Sunday, August 28, 2005

Damn How I Love to BarBeQue

So my friends/neighbors came over tonite for dinner.

Good Lord, I think they might starve without me.

I was out on the Bay all day, paddling. I told one friend, I think I'll do up sumpin on the grill, and, lawdahlmahty, here they come.

It was simple, really, all stuff outta my garden (well, besides the chicken and the cheese).

Here's what I did - for each person you are feeding:

- Take a chicken breast (boned, sans tenderloin), and slice it down the middle - make a nice pocket
- Fill it with some nice nice things - like cheese (smoke cheddar, parmesan, goat, freash mozz, swiss, whatever), some vegg (broccoli, arugula), some meat (good ham, proscuitto, pepperoni), and a leaf of summer (basil, sage, whatever).

Pin that breast together with oil-soaked toothpicks (so she don't fall apart) - and marinate in a mix of 1/3 acid to 1 oil (like, 1 TB lemon juice to 3 TB olive oils - 2 to 4 hours).

Yum.

Grill no more that 6 mins per side.

Don't be afraid to lick the juices.

Today's Plans...Gone Awry

Well, fuck the forecasters.

They said it was supposed to rain all day, so I had planned on painting the living room of my new house today. Just bought all that fine fine modern shit to fill it up, and the white walls just ain't doing it justice. So I was gonna splash on some serious Sage and Red Ochre to give it some class.

But, then, God be Praised, the clouds parted.

Last night, I received a call (a message, actually, as I was OUT. Perhaps you will hear about that later, if you get to know me).

"Jason," he started, "Drew here. Let's get the boats out on Sunday. We can try to get up the Gunpowder."

'Course, I would always love to paddle. But I have been away/busy so much this summer, I needed a weekend to catch up on SHIT. And painting my living room happens to be shit.

But then, guess the fuck what, the sun shone, and brightly.

The clouds did, indeed, part, just like that. And, suddently, it was 85 and gorgeous. I called Drew. He drove over, his kayak already lashed to the top of his Jeep. We threw my 14.5ft Yellow Banana atop, strapped er down. We were on our way.

"Figured I'd see you today," he grinned. He punched at the dash and some old Jimmy blared loud (A1A - Gawd Bless It), and we turned down Rt 40 to the Bay.

We put in at a small tributary to the Chesapeake. The Bay is wonderful in the number of entries it has - creeks and rivers and wallows and runs and trickles unnamed. We paddled up this one, a feeder to the Gunpowder.

We followed a field of seagrasses, turned up a cut in them, and that was the Little Gunpowder. The river turned to a stream turned to a creek.

The wren and the goldfinch and the Eastern blue danced about us, played, did kamikazi-like dives, some splashing in for a meal. The grasses rose about us. the water gave way to mud. We threaded the weaving water's path into mud. Dragonflies, butterfiles, jellyfish in the mud.

Ugh.

Get me out.

I love kayaking. I love being so close to the water, inthe water even. I love that you can get to placed that no other vessel can (BIG BOATS SUCK! At least until I buy my big sailboat ;-))

The water was smooth on the way back up the Gunpowder. We paddled past terns and loons shrieking and Canada Geese overhead, wining it impossibly to the South.

Why am I done? Why do I need to go home?

Alone. I am alone out here. Drew is a friend, but not someone to deeply share it with.

I need some one who can also see the Face of God in the shifting of the Bay.

A New Era

The Tribe took a tight one today from the Jays, after losing a tight one last night (UGH! 2-1 with Millwood the sufferer, yet again). The O's ended up shelled by the A's after playing gamely till the 7th (can you believe I TIVOd that shit?). And the Yankees (I FUCKING HATE THE YANKEES) pulled it out of their asses to beat the Royals in the 9th this afternoon.

Gawd, but I love this.

I love that every game matters. I love that I am checking Yahoo Gamechannel every moment I have at home, scanning to the ESPN radio station here when I'm in my car, hoping and tripping and wishing over every ballgame here as August fades away and September enters with her false promise of a summer extended.

How many years since I have been here?

Last year, of course, the Indians tempted. They ran off a streak, only to fade in mid-August. And the Autumn took it's proper course.

I recall the Falls of the 90s, when summer lasted late into October. Sudden home runs. Gutsy rookie pitchers. Gutsy veteran pitchers, all wile and guts. Such a different team, a different era.

One of these days, I will write about what it was like to grow up an Indians fan in the 70s, only to come of age in the 90s.

But not today. Not today.

Today, I will relish in the adventure of the Indians of 2005. Hafner's homerics, Jhonny's consistency, V-Mart's resiliency, Millwood/Elarton/Lee/Westbrook's talent for a solid 7 innings, and the entire bullpen's gutsiness.

If you aren't loving it, lovng what Shapiro has crafted out of the last 4 years, then you don't know baseball.

Enjoy it. And dream upon promising tomorrows.

Friday, August 26, 2005

Of Course

Well, yeah, the O's were close to tying it. I did wish that Miggy could've poked one (he's on my fantasy team, after all). But here comes Raffy.

That sweet swing.....the ball high and deep to left field....the crowd cheers. It's an easy fly out.

Wonder what a couple more grams of stanozolol would've done. Hell, it could've put my Tribe up a game on the A's.

And to Mr Boller's credit - did you see the freakin hits he took tonite? Good Lord (sorry, Lopez). If that line doesn't come together, he (and we) could have a long, long season.

It's a good thing that I grew up as a Cleveland fan. I have, thus, been hardened.

Shitty Baltimore Team Update

Friggin O's. Bobby Crosby, you can bite my ass. So the A's will win, the Tribe will win, and all will stay tied in the Wild Card World.

FUCK. Why can't the O's play spoiler just this once and help out my Wahoos?

Guess they'll have to play their own way in. And don't worry - they will.

Oh - and the Ravens? Gawdam, but Boller didn't throw another INT! 14-6, and here comes Anthony Wright.

Hope - perhaps there still is hope.

Another Friday Night

Goddamit but the Turkey has done run dry, and now I have to tap into the reserve of Kentucky Gentleman. Gotta make sure that shit is good and fuckin cold - with none too much lemon peelings to help, either, my friend.

Wonder what Sidney's drinking tonite?

Is he at the game even? Damn, I just got in and turned on the Raven's. Up 7-0. Can't be bad. How many freaking pickles could Boller have thrown with a score like that? Less than 3, I'd venture.

But back to Sidney. Slice off my fuckin head. Cut the bastard. Jesus. Not only does he suck and suck up a lot of payroll at the same time, but he is an embarrassment. Sure, I enjoy hearing him call into the 98Rock Morning Show (formerly KML, God Bless Lopez, though I know he'd hate to hear that, but God Bless him anyway).

BTW - you wanna know the truth? I haven't listened to KML (sorry, I can't help but refer to them as that) - aside from checking in on sports with that dickhead Coleman if I happen to be in that car on the 30s - since Lopez shed that mortal coil. I tried. The tryout news guys were just too earnest, too clean cut, too Not R. Edward Lopez. Kirk has his moments, but too much of the show was Mark's poor, forced, uncomfortable and unfunny humor. It was unlistenable.

But then I discovered that the riotous Jewbag from HFS had come over - Josh Spiegel, News Dickhead. He is nearly as annoying and arrogant as Coleman, though with an endearing streak of huge self-doubt. Fun. I listened again all this week.

Though, I have to admit, I continued to flip back to Howard every few minutes.

Call me addicted. Others have.

Fuck. The Orioles.
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