Well folks,
It is a new year for this Dr.
I hope you all have had a good one,
I'm looking forward to what is in store
for this go 'round.
There are Bhut Jolokia's and Habanero's
to be grown, either a trip
to Belize or a return to Russia, many
gravel roads, some black top,
perhaps New Orleans and perhaps
some Texas and Iowa.
Maybe some rivers, too.
I'm starting to miss the Okoee
and the Arkansas, the Nantahala
and I've yet to taste the Green
or visit the Seven Tea Cups.
The opportunities abound.
God and Cthulhu Bless You All.
27 December 2006
21 December 2006
so much shit happens everyday. a lot has happened since August 25, 2006.
nothing that has made it onto this page, though.
I haven't had a cigarette in about 5 days now. the first few sucked real bad.
My head hurt, felt like a fever. At times it felt there was a nest of hornets in my skull.
Sometimes the hornet nest would move down to my stomach.
hours later it would move back to my skull, not quite as loud as before
but a lot more annoying.
the hornets left sometime yesterday. theren't weren't too many
left by then anyway. I knocked the nest down the day before.
everyday this week I went running for 20 to 40 minutes,
jarring the bastards out of my lungs and my ears and my nose.
there is no more buzzing now, no more headache.
I don't get crabby any more with people.
I'm more patient of people's ignorance and pride.
I'm more tolerant of the stupid and of assholes,
capitalist shits who care more about reputation and money.
I feel cleaner, I can exercise longer.
When other smokers are around they actually stink to me,
unpleasant, thick, dirty. the stale ammonia rolls off them
like grease from McDonalds fries.
One voice in my head says
"You've made it this far."
another says
"look how happy you are."
I want a smoke more than ever before.
nothing that has made it onto this page, though.
I haven't had a cigarette in about 5 days now. the first few sucked real bad.
My head hurt, felt like a fever. At times it felt there was a nest of hornets in my skull.
Sometimes the hornet nest would move down to my stomach.
hours later it would move back to my skull, not quite as loud as before
but a lot more annoying.
the hornets left sometime yesterday. theren't weren't too many
left by then anyway. I knocked the nest down the day before.
everyday this week I went running for 20 to 40 minutes,
jarring the bastards out of my lungs and my ears and my nose.
there is no more buzzing now, no more headache.
I don't get crabby any more with people.
I'm more patient of people's ignorance and pride.
I'm more tolerant of the stupid and of assholes,
capitalist shits who care more about reputation and money.
I feel cleaner, I can exercise longer.
When other smokers are around they actually stink to me,
unpleasant, thick, dirty. the stale ammonia rolls off them
like grease from McDonalds fries.
One voice in my head says
"You've made it this far."
another says
"look how happy you are."
I want a smoke more than ever before.
25 August 2006
24 August 2006
Diogenes had been bitten by a bat. it began with him playing an old NES game system while a friend was visiting.
He heard a scurrying sound on the carpet in the other room.
"that's a fucking rat, i fucking know it is."
"if that damn thing comes in here i'm going to kill it."
he then heard it scurry from the doorway to the closet.
He picked up a baseball bat.
the scurrying was now under a pile of dirty boxers and salt stained t's.
He brushed them aside with the baseball bat.
it was not a rat, but a bat.
Diogenes didn't want to kill the bat so he grabbed a towel and tried to catch it, but to no avail.
the friend who had been playing NES with him grabbed a broom, thinking to flush him out through the window.
D grabbed his video camera. the chasing ensued for nearly an hour, also to no avail.
finally, exhausted and stressed, the bat landed near the closet again.
Diogenes grabbed the towel, threw it over the bat, and picked it up.
not too carefully though, as the bat bit him through the towel.
the next morning he went down to the doctors office to see what he should do about it.
Dr. said to get some shots. Diogenes walked down to the emergency room, told the receptionists what he was there for.
three hours later they called him in to a room.
two shots in the arm, two shots in the legs, and two shots in the ass.
the next day he was sick as a dog, a rabid ole yeller dog.
but he wouldn't have to be put out like that.
No, later in the evening he felt it upon himself to join in a collegues birthday party,
lots of whisky and only one of two non-undergraduate bodies celebrating.
it was time for the cabellero to to get the symposium rolling.
He heard a scurrying sound on the carpet in the other room.
"that's a fucking rat, i fucking know it is."
"if that damn thing comes in here i'm going to kill it."
he then heard it scurry from the doorway to the closet.
He picked up a baseball bat.
the scurrying was now under a pile of dirty boxers and salt stained t's.
He brushed them aside with the baseball bat.
it was not a rat, but a bat.
Diogenes didn't want to kill the bat so he grabbed a towel and tried to catch it, but to no avail.
the friend who had been playing NES with him grabbed a broom, thinking to flush him out through the window.
D grabbed his video camera. the chasing ensued for nearly an hour, also to no avail.
finally, exhausted and stressed, the bat landed near the closet again.
Diogenes grabbed the towel, threw it over the bat, and picked it up.
not too carefully though, as the bat bit him through the towel.
the next morning he went down to the doctors office to see what he should do about it.
Dr. said to get some shots. Diogenes walked down to the emergency room, told the receptionists what he was there for.
three hours later they called him in to a room.
two shots in the arm, two shots in the legs, and two shots in the ass.
the next day he was sick as a dog, a rabid ole yeller dog.
but he wouldn't have to be put out like that.
No, later in the evening he felt it upon himself to join in a collegues birthday party,
lots of whisky and only one of two non-undergraduate bodies celebrating.
it was time for the cabellero to to get the symposium rolling.
05 August 2006
BWENEUM!
Happiness Is the lofty forgotten Bitch
to which Ethics writes now.
Walk into the room
"They want no drink or money"
playing on the 78,
there a crazed redneck
huge and massive,
golden mane
mirror on his arm and a
growl on his lip, a snarl in his eye
"Get Tha Fuck Out"
So sayeth the meth addict in the next stall...
Happiness Is the lofty forgotten Bitch
to which Ethics writes now.
Walk into the room
"They want no drink or money"
playing on the 78,
there a crazed redneck
huge and massive,
golden mane
mirror on his arm and a
growl on his lip, a snarl in his eye
"Get Tha Fuck Out"
So sayeth the meth addict in the next stall...
04 August 2006
30 October 2005
29 October 2005
Harlan walked across the street to the bank. As the cross walk signal started to blink he looked around at the faces passing by. Some he recognized, others he didn't. He didn't know any of them despite seeing them day after day, week after week. The double doors to the bank swung lightly as he pushed through them, the floor of the bank was empty except for two customers waiting in line at a sole teller. The air smelled thick and buttery from the free popcorn that was handed out every Friday. There was still a few bags remaining on a cart to the side of the teller desk. Harlan picked one up and began to munch while the other customers' transactions were being completed.
Harlan walked up to the counter and sat down his sack of popcorn, the butter had soaked the bottom of the bag and his hands were greasy. he wiped them on his jacket and then pulled a folded check out of his breast pocket. he open it, turned it over, and signed the back of it. "I'd like to deposit all of it except for twenty-five back in cash."
"Do you know your account number sir?"
The teller looked to be in her younger twenties, somewhat pudgy features but not unattractive. her fingers were very skinny and short and her burnt red nail polish matched her lipstick. Her blond hair was pulled back tight into a bun with a loose strand tucked behind her left ear.
"yeah, 27461284."
"and how would you like that?"
"whatever's easiest."
She handed him a five and a twenty. He picked up his popcorn and headed out, it was four seventeen, he had a little over half an hour before he had to meet Phil at The Capons Tail Feather for a drink.
Gordita stepped down off of the bus. She couldn't believe the gall of the uppity bitch that had sat behind her, telling her she needed to get her monkey off the bus because she didn't like it throwing the green m&m's at her. "just plain rude wasn't she Coco? plain rude." The monkey replied "Red flower of love, your tongue is dull, perhaps you should haul your gently cut blouse and your fried blonde hair over to the corner and ask that cheep street harlot to join you for a drink."
Melissa was flossing her teeth with a fortune cookie fortune, she just didn't feel like walking up the stairs to the bathroom to get the dental floss. She had been taking her time, divulging the better part of two hours, applying her makeup while her live-in boyfriend sat in the floor drinking Yeager Meister and surfing the wireless network for information on female audio sculptors. He had come across the European group "Chics on Speed" and downloaded a track for her. The remixed punk sounds made her feel giddy.
Melissa felt ill, the stereo sung the words,
" the research find, as the animal dies,
never did a god damned thing, license to kill....
...clear blue wonder, what do you see,
sun blue horizon, beautiful, clear blue persuasion,
Better get better, to see the light..."
on track bled into another. Sangria was ready for his chinese food and really didn't care one way or another whether the medication for his but worms was mixed into flavorful conglomerate or not.
Tape worms or no he was hungry. Never mind that a starchy bight of potato wasn't going to make Melissa feel any less nauseous, He wanted his food, now. Soy sauce and brown mustard...
There is a curious amenity towards accurate descriptions of scent and flavor in Indian writing, most notably over the last few years in the works of Salman Rushdie, that is distinctly lacking from the literature of other prominent cultures. In other western (American) text is nonexistent. Sure, there may be a reference to the smell of skunk here and the taste of chitlins there, but that's the extent of it. there is no description of the smell of the skunk or the flavor of the chitlins.
The screen door slammed gently in the wind behind Jim as he walked over to the sink. Sure, the water that was in there had been in there since the evening before but it was relatively clean, he had just rinsed a few dishes and boiled a little for his coffee today at lunch, it'd be fine for the task at hand. he took the linen rag in his hand and soaked it well, wrung it out and soaked it again. Kirsee, his sow pig, had received a nasty cut on her front leg from God knew where and it stood a risk of infection. Jim could wipe it clean and maybe bandage it up a little. Parker, a young kid down the street, might be able to steel a little alcohol from his pop to help clean it, if Jim made a decent trade for it.
The thought of sharing Fatback, cracklins, hog maws and chitterlings with his cousins for thanksgiving month after next was not looming pleasantly in his mind. Jim would much rather have a healthy sow sleeping outside his porch.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Yakitori
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
Jump to: navigation, search
Yakitori being cooked
Yakitori (???, ????), lit. grilled chicken, is a Japanese type of chicken kebab. Also known as kushiyaki (???????), lit. skewer grill.
Traditional yakitori consists only of various chicken parts and vegetables, but in modern usage refers to any sort of beef,pork, fish, seafood or vegetable kebab, which get skewered on skewers named kushi. Yakitori is typically served with salt or tare sauce, which is basically made up of mirin, sweet sake, soy sauce and sugar. The sauce is applied on the skewered meat and is grilled till delicately cooked and is served with the tare sauce as a dip.
Yakitori is a very popular dish in Japan and throughout Asia. In Japan, many working people grab a yakitori lunch box from yakitori stalls on the way home from work.
Common yakitori dishes:
• yotsumi (???, chicken breast)
• atsuage tofu (??????, deep-fat fried tofu)
• enoki maki (?????, enoki mushrooms wrapped in slices of pork)
• piman (????, green pepper)
• negima (???, green onions and chicken breast)
• nankotsu (??, chicken cartilage)
• rebaa (???, liver)
• tsukune (???, chicken meatballs)
• torikawa (????, chicken skin)
• tebasaki (???, chicken wing)
• asuparabëkon (????????, asparagus wrapped in bacon)
• butabara (???, pork belly)
Similar dishes
Brochette (French), Espetada (Portuguese), Satay (Oriental), Shashlik (Russian), Shish kebab (Turkish), Souvlaki or Kalamaki (Greek)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Ava made a ham sandwich at her grandmothers. The ham had been in the fridge for a little too long. After indulging in the pig and mustard (brown, though it shouldn't have been) on whole-wheat she let loose a powerful liquid in the facility room. The bowl was lined quite evenly in the brown liquid, thick enough to stick to the sides, thin enough to see the porcelain through. She guessed from the weight of her nausea that the crinkle-cut fries were sticking to her gut. God, where were the spare rolls of toilet paper.
The next day the Kool-Aid Man came to visit, and He didn't care to speak of Nebraska at all. Ava needed some pork rinds, and she needed them NOW.
"God damn it! Does anyone in this fucking house have a mother fucking god damn pad without fucking wings?!"
Sangria stepped out of his faux-fur-lined bed, leaving the Necronomicon and Satanic Rituals behind. He stretched, and then pulled his upper body up so his weight was resting heavily on his paws and began to wharf. The hair rose up to his lower esophagus, the phlegm and bile rose to his mouth. cough, wharf, whaa-arrrpppppphhhh, wharf. it came up a little, Sangria felt he was in a little more control. He could swallow it. it would go away. He could swallow it and shit it out later. "whaarfff......" it was back down. He'd shit it out later. No need to spoil the carpet. That would just as foolish as Mother wearing a wing and ruining her pants. Somehow. Sangria felt an overwhelming urge to shit under someone's bed. Cthulu wasn't saving anyone tonight.
Melissa lay on the couch wrapped in a thin white cotton blanket. The room was holding steady at just under 70 degrees. This was below the 76 she preferred. There was a bed up stairs, but that involved walking up the stairs. Sangria scurried under the couch. She scratched on the sheet, trying to lull him out. It was to no avail. Maybe by toying with a rubber band she might lure him out. He could leap on it and maul her hand. Again. But then he could jump and grasp and play with her, just a little back and forth and such. That was all she wanted. Sangria wouldn't come out.
The whole episode wasn't near as troublesome as the dilemma her mother was facing in choosing a new medicine cabinet for the family. Melissa had tried to help in a trip to the large surplus store, but it only resulted in a trip to the floral department, looking at the azaleas, cacti, moth-orchids, succulent jade plants, bromeliads, Spathiphyllum. Lepidodendron, chanterelles, Arbicola, stinkhorns, magnolias, Pothos, and Sansevieria.
BWENEUM!
Harlan walked up to the counter and sat down his sack of popcorn, the butter had soaked the bottom of the bag and his hands were greasy. he wiped them on his jacket and then pulled a folded check out of his breast pocket. he open it, turned it over, and signed the back of it. "I'd like to deposit all of it except for twenty-five back in cash."
"Do you know your account number sir?"
The teller looked to be in her younger twenties, somewhat pudgy features but not unattractive. her fingers were very skinny and short and her burnt red nail polish matched her lipstick. Her blond hair was pulled back tight into a bun with a loose strand tucked behind her left ear.
"yeah, 27461284."
"and how would you like that?"
"whatever's easiest."
She handed him a five and a twenty. He picked up his popcorn and headed out, it was four seventeen, he had a little over half an hour before he had to meet Phil at The Capons Tail Feather for a drink.
Gordita stepped down off of the bus. She couldn't believe the gall of the uppity bitch that had sat behind her, telling her she needed to get her monkey off the bus because she didn't like it throwing the green m&m's at her. "just plain rude wasn't she Coco? plain rude." The monkey replied "Red flower of love, your tongue is dull, perhaps you should haul your gently cut blouse and your fried blonde hair over to the corner and ask that cheep street harlot to join you for a drink."
Melissa was flossing her teeth with a fortune cookie fortune, she just didn't feel like walking up the stairs to the bathroom to get the dental floss. She had been taking her time, divulging the better part of two hours, applying her makeup while her live-in boyfriend sat in the floor drinking Yeager Meister and surfing the wireless network for information on female audio sculptors. He had come across the European group "Chics on Speed" and downloaded a track for her. The remixed punk sounds made her feel giddy.
Melissa felt ill, the stereo sung the words,
" the research find, as the animal dies,
never did a god damned thing, license to kill....
...clear blue wonder, what do you see,
sun blue horizon, beautiful, clear blue persuasion,
Better get better, to see the light..."
on track bled into another. Sangria was ready for his chinese food and really didn't care one way or another whether the medication for his but worms was mixed into flavorful conglomerate or not.
Tape worms or no he was hungry. Never mind that a starchy bight of potato wasn't going to make Melissa feel any less nauseous, He wanted his food, now. Soy sauce and brown mustard...
There is a curious amenity towards accurate descriptions of scent and flavor in Indian writing, most notably over the last few years in the works of Salman Rushdie, that is distinctly lacking from the literature of other prominent cultures. In other western (American) text is nonexistent. Sure, there may be a reference to the smell of skunk here and the taste of chitlins there, but that's the extent of it. there is no description of the smell of the skunk or the flavor of the chitlins.
The screen door slammed gently in the wind behind Jim as he walked over to the sink. Sure, the water that was in there had been in there since the evening before but it was relatively clean, he had just rinsed a few dishes and boiled a little for his coffee today at lunch, it'd be fine for the task at hand. he took the linen rag in his hand and soaked it well, wrung it out and soaked it again. Kirsee, his sow pig, had received a nasty cut on her front leg from God knew where and it stood a risk of infection. Jim could wipe it clean and maybe bandage it up a little. Parker, a young kid down the street, might be able to steel a little alcohol from his pop to help clean it, if Jim made a decent trade for it.
The thought of sharing Fatback, cracklins, hog maws and chitterlings with his cousins for thanksgiving month after next was not looming pleasantly in his mind. Jim would much rather have a healthy sow sleeping outside his porch.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Yakitori
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
Jump to: navigation, search
Yakitori being cooked
Yakitori (???, ????), lit. grilled chicken, is a Japanese type of chicken kebab. Also known as kushiyaki (???????), lit. skewer grill.
Traditional yakitori consists only of various chicken parts and vegetables, but in modern usage refers to any sort of beef,pork, fish, seafood or vegetable kebab, which get skewered on skewers named kushi. Yakitori is typically served with salt or tare sauce, which is basically made up of mirin, sweet sake, soy sauce and sugar. The sauce is applied on the skewered meat and is grilled till delicately cooked and is served with the tare sauce as a dip.
Yakitori is a very popular dish in Japan and throughout Asia. In Japan, many working people grab a yakitori lunch box from yakitori stalls on the way home from work.
Common yakitori dishes:
• yotsumi (???, chicken breast)
• atsuage tofu (??????, deep-fat fried tofu)
• enoki maki (?????, enoki mushrooms wrapped in slices of pork)
• piman (????, green pepper)
• negima (???, green onions and chicken breast)
• nankotsu (??, chicken cartilage)
• rebaa (???, liver)
• tsukune (???, chicken meatballs)
• torikawa (????, chicken skin)
• tebasaki (???, chicken wing)
• asuparabëkon (????????, asparagus wrapped in bacon)
• butabara (???, pork belly)
Similar dishes
Brochette (French), Espetada (Portuguese), Satay (Oriental), Shashlik (Russian), Shish kebab (Turkish), Souvlaki or Kalamaki (Greek)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Ava made a ham sandwich at her grandmothers. The ham had been in the fridge for a little too long. After indulging in the pig and mustard (brown, though it shouldn't have been) on whole-wheat she let loose a powerful liquid in the facility room. The bowl was lined quite evenly in the brown liquid, thick enough to stick to the sides, thin enough to see the porcelain through. She guessed from the weight of her nausea that the crinkle-cut fries were sticking to her gut. God, where were the spare rolls of toilet paper.
The next day the Kool-Aid Man came to visit, and He didn't care to speak of Nebraska at all. Ava needed some pork rinds, and she needed them NOW.
"God damn it! Does anyone in this fucking house have a mother fucking god damn pad without fucking wings?!"
Sangria stepped out of his faux-fur-lined bed, leaving the Necronomicon and Satanic Rituals behind. He stretched, and then pulled his upper body up so his weight was resting heavily on his paws and began to wharf. The hair rose up to his lower esophagus, the phlegm and bile rose to his mouth. cough, wharf, whaa-arrrpppppphhhh, wharf. it came up a little, Sangria felt he was in a little more control. He could swallow it. it would go away. He could swallow it and shit it out later. "whaarfff......" it was back down. He'd shit it out later. No need to spoil the carpet. That would just as foolish as Mother wearing a wing and ruining her pants. Somehow. Sangria felt an overwhelming urge to shit under someone's bed. Cthulu wasn't saving anyone tonight.
Melissa lay on the couch wrapped in a thin white cotton blanket. The room was holding steady at just under 70 degrees. This was below the 76 she preferred. There was a bed up stairs, but that involved walking up the stairs. Sangria scurried under the couch. She scratched on the sheet, trying to lull him out. It was to no avail. Maybe by toying with a rubber band she might lure him out. He could leap on it and maul her hand. Again. But then he could jump and grasp and play with her, just a little back and forth and such. That was all she wanted. Sangria wouldn't come out.
The whole episode wasn't near as troublesome as the dilemma her mother was facing in choosing a new medicine cabinet for the family. Melissa had tried to help in a trip to the large surplus store, but it only resulted in a trip to the floral department, looking at the azaleas, cacti, moth-orchids, succulent jade plants, bromeliads, Spathiphyllum. Lepidodendron, chanterelles, Arbicola, stinkhorns, magnolias, Pothos, and Sansevieria.
BWENEUM!
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