Another day on planet earth

The following should be sung with enthusiasm to the tune of Gene Autry's Back in the Saddle:

I'm back on the treadmill again,
knowin' I'll never be thin,
Yet I trudge along the belt,
hoping some day I'll be svelte,
Back on the treadmill again....

Whoopie ty-yi-yo,
cruisin' kinda slow,
back on the treadmill again....
Whoopie ty-yi-yay,
don't have the guts to weigh,
but I'm back on the treadmill again!

Ron made himself a chicken quesadilla for lunch today. That got me thinking about something I saw on Good Morning America yesterday. Wolfgang Puck was on, demonstrating how to make that very thing: a quesadilla. Are we really that bereft of culinary skill in the household kitchens of America that we need a renowned chef to teach us to make quesadillas? Is a quesadilla not simply a grilled cheese sandwich with tortillas substituted for bread? All these things ran through my mind as I watched and listened.
"Zey are so ferry easy to make and ze keeds luf zem too!" exclaimed Wolfy, to resounding applause. I wondered, "Would they clap so enthusiastically if he'd been making grilled cheese rather than quesadillas?" Probably. After all, they were Americans and he is Wolfgang Frickin' Puck. Try saying those last three words three time really fast without getting into trouble. Better yet, just play the name game with "Puck." You know, "Puck puck bo buck....." I guess I'm in a bit of a Beavis and Butthead mood today.

Yes, I was back on the treadmill, sweatin' to the oldies. Actually, my iPod set kicked off with Green Day. I don't think Billy Joe Armstrong and the boys would really work for Richard Simmons. But they work for me!

The pigs were back today, so Ron grabbed up the .22 and shot in their general direction, which made them scatter. They'll stay away for a day. Maybe two. Ron thinks he saw them actually laughing at him, mocking him. He swears they were grinning and saying in fluent swinese, "Nah, nah nah, nah nah, nah. No char sui for you, goofy haole man!"

We've had plenty of fun visitors to the winery lately. Fun, but lousy tippers. C'mon people! Don't be such cheapskates! At this rate, I'll be stuck in the hovel and the mud FOREVER!

After reading an article in today's paper about the dwindling fresh water supplies throughout the mainland U.S. as a result of drought, population growth and too much grass growing where grass isn't suppose to grow, I'm actually feeling a little better about our rain. I guess the grass is not always greener someplace else.

A hui hou. Aloha!

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Born and bred

The creature stared at me, wide-eyed through the florescent glare, Saran Wrap stretched tight across its broad back. Alone in the seafood cooler, he was the only one of his kind, there among the farmed, color-added Atlantic salmon and mud-flavored tilapia, perched on a blue foam tray, legs tucked 'round him like a comfy kitten. He didn't blink. He was dead, red, cooked and chilled, ready to eat. Such a find is rare in the City Market fish department in Gunnison, Colorado. What if nobody takes him home? I thought. This beautiful animal will have died needlessly, ripped from his home, family and friends (Dory, Nemo, Crush and Gill?) only to be tossed in the trash when his expiration date came and went. I lifted him for closer inspection, checked that date, felt the heft of him, scanned his surface for cracks and blemishes. The creature was perfect. I lowered him back into the cooler, nodded farewell, turned to walk away, took one step, and stopped. Shoppers strolled past, stud

Fruity booty

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On Tennis and Writing and Being Too Nice

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Mountains and Islands

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