Weekend Bonus--a recipe

Oriental Ginger Salad Dressing

(good on almost ANY vegetables)

5-6 chunks of crystallized ginger.
1/4 cup water.
2 cloves of garlic, peeled.
1/3 cup rice vinegar.
2/3 cup olive oil.
1/4 cup soy sauce.
2 tsp honey.
1 TBS. sesame seeds.   (optional)

Put water in a Pyrex measuring cup, and microwave just to boiling.  Put ginger chunks in hot water and let stand for about 5 min.  Dump ginger, water and all, garlic, vinegar, soy sauce, and honey into blender.  Pulse to thoroughly chop up ginger and garlic.  Slowly drizzle oil into running blender to emulsify.  Stir in, but don't blend, sesame seeds.

Depending on how well you emulsify, you will need to shake or stir before serving.

If you are disgusted by the smelly homeless man on the sidewalk in front of the big bank building downtown, and you aren't disgusted by the rotten things done in that building which cause homelessness, then I think we have to conclude that you're not looking at either one through the eyes of God.

The Beagle Posse and the Alien Prince

The living room has two excellent windows, one a large bay window facing front, the other sliding glass doors out to the side patio. These two vistas make up the two major channels of Beagle TV.

Out the bay window, facing the street, they get programs like “Attack of the FedEx Fiend,” and “Dead Dog Walking.” Out the sliding glass, which faces a small side yard and a stockade fence on which we have installed several bird feeders, and a growth of tall, bird-friendly sunflowers, they get some of their favorites. These include “Goldfinch Planet,” “Chipmunk Bachelor,” and “Squirrel Dynasty.”

The Posse has a series of beagle chants which serve as theme songs to alert the household which program is showing at any time. The trained ear can tell the difference, for instance, between a Finch Chanty and a Squirrel Jig.

A couple of mornings ago, an entirely new melody began to issue forth from the viewing platform on the arm of the love seat. A song so unusual that the Beagle Food Guy (as I'm known to them) had to go check out what was showing.

As I rounded into the room I noticed a total absence of any birds or squirrels at the feeders. Highly unusual on such a beautiful summer day. Still, it appeared that the team was flinging its wrath at the empty feeding stations.

Upon getting closer I spied the item in question. There, right on the edge of the feeder view, perched regally on the top of the fence, was the Prince of the Red Tail Hawks. Motionless except for the occasional turn and tilt of his royal head to cast a baleful eye upon the canines behind the glass. For their part, they were anxiously informing me, “This sure as hell ain't no Bluejay.”

As both the Posse and I took in the beak and talons, the lack of birds and squirrels in the vicinity seemed fully explained.

My arrival, and a couple of sharp commands quieted the Chanty, and the crew began an inspection/stare down encounter with the raptor.

At some point, some sort of predator-dar must have passed between all involved. The Posse met as a Committee of the Whole and concluded that there was a large sunspot on the carpet in the back room which contained naps that were going to waste. So they left on a mission of nap conservation.

A while later, the regal bird began to pump his great wings, and took off for places where the prey had not been warned away.

An Uzi is not a toy.

This is a subject in which I just can't find my usual snark, wise cracks, or humorous twists of language.  We'll have to, both of us, take this one straight.

Amidst all of the stories, competing attitudes, and theories on the killing of a man by a 9 year old with an Uzi, it seems that the most basic absurdity has just been overlooked.  The 9 year old was being taught by the adults in her life to "enjoy" a death machine.

An Uzi is designed for one purpose, and one purpose only.  It's only mission is causing the death of human beings. It has no other design function.  It is not accurate enough to be a true target shooter, neither is it is any way designed for the "sport" of hunting.  From the blueprints up, it is meant for one thing, killing people.

Yet here was "Bullets and Burgers", a "fun place for a family outing."  A place where children are taught to play with the instruments of death, and this is sold as some kind of "wholesome family fun."  (PS, and it isn't localized.  That same week the NRA was putting out PR on "Ways to have family fun with guns.")  This is not sick.  This is evil.  You mess with a machine designed only for death, you should not be surprised if death makes an appearance.

I was raised in the Ozarks, in a hunting family.  Everyone had guns for hunting.   Mostly quail, rabbits, and the occasional squirrel.  And one of the constant watch words to the kids, every time a gun came out for inspection, cleaning, hunting, was,  "THIS IS NOT A TOY."  Right along with the phrase,  "When you're old enough to handle it."  And 9 wasn't old enough.

Every time a gun was seen, the lessons were taught.  "There is no such thing as an unloaded gun."  You  always handled the lethal machine as if that lethality could happen at any instant.  Because it could.  Any time you handed a gun to someone, you first opened the breach, and checked that there was not a round present.  And when handed the gun, the receiver ALSO immediately, personally, checked the breach.  Even if you'd been two feet away and just seen it checked.

A cause for great discipline--no, punishment--in our family was the pointing of ANY kind of gun--real, toy, cap, water pistol--anything with a barrel. at a person, or in an unsafe manner.  YOU DID NOT POINT A BARREL OF ANY KIND AT ANY PERSON.  Things with barrels are not play things.  The barrel must always be pointed at the ground, or straight up, never in any direction that might even come close to endangering a person.  And those are the lessons youth should be taught about guns, not that they are fun to shoot, but that they are tools, perhaps the most dangerous tools, and tools should always be respected, and never misused.

Interestingly, but, since all those men in my youth were WWII veterans, not coincidentally, when I got to the Army. exactly the same kinds of lessons, often in the same language, were taught.  An organization whose whole purpose is the gun finds them so dangerous that they are CAREFULLY controlled in handling, in storage, and in use.

So, I am appalled that this young woman, and evidently others, would be taught that a death machine was something fun.  Something to play with.  Something to "mess around" with.  And right there, in that attitude, is why this man, and many other people, will die from a "gun accident."  It was no accident.  It was sheer stupidity.

A gun is a tool.  It is a death tool.  It is not a toy.  Not a child's toy.  Not an adult toy.

It also isn't a fashion accessory, but that's another rant.

So, you tell me you are a self-made man.  You got where you are all by yourself, nobody helped.  You say you Pulled Yourself Up by Your Bootstraps. 

OK

But have you asked who the hell made those boots?

As good as drive-thru fun:

(ring ring)

Voice: Hamilton County Roads and Bridges.
Me: Can you please connect me with the person I need to talk to about a missing street sign?
Voice: What street?
Me: The corner of 106th and Central. It's been missing for several weeks. It got knocked down.
Voice: Well, I'm sure it's on our Job Log.
Me: Can you check?
Voice: I don't have access to the Job Log.
Me: Can you connect me to someone who does?
Voice: No.
Me: Why not.
Voice: (exasperated tone) Because they're all in their trucks.
Me: Well, can you tell me how long it takes to get a street sign replaced?
Voice: 4 to 6 weeks, we have to order them.
Me: The pole got knocked down, the signs weren't damaged. Why didn't they just put the old signs on a new pole?
Voice: Because we have to order them.
Me: You order the poles?
Voice: We order the signs.
Me: Where from?
Voice: I don't know. They don't tell me.
Me: Who doesn't tell you?
Voice: The people who deliver the signs.
Me: Well, can you check to see if these have been ordered?
Voice: No.
Me: So, we just wait 4 to 6 weeks and see if it goes up.
Voice: Yes.
Me: And if it doesn't?
Voice: You call and report it, and I put it on the Job Log.
Me: You put it on the Job Log that you don't have access to?
Voice: Yes.

(I hung up)

The Beagle Posse, Tommy and Tuppence, decided that they needed a blog where they could share their adventures, opinions on politics, religion, life, and cooking.

Being deficient in thumbs, they have delegated the actual writing to me.  Please be aware that these are two highly opinionated dogs--they take after their humans in that regard--and that there is no telling where their thoughts may wander.

It is also the opinion in this household that living well requires eating well, and that eating well requires cooking it yourself.  Therefore, readers will occasionally be treated to recipes and cooking tips.  Neither the posse nor their scribe takes any responsibility for any gastrointestinal reactions to any food info posted here.  After all, the posse has been know to eat many vile things with great relish.  Note the look on Tommy's face.  (Note: No one said this would be a tasteful blog.)