Early December
It snowed last night, and our neighborhood looks like a Christmas card. The snow is absolutely beautiful on the houses and in the trees. I watched a couple of squirrels playing in the snow, and Dixie dog just loved running and playing in it. I love early snow because it means we're going to have a great winter for skiing.
Early Janurary
More snow. The snow blower won't start, but Catfish helped shovel the drive and the walks. It only took two hours to shovel out, and it was the light fluffy snow, so it wasn't too bad. Still haven't made it to the mountain to ski, maybe next week.
Early Feburary
The damn ground hog can kiss my ass. Another foot of snow fell on us. Catfish is hiding from me. He took my good snow shovel out, earned $20 shoveling someone's drive, and broke my damn shovel. I had to shovel our drive using a small shovel from the car. The damn dog is running back and fourth on the fronzen surface of the damn pool, and then tracking water into the house.
Late Feburary
More white shit is falling from the damn sky. They say we'll get a foot and a half. And, if that's not enough, it's the heavy heart attack inducing snow, and I am 100% confident that the damn snow blower won't start. No one has any snow shovels yet, so I'll be shoveling using the small shovel from the car. Catfish claims he's not strong enough to lift the heavy snow. Dixie is covered in mud from the wet sloppy snow, and has rolled on the white carpet. Chaunti and Tony Perez refuse to go outside and will either crap in the house or explode soon. Tell me again why I don't live in Destin, Florida...
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
The Night Before The Morning After
Though the cold February night air clearly said 'You are in New Jersey', inside it was nothing less than Bourbon Street at it's finest. Begining with supply runs to Restaurant Depot and the liquor stores a grueling day of cooking and drinking began to take shape. Bob Sanko and I arrived at the Sr. Citizens Center at roughly 1:00 to get the party started. As professionals, we knew how important proper preparation is to any party, so we immediatley had a cocktail, and began dealing with the trinity: Onions, Celery, and Bell Pepper. As the gumbo, jambalaya and shrimp etouffee began their journey to culinary heaven, Mr. Sanko and his trusty aide d'camp Joe Evans began preparing the drink that will forever be their trademark: The honest to God real thing....Pat O'Brian's Hurricane complete with Pat O'Brians glasses. Anyone can drink one, but if you have a second, you should probably check for new tattoos in the morning.
This was a fund raising event for the South Plainfield Soccer Club. Marshall's Dixieland Band provided the entertainment until roughtly11:00, at which time the folks who had two Hurricains took over. Roughly 60 people came, and enjoed the cajum contribution to the culinary arts. We had aboundant help in the kitchen, and wonderful participation from a lot of folks who don't even have kids playing soccer.
I don't know how much money we made, but I believe everyone had a good time. it's probably a good thing that we didn't do the henna tattoos over by the Hurricane bar because there would be a lot of people with a headache and a new tattoos this morning.
On a more serious note, I shared my bourbon with the kitchen staff, and my supply was exhaused by 8:00pm. As a result, I was sober the entire night. Of the 60 some odd people there, I was the only completely sober person there.
Yeah...I know....but, that was the night before the morning after the party.
This was a fund raising event for the South Plainfield Soccer Club. Marshall's Dixieland Band provided the entertainment until roughtly11:00, at which time the folks who had two Hurricains took over. Roughly 60 people came, and enjoed the cajum contribution to the culinary arts. We had aboundant help in the kitchen, and wonderful participation from a lot of folks who don't even have kids playing soccer.
I don't know how much money we made, but I believe everyone had a good time. it's probably a good thing that we didn't do the henna tattoos over by the Hurricane bar because there would be a lot of people with a headache and a new tattoos this morning.
On a more serious note, I shared my bourbon with the kitchen staff, and my supply was exhaused by 8:00pm. As a result, I was sober the entire night. Of the 60 some odd people there, I was the only completely sober person there.
Yeah...I know....but, that was the night before the morning after the party.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Any Given Sunday
A deep, dark and disbelieving quiet flopped down on Indianapolis like a beer soaked carpet as time ran out in Miami and a rising tide of 'Who Dat's and half 'nekid' women dancing to Dixieland jazz left the bars and clubs of New Orleans and rolled down Bourbon Street in the what was the biggest celebration since...since...well...since Saturday night. It is, after all, Mardi Gras season in New Orleans. But this party was just getting started as the New Orleans' Mardi Gras Super Bowl crowd spilled from the bars and danced in the streets to celebrate the Saint's victory.
Far to the north, in the subterrainian headquarters of the Memphis Barbeque Company, the usual suspects sat momentarily silent then suddenly loud. A miracle had been witnessed and they were at once soaking in the win,...and the loss, in the bourbon, some scotch, a little beer, and an odd assortment of wines.
Forty Six years of sucking melted away, and the unknown fans of years gone by were finally able remove the paper bags from their heads and loudly, proudly cheer the Saints. Somewhere in a skybox above the game, Archie no doubt was tormented. At once mourning the failure of Peyton and the Colts, but at the same time, secretly relishing the Saint's incredible win, Archie must have been in his own, special hell. Unable to so much as utter a single 'Who Dat!', Archie no doubt remembers the days when he when he epitomized the black and gold. It sucked to be a Saint fan back then, but that was 'back then'. This is now, and it's the Super Bowl, and it's good to be a winner.
So the game ended, and obviously, this means spring is just around the corner. I'll update everyone with information about the Brooklyn Barbque Contest on March 27th. Mark you calendars!
It's time for Barbeque!!!
Who Dat!
Far to the north, in the subterrainian headquarters of the Memphis Barbeque Company, the usual suspects sat momentarily silent then suddenly loud. A miracle had been witnessed and they were at once soaking in the win,...and the loss, in the bourbon, some scotch, a little beer, and an odd assortment of wines.
Forty Six years of sucking melted away, and the unknown fans of years gone by were finally able remove the paper bags from their heads and loudly, proudly cheer the Saints. Somewhere in a skybox above the game, Archie no doubt was tormented. At once mourning the failure of Peyton and the Colts, but at the same time, secretly relishing the Saint's incredible win, Archie must have been in his own, special hell. Unable to so much as utter a single 'Who Dat!', Archie no doubt remembers the days when he when he epitomized the black and gold. It sucked to be a Saint fan back then, but that was 'back then'. This is now, and it's the Super Bowl, and it's good to be a winner.
So the game ended, and obviously, this means spring is just around the corner. I'll update everyone with information about the Brooklyn Barbque Contest on March 27th. Mark you calendars!
It's time for Barbeque!!!
Who Dat!
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