's a "Digestif", which is supposed to aid in soothing the stomach and aid in digestion. I'm really missing the ability one has in CA to simply pop into any local supermarket and buy a bottle of liquor. I find it ridiculous that the only place you can buy a bottle of alcohol in NC is from a state run liquor store, and at severly limited hours, yet you can go to a bar that simply posts "private club" on the door and drink all night long. Back in CA I'd be able to drop in at any one of hundreds of BevMo stores and have my choice of thousands of different products. Here in NC, if it ain't from a state approved distiller or ditributor you ain't getting it. No wonder this the land of NASCAR, born from the moonshiners driving hopped up cars around dirty back roads eluding the revenuers. The only people who have the free time to drive out of their way, and during the middle of the day, to a liquor store 'round these parts are the unemployed drunks. That's probably why there's always a few scooters out in front of the ABCs, as they don't require a license to drive in NC, so after a couple DUIs they can still get around town.

It's easier to get heroin in this state than it is to get a lesser know vodka.
(ETA- I've been advised by my attorney that I should add that I do not use/condone/purchase or in any other way partake in heroin, or any other illegal drugs for that matter. I'm perfectly happy with a couple beers, a nice glass of wine or a couple fingers of a fine liquor! The point is that in my own little community, here in SE NC, one doesn't have to look far back in the local newspaper's archive to find multiple heroin busts, even UNCW's campus, and it's obvious that the efforts of many to attempt to hide behind false morals and values while profiting on the closed marketing of alcohol is a joke, and that the time and effort spent on enforcing these pretend teetotaling virtues is wasting resources that could be better used to fight actual crime. )

I'll be here all week! [is this thing on?]

I've been having an evening of one liners.

"I loved the 80s even in the 70s..."

"You know it's good fish when it makes paper plates see-through..."

I'll have to fill in the blanks later, but for now ponder the greatness in my observances.

A belated Happy Birthday Ethan Matthew!

Some time ago, in October of 2007 I had the pleasure of writing a bit to welcome your big sister into the world . Back then I had some words of advice to give her, and I think that they'll be a good starting point for you. I did not write this kind of thing down for my own boys, but frequently it takes someone with more clout than ol' dad to get you kids to listen sometimes, and hopefully they'll pay attention if they feel their dad held out on them with some useful life lessons...

"Happy Birthday and welcome to the world.

You're going to be well cared for, and much loved.

Your family includes more than just your Mom and Dad. You're lucky enough to
be born with a bunch of people, like your grandparents, aunts and
uncles, and many cousins who are really looking forward to meeting you.
The great thing about this family is that they will love you before
they've even met you. In the future this will serve you well, as
there'll be days you want to talk to someone who loves you when you're
feeling low.

Your parents are very special people, but you might
need to show them a little patience. I guarantee that they will always
do what they believe is the right thing for you, even if you don't
understand or believe that at times. They have alot to learn, just like
you, so try not to be too hard on them. The nice thing for them is just
like the great thing you've got, family. If they ever need anything to
help bring you along through life they can count on their family, just
like you can, to lend a hand. Don't hesitate to ask if you need help,
and hopefully your parents will do the same.

Just a couple more pieces of advice:
1)Don't smoke, it sucks trying to quit and it really doesn't make you look
cool, rather it makes you look irresponsible and ignorant.
2)Don't get any tattoos. They don't just wash off. You will regret it
eventually. Piercings generally close up after a while and aren't a big
deal, but ink just sits there.
3)It's way easier to get away with things if you don't look guilty. Dress and act like a punk and you will be treated as one.

That's about it for now.

I'll have more later, just as I do for my own kids. They'll probably ignore
it all, but I'll still be able to say "I told you so!"

We can't wait to meet you!"


That advice works for you as well, and I feel a bit like elaborating some more with some advice that I feel will help you directly...

Be nice to your big sister and you'll be rewarded later in life with a good friend, as well as someone who's going to bring home cute friends from time to time.

If you follow the bit about not looking like a punk above you might not think you're going to be a big hit with the ladies, but remember girls that only fall for bad boys tend to be, or at least eventually turn into, bad girls.

Learn to make things. It's much easier to take things apart all the time, but it's the creating of a thing, not the destruction, that is truly rewarding. Sure, you're going to need to tear some of your dad's stuff apart from time to time just to learn how it went together in the first place, but don't just break something without learning what went into the thing. It's also much easier to deal with someone asking, "Who made this table?", instead of, "Who made this mess?". See the difference?

Sing when you feel like it, or at least keep a song in your head and dance to your own internal jukebox. Doing a job that you don't care for goes much easier when you've got a decent soundtrack.

Read. Read whatever you like, but read. You'll learn to command your words much better than your friends very quickly, and you may find solace in the stories of others when you're feeling low.

And now for one of the biggies, but I believe misunderstood ones:
Follow your heart. Yeah, that's a regular piece of glurge, and I'll need a few dozen lines to really get to the meat of that one. Your parents are going to be doing all they can to make you do things that may seem like they're no fun. They're going to insist you brush your teeth and bathe regularly. They're going to tell you to sit up straight, don't pick your nose, say "please" and "thank you", don't talk back to adults, do your homework, don't skip school, and many other things that don't seem like much fun. This is where you might think that "Follow you heart" means to have fun and do what you want, not what your parents say. I'm telling you now, you parents are going to want the very best for you, and in my opinion parents sometimes make you believe that they only want you to be rich and successful when you grow up. I am learning that what I really want for my own sons is for them to be happy in life and with themselves.

Don't confuse having fun with being happy. While these descriptions aren't mutually exclusive, they often don't go hand in hand.

Looking back on the times in my life that were truly happy, they were fun times, but there were plenty of times I was having fun and yet I wasn't happy. The happy times are when you're spending time with people that really care about you, and you about them, and you share an experience that you can honestly say you'd like to be able to repeat with everyone in your life that means something to you. Times I can reflfect back on that really stand out in my own younger years, times that I can only hope to replicate with my own sons, weren't times I had with high school buddies, they were time spent with my family.

Your dad, your aunt and I can probably all recall some of the greatest times we used to have were conoeing down the Russian River from Alexander Valley to Camp Rose in Healdsburg, CA. We caught bait and fished along the way, ate snacks and listened to stories your grandpa made up along the way about the history of the wrecked cars that were dotted along the shoreline in a few places along the riverbanks (apparently this wasn't considered an environmental concern back then, rather a way to prevent a washout during the stormy times of the year). Other happy times were learning to sail a boat with Uncle Bruce on Lake Shasta, and having him turn me loose solo in the boat he made with his own hands to venture out on the lake's waters. There was waterskiing on the Sacramento Delta with the family. Times like this were fun, but more importantly they were happy. They made memories for me that I only hope I can make for Wally and Wil. Make sure your parents take you boating, it seems to be a recurring theme in my happiness. Fishing while you're there definitely adds to the happiness. It's fun to catch fish, but you can be happy fishing without catching a thing. Make sure your dad takes you fishing.

Sometimes parents say things about having to go to college, and becoming a doctor, that make it seem like all they want you to do in life is make money, but what they really want is for you to not have to suffer through life, and being successful financially usually means that you can have fun, but I say that if you're not happy doing something, even though you make plenty, then you're not following your heart. I don't mean that you should give up school and party your life away, because that's just having fun and not being happy. No, what you need to do is stay in school and give yourself a shot at finding something that you can work hard at, yet not feel like you're wasting your talents. If that's being a contractor or a plumber, do it, you'll be fixing and creating things. If that's art or music, pursue that too. Just because something doesn't make the most money doesn't mean it won't make you happy. It's when you find a thing that allows you to create, add to other people's lives, and be able to make a living doing it that you will have found happiness. The friends that will push you to do things that are only temporary fun very often have no actual concern for your happiness, only their own. Follow your heart and do the things in life that lead to feeling good about yourself and that you want to share.

Me? Yeah, I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Your grandma seems to think that happiness only comes with a Masters Degree, or at least a BA, but I just don't know yet. You've got plenty of time to figure it out, so don't rush life's lessons.

I guess it's the stories that pull at my heartstrings...

That induce the need to write these days.

Paul Harvey died today.

Those that know me, and I mean know me well, know that I have been in love with radio all my life. Yeah, I'm a Ham radio guy since '05, but I mean a commercial radio fan since I can remember. I've been listening to radio since I was a little boy in Sacto, on old clock radios and portables, and even crystal. A short time after I moved to Wilmington I was lucky enough to fulfill a lifelong dream and was a member of the WAAV 980 AM broadcast team. I worked weekends on an AM radio station, and though it wasn't playing music, it was on the air live just the same. Had it not been for the need to put food in the mouth of my first child, I'd surely still be there on the weekends, 6 AM till noon, working the board for various shows and hosting the local swap shop show. I would have done it for free, but in reality they paid me not much more anyways. I'd go back to if it I possibly could. I love the radio.

I've taken radios around the world with me, into the UAE during Desert Storm, and Japan on later deployments.

I sleep to a radio. I mean I have to have something, be it talk or music, playing over the small tinny speaker of a portable or clock radio in order to make me feel at ease enough to sleep restfully.

My blog here speaks to the recent affinity for NPR, with the references for Writer's Almanac. Back when I lived in a better reception area I'd go to sleep to Art Bell. Back in Lompoc it was KNX 1070 AM out of LA and the old time radio hour. I've got hours of downloaded 30's and 40's radio shows, with "Tales of the Texas Rangers" still being about my all time favorite.

So now one of the most instantly recognizable voices on the air is dead, and I'm in mourning.

I don't need to end this with a quote from Mr. Harvey, as I find that trite and disrespectful at this point, but I will say that another era in broadcast radio is over.