Back from a Dino De Laurentiis film.

Did you know he passed away? Do you even know who he is?

Here he is with his lovely granddaughter Giada. He was 91 and had made 500 films in his career. please allow me to name a few of my favorites. In no real order.
Army of Darkness
Barbarella
Conan the Barbarian
Flash Gordon

Seeing a trend here? Yes. They are all amazing films. Especially that last one.
"Flying blind on a rocket cycle?" Ah, Brian Blessed. Such a personality.

Anyway. God save you Dino De Laurentiis. You gave us many a great thing including your granddaughter. Wow. What a package she is... lovely, can cook like crazy, and probably watched over by a legion of Hawkmen.

But like I was saying, I just returned from a holiday where the sky looked just like a Laurentiis sky.
I was in the Maldives and it being December, they were having splotchy weather. It may have been splotchy, but it was 100 times better than London's freeze and riot combo that was going on here.
I think Dara O'Briain is right. The English are a much more angry and fight prone people than the Irish. They riot and rumble at the drop of a hat. "You want to do what?! Pay teachers a decent wage?! and cover the fees of running an institution of higher education? And you want STUDENTS to pay for it?! Take to the streets! We are setting some fires!"
You dumb shites. Pay for your school like everyone else does. And if you can't afford to go to school, go into a trade and learn how to build something for Christ's sake. This country doesn't make anything anymore. Neither does America it is beneath them.

Anyway. Off on a tangent. I was in the Maldives, and the sky looked like this. I thought it was very cool and I was waiting for an army of Hawkmen to come out of the clouds with Brian Blessed screaming out " Second Wave, Dive! " While lasers shoot all around and Brian May plays some futuristic licks on the guitar.

Sadly, that was not what happened, but it was still an enjoyable holiday even without Ming or any of the residents of Mongo.
Happy Christmas all.

I'm not dead

I feel a bit like it, but I am not.

I have been working on a project (project number 2 actually) for the Interior Design course I am on.

Project two was a living room, a bathroom and a kitchen for a house here in London. I present the stuff I cobbled together tomorrow (that would be thursday to those not sitting here in the room with me) at 15:40 if anyone wants to come see the show. I doubt it will be that exciting, so feel free to stay home tucked in your beds.

In other news, London is in the grips of an Arctic blast. Those of you that think Climate change is a joke should come to my flat and sit by the door for an hour. Given that London has a mild climate all year round, no one saw fit to put any sort weather stripping or insulation in the old Victorian Brick homes. The 50 mph, arctic winds are whipping through my flat like it was made of tissue paper. I think I am going to go out today and buy a roll of weather stripping of the door into the lift. I have a draught excluder excluding the draughts from under the door, but they are still coming in around the edges.

So just to recap, I am alive. I am cold and I am working hard on my schooling. With any luck, I will be back to posting once I get caught up with all my school work. Or, I will have a real job and not be able to post because I am busy making money.

I heard somewhere that it was all about the Benjamins. What making a living and being happy has to do with the captain of the Mary Celeste, I will never figure out. But, if that is what the kids are saying, then it must be true. It has to be true, right? I read it on the interwebs.

Dear America,

Grow up.

I was reading this morning on the BBC that America is minting more $1 Dollar Coins even though the American public is resistant to them. In my typical fashion, I have a way to get Americans to suck it up and start using the new dollar coins that are cheeper to produce, last way longer and just look cooler than dollar bills.

Step one. Issue a press release saying that dollar bills (the paper ones) will be no longer be accepted as real money. You can change them at your local bank for coins for the next few months, but starting on X date, they are no longer considered money. And before you get your pants in a wad, it happens here every so often when they change the notes. I found an old 20 the other day and swapped it at the bank for a proper one.

Step two. Follow through with it. Not like that dumb-ass "switch to digital" thing that cable was supposed to do. Actually stop taking the money. Full Stop.

The article quotes US Mint Director Edmund Moy saying, "We have tried every major idea that we can come up with, with limited success." Really? Have you tried telling people that dollar bills are no long going to be accepted? I didn't think so. The article goes on to say that legislation halting the use of paper dollar bills or halting the minting of the coins would not likely pass given the partisan condition of congress at the moment, and to that I say "America! Grow UP!"

Good hell, if most of the countries in the G8 (of which you are a member) have stopped circulating paper singles due to their short lifespan (just a few years versus four decades for a coin) what makes you so good that you have to keep them? Is it the massive strength of the American Economy? Is it just because America is so cool? Is it because we have Sarah Palin and she is looking out for us and representing america? If America would switch to the coin from the paper, it would save between 500 and 700 million dollars a year. That is enough to put a dent in the health care coverage cost, or if you prefer blowing shit up, buy a few new planes and maybe a tank* or two.

I will admit. There might be a potential side effect from switching to the dollar coin from the dollar bill. Someone is going to have to retro-fit all the vending machines that so many school-children get their lunch from every day. Plumbers are going to have to buy belts to hold their trousers up from the extra pocket weight. But you know what I call that? Job Creation! Sorting the vending machines out alone should knock a percent point off the unemployment rate. There are factories in Detroit just housing crack addicts, lets put them to good use! 

In closing, President Obama, Congress, and Americans at large, here is a small ladder. Please step down off of your high horse, and join the rest of the world in coinage use. Use the money you save to fund a school, or feed children, or buy Haiti, (I bet property rates there are low) or tanks, guns, bombs and bullets to take over Mexico and end the immigration dispute. I don't care what you do with it but it kills me to hear you argue about the cost of something America needs (schools, police, health care) when you are pissing away money on something you don't (dolla, dolla bills, y'all).

And while we are on the subject of growing up, can you please learn to use your Inside Voice when you are inside? If not I am going to give you a time out and you are all going to have to sit on your bed for the next ten years and think about what you have done. 

*That isn't really a tank. It is a Self-propelled artillery vehicle capable of launching 155 mm rounds 42 kilometers downrange, at a rate of 10 a minute. That means it can blow your house up from two towns away then start in on the surrounding neighborhood just for practice. Mexico, we are coming for you. 

The nice man at Apple.

Say what  you will about the Evil Apple Empire. They may throw little Chinese men that loose the secret new products out upper story windows, they might call you all idiots for holding your phone wrong, and they may come out with a brand-new, must-have product the day after you bought the old one, but they are good with the customer service.

I went into the Apple store on Regent street today and was gobsmacked by the horde of people standing in queue waiting to buy something. I got ready to be pissed off and angry at the first people I spoke to -- this stems from the fact that I was 8 minutes late to my appointment at the Genius bar because tourists don't understand what to do in London when it rains. Did you not buy the guide book? It rains here. Often. Be prepared. Sheesh! Anyway, late to my appointment, went to the wrong genius bar (because  there are two now) but the nice lady let me into  the queue anyway. Woo Hoo!

I was promptly collected from the queue by a nice man named Nick, but not before I sent off a quick pic to my little brother. (He too is an Apple Genius and works in Phoenix.*) I knew that this nice man's name was Nick because the Appleites wear little tags around their necks. Nick asked me what the problem was and I explained that the vibrate feature on my iphone has started thinking it is 1990 and it should sound like this 'WAAAAAHHH!' Instead of the nice 'Bzzzzt' that I was used to. With it wailing like that, I can't say I didn't hear it when people call me and I can't be bothered to answer. Nick looked at my phone, listened to the noise a couple times then asked me if it was okay if he gave me a new one. 

UH... Okay. If you have to give me a brand new one, I guess I can deal with that. He grabbed a new one out of the back. Swapped my SIM and asked if I was going straight home? Otherwise he would have tried to collect my data from the old phone and pass it on to the new one... As it was Stupid-Busy in the store, I said I would just go home. I signed to say I had collected the new pieces and was on my way. But not before Nick very patiently explained how I would get all my old info back onto the phone. What a trooper. 


I was so impressed with the staff at the store, that I started looking around at iphone cases. This was a bad idea as I was elbowed aside by four different people trying to be in the same spot I was standing. Given the crowd at the ipod/iphone case area, I thought I would walk over and look at the bags for my Mac Book Pro.  Somehow, the assish customers followed me to this, the least popular section of the store and again attempted to stand in my back pockets while I looked at laptop sleeves. Obviously, this is not the time or place to attempt to purchase anything, so I crowed back down the stairs to gawp at the queue waiting to pay. On the way out the door, I think I figured out what all the people were doing there. 


London is plagued blessed with a load of tourists right now. It is so bad in my area, that you can't walk down the streets at night from the mass of bodies toking up at the hookah cafes on my street and the council is so fed up that it has started clamping cars outside Harrods. What do those drivers think? That they own the place or something?  We have rules in this country and the number one rule is "No aviators in my neighborhood. Especially after dark." Personally, I think they clamped the cars because they are painted such a hideous color. I don't care if it is the livery of the Royal Family. Toothpaste Blue is not a color for a supercar. 




* Notes: Thank you Apple. Please don't shut off my accounts because I said you tossed an Asian out the window. 
If anyone is curious about my little brother and his new baby (that would be my Niece) you can track the progress of her little, cue-ball head on her own blog. She updates about half as much as I do but, to be fair, she can't really read or write and she just got teeth. But I am sure she will be driving next week. Ask her mom.  

Not Ranting Today

Okay, It has come to my attention that I have been on a bit of a tear and done nothing except rip into people, places and or things. I apologize for that. Not so much for the rants, that is kind of what I do, but for the monotony of non-stop ranting.

On to happier things. The nice men at BP have finally plugged the leak in the Gulf of Mexico. I think they finally got it stopped by doing what should have been done in the first place. Putting a new cap thing on the leaky bit. If there was ever any proof  that the company was run by men, this was it. Their approach to the leak was that of any man faced with the prospect of home improvement, no directions needed, We got this. 

I imagine all the engineers were sitting at one of their houses smoking and drinking beers with "fixes" sketched on napkins when one of their wives walked by and said, "Why don't you just go over to the B&Q (That would be Home Depot in the States) and buy a new one?" One week later, the problem is solved.
What the BP guys really should have done was called Norm Abram. He would have knocked together a new cap for them out of New England Ash with a decorative, Hickory inlay held together with some Epoxy to waterproof the wood. He loves that stuff.

I was thinking about all the oil we lost and it came to me that we aren't making any more of this stuff are we? We are pretty sure what  oil is made of right? It used to be carbon-based life forms. Dinosaurs, Plants and the like, that have been buried for a few million years and have turned into crude oil that we then refine and burn. We are taking from the source, but not putting back. Personally, I think it is high time we did, and of course I have a plan.

First we will need an empty oil well. Texas is full of these and no one is using them for anything right now. Then we will need a lot of carbon-based life forms. Namely, dead people. We will then drop the dead people down these empty oil wells, cap them off and leave a note for future generations to "Dig Here". Simple as that.

You might think that dumping dead people down a big open hole is a bad idea or callous or some other bullshit. It isn't. It is the same thing a million of you choose to do right now. I am just asking you to do it in one location and to leave out the addition of the toxic cocktail. Currently, we like to fill our dearly departed with a mix of Formaldehyde, Methanol and Ethanol to keep them fresh and shiny for all eternity. The US alone buries approx. 20 million liters of the stuff a year. That really can't be good for the environment as Formaldehyde is a Class 1 Carcinogen.

My solution eliminates the toxic burritos left all over the world, cuts carbon emissions and gives back to future generations. What could be wrong with that? Or sure, Aunt Sally won't have any where to go cry on Memorial Day. What is the difference of going to cry over a rock and going to cry over a rock that sits on top of a box that holds another box filled with toxic sludge?    

I have included my proposed idea with a wonderful graphic. Think of it as giving something back. Grandma would want it that way.

Tea (for a change)

I woke up this morning to lovely, overcast skies, puddles on the ground and smell of sweet-sweet rain in the air. Brilliant! Some of you might be thinking, "What sort of nut likes cloudy, overcast days?"
This sort. I didn't move to London for the 90 degree temps and the dust-dry gardens. If I wanted that, I would be living with my niece in Air-Conditionerville, AZ. But I don't live there. No offense to all the nuts that like it a brain-boiling, 116 degrees Fahrenheit (the projected high for Thursday, 15 July) but I prefer to go outside and not die.
Right, where was I? Oh, this morning. I woke up to lovely overcastness and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. As it was chilly in the flat and overcast, it was a perfect morning for a big mug of Lapsang Souchang. Lapsang is a bit like Sarah Palin. You either love it, or you go around the globe trying to convince others that, not only is she as stupid as a bag of hammers, she is the figurehead of everything that is WRONG about America and a vote for her is a vote for Hitler except this time it won't just be Jews. It will be a Hitler with boobs that hates brown people, animals, free speech, the environment, atheists, children, and the elderly. Okay. Maybe Lapsang is not EXACTLY like Sarah Palin. Although, I have been told she smells like a bushfire or burning tires and on that glowing endorsement, I should like her because I love Lapsang Souchong, it is amazing. Sarah, not so much.

I enjoyed my first cup of smokey tea so much, that I promptly made another then another. Then I spent a lot of time going to the loo. (My tea mug is pretty big.) Between wees, I was reading on the BBC about this Moat character that declared war on the police after shooting his ex-girlfriend, her boyfriend and a cop that was minding his business, eating a donut. I read that his family is upset that he shot himself with a shotgun. Now, let me be honest. I am sure I would be upset if someone in my family shot themselves. But if they shot themselves after they shot their ex-girlfriend, her boyfriend, a cop eating a donut, then called the cops to declare war on them... I would think to myself, what a stupid bastard. And now, now there is an inquest into the cops because they might have tasered him. Oh, come on. I suppose the Irish nutters that dropped a block of concrete on a cop and the ones that beat the hell out of the other cops with lumber, pipes, bricks and petrol bombs should get a stern talking to and given a tenner for their troubles?

This is why I am not a cop. The first time some hoodie-wearing twats took a swing at my fellow cop with a 2x4, I would have shot him. Just in the leg. Then the ones that came to help him would have gotten shot too. And unless they have already sired children, I would be doing a public service. People that stupid shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. Ugh.

And now that I sound like Sarah Palin, I am going to find something cute to look at on the interwebs. Oh, look a kitten. What is that Mr. Kitteh? I should calm down?
I think I will make another cup of smoky tea, add a dram of single malt to it and do just that. Good day to you, sir.

Blogger's Note: I realise this post was all links and no pics, and that makes Jack a dull boy. Or a very boring blog to read. I hope the kitten at the end made it all worthwhile. Oh, and I am certain that Sarah Palin is the Devil's minion. She is not smart enough to be the Devil herself. 

Old Man ranting.

I will admit it right now. I am an Old Man.

I like to be in bed early, I enjoy my tea, wearing my slippers with my pipe, kids didn't look/act like this when I was younger... the whole thing. I have been an Old Man for awhile now, but it is getting worse. It was pointed out to me when I had a friend staying over. We were talking about playing the guitar and I was listing off the things that I could play at the time. She is couple years younger than me but remarked that I only listened to Old Guy Music. Ouch. Thanks Rani. (Shortly after her comment, I exiled her to Turkey.*)

I had another moment just the other day. A person walked past me on the street wearing headphones. Now, please don't get me wrong, I have headphones. My flat is littered with them. I have a pair tucked in the pocket of every jacket I own. I wear them at the Gym, on runs, on the tube, when I hear American accents at street crossings. I am not talking about the tiny, miracle, earbuds that are on the market. The ones that pump loads of sound deep into your ear canal so others don't have to hear your music. Those don't bother me in the least. I am talking about the ridiculous people sporting the giant, John Peel mega headphones walking down the street.

You, Hipster Twits. Is the world such a bother that you need to blot it out with giant headphones plugged into your tiny MP3 players? Is that your attempt at Irony? I am aware that you are attempting to make some sort of statement. Something about how cool you are to be listening to music. We get it. This is my return statement to you:
John Peel wore those giant things on his head because he was a damn fine DJ that worked on radio. You are not. You are a pathetic, style-junkie attempting to be "Retro" because that is the current trend. I am glad that you choose to wear the giant cans because it keeps the brain-melting drivel that you play focused into your own head. Thank you, at least, for keeping Usher to yourself.

We may well be SO boring that you simply must blot out our very existence with the magic of your latest Shakira vs Lady Gaga Mash-up playing over the beat of The Killers with the all auto-tuned vocals, but here is what happens when you have your noise canceling, mega-cans stuck on your head. You get so far up your own arse that you forget that the rest of the world is actually happening. You are so deep into yourself that you begin to weave back and forth along the pavement and block my ability to walk past you and your ridiculous headgear. I am waiting for you to blindly wander out into traffic and because you can't hear the blare of horns and the squeal of rubber on asphalt, get hit by the oncoming bus thus removing yourself from the rest of humanity --yet causing a huge delay to people wearing ear buds, riding the bus, trying to listen for their stop.

I realize that anything that has to do with the rest of the world at large has no bearing on you and vintage ear cannons and that I am just a grumpy old bugger at 35 filled with contempt for you kids now days. I also realize that by wearing your giant headphones, you are labeling yourself as an anti-social dweeb, but one that is too polite to let other people hear the wonder that is your music. You must be ashamed of it on some level.

I am going to start packing a small pair of scissors with me and I am going to nip the wire on your silly headphones when I see you. After I snip the wire and pass you, if you figure out what happened. I am going to run off. And you will be stuck there with your ruined headphones and no music because you either: A) have your trousers around your knees, B) are wearing skinny-jeans so tight you can't breathe, C) have your long, Justin-Beiber-fringe hanging in your face and can't see anything D) have on platform shoes/untied trainers/sandals and socks or something else just as stupid. Your chances of catching me are nil. And if you did catch me, you would just cry because you are so Emo and your "Mum gave you those headphones for Christmas" ~Sniff~.

Wankers.

Side Note: I actually know people that own massive headphones. They are web designers that need to focus while in a noisy office atmosphere, or DJ's that actually use them to hear a song while blaring another. For a very cool Music Site, please visit a friend of mine over at Head Underwater. His name is Jimmy and we used to work together.

Oh, and I may be a grumpy old man at 35, but if you dips on the pavement can not walk any faster, move to the bloody side! Single file is not the end of the world. There is no reason you have to walk six people abreast. Noah went two-by-two, if it was good enough to save all the animals on the planet, (although we know that didn't really happen. Where did he put 2 million beetles?) then it is good enough for you damn tourists.

*My friend Rani is actually traveling around the world right now by herself. Turkey is just her first stop. How gutsy is she? 

Dear Japan.

I grew up in a land-locked state in the country that ran the Whaling game for the longest time. I should either be supportive of it, or indifferent about it, but I am still passionately against it. Odd. I am not really passionate about anything else. I guess we all need a hobby.

I was thinking this morning (in the shower. All the best ideas come to me in the shower) and I have a way that whalers can get a little support and a little less derision. The need to change their tactics. I think the reason the public (and me) gets so upset with the whole Whaling thing is the WAY that you hunt them. Waiting on the surface until they come up for air, then blasting them with an exploding harpoon? Where is the sport in that? You might as well blast them out of the water with a missile.  

Maybe it is living in England, but I have a pretty good sense of Fair Play, and to me, blasting a whale out of the water with a nuke is not very fair. The Whale has no chance at all.  BUT, if you caught them a different way, you might be able to get the public support behind you. It is the brutal method that people are really down on. Minke whales are of the Rorqual family and they eat krill as well as other smaller fish like, herring, cod, and pollock. That means they can be caught on a line like other sport fish. And not that long line crap that they use for Swordfish. I am talking Pole and Line (also known as Bait Boat*) type that they use to catch Tuna. That way you are only getting the stupid whales. 

The boat would go to the Whaling grounds, and toss a bunch of bait out, then wait until the whales are chowing down and start dropping lines over the side to attempt to get one to bite on a hook. I am sure they make a braided line that will hold 8 tons. If not, you will be creating jobs and advancing science. Once you hook into one, a brave fisherman would have to hang on for dear life until it was tired enough to get to the boat, then the whale would be weighed, and measured to make sure it was within the legal limits. Then it could be dispatched, quickly. I am sure you could employ sport fishermen that are tired of catching 1000 lb Swordfish. What is catching a half-ton sword when you could fight an 8 ton Minke Whale on a spinning rig? Even if you were too lazy to hire someone, you could buy a hydraulic system to control the drag and eventually bring the whale to the boat. 

And the best part, once you change over to the new Line-Caught Minke Whales, you could get your own series on the Discovery Channel! They had the Crab guys, and the Sword boat guys, even the Whale Wars guys that are trying to stop you. If you could get the Discovery Channel on board, get Mike Rowe to do the voice-overs, add in some scripted drama about twisted lines, health problems, financial troubles, and the like, you could turn this whole thing around. If anyone could make the public care about Whale Killers it is Mike. 

Be careful though, Minke Whales are a favorite food of my Navy. And if you harm any members of my personal Navy, Army, or Marine Corps, I will take it as an act of war and you should not be surprised when you find a pack of Hyena in your living room when you get home. We know where you live and the family dog works for us.
Speaking of my Military, I have added a new group to the Navy. A Submarine Corp consisting of sperm whales (60 + feet long, Sonar guided and able to dive 3 kilometers below the surface) for the heavy work and Manta Rays for lighter deployment. Okay. I chose the rays just because they look cool swimming in formation. If only I could get one of these...

So Japan, Give me a call. I think I can help sort this Whaling thing out. Until then, I am not buying a Toyota or Honda.

*Fishing Methods

**Thanks for the Pic

Sorry in advance. -Gets on Soap Box-

I told myself that I would never use this platform to push any serious agenda. Turns out I lied. I lied to myself. I got pretty angry with myself over the whole thing and had to give me a stern talking to. I felt pretty bad about lying to myself, so I apologized to me and ultimately ended up forgiving myself. I can't stay too angry at me for very long.

I am reading "Under the Banner of Heaven" by John Krakauer (Mostly because I am still looking for "Anger Management for Beginners" By Giles Coren. I know it is on Amazon. I don't shop there.) and I am taken aback by how bizarre the whole situation is. It reads like the tale of a frat-party gone wrong. One guy gets it in his head that he wants to sleep with a new lady that isn't his wife, so he tells people: God came to me and said I could have lots of wives. I know it sounds strange, but God says it is okay. 

But because it is pretty dodgy, and he knows it, he doesn't tell anyone for years. Just sleeps around, picking up these new "wives". Eventually, word gets out (How can it not when you are juggling a dozen "wives" and still hitting the local brothel every week?) and the locals were a little pissed. They end up killing him over it. 

Years later, another nutter reads the bit that God says it was okay, and starts doing the same thing *. (Screw the law! God said I get lots of wives) Well, his wife wasn't really into it, so she left him. He got a little bitter and ended up killing his Sister-In-Law. (It was all HER fault!) 

The whole thing makes me shake my head at religion. So much that I am stating, here and now, my religious beliefs. I am a Pastafarian. I belong to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I have been touched by his noodly appendage and I see his work in all things. I believe that when I die, I get to go to a heaven where I will dress in the Traditional Heavenly Costume of the Pirates and there will be strippers and cold beer.

I have been a Pastafarian for a while now. It makes as much sense as anything else and the tenets of the religion coincide with my own. I wasn't going to preach, but reading this book about the crazies has put me over the edge. I apologize if I put anyone off, but these are my beliefs. Please do not trample on them. 

* A lot of Nutters actually. I suppose if you can justify sleeping with 15 different women (although some of them are only 12 years old) by saying God says it is okay, and God is smarter than the Gub'ment, then who is going to stop you? Not the brainwashed members of your nutty cult, that is for sure. 

What has two thumbs and never blogs?

This Guy.

Okay, I fell off the planet again. I cannot blame illness or anything else. It is summerish and I have been out drinking WAY too much. Oh, and I was in Wales and they don't have the internet there. (If you have been there or are Welsh, Shhh. Don't let on that it is a real place)

I was actually only in Wales for one night and it was lovely. So Green. No wonder Edward I rode over there and set up camp, proclaiming that the first born shall henceforth be the Price of Wales. Okay. the Sticklers among you will say, "but Edward the II was the Earl of Chester and Flint. He wasn't the Prince of Wales." and to that I say to you. Shush. It started with Edward the First in 1301. It didn't take off until the Black Prince (Ed the V) was dubbed. New fads take time to catch on, especially when there is no cell phone service in Wales.

On to the 'meat' of the blog for today.

Last night I went out to a cooking class in Parsons Green, a place aptly called The Kitchen. It was a vegetarian Indian Menu composed of Spicy Lentils, Bombay potatoes, Lemon Rice (Elumichai Saadam) a Raita, and Dosai. I am told it was a Classic Thali Meal. We were greeted by a lovely lady named Rachel who gave us wine and chatted with us while we waited for the late-comers. Eventually, we met up with our Chef (Jimi Gill) who whipped up a nice Lassi to start with and gave us an overview of what we would be making.

He put us to work right away chopping the hell out of some white onion. Turning it into a paste more or less. We asked if we could grate the onion or toss it in the processor and were promptly --although not in a Ramsey-way-- told that the processor was a bad idea. It produces a lot of onion juice that can turn your curry bitter. Who knew?
So we chopped and chopped until he was satisfied with our work, (this is a cooking class, you don't just get to drink wine and watch. They already have that, it is called Television) then he brought us around to the cooker to show us how to toast spices and build up the layers of flavor that were going to be our Lentil Curry.

After the lentils were stewing away, we whipped up the bombay potatoes, the riata, and the rice then we all tried our hand at making the Paper Dosai. They proved to be impossible. We tried them in a cold pan getting warmer: The stuck like glue. We tried a warm pan: Stuck. We tried a hot pan filled with boiling butter: Sort of stuck. To quote our Chef, making Dosai is "Fucking Hard". Not sure what we were doing wrong, but we gave up and ate the other stuff. It was delicious. Just spicy enough that the riata kept you on an even keel. Nothing like a Vindaloo that you only order on a dare.

In short, it was a grand time. If you are in the area, you should try it out. Tell them I sent you and I am sure you will all get no special treatment. I am not famous. I will leave you with the greatest pic I saw at Tintern Abbey. "The Devil Tempting St. Bernard." I think something else is going on here. You be the judge.

Just a thought

I was looking at my blog today and wondering why I never write about drinks. The bloody thing is called Tea And Whiskey, yet I never write about tea or whiskey. Which, if you think about it, is quite odd because I really do love both of those things. I love sipping on a hot cup of tea. I love the ceremony that goes into making a lovely pot of tea. I used to make teapots almost exclusively back in my pottery days at Blossom Hill Crafts. I enjoy all types of tea, from the smokey, brush-fire taste of a Lapsang Souchon to the grassy-bitter hit of green. I don't quite get white tea. I think it tastes like hot water from Arizona, but I don't hate it.

The same goes for Whiskey. I love the stuff. Irish, Scotch, American, Bourbon*, even Asian. I wish I could drink it all the time. I might be one of the only people that go into the liquor stores and just read the labels, look at the colors, touch the pretty bottles. I am also aware of the fact that some of this is the sign of serious alcoholism, but I prefer to think of it as a love affair with Whiskey. It has been my favorite drink since before I was allowed to drink. I like to blame Uncle Clint for that one. (Happy Birthday Clint!) When The Man with No Name would step up to the bar and order a whiskey in that raspy voice, all eyes on him as he tipped the glass to his lips and poured the shot in without grimacing, I was hooked.


I have even gone so far as to make my own Whiskey when I lived in the South. (Don't tell the Gub'ment) Let me tell you, you have not been drunk until you have been drunk on 140 proof home-made liquor. (And yes, that was the first label)

I am not promising that I am going to start effusing on the tiniest details of various cocktails, but I might slip one or two into the mix. Just to make sure I can keep the name of the blog going. What fun is it if we don't talk about Tea or Whiskey?

*Bonus points if you can tell me the difference between Bourbon and Whiskey.

The Blah. It is a sandwich.

I am not sure where they came from, but a host of tiny microbes have entered into my body and assassinated my voice. Thanks little cooties. I wasn't using that thing to talk to people about jobs or anything. 

Because I am feeling crap, and I am unable to articulate my needs to others without sounding a bit like Nell, I stayed in for lunch today. I decided to make my signature sandwich. "You have a signature sandwich?" Of course I do. Don't you? A sandwich that you would make all the time because you never see it out anywhere? Okay, maybe it is just me, but I thought I would share. (I even took pictures {with my iPhone, I was in a rush})

My signature sandwich is called The BLAH.  Let me break that down for you. Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado and Humous. BLAH.  I am pretty sure I invented this one as I have never heard anyone else talk about it, and I don't think I have seen it out anywhere. You can correct me if I am wrong, but if you say you had the same thing at a diner in Hoboken that I have never heard of or been too, how the hell did I copy it? They copied me. Trust me. 

If you care to make one, this is the formula: 

• Two slices white or brown bread (I go for the Brown. I like to think it is better for me) 
• 6 rashers of crispy streaky bacon (sorry Brits. it has to be streaky and thiner is better. We are adding flavor, not stopping hearts. If I was trying to kill you, I would come up with something from here.)
• 3 or 4 slices of avocado.
• A bunch of lettuce (Little gem, butter, iceberg if you like. something with a crunch. Use what you like.) 
• Humous ( I like the red pepper Humous, but if you are down with plain, go that route.) 

The build:

Toast that bread. Has to be done. If you try this on regular bread, it is going to gum up into a ball in the roof of your mouth and you will look silly trying to scrape it off with your tongue. Just toast the damn bread. 

Spread a glob of Humous on the toasty bread and start to layer the lettuce leaves and bacon in alternating patterns. You don't have to do this part. I do, because I am a nutter that likes order and things to be tidy. If you want to be a slob, then so be it. 

 As you can see, I grew up when the *McDLT was around and like to keep things separate until the last minute. Even when the hot side isn't hot.  

Normally, I am a big advocate of salt and pepper on a sandwich, but in this case, just the pepper. This one is salty enough, but the  pepper is key, if you are a fan. If you are scared of it, then don't use it. 

Flip side A onto side B. Witness the need for the alternating layers? You want a hit of bacon goodness in every bite, with the crunch of the lettuce being the body of the sandwich. Think of this as a good way to get your greens in. If you look close you might see that I was low on Humous and had to cheat a little with some mayo on my lettuce. It is my sandwich, you don't know that this isn't the normal way I do things. Shush. I don't come over to your work and throw rocks at you while you are mowing lawns, do I? 

Slice your lovely creation and enjoy. I like to slice corner to corner because I am fussy and my mother never sliced sandwiches that way. I think it is fancier.  Welcome to my world. 

There it is. The BLAH. I have registered the name, so if you try to steal it, I will send nasty letter to you and then pout. I think that is all that happens now days. Unless you are a huge corporation and have copy written things like, the I before E rule and the use of silent B's at the end of words.  

With any luck, I will have a voice after the holiday weekend. 

Wish me luck. 

*Yep, that is Jason Alexander in that McD's commercial. Remember when white sport coats with the sleeves pushed up was cool? I swear I saw some teenie out of Brompton Road  like that the other day. We had the 80's once. We can say it was Cocaine then. Now? You just look sad. 

Blogger's note: Speaking of horrible fashion. I saw a guy the other day wearing gold aviators walking down the street. One pair wasn't enough for him, he had on a T shirt printed with a big pair of them too. I am guessing, but I bet his pants were printed with tiny aviators. Some people are so cool, one pair of Douche-Bag Glasses is not enough.  

The Big Spill

I am not a rocket scientist. I can not perform brain surgery -- Well, I COULD, but I am not certain you would live though it. I would film you legs kicking up when I poked different parts of your brain though and I would post them on Youtube under the heading "Alien Autopsy". hehe -- and I am not an expert in fluid dynamics. BUT. I am pretty clever when given a problem and I am quite lazy so the simplest solution is often the one that makes the most sense to me.

That being established, I can not understand what the hell is going on in the gulf with the whole oil spill.

I understand that there was a huge cock up that I am blaming Dick Cheney (Haliburton) for and I understand that a gazillion gallons of oil is spewing forth from the bottom of the ocean. What I don't understand is all the overtly complex methods that are getting used to sort it out. Of course, I have a plan. (why wouldn't I. I am a planner)

My grand plan:
Oil floats on water. I remember this from walking down the aisle as a kid and shaking the hell out of the Italian dressing bottles for fun. (We were poor. That was entertainment then) Eventually, all the oil that is squirting out a mile below the surface is going to float up to the top. Right?

They need to get a few empty tankers in the area, and a few pumper boats, then suck the water and oil off the surface and dump it into the tankers. The Oil will float and the water will sink. I know this to be true because I watched it all the time at the grocery store. Just takes a minute. Then they can pump out the sea water and have a tanker full of oil. If they were REALLY serious, they could lower a hose down and start sucking right where it is blowing out.  I am guessing that it is a ridged pipe that is broken and not a flexible one. But as they have the little top hat thing going on... it should work.

If you take my plan to suck up the oil and the water and Denis Leary's plan to buy up all the Shamwows and sop up the stuff that gets missed, we should be able to get this thing cleaned up for just a few million.

You're welcome BP. I will take free fill-ups for life and a producer credit when the film comes out. As I don't own a car, you are getting off pretty cheep.

If you aren't keen on that idea, what do you think about building a giant Gravy Separator ... we can pour all the water and oil in, then put it in the fridge... but we are going to need a very big fridge.

Editor's note: Do not trust this blogger to do brain surgery on you. He will post it on Youtube but if you click on it, you will most likely get RickRolled. For some reason, he thinks that is still funny. 

Suck it, Titchmarsh!

That is a little harsh. I have nothing against Alan Titchmarsh. It just worked better than "Suck it, Don!" (Monty) or "Suck it, Diarmuid", (Who the hell is he anyway? Gavin Diarmuid?)
Besides, "Suck it, Titchmarch" rolls off the tongue and brings to mind the glory days of SNL when Celebrity Jeopardy was on and SNL was funny. Or when I had a television.

Anyway. I have so much extra time on my hands, and I am waiting to hear back on breaking Tilly out of jail so he can help me train my Navy and Marine Corps, so I have taken up gardening. My Grandmother is an awesome gardner who can grow anything by cursing at it. She leads the garden club in her home town along with being the school librarian. Did I mention that she is over 90? Toughest little woman there is.

One of us could stand to loose a few pounds in this shot. And no making fun of my sideburns. It was a phase. They are much shorter now.

So I am working on a container garden. I have a few plants going and I might keep you in the loop as to how they do. Unless they all die. That will be a very private moment with many tears and a bottle of whiskey to soothe my nerves. Wait. That is just Thursday night. Never mind.

First up.  An orange tree. I have killed my fair share of citrus trees. The fact that this one still has leaves and actually has flowers on it is a good sign. But don't say anything, the little bugger will curl up and die if you talk to it. And here I thought I was moody.

Gerbera Daisies. You know the ones. They look like little sunflowers. So far, they are going strong. -- Keep it up little guys. -- I have no idea what colors they are going to be. Pink? Yellow? Red? We shall see.

Hot chili peppers. I got the seeds from a matchbook at Wahaca near the Strand. Pretty good Mexican food if you are in the area and need a fix. They hand out little matchbooks that are not filled with matches, but are filled with Chili Seeds. A novel concept, and they have actually sprouted and grown quite well. They were the first ones in the ground back in February. Fingers crossed something comes of it.

A bit of Rocket. (That is Arugula for the Americans)  Got to have some greens in my life, right? If it worked for Esther over at the Recipe Rifle when she was ducking carbs and only eating greens and protein. We know, she is a little crazy, but it was before her wedding. I think she is past it now. (She is a hyperlinking maniac) 

Okay, so I don't have 100% success rate. This pot of dirt is red bell peppers. They have yet to sprout or doing anything other than force me to make mud from dirt every few days. I have grand dreams of making stuffed peppers, roasted pepper humous, uh, what else can you make with red peppers? Whatever it is, the little suckers better sprout soon, or I am going to toss them and double my Rocket collection. 

So that is my garden. There are a couple other house plants kicking around here too but these are the main team members of the garden. I might have to release them into the wild when I start training the troops, until then, I will keep poking my fingers in the dirt to see if it is damp enough then furiously washing my hands because I am actually a prissy girl who doesn't like to get dirty. But you didn't hear that from me. 

The Plan (as I like to call it)

I made it back. Thanks for being patient with me.

Here is the big idea I was speaking about in my last post. Now that I am not working, I have a bit of time on my hands. I figure I will take that time to do something productive, something that will help the world, shape it into a better place, make it a little nicer for the next group coming in. I have been working on this plan for a while now and it is far from finished I am going to train an entire military of animals and with it, take over small parts of the world. I know, I know. It sounds crazy, but that is why I am starting small.

I first got this idea when Tillikum (Tilly to his friends) grabbed his trainer and kind of killed her in Orlando. I thought to myself, this is a whale I could get along with. -- Backing up a little, I might have to tell you how I feel about dolphin for this to make sense. I hate Dolphins. You might be saying "How can you hate Dolphins, they are so cute and smile all the time and happy and friendly..." And that right there, is the reason. NOTHING is that happy all the time. Those suckers are planning something. They are trying to lull us into a false sense of security by saving the odd surfer from a shark bite, or swimming along in front of sail boats. That is all a ploy to get us to trust them. Then they are going to Nuke us. (What, you say they are so smart, Nuclear Physics is beyond them?) Face it, dolphins are just plain creepy*. I don't care what Hayden Panettiere says.

I refuse to trust something that smiles all the time. Like a car salesman, or the mobile phone guy, or Sarah Palin,  it is not going to happen. Polar Bears are cute and fuzzy, they attack people that walk up to them, as do Pandas. Even the cuddly Koala will pee on you if you get too close. I can respect that, but super-happy, smiley-face dolphin are ALWAYS little helpers, always friendly. Which is why I was intrigued when Tilly went off, he also has a record of kicking ass and taking names, which means He is the perfect whale for the job of training my new Navy. A Navy composed of Killer Whales!

The Navy's initial job was to keep the Dolphin in check. Killer Whales are perfect for this role. They eat fish and mammals, including sharks, manta rays and bigger whales. They already have a cool paint job, and they have very tight organizational structures, they live and work in Squads (call them Pods) and can work together to problem solve and attain greater goals. (Hell, the G-8 can't even do that.) They were going to patrol the coast and keep the dolphins from acting too cute and gaining support for their cause. As a side job, they will be tasked with finding the dolphin's underwater WMDs and taking them out of action. Do dolphin have WMDs? There do if I read it on the internet. And as I am writing this and posting it on the internet, it must be true. Same reason we went to Iraq.

That WAS  going to be their job, but now that the Japanese have pushed through an end to the ban on commercial whaling, their mission has changed. They are now tasked with forming a joint operation with the brave men and women of Greenpeace and the Sea Shepherd boat that got rammed in January. They are going to stage an attack on the whaling vessels. They will be assisted by my newly formed Marine Corps .

Packs of Hyena! Riding in on the backs of my Killer Whale Navy. They can be inserted into any situation and quickly sort out any troubles on land. They will be unstoppable! As long as no one on the boat has guns, and as long as they don't fall off the back of the whales, and as long as the whales don't eat them. So there are a few details to work out.

I am still on the lookout for an Army to hold the positions that we take over, but I am at a loss as to who/what I should use.  I read an article about a woman that was killed by a Giraffe today, perhaps that is the way to go.

That is what I am doing to help change the world. I like to think of it as a noble cause. Something that will make the world a better place for the children. Just not dolphin children.

*If you don't think dolphins are just wrong, here is Jennifer Garner's account of being molested by one. You would go to jail for this. Dolphins, not so much.

Notes: Frank Frazetta died the other day, I found the killer whale image above on the 'Unofficial website' and borrowed it for here. He really was a great artist even if you aren't into Sci-Fi Fanboy art. Self taught, no formal schooling. 
I am also aware that the above makes me sound a bit insane as I am planning on training a navy of whales to take over the world. I am getting closer to finding a real job. That should cut my insane rants down a little. Then what will I talk about?  

slacker.

Someone is a big, fat, slacker-pants and he has not written anything for ages. Sorry about that, I am looking for a job and it is taking all my spare times. I have a couple things on the docket, I just need to do a little photoshop work to get my point across.

I promise I will get something out this week. I have been cooking the concept pretty long, so It is fairly well developed.
 

Jurassic Park.

I have been out pounding the pavement. Nothing to show from it yet, but I am not deterred. Well, not VERY deterred. As a friend of mine told me right when I quit, the right job will come along. This is all for the best.

As I am unable to run still, I went for a walk the other night around the Serpentine. For those of you not in The Know, the Serpentine is that little lake in the middle of Hyde Park. The lake is normally clogged with people during the day, but at night it is lovely and deserted. Not only are the people gone, the ducks, geese, and swans are much more relaxed. I almost stepped on a couple of ducks napping in the middle of the path. Most of the swans were doing their nightly oil rub-down to keep the water flowing off their feathers and the (normally evil) Grey Geese were standing on one foot dozing. If Birds used to be Dinosaurs, then Grey Geese were Raptors. Cute and fuzzy as babies, but when they are grown they will pluck your eyes out of your skull while honking. 

I am no expert on birds. I don’t eat them anymore, but I have seen a fair bit of them. When I lived in Bethesda, Steve and I would take the canoe out on the Potomac and on a quiet morning, you could get right up to the Herons hunting in the shallows before they would notice you were there. They were always on their own, the herons. Never saw more than two at a time in one area. So you can imagine my surprise after almost stomping on a pair of sleeping ducks to see a heron standing in my way on the path. He scooted to one side, which I thought was nice as he looked like a dinosaur and scared me a little. Then I noticed another, another and another.

Once I waded through the group of them, I turned back to see what in the hell was going on, and counted 35 of them. Vaguely lit by the weak street lamp at the top of the hill, dozens of these grey dino-birds were just chilling out on the hillside. There was a couple there and they must have been doling out bird crack, because I have never seen more than two of these things at a time and here was a herd –flock, I suppose, of them all waiting for something.

They were very polite and very patient. They weren’t queued up, just loosely standing about in one area, but it was pretty creepy. I am used to seeing a flock of Canada Geese clamoring for free bread from tourists. Hell, even the majestic swan lowers itself to scrabble for some free King’smill sliced. Not the heron. They were too dignified, too regal for that sort of behavior. They stood like guests at a black-tie gala, waiting to be served champagne and crab puffs. No squawking, no jostling. Just cool.

I am still a little freaked out by them. It could be the pointy beak and the unblinking eye. Or the Jack Nicholson slicked back haircut they all sport. Either way, they are a little scary, very cool and my new favorite bird. Until one of them attacks me on a nightly walk and stabs that razor beak through my thigh so I can’t run away while the others surround me and peck me to death then eat my innards leaving the rest of me for the ducks to poop on. I knew I should I have stepped on those sleeping ducks while I had the chance…

Author note: I had to go back the next night to try and get pictures. There was a smaller crowd of birds and I went early to get shots as my camera is crap, so it wasn't as dark.  But I did get these two just waiting. 

Stalkings...

Celebrity Stalking is not something I would say I have engaged in. I mean, sure, who hasn't stood outside of Selma Blair's house with a roll of duct tape, a bundle of zip ties, a kilo of Swedish Fish and a jar of Peanut Butter. But that isn't stalking. That is just something to do on a Wednesday night. I am talking about following a celebrity in the media to the point that the most obscure reference sends you into fits. 

My list of "celebs" that I have met outside of a proper event is pretty small. In fact it is two people long and both happened when I was living in Salt Lake City. 

Ron Eldard: He walked into a shop where I worked. The exchange went like this. 

Me. "You look like that guy that used to be on Men Behaving Badly." 

Him. "I am that guy that used to be on Men Behaving Badly." 

Me. "Cool. The show has gone downhill since you left." 

Him. "Rob is a great guy, I am sure he will do just fine." 

Me. "What are you doing out here in Utah?" 

Him. "Shooting a film." 

Me. "Cool. That will be $9.50. Good luck on the film." 

Keene Curtis: He too walked into a shop where I worked. 

Me. "You look familiar. Where do I know you from?"

Him. "I was on Star Trek and on Cheers." 

Me. "Ah yes, Cheers. You ran the restaurant upstairs." 

Him. "indeed."

Me. "Here are the knit caps you were asking after, let me know if you need anything else." 

Nothing out of control, no one got drooled on or attacked. It was a very civil encounter both times. 

Later, when I started working in the bookshop, I adapted the same attitude when it came to the famous authors that came in to sign books. They were just working stiffs like me. They got up in the morning and ate Shredded Wheat (or whatever) nothing different than I did. No reason to get your pants in a bunch because they get hounded by the press more than you. 


All that being said, I was walking down the street coming out of Stanford's in Covent Garden when a man in head to toe black walked past me. Black shirt, black jeans, black shoes and Aviators. (If not for the aviators, I might have looked away. But I can't stop looking at them after my last post) He looked familiar to me for some reason, then it dawned on me that it was Kiefer Sutherland. I had heard he was in town. As I am sure everyone else that gets the metro does. The Paps followed him around and took his pics after a long night out. 

C'mon people. Leave him alone. He is just like you and me. He goes out for the same reasons I go out. He is having a good time. He isn't hurting anyone. If I took your pics after a rough night out at the pubs then put them all over the Sun, you would freak out! But he just takes it in stride. How many times have you needed a mates help to get to the bus? Or passed out on the tube and missed your stop. Or stood outside your flat with your keys in hand trying to figure out which one it was that worked the door and how they got so heavy all of sudden. If only you could take a little nap, you could get the key thing sorted out in a couple minutes. Okay, that last one might just be me. I was fine after that nice man from the bar up the street woke me up by ruffling my hair. I just needed a little break.


Anyway. So I saw Kiefer and tweeted that I had seen him in London. (Not the neighborhood. See? That is me being kind.) Maybe 30 minutes later, a stranger tweeted to me asking if I had spoken to him. What? Why would I have spoken to him? I don't know him. I know OF him, but that is all. We aren't on a first name basis. No offense to the nice woman that tweeted me, but I didn't chase him down and ask him for a photo. He might have said yes, but then I would have been the schmuck that bugged him when he was just out looking for a ... I dunno. Lunch? A book? New sunglasses? 


What ever it was Sergeant Roebuck was out looking for, I wasn't about to get in his way. I have shot him in the head on accident so many times, he might have been a little upset at me. You may be the type of person that runs up to celebrities on the street and asks them for autographs and pictures and what not. Hell, you might wear gold Aviators for all I know, I am not that guy. 


P.S. How KICK ASS is that shot of Keene Curtis? The bald head and awesome mustache? The Turtleneck and Leather Coat? RIP, Mr. Curtis.


P.S.S. If you notice, both Ron and Keene were in Men Behaving Badly. That is crafty use of the IMDB folks. Crafty   

Ow Ow Ow.

Did I mention that I started running? Not as though someone is chasing me, although I suppose it will come in handy when the situations comes up. Running to get in (better) shape. I am not exactly sure why I chose running. I could have done swimming or rowing or dwarf tossing, but I went with running. I think you need special equipment for dwarf tossing. Namely, a dwarf that is happy to get tossed. Man, that sounds dirty-- I have been doing it for a little while now but with all the free time I have now that I am not working full-time, I have been going (almost) every night. That should mean I get better at it, right? That is what I thought.

My last few runs have gone like this:

• • 9.4 Kilometers in an hour. Happy. Excited. Tired.
• • 4 Kilometers in 35 minutes. Dejected. Exhausted. Frustrated.
• • 6 Kilometers in 40 minutes. Frustrated. In pain.
• • 9.6 Kilometers in an hour. Elated. Sweaty.
• • 6 Kilometers in 35 minutes. Serious pain. Very frustrated.

The last run was last night and after zipping through my first 3 K in 15 minutes something went wonky in my leg and I had to limp the last few Kilometers until I just stopped. I am no expert on anatomy, I only know it from the artist’s perspective and knowing how to draw a leg from the knee to the ankle doesn’t really tell you what is going on in there. The part that is hurting me is in the middle bit where there are no joints, no muscle connections (that I know of), just skin and bones. So, what the hell, Mr. Leg? Why are you acting up?

I think I am going to give him the night off and see if a rest sorts him out.

I realize that I am being overly dramatic. Having a wee bit of pain in your leg when you run is nothing like those hardcore footballers that get hurt on the pitch. Although, maybe it is. Perhaps the feeling that Francesco Totti feels when he bumps into Thierry Henry, collapses on the grass and screams like a teen-aged girl at a Twilight premier, is the exact same feeling I had last night. I did walk to the side lines (of the gym), stretched a bit, then walked home. Just like a proper footballer. Minus the screaming and rolling about on the grass trying to convince the ref that I was wronged by the treadmill. Is that why they have running coaches? Do they teach you how to flop on the ground and get a yellow card for the treadmill? I need to get one of those, then.

With any luck, my leg will sort itself out and I can continue my running endeavors. I have boosted my average speed in the last week and with luck, I can get back out there to lend my support to my friend Sarah who is running a half marathon. She is well ahead of me in her training.

As an aside,  Gimp Flipper is a great band name.