duck-shaped pain

2000-10-19
Where I Let The Archetypes Speak Through Me

Hunting woodpeckers one day, ordering $2000 in plastic 3-ring binders the next.[1] Some people claim that what they love about their jobs is that "Every day is different � you don't know what's going to happen." Not me. Some days I'd just like something sort of predictable. Not as much as I'd like a desk and chair of my own, of course, but knowing what I was in for would make each day a lttle better.

For the first time in recent memory, I don't have anything work-related to do at home (or, to be truthful, anything work-related to bring home, leave on the table, and occasionally think about during Relaxing Beer Time). The overworked middle-aged guy deep down inside of me would claim, "Hey! I don't know what to do with myself!" The rest of me, desperate and hellbound for sloth, feels like beating the crap out of Inner Middle-Aged Dad, I tell you. I plan to bathe and drink beer and read and stay up late. I could do so much more, I suppose, but I'm sort of broke.


Here's a complete mystery, at least to me. Maybe someone out there can explain this behavior. Last year, I bought my dad a shirt at a yard sale. A nice, heavy, long-sleeved polo shirt with the Colorado Avalanche (my dad is a huge hockey fan) logo embroidered on it. It had never been worn � someone received it as a gift, it didn't fit, and they weren't able to take it back � and, in fact, still had the tags on it. I thought he would like it, but it's been sitting there, hanging up in the laundry room for a year. All he wears are a) long-sleeved polo shirts and b) hockey t-shirts, so this shirt isn't some brave experiment for him.

I get the idea that he hasn't worn it because it has that "used" aura about it. I don't understand it myself, but I've been assuming he didn't want to hear anything secondhand. That is, until the other day. He found a shirt laying in THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD near the college he teaches at. It was a green sweatshirt which had been run over a bunch of times, had tire marks all over it, yet he brought it home, proclaimed it to be perfectly useful, washed it and has since worn it a bunch of times. Unbelievable.


Damn, I make fine chicken. Personal meat-eating issues aside, [2] you cannot beat my chicken. I take a chicken or disembodied chicken parts, place them in a roaster pan, cover with foil, and place in a 350-degree oven for 90 minutes. Meanwhile, I chop up some garlic (2-3 cloves), mash it with salt with a mortar and pestle, and then gradually add into the garlic mush some dried thyme, dried basil and black pepper (dried handles the mashing/grilling process better, I've found). When all ingredients are mashed together well, place in a small bowl. Add good olive oil to cover. Light up your favorite grill. I use a gas grill, but I bet a charcoal grill or stovetop grill would also work okay. Remove chicken � it should be done and nearly falling apart. Place on grill, brush skin with olive oil/garlic mixture, and cook just long enough for skin to become crispy. Devour. This is one chicken dish where taking off the skin is completely unacceptable, sorry.


I continued to listen to more Songs About Fucking today, on the wya to work and everywhere else I drove today. I didn't listen to all of it, because I got stuck listening to "Precious thing" over and over again. I was trying to think of ways to write about how much I like that song, but the only phrases that could make their way through my caffeine-addled yet foggy head were things like "It's rockin'" and "Niiiiice." - the things you generally only hear when listening to someone else describe periods of intense adolescent Van Halen appreciation. I felt like an eejit.


[1] I know you're not really asking, but that's about 100 really big, heavy-duty binders. I don't know what they're for, either.

[2] Not your personal meat-eating issues, mine. I keep wavering in the breeze on this issue. I'd like to tell you it's because of some ethical dilemma on my part, but the truth is: a) I don't always like the way meat tastes, b) vegetables are cheaper, c) chicken aside, I suck at cooking meat and d) vegetarian cookbooks are more fun, except for the ones that lecture you a lot. But since I'm cooking for others who do not share my dilemma, meat it is.

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