A few of my Favorite, and not so Favorite, Things

You know that lovey Christmas jiggle concerning some poor sap being stung by bees and then envisioning sugarplums and tinsel to bring him out of anaphylactic shock.  That may not be exactly what the song is about but bee stings are no laughing matter.  I am also several cups of coffee over my normal limit, and my mind is slightly scattered.  Perhaps this Clog should be dedicated to properly treating bee stings.  Nah, I think I will just tell you about something I like, and something that I truly dislike.  It is all in the spirit of the holidays.

I do not hate alarms, but actually hold a strong affinity for these chippy enforcers of punctuality.  Without the alarm, I would have been fired many years ago.  However, I absolutely hate the feeling of falling asleep (whatever the reason might be) less than an hour before said alarm begins to chime.  It is cruel beyond words.   

On a lighter note, I totally adore mailmen/women.  During the holidays they bust their asses twice as hard.  Show them a little love and they will reciprocate the gesture.  This is no hard task if the person delivering your packages happens to be James Delreal.  Keep decking your freaking halls!

From Ansel Adams to Enchiladas

I awoke this morning with a frigid blanket covering my body that provided about as much warmth as a wet newspaper.  I should have used a bag of frozen peas for a pillow just to add a dose of insult to the injury.  My skate down to 7-11 for coffee was done with more urgency and vigor on this particular morning, not because of an increased energy level, but as a way to generate warmth in my icicle toes.  My breath floats like a ghoulish figure through the crisp air and the sky is a somber grey.  Winter's grasp has overtaken San Jose, so let us think back to the balmy days of fall.

The Calderwood tradition of eating at this tiny Los Banos taqueria on the way to Thanksgiving dinner is completely glutenous but totally essential.  This year it was closed, which makes me think a trip back to Los Banos might take place in the very near future.

Day trips to Yosemite are becoming the new Calderwood Thanksgiving tradition.  The al pastor is not quite as tasty as Cotija's, but the scenery makes up for it. 

My uncle Vince is a big dude, coaches football, and does not come off as the warm friendly type.  He also makes a killer carrot cake!

Everyone probably thinks that their mother makes the best enchiladas on earth, but they are wrong, because mine does.  Writing this Clog has made me realize that many of my fall traditions involve Mexican food.

My store's remodel has forced me to be something of a Starbucks journeyman, floating from one location to another like some long haired nomadic creature.  The Curtner Starbucks just so happens to be conveniently located next to a bar called The Office.  Buy one well drink and get the second for two dollars seems like a great deal, until you realize the first drink is overpriced and the liquor is awful.  You probably want to avoid this place even if you feel a bit thirsty during your Christmas shopping.

Obligatory Sentimental Fall Clog Post

I always get a bit anxious around this time of year.  The month of November marks the strange transition into winter (complete darkness and a lasting chill) that is punctuated by a fleeting feeling of warmth and life.  Even the trees struggle to hang on to the few glowing leaves they posses.  I am always trying to wring out every drop of life from autumn's burning life force.  Knowing that fall is merely a transitory season, how do I live in the moment?  How do I obtain that perfect state of seasonal equilibrium, wherein nothing is coming nor going.  Do I toss the jack o'lantern out the moment Halloween is and start preheating the oven for Thanksgiving, or let that rotting gourd soak into the steps on my front porch and eat stale candy on my couch while watching Nightmare on Elm Street?  I should probably calm down, because I am sure that in a month or so I will be lamenting over a dying Christmas tree.    

Thirty Years of Pete

Peter Raffin taught me how to walk.  Not literally of course, my parents are to take credit for that.  More specifically, Peter showed me how take walk as a means of taking in every bit of the world around me.
As skaters, and Peter being one of the best I know, we almost always choose to travel by four urethane wheels rather than two legs.  The skateboard is clearly a faster and more enjoyable form of transportation.  But Peter would rather walk.  He traverses the urban landscape of downtown San Jose with speed and decisiveness equal to that of cold sap rolling down a tree trunk.  And just as the sap gathers little pieces of bark and other debris along its way, Peter absorbs the city of San Jose.   
He is that chipped piece of tile at the base of those stairs.  He is the hidden patch of graffiti behind that dumpster.  Peter is not a resident of San Jose, but an organic life form melded to the infrastructure of the city.
I leave my skateboard at home and take my steps a little slower sometimes because of Pete, listen to the voices of the pavement.

 

Hallohhhhh Well I am a Little Behind on Clogging

My current emotional disposition has left me fervently vexed.  I feel obligated to fill the month of October with as many Clog posts as humanly possible, being that it is my favorite time of year.  However I cannot for the life of me find a solid foothold to begin the arduous task of climbing this mountain of blogging.  I may as well start here, and after a few miscalculations perhaps I shall tumble right back to the base of the Everest sized pile of shit writing I have stacked up.



I want to see a show of hands from those hopeless souls, drifting throw the digital tundra of the internet, who are sick of watching the superhero car flip.  This gimmicky action device has been thoughtlessly thrown into several science fiction and action films.  Most recently the superhero car flip reared its hideous Medusa head in the the television series Stranger Things, a show that certainly should hold itself to higher standards.  I am boycotting this bollocks!

Instead of turning to cheap computer generated sludge this Halloween, watch something like Nosferatu, a vampire movie made during the silent film era that remains creepy as hell to this day.  

   

Cured Meats and Skate Treats

I decided to take The Clog to Barcelona in order to gain a new perspective on pork products and skateboarding.

As promised, here is a picture containing meat.  Below is a video containing skateboarding.  Beer is also involved, as per usual. 

Coasting Through Life

 

"Ouch, that hurt, you inconsiderate asshole.  Try setting your glass down a little softer next time."
If these words sound familiar you should probably seek therapy, because they are those of your bar coaster.  That's right, the thin little piece of cardboard that works thanklessly to keep your drinking surface untarnished.  These faithful servants of the imbibing world are routinely soaked in beer, ripped to shreds by the sexually frustrated, and tossed into the waste can without so much as a thank you.  The work of a bar coaster makes being an experimental drug test subject seem enjoyable. 
That is why I have proclaimed September 23rd bar coaster appreciation day.  On this day I encourage everyone, regardless of intoxication level, to take a moment during your overindulging to praise the coaster that rests under your glass.  Give it a high five, tip your hat, or perhaps do as we Calderwoods do, and bring it home with you as a keepsake.  Just do not use your coaster as a frisbee on this most sacred of days.  Save that for tomorrow.
Side note,
Tegestology is the term used for the collecting of bar coasters, which apparently makes me a tegestologist.  I learn something new everyday.

Sensible Yoga Alternatives

"Why can't I be this flexible when I'm sober," asked Austin while stretching at the bar during one of our wiener Wednesday sessions.  His statement got the gears within my pea sized brain turning.
The average male lacks both the body contorting ability and monk like attention span needed to survive a full yoga class.  It just is not part of our genetic makeup.  But what if there was some way to loosen those muscles and relax the mind, making that downward facing dog pose not such an uncomfortable chore.  Here at The Clog we feel the solution to this problem, and most other day to day issues, is beer.  And thus drunken yoga was born.  Classes will begin August first at our Los Gatos studio.  The bring your own beer policy will be enforced, along with limitations on hard alcohol consumption.

        
In addition to helping students loosen up mentally and physically, booze may also contribute to casual hookups between males and females within the class.  We have all been enamored of that limber goddess at the other end of the yoga studio.  The one you'd love so badly to ask out for a beer, or even settle for a wheat grass shot, just to have the chance to sit down and chat with her.  But after she rolls up her mat and lets down her hair, you simply watch as her perfectly toned yoga buttocks struts off into the distance.  Well friends, those days are over.  Drunk yoga is about to change both the fitness and dating world forever.  Just make sure you do not throw up mid child's pose.

Back to the Soil

My friend is dying right across the room from me.  He won't eat, he wont drink and death is peering in through the door of the room we both share.  He rejects the water I pour for him and the crickets I feed him.  Insects that have sustained him through over two decades either wither away and die at his shaking feet, or keep me up during the night with their relentless chirping.  They are a constant reminder of the thousands of crickets I have sacrificed so that may dear lizard Mookie may eat.  I either hunt them down and kill them so that I myself may sleep undisturbed, or remain deprived of rest in hopes my reptilian friend can have one last meal.  Payback is a real mother fucker.

Shown above is Mookie's final resting place.  He is buried next to the grave of his female companion, Mocha, who died many years earlier.  

A Completely Legitimate Scientific Study

 

It is best to have Jurassic Park theme music playing whilst reading this Clog post.  Whether you prefer  "Helicopter Majestically Circling Tropical Landing Pad" or "Dr. Malcolm Staring in Disbelief at a Real Living Breathing Dinosaur, makes no difference as long as the mood is properly set.  Now we may proceed with addressing one of the most notoriously aggravating conundrums to plague the scientific world.  Hours upon hours of laborious effort has been expended to solve the mystery of which came first, the bush or the tree.  Leading scientists in the field of shrubbery have spent many a sleepless night analyzing fossilized root, bone and semen samples, but to no avail.  Due to cut backs on government spending, 2016 is the year that almost saw the bush tree study put to an end.  That is, until German scientist Otto Van Clogstein, after taking several hits of acid, discovered a cave painting dating back to 420 B.C. that reveled the answer.

The bush existed on the earth long before the tree, and only evolved into its taller form to better feed long necked herbivores.  Do not attempt to fact check any of this with Wikipedia, just take my word for it.          

A Tale of Three Wieners

A little over a year has passed since my beloved Tommy's left me, and I am still in mourning.  While I am convinced nothing will ever replace her Taco Tuesdays I held so dear, in no way does it mean I have completely given up all hope on bar food themed days.  Attending Wiener Wednesdays at The Bears for me is like getting back out in the dating scene after a horrific break up.

I must admit that once again throwing myself into the bar food game has gone much smoother than expected.  With a big steaming crock pot full wieners and a vast array of condiments to slather on them how can you go wrong!?  I have also come to the shocking realization the you can learn just about everything there is to know about a person by what condiments they adorn their hotdog with.  I have devised a game to see if you the reader can match the hot dog to the human.  Hot dogs will have numbers, the humans will have letters, and the answers will be at the bottom.  Good luck!

1.  Tons of wasabi mustard, onions, and relish.

2.  Couldn't be more boring.

   

3.  Hot dog is pretty much just a whiskey chaser.

A.  Nugget 

B.  Shawn

C.  CalderClog

1-C, 2-A, 3-B

Check back soon for three more contestants. 

 

The Key to a Good Time is the God Damn Lime

Spring is upon us, and it is time to start thinking about your health.

 

 The Clog lacks pie related posts like an 18th century British sailor lacks sufficient vitamin C.  Without proper nutrients sailors could contract scurvy, a disease characterized by unexplained bleeding, loss of teeth, spots on the skin, and eventual death.  I am not sure if there is a Clog equivalent of scurvy caused by lack of pie, but if you feel like you may need more vitamin C in your diet limes are the answer!

 What better way to ward off disease than with a delightfully refreshing key lime pie.  Fret not if your garnishes fail live up to the picture, I've had years of practice. 

 Wash that slice of pie down with a margarita!  The alcohol contained in this drink also has medicinal and spiritual benefits.

There is one in Every Crowd

Whether it be taking Advil, brushing with Crest, or eating Shredded Wheat, for every ten doctors surveyed there is always one who is not willing to buy into the hype.  Let's face it, nine out ten isn't too shabby, and I usually assume the odd man out resembles professor Herbert West from Re-Animator.

  This is not exactly the type of physician I am about to take cereal advice from.  However, it does make you wonder what red flag shot up for that one doctor while all the others gave said product their professional stamp of approval.  To help make sense of this quandary I have compiled a list of perfectly logical reasons why this one doctor might not show his support for a product.  In this case study let us use Shredded Wheat.

-  The doctor caught his wife sleeping with a Post Cereal employee and refuses to support the company.

 -  The doctor is simply playing devil's advocate and loves to go against his peers.

-  The doctor is on a low carb diet and only eats steak and kale.

-  As a child the doctor was a promised a toy inside a box of Shredded Wheat, and was horrified to find no such toy once the cereal was finished.

-  This doctor was raised on Kellogg's and does not intend on changing.

-  The doctor has accepted a bribe from a rival cereal company.

This is all for now, but feel free to submit your own far fetched reasons to The Clog's writing staff.


   

Getting Shitty in Nevada City

 The air had a biting chill that February morning, as I stood beneath the looming Nevada City Courthouse monolith.  I was to appear in court that day not to plead my innocence, but to demand that the late fees on my ticket be expunged.  I planned on using big fancy words like "expunge" to impress the judge.  

I surveyed other miscreants occupying the courthouse steps, curiously reading over the details of their offenses with puzzled faces and worried looks, and realized that two types of people exist in this world.  Those who prepare, and those who procrastinate.  Typically I would find myself in the later category, frantically cramming information into my skull like a bank robber stuffing a pillow case full of money.  Today my argument was carefully planned out with proper documentation from reliable sources all tightly enclosed in a manila folder.  Wearing my nicest collared shirt, I felt almost eager to stand in front of the judge, like one of those assholes in high school who wears a suit to give a presentation.  Needless to say my demands were met in full, and from that moment forward I would dedicate my life to becoming a lawyer... 

In like a Lion, out like a Lamb

An old saying claims that March is born a fierce lion bringing stormy weather, but eventually retires into lamb form with bright skies and friendly temperatures.  The lion/lamb transformation analogy also applies to the partying that takes place during this volatile month.  An onslaught of merriment consumes the first portion of the March like a stout soaked tsunami and then tappers off as April approaches.  March is like a snowball of debauchery tumbling down a mountain, growing larger every year with each new friend's birthday it absorbs along the way.  The first wave of birthdays is about to hit our unsuspecting shore like a god damn monsoon, with gale force winds sure to leave you without wallet or shirt.  Consider yourselves in the lion's den.    

Chemical Trails and Puppydog Tails,

and everything nice comes at a price.

 

The individual in this picture is Stan Garber, poet lauriete of Los Gatos.  This honor, one I thought existed only during the time of Shakespeare and Frodo Baggins, was bestowed upon him after more than six years of failed attempts.  The question I pose to you all is whether it shows stronger character to take defeat in stride and keep pressing forward, or to graciously accept a prestigious award and not fall victim to hubris.  Ponder if you will this question, knowing all the while that Stan did both.

Egg Clog Nog

I holidays are clearly over.  This fact, while it may be agonizing for some to stomach, is indisputable, even though some hapless fools keep their wreathes hung and cling tight to them like a life preserver in shark infested waters.  These people are either lazy (my excuse) or hopelessly delusional.  But just because your Christmas tree has been rotting in the gutter for weeks does not mean you have to stop consuming all the delicious food and drink of the holidays.  Gluttony owns no calendar.  
I present to you a step by step guide to concocting you very own little glass of eggnog!

                                           

You are going to need about 1 oz. of heavy cream.

Grab yourself 1/2 oz. of simple syrup.

Pour those into a shaker and dry shake (meaning without ice) for a couple minutes.  This is basically whipping the heavy cream, like you used to attempt to do with half and half packets in Denny's.

Separate an egg yolk (not sure why I have two pictured) and throw that into the mix.  Throw out that stupid leftover egg white.

You had better believe there is booze involved.  Toss in 1 1/2 oz. of either rum, brandy, or bourbon.  You can always use more if you desire, because it's your liver not mine.  

Grate a pinch some fresh (must be fresh) nutmeg in there,

and also a little cinnamon.  Do one last dry shake to mix up that wonderful yolk and rum, and then add  ice to the shaker and perform the final shake!

Strain all of this into your preferred drinking vessel.  Some use a martini glass but I like these little punch bowl glasses with tiny handles.  And finally, never forget to grate some more nutmeg over the top. Cheers!