Welcome

Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Friday Sports Roundup

Ok, it's Friday, woo hoo.
I'm kind of working on a bigger deal (something about Ted Nugent and Dan Savage, and no, it's not slash or anything like that, you filthy bastards), but it won't be ready for a couple days, so I figured we could sort of just grab bag here, since it's the end of the week and all.

Fringe:

The Wee Irish Fella gave me all of S1, and I'm working my way through, I'm 3 or 4 from the end of the season. I do really like this show. It ain't exactly Blow Your Mind Change Your Life stuff, like The Wire or SOA or John From Cincinnati, but it's a mostly solid cast and generally well written. I was, I must say, seriously dismayed to learn last week that Special Agent Astrid Farnsworth (Rrrrrowrrr!)
For whom I have, I must admit, been pulling some pretty serious wood, is apparently, for jumping out loud, an actual Lesbanian!!
Story of my life.
Anyways, I'm on the one, I think it's like 15, where they find the singer from Smashing Pumpkins under that building.
I liked how at the beginning they had the white and black coworkers joshing around with each other, too often TV treats that kind of thing fuckin stupid.
(SPOILER coming up, so, you know, be warned!!)
I got to tell you, though, when that CIA dude came and introduced himself to Lizzie (who, surprisingly, is NOT a Lesbanian, despite her name, this gets SOOO confusing) as the Child Welfare guy, and she DIDN'T ask for some ID, it really stunk the joint up, no way she wouldn't have done that, especially since they were making such a bit stinkin hooha about how much she cared about Wee Billy Corrigan there.
I mean, not a dealbreaker or anything, but kind of lazy writing where usually it's so good.

I was going to say something about the fucking humidity this morning, coming into work was like wading through a gymnasium packed with hot soaking wet mattresses, but then it turned into the Near-phoon that's going on right now. You can really believe the stories they used to tell about the locals laughing their asses off at the new Governor from Beijing setting up the Capitol in the middle of a fetid fucking swamp.

Upon retrospect this morning, I realised that, reviewing the motley collection of yahoos visiting here on a semi-regular basis, I am, and I ain't blowin smoke up you all's collective cyber-asses here, seriously, addressing a collection of the smartest sumbitches you'll ever meet. And that includes fucking over-the-hill gin-soaked Nazi cocksuckers who dress like fuckin Fonzie, too.

And most of yiz are pretty darn good looking, to boot.

Have a good weekend.
Cheech

Thursday, May 26, 2011

In which actual Quality Writing is discovered on the Inkernetsk

Oh for the love of Pete.
I've been trying to write about this for the better part of 2 days, and it keeps coming up just a crapload of facile blithering horseshit.
Of which, most of you are painfully aware, I am more than capable.

So anyways, fuck it, just go to the site.
An extraordinary young lady who writes engaging material with considerable skill and acuity for the language.
There are several aspects of her work that I really enjoy, but that's none of your fucking business.
Go and read some real fuckin good writing, something that's pretty thin on the ground, especially on here.
The young lady responsible has been generous enough to permit me to link to her site. I should mention, as well, that she is, personally, a most gracious and charming soul whose sense of humour and lack of pretension belie the intensity of most of her work.
Just don't, for the love of fuck, whatever you do, even think of calling her "cute", it'll be your ass.



Oh yeah, the form includes more than a little naughty stuff, but that's just the tip of the iceboig, as they say.
Enough, as Marty DeBergy would say, of my yakking.
Go and sin no more.
Remittance Girl

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Choose your companions wisely...

...as me sainted Ma would say.
When I was in high school, one summer the Placement Office at school found me a summer job.
It was right after the old man died, so I needed some earnings to kick back at home.
The gig was on the janitorial staff at a convent/retirement home for these hardcore Sisters of Infinite Fucking Misery or some fucking deal.
So I reported for duty and found out that I was going to be spending the entire summer stripping 20 years' worth of wax from the stair landings, which amounted to about 30 minutes of hard scrubbing by hand with steel wool for each 6-inch square tile, in these dark stuffy windowless stairwells, 8 hours a day.
Needless to say, my 16-year-old heart soared at the prospect.
The second day there, I met the Building Engineer, a ruddy garrulous Ukrainian who cheerily invited me to hang out in his office, smoking cigarettes and BSing, and go with him in the truck to pick up equipment and supplies etc.
Obviously, vastly preferable to scrubbing floor tiles.
He also informed me that there was a full Olympic size pool downstairs, and a guy was welcome to bring his gear and take a dip after work.
The 4th day I brought my rig and was heading down to the pool after work when I ran into the Head Sister (a fucking Frenchie, naturally), who demanded to know what I was doing.
So I told her and said Jerry had said it was OK.
She nearly pitched a fit, and, scandalised, informed me in no uncertain terms that the pool was for the use of the sisters ONLY, and no staff were allowed to use it, ever.
The 5th day the manager called me into his office and very politely informed me that I would not be coming back for a 6th day.
I protested that I had only been following Jerry's lead, and that he had said it was all cool.
The manager informed me that Jerry had only been working there for a month and was also facing termination.
Thus I lost the worst job I've ever had.






Hey, I see the Bobcat has signed up, most excellent, even in consideration of the vapidity of her comments.
This puts my Followership into the single digits.
My plans for world domination appear to be falling nicely into place...


ETA: Oh yeah, listening to this for the first time in many fuckin moons:



Every note is sweeter and rings deeper than ever. Prime shit, baby.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Remembering Raoul Duke

I'm just watching the most excellent and infinitely entertaining Breakfast with Hunter for the first time in several years.



You know there's a moment when you realize you're not a kid anymore, when you suddenly hear of the death of someone special and suddenly you're faced with the certainty that the world as you know it has been irreversibly changed, invariably for the worse, that no matter what happens, it used to be a better planet than it is now and will ever be, because this one dude is Gone.
Forever.
I think the first time I ever had this feeling was when Miles died in 1991, shortly before I left Canada. I remember hearing the news, and I just got up and went out and walked around the streets for a couple hours, and I swear colours were less bright.
I definitely recall having this feeling when FZ passed a couple of years later. It was like having a stroke or something where one chunk of your brain dies. I just felt like from that moment on, the human experience had lost one entire form of expression, and that one aspect of existence had been suddenly and tragically rendered mute forever.

But all that was baby aspirin compared to my reaction to the news of February 21, 2005.



At first, like a lot of people, I figured it was BS.

Especially since there had been kind of a resurgence in his public activity just prior to that, with all the anniversaries of the 2 Fear & Loathings, the excellent and (finally!) worthy Gilliam production of F&LILV, and what seemed like a whole new generation of commentators and analysts who appreciated and loved his work, thanks in no small part to a level of maturation of Internet information presentation.
But, as the days went by, it seemed to be legit, the Good Doctor had really kicked off.
Whether or not it was actual suicide, which is still a matter for debate, the fact remained. And, in some kind of weird Moebus irony, it made perfect sense.
Because the kind of a shithole of a world where such a colossal mind and talent would end up blowing his brains out was exactly the kind of savage, rank, predatory Puppet Show of the Deranged that he'd seen coming for decades, and had warned us all about, over and over again.



Who, one had to ask (and still does, really), is going to speak for us now? Who's left that has even a sniff of HST's uncanny ability to express the depths of mendacity plumbed on a daily basis by the Powers That Be (and Wannabe, for that matter)?




No one, that's who.

The 5+ years since he left us have not only failed to ease the pain of losing him, the events occurring therein have proven him to be even more accurate and perceptive than ever.


They're still at it, rube, like rats across the tundra spurred on by the stench of imminent decay.

So long, Doc.


ETA I got a smoke for you if you can ID the other two guys in the second picture.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

So, you think you're obsessive??

I love finding shit like this.
I kind of stuff it away in my back pocket so I can pull it out the next time someone rags on me and/or The Wee Irish Fella for being too otaku about, like USCSS Nostromo crew patches or the newest bestest keychain LED flashlight.
This dude wrote a whole fuckin book about Tiger Stripe camo pattern, fer jumping out loud!

Tiger Patterns: A Guide to the Vietnam War's Tiger Stripe Combat Fatigue Patterns and Uniforms

You know I'm going to love this shit, since Tiger Stripe is my favourite camo.




Yeah, I got a favourite camo, doesn't everyone???


ETA: Apparently I'm not alone

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Arroz con Pollo from Wellcome



OK, the last thing I want is to make this deal a bunch of fuckin recipes, let alone one of those fuckin jerkfests where I invite you all to pat me on the fuckin back because I make my own fuckin toothpaste or whatever.
This is here for a couple of reasons.
First of all, obviously, it's just so GD good.
2. I don't think there's really any merit in discussing shit that you cooked or made if you spent a gazillion bucks on imported ingredients, I can go blow dough at an overpriced restaurant for that. Similarly, if your project is only possible because you, a Car Fuck, drove the fuck and gone out to Butthole County to get some rare item, forget about it.
This includes Costco.
So.

Now, as any Caribbean or Central American will tell you, this is like their version of something like pork chops with Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, or corned beef and cabbage, if you grew up in Ireland (just kidding, buddy).
However, like many of these things, it's considerably different between locales.
And, as well, practically every household has their own special version that everyone who grew up with it will SWEAR is better than anyone else's.

Whatever, I like to make it for Saturday night dinner because, not only is it King Fuck Good Eating, it's radically different from most all the crap you've been eating all week.
Adhering to The Chief's Project Rules, all the ingredients were purchased within walking distance of my house, at Wellcome or equivalent local supermarket, or the daytime market.
(The only exception might be the Bibol [you gotta mail order it or have it brought in] or turmeric, which I think I got at Jason's. Muji carries a kind of Bibol powder, but you have to know what you're looking for.)
I ripped off most of this recipe from 3 Guys From Miami, which is a wonderfully enjoyable site if you're at all into the whole Cuban/Cubano experience (and if you aren't, stop being a fucking idiot).
I've altered it somewhat to accommodate local ingredient availability and/or the tastes of my family, for whom  I'm cooking, but I don't think it's wandered too far off the path.
Please note the absence of any appreciable heat. This is intentional,  in keeping with the axiom that traditional Cuban cuisine is spiced, not spicy.

Oh, it's not recommended to use saffron rather than Bibol or turmeric, it's not really authentic.

Did I mention it's fucking awesomely delicious??

Also, it's not too tough to make, really. It takes a bit of time, but you won't be standing over the stove for hours.
Anyways, here we go.


Cuban Arroz con Pollo


4 strips of bacon
6 whole chicken legs, cut into drumstick and thigh, bone in, skin on
Salt, pepper, and cumin for chicken
Olive oil for frying
1 large onion, chopped
4-5 cachucha peppers (or 1 large green pepper), chopped (optional, I leave these out because my girls hate bell peppers)
4 cloves garlic mashed
1 regular can of Guiness (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 can chicken broth (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 can coconut milk (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 small jar tomato sauce (cheap generic spaghetti sauce works)
1/2 teaspoon Bijol Powder or turmeric
1 bay leaf
2 teaspoons oregano
1 teaspoon thyme
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
3 1/2 cups of uncooked rice
5-10 cherry or small Roma tomatoes, sliced (optional)*
1 cup frozen mixed vegetables (optional)

Put on some Perez Prado or Desi Arnaz. Buena Vista Social Club will do in a pinch.
Sauté the bacon in a large frying pan. Reduce heat to low and let the fat render out of the bacon -- about 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, season the chicken lightly with salt, pepper and a little cumin. Once the fat is released, remove the bacon, increase temperature to medium-high and add the chicken to the hot bacon fat. Remove the chicken when it is browned on both sides.
Add a little olive oil to the same pan you fried the chicken in, and sauté the onion and green pepper until the onion is translucent. Add the mashed garlic and cook an additional minute or two, stirring frequently.
Take the chicken broth, coconut milk, and beer and pour into a large covered pot (Uh, uncover it first, or you'll have a big fuckin mess). Add the browned chicken pieces, cooked onions and green pepper, tomato sauce, Bijol/turmeric, bay leaf, oregano, thyme, cumin, salt, and pepper. And hey, why let all that delicious bacon go to waste? Chop it up and toss it in! Bring everything to a rolling boil, reduce heat, cover and cook on low for 15 minutes.
Go and have a Cuba Libre.
Add the rice. Bring to a boil and reduce heat. When the rice has absorbed some of the liquid, cover and simmer on low for about 30-45 minutes, or until the rice is fully cooked and not soupy. Stir every 10 minutes or so to avoid sticking.
Go and have a Mojito or two.
Just when the rice is a good consistency, remove the chicken pieces (see below) and add the tomatoes and frozen veg, stirring them in and cooking for another five minutes.

Now, there's a few serving options, I like to serve the whole chicken pieces on the side, it just presents nicer at the table. However, for a party or if you just like it better, you may remove the chicken, skin, de-bone and break it into bite-size chunks. A third option is just to remove the bones and mix the chicken into the rice. If everything's gone right, a good portion of the chicken will drop off and stay in the rice anyways.
However, DO NOT try to substitute any boneless, skinless chicken in this recipe, I wouldn't even recommend white meat, it just isn't the same.

So there you go.

I like to eat this nice and hot with a great big honking Coke with lots of ice.


*Oh yeah, one time I had a can of RoTel kicking around, so I threw that in, it was splendid.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Say hello to my little friend

I read someplace one time where this guy says we're each of us only the accumulation of everyone we've ever cared about.
If that's the case, I'm afraid I'm considerably less than the sum of my parts.
Be that as it may, it's a special day today, being the 41st anniversary of the birth of the one and only, engineer, inventor, fellow gear head, nascent luthier (see here, landlord of the world's NUMBER ONE rated fix your guitar blog), brilliant guitar player, all-round Handy Dude, fluent in at least three languages (none of which he hardly even gets the chance to use through the course of a normal day), father of two of the prettiest little quasi-Paddys on four feet, and a handsome little bugger he is in the bargain, let me be the FIRST to wish a Happy Birthday to the best darn pal a guy ever had, The Wee Irish Fella.
Breithlá sona duit and ¡Feliz cumpleaños!
Have a good one, bud.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Big Whoop

Yeah, well I gotta have some way to get all this crap off my chest or I'm likely to go monkeyhead. I reckon I'm such a special little snowflake, there are probably billions of folks out there who are DYING to hang on my every freaking notion like their lives depend on it.
I'll be adding numerous ongoing features as we go along, most of which may even have one or even two entries before petering out into nothing, so, you know, stay tuned.
For lack of any meaningful content, I listened to this for the first time in years yesterday. I love this song, going back to when Aerosmith was worth paying attention to, and you know that's been a while.
Listen to those soaring arpeggio-based leads Joe plays over the whole mess, it's pretty spectacular stuff.
I also quite like the video, remember when Silverstone was the Aerosmith Video Chick? And young Steven Dorff, to boot.
Enjoy, I'll try to generate something even remotely substantiative for next time.

Oh yeah, it was also the first dance at my wedding.