Final Post:

Thanks to all who've visited this blog and made my initial writing efforts a warm and welcomed success. The site has moved, in it's entirety to ramen-ravings.com.



Thank You.

Chester

Afterlife...

Afterlife: Where do we go from here:
In the song (which I still consider both terrible and an ear worm) “Hell” by Squirrel Nut Zippers, the lyrics flow as such “In the afterlife, you could be headed for the serious strife. Now you make the scene all day, but tomorrow there’ll be hell to pay. I interpret this to be a fairly plain representation of the Christian view of the afterlife. While you may be on top today, doing what you feel is fun and enjoyable. Tomorrow, you’re done. Burning, End Of Story. I received some very positive and loving feedback from my hubby’s mom yesterday RE: my religion post. She was under the impression that I was shocked by her directness. Honestly, I’m not, nor have I been. I actually value her directness, as when she shares a thought or opinion, you don’t have to dig through a layer of bullshit to find a hidden meaning. It’s not there, the meaning is right on top, staring you in the face.I did however, not feel that this was the most relevant question to ask the person your eldest son has committed themselves to, right at first meeting. She’ll likely disagree, and I respect and love her for that. Now then, moving right along. I’m going to open up this fire fight but simply stating, that in general terms, I don’t believe in the “literal and or literary versions of “Hell”. Allow me to elaborate. In the Old Testament of the Christian Bible (Using King James as point of reference/my fading memory), God would kick your ass. For the smallest infringement. God was all powerful, all knowing, and all vengeful. If you fucked up, you were done. You would be smited in any number of ways and you Knew you’d fucked up because you were getting smited. Now, why would an all knowing, all loving God, who created all things in kindness and love kick your ass so hard? Where’s the love in that? Flip to the New Testament. Jesus is introduced as the Sacrificial Lamb, the Messiah. He steps in, and puts a stop to the smiting shit. He turns it around, and in the end basically says, “okay, enough. I’m dying, so that you can live on forever”, however, we as a people still hold on the idea of “watch out, or God will smite your ass”. Again, why are we burning forever, if Jesus stepped in, took the hit for us, so that we don’t have to. Christianity is not alone in this outlook. I’m going to delve into that now, though I’m working solely through the power of the internet as I don’t have training/indoctrination into Hinduism, Islam, Judaism, and several others. I’m simply going to try to find, and then re-illustrate their viewpoints. I will close with my own.

I’m going to open with Islam, for reasons that are my own, and also as it’s very close to Christianity. Islam, like Christianity, states that there is a Paradise (Heaven) and Hell (eternal suffering). Islam also shares the believe of a “Day of Reckoning” (Day of Revelation) where Allah (God) will judge all of mankind, living and dead based on their deeds in life. Furthermore, Islam illustrates that those who are destined for Hell will actually start to suffer at the moment of death and interment.(For reference, for all information, I’m referencing the site http://www.religionfacts.com). These believes mirror Christianity and even add in a little extra suffering for good measure.

Next, I’m going to look at Judaism. To me, if I could have Chosen a religion to fall into and follow, it would have been Judaism. I say this for several reasons. If I recall correctly (questionable) it holds some of the oldest recorded religious texts. It doesn’t have versions or revisions. There is the Torah, and that’s it. It’s the historic and religious texts that Jesus learned from and followed. Alas, I’m not Jewish, so that’s sort of out. Anyway, without rambling more, Judaism doesn’t really have an “afterlife” reference. Unlike Christianity and Islam where leading a good life leads to a good afterlife, Judaism simply demands that you lead a good life. A direct quote “The Torah and Talmud alike focus on the purpose of earthly life, which is to fulfill one's duties to God and one's fellow man. Succeeding at this brings reward, failing at it brings punishment. Whether rewards and punishments continue after death, or whether anything at all happens after death, is not as important.” This to me, more closely aligns with my own personal outlook.

Ranking number three, in World Religion with more than 900 million followers, Hinduism is the religion and belief system that most confuses me. I admit this openly. Part of this is, I was raised in an Almost Christian faith (I say almost, others may say it differently). I was always raised monotheistic, and to this day, I still feel that I couldn’t meditate if every Buddha and Bodhisattva  descended from the heavens and sat upon my  head. Hinduism has many gods, for many things, and such a large and varied belief system that I feel, unless raised within it, you’ll simply never really grasp it. Now, Afterlife beliefs: Essentially, reincarnation, or not. Hinduism has a belief in Karma, or a persons moral actions, that good or bad have an immediate effect on the person's life. With Karma, if you have lead a life, that fulfills your purposes (Plural!) on this earth, then your soul escapes the cycle of rebirth and continued suffering. If however, you fail to meet one or more conditions to escape rebirth, your ass is coming back, and you have to try again.

The last belief system I’m going to address isn’t so much a religion (to me), but a philosophy, and a way to lead and live life. I’m addressing Buddhism. One of the basic teachings is that life is shit. Life is suffering. The purpose of life, is to alleviate suffering wherever you find it. Yes, this is a Very distilled, and very crass version of the basic tenet. Afterlife, as quoted: “According to Buddhism, after death one is either reborn into another body (reincarnated) or enters nirvana. Only Buddhas - those who have attained enlightenment - will achieve the latter destination.” So, with leading a pious, caring life. doing whatever possible to relieve suffering wherever you find it. Studying, meditating, and other practices can all help a person attain enlightenment, and thereby escape the cycle of death and rebirth and end the cycle of suffering for that soul.

Having read this far, first, you deserve a hug. Second, I have to now share My viewpoints. I feel that the soul is most closely compared to energy/matter. In science, we’re taught that matter can neither be created nor destroyed. This is the principle of mass conversion. So, while I may have a soul, or whatever label you wish to put on it. It’s not really going anywhere. The physical body that I inhabit, it’s Definitely falling apart, trust me, at 40, I’m feeling it. However, my “soul”, or what makes up who I am, in every fiber of my “self”, the good bits, the bad bits, and the bits that fall in between, it is simply “there”. It may go on, to live another cycle, it may not. I don’t hold a firm belief to that. I simply hold tight to the tenet that I need to lead as good of a life now, while I can, simply because that’s the purpose Of my life.

Religion In My Eyes

To quote John Dewey “The time to strike is while the iron is hot.” Yesterday, I broke through on of the unspoken taboos of discussion among friends and family. I touched upon politics, specifically Marriage. Today, I’m going to address religion. This may make you “unfriend” me on Facebook, or it may have no effect at all. If it makes you think, about Anything I’ve said, then I’ll have accomplished my goal.
As I mentioned, I’ve been with my partner (husband) Eric for over 12 years. When we first decided to become a dedicated to each other couple, I sat him down, and read him the laundry list of Everything I’d learned about myself from my prior relationships. I explained everything that I was told made me a bad partner, and all of the faults that I’d identified within myself, up to that point. I also explained that I had every intention to move back to Pennsylvania, to be near family as the kids were young and would be growing up fast. My eldest niece graduated high school this year and starts college in the fall. Shockingly, to me at least, he not only agreed to be my partner knowing all of my downsides, but he also agreed to accompany me to PA, with nothing more concrete than “I have a friend we can crash with”.
On the way up, we stopped to visit his mom, who at the time lived in Tennessee. Now, before I mention another word about his mom, I personally think she’s a lovely woman. If anything I say comes off different, please, just refer back to that sentence. We pull into her driveway, Eric, myself and our dog Tank. She has us stow our bags, and invites us into the kitchen. I of course am nervous, as I’m old fashioned, and I’d like to have my spouses parents like and and or approve of me at least a little. Well, it didn’t quite shake out that way right away. The first question was not a warning shot across the bow, it was a bomb, to the face. “Are you a Christian?” Now, first of all, religion isn’t’ what I was expecting. I was expecting things like “What are your plans for my son”, or “How will you ensure that he’s taken care of”, or “Are you sure you’re good enough for him”. But no, I got “Are you A Christian”. I like to designate the A Christian versus Christian. I will elaborate on that soon. Slammed with what to me was such a bomb question, up front set the tone for how the visit would go. I will be completely honest. After that, my expectations plummeted, but the visit was very, very pleasant. We went for sushi (which I believe she enjoyed), we did a bit of shopping and we mostly hung out and were friendly. But to go back to my initial confrontation, when hit with that question, I can only answer No. I am not “A Christian”, though I do hold some of the teachings of the historical figure Jesus Very near and dear to my heart, I generally speaking don’t go to church, I don’t tithe, I don’t shout “Praise the Lord”, and or “Hallelujah” at each success. I’m not saying that people who do these things are wrong in any fashion, it’s just not what I feel is what was taught by Jesus. If I have to Label myself as having a religion, and I generally don’t like labels, I’m going to quote the Dalai Lama “My religion is simple. My religion is Kindness”. I think first and foremost, Jesus, the teacher, (Rabbi as he Was Jewish) taught kindness above all else. He didn’t teach fear, he didn’t teach punishment, he didn’t teach isolationism and radicalism. He taught us to care for the sick, the elderly and the poor. To go out of our way, every day, to try to make someone else’s day a little bit better. I am NOT going to lie. Everyone has bad days. I am in no way a saint. There are days that i’m a disagreeable asshole, and there are days that making someone smile, for what I may consider nothing more than trying to be helpful the greatest thing I’ve done that day.

I Love the teachings of the historical figure of Jesus, and also many of the teachings of the current Dalai Lama. I however don’t subscribe to “Organized Religion”. I don’t feel that having a Labeled religion is going to make my life any better or any worse. Many people will label themselves as “A Christian” and here’s another quote. From “The Princess Bride” Inigo Montoya,
You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means. To me, a person designated as “A Christian” is choosing to put themselves before the teachings of Jesus. They want to be labeled, and recognized as being better than someone or something. They may or may not follow the teachings of kindness, of doing for those less fortunate than themselves. One day, Eric and I were leaving the mall after having had lunch and or dinner, whichever, didn’t matter. but there was a severely sunburned gentleman standing at the exit, panhandling with a sign that proclaimed him as a Gulf War Vet who was both unemployed and Homeless. Everyone who knows us knows we aren’t exactly drowning in cash. We did still stop, and give him what his expression told us was a substantial amount of money, and I wished him to have a better day than he’d been having up to that point. Some people will say “I don’t give money to beggars/bums, etc whatever label makes you feel better about yourself. “They’re only going to use it to buy booze, or drugs, or god knows what”. Okay, who are You to judge? The gentleman that I gave money to, I didn’t say, “Now make sure you get sunblock and water sir, and maybe a bible”. I simply wished for him, sincerely, that at least That one day was better.That to me is an act of Christianity, of Christ, of Kindness. I live in PA, in Lancaster county. We have some beautiful old, very elaborate churches. We also have Amish people, who practice their faith in simple, white washed 1 room buildings. Now, Unless God’s into fashion, what makes one type of religious building better than another? Jesus often spoke of piety and sacrifice, however, when we practice our faith, we surround ourselves in opulence. We put on our “Sunday’s Best”. Some people will drive up to two hours to go to a “Mega-Church” because it’s “So Beautiful inside and out”.  Me, if I want to try to touch base with whatever higher being is out there, possibly donating a passing thought my way. I do it in the car, or at home, or in bed, or even on the toilet.  So, you can label me as you like, you can label me “Christian”, or “Buddhist”, or “Recovering Agnostic” or whatever makes you feel better.As long as I know, that I’m trying to make the world a better place, in what ever small way that I can, I know I’m doing it right.

Keep your labels to Yourself

I’m writing today about a topic that is easy for some, difficult for others. I’m talking about marriage. Many people will say to their friends who happen to be in a relationship with a person of the same gender “Oh, I think “gay marriage should totally be legal” or “I support “gay marriage”. Fuck that. I don’t Want a “gay marriage”, I don’t want a “same sex marriage”. I want a marriage. Just because the person that I want to marry happens to be of my same gender doesn’t make us special, or in any way less entitled. If you were to view a married couple, made up of opposite genders and Also of opposite ethnic origins, would you call it a “bi-racial marriage” or an “african-american and white marriage” or an “Asian and Hispanic marriage”? No, you’d call it a marriage, as it conforms to the standard acceptable vision of what marriage is. Now, let’s look at “marriage”. Many people today in the U.S. have been divorced. Some more than 1 time, some several times. Did you forget, that you swore an oath, before your god, your state, and your friends gathered before you, that it was “Until DEATH do us part”? Was there an unspoken subtext that also included “or until it becomes inconvenient for either of us”?

Now, I have been with the same individual for over twelve years. We own a home, we share pets, we share internet, we share a bedroom. What we don’t share, is the same acceptance that our friends and family get, simply because we both happen to have an X and a Y chromosome, instead of one of us having double XXs. Our relationship isn’t a “gay” relationship”, it’s not a “homosexual relationship”, it’s a loving relationship, of Over a decade. I don’t want to get Gay married, I don’t want to get Same-Sex Unioned. The fact that we may have intimate relations randomly is no ones business and should have no bearing on the fact of our commitment to one another. What I want is marriage Equality, I want the Same Marriage as anyone else can get, perhaps without a few of the preceding divorces, and possibly without the “god and country” bits.

I feel that until people realize that what we want isn’t “special, different, or alternative”. What we want is equal, Not separate but equal (as that’s also not equal). I’d like for everyone who has access to read this, and share this. Spread the words, Gay marriage is not marriage, it’s a label that people want to place on us, to isolate us, to keep us different. To me, a label of “gay marriage” is equivalent to sewing a pink triangle to the chest of all my shirts (look it up).

Luxury Ramen. Tastebuds Explode In joy

Nongshim Black: The Ramen Lover’s Ramen.

First, some introductions. Nongshim is a ramen manufacturer from Korea, that also has operations in the U.S. I first experienced them back in 1992 when I was stationed in Korea, with the Army. To say that this is “Deluxe Ramen” is an understatement. To many, it’s also an oxymoron, as in, how can ramen, something that we can buy for as little as 20 cents per pack be “deluxe”. In the U.S. “ramen” is more or less ubiquitous with Nissan Brand’s Oodles of Noodles, (what it was titled when I was a kid) and to me, the lower quality “Maruchan, Smack Ramen”. This ramen (written as ramyun by the company, and as it’s spelled in Korea) is so far above this salt and fat leaden calorie trap, that to really compare them is as if to compare diamonds with damp mud. As I've stated, I first tried this ramen back in ‘92 in Korea, and up until this point, I was only familiar with Oodles of Noodles brand. There was, on every base and sub-post in Korea, a cantina, or Korean cantina as we took to calling them. In this little restaurant/snack shop, I could drop down about 2.25 in 1992 dollars and get a good steaming bowl of spicy ramen loaded with cooked egg and topped with cheese, and additionally, the Korean version of Orange Crush soda. Anyone who knows me, will know that I ate this at least 4 times per week, if not more. When I got a little more acclimated to being in a foreign country, and decided not to be “the Ugly American” that we were all warned not to be, I started exploring the town around my base and eventually made my way to the open air markets. It was here that I learned that the ramen I was getting made for me at the cantinas was actually available retail, in cases of 20 for about 15 dollars American. Those of you who are paying attention will realize that that’s about 75 cents per pack, nearly 4 times the value of ramen in the states. The thing is, this is Not american ramen, not by any stretch. The noodles themselves are thicker, and chewier, and actually require a longer cook time. The “soup base” that we also simply call the “chicken salt packet” is so red with ground chili that you simply know your tastebuds are in for a beating. Additionally, Koreans being on a peninsula are more prone to use seafood flavors than they are domesticated animal flavors such as beef, pork, or chicken and they Certainly won’t have an “Oriental” flavor.
The main flavors of instant ramen as it’s called that I’d experienced both in Korea, and since are “Hot and Spicy” and “Kimchi” flavor, which, is, basically hot and spicy with an alternate vegetable pack. This brings me to the NongShim Black. First, in my FLAG (Friendly Local Asian Grocery) I didn’t find this brand as a case of 20, only a 4 pack, and there was no clear price labeled. Yes, I should have realized that this was a warning sign. I get to check out, with my other purchases, and when the ramen is rung up, I get to see the sticker shock. 6.99 for a 4 pack of ramen. Yep, $1.75 per pack, for ramen. Now, this is by far Not the most I’ve spent on ramen. I’ve bought Japanese brands of ramen that went for upwards of $4 per pack. This was however, the most I’d paid for Korean ramen. Another thing I noticed was, there was no description of the flavor contained within. Simply “Black”. Now, I tried “Coke-Blak” several years ago, where it was coke mixed coffee and sold for large amounts of money. It was also rather terrible. So I get home, I unload my groceries and plan my ramen dinner for the next day. The package of Nongshim Black actually features beef marrow bones and garlic. Now I had an idea of what flavors I was in for. Rich beefy flavor with potentially the Koreans love of Lots of garlic. My first surprise was that this package actually 3 flavor packs, 2 of which were powders and 1 of which was the “vegetable packet”.
Nearly every brand of ramen that I’ve purchased in the past 20 years (outside of American brands) feature only 2 packets, 3 for “deluxe Japanese brands that feature a flavor oil”. Never have I had 2 powder plus a vegetable pack, so this was interesting. Also of note, was the second powder pack was not translated to English, it was simply labeled “Seol Long Tang”. Having Just read the Wiki article on this particular Korean phrase, I now know that my translation of the packet was accurate, it’s ox bone soup base. Again, this is a first for me in Korean ramen, and it made a Huge difference. What this particular soup packet added to my once simple bowl of spicy ramen was a thickness of flavor, a richness in the broth that I’d not experienced before. This was, without a doubt, simply the best ramen that I’d ever had. If I had to give this ramen a comparison rating versus other instant ramen that I’ve had, excluding American versions, I’d have to rate it between an 8.5 and a 9.5 out of 10. I will require further “tastings” to refine that. I will also not buy any other flavor of Nongshim brand ramen. Once you’ve had the best, anything else is simply not worth the money or the effort. My next favorite Nongshim ramen would be the Kimchi flavor, and in comparison, that’s about a low 7 on the 10 point scale. Basically what I’m saying here is, if you love, or even like instant ramen you owe it to yourself to purchase at least one pack of this type, simply to experience “luxury ramen”. I looked up the company’s information and also information on this specific type of ramen from them, and it turns out that it’s a release to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the company, and that this flavor specifically was in development for over three years. That’s some damned good ramen.

Bipolar: Bipolar & Me

I sometimes talk about being bipolar. I often wonder if other  people really know what it’s like, really have an idea of what it’s like to be inside my head. I've decided to make a post, to illustrate, to some degree what that’s like. Anyone who knows me, I mean Really knows me, knows that I suffer from low self-esteem, even at 40. I have issues with self worth, and I don’t see myself as creative,  at all, except once in awhile, in the kitchen. I have no hobbies, I've tried and failed at more hobbies in 3 years than most people will contemplate ever. This perceived failure is only exacerbated, for me, by having a wonder partner, who happens to be, to me, very creative, and very talented. I get honestly jealous to the point that I put on my rage-face. Very recently, I visited my favorite internet forum hangout. I asked for help in finding a hobby, but let people know that I have no talents and that I generally suck. I got Lots of very positive feedback, but not super realistic. Some things like rock climbing for example, just aren't going to happen overnight, and I have a very short window for satisfaction. A few of the responders however, suggested writing. I've dipped my toe into this pool in the past, but never to any real Effort. I’d tried my hand and churned out a few dozen pages of really bad fan-fic.  Fortunately for me, the same forum I turn to for advice when I’m in the pit of a bipolar depression cycle Also happens to have a forum dedicate to writing and people who wish to talk, think and or share about writing. What a wonderful group of folks they turned out to be. I gently stepped into the open discussion thread, shared an idea, got some feedback on that idea and set about to  putting thoughts onto paper. What came from this was my first successful attempt at the story that I’m now writing. I was Super proud of this, this was my story, this was the world that I wanted to build and these were the people that I wanted to populate it with. The one thing I also did however, was fill it So full of specialized jargon, that folks who knew me, and knew how my thoughts normally went, couldn't make heads or tails of it. Being me, I of course, blamed the person reading it, in that they “just weren't the right audience”. Later, I found another discussion thread with only one rule. Post Only the first three sentences of your opening paragraph, and only post them if you’re ready for honest critique. Holy Shit. I got Hammered. I generated about 10 responses, which for a thread by me, is a lot. Several were completely off point, and didn't get it at at all. One was very close to where I was going, but explained that it was simply too full of jargon for an average person, and the final totally got everything but even admitted that it was super full of specialized jargon. So to me, what was an introduction to this wonderful world, was actually just me throwing about keywords and lingo that really only made sense to me, and wouldn't honestly amount to much of anything. So, I took all of the feedback as positive, as it was, regardless of the words used, and turned it into More creative energy. I completely rewrote Everything, and wrote more and more and more. I passed this new, revision 1a on to a different person and the feedback was immediate. Not only did things make sense, but the ideas flowed together, the characters were something she could care about and the plot hooks were set so deep that when I asked the most important question “Would you buy this from Amazon for three bucks, just to finish the story?” I was met with a resounding “Yes”.

Now, up to this point, I haven’t really touched on the rollercoaster shit-train that is my bipolar. I was So charged up. I wrote over 3700 words in 1 day. more than 8 pages in MS Word, and what I consider to be about 1.5 chapters. I've introduced characters and plots, and plots within plots. I was riding so high, nothing would bring me down. Then I had to drive home. My drive home is 11 miles. It takes roughly 38-45 minutes depending on lights, and Horse & Buggy interference. It’s during this time, that the Other side of my bipolar kicks in. The doubt, the fear, the insecurity, the self-loathing. I went from being the most proud I've ever been of anything I've done simply for myself in over 20 years, to wallowing in doubt and being near tears. What was I thinking? I couldn't finish this. There’s no way I can show this to people! What if someone doesn't like it? I’ll be crushed!. All of these thoughts assaulted me, all at once, completely unbidden. What went from one of my best days was quickly turning into one of my worst, all due to a chemical imbalance, that try as I might, I really have no control over. Yes, I take my medication every day, twice a day, as prescribed. I take around 10 pills on a normal day, up to 15 on a Really bad day. Just because my brain is a little off. So for me, this is bipolar, you get to have your cake, and get it shit on too. One minute you’re a star in your own mind, and the next, a penniless hobo looking for ideas in the gutters of the internet.

Blog Post: Molestation Station, Occupant Me.

So, recently in the news, there have been multiple reports and arrests about people who either directly, or indirectly injured a child or children via methods of sexual exploitation. One of these people I even knew, via a social outlet that I no longer make use of, and god bless his mother, for the hell that he has put her in to. I myself and a victim of sexual exploitation, though, I didn't always view it that way. It took oh, about 26 years, and i Think 5 therapists for me to wrap my head around the idea that in all truth and honesty, a 12 year old, even one who thought he was as wise as I did, has the mental faculties to decide to get involved in a sexual relationship of ANY nature with anyone, much less someone much older and by much older, i mean anything over 18. For me, the first person to really abuse me, was 28, and I was simply 12. It’s odd to say how these situations arise. For me, some folks might ask if this is what “Turned me gay”. Honestly, no. I always was, always will be. Even remembering back to earlier times, I can remember being attracted to men, notice I said Men, and not Boys. As a young person, I’d find myself staring in awe at my friends fathers, I didn't understand what it was, I just knew that I wanted to be in the same space as them. It’s not like I'd do something so crude as to stare with lust, or try to initiate body contact or anything so dreadful. I was simply enraptured by what I can only describe as “manliness”. Even today, the type of men I choose to be around and with, for me, encompass what I consider “manly”.

Now, I want to be Very Very clear here, no child, or teenager (child to me now that I’ve crossed 40) has any right to be put into situations where predatory behavior can be enabled and or overlooked. For me, it was overlooked by so many for so long, simply because of who they believed the person was, and not for who they really were.

The initial contact happened at the birthday party of an adult sister of a friend. Here I am, confused and surrounded by people I barely know on a social level, and here is someone who fits my “idea” and is actually willing to pay attention to me. As a kid, I feel, I never really got much attention from adults that was in any way positive. Folks who know me may or may not agree, and I don’t really care. In talking to other gay men, who I've met socially who Also happen to have been victims of child molestation (sort of a burning badge around these parts) this is almost a common factor. Now, this is strictly speaking of those of us who thought we simply had “older boyfriends”. There are many men, both gay and straight who were forcibly molested and victimized and that’s a whole other brutal can of worms. Anyway, on with my story. I was always nervous around people I didn't know as a kid, Especially adults, but here was one, tall, bearded and with a Honda Scooter (hey, Grace Jones was advertising for them) that was offering to give me a ride on the back. So Wow, I thought, an adult, paying me attention, with a cool gadget (Love gadgets to this day), and a chance to get away from this crowd of people that i barely knew, it didn't’ get much better than this.

So we rode around, around town, and across the river to the neighboring town where his place was. We stopped the ride (my face was numb from smiling) and stopped into his place “to relax for a minute”. My eyes instantly fell on the bottle of root beer schnapps, as I’d been drinking off and on from about age 7 and hey, who doesn't like root beer? Of course, people like animals, when predatory, have a very good sense of what’s going on, and noticing my eyes flying to the liquor offered me a drink. I think if I could explode from overstimulation, my head would have painted his walls. Everything I thought i could want was all coming around me, and all at the same time, it was all simply too much for my 12 year old mind to process, but as I imagine, for a 28 year old predator, it was probably all too easy. Of course, being me, I simply couldn't “sip” a drink (mixed awesome with new at the time, Siera Mist). I had to slam one, then another, then a 3rd. By this time, I was well past legally drunk and moving into sloshed territory. So, what does any good predator do? Why, they move things along of course. Pulling out a pack of cards, he asks if I’d ever played poker, or any other card games. Now, I will up until this moment, maintain that I may have had some innocence left, but I mention that I’d played War, and Old Maid a few times, and my brother and I often play spades, but he proceeded to explain to me how to play “5 card draw” poker, but instead of betting money, the loser lost a piece of clothing, and “socks don't count as one each”. Fuck, what’d I care, I'm drunk, I'm high on adrenaline and excitement. What’s some cards and potential nakedness at this point, shit, I'm all in. Of course, again, there is NO way that Anyone, as far as I'm concerned, under 21 should be in this position, and then only with their spouse or partner. Also, anyone who is, has been or is the parent of a 12 year old boy knows, once things start flowing, well, certain things come “up”. So I got to add That embarrassment to my list as well. 

This bit of history chronicles just 1 day of what would go on for over 4 years. Repeating a pattern of abuse, and alcoholism, and twisting the views of a young person and how adult situations are handled. This also just reflects one person. I'd love to say that this was an isolated incident, or an isolated person, or well, isolated anything. What this did however, was convince me, as a teenager, that this sort of behavior was not only acceptable but rewardable. I soon found myself in the hands of other abusers, both via the first and seemingly random happenstance. I say seemingly random, as I feel that those who are predatory can sense someone who either has been abused, or is in a situation that makes them more plaint to the tactics of an abuser. I would continue my teen years, to nearly the end of high school putting myself into more and more dangerous situations. As far as I knew, it was all perfectly normal, as all of the adults I came into contact with were perfectly fine with the situation, and often looking for their own slice. For me, my story happens to have 2 happy endings. One, I managed to not only survive, but to, in my opinion thrive, simply based on who I am, and how I happen to be built. and the second, when someone finally came along, saw the situation and removed me from it, thus turning my life around and showing me that not all adults were predators. If you take anything from this, let it be that all children need our protection, no matter how strong or strong willed they seem to be. Let it be known, that there are people out there, looking to do harm, and it is our responsibility as adults to not only prevent this, but to stop it where ever we can.
This sort of behavior is not limited to male on male interactions as we see with the thankful recovery of kidnapped female children long thought lost to us. The damage that is done can be irreparable, but the person, with time can be healed.

Possibly the worst outcome of these situations are that the abused, who go on to live a life of shame, through the shadows cast by a damning society live in fear that they can one day become an abuser themselves. I know that I for the longest time found myself afraid to be around friends children. Not because I had any interest in them, but simply because I felt that i was in some form “broken”. It wasn't until around age 38 or 39 that I realised that I am not the problem, I am simply one of the victims, who needs to learn what was does not have to be what is. I am not a predator of anything but opponents in video games and a good meal.I am however, a strong man, who’s willing to speak my peace and let those be damned who would doubt my words.

A Cook and A Book

So, here's the skinny. I Love to cook, like a Lot. It gives me a lot of internal pleasure to make good food for friends, family, and the like. I am not, however a "foodie". I find this label actually kind of silly. What IS a foodie? According to dictionary.com a "Foodie" is someone who " is a person having an enthusiastic interest in the consumption of good food (alt. preperation). Well No Shit. There's a special label Just for people who like good food? Really? I am not, nor will I be a "foodie" what I am, is a "Food Head", akin to a "Cheese Head". Cheese Heads are folks from Wisconsin who are not only freezing their asses off and loving great quality cheeses, they're damned proud of it. I am a "Food Head". I Live for food, I Love food. I take a great deal of pride in everything I cook. Anyone who I've cooked for could and should be able to relate to the great amount of myself that I put into the meal. From the ingredients, the preperation, the serving, the presentation. I referred to a book in this post, and this book is "The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake".
What's so special about this book is (spoilers), a character in the book can actually taste the feelings/thoughts/emotions of the person who made the food. I feel if people could get inside my food like that character in that book, they'd actually understand where I'm coming from when I cook and what I get out of cooking and eating. Food to me is a gateway to my soul. I recently picked up some food from a spot that serves Cambodian cuisine. This was my 2nd time getting food from them. I remarked to the owner/cook  that I felt like I should cook for her. Her response, was oddly enough, "Why"?. I say odd, as this woman clearly puts a lot of her self in every dish that she makes. Perhaps someday, I can convince her to to allow me to prepare a dish for her, and then she'll understand, that some people just "Get it".

A friend who I've cooked for at my house a few times and doesn't cook a lick has remarked frequently how he just enjoys watching me cook. I literally nearly dance throughout the kitchen, grabbing, chopping, slicing and sauteing. Coming from someone who eats strictly for subsistence, and poorly at that, to have my love of food noticed is that much more flattering.

So, if you feel motivated to get a look in my head, pick up "lemon cake" as I call it, but read it from the perspective of the preparer, not the diner, and you'll see where I live, and why I'm a food head.

Happy birthday to me. Oh, wait, nevermind

Happy Birthday to me! Or, not.
So, in school, I had one or two friends each year that I hung out with, but it never seemed to extend into the next year for one reason or another that I simply can’t remember. Probably due to something with my family drama, etc. This particular year I was friends with Matt. Matt was the coolest kid I knew. He didn’t get free school lunch, but still hung out with me, even though I did. He was the tallest kid in class, and was the first kid I knew that had to start wearing deodorant, at his mom’s request. We hung out nearly every day and it was awesome. Matt and I originated some things that at the time seemed pretty epic. Such as, turning an english muffin half into a microwaved personal pizza, and microwaving Lebanon bologna to make it taste sort of like really good pepperoni. We shared a lot of awesome stuff too. He was Smart, like Really smart, possibly smarter than me, and I don’t say those words lightly. He had a computer from the 80s, probably a TSR80 that took a modem inserted into the side for speech out of a Star Trek game. We would also do some beginner programming on it, basically making the modem call his little sister names. He could touch type where as I at the time was only a hunt and peck typist.

He was also into model rockets, which for me, while cool were no where near as cool as crushing all of the engine modules for the fuel and then lighting that entire pile on fire in one big conflagration. I lost my eyebrows and severely burned my hand that day. We’d run around trying to be ninjas and all kinds of stuff. We even shared the misfortune of seeing a live on TV suicide by then State Treasurer Budd Dwyer. Imagine this scenario: you and your best friend are eating microwaved Lebanon bologna sandwiches in front of the 12 o’clock news, your friends grandma is in the background “overseeing”, as grandmas do. News comes on, blah blah, we both liked news, then this guy comes out to a podium to give some sort of speech, but he’s carrying a smallish manilla envelope. Cameras are rolling, people are talking then Blam, person on tv pulls out a revolver, stuffs it in their mouth and blows  out the back of their head. Yep, there’s a memory shared.

So, after this we sort of didn’t hang out much, as we were both pretty traumatized, but we still hung out around school. So, my birthday rolls around, I’m likely 15 by this point, simply based on the suicide record date via the news station.

My birthday rolled around, and against better judgement I allowed myself to get excited. This year, I was not only promised a store cake, I was also allowed to invite a friend, in addition to the normal obligatory brothers/cousins/neighbors. I of course chose Matt, because he was awesome, and if worse came to worse, we could spend time destroying my younger brother’s G.I. Joe figures. Birthday party gets here and lo and behold I Do have a store cake! I was so excited, it was one of the “fancy sheet cakes” the kind that actually has your name written on it in icing and the odd white frosting that is supposed to be buttercream but it’s made with some sort of off-brand shortening stuff that always leaves an oily film on your tongue, but it didn’t matter, I had a cake!. So Matt shows up and presents me with the usual birthday card, picked out by parental figure, dollar or two stuffed in it, forced to be signed by him, to make it “thoughtful”. I smile, happily rip open the envelope toss the card aside and begin to survey my newfound wealth. Holy Shit! it’s 52 dollars! I think I literally squealed, danced around, possibly wet myself a little and Almost (but not quite) hugged my friend. I look at him, just completely overwhelmed and he just plays it off like “Yeah, my nan really likes you”. At this point, we haul ass. We ditch my birthday party and we head into town to spend my money. I totally roll deep the toy section and I just start grabbing shit. Being me, I don’t play with toys, like at all, but my younger brother does. So, I get him a G.I. Joe vehicle of some odd sort. I also got him this cool color changing G.I. Joe bad guy (Hell Yeah Zartan). Needless to say, I blew 50 bucks pretty fast.
Well, we roll back to the house, and I see his nan sitting there with my parents and I just know that shit is going to go downhill from here. As it turned out, Nan had intended on giving me 3 dollars, Not 52, and had grabbed the 50 by mistake and now wanted it back. My parents, being my parents, simply aren’t going to give anyone 50 bucks, whether they actually had it or not. So, I’m of course expected to return all of the stuff I’d bought and get the money back. Only thing is, I’d happily ripped Every last toy open. I may not play with toys, but I sure do love opening up the packages. So, with no toys to be returned, no money to be reimbursed, and no real way of fixing this situation, there ended my birthday (and all future birthdays), as well as my friendship with Matt. So, yeah, I can’t even have a birthday success it seems.

Casual racism. In food and cultures

This is a food post, of sorts. It’s also so much more. I won’t be reviewing food per se in this one, but instead discussing food, food perceptions and “acceptable racism”. 
To start with, there is absolutely no such thing as “Acceptable Racism”. This pertains to people, culture, food, food cultures, etc. Time and again, I’ve had racial slurs slung at food. The fucked up part is, I was the one making the food. I’ve had everything from “Why are you making that “Chinky Shit”, to “How was the cat?”. I mean Really. It’s two thousand fucking thirteen. Are we Really this ass backwards?

I spent 18 months serving in Korea. While there, I went just about everywhere an American soldier is allowed to go, and a few places that American soldiers don’t often go. I experimented with foods, both buying, cooking, eating, not eating and just plain being curious about. This is ats it should be. I did not however proceed as this one dumb motherfucker when he went in to a tailor shop to try to buy something and state “Why can’t you people just learn English?”. This blew my mind. Motherfucker’s in Korea, and he expects Them to learn His language? Dumbshit says what?
There was a lot of racism even in Korea. I happened to be a cook, and Always a food head, so I was always out trying new and odd things. The first thing folks asked me upon my return to the states was “How was the dog?” Okay, here’s a fact. Yes, dog meat is eaten in Korea. no, I didn’t try it. That shit is Waaaaaay outside my price range. Now, any “average American” will be Why are they eating my dog, dogs are pets, not food, blah blah blah. Okay, now, step back and look at “America” and it’s “Burger Joints” monstrously slaughtering cow after cow from a Hindu point of view. Oh, wait, that doesn’t count because they’re “Non-Christian heathens and don’t know any better”. Bullshit. So anyway, there was always a whispered rumor of eating “kagogi”. I have honestly never tried it. Partially because my brain is dumb American, and partially because to have it as it’s intended, it was Expensive. It’s an “occasion food”, celebratory and stuff like that. Even though I personally never tried it does not mean I condemn an entire nation just because they do.
I did make one major mistake in my food travels in Korea. I broke the unwritten rule of world travel. Never go to a foreign country, enter a restaurant of a different country and order a dish from yet a third country. I was in Seoul and I found a German restaurant. This blew my mind so I went in. At this point, I didn’t know much about German food, or how Koreans would prepare it, so I stuck to what I knew, the spaghetti and meat sauce. Yeah, don’t do that. I was presented with a plate of perfectly cooked pasta, however, it was covered in ketchup instead of marinara and dressed with tuna sashimi and carrot slices. That was it. It was also one of the most expensive meals that I had coming in at around $22 American, in 1992 Korea.
If you’re thinking that “casual, or acceptable racism” just applies to undereducated people, that’s also not true. I had occasion to visit a friend who lived in a large metroplex. Getting up to his floor I was so pleasantly assaulted with the smells of about 5 different cultures. Unfortunately, my friend didn’t agree and proceeded to apologize for all of the towel heads and other racist terms that I won’t list, because if it “makes him sick, it must be really bad for me”.

Now, here goes the biggest “downside of the post”. I have eaten a non-standard food consumption animal. I’ve honestly eaten cat meat, in the U.S. but not as so many food bigots would assume.The initial thought of most anyone would be “oh, haha herp derp he ate cat at some Chinese buffet”. Sorry, no, it was Actually a small barbeque shack in Oklahoma, right outside of Fort Sill.
Yep, American people, served me cat. in BBQ sauce. They were eventually shut down by food safety inspectors, but I unfortunately ate there all too often.

No Witty Title Today

Today's post is kind of messed up. I'm not going to bother trying to fluff it.

My first blackout drunk: Also known as “The Tools of a Pedophile”.

It’s rather funny, to me at least, having been where I’ve been, that I only know (as in this moment) realize the tools of a pedophile. Allow me to elaborate. I was at “some guy’s house” and that’s about as clearly as I remember it. I know the building, I remember the apartment floor, I remember the guy’s first name, I even remember the Turkey Hill Iced Tea tasting funny. After that, it gets hazy. I think the person in reference may have been a friend or acquaintance of my oldest brother, but I’m certainly not laying any blame at his feet. I, as most younger brothers do, (even warring ones) always tried to horn in on any fun and friendships that my older brothers had. Even if I didn’t know a lick about the person, they were instantly cooler as they were friends with older brothers.
This person should have set off flags right away, but meh, as a kid, what do you know. I remember feeling uneasy around them, which was unusual, as I was such a beggar urchin that I’d latch on to anyone who’d spare a quarter or a slice of bread. I remember being alone at the apartment that day, I was 7, they were somewhere between 16 and 19. Essentially, what I remember was drinking the hell out of some iced tea and then feeling dizzy. Fortunately, I had the wherewithal to get out of the situation (a drunk 7 year old can actually make decisions, who knew). I remember getting on my (stolen) bike and riding 4 or 5 blocks before the “tea” overcame me. I’d arrived at one of the local parks that held summertime activities for kids and just puking my guts out into the 55 gallon metal trash can that the park had. I don’t know how long I was sick, but it seemed to go on for ever. Once I was done, I simply collapsed, and passed out.

The next thing I remember, I’m waking up in a basement, on wrestling mats and this super adorable chubby guy with serious facial scruff is leaning over me checking to make sure that i’m A: still breathing, and B: who my parents are. This basement turned out to be the Columbia Community Center which would later go on to become the Columbia Boys and Girls Club, and I would in my teen years spend a Lot of time here. Also, the actual concern that I felt radiating from my wooly saviour that day would go on to influence many of my likes in guys for years to come, though, not necessarily for the right reasons. I don’t even recall if the police got involved with a drunk seven year old riding a stolen bike or not. Columbia at that time certainly wasn’t known for the efficiency of it’s law enforcement, especially where my family was concerned.

So, that in a nutshell was my first (but not last) encounter with being black out drunk, my first, but not last encounter with a (potential) pedophile and certainly not my last encounter with “Columbia’s Finest”.

Three D: Drop Ins, Daughters and Dog Food.

On Drop Ins, Daughters, and Dog Food.

So, yesterday, my oldest brother dropped in, with his daughter in tow. Her birthday’s coming up, she’s getting her own personal Android tablet (Yes!) and we’d agreed to give her money and digital comics for her birthday. Now transferring large amounts of digital data across a wireless network, then via USB 2.0 to a storage device takes some time. Time that has to be filled with chatter. Ugh.
So we make the small talk and then my brother bombshells me. “So, Aunt Jo mentioned your blog thingy, and I borrowed my wife’s tablet to read it”. Okay, no big deal right? Wrong. My mind is just “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit”. I of course, feel that if Anyone is going to try to censor me, it’d be him. He’s the oldest, first out of the house, first into the military, first to really set up shop. Once before I really got back into the whole “family is family” thing I’d visited him and his wife. They had just a smallish apartment, no kids and a dog. It was also a fucking disaster. We as a clan, don’t seem to be able to meet, face to face without judgement. So, upon hearing that he’s “caught up” on my writing, I’m just waiting for the bombshell. Shockingly neither shoe drops.
He was pretty much. Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. It’s cool to see where you are/were coming from. The “Warring Nations” was spot on. “I also remember “Bullet Man,  though I don’t remember your Spider Man watch”. Needless to say several things happened in my brain at once. First, it’s like “Ding! Level Up! +1 cool brother. Also: Achievement Unlocked: Vindication.”
Then he Really drops the shit, and tells me “yeah, I still can’t get my daughter to believe that we used to eat dogfood.”

Yes, well, that’s pretty damned accurate. Though, I can’t imagine for any logical reason he’d be trying to assure his very well adjusted, catholic school, clarinet playing, super polite and fun to be around daughter that we, as kids ate dog food. I’d say “before you freak out, we didn’t do the canned stuff, it was gross” but yeah, go ahead and freak out. We, and by we, I can account for at least three out of the four of us, if not all four, have at one point in time of our childhood, if not multiple times, eaten dog food. What sucked was, it wasn't even some “Kibbles and Bits” shit that’d have like, I don’t know, tasty bits? We had dry ass, bad smelling, hard as rocks chunky shit kibble. Oh, and “Doggy Donuts”. Now,why the fuck would Any kid want to eat dog food? They don’t. They choose to, because you know what? When you’re fucking hungry, and I mean, hungry enough to stab someone, just to make more food for yourself, at 7, maybe 8 years old? Dog food is totally a viable option. The Really fucked up part was, we had to sneak it in no less. Once we were sent to bed, you didn’t get outta bed. Shit had better fucking be on fire, or you just reincarnated as the next coming of Jesus, or if you were caught out of bed, it was your ass.So, we learned childhood ninja skills, and what do we apply them to? Fucking eating dog food.



Now that I’ve shone light on that particular shame, I feel that I must address my brother’s daughter, and my only niece on his side. If I had to pick any child, from all three brothers to be anything Not like me, it’s her. She’s super polite (Where as I was Eddie Haskel), She will go out of her way Not to take an offer of food or drink or anything else that might make her seem a burden. She’s super frugal, I mean, at this point in time, she has over $100 in iTunes cash stored up, because she got it as gifts but simply didn’t see a “need for it”.  She also up until, apparently recently did not eat jelly. At All. Do you know what you call a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without jelly? Well, we call it a “choke sandwich” because you’re going to be choking that shit down. The jelly’s there for a reason. I try to be a good host when friends and family visit. Admittedly, I probably go overboard/overbearing, but I mean well. She just wasn’t having it. Two hour visit, no drink, no snack, just avoiding my dog and getting comics and hearing weird stories from her dad and I.  What a girl =)

"Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Clause: But he hates you."

“Never Had the Joy of a Welfare Christmas”
Everclear has a song, “I will buy you a new life”, with the lyrical line “They have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas”. Well, I have, and I consider that to be my last Christmas.
But, before we go there, and look at the world through shit colored glasses, yet again, allow me to share with you the best Christmas. Like, Ever.

As a kid, like most kids, I was just beyond enamored with super heros. Or, heros in general. My favorite though, was Spider Man. He came on I Think three times a day. Twice with the show “Electric Company” and once, later in the day as a live action show. The live action was without a doubt my favorite. To say that I loved this show is to say something like “China grows rice” No shit. Anyway, on what to me, was the single best childhood moment of All Time, I got my first watch. I Think I was maybe in the first grade, second at the latest. We lived on South 3rd Street, pretty “downtrodden” part of town, but we had nice neighbors, my mom always had someone to share coffee with and to talk to. All in all not bad. But, this one year, this one year was golden. I got not just my own, first watch ever. I got a Spider Man watch! This shit was for real! This was the single greatest, most shining moment of my entire pre-adulthood. I remember every single detail of it, even now, today at 40. It had a soft plastic band, that was really wide for my scrawny arms. I had to buckle it to the last most notch, and even then it was loose. The face was about 1.5 to 2 inches in diameter, it had a spread web as the backdrop of the face, with the standard analog numbers, but the single best point. It had cut outs, on either side at about the 4 and 8 o’clock positions that showed smaller webs that moved up and down with each tick of the watch. To this day, I don’t think I will ever receive a gift that will blow my mind quite as much as this did. I went absolutely apeshit. I swore that this watch, This bit of wind ups and plastic gave me my own spider powers. There was no way to convince me otherwise. I ran all over the place, living room, kitchen, bathroom, hallways, just jumping at stuff, feet and hands extended, just knowing that this was the time that I’d stick. Of course, reality doesn’t always obey the laws of a child’s mind. I remember I got all kinds of ass beatings for all the shit I broke. I know I broke the backing of my mom’s favorite chair by flipping it over too many times. I think I remember at least one foot going through the plaster of at least one wall, but it didn’t matter. You can beat an ass, but you can’t beat an imagination. This, this was the greatest Christmas ever.

The last Christmas ever...
Obviously, I didn’t cease to exist after my spider man watch, or any day after that, as I’m here today to write this. However, the following Christmas was my last. Now, there were many other December 25ths, and many other Christmas celebrations held, but none of them were for me. Ever again. My dad had lost his job, again. Couldn't’ tell you why, doesn’t really matter. This was our first “Welfare Christmas”. Now, as a kid, you have no idea what the hell a welfare Christmas is. You just know that you’re cold, you’re hungry, you have no toys or anything new. You’re nothing short of pissed off at the whole world and then someone knows on your door at like 6 or 8 pm.

I can’t remember today, if it was a Marine doing Toys for Tots, or if it was a fireman or what the hell, but I just know that some guy showed up with a box of used toys, and I got to pick one. Now, he also gave my mom a big ass box of food, which made her really really happy (us too, as we got to eat). I’m not sure why, but I seem to remember that the gentleman gave me first pick. Or at least to my childhood brain he did. I looked in this box, and I saw this one toy, and knew that if I didn’t get it right away, that I’d never have another opportunity to get it or have fun. This special toy was a “Bullet Man” toy. It was also Awesome. Red, soft cloth and stuffed body with a hard plastic head and hands, but the single most important part was, it still had the shiny silver plastic helmet that gave Bullet Man his name. Additionally, it Also still had the slider bar, aka a plastic straw type device glued to the back that you ran a string thru so that he could “Fly through the air”.
I’d have other Christmases, I’d get other presents, like shoes once in awhile, or a pack of stripe topped socks that went past my knees, or even some underwear that weren’t tighty whiteys (but not often) but Bullet Man, he signaled the end of an era.

Tokyo Diner. Darned Good Sushi.

I love sushi. Go figure, a guy who’s all about food, in just about every waking hour, loves something that is a “boutique food”. I had my first “sushi” in 1992 flying to Korea for the Army. What I was Actually served was “kimbap” a Korean variant of a sushi roll but not containing any fish at all.
Kimbap(Gimbap) is a Korean variant that includes pickled daikon radish, carrot, cooked egg (like an omlette) and sometimes marinated and cooked beef. This is then wrapped in seasoned rice and rolled in seasoned seaweed sheets (Nori). As I’d said, this was my first exposure to “sushi” and also my first exposure to Korean food and I hated them both.
The texture was soft and mushy, it was very fishy tasting (actually it was the seaweed) and I was Not happy (14 hour flights will do that to you).

Fast forward to 1996, I’m now living in Hendersonville, TN a suburb of sorts to Nashville, and I’m working as a dietary manager at a retirement home. The owner/manager took me with him on a conference to Knoxville and the closest restaurant nearby was a sushi joint. Being like most white kids with no exposure, I ordered the California Roll (the whitest sushi known to man) and it was actually pretty good. I loaded it up with wasabi paste and pickled ginger and went to town.

So, there’s the background, now, on with the review.
Tokyo Diner is not the only sushi spot in Lancaster or York, but in my opinion, it’s one of the best. I can often be heard complaining that they don’t use “sushi rice” (yes, there IS a difference), however, I feel that they happen to have some of the freshest fish in both Lancaster and York.
You will note that this is an opinion, and not a statement of fact. I am not a food safety inspector, just a guy who loves food, so take it with a shot of soy sauce as you will. Anyway, this most recent visit to Tokyo Diner sees us at the location on 462 in York, behind the way too large sign for Fuddruckers. It’s thursday, right at about 6:30 pm and there is 1 waitress, 1 sushi chef and about 40 people in the restaurant. To say that the waitress was breaking her back is to do her disservice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a single waiter/waitress really push as hard as she did.
Sorry, back to the food. The party tonight was Eric, Kelby and me. Kelby, being our vegetarian friend, often gets the short end of the stick when going for sushi. He likes Inari rolls (sushi skin roll) but there’s so much beyond that. This time, he ordered the “Green Roll” in addition to his standard and what a fantastic choice that was. The green roll is one of the specialty rolls so it’s a bit more expensive at 6$ for the roll, but according to Kelby it was worth it. The presentation and content were really well done. This roll featured approximately 6 oz of seasoned spinach, wrapped in rice and then covered in what appeared to be about half of an avocado, and then slathered in a sweet and savory sauce. Kelby explained that this was a Very good roll for him.

My dinner was the semi-standardized “Sushi Deluxe”. At about 19 dollars, this was 10 pieces of sushi and a tuna roll. In my experience, this sushi combo plate features both eel and mackerel, neither of which I like, so I always ask them to leave those out, which generally gets me better fish. I was presented with 2x each of Tuna, Salmon, Red Snapper, “White Tuna” and Yellowtail. This presentation has become pretty standard when ever I ask to omit the fish that I hate. You’ll notice that white tuna is in quotes up above. The reasoning is, what American sushi places label and serve as white tuna is actually not tuna at all, but Escolar, mislabeled under several different names, but regardless of naming, is actually banned in Japan as a “toxic fish” since 1977. I honestly only learned of this misnaming practice today, and I’m disappointed, as this was one of my favorites. Here goes the breakdown of the nigiri sushi bites. Yellowtail: somewhat thickly cut, but happily so for me, and topped with scallions. Semi-strong in flavor, I’d give it a 7. Standard Tuna nigiri: Very firm flesh, smooth texture, not that strong in fish taste, a solid 8. Red Snapper nigiri: Very solid almost dense flesh feel, slightly stronger in taste than the tuna. Overall enjoyable, another 7. Fresh Salmon (instead of smoked): One of my favorites. Not as thickly sliced as the yellowtail or snapper, but still good. Great flavor, great texture, a solid 8.5. Finally we get to the “white tuna”: Up until this morning, after I did a web search for just what type of fish this came from, this was my #1 favorite, ranking a solid 9 on the love sushi scale. The texture was soft and smooth, the flavor literally tasted like it was dipped in butter, and it had a semi-sweet finish that I’ve really grown fond of. Now, I as well as many others have gotten “intestinal distress” after consuming a large sushi deluxe type combo, and almost always blamed it on “bad sushi” or “unclean hands”, etc. Well, it’s Actually the Escolar. This fish is considered toxic in Japan, banned in several other countries, but we serve it up here and I loved it. Well, never again. Please note: I do Not hold ill will to Tokyo Diner. They’re great, the food that I get there is always top notch. However, they Do serve this fish, whether or not they know of it’s problems, I simply won’t be ordering it again.

Mom 2.0 and 2.1

This posting is dedicated to my aunt Jo. So many great memories are shared over coffee.
Mom  2.0

So, my last post may have been a little “off putting” or “disturbing” or any other negative identifier. At that point in time (from about age 8 to age 17) I did nothing but vilify my mom. if there was anything wrong in my life, it was due to my parents, and I was Not about to be convinced otherwise. I blamed my mom more than my dad though, because she was just So random. One day, she’s trying to see if she can get my head through the wall and into the neighbor's living room, the next, she’s waking up from a nap (she was a stay at home mom) and asking us about the “Woody Hardpecker” (woodpecker) show we were watching, and laugh right along side of us. It was this inconsistency that made no sense to me. My dad, he was always consistent. If he wasn’t drinking, he was just an asshole. If he was drinking, he was an abusive asshole. Two states of being, on, or Really on. and consistent. My mom however, was all over the place. You never knew what the hell would happen or be said next. Looking back, especially with the views and understandings of my own adulthood, I’ve come to believe (as I’m not a doctor) that my mom had either bipolar disorder, or possibly even borderline personality disorder, and it was both undiagnosed and untreated. Seeing as I personally have bipolar disorder, and can remember doing some really stupid stuff, without even realizing that I was doing it, or why, I feel I have a better understanding of her. There are all these Pseudo-cathartic self help books, especially for people with fucked up childhoods where they’re all “you must forgive your parent(s) for their transgressions. I have just two words for that... Fuck. That. My mom doesn’t need forgiving. She was not the monster that I thought I’d lived with. She was simply a person who needed help, in so very many areas, that was never received. Even if she wanted it, I don’t think she’d have known how to ask for it. She tried to keep us “in line” (which meant less abuse from our dad), she tried to keep us doing as well as we could in school, and she tried to keep us fed and clothed. So, all things considered, when you stack up the good vs the bad, she was once again, overachieving.

I never got to tell my mom that I cared about her. I left home at 17, joined the Army at 18 and only visited twice before she passed. Both times I visited, I was able to take her out to dinner and let her order crab cakes (this was like my mom’s gold plated filet mignon), so I think, she understood.

The information posted below, comes from my aunt, and my mom’s sister. I enjoy talking with her so much, because she’s SO much like my mom. It’s as though I can talk to my mom again through her. Anyway, this is direct quoting, with additional bits from me.

From my Aunt Jo “Chet, we grew up never hearing i love you. my father was an alcoholic till i was 17 then he quit drinking.we got mistreated a lot.but some of us grew up to change that, I'm one of them. i wanted my kids & you kids and other nephews & nieces to hear & feel love & hugs.your mom loved you kids more than her own life it was just hard for her to show it, she didn't know how.when your mom was 2, she sneaked out of the yard at 2nd & union st. to see dad who worked on the railroad.she was hit by a passenger train,her brain had serious damage, they told my parents she would have a young child's mentality. she couldn't function in high school so they just took her out of school.they also said hitting or banging her head at any time could have serious repercussions. your dad hit your moms head every chance he got.he only made her mental state worse.he rationed the food, the money everything.you kids were a tax deduction, or a welfare payment to him.but your mother really loved you in her own way.I liked your blog. I'm glad you realize now, your mom wasn't really the demon he was”.

So, to finalize. My mom literally had the top of her head cut off by the metal wheels of a train, brain exposed. This did not stop her. She married an extremely abusive asshole, who beat her pretty much every day of her adult life, this did not stop her. She had four sons, three of which were nothing short of hell bent on destruction. Still, this did not stop her. She did get an education past the 6th grade, yet all of her children graduated high school, and three went on to join the armed forces.

All things listed as they are, I’d say my mom was a fuckin’ super hero.

Rachel' Creperie. Now with service.

Another local loving, that I have only Recently allowed myself to like is Rachel’s Creperie.
I will admit, I hold grudges. I especially hold food grudges. When I go out to eat, I don’t expect anything that I feel is out of the ordinary. I expect fair quality food, decent service, and reasonable prices. I have, and will again, pay as much as 40+$ for a meal for Just myself, if I feel the value is there. What I Won’t do, is sit for 40 minutes at a table without so much as a menu and a glass of water.
So begins my revue of Rachel’s Creperie.

Since up to now, on the personal side, has been laying groundwork for who I am, as a person as it relates to just about everything, here I will lay the groundwork for this review. September 25th is my birthday. Two years ago, my partner Eric invited 5 or 6 internet friends up from the DC metroplex who we knew via online to share and celebrate with us. Rachel’s has been around for some time, and when you’d like to “impress the out of towners”, you want to take them somewhere nice. Rachel’s certainly appeared to meet that need.
The three cars full of us (4 bigger guys, 2 little guys, what a party) find parking, roll over to Rachel’s, request a table, are sat outside (it was Really nice out too) and that is honestly about as far as it went. We sat there, and continued to sit there. Eric started to feel a sugar crash coming on. I started to feel a case of the ass coming on, so we got up and left. That was strike 1.

Down the line, over the next two years, Eric and I tried again and again to get me fed at Rachel’s. He works nearby, so he and his boss go semi-often, and they love the food, and Eric assures me, that if I just give them a try, so will I. So, after 4 unsuccessful attempts to get fed there, I start modifying the name in conversations to more derogatory versions. Like I said, I hold a grudge.

Anyway, on to the food. The night that Eric and I had such a fantastic meal at Mucho Mexico, I passed up on the ultimate-flan, in favor of attempting dessert at Rachel’s. I reluctantly hiked my butt up there, we couldn’t tell if they were open or not as it was sort of dark, but we saw folks eating, checked our phone’s clocks vs the time to close on the door, and headed in.
I was happy to have been seated: inside, with menus, and water+drink order in under 5 minutes.
Now, to say that Rachel’s is kind of hipster, is to say that Kanye can be kind of rude at the Grammy Awards. If it’s chocolate up in this place, it’s probably Nutella, and this is Not a bad thing. I Love Nutella, and have ever since the darling hubby exposed me to it’s goodness. Now, being me, I have to go weird. I will usually or at least seemingly go out of my way to order the weirdest shit on the menu, just to see if I like it.Tonight, I ordered the “Spicy Chili Nutella Cocoa”.
i was not disappointed. This was Good, like Really good, hug a hipster good. It was smooth, rich, just a hint of hazelnut, chilli, and cinnamon. Then, looking over the menu, I settled on what I thought would be the ultimate dessert for me. Cinnamon Apple Dulche De Leche Crepe. Alas, this was not only the perfect crepe for me, but it was also my downfall.

Please, don’t misunderstand, this crepe was everything there is to love about the combination of flavors between cinnamon, caramel, and apple. The crepe itself was fused with good quality cinnamon, it was filled with both the dulche de leche, and 3 if not 4 variations of thinly sliced, raw, fresh apple, and then dusted with powdered sugar, and drizzled with yet more caramel.
My mistake, and it is exclusively mine, was, that I’d ordered two items that featured hot, spicy flavors. Too much of a good thing can be fantastic, this time it was not. As I ate my crepe, I looked up with a big ol’ grin at Eric and said, “man, I could honestly eat this, Every  Day, and not tire of it”. This was the honest truth too. I Just looked at the menu, but unfortunately, their prices are not online (Hipster!) but the descriptions are, and they are SO good. If you can get them.
So anyway, the problem: I had warm, creamy spicy crepe, I also had warm, creamy, spicy cocoa and therefor, I had too much Warm! The spices in the cocoa started to directly conflict with the spices in the crepe and the only loser in this battle were my taste buds. I ended up abandoning the cocoa in favor of the crepe, as I can get spicy cocoa just about anywhere, but I'm not going to get a crepe this good anywhere else. I still believe I made the right choice.

Mom 1.0

First, not every one us going to like this post. Tough shit. Second, reserve judgment, there's more to come.

My Mom, the Overachiever:

This goes out, with fondest memories, for my mom.
Now, initial reaction may be, why not “goes out with love”, or “Missing You” or some such stuff.
We didn’t work that way. Love was a four letter word, and it was one of the only ones not thrown around my house repeatedly. I remember being at a neighbor’s house as a kid, they were off to bed (the kids) and we were leaving, and they hugged both parents and said “I love you”. My PTSD addled brain just kind of exploded in WTF moments. I was kind of Gary Coleman in a “Whatchu talkin ‘bout Willis” kind of thing.
You went to bed, without being threatened with an assbeating if you didn’t do it soon enough. There were hugs and this “love” stuff? What The Hell?
In talking to my mom’s sisters, when my mom had one goal in mind in finding a potential mate. She wanted to find a man So ugly, that “no other bitch would try to take him away”. So, yeah, seems that in addition to a splash of crazy, insecurity runs in my family as well. To say that my mom accomplished this goal is to make the understatement of the century. My mom didn’t set a lot of goals for herself that I remember, those that she did, she accomplished with pride, but this shit? This, find the ugly-motherfucker? She went SO over the top on this one that she could have won the ugly-motherfucker olympics. That, in a nutshell is my “dad”. You won’t hear me use the term father, because that at least implies some level of “give a shit”. This troll, for lack of funnier word at 9AM on a Monday stood at 5’6 and was So full of himself that you’d think he was 6’3 and a pro-baller. Fortunately, at least in my opinion, myself and all 3 of my brothers favor my mom, and my mom’s family, ‘cause if we had his bits, well, it might require elective surgery. We Did have his ears at first, which pretty much sucked. Imagine being a super scrawny kid with ears that stuck out so wide you could almost catch flight, and you just knew you weren’t getting out of a haircut without at least 3 bleeding knicks to each ear. Anyway, back on track, this “man”, and that’s a gender identifier only, was ugly on both the outside And the inside. One of the things that my mom probably wouldn’t passed on, if she could have seen how it’d end up, was his alcoholism. The guy was an asshole on a Good day. Add any type of booze, (Usually PBR or Old Milwaukee, and no, he was not a hipster) and the shit started Really hitting the fan, and my mom, and my brothers, and me.... you see where this is going.
My dad is short, I’d guestimate at about 5’6, probably less now that he’s old and broken (silent cheer) but he definitely had “short man's syndrome” he had to be the biggest badass around, well, if by around, you meant around women and children. I can’t think of a time in my life, up until I moved out of my parents house at 17 that he wasn’t trying to drunkenly kick the everloving shit out of someone. Usually my mom, and then she’d get boring, and he’d turn towards one of us, only to have my mom jump back in the fray, to try to keep us from getting beat down. Though, the next day, she’d remember, and well, shit rolls downhill. I do remember trying to put a stop to all this stuff once. He was on one of his nearly daily drunken tirades, it was about 9pm, the neighbors had already called the cops twice by this point, but I’d had enough. I ran down stairs, grabbed my mom’s favorite “big knife” as she called it, and called the asshole out.I wanted nothing more than to split him wide open, and have his blood and viscera all over me.

Unfortunately(or not) that’s when the police showed up and we we were shuffled off, once again to either some relatives house or some shelter for a few days while he “cooled down” in a holding cell.
This may be the first, but certainly not the last of my “Mom” posts. If I’d understood then, what I understand now, looking back with the eyes of understanding. My opinion of my mom would have been worlds different. The only thing I can do now, is to move forward, understanding in hand, and allow it to reshape those memories.

Vietnamese Pork Chop: Take 1.

So, I've been kicking around, trying to find new food ideas and I decided I was going to cook with lemongrass because fuck it, why not? So, I bought some at the store, and jumped on to Google for some inspiration. Well, as inspiration would have it, lemongrass is often used in Vietnamese foods, including grilled pork chops, and I just happened to have 2+ pounds of pork in the freezer, shoulder chops at that (good shit!). So, I get to scouring for recipes. Man, you can tell the white people recipes from the real thing. If half the page isn't at least in a language and alphabet that you can't make shit out of? Keep on moving.

So, here's the site that I found, and luckily for me (and maybe Not for poor Eric) she has a YouTube channel too.
Below is a finished plate from my own kitchen. To Me, the shit was ON. to Eric, it was "kind of mild, if not unseasoned" or perhaps "too subtle". Admittedly, I didn't scale up the marinade recipe for the amount of pork that I'd had, as again, new ingredients and shit. I won't make that mistake a second time. Also to note, this stuff gets So thrown up three notches on the "I love you" scale when you put a big ol' pile of Sriracha hot chili paste on it. Gotta love the cock sauce.

Breakdown of the plate: Big Ass Pork Chop (BAPC) probably 1/2 if not 3/4 of a pound. Our package had 3 of these bitches. 2 sunny side up eggs. If you won't do SSU, I suggest at least over easy, the runniness (or liquid chicken to one friend) of the yolk really adds to the over all flavor of the rice/pork/egg, especially with cock sauce (yes, I like saying cock sauce). And a nicely shaped And portioned 3/4 cup of cooked rice. Just your average, run of the mill 25 lb bag from the Asian grocery rice.

All in all, I'd rate this first run probably a 7.5 out of 10. The pork was Super juicy and tender, the eggs were really good and I just love rice. However, the stand out flavors were too mild. I'll take it up a notch or three next time.

I'm not your mom...or am I?

Okay, quick pre-amble. This post is going to touch upon topics that I'd not intended to  touch upon yet. Also, it's got some deep-down emotional shit up in it. If you don't wanna see "the softer side of me", GTFO(Get the Fuck Out).

Okay, here goes. I'm at work today, when I hear what is the unmistakable crinkling of the plastic tray of a box of chocolate covered cherry cordials (love these things). Problem is, the only people left in my office are me and one other person and I sure as hell didn't get lucky. The other person happens to be Coptic, so that means he's fasting his ass off (aka: eating vegan). He also happens to be type-2 diabetic and insulin dependent. Being me, I immediately fire off an instant message questioning his eating of said delicious confectioneries strictly due to his diabetes (and my greed). He was a bit shocked at first, but quickly assured me that his blood sugar was low, and that's why he was out of the normal routine, but it was just that, elevating his blood sugar to normal levels.

This got me to message Eric, my partner.  I asked "Why do I feel the need to be everyone's mother?" To which, he replied, "I don't know, why do you?" To those unsure of how my mind works, it's Usually in about ten different spaces at any given time. Today, it was on the drive home, the Tupac album I'd bought on Google Music and writing this post. Why Do I feel the need to be everyone's mother. Then I remembered why.
Again, I hadn't intended to touch upon this yet. But, it all goes back to a Halloween parade and me being 17 and a random ass skateboard kid. In addition to that, I strongly hold the belief that the first person that is there to pick you up from rock bottom, is the person who's already been there themselves. Anyway, I was a random ass skateboard kid pretty much all of my teen years, all the way up to leaving for the Army at 19. This particular occasion saw me sitting on the stops of what turned out to be Democratic Election Committee Headquarters (aka random ass office building that sees use two times a year). Anyway, I'm sitting there and this guy comes out and starts to hassle me to move, I'm preventing people from coming in to register to vote. Initially, I'm about to rage face, and basically be a dick, but for some reason I didn't. Instead I asked if there was a chance that perhaps I could Help get people registering to vote. I'd stated earlier that I was always sort of manipulative, or doing what ever I felt necessary to get ahead. The intent this time was to make a few quick bucks running around on my 'board asking people to register to vote, and maybe earning enough cash to get some Chinese steamed dumplings at the end of the night.
In addition to the rock bottom belief, I also feel that a person who has truly been hurt, can see that in someone else, and it will often motivate them to try to help. Sure enough, not only was I invited in for a warm cup of coffee (it was cold, like 40ish degrees, mid-October night), I was also signed up for a week stint of skating around, attempting to get people to register to vote, regardless of party but three cheers if Democrat.
During this week, I checked in every day, dropped off my forms, picked up my payment, and had some coffee and chat. For the first time, I was helping someone who didn't really want to take advantage of me, for anything that wasn't really just plain normal. If anything, I felt that I was taking advantage of them. I mean shit, who doesn't want to skateboard around town, knock on a few doors and get paid for it. Shit was good.

Mucho Mexico: Mi Amore

Te Amo: Mucho Mexico.

There are a Ton of Latin and or Mexican food options in Lancaster and the surrounding area.
That being said, no one place, deserves more traffic, and accolades than Mucho Mexico. This awesome little spot is literally 2-3 doors past Spyro Gyro as you head up Prince Street towards Walnut St. This little spot has been several things over the past few years, but none, as good as it’s current incarnation.  We’ve eaten there probably about 10 times. I personally am Not a fan of Mexican food, as it’s sometimes not happy to be in my belly. I can eat here every day, and even if I’m eating the same dish, (I don’t) I could truly be happy. They carry a large assortment of sugar sweetened (as in no HFCS) sodas from Mexico in flavors ranging from the standard orange, to guava and other “exotics”. I don’t know who honestly works the kitchen, as I haven’t been given an audience, though, the young lady who works the front of the house is so nice, that she’d probably give me a full tour and a few recipes if I asked nicely. To say that the food here is good, is sort of like saying that Michael Jordan played basketball, sort of. This is, without a doubt, the best Mexican food I’ve ever had. On our most recent visit, I ordered the enchilada platter. Now, this is a 10 dollar dinner, it normally includes 5 (yes, 5) enchiladas made of a corn tortilla (the correct type if you ask me) filled with either shredded beef or chicken, topped with either red or green sauce, sour cream and then fresh sliced avocado. It’s accompanied by spanish style rice and refried beans. Now, I personally loathe refried beans. To me, they’re sort of like well, it’s too graphic to list here. Anyway, they let me drop the beans for double rice all the time, at no extra cost, and no hassle at all.  I decided I’d wanted the chicken, but wasn’t sure if I should go green or red sauce, so I asked. The young lady in the front of the house suggested green, and Man, she was Spot On. This is the way Mexican food needs to be. They also feature a daily special, that can be anything from a sandwich to menudo. I haven’t had menudo since I left New Mexico all so many years ago, but I’d certainly be open to trying it here.

Price wise, this little gem ranges for entrees from about 6 dollars to about 12-15 dollars.
I did a quick scan of Yelp.com for Mexican food. I’m ashamed to say that Lancaster lists places like Qdoba (mall style burritos in line with Chipotle) in the same page as Mucho Mexico. This my friends is a travesty. If you want a 6 dollar burrito, go to a burrito joint. If you want high quality Mexican food at a Very affordable price, by all means, mosey on down to Mucho Mexico.