Monday Meanderings - 1.31.2011

Wow. Busy week. Westover hosted a Stream worship and renewal conference this past weekend. These conferences are a continuation of the "Stream in the Desert" sessions that Ken Young started in Midland. We went to several of those before Ken moved to the Nashville area. Since then, they have been hosted by churches across the country, and for some reason Westover thought it was our turn.

I have worked sound with Ken on several occasions, and it can be a challenging experience. That's all I have to say about that. He brought a trailer full of equipment and incorporated his system with our system and the result was a pretty loud system. More than 800 attendees for sessions on Friday night, all day Saturday and two services on Sunday. Now I have a week to put our sound system back together.

I'm not a big Starbucks fan. I just don't get it, and here's an overheard example of why:
"A latte, please."
"Would you prefer a Grande or a Venti?
"No, just a medium cup will do.:
"The Venti is our large; the Grande is our medium."
Then I guess I'll have a Grande. Why don't you call them small, medium and large? It would be a lot easier."
"Because we don't have a small size."
"Really? What's that little one over there?"
"That's a 'tall.' What kind of milk do you prefer?
"Uh, the normal stuff, I guess."
"We have 1%, 2% skim, soy, and whole."
"Uh, whole, please.

Well, this coming weekend is Super Bowl XLV. I saw a piece in the Dallas Morning News about how much interest there was in the Super Bowl being held in Texas, and that a lot of food editors and home-entertainment bloggers across the land are urging fans to concoct “Texas-themed” Super Bowl parties. They are recommending dishes such as  "chili canapes" for example. Say what? Is that just a nacho? Or "tacos made out of turkey legs cooked slowly in beer.” Excuse me?

The article goes on to say "One blogger explains that “real Texas barbecue” is produced by — it pains me to say this — baking a brisket in the oven. Another claims that the correct method for authentic guacamole calls for “2 teaspoons blue agave nectar” (or honey, in case you’re fresh out of agaves). Don’t even ask about the “Lone Star” pinto beans, baked in a gluey emulsion of maple syrup and mustard." One recipe  for “Texas queso” correctly calls for Velveeta and peppers, but also for celery (!) and sliced carrots (!!) Get a rope!

Wait. There's more.

Don’t forget the decorations: One party consultant advises that “an inflatable cactus on either side of the TV screams Texas,” and that a good way to get your Super Bowl guests in a party mood is to perform rope tricks or play recorded CDs of cowboy poetry. Why not just invite everybody to go out in the yard and shoot guns in the air?

And finally — I saved this for last, because I know it will hurt you — is an allegation so blasphemous that we need to draft an Eleventh Commandment to stamp it out: “Many Texans like to top their Frito pie with catsup.” Faugh! Not even ketchup-with-a-K, but “catsup” with that whiny Yankee spelling! Why are they spreading these dreadful lies?

 But the worst news about the upcoming Super Bowl appears to be that there is a shortage of strippers!

As preparations for Super Bowl Sunday in Dallas kick into high gear, the city is reportedly dealing with an unusual problem -- a shortage of strippers.

TMZ is reporting that clubs in the Dallas area are looking for an additional 10,000 dancers to meet the huge demand expected for the big weekend. Apparently, a comfortable tourist-to-dancer ratio during the Super Bowl is about 30-to-1.

Not to worry. I'm sure Jerry Jones has that problem covered somehow.

The Date Loaf Debacle - or How to make Fuzzy Date Lump

I don't even know what got me thinking about the Date Loaf candy that my mother used to make, but all the sudden I craved Date Loaf. I asked my Sis if she had Mother's recipe and I also found a couple on the Internet. I'm good to go. All I need are a few ingredients.

It takes about a week to get all the stars aligned but I finally have a stretch of time to concentrate on making Date Loaf. Okay, sauce pan, milk, sugar, butter, check. Cooking away and after a while - a long while - it reaches "soft ball stage." Add the dates. Hmm. The 8-oz package says this is the equivalent of a cup. So if I chop up 1 and 1/2 packages I should have 1 and 1/2 cups of chopped dates, right? This looks more like 3 cups of dates. Oh, well. Toss them in and let's get this stuff up to "hard ball stage!"

Hmm again. I now have a large glob of a very dark substance in the bottom of the pan. And speaking of the bottom of the pan, what is that blackened layer I see creeping up the sides? Can you say caramelized date loaf candy mixture? What's the temperature? Far short of the "hard ball" stage, but I really have a hard ball at hand. A very hard ball. Oh well.

Next step is to let it cool some and pour it out on a towel to form a loaf. Wait! That was a damp towel. Next batch. Scoop it out in a loaf line. Okay, dig it out and pat it into a loaf line. YIKES THAT'S HOT!! Okay, dig it out and form a loaf lump! Wrap it in the towel and sort of hammer it into somewhat of a loaf line. That should work. Sure is sticky. Wonder if I can get it out of this towel after it chills?

Well, yes you can. Sort of. The towel sort of becomes part of the Date Lump at this point. See? So now we have Fuzzy Date Lump, a variation on an old recipe.

Oh, a tea towel - not a dish towel. Well, we can just trim it a little and get rid of the fuzzy bits. Now, how does that taste? Like my Mothers???

You know, I think I saw some Date Loaf candy at the store the other day. I'll check that out. While I am shopping for a new sauce pan. I wonder if NASA knows about how hard this stuff gets? Forget ceramic tiles - put caramelized date loaf candy mixture on the shuttles.

Stories for my grandchildren - deep sea fishing

Across the parking lot from one of our favorite sea food restaurants in Port Aransas is the Fisherman's Wharf - home of the Scat Cat, one of just a few boats that charter deep sea fishing trips from that port. I proudly remind  Barb each time we see that boat that I am a veteran of a deep sea adventure aboard the Scat Cat (OK, technically a previous incarnation of that boat). She reminds me that I was green for a week after my "adventure" and that I never wet a line the entire 12 hours we were underway. It's so hard to write revisionist history when the facts are well known.

Shortly after we moved to Austin, I was invited to join a group of adventurous souls on a deep sea fishing excursion. Most of the group were employees of Sweet Publishing or friends from church, and I was invited as Ralph Sweet's personal guest. I thought until then that he liked me.

This was a regular event among this group and the tradition was to leave Austin on a Friday afternoon, traveling in Ralph's camper. The group always stopped for supper at Barth's Steakhouse in Kenedy. We don't go past Barth's anymore on our trips to Port A, but it's still there, getting scathing reviews online; cited as dirty, smoke-filled and smelling of insecticide. Some things never change.

On to Aransas Pass and the ferry (I remember wondering how that big camper would fit on that little ferry) and a short jog to Fisherman's Wharf to board the Scat Cat before a midnight departure. It's a relatively large boat that can accommodate a lot of people, with sleeping accommodations, restrooms and concessions in the inner area of the boat. The drill  calls for an all-night poker party in the sleeping area while the boat makes its way out to the snapper banks, with fishing beginning after dawn and continuing until the return in the early afternoon, laden with succulent red snapper.

I played match-stick poker for a couple of hours and then crawled into a bunk for a little shut-eye. All the bunks have rails around them, and I thought that convenient. Especially since the waves further out tended to rock the boat. A lot. Not only did you need the rails, you needed to put your arms through the sides to keep from being flipped right out of that bunk. One of the guys on the trip proudly showed us the scar on his forehead from a previous trip. I thought it was encouraging that he didn't let a little thing like getting tossed out of a bunk on his head stop him from going out again. Later I learned that his blow to the head did more damage than leave a scar.

Not sure how, but I did fall asleep, waking only when the boat stopped and folks started gathering on deck. I swung out of bed and realized that the floor was going up and down, up and down, and that, my friends was the end of my fishing adventure. I had stoked up on Dramamine ahead of time, just to be sure I was ready, but dear hearts, those little pills were of no use whatsoever. I do remember the big sign outside the head (nautical talk for restroom) that said "Don't put anything in these toilets that you haven't eaten first."

After about an hour I crawled (literally) out the door to the deck area, thinking the fresh air would do me good. That's when I learned the dark, hidden secret about deep sea fishing. ALMOST EVERYONE GETS SEA SICK. They hold on to the rail for dear life, barf awhile and then fish awhile. Rinse and repeat. I participated in this ritual - I just chose not to fish. I eventually found that if I stared at the horizon and did not move at all, I could survive. Oh, and don't look at Manny, the 1st mate, who would carve off a chunk of fresh squid to chew on while he used the remainder to bait hooks. Too late. I looked.

Fishing for snapper stretches the sport  to its most competitive extreme. Lutjanus campechanus feeds near coral reefs at a depth of 200 to 300 feet. To catch them, you man-handle huge fishing rods (that are chained to the rail) so that you can release heavily weighted baited hooks until they hit bottom, then you start the electric reel (!) to rewind the several hundred feet of line and see if there is anything on the hook. If it is a 10 to 15 pound snapper, good. If it is something else - a shark, for instance - you yell for Manny and he steps over and cuts the wire leader and sets you up with a fresh leader and hooks. He will even bait the hooks for you. Just don't look at him while he does it. Uh oh. Too late.

By the time we headed back to port I decided that I might live. I even moved around a bit, to stay in the shade. I don't remember much about the trip home, though. And  it was a long time before I ate sea food again.

But I can proudly say, "Why yes, I've been deep sea fishing. It was quite the experience."

Monday Meanderings 1.24.2011

I'll begin and end with gorilla stories today.

The first story took place in Abilene many years ago when we were helping with the Young Marrieds class at Highland. One year we had a class Halloween costume party at the office building where I worked. Pat, one of the co-teachers rented a gorilla suit, and as class members pulled up, he would lope out from around the corner of the building and greet them. A car pulled up, but at the house across the street, and a woman got out and went inside the house.

Pat didn't notice that part and loped out to find two very wide-eyed, very frightened kids in the back of the car, screaming for momma! Pat beat a hasty retreat and the mother came back to the car with the kids yelling that there was a gorilla! She drove away, whaling away on the kids in the back, telling them loudly, "I told you, and I told you, don't lie to me!" and the kids protesting just as loudly, "But Momma, we DID see a gorilla!"

So we are watching TV and there is a commercial by an orthopedics company touting how much better their artificial hip is than others and plastered across the screen is a label that says, "Prescription Required." Really? I have to have a prescription for an artificial hip? I can't just go to Wal Mart and pick one up and install it myself?

You know, if you can't score a ticket to the Super Bowl in Dallas, you can always shell out $200 and go stand on the parking lot of Jerry World with 20,000 of your closest friends and WATCH IT ON TV! That may sound like a lot, but you will get a game program, a bandanna, other neato stuff and get to watch Cowboy Cheerleaders strut their stuff, AND you will be counted in the official attendance, so you can proudly say, "Super Bowl XLV? Dude, I was there!"

And the concluding gorilla story is primo Austin weirdness. Check out the Austin Gorilla Run.  Everyone in the race wore a full, head-to-toe gorilla costume to help raise awareness about the plight of the mountain gorilla. The entry fee ($99.95) covered a free gorilla suit for keeps (after your running 5K in the suit they don't want it back), lunch at an Irish Pub and an after party with live music. Proceeds benefited the Mountain Gorilla Conservation Fund, which works in Uganda, Rwanda and The Democratic Republic of Congo to train locals in becoming park rangers and veterinarians.

You can't make this stuff up, folks!

The Adventures of Bob the Dog - Hero or Heeler?

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.
 
You may not have seen this item in the Los Angeles Times this week; it was buried in a back section, easily overlooked.

TSA remains tight-lipped about terminal evacuation.

By Arthur Bell

    Transportation Security Administration officials at Los Angeles International Airport refused to discuss last Thursday's evacuation of the International Terminal. Authorities said it was an action made necessary by protocols in place and security issues prevented them from elaborating further.
    What is known is that a disturbance at one of the screening areas led to the evacuation and shutdown of the terminal about 4 pm. Witnesses said that an Australian Blue Heeler refused to go through the full-body scanner and as the alternative pat-down procedure was being implemented, shouted, "Don't touch my junk!" and fled the screening area. There is some indication that two agents were injured in the melee that followed, but the TSA would neither confirm nor deny the injuries.
    One traveler, Arley Snugh of Nashville, said that the Heeler was a minor celebrity, lead singer for the Country and Western group Bob and the Backyard Howlers, but this could not be confirmed.
   A reliable source who refused to be identified said that there had indeed an incident where a Blue Heeler fled from the screening area and was chased into the baggage handling area, precipitating the evacuation and shut down, and that the dog was subsequently apprehended.  When asked why the TSA was refusing to discuss the event, the source suggested that there was a link to Friday's press release by the DEA that announced the seizure of a huge quantity of illegal narcotics found in the baggage area of the International Terminal.
   The press release said only, "An alert individual had uncovered the drugs buried deeply in the baggage area, completely undetected by normal screening processes. The DEA refused to identify the individual.

So there you have it. Can't wait to get the whole story from Bob. If he ever gets out of jail.

Guest Blogger

Today, thanks to Trey Morgan,  I’m letting Jeff Foxworthy blog for me. I just love re-blogging!

Husbands, pay attention … this stuff could SAVE YOUR LIFE…   Here are 10 questions YOU MUST NEVER ANSWER!!

10. Do I look like my mother?
9. How old do you think I look?
8. What are you thinking right now?
7. Do you think she’s pretty?
6. Do you think I’m worth it?
5. How do you feel about our folks moving in with us?
4. Whose cooking do you like better, mine or your mothers?
3. If you could change one thing about me, what would it be?
2. Do you remember what today is?

And of course, you know the number one question you must never, ever answer...

1. Do you think these pants make my butt look big?

Monday Meanderings - 1.17.2011

The TXDOT signs around Austin had this flashing message last week:

Missing Elderly Green Ford

License xx-0000

Could have used a little punctuation, I think.

Another sign - this one at Waterloo Ice House  - said "Stop in Queso Emergency"

We very seldom see the neighbors in back of us, but he was out grilling burgers the other evening. The only problem was it was cold outside and he was wearing shorts (perhaps) but put on a long coat to go out and grill. So the result is we have what looks for all the world like a flasher for a back-yard neighbor!

Police arrested two guys on horseback down on 6th street the other night. They were obviously drunk so the cops pulled them over (what did that look like, I wonder?) and hauled them and the animals off to jail and charged the dudes with drunk driving. After the guys pointed out that they were not driving, the horses were in charge and they were just riding along, a judge agreed and dropped the DWI charges. Latest word is that they may get them on Public Intoxication charges though. Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

And speaking of someone else with too much time on his hand -

The Adventures of Bob the Dog - On the Lam in LAX

The beginning of  Bob the Dog's adventures can be found here.
 
Things had been pretty quiet on the Bob front - no news since his last email while on the road as a traveling Faith Healer and Evangelist. I was feeling fortunate about that until...

You may have seen the recent news blurb about security having to evacuate one of the terminal buildings at Los Angeles International. That sort of thing happens fairly often these days, so I didn't pay a lot of attention to the item, until I got this text message:

From Bob- need name of gud lawyer asap

Uh Oh. I texted back:

From me - I don't know any lawyers, good or otherwise, What's up?

From Bob - in lax on lam from tsa. closng in

From me - My advice is surrender and go quietly.

From Bob - 2 late. already bit 2 coppers. hidng in bag hndling

From me - What happened???

From Bob - tsa wnted to look at me prvate parts on porno xray

From me - Bob. You're a dog. You don't even wear pants!

From Bob - its the princple. protestd so they begn to pat me down. thts when i bit em & nicked off

I texted back my previous advice, that he should turn himself in, but there was no reply. It's been more than 24 hours and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. At least there hasn't been anything on the news. Yet.

Stories for my grandchildren - This Little Piggy

When we first moved to Breckenridge, my parents rented a small house in the 700 block of Hullum Street. The Kingstons lived in the house on the corner to our east; their son Mike - the one who told me there was no Santa Claus - went on to become an editor for the Fort Worth Star Telegram. The Morrisons, retired teachers, lived on the other side. Mrs Morrison should not be held accountable for her inability to tutor me through 2nd year Algebra. She was working with disinterested, equationally-challenged material.

Behind us, and across the alley were the Webbers. George Jr. had the most amazing comic book collection I have ever seen, including an original Superman Volume 1. He kept them in a room built on the back of their garage, and in back of that, bordering the alley, was George Sr's machine to mix clay, used to cast figurines. I remember it as a rather large tank - like a fat hot water heater on its side. There was a hopper to feed in the raw clay and water, and an electric motor to turn the mixing paddles inside the tank. When the slurry was just the right consistency, you could pour it into molds - of which there were hundreds.

The molds were two blocks of a chalk-like substance - probably Plaster of Paris - and each half had the impression of some object, front and back, to be cast. There was an opening on one end to the internal cavity and the whole thing was held together by rubber bands made from auto inner-tubes. Pour a ladle of slip - the clay mixture - in, turn the mold all around so that the liquid clay settled into the crevices and set up with the inner portion of the figurine hollow, let the objects dry sufficiently to remove them from the molds and trim the flashes of clay around the edges before the final drying.

The family - specifically my mother - was in the figurine finishing business at that time. I long thought that she got the clay mixture and the molds from Mr. Webber, but it turns out that the source was actually a cousin, Chester Carlson, who also owned a tire shop in Breckenridge. It must have been coincidence that Mr Webber was also in the figurine business. I don't really know. But it was Chester Carlson who furnished the slip and the molds and paid Mother on a piece-meal basis for the ready-to-finish figurines.

I don't remember all of the different figurines; I only remember the piggy banks; I kept my treasure of coins in one and there were several around the house. These were not the finished product; after Mother's figurines were sufficiently dry, they were returned to Mr. Carlton for firing, then they were painted by others and fired again. Mother kept a few of the piggy banks and she painted them with acrylics and they became family heirlooms. At least this little guy is.

Monday Meanderings - 1.10.11

Sorry, Monday Meanderings is closed today. The moose out front should have told you.

In Memorium

Thayne Henry Cuevas

December 4, 1941 - January 2, 2011

Father in heaven, we praise your name for one who has finished this life loving and trusting you, for the example of his life, the life and grace you gave him, and the peace in which he rests.

Getting cultured

For several months the Blanton Fine Arts Museum on the UT campus has had an exhibit of  nineteenth century paintings of some renown. The exhibit ends this week, so we thought we should take advantage of the good weather, free parking and free admission to go see this collection. So did 3,000 of our closest friends.

When you first go in, you don't realize that the line is as long as it is. It disappears down a long hall and then circles back, then winds down a long atrium and back, down the length of the atrium again, and then after another jog or two ends up at the traffic-control docent at the exhibit entrance. It becomes one of those situations where you say, "Okay, I've already invested this much time. Is that too much to quit?" It didn't help that about halfway through the wait a docent asked how long we had been in line and then commented, "Yesterday there were no lines." Thanks for sharing that.

The exhibit itself is on loan from the prestigious Walters Art Museum in Baltimore, and is a sampling of works from Impressionist artists Claude Monet, Camille Pissarro, Édouard Manet and Edgar Degas, as well as British and American masters J.M.W. Turner, Gilbert Stuart and Asher B. Durand. I confess that I am not a connoisseur of fine art, but I was impressed by many of these works. I was especially struck by the brilliant colors and vividness of many of the pieces, more than 100 years after their creation.

The Blanton itself is an interesting story. The University commissioned the Herzog & de Meuron architectural firm, designers of some of the most prestigious museums in the world, to create a showplace worthy of the 18,000 holdings of the University - among the largest of any University anywhere. The firm outdid themselves and presented the concept to the Board of Regents, who said, "Gol Dang! That sure don't look like none of the other buildings on the Forty Acres. How about a red tile roof and some native limestone walls?" Whereupon Herzog & de Meuron went back to Switzerland and UT hired some lesser firm to design a building that looked like every other building on campus.

It is an impressive place nonetheless and I think we'll go back soon - when fewer of our friends are there.

Monday Meanderings - 1.3.2011

I actually was awake to ring in the New Year! True, I was in bed, but hadn't drifted off to sleep before the fireworks announced 2011. We're such party animals. Earlier, we had an early dinner at Marie Callenders; the waiter said it was good that we were early on what those in the food and beverage call "amateur night." They call it that because all the inexperienced insist on getting swizzled on this occasion.

Update on the watch band calendars.  You can still order them from the latest Miles Kimble catalog! A set of twelve calendars for only $4.99 plus S&H! I don't know how many sets there were originally - 2,500? 3,000? No way to tell, but we are talking about - at today's prices - as much as $15,000!!! No telling what they will be worth in eleven more years! Uhh, John, about those calenders I gave you...

Watching a lot of Bowl games lately - who would have thunk it? And I see from time to time, notices about players (mostly Bart Favre) taking concussion tests. Now I ask you - what does a concussion test look like? Do they hit you in the head until you pass out? "Nope! Failed that sucker!"

Have to get used to the new phones. I called Barb the other day - she said she was at a store counter and this phone kept ringing and ringing. Finally the clerk said, "Uh, ma'am. That's your phone." And, my, they are touchy! just one finger-tip on a phone number - any phone number, and that puppy starts calling. I've had to apologize to a lot of friends and relatives this week while working on contacts.