That Which was Used as Storage for Meals Repeatedly Prepared...

Consider this refrigerator, late in the 1970s, around Christmas, after dinner. A refrigerator that I took more out of than put in to. And no doubt some of its contents remain a part of me, and will remain so long after I am buried. Perhaps they will do so until I can no longer be identified, except by forensic analysis. With that in mind I will this photo to science and have therefore identified its contents to the best of my ability (asterisks denote provisions I am likely to contain).
(mostly from Left to Right)

1st Row: A bottle of milk* (from the milkman), a tupperware container with some Sacramento (not from Concentrate) tomato juice* still left, and some 'Ready to Serve' Minute Made Lemonade*. In the back and to the right of the lemonade is a can of used Crisco* for frying french fries, with a half pint of Dellwood Heavy Whipping Cream* on top of it. Way in the back, behind the lemonade, there appears to be a bottle of soda, that I suspect may be Club Soda (possibly Hoffman's). I have some thoughts, but I don't really know what's on the plate covered with saran wrap at the right, or what's in the green container behind the tomato juice.

2nd Row: Fresh Breakfast sausage* on top of what I would think is proper potato salad* and a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer, followed by Hershey's chocolate syrup, and Pillsbury Crescent Rolls*. Behind the rolls and syrup is a bottle of Hellmann's mayonnaise*. In the Cold cut 'drawer' I see up front what appears to be american cheese* wrapped in saran wrap. It is most likely land-o-lakes. In the far left of the cold cut 'drawer' I believe a package of cracker barrel cheddar* (probably sharp) is barely visible. I don't know what's in the aluminum foil next to it, but it may be mozzarella. As for the rest of what's in the drawer, though I have some strong ideas, I will not speculate.

3rd Row: An opened package of butter* from Waldbaum's, a styrofoam container of something (oddly enough it may be cole slaw), a butter* dish, and a package of Oscar Meyer Bacon*. To the far right there is, what may be, a glass bowl covered by saran wrap, which would lead me to believe that it may be filled with stuffing, but I am far from certain about this, as it might be macaroni and cheese.

4th Row: The contents of this row are more or less a mystery, particularly the silvery object near its center which one might think is Philadelphia Brand Cream Cheese, but at this point I don't think it is.

Alter Ego of a Torte

Lately I've become curious about the Linzer torte cookie, a cookie that was named after a torte. But it wouldn't surprise anyone who knows me that it's because of a bar, not a sweet tooth. I'm not proud of that, it's just the way it is. And it would hardly be worth noting that the bar offers wings gratis on Fridays were it not for the inauspicious manner in which I came to know this. You see, my birthday was on a Friday this year, and instead of deciding for myself whether or not to go to work and surf the web, the decision was made for me and it entailed winding up at this bar.

Now this bar was not named after the torte. It is not called Zum Linzer Torte or Linzer Torte Haus, or anything like that, but its name does sound much like "Linzer Torte's". In fact, I doubt very much that this bar, or its name, has much significance, historical or otherwise. The torte however does, it being the first torte on record, dating back to 1653 in the annals of baking.

But this bar's neighborhood is not completely devoid of history, at least for me, as it was not far from this bar that I learned that one should not easily be swayed to go to a bar expressly for 10 cent chicken wings, and that it might not be a bad idea to look at them before partaking. Rubbery and undercooked, sour and yellowish, adorned with pimples and little hairs visible despite ample coverage by sauce, such are the hallmarks of the wings in this neighborhood.

And so years ago, I promised myself that I would never again eat wings around there. But that Friday a situation arose at this bar where the cards were stacked against me. I found myself in the midst of a delicate matter for which the wings, having been prepared by a particularly kind bartender, had become a critical olive branch. I should also note that I wasn't even hungry, as it was hard to have an appetite under the circumstances. I don't make many promises, and you can see why, but if that's what I get for acting like a gilded otter, then so be it. Besides, the wings were pretty good, although they could have been a bit more crispy.

An Opinion Mostly in Favor of Hatpins

I see little point in placing much stock in my own political opinions. Experts who study the issues often seem quite earnest and wise, yet have completely different and opposing views. I might as well pick my opinions out of a hat.

And while I'm not proposing that a haberdasher run for office, I do like a nice hat. I like a fedora, and I wish I had the courage to wear one, but up to now I've settled primarily on caps. If not the most civilized, the cap is without question the most convenient of all hats, convenient because it's easy to stow. I can't stuff a fedora into my jacket pocket like I can a cap. Even if it fit, present day fedoras would remain crumpled and would have lost their form after such an ordeal.

But this is far from the whole story, as my head, being inordinately large, severely limits my choices. And this, even more so than one might think as a hat that's just a bit on the small side is blown off very easily.

Pity that you don't see a lot of hatpins around these days. A couple of those suckers strategically placed might just do the trick. And it's odd that they aren't around since archaeologists even find them in the ruins of Pompeii. But that gives me an idea. I live in what was not long ago an epicenter for hatpin usage, so there are probably even now one or two lying around the park. I shall make an excursion of it this weekend.

The Liver Gains the Upper Hand

It would happen that, during the outward course of worldly contingencies, the inward matters of the system and its concerns would come to the fore. For it now occurs to me that my liver, it bordering on a kind of consciousness in its own right, has poised itself for a larger role. But a statement such as this surely begs for elaboration.

For years now I have suffered with the royal pain in the big toe that arises when ones' eating habits are an order too rich. And you see, the liver, not being located too far from the solar plexus, the largest neural ganglion save the brain, is involved in balancing such matters. Providence shows us that this solar plexus is particularly well developed in gourmets and alcoholics, acting as a seat of consciousness for the liver.

I'm pretty sure though that yesterday was the first time my liver ever made a telephone call. It called somebody in India. I have the number on my cell phone, and the call lasted 22 minutes.

Mt Rainier and Vicinity

Mt Ranier
Originally uploaded by bohacks

Back in the late 90s I took some photos in the Mount Rainier district. This is one of them and is taken with a proper camera.

Teeth-Sticking Gum

I had bought some gum, and initially it stuck to my teeth, but now a couple weeks later it does not, at least not like it did before. Could the gum have been too fresh when I first bought it? Strange that I don't know about these things as gums run in my family.

Speaking of gums, I don't have problems with mine. And I don't think there is anything funny about my teeth that would cause normal gum to stick to them.

It was however a nonstandard flavor of gum, mint mojito, which in hindsight was a mistake to buy if only because its freshening powers are no greater than those of a typical 8 year old cow. I have nobody else to blame but myself for its purchase as there were many other types of gum available (all of which I could afford). I probably thought it sounded cool or something.

My mother used to tell me that she would chew the same piece of gum all day. I find that difficult to believe. I suspect she told me that so I would not go through so much of it. In any event, they must have had it hard back then in the days of the great depression. Then came FDR and the new deal, which was pretty sweet for gum manufacturers, not to mention dentists.

I typically chew it for only 5 or 10 minutes, but I have to admit the duration varies greatly. Record territory would probably be on the order of an hour or two. I didn't used to see the point in chewing gum after it had lost its flavor, and I guess I still don't. But I have to admit that as I mature the flavor becomes less of a factor and I am more relaxed about letting it go for a while after the flavor has gone. Something I would never have done as a child.

The HOV Lane

I took the expressway to work friday with a man from the 18th century. I think he was suitably impressed with the car, my driving, and the lack of horse traffic. But how couldn't he be? A trip like that would have taken a couple days back then, now it takes only an hour or so. I'm sure he had never gone so fast.

I showed him the radio, and how you could get different types of stations: music, news, talk. He was astonished by the variety and the quality (except where the reception is poor around exit 52). Though he seemed a bit overwhelmed by some of the music that I listened to. Surprizingly, he wasn't that interested in the news.

It turns out that he is from around here. He was amazed at how much it had changed, but he took it pretty well considering. I wanted to ask if I could stay with him if I went to the 18th century, but I didn't get the chance, as he vanished unexpectedly around exit 64.

The Spectacle of the Spectacle, a.k.a. "The Lens"

I have some viewing suggestions to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the student uprisings in Paris. Firstly, I submit "The Society of the Spectacle", the classic by Guy Debord. I should warn you that some might consider parts of it a bit off color for its time (1973). Secondly, would-be Lyndon LaRouche fans will do well to check out "Zeitgeist, The Movie", if they haven't already. And those of you upstate, or perhaps just out in the country, would undoubtedly prefer something a bit less flashy, and slightly more demonic, hence "A Chat with Glendora".

A Kind of House Synopsis

Before I attend to the business at hand, I just want to say a few words about my home for posterity. You see, I have just received notice that my house is to be condemned, and I will have to move out within the week. I knew it was only a matter of time, but I never imagined it would end this way.

Realize that I am an accomplished cook, known for putting out the finest of spreads. Yet, as much time as was spent in the kitchen, my concern for matters in the dining room was even greater. The curtains in there are linen, and so that they not discolor, I never use the fireplace, no matter the season.

I like a nice lamp, and I have one in each room. A couple of them are even bejewelled, and they all have shades of different colors. My cat likes to gnaw at their chords. I give him old chords to play with, but these chords aren't plugged in, so he doesn't like them as much. I think he likes it when the lights flicker. I don't mind it either, unless I am knitting, or reading a book. The rug in the den is worn through to the floor in spots, so I can only wear slippers.

The paint on the ceilings suffers from bubbles. Given enough time, this is what gravity will do to any paint. And in the foyer it's cracking, and I suppose it's sagging a bit too. I guess you could say it looks like it's about to collapse. But I'll miss some of the wallpaper, especially on the upstairs stairs where my elbow regularly rubs up against the wall. All that rubbing has worn it down so you can see green with a spattering of tiny gold stars from the wallpaper that's underneath.

I don't know much about dust, except that it comes from the sun and travels through windows on sunbeams. That's why I keep the venetian blinds closed as much as possible. Sometimes I pretend there are two little boys under the bed building forts with dust bunnies. When the night is still, I can hear them. But it's not often all that still as the squirrels in the attic are always at each others throats.

Lately, I eat dinner in the den, sitting in the loveseat right in front of television. My favorite show is Top Cat. It's on channel 5 at seven-thirty, and has been for years.

Concerning the Downstate Shrub Situation

It should be understood that I have absolutely no right to have anything against the rhododendron per se. But it is decidedly not fragrant, unlike the lilac. I confess that I didn't really know about the lilac until I spent a bit of time upstate. Not in the sense of 'up the river' or 'in the looney bin', mind you. And a well bit further up than Tarrytown, if you don't mind me saying so. It's getting on to be a good 25 to 30 years ago now that my ignorance confounded me. Not surprising though that I didn't know about the lilac before then, as here they are few and far between. "What could be the reason?", I wondered.

Well, you'll just have to take my word for it that rhododendrons do not grow well in climates much colder than our own. Which explains why there are not many upstate, but that doesn't mean lilacs won't also grow well here. However, I planted a lilac once down here, and it didn't do well.

These landscapers just love their azaleas and rhododendrons. They flower, and I bet they're plenty easy to plant and maintain. But it disturbs me that such stout specimens of the shrub kingdom, together with the Yew bush (which is not unrelated to the redwood, but is unrelated to the sheep) should be our premiere representatives here in the suburbs of Levittown.

Let them plant their norway maples, but where are the sugar maples? "Sorry, they are not so urban hardy.", I can hear them saying. I get the picture. Robert Moses should have a shrub named after him. I am surprised that the Robert Moses Causeway is not lined with Pachysandra.

An irishman brought to my attention the whereabouts of two lilacs in the area. They are on Booth street, past the schoolyard. One is white, the other purple. Both seem to be doing well. I'm told that they grow wild in ireland, much like the potato.

Hills Supermarket

I went back to the Hills Shopping Center last night. This time for sushi. Some of the first fish I ever ate was purchased in this shopping center. Probably around 1963-1965 or so. I believe it would have been Mrs. Paul's fish sticks. Even though Mrs. Paul's has its roots in the selling of deviled crab cakes, the fish sticks are not deviled, as my mother would never have fed me deviled products.

As it has been through the years, Ketchup was likely my condiment of choice. Except for when I was 7 or 8 years of age, but I won't get into that right now.

I'm not sure if I liked tartar sauce at the time.

"The mustard is too hot a little"- Taming of the Shrew, iv,3.

I have to apologize for the poor quality of this blog entry, as I wrote it at my desk.

A Scottish Bar in the New World

It is a long held (perhaps greater than 3 year) belief of mine that the nature of the drinking culture in the anglicized new world borrows from the British Isles. With the many irish immigrants and their predilections, it is not surprizing then that there are a lot of irish bars. But the dearth of Scottish bars (and British too) does surprise me, as they are no slouches.

Despite this, I happened upon a Scottish bar in the East Village called Shoolbred's last night. I was drawn there by the odd entranceway, which protrudes out into the street in a rather provocative manner. It took me a surprisingly long time to figure out that it was Scottish though, as I did not know the flag (which was prominently displayed). It may have been the plaid skirts that they wear.

I may go there again, though I wasn't nearly sanguine with the beer glasses. They are those rather small mugs with more glass than containment, and with beer that is no less dear than that of a proper pint. On a positive note, a number of the customers were Kardashians (a term borrowed from the bartendress).

In my travels that night I saw no sign of the Pope or his entourage.

The Core now online

"The Core" is a mind bending film which addresses the mounting concerns we all have regarding the earth's core using a kind of hollywood-like motif. It is a place which some theorize may be related to the phenomenon of global warming. It is now available online.

Reminiscing with Today's Smell

Today I smelled coconut all day. It may have been my shirt that smelled of it, or perhaps the cigarettes I smoked were pirated, as I bought them in Queens at a stationary store run by the Chinese.

Nobody mentioned it though, perhaps I am to take a seizure later on.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

I haven't worn my belt in quite a while now, a month or so I'd say. May have something to do with the new pants. Regardless though, I tire of it.