Old Man ranting.

I will admit it right now. I am an Old Man.

I like to be in bed early, I enjoy my tea, wearing my slippers with my pipe, kids didn't look/act like this when I was younger... the whole thing. I have been an Old Man for awhile now, but it is getting worse. It was pointed out to me when I had a friend staying over. We were talking about playing the guitar and I was listing off the things that I could play at the time. She is couple years younger than me but remarked that I only listened to Old Guy Music. Ouch. Thanks Rani. (Shortly after her comment, I exiled her to Turkey.*)

I had another moment just the other day. A person walked past me on the street wearing headphones. Now, please don't get me wrong, I have headphones. My flat is littered with them. I have a pair tucked in the pocket of every jacket I own. I wear them at the Gym, on runs, on the tube, when I hear American accents at street crossings. I am not talking about the tiny, miracle, earbuds that are on the market. The ones that pump loads of sound deep into your ear canal so others don't have to hear your music. Those don't bother me in the least. I am talking about the ridiculous people sporting the giant, John Peel mega headphones walking down the street.

You, Hipster Twits. Is the world such a bother that you need to blot it out with giant headphones plugged into your tiny MP3 players? Is that your attempt at Irony? I am aware that you are attempting to make some sort of statement. Something about how cool you are to be listening to music. We get it. This is my return statement to you:
John Peel wore those giant things on his head because he was a damn fine DJ that worked on radio. You are not. You are a pathetic, style-junkie attempting to be "Retro" because that is the current trend. I am glad that you choose to wear the giant cans because it keeps the brain-melting drivel that you play focused into your own head. Thank you, at least, for keeping Usher to yourself.

We may well be SO boring that you simply must blot out our very existence with the magic of your latest Shakira vs Lady Gaga Mash-up playing over the beat of The Killers with the all auto-tuned vocals, but here is what happens when you have your noise canceling, mega-cans stuck on your head. You get so far up your own arse that you forget that the rest of the world is actually happening. You are so deep into yourself that you begin to weave back and forth along the pavement and block my ability to walk past you and your ridiculous headgear. I am waiting for you to blindly wander out into traffic and because you can't hear the blare of horns and the squeal of rubber on asphalt, get hit by the oncoming bus thus removing yourself from the rest of humanity --yet causing a huge delay to people wearing ear buds, riding the bus, trying to listen for their stop.

I realize that anything that has to do with the rest of the world at large has no bearing on you and vintage ear cannons and that I am just a grumpy old bugger at 35 filled with contempt for you kids now days. I also realize that by wearing your giant headphones, you are labeling yourself as an anti-social dweeb, but one that is too polite to let other people hear the wonder that is your music. You must be ashamed of it on some level.

I am going to start packing a small pair of scissors with me and I am going to nip the wire on your silly headphones when I see you. After I snip the wire and pass you, if you figure out what happened. I am going to run off. And you will be stuck there with your ruined headphones and no music because you either: A) have your trousers around your knees, B) are wearing skinny-jeans so tight you can't breathe, C) have your long, Justin-Beiber-fringe hanging in your face and can't see anything D) have on platform shoes/untied trainers/sandals and socks or something else just as stupid. Your chances of catching me are nil. And if you did catch me, you would just cry because you are so Emo and your "Mum gave you those headphones for Christmas" ~Sniff~.

Wankers.

Side Note: I actually know people that own massive headphones. They are web designers that need to focus while in a noisy office atmosphere, or DJ's that actually use them to hear a song while blaring another. For a very cool Music Site, please visit a friend of mine over at Head Underwater. His name is Jimmy and we used to work together.

Oh, and I may be a grumpy old man at 35, but if you dips on the pavement can not walk any faster, move to the bloody side! Single file is not the end of the world. There is no reason you have to walk six people abreast. Noah went two-by-two, if it was good enough to save all the animals on the planet, (although we know that didn't really happen. Where did he put 2 million beetles?) then it is good enough for you damn tourists.

*My friend Rani is actually traveling around the world right now by herself. Turkey is just her first stop. How gutsy is she? 

Dear Japan.

I grew up in a land-locked state in the country that ran the Whaling game for the longest time. I should either be supportive of it, or indifferent about it, but I am still passionately against it. Odd. I am not really passionate about anything else. I guess we all need a hobby.

I was thinking this morning (in the shower. All the best ideas come to me in the shower) and I have a way that whalers can get a little support and a little less derision. The need to change their tactics. I think the reason the public (and me) gets so upset with the whole Whaling thing is the WAY that you hunt them. Waiting on the surface until they come up for air, then blasting them with an exploding harpoon? Where is the sport in that? You might as well blast them out of the water with a missile.  

Maybe it is living in England, but I have a pretty good sense of Fair Play, and to me, blasting a whale out of the water with a nuke is not very fair. The Whale has no chance at all.  BUT, if you caught them a different way, you might be able to get the public support behind you. It is the brutal method that people are really down on. Minke whales are of the Rorqual family and they eat krill as well as other smaller fish like, herring, cod, and pollock. That means they can be caught on a line like other sport fish. And not that long line crap that they use for Swordfish. I am talking Pole and Line (also known as Bait Boat*) type that they use to catch Tuna. That way you are only getting the stupid whales. 

The boat would go to the Whaling grounds, and toss a bunch of bait out, then wait until the whales are chowing down and start dropping lines over the side to attempt to get one to bite on a hook. I am sure they make a braided line that will hold 8 tons. If not, you will be creating jobs and advancing science. Once you hook into one, a brave fisherman would have to hang on for dear life until it was tired enough to get to the boat, then the whale would be weighed, and measured to make sure it was within the legal limits. Then it could be dispatched, quickly. I am sure you could employ sport fishermen that are tired of catching 1000 lb Swordfish. What is catching a half-ton sword when you could fight an 8 ton Minke Whale on a spinning rig? Even if you were too lazy to hire someone, you could buy a hydraulic system to control the drag and eventually bring the whale to the boat. 

And the best part, once you change over to the new Line-Caught Minke Whales, you could get your own series on the Discovery Channel! They had the Crab guys, and the Sword boat guys, even the Whale Wars guys that are trying to stop you. If you could get the Discovery Channel on board, get Mike Rowe to do the voice-overs, add in some scripted drama about twisted lines, health problems, financial troubles, and the like, you could turn this whole thing around. If anyone could make the public care about Whale Killers it is Mike. 

Be careful though, Minke Whales are a favorite food of my Navy. And if you harm any members of my personal Navy, Army, or Marine Corps, I will take it as an act of war and you should not be surprised when you find a pack of Hyena in your living room when you get home. We know where you live and the family dog works for us.
Speaking of my Military, I have added a new group to the Navy. A Submarine Corp consisting of sperm whales (60 + feet long, Sonar guided and able to dive 3 kilometers below the surface) for the heavy work and Manta Rays for lighter deployment. Okay. I chose the rays just because they look cool swimming in formation. If only I could get one of these...

So Japan, Give me a call. I think I can help sort this Whaling thing out. Until then, I am not buying a Toyota or Honda.

*Fishing Methods

**Thanks for the Pic

Sorry in advance. -Gets on Soap Box-

I told myself that I would never use this platform to push any serious agenda. Turns out I lied. I lied to myself. I got pretty angry with myself over the whole thing and had to give me a stern talking to. I felt pretty bad about lying to myself, so I apologized to me and ultimately ended up forgiving myself. I can't stay too angry at me for very long.

I am reading "Under the Banner of Heaven" by John Krakauer (Mostly because I am still looking for "Anger Management for Beginners" By Giles Coren. I know it is on Amazon. I don't shop there.) and I am taken aback by how bizarre the whole situation is. It reads like the tale of a frat-party gone wrong. One guy gets it in his head that he wants to sleep with a new lady that isn't his wife, so he tells people: God came to me and said I could have lots of wives. I know it sounds strange, but God says it is okay. 

But because it is pretty dodgy, and he knows it, he doesn't tell anyone for years. Just sleeps around, picking up these new "wives". Eventually, word gets out (How can it not when you are juggling a dozen "wives" and still hitting the local brothel every week?) and the locals were a little pissed. They end up killing him over it. 

Years later, another nutter reads the bit that God says it was okay, and starts doing the same thing *. (Screw the law! God said I get lots of wives) Well, his wife wasn't really into it, so she left him. He got a little bitter and ended up killing his Sister-In-Law. (It was all HER fault!) 

The whole thing makes me shake my head at religion. So much that I am stating, here and now, my religious beliefs. I am a Pastafarian. I belong to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I have been touched by his noodly appendage and I see his work in all things. I believe that when I die, I get to go to a heaven where I will dress in the Traditional Heavenly Costume of the Pirates and there will be strippers and cold beer.

I have been a Pastafarian for a while now. It makes as much sense as anything else and the tenets of the religion coincide with my own. I wasn't going to preach, but reading this book about the crazies has put me over the edge. I apologize if I put anyone off, but these are my beliefs. Please do not trample on them. 

* A lot of Nutters actually. I suppose if you can justify sleeping with 15 different women (although some of them are only 12 years old) by saying God says it is okay, and God is smarter than the Gub'ment, then who is going to stop you? Not the brainwashed members of your nutty cult, that is for sure. 

What has two thumbs and never blogs?

This Guy.

Okay, I fell off the planet again. I cannot blame illness or anything else. It is summerish and I have been out drinking WAY too much. Oh, and I was in Wales and they don't have the internet there. (If you have been there or are Welsh, Shhh. Don't let on that it is a real place)

I was actually only in Wales for one night and it was lovely. So Green. No wonder Edward I rode over there and set up camp, proclaiming that the first born shall henceforth be the Price of Wales. Okay. the Sticklers among you will say, "but Edward the II was the Earl of Chester and Flint. He wasn't the Prince of Wales." and to that I say to you. Shush. It started with Edward the First in 1301. It didn't take off until the Black Prince (Ed the V) was dubbed. New fads take time to catch on, especially when there is no cell phone service in Wales.

On to the 'meat' of the blog for today.

Last night I went out to a cooking class in Parsons Green, a place aptly called The Kitchen. It was a vegetarian Indian Menu composed of Spicy Lentils, Bombay potatoes, Lemon Rice (Elumichai Saadam) a Raita, and Dosai. I am told it was a Classic Thali Meal. We were greeted by a lovely lady named Rachel who gave us wine and chatted with us while we waited for the late-comers. Eventually, we met up with our Chef (Jimi Gill) who whipped up a nice Lassi to start with and gave us an overview of what we would be making.

He put us to work right away chopping the hell out of some white onion. Turning it into a paste more or less. We asked if we could grate the onion or toss it in the processor and were promptly --although not in a Ramsey-way-- told that the processor was a bad idea. It produces a lot of onion juice that can turn your curry bitter. Who knew?
So we chopped and chopped until he was satisfied with our work, (this is a cooking class, you don't just get to drink wine and watch. They already have that, it is called Television) then he brought us around to the cooker to show us how to toast spices and build up the layers of flavor that were going to be our Lentil Curry.

After the lentils were stewing away, we whipped up the bombay potatoes, the riata, and the rice then we all tried our hand at making the Paper Dosai. They proved to be impossible. We tried them in a cold pan getting warmer: The stuck like glue. We tried a warm pan: Stuck. We tried a hot pan filled with boiling butter: Sort of stuck. To quote our Chef, making Dosai is "Fucking Hard". Not sure what we were doing wrong, but we gave up and ate the other stuff. It was delicious. Just spicy enough that the riata kept you on an even keel. Nothing like a Vindaloo that you only order on a dare.

In short, it was a grand time. If you are in the area, you should try it out. Tell them I sent you and I am sure you will all get no special treatment. I am not famous. I will leave you with the greatest pic I saw at Tintern Abbey. "The Devil Tempting St. Bernard." I think something else is going on here. You be the judge.

Just a thought

I was looking at my blog today and wondering why I never write about drinks. The bloody thing is called Tea And Whiskey, yet I never write about tea or whiskey. Which, if you think about it, is quite odd because I really do love both of those things. I love sipping on a hot cup of tea. I love the ceremony that goes into making a lovely pot of tea. I used to make teapots almost exclusively back in my pottery days at Blossom Hill Crafts. I enjoy all types of tea, from the smokey, brush-fire taste of a Lapsang Souchon to the grassy-bitter hit of green. I don't quite get white tea. I think it tastes like hot water from Arizona, but I don't hate it.

The same goes for Whiskey. I love the stuff. Irish, Scotch, American, Bourbon*, even Asian. I wish I could drink it all the time. I might be one of the only people that go into the liquor stores and just read the labels, look at the colors, touch the pretty bottles. I am also aware of the fact that some of this is the sign of serious alcoholism, but I prefer to think of it as a love affair with Whiskey. It has been my favorite drink since before I was allowed to drink. I like to blame Uncle Clint for that one. (Happy Birthday Clint!) When The Man with No Name would step up to the bar and order a whiskey in that raspy voice, all eyes on him as he tipped the glass to his lips and poured the shot in without grimacing, I was hooked.


I have even gone so far as to make my own Whiskey when I lived in the South. (Don't tell the Gub'ment) Let me tell you, you have not been drunk until you have been drunk on 140 proof home-made liquor. (And yes, that was the first label)

I am not promising that I am going to start effusing on the tiniest details of various cocktails, but I might slip one or two into the mix. Just to make sure I can keep the name of the blog going. What fun is it if we don't talk about Tea or Whiskey?

*Bonus points if you can tell me the difference between Bourbon and Whiskey.

The Blah. It is a sandwich.

I am not sure where they came from, but a host of tiny microbes have entered into my body and assassinated my voice. Thanks little cooties. I wasn't using that thing to talk to people about jobs or anything. 

Because I am feeling crap, and I am unable to articulate my needs to others without sounding a bit like Nell, I stayed in for lunch today. I decided to make my signature sandwich. "You have a signature sandwich?" Of course I do. Don't you? A sandwich that you would make all the time because you never see it out anywhere? Okay, maybe it is just me, but I thought I would share. (I even took pictures {with my iPhone, I was in a rush})

My signature sandwich is called The BLAH.  Let me break that down for you. Bacon, Lettuce, Avocado and Humous. BLAH.  I am pretty sure I invented this one as I have never heard anyone else talk about it, and I don't think I have seen it out anywhere. You can correct me if I am wrong, but if you say you had the same thing at a diner in Hoboken that I have never heard of or been too, how the hell did I copy it? They copied me. Trust me. 

If you care to make one, this is the formula: 

• Two slices white or brown bread (I go for the Brown. I like to think it is better for me) 
• 6 rashers of crispy streaky bacon (sorry Brits. it has to be streaky and thiner is better. We are adding flavor, not stopping hearts. If I was trying to kill you, I would come up with something from here.)
• 3 or 4 slices of avocado.
• A bunch of lettuce (Little gem, butter, iceberg if you like. something with a crunch. Use what you like.) 
• Humous ( I like the red pepper Humous, but if you are down with plain, go that route.) 

The build:

Toast that bread. Has to be done. If you try this on regular bread, it is going to gum up into a ball in the roof of your mouth and you will look silly trying to scrape it off with your tongue. Just toast the damn bread. 

Spread a glob of Humous on the toasty bread and start to layer the lettuce leaves and bacon in alternating patterns. You don't have to do this part. I do, because I am a nutter that likes order and things to be tidy. If you want to be a slob, then so be it. 

 As you can see, I grew up when the *McDLT was around and like to keep things separate until the last minute. Even when the hot side isn't hot.  

Normally, I am a big advocate of salt and pepper on a sandwich, but in this case, just the pepper. This one is salty enough, but the  pepper is key, if you are a fan. If you are scared of it, then don't use it. 

Flip side A onto side B. Witness the need for the alternating layers? You want a hit of bacon goodness in every bite, with the crunch of the lettuce being the body of the sandwich. Think of this as a good way to get your greens in. If you look close you might see that I was low on Humous and had to cheat a little with some mayo on my lettuce. It is my sandwich, you don't know that this isn't the normal way I do things. Shush. I don't come over to your work and throw rocks at you while you are mowing lawns, do I? 

Slice your lovely creation and enjoy. I like to slice corner to corner because I am fussy and my mother never sliced sandwiches that way. I think it is fancier.  Welcome to my world. 

There it is. The BLAH. I have registered the name, so if you try to steal it, I will send nasty letter to you and then pout. I think that is all that happens now days. Unless you are a huge corporation and have copy written things like, the I before E rule and the use of silent B's at the end of words.  

With any luck, I will have a voice after the holiday weekend. 

Wish me luck. 

*Yep, that is Jason Alexander in that McD's commercial. Remember when white sport coats with the sleeves pushed up was cool? I swear I saw some teenie out of Brompton Road  like that the other day. We had the 80's once. We can say it was Cocaine then. Now? You just look sad. 

Blogger's note: Speaking of horrible fashion. I saw a guy the other day wearing gold aviators walking down the street. One pair wasn't enough for him, he had on a T shirt printed with a big pair of them too. I am guessing, but I bet his pants were printed with tiny aviators. Some people are so cool, one pair of Douche-Bag Glasses is not enough.  

The Big Spill

I am not a rocket scientist. I can not perform brain surgery -- Well, I COULD, but I am not certain you would live though it. I would film you legs kicking up when I poked different parts of your brain though and I would post them on Youtube under the heading "Alien Autopsy". hehe -- and I am not an expert in fluid dynamics. BUT. I am pretty clever when given a problem and I am quite lazy so the simplest solution is often the one that makes the most sense to me.

That being established, I can not understand what the hell is going on in the gulf with the whole oil spill.

I understand that there was a huge cock up that I am blaming Dick Cheney (Haliburton) for and I understand that a gazillion gallons of oil is spewing forth from the bottom of the ocean. What I don't understand is all the overtly complex methods that are getting used to sort it out. Of course, I have a plan. (why wouldn't I. I am a planner)

My grand plan:
Oil floats on water. I remember this from walking down the aisle as a kid and shaking the hell out of the Italian dressing bottles for fun. (We were poor. That was entertainment then) Eventually, all the oil that is squirting out a mile below the surface is going to float up to the top. Right?

They need to get a few empty tankers in the area, and a few pumper boats, then suck the water and oil off the surface and dump it into the tankers. The Oil will float and the water will sink. I know this to be true because I watched it all the time at the grocery store. Just takes a minute. Then they can pump out the sea water and have a tanker full of oil. If they were REALLY serious, they could lower a hose down and start sucking right where it is blowing out.  I am guessing that it is a ridged pipe that is broken and not a flexible one. But as they have the little top hat thing going on... it should work.

If you take my plan to suck up the oil and the water and Denis Leary's plan to buy up all the Shamwows and sop up the stuff that gets missed, we should be able to get this thing cleaned up for just a few million.

You're welcome BP. I will take free fill-ups for life and a producer credit when the film comes out. As I don't own a car, you are getting off pretty cheep.

If you aren't keen on that idea, what do you think about building a giant Gravy Separator ... we can pour all the water and oil in, then put it in the fridge... but we are going to need a very big fridge.

Editor's note: Do not trust this blogger to do brain surgery on you. He will post it on Youtube but if you click on it, you will most likely get RickRolled. For some reason, he thinks that is still funny.