E Pluribus Mores

In The Classics, Uncategorized on April 20, 2017 at 7:58 am

Nietzsche speaks of existence as a state of being caught between two opposing forces.  On the one side there is nothingness, and on the other is God.  Humans, generally, pass their days paralyzed by indecision over which of the two they will ultimately choose.

Cold and Flu Season in the Knucklehole

In Uncategorized on November 21, 2015 at 10:57 am

snakeoilI don’t mean to intrude, but I see that you are experiencing a perfectly normal bodily function. You should attempt to cure it with Doesn’t Do Shit. Whenever I experience normal bodily functions, I take it and it doesn’t do shit. Works that way every time.

I bought some Doesn’t Do Shit at the profit margin isle of How You Know your Neighborhood is Gentrifying. It didn’t do shit. Now I swear by Does Fuck-All®.

Does it work?

I rarely have any normal bodily functions. So I figure it is doing fuck-all.

My aunt Munchhausen-By-Proxy used to mix Does Fuck-All® with creams, ointments, and lotions and administer it in an awkward, embarrassing manner.

I find that strangely erotic, in a way I hope I didn’t say out loud. Yes, my wise, made-up ancestor used to slather it with vegemite and administer it even more improbably. What a massive pile of horse excrement they must have collected long before they were made up—or had horses, for that matter. Now their neighborhoods have gentrified and they are all dead.

Fucking gentrification.

I couldn’t help but overhear you two discussing your normal bodily functions. I pay money to a cult-like institution whose confirmation bias in all likelihood killed off your made-up ancestors. In the rare event of normal bodily functions I utter meaningless babble that even if I understood is taken wildly out of context. It doesn’t do shit.

Have you tried Doesn’t Do Shit along with intonations of meaningless babble? I once had a bauble made from materials pillaged from impoverished nations that I used as a fetish while uttering meaningless babble.

I have heard that meaningless bauble babble does fuck-all, but not as well as Does Fuck-All®.

Although you are both clearly in league with the devil, I will continue this conversation on the off chance that you might be saved.

My aunt used to use a purportedly similar bauble in an awkward, embarrassing manner.

…the vanishingly small chance you might be saved. Doesn’t Do Shit and Does Fuck-All® are unregulated, and so warrant an appeal to fear. You risk common bodily functions if you take it.

Although I haven’t the faintest idea of the history, purpose, or components of the prevailing system of governance, I fear it.

You ought to fear it. But you ought to fear things that don’t do shit. Our Heavenly Manifestation of What Should Be Feared removes all fear of things that don’t do shit. I was visited by a Terrifying Apparition one time. I felt at peace.

Does Terrifying Apparition come in a travel size?

Yea, I need to bring some through the In No Way Makes You Safer.

It is certain that you will be tormented in the afterlife that doesn’t exist by the vengeful bat-winged marsupial my cult-like institution has taught me to fear. Peace be with you.

Later.

Later.

Have you ever heard such tripe? That’s how you know your neighborhood is gentrifying.

Yea, what a loser.

Well, I’m off to How You Know your Neighborhood is Gentrifying.

Can you pick me up some Doesn’t Do Shit?

Sure thing.

International Cooking in the Knucklehole

In slow cooking on March 9, 2015 at 10:18 am

So, welcome to another episode of Slow Cooking in the Knucklehole. Today we are preparing for a dinner party with a Korean theme. The guests will be arriving; so it is time to get started cooking. Earlier I went shopping at a Viet grocery store that had a number of Korean specialties as well as Chinese imports. I bought multiple bags of groceries: tofu, scallions, toasted sesame seed oil, garlic (lots of garlic), ginger—all the basics. The meal…well I haven’t really decided on the recipe; there’s a number to choose from. But they all include a fermented black bean sauce. So today’s recipe will be vegetables, tofu or seitan, over rice/noodles, with kim chi on the side, maybe some dumplings, with Korean spicy fermented black bean sauce.

Slow cooking didn’t start with the internet. I have a friend, Dave, who once said that the history of civilization was the history of controlling rot. The very origins of cities can be traced to the fermentation of beer in the Fertile Crescent between the Indus and Euphrates rivers. Fermented black soybeans is the oldest known food made from soy. Crocks of fermented black beans have been found at burial sites dating to 165 B.C., though they are thought to go back much earlier. In Chinese it is called douchi. So when I saw a crock imported from China at the Viet grocery store, I knew then what was for dinner.

I have prepared the vegetables. Well, the scallions. Nice. Crisp. A nice pile of crisp scallions. And here we have the crock of fermented black beans: the douchi. The container is ceramic, and looks like one of the old-time crocks you would bake beans in. It is tied handsomely with a red ribbon, and around the top, yes, that is packing tape. The ribbon is cut. Easy enough. But the tape…just have to get the tip of the Sabatier knife…here it comes… bits of the tape seem to be stuck on the side of the crock…have to saw with the edge of the blade…now, there we go. I can already smell the black beans. It has an aromatic, earthy, fermented smell. Not unlike Tutankhamen’s tomb. Just open the top…HOLY mother of Geraldo! Something has escaped from the crock, perhaps once played by Lon Chaney. Wow. Ok. Guests will be arriving, so I have to move this along. Inside there is a plastic bag. It is still tied with string, so I know it is fresh. We can remove the bag. It is dripping onto the counter. During Thanksgiving a friend brought over a turkey, and stuffed into the backside of the turkey was a bloody dripping bag. Of course in China they would not have had turkeys. So maybe a duck. Dripping Tutankhamen duck giblets.

Easy enough to wipe up the counter, place it here on a plate. Can’t seem to get the string open…scissors, there we go. Again, wow! Before I serve this to my guests, it is important that I have a taste. A good friend, Benedict, an Icelander, once told me of a local delicacy. The story began, “There are no flies in Iceland…” Evidently they would take fresh shark meat and leave it out several weeks until it had, let’s say, fermented.   Then they would eat small squares along with shots of aquavit. Don’t have any aquavit, but there is some Russian vodka. Got the Italian Multipulciano wine, got the vodka all lined up: fusion cuisine in the Knucklehole. So here we go, just a taste on the tip of my finger. I remember a party hosted by some hockey friends. At the party I had taken a shot of whiskey that one of the players brought back from Thailand. The whiskey had been infused with whole red peppers, a scorpion, and a cobra (I always felt bad for the cobra). The black beans create a similar sensation in my mouth.

Mouth burning. Eyes watering. That’s it. I can’t feel my thung. A little dizzy, but I’m ok. I’m…I’m not ok. The plastic bag has just lost containment. It is oozing across the counter. Ghost of Lon Chaney attacks! Retreat. Into the bathement. Here I am. In the basement. Safe for the moment. Might need something to barricade the door. Ack! Guests will be arriving any minute. Trapped. What would a prepper do? There is a towel down here. And my son left some Febreze…. No. No, no, no. No….Yes. Yes, we can do this. Wrap the towel around my face. Like Roosevelt up San Juan Hill. Charge! Take that fermented Tutankhamen scum! Into the garbage bag. Got it on my sleeve. No problem. Taking off the shirt. That as well into the garbage bag. Down the wine. Shot of vodka.

…the doorbell.

That about does it for this episode of slow cooking in the Knucklehole. Tune in next…well, anyway, got to go.