Doggy Style

I've resisted getting a dog for five years, after the dog of my heart died (scroll down).

A day after I made that post, I became a total sucker for a stray. OK, not a stray -- just the runt of a litter of golden retrievers -and-gawd-knows-what-daddy-is from a semi-neighbor down the street (geez, get the damned dawg fixed dammit!). Well, MV talked me into it, really. OK, not really. I'd have been a sucker anyway.

So, above is Fenwick, after trying to make a meal of my nephew's wardrobe. Fenwick, ask? No, not after the park (shudder -- Yankee fan here). From Diner, and the fairhaired smartass.

I've been meaning to mention my most recent stupidity (there go the hardwood floors, and my computer bag ... and ...). And there he is ...

Vacation!

... all I've ever wanted. Vacation, had to get away.

I'm off for a bit. Y'all behave.

Whisky. Tango. Fauxtrawt.

I pulled this post off-blog, after having a "Mom moment". How do I put this? Mom chooses words and deploys language carefully: she tends to precision, and I can count the number of times (on two hands) she's ever gone blue. In other words, this conversation is not the norm at one level. OTOH, it does say something, much of it funny -- some of it poignantly funny. I took it down initially because -- even though I blog anonymously -- the thought struck me that Mom would wonder about the blue words.

After a lovely, kind email from someone who saw it whilst it was live; and after floating it by MV (who knows Mom, and concluded that Mom used the word asstard with precision), I put it back up.

MV joked that some humans will be partisans first, but so what. She suggested the thus-literal-minded go figure out how to bypass intercandidate agreements on MI/FL votes, and even by the most generous formulation to HRCs cause get her any purchase on the matter. In her words, that seems proper penance (heh, she's been around a Catholic for too long) for such literalisim. True that. One only continue to look at the math. I think a couch was just jumped this week on the part of one campaign, but perhaps that is just my own moment of amusement.

Anyway, I enjoyed the Mom moment (odd as it was).

Be that as it may and thusly: I repost.

Today is my day off (summer is clinical on Saturday, fortunately fitfully).

Mom calls, I assume about Teddy Kennedy... but no!

Mom: Did you see Geraldine Ferraro?

GM: Ummm ? When? Where?

Mom: I am so damned embarrassed for my generation. So embarrassed. Your hottie Rachel (for those of you who know the drill, I had to do a doubletake, but as it ends up, Mom referred to Rachel Maddow) was so polite to her. She listened. And Ferrarro flipped her lid.

(five random minutes removed)

GM: Oh. Well, Rachel is a hottie. Mom? (pause) I have no clue about which you refer. On the other hand, you clued me in that Hillary was the ambitious one, in a proud Nixonian non-sexist tradition who wouldn't give up for the sake of grace. (I laugh, for I don't know what to do).

Mom: You, my dear daughter are naive!

GM: (gulp) Yes, I probably am. I'm also not -- who told you Obama would win. What am I missing here. You raised me as a feminist, and we are a generation apart, and in conventional wisdom, we both ought to be Hillarious? (snicker -- I still do not get Mom ...)

Mom: GM (and she used only two of my birth names, so I knew I wasn't in trouble), what a ... what a ... well, you use two terms: tonedeaf and asstard?

GM: (I have to laugh, for Mom doesn't ... curse or cuss). Yes? (big major laugh)

Mom: Geraldine was a tonedeaf whooozitz. And Hillary is going to act like the Catholic church and beg for money again -- how declasse -- after she only manages a draw. Hillary dot com.

GM: She will. She's a regular Knights of Columbus.

(pause ... still confused)

GM: Well, you voted for that tonedeaf whatsits back in the day? And my family gave me endless grief for being a Young Republican. (giggle)

Mom: And,, yes, you voted for Reagan. We're talking now! Ferraro lost her marbles -- it isn't about her.

(twenty more minutes removed -- I got to listen about a rundown about AI, which I've not ever watched ... which I had no clue my Mother did?)

GM: Mom? Have you heard the Kennedy diagnosis?

Mom: It's a tumor, I bet.

GM: Yes. You and MV were right, but it's malignant and glial.

Mom: Oh, no wonder you are subdued.

GM: Yeah ...

Mom: OK.

GM: Yeah. And, as you've been commenting, and before it flew under a radar, I did watch the Geraldine clip.

Mom: Glial?

GM: Yeah, the Mass Gen press release was diagnostically two sentences. Key words were: brain, tumor, biopsy, left parietal, and glial.

Mom: No wonder you didn't hear Geraldine. It's one thing to have a point, it's another to keep making it about you. Move on.

GM: Yeah. Perspective.

Mom: A death sentence doesn't mean Geraldine Ferraro wasn't an asstard.

GM: *SNICKER* I love you, Mom (and damn, I wanted to bring "bukkake" into the sentence, but ...)

And I still don't know WTF my Mother talked about, although I know well it didn't much matter? At all. And I wonder if Mom spoke the way she did, because she receive a metastisized diagnosis regarding tumors in the brain? Oy. I think my thinking is as fekakte.

ETA: OK, for the fifth time, I've viewed the 7-ish minutes of Geraldine Ferraro tick of the standard talking points, post-Super Tuesday. Points taken; points given -- I guess? I keep looking at it all and think: all heat; no light. I do think I am missing something? Well, maybe not. I am going to guess that Mom takes as much issue with race -- after all, she has a daughter-in-law that could rival Obama's story. And my Momma has to deal with one kid who is a practicing homosexual/lesbian, and one kid who has committed miscegenation.

I do think I'm oddly charmed that my Mom thinks Rachel Maddow is a hottie ...

I think I'm fekakte, upon thinking of it all.

ETAA: MV suggested (when I gave her the fuller rundown) that Mom just wanted to re-know that Hillary wasn't running for VP. Which makes sense. I'll call Mom tomorrow and laugh at the obviousness of the word, "no".

26th Monthiversary Moments

(see MV and GM sitting across from each other on the red leather sofa -- each staking out back-to-side arm, each with sections of the New York Times in hand, reading).

MV: Do you have the Week in Review section?
GM: (putting down paper, and looking, knowing well I had read that section first) ... ummm ... no.

(pause)

GM: (getting out of reclined repose) Ummm ... where is it? (laughing, but finally espying it -- on the coffee table adjacent). MV, it's at four o'clock. (back to repose).
MV: I have a lovely memory of us early on, reading the Sunday papers. (peering over the A&L section)
GM: (snicker) I remember that well.

(reading continues, I think for about twenty minutes, section by section)

MV: I'd ask you to put the paper down, so that I could have my way with you but we've done a rather large bit of that.
GM: (smile) Yeah, we have. (giggle). (Serious) You are heading somewhere with all of this ...?
MV: (smile) Yes. I am.

(pause)

MV: Happy 26th. I've had a great weekend.
GM: (smile) Me, too. I love the connection. Thank you for my Brown reinforcement ... errr ... that was big (snicker). Satchel Paige, no less.
MV: Well, I've come to discover what Big Brown can do for me?

(pause -- further reading)

MV: I like what Brown does for me.
GM: (smile) I like us. (grabbing the book review section)

(pause, further reading).

GM: Thank you for my jersey. I've always wanted one, but remained too frugal. I am a St. Louis Brown (giggle).
MV: I'm frugal, but given the Big Brown moments? (laugh)
GM: That sounds like a Syd scale for a big brown moment ... (snicker)
MV: (guffaw) True, but it's not.

(pause)

MV: (putting down the Week in Review, and peering over the paper) I love you. Happy Anniversary.
GM: (smile) I love you, too. Thank you for the past 830 or so days.

(more reading)

MV: I'd ask you to put down the paper ...
GM: (cutting MV off) I know ... we're tired and we'll fuck again later (big laugh).
MV: (pout) (laugh) Yeah how did you know.
GM; (laugh) We're that boring and that attuned? (snicker)
MV: (pause) OK? (laugh) Works for me.

(another hour of paper reading followed)

Note to Self ...

...

GM, you are too long in the tooth to be out, and about until the 3:00 a.m. hour -- even if you and MV are having a ton o' fun. Now go and mow the lawn with your mini-hangover. That should get the point across well.

Hugs,
GM

WHOOO-HOOOO!

California Court Overturns Gay Marriage Ban - Get more documents

Landmark news. MV was around to share a moment, so that was even better.

Errr ... not that marriage is in the offing, here in the midwest. Just the same, the move close to actually have a moment or two of genuine decision is a tantalizing spectre.

Of course, the reactions will come fast, and perhaps furious. But for a moment, we celebrate.

140

Just sayin ...

On a side note, over a year ago, I placed my every-four-year bet with a group of former cohorts/colleagues regarding the various outcomes of the 2008 elections. In order, I picked Obama to win, with Webb as VP (with Hagel as second guess for VP), by 4-6% of the popular vote, and by 20-25 electoral votes.

We'll see how this turns out. Until then, I'm just watching the scoreboard, as the clock ticks down -- week by week -- to 0:00.

ETA: 5:05 p.m.: The fat lady just took the stage and began to sing ...

GM's Top Ten

Since everyone (like here, here, here, and here) was doing it -- since it's that time at AfterEllen -- I figured I'd fall in line and make my top ten "hot" list. I obviously am not much for cheesecake?

In no particular order:

1. Jhumpa Lahiri



2. Rachel Maddow



3. Rose Rollins




4. Jodie Foster



5. Diane Lane



6. Cate Blanchett



7. Clare Danes



8. Sandra Oh



9. Michelle Paradise (she resembles MV a bit, kinda)



10. Sigourney Weaver

Republicans Make a Boner ...

... and not over a prostitute, a POA in an airport bathroom, a page, or an aide. I swear, I couldn't have made it up better:

House Republicans unveiled a new campaign slogan today: "The Change You Deserve". Nice, bland. Jingly, no?

There's just one problem. It's an ad slogan for Effexor.

Meme Theme

Swiped brazenly from Syd.

Reading this Big Manly List of Stuff Every Guy Should Be Able To Do, I realized I’m nearly qualified to be a dude. Well, I stopped at # 20, but I can do most of these:

1. Change a car tire. Can do and have
2. Build a camp fire. Can do and have – in theory I knew how to do it; in practice, MV made sure I knew how
3. Pitch a tent. Giggle. Aside from the beta males that tend to latch on to lesbians (chubby chubbies are easy and terminally boringly bothersome). Yes, I can put up tents, of various capacity.
4. Fire a gun with moderate accuracy. Define “moderate”. I can fire a gun, and get within range. It might take me a round or two, though. I am not comfortable handling a gun. But pride wins out … eventually.
5. Down a pint of beer in one gulp. Hello? I did beer bongs in high school, early college. Just a pint?
6. Sharpen a knife. I cook. I do this regularly.
7. Train a dog. I raised two boxers from puppyhood. What do YOU think?
8. Powerslide a car round a corner . I can, and I have. I inspected buildings in the worst parts of The Lou. I learned.
9. Paint a room. I do this exceptionally well.
10. Mix concrete. I can and have. But it’s been a while.
11. Cut down a tree. I’m good up to thirty feet on my own (see the building inspector moment above).
12. Fix faulty wiring and light fittings. I can and I do.
13. Change car oil and filter I once owned a couple of VW Beetles (uhhhh … 60s/70s versions, I suppose we must now qualify). Easy then. I’d not want to venture now.
14. Paddle a canoe. Is this like a douchecanoe? Either way, I’m fine – fore and aft.
15. Set up an XBox on a HDTV. AV queen here. No problem.
16. Steal your neighbors cable and/or WIFI connection. Who me? Snicker.
17. Read a map WITHOUT using a SatNav. I am female. Duh.
18. Throw a mean left/right hook Could do and once did. Don’t know if I have it in me now.
19. Take a mean left/right hook. Never. I've never been cold-cocked (DBN).
    
20. Cook a meal that isn’t beans on toast . Huh? People eat that shit? That said, I cook daily, and I cook well daily.

Don't Ask; Don't Tell

I asked my Mother what she wanted to do for Mother's Day. Still feeling a bit weary from chemo, and remaining oddly susceptible to food cravings, Mom responded that there was only one place that her digestive system could tolerate, and that she'd really like to get out of the house and share a meal with me.

Thus, for Mother's Day, I am taking my Momma to Applebee's.

She promised that she wouldn't tell anyone, thus keeping my chain restaurant snobbery (most recently expressed here, but expressed often throughout the years on blog) intact.

Of course, MV overheard every bit of the phone conversation yesterday setting the Mother's Day lunch date up. She's been razzing my ass regularly, while smiling, particularly when I pretended to extract a compromise from my Mother -- that we patronize a CITY Applebee's versus a suburban Applebee's. To quote MV, "Nice saving of face there (snicker)". I love that MV razzes me. She knows well that -- for this day, and for this moment -- I am grateful for Applebee's. I am grateful that Mom has outlived her prognosis by a year.

Happy Mother's Day to all.

ETA: Just because it was so entertaining, conversationally, I link to the NYT's from last weekend -- as they sent a couple of handfuls of reviewers out to dine at the usual chain suspects. Just as interesting to me has been the reaction to it all, encapsulated by the CJR. I truly love to watch how the canard of "elitist" gets tossed around.

Word of the Day ...

Prune-tang.

The target of geezer viagrants everywhere... ?

173

... and falling fast.

Sweet.

Not that the outcome hasn't been known for months ...

It was good to see Hillary put up more of a fight as the months went by. Not that she couldn't fight still, but aside from getting the final nail (popular vote) in her campaign coffin last night, to make matters worse/clearer the coffer is (probably -- since there has been no talk of funds-on-hand from the Clinton campaign) bare, if not in the red.

ETA: 5.11.08: 160!

With a lead of three in superdelegates -- thus completing the trifecta (regular delegates, "automatic" delegates for the desperately creative Hill supporters, and the pop vote).

277

That's all folks. Just 277.

Even MV has calmed down. 277.

Thanks, y'all.

I left for Chicago (even though a Wisconsin resident for forty years, the burial took place in Nanna's hometown) after work (since I took Friday off, on what was supposed to be a hooky/nooky day with MV in town). What was the hardest part for me was pulling out the funeral suit I bought about a year ago, in anticipation of the day I would need it for Mom. I bought it at a time that Mom was doing well, and my Mother has her odd vanities about her children that do not extend to herself. I bought it in a good frame of mind, and when four-season suits were on sale at Brooks Brothers.

I can still be proper. But it was hard pulling that suit out.

Now that we've dispensed with the superficial, it's been a little easier in the sense that when the person you love is grieving, you are just there. Present. Not hovering, but there. It's something I actually do well -- and I think I come by that naturally. It's an Irish way.

MV and I both got thrown for a bit, in that it was the first time I've seen my gf in the full throws of a keening cry. Since she's seen me do that twice over the course of the concubinage, I can say that it is really hard to be THAT vulnerable. Harder on the crier than on the comforter. It's not my way; it's not MV's way -- except it is when the need for and requirement of grief for a beloved.

I'd write more over the differences in Jewish (orthodox, in MV's grandmother's case although the rest of the family has largely peeled away to reformed -- not neatly, but as a way of description) mourning and death/life rituals. Since a body is now in the ground, and the more significant observances will hit later, I'm not sure what to do with it. I do know that it makes a hell of a lot more sense to my sensibility than some of my family's tendency to wake, and wake, and be really middle-brow tacky in funeral rites (and I'm high Irish -- I won't even go into sentimental Irish rituals).

I do know, that at least within MV's family, there is this familiarity with my own family traditions. As I questioned/joked in my previous post, "What is the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral". The answer is, of course, "one less guest". In private, the celebration of Nanna has been riotous. So, too, the underbelly of that long-standing Irish joke (which feeds into public perception about the Irish) is that weddings might not be what they seem (not an observation exclusive to the Irish Catholic). I feel strangely honored to be somehow included in the private and public mourning and honoring of Nanna.

She reminds me so much of my Auntie Hedge that the comfort -- perhaps undeserved or unearned on both our parts -- has been tangible these past years.

I'm rambling again, so I think it is time to shut up. Really, just thanks to y'all for your comments -- both on this blog and in private.

Resquiat Et Pacem, Nanna.

It's an old joke. What is the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish funeral. Such an answer will serve for MV's Nanna.

I'll leave it to my kin to give the obvious answer.

MV called at 1:00 a.m., to let me know that her dear Nanna -- who gave Hitler her best stink eye, nevermind the tattoo; who tolerated a husband long enough to get MV's Momma out the door; and then went on to live her Pucci-clad robust 94 years -- left this mortal coil.

Late(r) Night Phone Call, II

Phone rings. Caller IQ suggests MV is on the line.

GM: Hey, you!
MV: You, too.
GM: What's up? How's the day?
MV: One day closer to you, I think. I miss you. Lots.
GM: (pause) (smile) I miss you, too. (pause) When are you here?
MV: That's why I'm calling. Tomorrow. Early eve, if you want me.
GM: Is this a trick question? (giggle)
MV: (laugh) No ifs?
GM: None.
MV: No ands?
GM: None. Uhhh ... let me guess, butts are next?
MV: (laugh) Perhaps.
GM: I miss your butt. Just so you get your butt here.
MV: (laugh) I'll be hitting the arch about the time you get off of work. How about I pick up dinner?
GM: Oh. You mean I'll walk in the door to a concubine, with food on the table?
MV: Yes.
GM: Perfect. I might have to play hookie on Friday. (MV doesn't know it, but I've got Friday off)
MV: (pause) Really? Maybe I'll get better than cheap Thai then.
GM: Whatever you want.
MV: Hmmm ... just so I get cheap Irish dessert.
GM: Do NOT press your luck, missy! (big laugh)
MV: (laughing) OK. So it's OK that I'm going to be a day early and you don't mind my butt.
GM: True, and true. I miss you.
MV: (smile) I love you.
GM: (giggle) I love you. Get your butt to bed.

(two sentences removed, for said sentences get sappy, and I'm soooo not there )

ETA:

I call MV, with a dilemma. I've been dared to bust a cherry on my blog. As y'all might have figured, if dared I'm liable to oblige. Anyway, since MV was recipient of Syd's previous advice, I figured she'd know what to do:

MV: So let me get this right. You called me to help you figure out how to satisfy a dare?
GM: (laugh) Pretty much ... that, and I always enjoy your voice.
MV: Yeah, right.
GM: Well, I do love your voice, particularly when you whisper in my ear? (feeble giggle)
MV: Yeah right. So you are trying to get me to figure a way to get the phrase "fat cunt" on your blog?
GM: Well ... yeah. I was dared.
MV: Let me guess. Syd dared you.
GM: Well, yeah. (laugh)
MV: Just type out this conversation and get it all over with. I owe her one, and I owe you one for your inspired uptight WASP dance of distraction. (BIG LAUGH)
GM: (laugh, giggle). Good idea!
MV: So what does Syd have to do in return?
GM: (pause) Somehow get "bukkake" on her blog?
MV: (big pause) WHAT!???????????? Oh I don't want to know this ... (laugh)
GM: (laugh) Well, I've used the word a couple of times on her blog, so I don't see that it is that big a deal ...
MV: (still laughing) I just don't want to know this ........ (laughing). GM, I love you. I've never laughed so hard in my entire life over cunts and spew in my life.
GM: (laughing) Shut up. Quit laughing at me.
MV: (laughing) The minute I stop laughing with you is the minute we are not we.
GM: (laughing) Now that is a truism.
MV: (laughing) That is a GM-ism
GM: (laughing) That's some -ism gism.
MV: (laughing) Gross, and that's enough bukkake for me for one evening.

(three sentences removed)

ETA III:

The phone rings, and I espy it is the gf:

GM: Hey you!
MV: You, too.
GM: Please tell me you are in bed?
MV: Yes, I am ... with two tawdry wenches. You ask?
GM: (snicker) That's a double yes, eh?
MV: Yeah, eh, you half-canuck. I thought of something.
GM: (serious) You did?
MV: Look out tomorrow, because I'm so very sorry but bukkake is much more gross than "fat cunt".
GM: I like cunt. Don't ever wish to see bukkake again, thankyousoverymuch.
MV: Ex-actly.
GM: OK
MV: You know what I like?
GM: What? (smile)
MV: That you don't deploy the c-word even when you are in high-Irish. You just sit there -- and give the weighted look of death.
GM: That's from Mom.
MV: You might be all Beavis-n-Butthead and juvenile, but I've never heard you c-bomb.
GM: Well, I now have "fat cunt" on my blog?
MV: You know what I mean. When was the last time you deployed a c-bomb?
GM: In public? Or in private?
MV: Either
GM: ... (pause) ...
MV: And it's not like you've called someone a "bukkake" either.
GM: EEK, no. I usually tend toward sarcasm first, and creativity second. After all, my bro is "assmaster" or "buttplug" ...

(pause)

GM: OH! I know, and I know Mother can verifiy this. I called our next-door neighbor a "bitchcunt" ... 1986. She earned it ... no one disses my sistah.

(thirty minutes removed)
GM: Thanks for the fun ...
MV: Thank me at about 5:30 p.m. tomorrow ...

Mid-Spring Blogging Ennui ...

I remain in this blogging fugue state. I don't have much inclination to write about the many things going on in the world at large, and in my life in general. This bothers me not, and it seems to be one of those good things that come along once in a while: the need to back away from the internet and the need to keep the good things in lived life going as such things should.

MV's Nanna is hanging in there, and MV keeps watch yet knows that the letting go is fast approaching. Her angst over the continued stupidity of the meme that the Dem nom is still contested has abated (she's no fool), and she spent the weekend sending and bundling more bucks. Neither of us are able to work Indiana (both of us did, perhaps differently, work in IA, WI, NE, MO, and IL), so the checkbook activism will have to do it's second-tier trick. Not that it matters -- it's all been a waiting game post-Super Tuesday anyway.

Mom is doing well. Fingers crossed, and I shant write more lest I jinx much (yeah, I retain some shanty Irish superstitious tendencies).

I'm more enjoying reading and commenting on the blogs of others, so for the near course, there shall I remain for a bit.

Spring keeps springing, and I'm going to keep enjoying it all.

Late(r) Evening Phone Call

GM: (after hearing phone ring, grabs the damned contraption and sees MV on the caller IQ) Hey there, you.
MV: Hi, you. (subdued tone)
GM: (pause) Bummed?
MV: Yeah.
GM: Why? Everything about today was predictable, and actually seems to be in single digits?
MV: Yeah, I know. (still subdued).
GM: What's really up?
MV: I just want something, anything, to go right, yanno?
GM: (pause) I wish rightness for you and for us all. I wish you were here or I were there. Then it would be right in some way.
MV: (pause) You think so?
GM: Of course?
MV: I think that, too. I could take Nanna dying and I could almost tolerate that entitled, non-bill paying poser winning even if only by single digits.
GM: (laughing) Shush -- don't mess with the karma. (laughing)
MV: Quit laughing. I want a pity party and I want it now. And fuck karma and the nepotistic high-fucking horse that (rest removed because it got ugly there) rode in on ...
GM: (stifling laughter) Ahem. OK ... (giggle).
MV: It's just politics, right.
GM: Yep.
MV: Good. I'm being silly.
GM: Yep, you are.
MV: It would be less silly if you were here, making fun of me pouting?
GM: Yep. And, it would be also more silly. (giggle)
MV: OK. I feel better. Sorry to bug you again (and yeah, this was the third MV phone call today, not the norm).
GM: I love when you bug me. I've been known to bug you, too, you know.
MV: I love you.
GM: I love you, too.
MV: How was the BBQ?
GM: Yes, I saved you some and will bring it with. (giggle)
MV: (laugh) OK, so that was my next question.
GM: Go to bed, missy. Try to sleep. I'll keep lighting candles for Nanna.
MV: (sheepish) I wish you were sleeping with me.
GM: I wish that too. Soon.

By Request (Here Ya Go Chapin)

The shell of my brisket recipe ... from what I consider to be the bible of Q. Don't waste this recipe on people who prefer pulled brisket as a vehicle for delivering sweet red sauce. Make it for foodies and Q-ies. (PS: in the review section of the aforementioned bible, my bro opined ... )

		World-Champion Brisket - (From John Willingham’s World Champion Bar-B-Que cookbook) PREP TIME: 8 - 10 hours SERVES: 10 - 12 people
		COMMENT: This recipe is for serious cooks only. The procedure is time-consuming, no argument there, but if you follow the recipe exactly, you will finish in the top 10 percent in any brisket competition -- unless the other guy uses the same recipe! In that case, presentation will be the winning factor because people eat with their eyes first. Taking the time to prepare this brisket proves the adage that anything worth doing is worth doing right. Remember to establish good, steady heat inside the cooker. A cold brisket is a lot like a stubborn jackass, sometimes you have to hit el burro in the head with a two-by-four to get his attention. A brisket is the same about giving up its cold until it is overpowered by the initial and sustained heat that causes the pores to open, allowing the cold to escape rapidly. The most important thing to do after cooking and resting is to slice the meat across the grain into pieces about 1/4 inch thick. INGREDIENTS: 1 6- to 9-pound brisket 1/2 cup All-Purpose Marinade or W’ham Marinade 1/2 cup beer, cola or club soda 3/4 cup Mild Seasoning Mix or W’ham Mild Seasoning 1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar SPECIAL EQUIPMENT: Stiff-back boning knife, sharpened 1 roll 16-inch-wide plastic wrap 1 roll 18-inch-wide aluminum foil Meat thermometer Long-blade carving knife, sharpened METHOD: Remove all the fat and sinew from the brisket, leaving 1/4 inch of fat extending from the top of the brisket point. Cutting at a right angle to the grain, trim the corner of the brisket point. This will serve as a guide later when it is time to slice the brisket. This will also be important should you decide the direction to cut prior to pulling the brisket. Rub the meat all over with the marinade and set aside, covered, for 20 minutes in a cool place. In a bowl, combine the beer, seasoning mix and brown sugar. Rub the meat all over with the mixture, massaging it in with your fingertips. Cover and refrigerate for at least 12 hours and preferably for 24 hours. Start the cooker, allow it to reach a temperature of 250 degrees F. Let the cooker remain at that temperature for 30 minutes to establish and ensure a uniform thermal inertia in the cooking tower or chamber. A brisket resists giving up its massive cold, so the fire must have a strong supply of base heat to overpower and then to draw the cold from the meat. Once the dominance of the fire is established, the brisket will become a willing part of the cooking process. Cook for 8 to 10 hours, maintaining a temperature of 210 degrees F. The brisket is done when the temperature reaches 180 degrees to 185 degrees F internally or when a fork slides easily in and out of the meat. Remove and allow the brisket to rest for about 10 minutes. Wrap tightly with foil and put in the cooker part of the cooking chamber when the temperature is approximately 150 degrees F. Let it rest until you are ready to serve it, or for about 1 hour. Serve it, sliced across the grain, basted with any accumulated juices. NOTE: The brisket can rest in an insulated cooler that has been filled with very hot water, drained and dried. Cover the cooler with the brisket inside.

Ramblin' (Wo)Man.

After the whole lotta shakin' goin' on here in The Lou, and after all the activity lately at my place of work, I took all my extra hours and took a comp day. The weather is gorgeous. I mowed the lawn for the first time this season; I fired up the kettle (sorry folk, a gas contraption "grills" food -- I 'que ... brisket (largely TX-style) if you want to ask).

Every stitch of laundry in the house has been done, folded, put away properly; every surface (including under and behind the fridge, and even the ceiling fans) wiped down and cleaned.

My garden -- planted about a week-and-a-half-ago -- got weeded, with a dollop of compost put on top.

I should remember to take some "me" time once a quarter or so. I think that is the one thing that suffers in the face of being in a commuter relationship and also taking care of a dying mother.

Speaking of familial health, MV has -- for the past month or so -- been tending to her beloved grandmother, on this earth now into her 94th year. This weekend, I was supposed to go to Chicago for the usual, but with Pesach and an grandmother with her third respiratory issue in two months, MV's family headed up to Wisconsin en masse before the weekend hit. I stayed in St. Louis to be with Mom, since my sister and her kiddos came in town on the same weekend. We had a great time here in The Lou. MV and fam had a bittersweet time. Not to harp on the obvious, but MV's grandmother -- after surviving internment camps and gas ovens, after surviving the 1950s, loving the 60s and 70s, and living a feisty little large life -- has systems that slowly are giving trouble and seem to be assaulting her week to week. Realistically (and MV, as a good physician, is an empathetic realist), she's living with assistance and declining steadily.

Her grandmother is someone who I feel sooooo very fortunate to have in my life, even if it is the occassional visit up to Wisconsin. Watching MV and her grandmother has been a riot. Even six months ago, Nanna was having herself some wine-soaked fun with her daughter and grand-daughter.

So, it's a big heapin' spoonful of life here lately.

In all of it, I sit and watch the Dem nom process much as one does when watching a relationship circle the drain: too much stupidity, too much drama, and too much eye-rolling long after the point the outcome was known. MV is her usual antsy self, and I seem to calm her by saying that Clinton will probably win by 6-8% points, but get little from the electoral college by way of gains. It will all get spinned, and there will be little fuel to get Clinton into the next two contests. The circling will continue.

Post-Super Tuesday politics have just been a waiting/watching game.

MV has taken much of the dirty, mudslinging about 60s radicals, her neighborhood and it's church's/educational/community institutions, alleged elitism, and anti-urban slams in the PA primary campaign personally. It seems to be helping her deal with the emotions surrounding what is happening with her grandmother. I can certainly understand that totally.

So, I sit here on my sofa, laptop in lap -- watching the screen continue to post silly "news" pre-PA results. I head up north on Friday, and I wish I were there already.

Reeeaaaaallly!

Headline of the Day:

NY police on Pope watch snatch river beaver

(h/t: Queerty)

I Felt The Earth ... Move ...

Whilst piddling around in the kitchen, making the morning coffee, the earth moved. Not that earthquakes here in The Lou are unheard of (I recall three in my lifetime -- all minor), but a good ten seconds of shake and rattle?

It's been about twenty years since that happened.

ETA: MSNBC says the 'quake was a 5.4 ... centered somewhere in Illinois/Indiana. I believe it.

ETAA: The local news outlets are reporting that some viewers have begun to call in, reporting foundation cracks/damage -- makes sense, that. Clay soil makes for interesting forms of damage.

Ob La Di ...

I've not been compelled to blog much lately. It isn't like I haven't much on my mind, or that there isn't a whole lot to talk about -- there's plenty of that. I've just not felt like it much.

First of all, the weather here is DEE-lightful, and I seem to prefer to be outside and about.

Second, I've been busy enough with Mom. I spent pretty much all day Sunday with her -- doing shopping, errand-running, and cleaning her home from top to bottom MV was there for a goodly part of it (she left after a few hours, since she had to drive home), and if I didn't know it before (and I did), I have one rather extraordinary, special concubine. Mom had her second round of super-duper, last-ditch chemo yesterday, so I stopped by to make sure she was doing OK -- and she is -- she's knocked on her ass but feisty as hell (yippee!).

Third, work has been a bear -- but in the greatest of ways. I do love my job, and this week is one in which the med students and residents hit my Lab at full force. The academic year is ending; match day has occurred. The rites of passage are engaged, and I'm so busy that I cannot see straight (duh!?). But I love watching a bunch of intelligent, gifted, and often limited learners get put through the paces.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll get back in the mood soon ... 'til then, HAPPY SPRING!

Breaking in the Barcalounger

It was on the cue, and ...

There is something to be said for new furniture in the house.

Shiver Me Timbers; Kill My Soul (assuming I have one)

MV remains in The Lou, post-Tuesday NCAA.

She is returning a favor -- my kitchen is painted. My fiend and friend Cin, and her two boys (well, OK, they are now 16 and 17 and are now men, but I knew 'em young and in my mind they are boys) came over to help.

When I came home, and found MV, she showed me the repainted kitchen. She also showed me her new-and-improved MV-cave (her room in my home). There was a friggen Barcalounger! An EZ-Boy chair.

In. my. HOME!

I screamed, I tell you. I screamed.

MV rolled laughing.

Apparently, Cin and MV have been cooking this moment for months. Given my biases, they played me but good. Just the same, MV seemed happy to trick her room out. Cin was happy to get one piece of furniture out of storage (her now-wife's settlement from a previous hetro married life).

My concubine wanted a Barcalounger ...

...

...

Oy.

It's a slippery slope. Next thing you know, I'll have a big oak contraption with a TV and stereo as a focal point in my living room. I'll put slip covers on my her/hirs couches.

This is soooo not good. And my concubine, and friendCindy (as opposed to LoverCindy) got me but good.

Go Cardinal!

I sit here in front of my TV, preparing to cook dinner and awaiting the arrival of MV (she's about an hour-and-a-half away as I type). After the fiasco that was the TN vs. LSU semi-final, I'm in the mood to see some great game -- much like what Stanford executed against UConn. After the men put on one helluva show last night, I want the women to play their guts and their brains out.

As I await the arrival of MV and for the chicken-n-veggies to cook, I thought I'd link to some babeball goodness:

- Fat Louie over at WSB brings her great humor and keen babeball sensibility to analyzing (ahem) the events of Sunday. Always a good read, eh?

- The SF Chron is but one example of the Ace vs. Ice (Magic vs. Bird????) analysis going on out there. I'm already tired of that cutesy little sportsbabble descriptive, so I'll not link more than that.

- Also from the Chron is a terrific article on the season-long development of Stanford's game. That Kate Paye gets a mention just makes my heart flutter (blush). Heh. (and before anyone makes a hair comment: trust me on this that there is NOTHING that you can say that MV hasn't snarked about already)

- The ESPN folk each make their picks, with some analysis ...

Now, getting to the truly important stuff: does anyone want to bet on who has the most egregious and/or most comment-worthy get-up on for the game? Will Tara out-do Pat, or vice-versa? And can either steal the Moving Fashion Violation crown for the 2008 NCAAs from Hatchell?