Sunday, April 1, 2018


4 quarts popped popcorn
1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup Karo® Light OR Dark Corn Syrup
1/2 cannabutter
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

Optional: a couple of handfuls of beer nuts or butter toffee nuts or whatever, to taste.

  • Spray large shallow roasting pan with cooking spray.
  • Add popcorn and place in preheated 250° F oven while preparing caramel.
  • Mix brown sugar, corn syrup, butter and salt in a heavy 2-quart saucepan.
  • Stirring constantly, bring to a boil over medium heat.  (Tip: heat/stir until all of the brown sugar has melted and the liquid doesn't look cloudy.)
  • Boil 5 minutes without stirring, at heat so it's just barey boiling. (Tip: if your burner won't go low enough, gently move the pan off the burner until it just stops bubbling, them move it back on.  You might also try a double-boiler, but whatever you do, do not allow it to boil rapidly for 5 minutes, it should be just barely to the point of boiling.)
  • Remove from heat.
  • Stir in baking soda and vanilla; mix well.  Liquid should turn a lighter color and become opaque.
  • Pour liquid over warm popcorn, stirring to coat evenly.
  • Optional: sprinkle peanuts in; stir
  • Bake for 45 minutes, stirring every 15 minutes.
  • Remove from oven and spread on foil that has been sprayed with cooking spray. (Alternative: bake in a no-stick pan big enough to stir it, and stir every 5 minutes until it isn't tacky)
  • Allow to cool; break apart.
Store in tightly covered container.

Sunday, October 8, 2017

A bar in Cabo San Lucas called the Giggling Marlin makes the ultimate drink, aptly called:

Skip and Go Naked

1 shot tequila
Splash gin
Splash vodka
Splash rum
1½ shots Amaretto
¼ cup fresh orange juice
½ cup pineapple juice
½ banana

Put it in a blender until it's slushy.  If mixed in correct proportions (follow the recipe to the letter) you can't even taste the alcohol -- as dangerous as it is good!

Drink responsibly!

Friday, April 21, 2017

Gourmet Meatloaf Recipe

pounds lean ground beef
¼ pound Italian Sausage
1 cup milk
½ - 1 cup Monterey Jack Cheese, cut into ¼ - ½” cubes
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
¾ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
1 garlic clove, finely chopped (or ⅛  teaspoon garlic powder)
1 egg
½ cup italian bread crumbs (or 3 slices bread, torn into small pieces)
1 small red (or yellow or white) onion, coarsely chopped (½  to 1 cup)
½ teaspoon ground mustard (or 1 heaping teaspoon brown mustard)

Optional Ingredients:
½ cup thinly sliced mushrooms
1 teaspoon chopped fresh sage leaves or 1/4 teaspoon dried sage leaves

½ cup ketchup, chili sauce or barbecue sauce

  1. Heat oven to 350°F.
  2. Mix ingredients all together in a bucket
  3. Spread mixture in ungreased loaf pan
  4. Spread topping over top
  5. Bake uncovered at 350°F for 1:00 to 1:30 or until temperature at center is 160°F.

Pan options:
  • 8½ x 4½ x 2½ inches or 9 x 5 x 3 inches
  • Or improvise
(Shape of pan may affect cooking time, always use a meat thermometer.)

Based on the best meatloaf in the world, as made by my friend Chrissy, taken way too soon.  I found a recipe online, and experimented with the proportions of onion, cheese and other ingredients, from my memories of the wonderful meals she used to make.  (Ironically she would’ve laughed at my writing it down.  And I can almost hear her Brooklyn accent, “Always use a fucking meat thermometer? What the fuck is that all about?  You know where you can put your fucking meat thermometer, fuck!”)  RIP Chrissy, for all of your tough New York exterior, you were the kindest person I’ve ever met.  You may be gone, but will be never forgotten.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

12-Step Douchebags: Step 9 Bullshit

Ever had one of those 12-step assholes come slithering up out of your past, trying to “make amends”? What pisses me off is, they do this shit for benefit of no one but their own damn selves.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for the shit storm I caused for you. I know I was a real asshole back then…”

True that, and you’re still an asshole right now for thinking a few words from a boilerplate apology will mean a fucking thing to me.

“I know there’s nothing I could ever do to make it up to you…”

Yeah?  Have you ever even thought about trying?  Have you ever even begun to imagine any portion of the tangible costs your bullshit incurred for me?  Oh sure there’s all the intangible damage you’ve done that can’t be price-tagged, but does all the shit that’s impossible to repay, absolve you of responsibility for the shit that is possible to repay?  

So in reality it’s not that there’s nothing you could do, more like there’s nothing you actually *would* do, besides spilling balloon juice trying to cleanse that filthy train wreck you have for a soul.

“If there’s any way you could find it in your heart to forgive me…”

That would be up to my heart, hold on a second, I’ll ask… well… sorry but my heart says FUCK THAT!  It doesn't seem to be negotiable.  Did you really think that shallow words and empty apologies would make me feel like you’re right with the world?  As if a history stained by your actions magically washes clean?  Hey everyone, did you hear that?  He says he’s sorry… yeah, "sorry"... imagine that!  Isn’t that special?

Why don’t those 12 step programs teach them to really try to make amends?  “I know it’s not enough, but here’s a month’s salary, and a picture of me of me on day 10 of eating nothing but Japanese noodle soup and soda crackers.”  That’d be something, wouldn’t it?  But sadly it’s something we’ll never see, because Step 9 isn’t about righting all the wrong they’ve done, it isn’t even about righting any of it, it’s about helping them to ease the guilt for all the mayhem they’ve caused.

Effectively they want your permission to forget their bullshit actions and pretend the slate is clean. As if "working the steps" cancels history and makes them worthy of your trust.  Really all they want is permission to feel better about themselves as human beings -- DENIED!

AFAIC, they can stick all that happy horseshit right up their asses!  Live with the guilt, bitches, it’s appropriate.  Want to make me feel better?  Then go fall under a bus, or suck-off a 9mm, because to see that you’re still wasting oxygen makes me sick, and the only cure would be to drink beer out of your empty skull.  Now that’s what I'd call making amends!

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Expensive Paint Brushes

Until about a year ago when it came to painting, I always bought cheap brushes and such, figuring that way, if I didn’t feel like cleaning them when I finished, I wasn’t out much.  How an expensive brush could be that much better than a cheap one escaped me.  Then last year for whatever reason I started handling a nice brush in the store (Wal-Mart, to be exact.)  The handle was rubberized for better grip, and molded to fit in my hand, and its bristles were soft like a chick’s hair, but firm enough to keep its shape when soaked with paint (rather unlike a chick’s hair, but I digress.)  So I bought a set of them, sized between 1” and 4”… that changed everything.

A good brush is more efficient, it makes painting go faster, it’s easier to control and it doesn’t drip as much.  But it quickly becomes worthless if not cleaned properly. 

I now rinse my brushes until they squeeze clear in the water – if you can see paint in the water you wring out of it, the brush isn’t clean yet.  I also scrub the paint off the metal part and the handle – it surely doesn’t change the way it works… I don’t really know why to be honest, maybe just a pride thing, but when I put them away, my brushes still look brand new.  I even go so far as to rinse them out every hour or two while I’m painting, to keep the paint that soaks up to the top of the bristles from drying to the point it won’t come out. 

As a result, the next time I go to use them, my brushes work just as well as the day I bought them, the bristles are still soft and absorbent and the handles still feel good in my hand.  Maybe the reason for keeping the handles clean is just to benefit my frame of mind each time I start to paint?  I may never fully understand the reasons, but I know for sure I like it, it’s well worth the extra time.

I also figured that bigger was always better, but now I realize that, for starters, a bigger brush takes longer to clean than a smaller one, which logically means it also wastes more paint each session.

Beyond the Harshness of Reality

The harsh reality I have to live with is that my hopes and dreams of finding a soul mate are now, always have been, and forever will be, worth absolutely nothing.  This condition is acceptable only in absence of any other context, for once I see what’s been missing, I tend to long for it… and it hurts.  Thus the dark Irony: loneliness, lack of companionship, and the sometimes paralyzing despair that comes with them, are only made worse by the times when they are briefly interrupted. 

Only the cruelest of souls would fuck with my perception of this reality for profit or gain.  You’d think such souls would would be few and far between,  yet I seem to not only encounter, but embrace and encourage them, regularly.  It takes way too little to draw my heart into these deals, and way too much abuse before it will finally concede and cut its losses.

For whatever period of time the illusion seems real, it does bring some real happiness… alright, a lot of real happiness… if only the highest highs were not immediately followed by the lowest lows, this roller coaster ride wouldn’t be quite so sickening.

Erosion of Life

In the beginning each day’s experience is exciting and new, it has a palpable flavor that is decidedly zesty – leaving to question not even for a moment that you are alive and connected and a vital part of what’s going on.  Even the unpleasant things aren’t so bad, note to self: don’t do that again, is usually enough to restore an inward facing smile.

Challenge is opportunity.  Change is opportunity. Opportunity is everywhere.  A day in the life converts directly to knowledge, and the point of being seems inescapable.

Unfortunately the everyday tedium of life erodes that flavor, badly, to the point that in the end, even that which used to bring delight becomes so dull and boring and omnipresent it makes you want to throw up in your own mouth, on purpose, if only so that, please oh please for the love of all things large and small, at least it tastes like something.  (Somehow the acrid sting of bile is the only flavor that never loses intensity.) 

Challenge saps energy.   Change is annoying -- particularly when it seems to serve no useful purpose.   Change is infuriating when it costs you in trade for someone else’s benefit.  Opportunity taunts those who’ve become so jaded they refuse to recognize it.  A day is just another incremental move toward the inevitable, and the point of being was lost so very long ago, it’s difficult to imagine there ever was one.

When exactly was your connection to the world’s goings-on lost?  Was it like bad music playing forever on hold, did you set it down and forget about it?  Would it answer if you called it back now?  Do you even care enough to try?  There was a time you might’ve pondered these questions at length, but by now apathy is by far the path of least resistance.

And so it goes, day after day, caring less and less about more and more, until you reach the point that there’s absolutely nothing left about which you could give a flying fuck.  But does that event mark the end of life?  Of course not, that’d be much too merciful, that’d prove that the universe has a heart, a soul and/or a conscience – it has none of those, it just is. 

In the immortal words of Tom Petty, “life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.”  Truer words have yet to be spoken.