Homer'sWorld

I’m reading Toast by Nigel Slater. He’s a food writer from England and the book is his memoirs, each section centered around his memories of some sort of food. I found myself laughing out loud several times and squirming at other entries.

I was the youngest of five children and my mother was pretty sick of cooking by the time I was a kid. She was really a bad cook. Nothing has changed in that regards. Luckily, the 1950s and 1960s saw an explosion of ready-to-make products. My mom prepared packaged Kraft macaroni and cheese, hotdogs, hamburgers, tater tots, instant mashed potatoes, instant milk, cold cereal, and so on. Sometimes she would splurge and buy tv dinners. I always liked the Salisbury steak, tater tots, and cherry pie, which seems weird now since I’m a vegetarian. I hated the sensation of your fork grating against the aluminum tray though.

Kraft used to have American and Italian style spaghetti dinners. Each box had noodles, a tiny can of sauce, and a cardboard can of grated cheese. I remember thinking the Parmesan cheese was so fancy. Mummy says they stopped selling that and how disappointed she was. How my mother managed to feed all of us with two of those boxes, I just don’t know.

When my father came home from long haul truck driving on the weekends we had bland food. He hated spices, refused to eat anything that was exotic or unusual. He had to have store-bought white bread, none of that “Polack” bread (wheat bread). And he loved bologna, had to have a bologna sandwich every couple of days or he just didn’t feel right. To make my father happy my mother made things like goulash. So disgusting! Macaroni noodles, rubbery hamburger chunks, and stewed tomatoes mixed together. My father really liked it, the kids hated it. He also liked his fried potatoes with bits of torn up white bread mixed in. Damp, nasty congealed bread globs. I asked my mother recently why she made it that way, she says “That was what your dad wanted.” Worst of all was canned pears, his favorite. So there were oftentimes at meals a delightful salad consisting of a spoonful of cottage cheese, half a canned pear, and a dollop of Miracle Whip. MMM MMM Nasty.

I am sure my mom thanked various deities for Jello. I probably ate that ground-up-animal-bone dessert two or three times a week when I was a kid. Usually with fruit cocktail or canned cherries mixed in. Once is a while it would be lime jello with grated carrots. Another food I don’t miss.

I guess I could go on and on, as I am remembering new things as I type this. Like the sprinkle of paprika on deviled eggs. Frosting in a box- just add water! Space sticks (oh I loved those). Raspberry Twinkies. Candy at Easter, Halloween, and Christmas (we were poor and couldn’t afford it at any other time). The nice toys that came in cereal boxes (I still have some Winnie-the-Pooh toys from the late 1960s).

So what are you childhood food memories?

Sunset. I've been reading Ivan's blog for the past two years on the BBC website. It detailed his struggle with a brain tumor. He wrote about his initial surprise, his treatments and surgeries, remission, the birth of his two children, and the return of the tumor. I always hoped he would overcome the cancer, but sometimes things don't happen the way you'd like. Ivan died today .


Tucson sunset, tonight on the way home from work.

A couple of hours with Gavin and Richard at IBTs last night. It chased away the blues, that and chatting online/in person with Rusty and Archerr. At the bar, I sipped gin and tonics and Richard took my picture. I saw someone who I have a secret crush on. If he was single, well the sparks would fly. Oh my, he's a wonder.

Today's newspaper has an article based on research I conducted. I read it this morning while waiting for the plumber- third time in less than two months. Oh why didn't I buy stock in the company?

Reading through last year's entries I came across one where I made orange juice. So today, after stopping at Border's to buy Augusten Burrough's Running with Scissors, I went out to my front yard and picked a sinkful of oranges.


The Sinkful.

You never know how much juice will come out of the oranges. This was a rather dry year, and the oranges were sorta dry as well. However, the juice was so much sweeter than last year.


The juicer attachment, I stopped when the mixer started smoking.

So I'm sitting here sipping a big glass and wishing you were here to have some with me.

After the doctor groped me, while I was coughing, he announced that the hernia surgery had been a success. So now if/when we meet you no longer have to worry about an Alien-like explosion of intestines ruining your new shirt.

I ended up over at David G. and Abe's house and David made me some nice warm tea. we sat and chatted about vitally important issues (wrinkles, shower curtains, Maggie Spelling) and a nice time was had.

I've been seeing all of those snowy pictures and feel ashamed to admit that the wildflowers are starting to bloom in Tucson. Not a dirty sort of shame, I guess it is more of a fortunate kinda shame. This summer when it is 14 billion degrees here you can feel the same way, I guess.


Bush with yellow flowers.

Because I'm testifying in front of the Senate tomorrow (I'm up for Secretary of Ryan Reynolds' Interior), I did a quick No. 2 makeover:


Before.


After.

The longish hair had started to drive me crazy. I'm thinking it is more of a pain in the arse than it should be.


Ghostly shower Homer.

In other news, Corky linked to a fascinating website featuring the World Beard and Moustache Championship. Mr. Chevalier [a member of the Swabian Beard Club], featured below, was probably delighted to win "Partial Beard, Freestyle." I think I'll skip this sort of competition, it is a little too strenous for my tastes.

"Anyone in need of any plumbing that you know of. That is, for the company. I need to schedule them to come out and if any other things that need attention here, please email me by 8 Friday a.m. Thanks." Yet another strangely worded email from the office manager.

Am I in need of some plumbing? Do I need attention? These are issues that I often reflect on.

On a totally unrelated subject. The weather. Okay, so it is raining here. It has rained several times in the last week. If you watch the news you would think the Flood was starting. With their StormTracker Radar and their Doppler-Dinger Cloud Penetrating Probes and hand gestures sweeping across the map, our local weather personalities are doing their darndest to keep me from driving into flooded washes and other desert disasters. I swear all it takes is a cloud spitting on Tucson and they start scrolling "STORM ALERT 2005!!!" across the bottom of the telly. I guess it is because mostly we have clear skies and warm-to-hellishly-hot weather here, that a tiny change makes them so excited. I just need to find that one tiny change that makes me excited too.

Driving to Sierra Vista I really had to pee. I passed one gas station, intending to go to the usual convenience store (you know, the one that sells those yummy ice cream sandwiches!). However as I drove along I was surprised to see that my usual convenience store had had an unfortunate accident and was all burned up. The front windows were gone, the roof all charred and half collapsed. The ice cream freezer was undoubtedly toasted, as was the bathroom.

Now this was a problem because I'd had my can of diet Coke and some of it really wanted to come out. I was reminded of another unfortunate accident. The time I was driving back from IBTs late at night and suddenly had to go but there was a cop behind me, all of the way home. I wasn't sure whether he was following me, so I just plodded along, squeezing appropriate muscles, avoiding thinking about waterfalls and fountains. Finally I turned onto my street and hurried home. Except I fumbled with the fly of my 501s and I suddenly lost control. Oh no, I peed my pants. I couldn't stop laughing afterwards.

Today I didn't want to have something similar happen since I was going to the base to do research. I stopped at another convenience store, only to learn that they didn't have a public bathroom. Golldangit! I decided to just get onto the base. I had to register at the front gate and that took forever. Luckily I saw the PX and made a quick stop. The bathroom was occupied. I stood there with the very hunky army man (nice hair, hot voice, I support our troops!) and waited and waited. You could hear whoever was inside moving about, washing their hands, more paper towels dispensed. But they never came out. Finally I had to leave.

I drove the speed limit all the way to the post museum. Ran inside and was so happy to discover the bathroom was unoccupied. It took forever, ohmigod, the pressure disappeared and I was human again.

Later in the day I used another bathroom on the base that ranks high on disgusting bathrooms I have known. Not only was the toilet "soiled" but someone had very obviously "relieved" themselves all over the stall with splashes of nastiness. Yuckkkkkkkk.

And Wayne, I waved at the llamas at the llama farm as I drove by. I wish you could see them, dozens of cute, furry llamas and alpacas, wandering around in their pens. So cute!

I see dead people. Archaeologists often have to deal with human remains as they excavate land being developed for new roads, homes, businesses, or other uses. Usually these are Native American burials, since there are thousands of Native American sites in Arizona. Nowadays we quickly hand the remains and all associated artifacts (grave goods) over to tribes or nations and they rebury them on tribal lands. A law enacted in 1990 requires all museums in the United States to inventory their collections and Native American groups can request the return of burials and related artifacts, along with other religious or sacred artifacts. The process hasn't been perfect and some of the mistrust that developed between Native Americans and archaeologists over the years continues. I wish we could just leave the burials in place and not develop the land, but that is often impossible.

Occasionally historic period burials are found. Last week construction workers on the east side of Tucson found a more recent burial, perhaps 100 years old. They were stripping away dirt to build a new church building and a coffin was uncovered. Archaeologists from the university excavated the burial, which turned out to be a woman in her thirties, buried wearing a dress, now decomposed to some scraps of cloth and three shell buttons. She was buried holding a crucifix and rosary in her hand, which indicates she was Catholic, most likely a Mexican woman.

I offered to research the history of the property and was able to identify the land owner, a man born in Kentucky in 1837, and a Mexican family, the Aguilars, who lived on the land in 1900. The woman buried at the property was probably a relative or friend of those people. Later this week they will publicize the historical research I did hoping that someone will be able to identify the woman.


Crucifix and rosary beads.

In other news, beautiful day in Tucson. Warm, it rained again last night. I keep seeing frigid pictures of Boston, New York, and Chicago. Meanwhile I have to turn the AC on in my car.


The view from work.

Third time. Sometimes the words don't come out right. Tonight I deleted the first two entries I'd written. I mean, who cares about what I think about Desperate Housewives or going to the supermarket?

Joey Cat is watching me type this. She claims she cares about me going to the supermarket. Mama Cat walks by and her toenails click on the wood floor. The bells on her collar tinkle when she shakes her head. Puff is already in bed. Later on he'll lie on top of me and I'll have to hold his paw to keep him from kneeding me, which he does when he is happy. All weekend the cats have been clamoring for attention. They are so cute and I'm glad I have them to keep me company. A boyfriend would be nice, but the next one better like cats.

Sorting through six months worth of bills, getting ready for tax time. Now that's what I call a rockin' great time. Fuck yeah! I have a spot in my one closet where I drop bills, old letters or postcards, and GBLT material for sorting. Every six months or so I pull out the appropriate folders and drop things in. Somehow I always manage to lose one or two crucial bills and they turn up months later. Very annoying.

My day was sooo exciting. Ordered some records on microfilm for the family history books I'm writing. Went to a stamp show (I know, I'm a total geek). My mother started my US stamp collection when I was a kid. Every other year they have a nation-wide show here and I take $20 and fill in gaps in my collection. Today bought a handful of stamps from the early 1900s. Amazingly enough, there were no hot guys at the show, unless you like really elderly men. As I was looking at stamps the dealer noted that one of the attendees was blind and wondered whether he could even see the stamps. I told him he was probably there because he liked the taste of the gum they use on the back of the stamps. He laughed. Uproarious stamp humor. Yes, I can be a geek.

Chatted with Archerr and assured him I don't own a feather boa. I'm thinking of buzzing my hair off. It has been growing out now since November or so and it is getting long (for me that is). The problem is the general sparseness on top. Although some people have told me it looks good, I think it is trending towards combover status. I do not (repeat do not) want to turn into my father, who had one of those Extreme Combovers, you know the ones that start at ear level and swoop all the way over to the other ear. Nobody was ever fooled by that gimmick. So I pulled out the clippers and then chickened out, I think I'll sleep on my big bouffant and decide tomorrow.

It's raining , it's pouring, my lovelife is boring me to tears... According to a website Barbra and Donna did a duet of that song, which about sums up my life at this particular instant.

I wonder if the spammers have been spreading horrid rumors about me:


It is actually raining outside and the wild flowers I planted in my front yard should be sprouting like crazy. I was going to do yardwork tomorrow but that's not happening now.

Any suggestions on what I should do this weekend?

Okay so I'm all cheery today. I actually wasn't all that grumpy yesterday, but sometimes I feel the need to ventilate a little.

You know, I think everyone who dislikes our duly elected Dicktator should do something tomorrow that he would hate. Some ideas:

1). Sodomize someone you like.
2). Have a big old drink. Or two. Or three. Cause believe me, you are going to need it.
3). Burn your Hillary Duff records.
4). Call your local Congressperson or Senator's office and chat with them. If they are Republican make sure you bring up WMDs and the deficit, they love to discuss those issues! Sometimes it is best to start out with a little lie like "Oh, I think Don Rumsfield is such a hottie" before switching to one of those unpopular topics.
5). Send a love letter to Condi Rice. She's really lonely and her boyfriend is inconveniently married to that bitch Laura.
6). Sodomize someone you like. Again.

A list of complaints.

1). I'm reviewing comments for a report I completed. 183 comments. Not a single positive one. The commenter is a flaming asshole. I have to go for a walk every so often because I get so pissed off. I disliked the reviewer before he wrote comments on my report. I hate him now. And I tend not to hate many people (but note complaint #4 below).
2). I'm sick of stupid blog awards that are juvenile popularity contests. Honestly, what do these awards mean? The people winning them are no better than their fellow bloggers or in some cases write boring weblogs on boring topics. The people who deserve to win because of their creativity aren't winning, perhaps because it isn't important to them.
3). My insides continue to ache from the surgery and I really wish they didn't. Especially because I've been feeling like I want to go back to the gym and doing crunches and Stairmaster at this moment probably isn't a good thing.
4). George Bush is an arrogant prick. He gave the smarmiest interview recently "Well, we had an accountability moment, and that's called the 2004 election." It isn't healthy to hate people, but Bushie makes it sooo easy. He has never been accountable for anything. I wonder if he'll think about those dead soldiers while dancing with Laura at one of those balls.

My friend Reggie is in town from Orange County and we are going to a really nice Japanese restaurant tonight, maybe that will cure me of the general malaise I'm feeling.

End of whine, it won't happen again for a while, I promise.

I thought about civil rights today, on Martin Luther King Day. I was going to write something lengthy on the issue, but my heart wasn’t into it. Gays and lesbians will someday have the same rights as straight people. Religious folks and southern politicians may wish otherwise, but they have never been able to stop civil rights. That’s why we are celebrating the life of Martin Luther King instead of George Wallace or Strom Thurmond.

In other news, I’m all scruffy at the moment but you’ll have to wait for photographic evidence. My computer CPU has been declared officially dead and a new CPU has been dispatched by Dell. Hopefully by the end of the week I’ll have a computer at home and I can be back to my normal life, reading blogs at home and conducting anthropological studies of the male human form.

When I walked into the Venture Inn the only person I knew was Andrew, who had brought along his mother's white terrier because the dog was coming off of some sort of tranquilizer. The dog was soon in my lap and Andrew and I watched guys playing pool as the dog and I got to know each other. By the time Andrew had left other people I knew were wandering in- Michael, Reuben, Doug, Jeffrey T., Jeffrey S., and so on. Patrick was sporting an especially bushy beard and moustache, it tickled when he gave me a kiss and I was squeezing his butt. I wonder what Jimbo would look like if his beard grew out a bit more?

After a couple of hours the cloud of cigarette smoke had completely fumigated me, I was ready to leave. Getting out of the bar was difficult, had to say good byes and flirt with a couple of guys. Back at home I had leftover apple pie from the dinner I made Sandy. We had watched Girls Will Be Girls and Sandy laughed and laughed, so did I. This morning I watched Saved. I'm not a big fan of the late teen girls (Mandy Moore, Hilary Duff, Lindsay Lohan), but Mandy did a great job as the over zealous Christian girl.

It is only 2:30 and I'm puzzling over what to do with the rest of the day. Call somebody and flirt some more? Organize some files? Read? I dunno, maybe I'll head home and take a nap.

I'm in a funky mood. It is the new year, I've made my trip, work is super slow, my home computer is still broken (not buying a Dell PC again, nope). I need something or someone to distract me. A furry redhead with a quaint accent would be nice. Or a brunette. Hell, I'm not so picky at this moment.

Change of subject. Can anyone suggest a couple of good books to read?

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you not to use profanity." Apparently Senator John Kyl's office boy in Washington, DC does not like the word shit. As in "this shitty war in Iraq." I told him I grew up a dairy farm and I didn't consider the word shit profanity. He hung up on me. I then called Senator John McCain's office- his staff is always very personable. His staff person laughed when I told them about getting hung up on. Senator Kyl is an arrogant prick so it doesn't surprise me that his staff follows his lead.

Made roasted vegetables- onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, and parsnips- last night. And then fell asleep on the couch at 7:00 PM. Hopefully I will be done with jet lag today- I got up at 5:00 AM this morning and cleaned house!

I'm back at work. Sigh. Please scroll down for the new and improved entries, now with added photos of my trip to jolly old England. Tally Ho, I say!

My last full day in London involved two visits to Safeway with Patrick. I am enamored with English supermarkets- the food quality is much better, the portions are better-sized (as can be seen by the lack of obesity in the general population), and the amount of prepared or deli food is much larger and tastes better.

We wandered over to the Tower and a hot-hot-hot Beefeater Daddy gave a boisterous tour. Eventually I entered Homer-runs-through-exhibit mode, dragging poor Patrick behind me as I ran through the Medieval Castle exhibit, which was actually quite good.


The Tower Bridge taken from the Tower.

Later Patrick, Iwan, and I went to the Golden Heart pub and had beers until Morris showed up. We wandered out and eventually Patrick and Morris went off for a romantic date and Iwan took me back to his house and spoiled me by making me dinner while I watched the telly. We sat and discussed our lives. Such a sweety.


Iwan

Wednesday morning Patrick and I missed our stop on the tube and ended up way off course. I did enjoy seeing the Thames at low tide and some interesting architecture. Hopped on the train to the airport and when I arrived I realized I was very late for my flight (it was 11:30 and the plane left at 12:05). At first I was not going to be getting on the plane, but they changed their mind and I was allowed aboard the very uncrowded flight. Northwest Airlines serves really good food on its international flight. At the Minneapolis Airport the end-results of junk food, huge portions, and lack of exercise were readily apparent. I chatted with Archerr and Jimbo (who advised me to try the deep fried cheese curds next time) before boarding a very crowded and unpleasant flight. Roger and Richard picked me up and Roger spoiled me with a nice dinner (Roger is the best cook I've ever met). Why do cute English/Welsh men spoil me? I could get used to that.



Today at home the cats were so excited to see me and I had a nice pile of bills to sort through. I also managed to miss my hernia doctor's appointment. I managed to pull something yesterday and my abdomen is a tad achy as I type this. Wouldn't it be hilarious if I had to undergo surgery again. Ummm. No.

Apologies to Panchesco for copying an idea.

You know it is time to go home from the bar when you see the flies buzzing around the toilet as you piss. At the end of a long day in London- breakfast, a visit to the bank machine, an internet Subway cafe, a change of shoes, a long walk past Trafalgar Square, the Eye, and lunch at the Film Center cafeteria (egg mayo tastes exactly like the egg salad I make. Afterwards a bit more cheap sightseeing. Inside St. Margaret's was Henry Layard's memorial- he excavated Nineveh. We didn't pay to go inside Westminster- I really am museumed out. A cute French guy asks for directions.

A nap and then an English meal with Patrick and Nigel. They will be attending a party afterwards, but first we go to the Yard and Bob shows up. We chat about work, American television, my like of redheads. The guys go off and Bob and I migrate to another bar and stand there and it is like a sitcom. Three scenes- the two Americans (Bob & I) chat with J.J., the South African from Capetown. Nearby is a good looking business man making a play for a somewhat weasel-like guy. Across the street, perhaps 30 ft away, fans stand at the backdoor at the Gielgud Theater, waiting for Christian Slater to come out. The cute businessman pops an erection pill while his intended is in the loo. The South African tells is he was selling electricity and gas service in Scotland door-to-door, before which he was a flamenco dancer. He is cute, perfect hair, sexy accent- and working at the moment as a security guard while looking about for a better career. Bob predicts he will be a dancer- I'm guessing a bartender. Christian comes out the back door- brunette and receding hair line- and pauses to sign autographs. The business man and skank leave together- I hope the lock on his briefcase is solid. I wonder if the pill is working. Bob says goodbye and I wish J.J. good luck. Afterwards a depressing time at CXR 79, where guys watch each other piss and become more desperate. No one chats with me, and as I head back to Bradley's flat I stop for a moment inside the bar and tell one beefy guy he is cute, he is taken aback and I wonder if I should have paused a moment, but now as I write this, three aspirins averting a hangover, I'm glad I didn't.