Flashback: our senior year of high school. The band and chorus went on a joint trip to NYC.
One night in the hotel. Jamming on an acoustic guitar, with my Future Wife.
It's late. We're not really supposed to be there. In the lobby of what we thought was a random floor.
Out of a nearby elevator comes a large flock of people. All teachers and chaperones. Busted. We expect to be scolded and sent to bed, but they stumble past.
A few minutes later, Dr. Stefanov and his wife come strolling peacefully past, holding hands. They smile and tell us it sounds Beautiful.
We can't believe it and now we're smiling too and keep playing, with the gusto that comes from unsolicited encouragement...
until a hotel guest comes right up to us all angrily with the whole Do You Know What Time It Is bit and WHAT IF I TOLD YOUR TEACHERS and we say,
"man... you just missed them, they requested Beatles songs..."
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Recipe: Cheese Fried Cheese
I am not a chef.
But I am a cook. This seems like a fair place to being compiling recipes.
I thought to start with my most famous (read: infamous) recipe, Cheese Fried Cheese.
Each snack is prepared individually. The process is complex and labor intensive, frying more than one at a time risks jeopardizing the entire operation. Also, eating more than one at a time could endanger your heart.
Cheese Fried Cheese
Begin with a one pound block of fresh mozzerella cheese.
Cut off one medallion sized piece.
Melt one tablespoon of butter in a frying pan at medium heat.
Add the cheese medallion to the pan. You will want to flip at intervals of less than 30 seconds to prevent burning and oozing.
Continue this process until your mozzerella is golden brown. Remove from the pan and let cool on a bed of paper towels (which also removes excess grease).
Lightly sprinkle the finished piece with grated parmesan cheese, salt, or pepper, to taste.
But I am a cook. This seems like a fair place to being compiling recipes.
I thought to start with my most famous (read: infamous) recipe, Cheese Fried Cheese.
Each snack is prepared individually. The process is complex and labor intensive, frying more than one at a time risks jeopardizing the entire operation. Also, eating more than one at a time could endanger your heart.
Cheese Fried Cheese
Begin with a one pound block of fresh mozzerella cheese.
Cut off one medallion sized piece.
Melt one tablespoon of butter in a frying pan at medium heat.
Add the cheese medallion to the pan. You will want to flip at intervals of less than 30 seconds to prevent burning and oozing.
Continue this process until your mozzerella is golden brown. Remove from the pan and let cool on a bed of paper towels (which also removes excess grease).
Lightly sprinkle the finished piece with grated parmesan cheese, salt, or pepper, to taste.
Monday, June 20, 2011
The Doctor (Part 1: Squirrel Pie)
Dr. Ivan Stefanov was our high school music teacher.
His family belongs to a church near his hometown in New Hampshire.
At the annual Christmas Party, Ivan would entertain the parishioners with his amazing piano prowess. (Worth noting here that Ivan is an even more accomplished flutist...)
After a few years, Ivan realized he wanted to mingle and party with his friends, and offered my fiance & I the gig. She was a soloist in his top choirs during high school.
It was a great gig. The setup was easy, people were all very kind. We strummed gentle standards, rocked up Christmas carols, did our thing... and on top of being paid for this quick set, we were kindly invited to dinner.
Upon entering the food line, we realized this was a Wild Game Dinner. Which is to say, a pot luck of homemade dishes the parishioners cooked up using animals they had killed.
Squirrel Pie. Venison. I remember a steak-like bear meat dish with pasta. It was a little overwhelming, this massive array of delicious foreign meats, and my memory blurs, so I turn to my band mate, soulmate and Resident Food Critic for assistance:
The food was all delicious and at the time it didn't seem as weird as it does in Hindsight.
It was the Best Christmas Gig Ever.
His family belongs to a church near his hometown in New Hampshire.
At the annual Christmas Party, Ivan would entertain the parishioners with his amazing piano prowess. (Worth noting here that Ivan is an even more accomplished flutist...)
After a few years, Ivan realized he wanted to mingle and party with his friends, and offered my fiance & I the gig. She was a soloist in his top choirs during high school.
It was a great gig. The setup was easy, people were all very kind. We strummed gentle standards, rocked up Christmas carols, did our thing... and on top of being paid for this quick set, we were kindly invited to dinner.
Upon entering the food line, we realized this was a Wild Game Dinner. Which is to say, a pot luck of homemade dishes the parishioners cooked up using animals they had killed.
Squirrel Pie. Venison. I remember a steak-like bear meat dish with pasta. It was a little overwhelming, this massive array of delicious foreign meats, and my memory blurs, so I turn to my band mate, soulmate and Resident Food Critic for assistance:
"With Pleasure! But I am forgetting some things...
1. Squirrel Pie (I remember this being nutty - which makes sense)
2. Bear meat in a noodle casserole type dish (I remember bear meat tasting sweet and having an odd texture, would not do as well as a steak on it's own)
I also remember there being pheasant and venison, but I don't remember the dishes as well I think because I am more familiar with those meats. I had never had bear or squirrel before..."
The food was all delicious and at the time it didn't seem as weird as it does in Hindsight.
It was the Best Christmas Gig Ever.
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Importance of the Holster: Reflections on the Plaxico Burress Story
I love the Plaxico Burress story, it's America, to the teeth.
I'm not here to regurgitate. I'm here to analyze, reflect, and hopefully learn something.
If you need to familiarize yourself with the details of the story, do so now.
I think this story breaks up into three interesting chunks.
1: THE PROCESS
Against state law, the New York Presbyterian Hospital did not call the NYPD to report Burress' injury,
the NYPD saw it reported on television
which insulted and angered Them,
but more imporantly...
angered The Mayor
2: THE MAYOR
The Mayor said,
"The police only found out about this because of a story on television. The hospital didn't call and the Giants didn't call... The Giants should have picked up the phone right away as good corporate citizens. I don't care if there's a legal responsibility for them to do it... They are a team that is here in this region - I know they're in New Jersey but it's the New York Giants - and they have a responsibility as a team that depends on the public and wants to be a role model for the public... So the police certainly didn't have any knowledge in advance and once they found out about it they right away went after it."
In other words,
The Hospital doesn't have the right to pardon this ignorant man. Only I do. I'm the God Damn Mayor.
3: THE SIGNING BONUS
Plaxico had signed a five year, thirty five million dollar contract prior to the 2008 season, which included a one million dollar "signing bonus", which had been scheduled to be paid out on, what turned out to be, less than two weeks after the shooting.
The team withheld the payment, the Union filed a grievance. and Won.
Which led to this gem of a quote from Giants co-owner John Mara,
"To think that a player could carry a loaded gun into a nightclub, shoot himself and miss the rest of the season but get to keep his entire signing bonus illustrates one of the serious flaws in the current system"
Mr. Mara obviously doesn't understand the definition of a signing bonus.
*****
I don't think any man should spend 20 months in prison for accidently shooting himself.
However, the REAL question is,
Does "any man" deserve to spend time in prison for discharging an unregistered weapon within the confines of a crowded city nightclub?
Yep.
Quick & Uninspired internet research allows me to determine that Plaxico could have purchased a fancy leather holster for his Glock quite easily...
and for less than one hundred dollars.
I'm not here to regurgitate. I'm here to analyze, reflect, and hopefully learn something.
If you need to familiarize yourself with the details of the story, do so now.
I think this story breaks up into three interesting chunks.
1: THE PROCESS
Against state law, the New York Presbyterian Hospital did not call the NYPD to report Burress' injury,
the NYPD saw it reported on television
which insulted and angered Them,
but more imporantly...
angered The Mayor
2: THE MAYOR
The Mayor said,
"The police only found out about this because of a story on television. The hospital didn't call and the Giants didn't call... The Giants should have picked up the phone right away as good corporate citizens. I don't care if there's a legal responsibility for them to do it... They are a team that is here in this region - I know they're in New Jersey but it's the New York Giants - and they have a responsibility as a team that depends on the public and wants to be a role model for the public... So the police certainly didn't have any knowledge in advance and once they found out about it they right away went after it."
In other words,
The Hospital doesn't have the right to pardon this ignorant man. Only I do. I'm the God Damn Mayor.
3: THE SIGNING BONUS
Plaxico had signed a five year, thirty five million dollar contract prior to the 2008 season, which included a one million dollar "signing bonus", which had been scheduled to be paid out on, what turned out to be, less than two weeks after the shooting.
The team withheld the payment, the Union filed a grievance. and Won.
Which led to this gem of a quote from Giants co-owner John Mara,
"To think that a player could carry a loaded gun into a nightclub, shoot himself and miss the rest of the season but get to keep his entire signing bonus illustrates one of the serious flaws in the current system"
Mr. Mara obviously doesn't understand the definition of a signing bonus.
*****
I don't think any man should spend 20 months in prison for accidently shooting himself.
However, the REAL question is,
Does "any man" deserve to spend time in prison for discharging an unregistered weapon within the confines of a crowded city nightclub?
Yep.
Quick & Uninspired internet research allows me to determine that Plaxico could have purchased a fancy leather holster for his Glock quite easily...
and for less than one hundred dollars.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Who Killed Dr. Kevorkian?
Thanatron. Mercitron.
I've always been fascinated by Dr. Kevorkian, his homemade death machines, and the gnarly topic of Euthanasia.
I can't fathom wishing to end my own life, but then again, I'm not terminally ill...
although Dr. Jack himself once said,
"What difference does it make if someone is terminal? We are all terminal."
I don't blame Jack's patients for wanting out. I don't blame Jack for trying to help.
This life is all I got, so I'm going to ride it out to the bitter end.
And enjoy the ride. The Ride is more important than the Destination.
I've always been fascinated by Dr. Kevorkian, his homemade death machines, and the gnarly topic of Euthanasia.
I can't fathom wishing to end my own life, but then again, I'm not terminally ill...
although Dr. Jack himself once said,
"What difference does it make if someone is terminal? We are all terminal."
I don't blame Jack's patients for wanting out. I don't blame Jack for trying to help.
This life is all I got, so I'm going to ride it out to the bitter end.
And enjoy the ride. The Ride is more important than the Destination.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Drinkin' Songs (Part 2)
Recent news events have triggered serious introspection on the jivefront, and thus two fresh posts await publication, entitled
"Who Killed Dr. Kevorkian?"
and
"The Importance of The Holster: Reflections on the Plaxico Burress Story"
However, in the wake of the most recent blurb about drinking songs, I received the following (posted below) from my father. Gun & Death jive will have to wait. Probably a good thing.
Two of Dad's original compositions resonate as a soundtrack throughout many childhood memories. One is a rolling country number called "West Side of Town" and the other is a straight up blues, the Drinkin' Man Blues. He still plays it live today, usually as a set-closer.
*****
Webster’s defines a drinking song as “a song on a convivial theme appropriate for a group engaged in social drinking”. With that in mind, I set out to write a song that any person, drinking alcohol in any form, in any bar, anywhere in the world, could relate to. I wanted them to relate to my song in a way that would make them want to get out of their seats, find a spot to dance and while raising their hands high above their heads, shout “drink, drink, drink”.
The working man’s bar in my neighborhood taught me the power of a good drinking song. It was a blue collar, country music joint at the bottom of State Hospital hill. At lunch, after first shift and then again after second shift let out, the place would fill up with men and women, young and old. They seemed to want to forget, as quickly as possible, what had just happened on their shifts at the mental hospital. They jammed the bar and put quarters into the jukebox and on Saturday nights they danced to a live country band.
Once or twice a night, a song would come on the jukebox that would make people sing along. Regardless of age, sex, nationality or occupation, they would sing along. For a few brief moments, all would be one. That, to me, was power. Songs like “Crazy” by Patsy Kline and Ray Price’s “For The Good Times” would come on and most people would stop conversations, snuff out their butts and sing along. Even the longhaired, underage kid at the end of the bar joined in on “Crazy”.
I figured my best shot at writing a song that people would sing while drinking was to write a song about drinking. I’ve been singing it for over 30 years and it has never failed to make them sing, dance and smile.
Drinking Man Blues
I went down to see my doctor
He said I was looking pale
He then wrote a prescription
For a cold case of golden ale
I’m a drinking man Drink, drink, drink
But I only drink for my health
"Who Killed Dr. Kevorkian?"
and
"The Importance of The Holster: Reflections on the Plaxico Burress Story"
However, in the wake of the most recent blurb about drinking songs, I received the following (posted below) from my father. Gun & Death jive will have to wait. Probably a good thing.
Two of Dad's original compositions resonate as a soundtrack throughout many childhood memories. One is a rolling country number called "West Side of Town" and the other is a straight up blues, the Drinkin' Man Blues. He still plays it live today, usually as a set-closer.
*****
Webster’s defines a drinking song as “a song on a convivial theme appropriate for a group engaged in social drinking”. With that in mind, I set out to write a song that any person, drinking alcohol in any form, in any bar, anywhere in the world, could relate to. I wanted them to relate to my song in a way that would make them want to get out of their seats, find a spot to dance and while raising their hands high above their heads, shout “drink, drink, drink”.
The working man’s bar in my neighborhood taught me the power of a good drinking song. It was a blue collar, country music joint at the bottom of State Hospital hill. At lunch, after first shift and then again after second shift let out, the place would fill up with men and women, young and old. They seemed to want to forget, as quickly as possible, what had just happened on their shifts at the mental hospital. They jammed the bar and put quarters into the jukebox and on Saturday nights they danced to a live country band.
Once or twice a night, a song would come on the jukebox that would make people sing along. Regardless of age, sex, nationality or occupation, they would sing along. For a few brief moments, all would be one. That, to me, was power. Songs like “Crazy” by Patsy Kline and Ray Price’s “For The Good Times” would come on and most people would stop conversations, snuff out their butts and sing along. Even the longhaired, underage kid at the end of the bar joined in on “Crazy”.
I figured my best shot at writing a song that people would sing while drinking was to write a song about drinking. I’ve been singing it for over 30 years and it has never failed to make them sing, dance and smile.
Drinking Man Blues
I went down to see my doctor
He said I was looking pale
He then wrote a prescription
For a cold case of golden ale
I’m a drinking man Drink, drink, drink
But I only drink for my health
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