Groovy

Yep, I'm up at 3 in the morning and I'm talkin' about music that randomly found me. I don't try to find music, it just tickles my ears every once in a while and I sift through a bit at a time.

Well, so far, the only good thing I can say about the show "Damages" is the music. Whoever they have behind the editing board cutting that tape and fitting music ... has fantastic taste in tune-age.

The first episode had a great piece by Phontaine entitled "Feels Like Home" that sent me on a search for more by Phontaine. I've found a few more I like quite a bit and I'm hoping to pick up the album sometime soon.

Tonight's viewing sent me on a search for Shawn Lee and his Ping Pong Orchestra. I heard "Kiss the Sky" and fell in lurve. Right now, I'm listening to his album and thinking about my childhood filled with Peter Sellers "Pink Panther" movies, alliterations to Austin Powers, watching re-runs of "Hawaii Five-O" while making myself sick on cookie dough with my sister and hearing all about the silliness of the '60s and '70s from my mother.

His album from 2007 called "Voices and Choices" is pretty funky, kids. You've got to be in a mood to experience something akin to what your first acid trip must feel like -- very out of your element, a little scared and too curious not to keep going deeper into the wild. (No, I've never tried drugs, but I figure that's sort of what the first hallucination is like.)

A few tracks reminded me of Dave Brubeck. If you haven't heard "Take Five" then I can only assume that you live under a rock. Christ! Educate yourself now!

The track "Changing Times" rips off the Mission: Impossible theme, but has a little fun doing it. Rambling "dum dum dum" singing makes me think of an imaginative neighbor (a la Peter Sellers) rather than a real agent.

If anything, I'll keep watching "Damages" just to expand my music repertoire. Really, it has no plot. No lawyer, no matter how cutthroat, will ever dirty double-cross themselves just to get a favorable verdict. For one, it'd require omniscience. For two, lawyers aren't necessarily the most patient bunch no matter how cold and calculating.

Glenn Close can keep her "Fatal Attraction"-era intense stare to herself. I'll take the tunes.

They're groovy, baby.

loo-KAY-see

For a while I'd been looking for an excuse to break out my cowgirl boots. (Right, like that excuse I "needed" to eat that third cupcake last night. Bleh ... that was stupid.)

Anyway, I'll be heading back to Texas in four days to see family and I'm really looking forward to it.

I spent a lunch a few days ago talking to a fellow Texas A&M grad I recently met at my apartment complex of all places (WHOOP!) about how different Tennessee is from Texas. They're really not too far apart on normal everyday life. There's just something about Texas that makes people from there feel like they've got something in common when out of the great Lone Star state.

We're arrogant cusses. What can I say? Our state rocks and yours sucks balls. Facts are facts.

Oh, and people around here don't have a goddamned clue about TexMex. Dry rub and fried foods, they've got down. A decent enchilada ... nope.

But back to the point, I'm wearing my freakin awesome Lucchese boots today so don't mess.

It's stupid to say shoes put me in a good mood. It wasn't slipping them on and not flinching even a bit when Crystal Method started playing on my computer. It was just the thought of getting to go back home. Texas will always be home and I will always want to spend time there even if I never take up residence there again.

Gawd dayum.

Just for kicks

My new running shoes came today. My current pair hasn't given out yet, but it will soon. As goofy as it is to lament the passing of a pair of shoes, I'm going to be a little sad when my last pair of Ozweegos is no longer my running pair.

Adidas stopped making Ozweego a few years ago, but I still managed to buy a couple of pairs over that time as stock was sold off. I've worn them for more than 8 years. It's been 4 pairs, two of which took me from running just a block until I was out of breath up to near-10k territory. (Yeah, yeah, I'm slow.)

The pair on the far right was the first. They're worn and the soles are coming apart, but I can't bring myself to get rid of them. They're still good shoes.

The pair in the middle was the pair that I used when I first started running. One of the shoes squeaks a little, but I still wear them.

I guess it's "time for a change" just about everywhere.

Sesa-mmm good

I love sesame. It's one of my favorite flavors. It's light, but somehow almost nutty. It goes along with meat and vegetables alike. I don't care if it's sesame butter, sesame oil or sesame seeds, my mouth is watering. (Sesame Street, not so much)

So tonight, I finally gave an idea a shot.

I took some sesame oil I had and sprinkled it over some pieces of chicken along with a few splashes of balsamic vinegar and a little bit of honey. I was thinking of the flavors you find in Chinese food, but without following a recipe.

Then, I coated the chicken in a mixture of flour, seasoned bread crumbs and sesame seeds. This time, I fried it in a pan. Next time, I think I'll bake it.

Oh, did it turn out delicious. The chicken was incredibly moist. There was just a hint of the sesame oil and none of the vinegar. I couldn't have planned that better. The flour mixture I used to coat the chicken didn't stick as well as I would have liked, but I hardly mind. It was damn tasty.

If I can find a way to make the flour mixture stick better, I will. Maybe adding a little egg would help. Either way, I think baking will keep the fat level down and still produce some mighty tasty chicken. It would go great with some seasoned wild rice or even some white rice and soy sauce.

It was a little weird when I cleaned up. Washing the pan I fried the chicken in smelled a little like coffee. I guess roasted seeds tend toward the same scent. Either way, it made me think the chicken would go great with a cup of strong black coffee.

I'd make this dish again. It was damn good for winging it.

It's all about me

As I ran today out at the Wolf River Greenway, I heard the obnoxious voice of a girl who had to be somewhere in her tweens. She was on a bike exclaiming "there's a hill! WHEEE!" as she rode along.

My first thought was that her enthusiasm came from an attempt to encourage a younger child. I was wrong.

She was with her mother and a man I assume was her father. Neither female addressed him and he spoke only to the friendly golden retriever running alongside him, but he was in the same path as the two bike riders.

The tween I'll call Princess-in-training, or PIT for short.

There's a little explanation behind the "Princess" moniker:

One day as I was running out at Shelby Farms with headphones in, I ran past a couple enjoying the outdoors by Patriot Lake. They were kind enough to take up the entire path and moved at a pace no faster than a saunter.
The feminine half of the couple was an unnatural dark orange hue. Her skin wasn't leathery, but it was certainly tanned. On top of that, I imagine she had to have used some sort of self-tanner because there was a very noticeable orange tint that doesn't come from simple sun-worship or from tanning bed use.
As I passed by this couple, the woman (a.k.a Princess) explained to her companion, "She is white," in reference to my light pigment. What a keeper.
Note: You're not deaf when you wear headphones.

Anyway, PIT will soon find herself on the road to becoming just like Princess, I'm sure. It's all about Princess, and the rest of humanity is inferior.

PIT made comments about everything. These comments, in summary, were about as vacuous as I've ever heard.

Here are the highlights:
- "Oh look, mama, this path leads down to the turtles. Can we go look?"
She ventured down the path to what is an ornamental set of four sculptured turtles on a piece of metal. They aren't alive.
- "Did you see the turtles, mama? There are, like, 20 of them. They're so big. Did you see them?"
- "It's called Turtle Marsh."
Written in several places, it's Turtle Bayou. No, no one cares, but the statement was illustrative of my point.
- "Look, there's another one of those things."
It's called a 'bench,' PIT.

On and on, the child droned and exclaimed. Every little thing was worthy of a loud and stupid statement. As she continued to pedal along the path, she made sure to voice her enjoyment in a series of "whee!" statements.

My bet? Only child.

Run for it

I tell you, it's really goofy how much random crap you're given for doing something healthy. You give blood and you get all kinds of stuff. Lifeblood offered a chance for donors to get free Baskin Robbins ice cream through August.

I ran the Chick-fil-A 5k with a good friend on Labor Day. I had just gotten to the point where 3 miles wasn't an incredible mountain to climb, and the 5k was a way to gauge just how well I was running it. I finished in less than 30 minutes.

Anyway, I came away with all this free stuff for no reason. Some of it is junk. I don't ever use coozies (or however it's spelled) and the binoculars say "Viagra" on the top of them.

Since Pfizer was a sponsor, there are pads of paper for prescription drugs including Zoloft. It's too bad exercise produces endorphins or the majority of race participants might be interested. Other than that, it's mints, a free Chick-fil-A sandwich and pens. It might not be fancy crap, but it was still all free.

So, let this be a lesson. Should you want a random assortment of stuff for doing something beneficial for your health, run races or give blood. No, I kid. Don't do it for the swag, do it because you want to. It's still fun to get stuff. Congratulations, it didn't kill you! Here's a pen.

Raining bitches and douchebags

It's raining like hell today. Roads are flooding and accidents are keeping people locked in traffic. Against my better judgment, I head over to the local mall to look for some things for my apartment. I have yet to find curtains I like and I'm still searching for nice pillows for my couch.

I go to Pottery Barn and don't find what I set out for but find something worthwhile all the same. After finally getting the attention of a store rep while the rest remain firmly entrenched in setting up the new Halloween offerings (jeez, people, it's still August), I buy my selection.

My debit card has an image of the college I attended.

Clerk: "Did you graduate from that school?"
Me: "Yes, I did."
(one point awarded for observation skills not entirely lacking)
Clerk: "And you didn't stay there?"
Me: *eyebrow raise* "No, I decided to branch out a little."

What the hell? Stay there? Uh, yeah ... whatever.

Scratching my head, I make my way over to Macy's to look at curtains. As I wander through the housewares, I manage to make my way into the most tomblike and somber area of the store. There's furniture and home furnishings all around but nary a soul to be seen.

I pass a service desk where two women are posted. For the sake of brevity, I'll call them Bitch 1 and Bitch 2.

Bitch 1: "May I help you?"
Me: "Yes, I'm looking for curtains." I point over to where I think there are some curtains hanging.
Bitch 1: "We don't have curtains."
Macy's. No curtains? Is she kidding? Even if the online selection is wider than the store, they have curtains. Maybe they're not in this area, but somewhere they have curtains.
Me: "Really? OK, thanks."
Bitch 2: "Have you tried J C Penney? They have some nice curtains."
Me: "Been there." Forgive me, O great ones, for trespassing on thine hallowed ground of outdated and cheap veneer furniture.
Bitch 2: "What about Pottery Barn? They have some nice curtains there, too."
Me: *holding up Pottery Barn bag* "I looked there, too."

All this time, Bitch 1 has been staring at me as though I'm going to try to sneak a dining table into my bag and run off.

Good Lord! I know I look a sight having come in out of the rain, but I don't look like trouble. Fine, Macy's, if you don't want my money I'm not going to make an effort.

I'm a little bugged about that brush-off, so I make my way to Victoria's Secret. What can I say? A chance to regain a little sauciness helps.

I look around, disappointed I hit the store in between seasons when there's very little selection. While I'm perusing some undies, three guys walk up to a store employee nearby.

Dude: "Where can I get an application?"

Alright, dude, I know from how you're dressed you're not looking for a stockroom job. I also know you brought your buddies with you to prove you have the balls to ask for the application. My best guess is he likes the thought of an employee discount to keep his womens in lacy drawz. Good luck, douchebag.

Whatever is falling from the sky is making people weird.