Bach'en It

What Mrs. Muller thinks of The Muller

Mrs Muller and Princess Muller jetted off to New York Tuesday, so my son and I have been female-less since.  The idea of bach-en it (being a faux bachelor) offered unique opportunities for the son and me, and we've since availed ourselves.  Man food has been consumed, I kicked that heavy comforter off the bed, and guy flicks have played on the TV when Dr. Phil would have been on otherwise.  It's been something.  They get back tomorrow and I can't wait.

Tuesday night was by myself as my son worked.  I heated up a casserole Mrs. Muller froze for us and drank coffee.  I thought to play some Metroid Prime since Mrs. Muller wouldn't be there to tell me to turn down the TV,  but my heart wasn't in it.  I picked up a guitar and strummed along to the tunes playing in my head.  I broke into some improvisation with a pentatonic scale in the key of E minor.  Mrs. Muller usually tells me to go to another room, or turn it down.  Still, I soon lost the zeal to jam.

Wednesday my son was home and we decided on man food; cheese omelets, sausage and buttered toast.  We sat down with our fried goodness in front of the TV for a guy flick, 2012.  My son made it through the first 20 minutes and somehow I sat through all two and a half hours of it.  That movie is pretty bad.  We both discovered that sometimes guy flicks suck.

This morning at breakfast I noticed that the milk was almost gone.  I splashed a little on some cereal and hoped what I left was enough for my son.  Mrs. Muller called several times today to regale me of the beauty of upstate New York and Vermont.  I listened intently and inquired about Princess Muller.  All were fine and enjoying their little sojourn.  "Splendid," I said.

I met my brother-in-law for dinner tonight while my son went to a friend's house for some epic guitar jamming.  After a shower I noticed the skivvy pile was not it's usual piled high self.  I figured I needed to do some laundry.  At the restaurant I noticed I'd dressed myself in a green plaid shirt, brown shorts, black ankle socks and blue and orange cross trainers, but my hair was gelled just so.  My brother-in-law told our server that my wife was out of town.  He later told me that he thought she liked me as evidenced by the fact that she gave me more fried okra than she did him.  He's a trouble maker.  We sat and ate smoked chicken and beef brisket.  He talked about his new girlfriend and I talked about my old wife (as opposed to a new wife, not that she's old).  When we left the restaurant I told my brother-in-law that I'd have to tell Mrs.Muller about it because she would like it.

So, tonight I'll watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail because Mrs. Muller dislikes British comedies and doesn't care for me to watch them when she's around.  I miss the fact that she won't be here to tell me to turn the TV down.  Mrs Muller is a bit of a bed hog, so having the bed to myself has been nice, but it's beginning to lose it's appeal.  But, she'll be back in it tomorrow night, poking me in the back with her knees or slapping me with an errant back hand.  I think I'll make the bed in the morning; she'd like that.  Oh, and I'll go buy some milk.

The Sasquash

Behold the sasquash as it waited for me at the office

My friend, Indie, is the type of person who would give you the shirt off her back, modesty considering.  I think of her as Indie the Generous.  She recently asked me if I'd like a squash from her garden.  I like squash and I've learned over the years that it is good to accept things from people when they offer them, so I said yes.  The next day her husband came in the office with my squash.  I measured it and weighed it after getting home and found that it was three feet long and weighed a whopping eight pounds. 

The sasquash next to a knife, for reference

I had to keep it at the office until I was ready to go home, so it was quite the conversation piece.  I asked Indie the Generous what kind of squash it was.  She said it was a "Chinese something."  My friend, Dan the 80's Hair Metal Enthusiast, called it "the big-ass squash."  Indeed.  Another friend, Juice Man Gary, called it the sasquash.  Ron John (because he's cool like the beach) concurred.  I figured that was a good name and until otherwise corrected it would be known henceforth as the sasquash.

Despite it's gargantuan. tubular qualities, double entendres and innuendos were kept at a minimum.  In fact, the only thing I can recall was a comment made by Juice Man Gary when he shared that he had squash envy.

Deep fried sasquash spears

When I brought the sasquash into the house my family marveled at it's hugeness.  Then I set to preparing what I hoped would be sasquash delicacies.  After peeling it and cutting away the seeds the sasquash probably lost half it's weight.  Still, four or five pounds of sasquash is a significant amount. I decided to prepare it as any good Southerner would do, I fried part and boiled part with onion, garlic and way too much butter.  Squash is one of those veggies that does not have a significant taste, so the ingredients used to spice it are pretty important.  Floured and spiced, deep fried to a golden brown, I dipped sasquash spears into ranch dressing and found them pretty darn tasty.  The boiled sasquash was actually the star attraction as the flavors of garlic, onion and sasqaush, all drowned in butter, was quite delicious.  The girls really liked the latter prepared sasquash and didn't want to share.  

The ladies choice

I had plans to go to dinner at my friend Mike's house, as his family was out of town for the weekend and he was "bach'en" it (as in being a faux bachelor; and Mike doesn't get a nickname, but sometimes I call him Miguel).  I brought sweet tea and fried sasquash spears.  He'd prepared pulled pork on kaiser rolls with this insane hot sauce, and a vat of black beans and rice.  Man food.  The fried sasquash spears were a nice complement.  We ate until we were sick, and it was fortunate that no ladies were present for the resultant gastric "issues".  I'm proud to say that  sasqaush was a pleasant contributing factor.

All in all, the sasquash was a success.  Perhaps one day I'll find out it's real name.  But, if I do I believe it will always be the sasquash to me.  Indie, thanks for an interesting and delightful culinary experience.

Sunday Morning Mulling, July 18, 2010: Benny Hinn Knows He's a Charlatan

daThe thing is, Benny Hinn knows he's a charlatan; the charlatan always does.  His chicanery has come up in many conversations I've had this week, as the topic of religion and faith has been some of this week's hot topics for me.  His claims of healings can't be substantiated, he makes ridiculous claims that even people of his ilk shy away from, and he lives a lifestyle on par with the wealthiest elites, and that because of the immense wealth he's bilked from followers while ostensibly working to spread the good news of the gospel. I'm telling you he knows he's a fraud.


I thought to pepper a post here with stats and such to give you a glimpse into the life of a phony, but NNDB.com does a better job than I ever could.  Check it out. I also found a video that I thought both  humorous and sad at the same time of Benny Hinn at his "miracle crusades".  Check it out:





The main point here is that I'm saddened that people like Benny Hinn have no compunction about preying on the faithful for their own personal aggrandizement  The idea that wealth is acquired by taking advantage of folks who honestly hope for answers or healing from their faith is beyond appalling or criminal; it's evil.  The fact that these "faith healers" jet around the world in private planes as some poor family "planted a seed" with their last dollar in hopes of being healed should gall everyone.  The fact that anyone would prey on the naivety of the faithful should be held accountable, but being that it is a matter of faith, it's nearly impossible.  It's hard to convince the hopeful that their "healer" is nothing more than a snake oil salesman.  What do you say of the person who wrings out every last penny they can get from your hope?  It's sad.

Rewind (and Romance!)

I've been tinkering a bit with the blog site, putting together a new page and ran across a post written, oh, a while ago.  After fixin' it up with pictures after the first one's disappeared I read through it and thought, "Wow, that was pretty profound.  I wonder who I plagiarized to write this one?"  Actually, I thought it could be a great discussion piece, so I'm re-posting it for your consideration.  Many of you might think me an idiot for my conclusions here, but I stand by them.  So, without further ado...

Women are from Venus, Men are from Sparta

I've seen the movie 300 four or five times. It's a movie based on a graphic novel that's based on an actual historical event from the year 480 BC, so we know the movie is factually true. If we've learned anything from watching Oliver Stone movies it's that everything that comes out of Hollywood is factually true. 300 recounts the factual events that took place during the Battle of Thermopylae, when Greece, led by the Spartan king Leonidas and 300 warriors, held up the advance of the overwhelming force of the Persian Empire for seven grueling and hard fought days. Between the information I gleaned from the movie and from Wikipedia I know this to be factually true, since we know both Hollywood and Wikipedia are reliable sources for gleaning information. I hope that I have sufficiently established the historical reliability of 300 so that I can get on with what I really want to say; this being that 300 is probably the most romantic movie I've ever seen.

Blasphemy, you say! In the pantheon of great romantic movies what drives someone to such a ridiculous conclusion, you further say! How did he ever get married, you further, further say! OK, I'll try to enlighten you as to how I've reached such an outlandish position, and hope to quell any matrimonial disharmony this blog post might cause.

I'm sure you have heard of the book, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus and if you haven't it probably means you're not married. I find it laying around the house at different strategically placed locations. I assume because someone wants me to read it. It was good thinking to put it in the bathroom because it did get a cursory perusal several times and I think I get the gist of it. Men and women are different. Not just anatomically, but in so many other ways. The secret to a successful relationship with the opposite sex is recognizing those differences, accepting those differences and learning how to respect those differences. OK, that's my personal synopsis based on a few bathroom trips, but I think I'm pretty close.

A bit of a side bar here-- the planet Venus was named after the Greek goddess of beauty and love. Martians are considered to be green, glob-like monstrosities out to destroy the Earth. Am I wrong to be slightly offended by the imagery put forth by the book's title?

So, with all this context let me attempt to explain why I think 300 is one of the most romantic movie I've seen. I shall illustrate my point by comparing 300 to one of the most beloved romantic movies of all time, The Notebook. I say it's one of the most beloved romantic movies of all time because my wife says that it is and that's enough of an authority for me. More specifically I want to compare the couples from the two movies, King Leonidas and his queen Gorgo... and those other two from The Notebook.

The first thing I think of when I consider the relationship between Loenidas and Gorgo is here are two people that really get each other. They seem to know and respect what makes the other tick. Leonidas respects his wife and seeks her counsel more than once. Gorgo recognizes Leonidas' strengths and encourages them. In the scene where Loenidas marches off to war Gorgo removes her necklace and hands it to him. No words are exchanged. Nothing needed to be said because the viewer knew these two mutually loved, respected and admired each other. Then, as Loenidas turned to leave his wife for what would be the last time she says; "Spartan, come back with your shield, or come back on it". Wow! That's got to be one of the hottest lines ever uttered on the big screen! When Dilios, one of the 300, returns the necklace back to Gorgo, nothing is said. She understands that as Leonidas faced death he thought of her. Now, you tell me that's not romantic. (And there's the scene where they share their amorous affection for each other and get all freaky, just sayin'.)

Now, let's consider the other two. First, there is the spoiled debutante brat who can't make up her mind and likes to hit people. Second, the badly bearded, obsessive, brooding pouter that likes to deal with the loss of his love by drowning in wine and women. Sure, he refurbished that house, but go and tell your love interest that you coped with their absence by getting drunk all the time and sleeping with other women and see how far that gets you. The only sensible person in the movie was her fiancé when he said he loved her and wanted her to be happy, so he sent her back to the pouter. Something tells me he lived happily ever after. Then, when she had developed Alzheimer's in her latter years he terrorized her every day by recounting their story until she remembered, then forgot again, leading her to freak out and have to be medicated. True love or true obsession?

Ok, I get it with The Notebook. I'll even admit I teared up at the end. If there were ever two make believe characters that were perfect for each other it was those two from The Notebook. The point here is that men and women can look at these movies and get different things from them. Let me reiterate, men and women are different. Men and women will forever have different perspectives on what's romantic. Actually, they will have different perspectives on everything! You want proof, just watch these two movies. Then discuss them. Just don't resort to violence.

I think the key to understanding your better half is actually somewhere between what makes these movies different. When we understand that women are from Venus (or maybe South Carolina) and men want to be from Sparta (why Mars?), we might begin to see that person hogging the other side of the bed in a different light. It might even help us respect and admire them. It's what makes us different that makes us intriguing. I say embrace the differences.

I'm sure my wife would like me to have those Spartan six-pack abs, but that ain't happenin'.

I say for Sparta and for Glory (put that in your notebook)!

 

The Fat Daddy

For some reason you persist in reading the drivel I tap out here, and for that I’m grateful, but I’ve been delinquent in fresh mullings as of late, and for that I apologize.  It would seem that the real world precludes my entry into the blogosphere from time to time (oh sweet blogosphere, my escape!)  Yet,  I intend to rectify that with a fresh ‘un, because life is too interesting not to mull over.  So, without further ado…

As you know, we don’t eat just because we’re hungry.  Sometimes eating is an event, like a date or a family reunion.  Sometimes we eat to cope, though it’s not recommended (but a bowl of chocolate ice cream does help from time to time).  Sometimes it’s a competition, like Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, though fun to watch, is also not recommended.  And sometimes you eat just for the fun of it, and that is why I wound up at Munchies 4:20 Café!

Munchies 4:20 Cafe

I’d heard of Munchies on the Travel Channel’s show Man V. Food, where the show’s host, Adam Richman, travels the country sampling some of America’s unique dining establishments and participating in some pretty crazy food challenges.  I happened to be in St Pete, Florida this past weekend for the Salvador Dali Museum and thought it worth the 40 minute drive to Sarasota to take a gander at their menu.  And quite the menu they have, too!

The place itself is unassuming to look at from the outside and could qualify as a hole-in-the-wall, but I don’t use that phrase derogatorily, for I love to find and sample food from mom-and-pop restaurants and greasy spoons. Some of the best food I’ve ever eaten has come from such establishments; it must be the effect Anthony Bourdain has on me.  Upon walking in you're greeted immediately by the counter to order from and to the left two booths if you choose to eat in.  Mrs. Muller and I were fortunate enough to score one of them.  One the back wall hung a tee-shirt advertising The Fire in the Hole Wings Challenge, of which Adam Richman tried and failed after one wing.  The lady behind the counter at first acted as if she’d rather do anything other than take our order until I inquired about the wing challenge.  She became very adamant that I should not try it, that it’s just that bad.  I was informed that 9 out of 10 people who try it, regardless of whether they succeed or not, will throw up.  In fact, they don’t offer the challenge after 10 pm because that’s when the drunks roll in to take a shot, and they usually don’t make it back out when they start to ralph.  That’s a smart policy.  But In truth, I wasn’t there to consume food that could potentially cause permanent damage to my anus, I was there for their fat sandwiches!

The beautiful Mrs. Muller posing below the only wall hanging not a Dave Matthews Band poster or a participant in the Fire in the Hole Wings Contest.  Quite fetching.

A side note here: Mrs. Muller made a good observation about the name of Munchies 4:20 Café.  The café’s hours are 4:20 pm to 4:20 am, and would be the obvious reason for their name.  But, upon further consideration, the date April 20th, or 4/20, is also considered by some to be “Weed Day”, or “Pot Day” , as in marijuana, and seeing as imbibing in marijuana can give you the “munchies”, it would seem a double entendre is being employed here.  I think she’s on to something!  I should have asked for some of that “special oregano” for my sandwich, know what I mean…

Now, Munchies offers a variety of foods like burgers, dogs, philly cheese steaks and salads, even desserts, but they also offer such things called fat sandwiches, as well.  Some of the names for these fat sandwiches are; Fat Josh, Fat Mamma, and Fat Hippie.  I settled on the Fat Daddy.  Here is what’s in a Fat Daddy, as listed on their menu:

Behold! The Fat Daddy!

• cheeseburger
• philly works (as in philly cheese steak sandwich!)
• chicken fingers
• mozzarella sticks
• spuds (fried potato wedges)
• lettuce
• tomato
• mayo
• ketchup

Thanks God there was some roughage in that behemoth!  And it’s all served on a 12 inch hoagie.  And mine also came doused with cheddar cheese sauce!  It has to be one of the most ridiculous concoctions of food I’ve ever seen.  And it was very, very good!  You might be surprised to know that each element of the sandwich was discernable when I bit into it.  The fact that all that cheese didn’t make the fried spuds soggy was surprising.  I finished all 12 inches, along with a side order of spuds, half of Mrs. Muller’s philly cheese steak, and washed it down with orange soda.  I fully expected to enter cardiac arrest upon standing and didn’t, but I did suffer quite the gastric eruption later that night.  I think it was the orange soda, but I could be wrong.

Yeah sometimes we eat for the fun of it, and Munchies was fun.  In fact, I’d recommend it, just not on a regular basis; unless you think diabetes and heart attacks are living on the edge.  I told my brother-in-law about it and we’re planning a road trip just to eat a fat sandwich.  We’re crazy that way.  Next time I might go with the Fat Sandy, it has mac-n-cheese on it…

Salvador's Dali

Encountering Salvador Dali's work is simply unforgettable.  You don't forget your favorite food, your first kiss, a broken heart, and you don't forget Dali.  Although a master of seemingly all painting styles his work is immediately recognizable.  To immerse yourself within his work as I did this past weekend leaves you awed, perplexed, shocked, intellectually titillated and longing for more.  Well, at least in my case, as his peculiar genius resonates with me.  And judging by the popularity of his work, I dare say there are others out there like me.

The Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida is home to a collection of Dali's work that spans his life's work and showcases his artistic genius, and is where I spent this past Saturday.  And yes, I've used the superlative "genius" twice to describe Dali, but I use it with good authority, as Dali himself uses it of himself in his 1944 autobiography, The Secret Life of Salvador Dali.  He's best known for his surrealist works, but he had his hands in many different medium and reflected many different influences and he's likened to the classic artists of the Renaissance.  In fact, he states in his aforementioned autobiography that he was destined, "for nothing less than to rescue painting from the void of modern art."  If you have the pleasure of a Dalinean immersion you might be shocked by the very modern look to his most famous works, particularly the surreal paintings, but you can see the influence of such Renaissance artists as Raphael as well.

But, that's not what stands out to the average Joe not educated in art and art history, much like myself.  Without a docent explaining the Surrealist movement's objectives, or Dali's affinity for the work of Sigmund Freud, or the megalomania and insecurities of Dali, you might think you've stepped into the mind of a madman; and I say that not intending to be disparaging, for Salvador was a little loony, but in a good way.  You might think much of his work perverse as there seems to be phallic imagery throughout, and that's because Dali used phallic imagery everywhere!  Once acquainted with Dalinean symbolism you find that his ubiquitous use of phallic imagery symbolizes his own sexual insecurities, but without that knowledge you might think him simply a pervert.  He does refer to himself as a "backward, anarchistic polymorphous perverse" in his aforementioned autobiography, but that's not to be used out of context here; he's merely explaining one of the processes of his genius (and "genius" comes up again).  To see images of solid objects painted as if having lose all rigidity and droopy you might think him weird, but once you know he used this imagery to symbolize fluidity, as in painting clocks in this manner reflecting Einstein's theory of relativity, you get a different appreciation, although you might still think him a bit odd.

As my wife and I left the museum I knew I would be back some time soon.  In fact, I find myself not wanting to merely look on his work, but to get to know the man.  I wish I could have had a conversation with him, as I'm sure it would be anything but dull, but alas...  At the very least do yourself the favor of acquainting yourself with his work (a Google search, maybe).  If you have the opportunity for a Dalinean immersion, do it; it'll be worth it.

An Independence Mish-Mash

After a hard day of earning a living yesterday,  I sat down to finish Metroid Prime, my latest favorite video game.  While slamming back pizza and Pepsi I meticulously worked on dispatching Meta Ridley while on my way to the final boss battle with the game's namesake. As I was vanquishing Metroid Prime I couldn't help but marvel at the fact that to beat it Samus Aran had to stand in the beast's Phazon excrement and blast it back at it to beat it.  Man was it fun!  (I believe Samus Aran could be the greatest video game hero going, as is partially evidenced by this cool picture!)

I started off this morning with one of the best meals that, ironically, is also one of the most under appreciated; scrambled eggs and buttered toast.  Scrambled eggs done right can't be beat in my book.  I also perused Max Brook's, The Zombie Survival Guide, to catch up on my zombie lore after participating in a Blogger Coffee Shop thread about surviving a zombie apocalypse a few days ago.  Then I slipped the mp3's buds in my ears and commenced upon hours of yard work  As I stained my bare feet green, I was regaled with th music of Warren C. Haynes and Gov't Mule and the super group Chickenfoot.  Haynes proves a fat Gibson tone sounds incredible in the hands of a master, and  Joe Satriani's Ibanez screamed at me while Sammy Hagar wailed about his "sexy little thang".

The rest of this day will be spent getting ready to receive some family and friends tomorrow; the 4th of July, Independence Day.  There will be country style barbecue ribs, grilled corn on the cob, potato salad, baked beans, sweet tea and my favorite, apple pie.  There should be good conversation and all around good times.  We'll rap thing up with fireworks "that emit showers of sparks", and if we're lucky, maybe some of the "good stuff" as well (the real fireworks are illegal here in Florida, but somehow that regulation isn't enforced with vigor, if you know what I mean). 

I don't know if the Founding Fathers even thought that a guy like me would enjoy freedom as I've outlined here when they fomented a revolution by declaring independence from the control of England.  They probably couldn't imagine the technical advancements that make our lives the pursuit of happiness they are today, but I'm sure they knew freedom would lead to an infinite potential.  They seemed to know that all people yearn to be free, and that their efforts could lead to a dude like myself working hard to enjoy that freedom.  While other folks around the world suffer under a tyranny that suppresses their freedom, I look forward to the opportunity to fully express my freedom everyday.  I take that for granted.  As I'm downing some of Americana's finest culinary fixins tomorrow, I'll be thankful for those who understood the value of freedom and fought that I might enjoy it everyday.