Chicken Wings!

In this weekend's edition of his Weekend Cooking Thread, Chef Mojo is talking about what food people like to eat while watching the game.

So, I posted my recipe for chicken wings and included a picture of some I'd fixed a while back.

Well, the pic blew up so as I said I would, I'm putting it here. Meanwhile, the recipe is over there.

If you're confused don't feel badly. So am I.

Getting away with murder

Earlier this week Marliano Alberto (pictured) was sentenced to 10 years behind bars in a plea-bargain deal, for the drunk-driving accident in which Russell Nevado was killed.

Alberto, an illegal alien, looks really upset, doesn't he. Yep. He sure does.

The judge also revoked his license for the rest of his life. -- Source

License? Drivers license?

Good move, I guess, since after he's served his sentence Alberto will be turned over to the immigration authorities for deportation.

Let's see now.

With gain time, good time and all the other speshul allowances that enable criminals to serve only a small fraction of their sentence, Alberto will probably be out in less than three years. Then after being deported (if he actually is) he can just bop right back into the United States through our porous borders.

Maybe head to New York State where he can get a DIFFERENT drivers license because by order of that state's idiot governor, illegal aliens can receive them now.

Poor Alberto.

With the way things are going, no wonder he looks so upset.

~~~~~
Previously: What a difference a year makes!

I'm so ashamed

I'm not much of a sweet eater but I do get a "sweet attack" occasionally. It's usually easily satisfied with a container of fruit yogurt. If it's a really bad bout, I grab a Twinkie from the box I bought months ago.

But when I saw that cake sitting on Sheila's kitchen table a few weeks ago I asked her, if she could, to save me a slice. I HAD to have some.

Each year with our birthdays only a week apart, Sheila and I throw our own birthday party on the Saturday in between, and invite whoever we damned well want. It's BYOB and while we do the bulk of the cooking, some people bring dishes with them. This year we added a twist: Paula Dean.

Most of what we cooked would come from her recipes. And that cake, Sheila said, was one of them.

You can eat hot wings, ribs, pulled pork and a host of other foods while drinking beer, but chocolate cake? Uh, no. Definitely not me, anyway, which is why I'd asked her to try to save me a slice. Except instead of saving a slice, before anybody got any she stashed a HUNK of it away.

For me.

And giggled evilly when she handed it to me the next day after we were done cleaning up.

That night the horror began. It continued for two more nights after. I'd tell myself to STOP. To put it back in the refrigerator, or with as rich as that cake was I'd be sick.

Did I stop?

Hell, no.

On the fourth night, with none left, I still wanted more.

I was safe, I thought. I'd get over it. Except I didn't. Each night my craving got worse. And worse still each night after. But I'd be okay, I told myself again and again, because I didn't have the recipe.

Then, completely and TOTALLY by accident, I found it in Paula's cooking magazine.

(Sheila and I both subscribe.)

Besides, I didn't have a bunt pan to bake it in!

(So I bought one. And then on the way home, picked up the two ingredients for it I didn't have.)

Once the Double Chocolate Chip Pound Cake cooled, I cut it into quarters.

I gave one quarter to Da Kid and Herself. Another I took to her parents. And laughing evilly -- paybacks are hell -- I brought the third quarter to Sheila.

The other quarter, the last one, is mine.

All mine.

MINE!

~~~~~
(For some reason I can't exactly put my finger on, I strongly suspect the person who posted the recipe seemingly as her own, also subscribes to "Cooking with Paula.")

Liquid Sunshine

Quotable Quotes

"Not all Canadian health care is long lines and lack of innovation. We found one place where providers offer easy access to cutting-edge life-saving technology, such as CT scans. And patients rarely wait.

But they have to bark or meow to get access to this technology. Vet clinics say they can get a dog or a cat in the next day. People have to wait a month." -- John Stossel

I DON'T think so.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, President of Iran, accepted an invitation to speak at the United Nations next week. Since he's going to be here anyway, good ol' Mahmoud wants to express his condolences for the lives lost on nine-eleven by laying a wreath at Ground Zero.

Trying to let Mahmoud know that he's really not welcome, New York City said they wouldn't help at all with the security he'd need.

Not taking the hint, Mahmoud said maybe it could be worked out anyway and that he was "'amazed' that Americans view[ed] his request to visit the site as insulting."

(Duh!)

The Feds said if Mahmoud still wewwy, wewwy wanted to go to Ground Zero, they'd take care of the security themselves.

New York City has now said that they won't permit Mahmoud to go there.

And rightly so.

Iran sponsors terrorism. It has killed Americans before, is doing so now in Iraq and will continue to do so at every opportunity.

Does anyone really think that the wreath Mahmoud wants to lay at Ground Zero is for those in the Twin Towers who were murdered on September 11, 2001? The passengers and crew of the two planes that were crashed into them?

Not just no, but HELL no!

Sorry about that, Mahmoud, but we're on to you.

Your idea of a photo op -- that will be shown by Al Jazerra, CNN International and other terrorist-supporting outlets as soon as the pictures are taken -- laying a wreath at the site to honor ten hi-hackers IS a bit much.

Screw you.

Floatin' Down Memory Lane

Pam asked if like Houston, floods occur here each year. I tried to explain that it's kind of a yes and no situation. Overall, no. But in some spots . . . yes.

The reasons may be different for different areas, but let there be heavy, sustained rainfall it's ga-run-teed one of the places the reporters will ALWAYS talk about is San Marco. Its streets ALWAYS seem to be one of those under water. Especially this intersection.

Every time it floods there, for 30 some-odd years the media shows people from Public Works cleaning that particular drain. Probably longer than that, but before that I wasn't here and until just after that, I'd never been to Applejack's.

It's trendy, now. Spanish-styled exteriors and Applejack's long gone, but the corner itself hasn't changed. I recognized it immediately when I saw the pic in today's paper.

Usta be if you wanted a quick lunch at a good price -- take-out or eat-in -- the place to go was Applejack's. It wasn't every day but a bit fancier fare . . . say, on payday to celebrate surviving another two weeks on the job.

The only downside was trying to find a parking place, and doing that could eat up most of your lunch time. Unless you learned pretty quickly to park on the street behind, hoof it to their counter, and go.

Parking on the street behind Applejack's had an added advantage, too. Since it was (is still?) on higher ground than San Marco, you could be reasonably assured that your vehicle wouldn't be up to the middle of its hub caps (or worse) in standing water when it rained.

You might have to pull your shoes off when you left the car to wade to Applejack's front door, but . . . well, we were all young once.

Weren't we?

And if we were ten minutes late getting back to work, "Queen Bitch" -- our supervisor -- just might not dock us. We weren't just going for our lunch. We were bringing back her lunch, too.

Applejack's was the place to go out with "the gang from work," too. Pizza, cheap wine, beer and on Friday nights a band. No one had much money to spare, so you pooled your change figuring out before you went in what everyone could have.

Inside, on Friday nights, local boys strummin' and singin'. Or trying to figure out if they placed their mic here instead of there, or moved their amplifiers a bit, maybe they could go back to playing because they'd stopped the ear-splitting squeal that could bust ear drums, and maybe be discovered and make it big.

Thunder outside. The sound of rain falling. Tapered candles burning -- stuck in dusty old wine bottles coated with the drippings of who knows how many candles burnt before them -- on the tables.

Powers out again. Shut off, actually, to make sure no one got electrocuted while Applejack's owners and employees grabbed sandbags from a storage area to stack them outside the door trying to keep the water from coming in.

Again.

Ah, the memories.

We all get older.

Times change.

The only thing that lasts is flooding in the "usual areas."

A little bit wet

The front page headline of today's paper reads, 'NIGHTMARE OF A DAY'. Like this has never happened before? The flooding, I mean. It has, several times over the years, and always in the usual spots. With as many newcomers as we have now, I guess they just don't know what areas to avoid.

What was different, though, is that while some areas had to deal with as much as 8 inches of rain, I didn't get even single drop.

Not one.

Not that it didn't get . . . uh, interesting from time to time.

With both Da Kid and Herself both at work, I'd planned on going over to their house around noon to let the Granddog out to commune with nature. Instead, after looking out the window around 11 and seeing an endless, particularly dark purple-blue cloud in that general direction I said, "Oh shit!" packed up stuff to do in case I got stuck there for a while, and headed out the door.

No need. Their sidewalk was a bit damp when I arrived and left about 30 minutes later. Their total rainfall accumulation, according to the National Weather Service, was a whole tenth of an inch.

I had a few other, "Oh Shit" moments during the day when it got VERY dark outside way too quickly, or when a strong gust of wind came out of nowhere.

Today was a repeat of yesterday -- dark and windy -- without all the rain and flooding south of me.

The weatherjerks are saying it might get . . . uh, interesting again tonight. Same system, too.

It's just sitting there off the coast, they're saying, maybe getting a bit more . . . uh, interesting.

"Wake me up ...

... when it's time to go to bed."

FYI

Happy Constitution Day and Citizenship Day!

Whazzat?

In 2005 and . . .

. . . pursuant to legislation passed by Congress, educational institutions receiving Federal funding are required to hold an educational program pertaining to the United States Constitution on September 17 of each year.

Meanwhile . . .

Just three months after the Senate immigration bill met its well-deserved end, amnesty advocates in the U.S. Congress resumed their efforts. Recently, Senator Richard Durbin (D–IL) announced on the Senate floor his intention to offer the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act as an amendment to the defense authorization bill. -- Human Events Online

(I can sure understand how that amendment ties in with the defense authorization bill. Yep! Sure can. That's how the Dems FINALLY got the hike in the minimimum wage passed. By amendment, they tied it to military funding for our troops in Afghanistan and Iraq. But let's not EVER criticize their patriotism, okay?)

Read the Human Events article and as you do, perhaps you can think of a way to help me with a problem.

I've been trying to figure out how Constitution and Citizenship Day is taught in classes filled with illegal aliens, who aren't even asked to learn to speak English.

And I can't.

Sacrilege

People who know me know that I'm not much of a cryer. They know if tears begin to well in my eyes, it's usually because I'm angry. So angry it's best to get as far away from me as possible as fast as possible, because if those tears actually fall . . . well. It's not good.

When I first read about it at Michelle Malkin's, my initial reaction was disbelief. Then, as I followed the links she provided, I could feel the tears beginning to build. Even now they're this close.

Have you been to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D. C. If you have, you know. If not, let me try to describe it to you.

It's frequently been described as powerful. It is, but that's only part of it.

From the distance (and in most photographs) it looks quite small. It's only as you walk closer that its length and height become increasingly obvious. Then, just as slowly, you begin to notice something mars the entire shiney black. You know what it is, but until you get close enough you keep telling yourself it can't be. Maybe it's the light . . . or something else making it look that way. But while you're trying to convince yourself that's what it is, you still know.

It's the names of the over 50,000 men and women who were killed in the Vietnam War, or to this day remain missing.

Some say it's powerful. To me, and Da Kid who was with me, it was overwhelming.

"So many," he whispered. Half question, the other half . . . I don't know what.

There, people whisper to each other. Maybe because it knocks the breath out of you.

Here and there in front of different panels might be a flower someone left for a person named on it. A small American flag. A book or toy.

A man about my age stood silently in front of one panel the entire time we were there, staring at it, tears running down his cheeks.

The pages in the directory was yellow and torn, but I found the names of the three I knew: The older brothers of two high school friends, and one I'd gone to high school with. And managed to find their places on The Wall.

If people need an anti-war symbol, they should forget the pink bunny ears some have worn and stupid signs they carry. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial and all the names engraved on it carries a far more powerful message.

But no. Instead, the Lefty Loons decided that the way to get their "message" across, was to vandalize The Wall with an oily substance.

Now if you'll all excuse me, the tears are right there again.

I'd better go.

LATER: In an update, Human Events Online reports that the National Park Service is "Walking on Eggshells."

“The United States Park Police is investigating the matter. Until this investigation is completed, it is premature to speculate whether any intentional act was committed,” is the official statement.

But . . .

Bill Line, NPS Communications & Tourism Officer for the National Capital Region adds that although crews have been working since Saturday to remove the substance, they don’t even know what it is, much less who splattered it on the memorial.

But one thing is certain. Despite the claims that were later retracted when discrepancies were noted, the incident most certainly does NOT appear to have been caused by an accidental spill of cleaning fluid by a park ranger. Park rangers are not involved in cleaning or maintenance of the memorial, Line confirmed.

The Park Service is hopeful, but not certain, that when the material is finally removed it will not have left any permanent damage.

I haven't seen a darn thing about this on the news. Heck, I guess they're just too danged busy covering O. J.

I Like Fred

Via GuyK at Charming, Just Charming -- who got it from somebody else -- a Candidate Calculator that ranks the 08 Presidential candidates according to your views.



Not surprisingly . . .

Remember

Dear Osama,

"[B]urning living beings is forbidden in our religion, even if they be small like the ant, so what of man?!" -- Osama bin Laden in his latest video.

~~~~~

How 'bout women, Osama-baby? Children?

After reading the transcript of your latest video, I really think you've been hitting Daily Kos a bit much.

By the looks of your new "do," you definitely need to get out more, too. Let the professionals take care of your hair coloring. They do so much better a job than those in-cave dye jobs that come in a box.

If your beard looks that bad, (it's a lousy cut, too) I can only imagine how badly the hair on your head turned out. No wonder you're wearing that hat to hide it. Good move, but trust me on this. The Jackie-Kennedy-pillbox style you're wearing went out of fashion 45 years ago.

I know it goes with the bathrobe you're wearing, Osama-baby, but you need ditch that, too. I realize clothes shopping's been difficult for you, but how many times are you going to wear that ol' thing? You were wearing the same one the last time we saw you!

(I know, I know. It's comfortable. I really do understand. I have a bathrobe just like yours, except mine's baby blue.)

I'm sure no one wants to tell you this, Osama-baby, but no matter how many "wives" you have at your beck and call, you're really not "Hef." Just 'cause he runs around his mansion in his pj's 24/7 doesn't mean you should.

He has Bunnies and a mansion! You, a cave! See the difference?

Anyway . . . "write" again soon, Osama-baby.

We've missed you.

Woof!

Mary Jane is so shy she flunked her Seeing-Eye Dog School.

Ricky Bobby Baby Jesus (shown) is so energetic and "feisty," he was one day away from being put down by an animal shelter after three families had returned him.

Now both, among other "misfits," are graduates of an ATF school for bomb-sniffing dogs.

The story is here.

Quotable Quotes

"A joke says that a poll was taken in California, asking if people thought illegal immigration was a serious problem. The results showed that 29 percent said, 'Yes, there is a serious problem.' But 71 percent said, 'No es una problema seriosa.'" -- Thomas Sowell