Wednesday, May 28, 2003

Meat Country, baby

Carnivores delight, because first to the table and last to leave aptly describes the gluttony of meat ingested over an open flame. Seasoned and barbequed, roasted and pulled, how delectable the multitudinous smells of swine slowly cooked, a succulent red apple stuffed in its mouth. Indeed the other white meat if you will culturally suits those who suck the tendon and cartilage clean off the bone. Life, after all, is a bowl of pork chops.

Or the flowing juices of two half-pound patties of ground beef grilled "one-one thousand, two-one thousand, flip" for that charred though tartar texture. Fear not the sight of raw, red blood for it puts hair on the chest and does the soul comfort.

As the wise broadcaster is wont to say, "Some just as good, none better..." So garcon, garcon...(snapping fingers)...more french fries for this table! And how brilliant is it to use Coke to marinate as well as tenderize otherwise tough short ribs.

Friday, May 16, 2003

Spring cleaning

Come on in, Mister Clean. Polish your shaven bald head shiny as can be and roll up those short tee shirt sleeves. The floors, the doors, even windows ought to gleam a fresh lemon scent. And faster than you can say disinfectant, the whole dirty place is spotless, enough to make Gomer proudly shazam.

Is there a soother calm than the quiet whir of an Electrolux canister vacuum? Or a purer sound than the effervescent fizz of scrubbing bathroom surface foam? Maybe just maybe the fat lady not only sings but mops on her knees sans brush or sponge using good, old-fashioned elbow grease. And not a trace of fine dust remains.

God bless the spic-and-span for doing such a top job.

Wednesday, May 14, 2003

Reminiscing the Ides of May, 1988

"Don't know why there are clouds up in the sky, stormy weather.."

It happened as if in a blink of an eye. A slight blip, no more than a fraction but significant enough to raise eyebrows. Then the covenant so sacred disintegrated into black.

Looking back, mark your calendar one day before the anniversary of what might have been fifteen years. A funny thing happened on the way to the forum. That afternoon, as Cyndi Lauper and her entourage stood outside across from the tavern at Catalpa and Broadway, the gods protested. And the sky belched, dark clouds shaped like fluffy hearts hurled many lightning bolts and in sympathy, car alarms wailed. Such a gesture in itself would foretell of the state of things to come. True, the heavens finally cooperated, casting bright afternoon sunshine afterwards, but the mechanism to turn the shrew into Cleopatra stabbed poor Mark Anthony in the back eight or nine times. Even Helga presciently counseled caution. Who knew then basking in the stark evening glow with tribesmen yelping a twirling cymballed hankerchief and twenty dollar bills wafting above our heads and Murderer's Row posing in tuxedos that a pair of rose-colored glasses could shatter so easily? Really so who is afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Count the wounded maybe.

Thursday, May 08, 2003

On the vagaries of frontrunning

"An ephedra cocktail to perk the blues away, Your Highness?"
"But of course..."

Again king for the day, though sadly as is the modus operandi of any horsehide squad so managed, now or about a month and a half into the new season is when my boys of spring usually push forward and expectedly occupy the driver's seat momentarily. Alas the dog days of summer ahead will see fit to wilt this momentum and the hope sprung eternal from smoke and mirrors inevitably clears. And the cold, dark cellar beckons its dank claim as Lola sings her song.

This is such a cruel, cruel game.

Wednesday, May 07, 2003

Slaughter rule in effect

Say it ain't so, Joe. The latest score shows the home team down by a huge margin.

Where is the supposedly potent run support? Not once out of their own volition in any situation does the bench remotely clear even when someone charges the mound. Forget about the third base coach who gives the green light, windmilling his right arm only to get bushwhacked from behind. Just count your money and bask in your glory. Typical bad play and typical lack of effort deriving from poor fundamentals, groundless execution and pure indifference. So why jump through the hoops without any reciprocation, petty as it may seem? Nothing rips a team apart faster than bad chemistry.

Go into the stands for a foul ball at your own risk.

Tuesday, May 06, 2003

"You're so vain..."

Toot your own horn and hear the off-key notes. It is but narcissistic karaoke sung to masturbate wee shortcomings. Those with better-trained and well-practiced lips who know how to tongue the rim do so expertly without breathing in the funk. And that makes the world go around every twenty-four hours uninterrupted by any commercials. Advertising works but just what is being sold depends on the star power of the spokesperson, not the product itself. Just smile those pearly whites, pucker up and wax interminable about your best subject since study hall and/or lunch. A sucker is born every minute who will buy sight unseen.

Behind-the-scenes technicians need not apply. Second, third and even fourth chair is all that can be hoped for. As former Minnesota Viking fullback Leroy Hoard philosophized, "If you need one yard, I'll get you three; if you need five yards, I'll get you three."

Monday, May 05, 2003

In Queue

The hare versus the tortoise and finally the Road Runner loses. Slow and steady is just that, only slower and steadier. Speed burns especially oil viscosity which predictably causes damage to any metabolic engine. So is fifteen minutes an arbitrary measurement related only to celebrity? Can it not also serve as a quarter slice of time to indicate efficiency? What consumed upwards to one to oftentimes two or three hours now is accelerated to the great appreciation of those quirks of nature defying odds with beginner's luck.

The onerous monolith that is the red tape central turned over a new leaf, instituting modern technology to better herd the little doggies along. The result depending on distance from the crowded middle moves supersonic fast. So much so that windows blew out from Mach three breaking. So call me Roger Bannister because the subhour pace is shattered. And by an inhuman margin smacking of Bob Beamon in Mexico City, too. An incredible and incredulous feat.

But black stirrup hose pulled below the calf plus black cleats creates the illusion of hauling a trailer around third. The wheels spin but fourth gear is mainly for power and not at all for speed. So what accounts for the new world record?

Thursday, May 01, 2003

T.S. Eliot notwithstanding...

And so ends the cruelest of all months because when it rains, it pours.

Not a fine misty drizzle, mind you, but a good gracious, honest-to-God torrential downpour. The kind that uproots Kansas clapboard farmhouses and whirl them around into the land of Frank Baum. With things falling out of the sky and people scattered about, running for dear life. Even the Hamilton girls, Edith and Margaret, flee, unsure whether their previous stations grant both or the other immunity.

Though it did begin tamely, purring like a kitten asleep at first. That might well explain its eventual fury.