Subpar Pumpkin

Today I saddled up my bamboo bike and set out for some more frozen pumpkin yum yums. This time I decided to get my fix at one of my childhood haunts, Thrifty Drug Store, or to be more accurate, "The Drug Store Formally Known as Thrifty (aka DSFKT). The name has been changed to Right Aid, but the ice cream remains Thrifty Brand, so don't trip. I have fond memories of coming here while staying at my grandmas house. I can vividly recall the shape of the scooper, the water rinsing faucet it rested in, and the perfect cylindrical form of the scoops, and most of all, the divine taste.



If you were to ask the nine year old Kevin Calderwood how he felt about pumpkin ice cream, he would most likely make an obscene face and mention something about poop. Needless to say my palate has grown considerably, and these days I hardly settle for plain old vanilla (unless of course it is from Dolce Spazio, but that will have to wait until a later post). Unfortunately Thrifty Pumpkin Ice Cream is somewhat bland. I found very little spice in this blend, and a severe lack of richness and depth. There was a nice pumpkin, but after a few bites it became tiresome. Nevertheless, Thrifty Ice Cream brought me back to a simpler and more innocent time in my life. Sometimes, that's all a man needs.

For the Love of the Gourd

Butternut is fine, acorn is just dandy, and I can even get down with a little kabocha, but nothing makes my heart grow wings and soar to the nearest farmer's market like the thought of fresh pumpkin. Nothing brings man closer to nature than a pleasant romp through the local pumpkin patch. And with only a week until Halloween, I would say your chances for gourd glory are growing slim.




I typically prefer my pumpkin flesh roasted and slathered in a little butter or olive oil, but if you have three stomachs and a huge set of horns, I guess it really doesn't make any difference. One man's carving is another cow's scarfing.

Oktober-festering Pile of Bird Flesh

Oktoberfest has come and gone, but memories of melons and meat logs are still fresh in my Spatten splattered mind. While the beer at Campbell's famed Germanic drunkstraviganza is delightful, the real draw for me comes in the phallic form of smoked sausage and sour kraut.



However, this year my mother trumped anything at Oktoberfest with this dish of ham, sausage, kraut, and potatoes.



Quynh would rather hunt for his meals... free range... in the backyard... and drag them into the house... without actually eating... or even completely killing them. Happy Hellweiner Week.

This One's a Doozy

A little rain, a cozy fire, a cat clawing at your face, and of course...
some absolutely terrifying cinematic brain poison. Funny Games does not contain monsters, zombies, hockey mask wearing lunatics, chainsaws, vital organs spilling out of lacerated high school football player's abdomens, or glowing teenage vampires. In fact, Funny Games does not even show a single death on screen. This little gem relays on realistic characters, acting, and camera work to demonstrate just how soulless human beings can be.



To fully experience the perverse inhuman madness of Funny Games be sure to forgo the U.S. remake and watch the original German version. It literally had me screaming obscenities at my television as I watched in horror wishing I could jump in and save the hapless victims. Your probably going to need a good church session after watching this one.

My word, is it October already? Are the days already starting to shrink like a pair of testicles submerged in a frigid lake? Are Gourds begginning to spill out over the stacks of hay piled in front of grocery store parking lots? Yes, yes I do belive so, and I also believe that the world’s tastiest ice cream flavor has recently become available.

Pumpkin ice cream is a fletting dessert that seems to fade away before you can truly get your fill. I am always left wishing I had just one more spoonful of that spicy, creamy, pumpkinny goodness.
Well not this year, because I am dedicating October to sampling as many types of pumpkin ice cream as I possibly can. And first on the list is from Treat Ice Cream. This local Creamery produces some of the smoothest old fashioned ice cream in the greater San Jose area, and their pumpkin blend is no exception. I find it especially enjoyable and unique because the raw flavor of fresh pumpkin really stands out. Treat’s pumpkin ice cream doesn’t bombard the palate with sweetness and spice, but rather uses a subtle blend of cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and allspice to enhance the rustic taste of pumpkin. All of Treat’s ice cream is velvetty smooth too, which is an added bonus. It’s going to be hard to top this one.

That Nigga Jess Jones Pt. 1

I sign onto facebook more and more these days. Am I slipping into the void of nothingness and self glorifying bullshitism? Or am I simply looking for a way of digitally chatting with people whom no longer frequent myspace or ichat? The answer is more shrouded in mystery than my sexual orientation, but one thing is for certain, my online facebook alias will forever be Jess Jones.
I created Jess Jones several years ago as a joke and I cannot for the life of me remember why I picked the name this particular name. What I can remember is that when I typed Jess Jones into google images I instantly found the picture of this man.



After all these years I feel obligated to dedicate some Clog time to the man who has selflessly supported my facebook vagrancy over the past few years.


Jesse G. Jones was born on February 26, 1842 in Alabama, and died on April 11, 1917 in Texas (yes, I am sad to say Jess Jones is in fact dead as a god damn door nail). In 1856 Jesse was orphaned by the age of fourteen in Mississippi. He was adopted and educated by a businessman who saw potential in him even as a teenager. Jesse's sisters were raised in Alabama where they had previously lived.

More about Jess Jones to come.

From the Pages of Walden, Post 1.

"Our life is frittered away by detail. An honest man has hardly need to count more than his ten fingers, or in extreme cases he may add his ten toes, and lump the rest." - Henry David Thoreau

I translate this to literally mean, fuck math. Math and numbers have no place in this world. They simply bog down the mind waste precious sheets of binder paper, that could be put to far better use as canvas for sonnets and materials paper footballs. People say that money is the root of all evil, when in fact it is is numbers that account for life's most stressful endeavors.


My math skills have taken me about this far