Happy Birthday Josh!

Unfortunately on Sunday, Josh celebrated his 37th year on this earth with aches and pains, fatigue and a cruddy, drippy, coughy (and not the good kind of coffee) sore throat. We tried to make the best of it by stocking up on cold medicines, hot tea and cold and flu relief bath salts with tea tree and eucalyptus.

On Saturday, I took Josh to dinner at Marcello's Wine Market and Cafe, which is one of our favorite restaurants. He soldiered through and we had a great time. The meal and service were awesome.

On Sunday, we ventured out again to have birthday breakfast. I gave Josh two new McSweeny's t-shirts to start the day as part one of his birthday present.

We attempted to seize the day and have fun, but we didn't last long. At about 3 p.m. we began to fade, so we took a birthday nap instead. Well, I took a nap on the couch and Josh said he was going to lay down in bed and read, but I suspect he dozed off too.

When I woke up, I made a delicious chicken noodle soup and a birthday cake. Earlier in the day when I asked Josh about his favorite cake he said it was either chocolate cake with no icing or the sheet cake from elementary school with a simple glaze frosting. So I attempted to make my own version of that with my trusted Betty Crocker Butter Recipe Chocolate Cake mix and a half batch of the frosting minus pecans from The Pioneer Woman's Classic Chocolate Sheet Cake. The results weren't half bad.

After our soup and cake, I gave Josh the second part of his birthday present ... and this is the exciting part -- 100 square feet of antique brick pavers for the floor of our sunroom/library. More on that project to come.

Josh went to the doctor today and was diagnosed with a sinus infection. He got a cortisone shot, antibiotics and a nasal spray. So he should be feeling much better pretty soon, but if you ask me I'll attribute it to the special healing powers of my chicken soup.

The following is my recipe for a happy birthday even when you have a sinus infection.

Easy Chicken Soup
1 large yellow onion chopped
2 cloves crushed garlic
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 celery stalks, halved lengthwise and chopped
1.5 - 2 cups shredded carrots (or chopped whole or baby or frozen whatever you like)
1 box chicken stock
1 bay leaf
assorted other fresh herbs (such as thyme) to taste (I used a couple dashes of italian and montreal grilled chicken seasoning because it's what I had)
~4 cups water
2 lbs boneless skinless chicken breast chopped in to large chunks
1/2 cup orzo (or other small pasta)
fresh lemon juice
salt and pepper
tony chachere's seasoning

Chop and saute onion with crushed garlic in the butter and olive oil. When the onion is wilted and clear, add celery, carrots, broth, water and bay and herbs/seasoning. Bring to a boil. Wash and chop chicken in large chucks (so it will cook faster) season with salt and pepper and/or a little tony's. Add chicken to boiling stock, lower heat to strong simmer, cover and cook until chicken is done. Remove chicken to bowl and shred into small pieces with a fork. Return chicken to soup, return to boil and add pasta. When pasta is cooked al dente add a squeeze of fresh lemon juice and adjust seasoning to taste. Cover and simmer til ready to serve. Enjoy.

Butter Recipe Chocolate Cake with Elementary School Throw-back Frosting

Betty Crocker Butter Recipe Chocolate Cake
Prepare cake mix according to package directions. Pour batter into greased 9x13 inch pan, bake according to package.

Throw-back Frosting
1 stick of butter
3 tablespoons cocoa powder
3 tablespoons milk
1/2 tsp vanilla
Powdered sugar (see below for amount)

Melt one stick of butter in a saucepan, add 2-3 tablespoons cocoa powder. Stir until dissolved. Add 3 tablespoons milk and 1/2 tsp vanilla extract. Stir or whisk. Add some powdered sugar (I wasn't very precise). I had an open 1lb bag of powdered sugar and I dumped less than half of that in the sauce pan - I have no idea of the measurement - so I'm going to say less than half of a one pound bag of powdered sugar. Stir to combine the chocolate and sugar, use a whisk to remove lumps. Remove from heat, keep warm - or rewarm and whisk before frosting the cake. Pour over warm chocolate cake and spread to coat the top. Serve with a glass of ice cold milk and in this case, a candle. Deelish!

Is that a cane you are madly brandishing, or are you...no wait, it's clearly a cane.

Dear MadWoman raving at vehicles from your motorized wheelchair while rolling/driving the wrong way down one of our city's most heavily trafficked four-laners,

Are you actually that angry at every other thing on the road (i.e. things that are supposed to be there)? Does brandishing that cane at us seem, in your rage-muddled brain, an appropriate response to whatever is bothering you?

I have decided to chalk it up to contraindicating "medicines." Cocaine is a medicine, right? What about Drano? The wet stuff in Swiffer Sheets? I am pretty sure Deep-Woods off is ok to huff, as long you chase it with 40 ounces of room temperature St. Ides. Chemistry is hard.

Cordially, which is to say, Godspeed, You Glorious Lunatic! Teach Deep Woods Off a lesson!

concerned driver #12

Okay, so maybe all five posts within a week was a bit ambitious

Well, Internet, it appears that I have failed you once again.

Rest assured my pretties, there will be posts. I promise.

We have been so busy lately making lots of exciting progress on our list of home improvements. I'm planning a photo shoot of all these exciting changes this very evening.

Stay tuned!

Q: What's worse than being a procrastinator?

A: Also being a perfectionist!

If procrastination and perfectionism sound mutually exclusive to you, think again. Think a procrastinating perfectionist sounds like an oxymoron? Well, allow me to introduce myself. I am Rene' Repp, Esq. putting off perfection 'til tomorrow.

Let's explore the evidence. I have written a total of eight posts for this blog. I know, you may be asking, "Wait, Rene', I'm counting and I only see three measly posts by you; what gives?"

Well, it's true. I've only posted on Harky Tarky three times, but I have five additional posts saved as drafts.

I know, it's a sad and pathetic existence I lead.

So, here's how is happens. I write for a living. It's my job. Five days a week, I wake up and drive for an hour to a job where I read reports and attend meetings about policy, legislation, programs, reform, processes and government. Then I have to translate that into news releases and talking points, Web site content and PowerPoint presentations. These things will be issued to the media, delivered at press conferences, presented before the legislature. They must be clear, concise, simple, accurate.

We start with the cold hard facts; we lead with the most newsworthy information; we assume you won't read to the end. The kind of writing I do is technical, not so much humorous or interesting, per se.

So when I get an idea for a blog post, I get excited and I think here's my chance. I can write about this funny or interesting thing. Maybe people will love it, maybe they'll read it and then they will chuckle. Oh, how they'll chuckle!

Then I start writing, and my technical work brain and my fun loving blogger brain take a quick trip to Fist City. One side wants to write and post, and the other side wants to analyze, edit and revise. So I write and write and then I think, oh this is too long, too boring, not funny. The punctuation is horrid. It's riddled with misspellings. Let me get my Strunk and White, I never can remember the lay/lie rules.

I don't just want this to be adequate. I don't just want this to be good. I want it to be great! It's not descriptive enough, there's no imagery. IT'S NOT PERFECT!

So then, the third monster in my brain chimes in like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. He says, "You know what you should probably do instead of posting this imperfect thing? You should probably, just save it. Take a minute, come back with a fresh set of eyes. Let it stew. You'll be much better equipped to edit this later. Besides, you could probably check online for that thing you saw the other day, or organize your closet; it's a wreck."

And then I get all overwhelmed by my desire to bring you great, perfect, humorous, interesting, well-written content that I give in. I convince myself that it's better to post something later because then I'll have more time to make it just right. And then I decide the Christmas decorations need reorganizing or that I can't wait a minute long to whip up a batch of cupcakes.

Well Internet, I'm ready to turn this ship around. I declare today that I will no longer allow Harky Tarky to suffer because of my condition. I am telling you to expect me to post all five unposted posts within the week. I won't let you down.

Oh, I also redesigned this blog template, and those changes too have yet to be implemented, but you'll have to take that up with Josh. That's his department.

In short, POSTS by Rene that are great if not perfect coming soon to a Harky Tarky near you!

I wish this class had been offered at my school, or Religious intrusion I can get behind

Every day I tune in to the various religion/talk/ham-handed political livestock programmes (yes, programmes.  I am not so pedestrian as to allow a program into my ears) offered on my vehicle's FM radiometer.  Sometimes, while driving, I can be seen rolling my eyes and gesticulating at the invisible hosts of the shows.  Enraged by their dogma and willful stupidity, I struggle to comprehend how an adult mind can pretend to believe these ridiculous and often, demonstrable false, ideas.  Note:  By idea I mean 'any random assemblage of neuronal activity large enough to escape the mouth of a radio host.'


A topic that gets far too much play on these frequency modulated sideshows is "religion in education."  Cast in various disguises, Intelligent Design, teaching the controversy, unapologetic support for bible verses in public schools, and so on, this fantasy-based approach to education often strikes one of my many nerves.  I live, breathe, teach, and love logical thought, reasoned approaches to belief, and the good old scientific method.  Until today, there was no shred of religion that I found acceptable for use in public schools (private institutions get a pass, since they are pay for play operations, free to spout whatever jibberjabber they please as long parents don't complain).

Call me a convert, folks.  The best religion for schools is old time religion.  Actually, olde tyme religion, as in ancient gods in whose dreams are our very beings manifest.  Horrid, slithering intelligences slumbering beneath that veil that we, as mortals, pray will never be pulled from our eyes.  Infinite seas of darkest midnight obscure the voice of the great old ones... all who...you get the idea.  What better way to give all belief systems their fair shake than to expose our children to the possibility of madness...MADNESS IN THE FACE OF UNSPEAKABLE HORRORS?

Thanks to the folks at the The Onion for opening the worm-eaten tomes and showing us things the mainstream media won't.

Lovecraftian School Board Member Wants Madness Added To Curriculum

"ARKHAM, MA—Arguing that students should return to the fundamentals taught in the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Necronomicon in order to develop the skills they need to be driven to the very edge of sanity, Arkham school board member Charles West continued to advance his pro-madness agenda at the district's monthly meeting Tuesday..."

Why I hate/love time travelling child photographers

I was reading HuffingtonPost this morning and came across a picture that literally flooded my mind with images from my childhood.

Yes, I understand the meaning of "literally" and am using it correctly.  My mind is divided into sectors by a series of elaborate dikes, walls, and sentry towers.  Seeing this photograph LITERALLY knocked a hole in the retaining walls separating sector 45-A (kids from my neighborhood that I wanted to be) and 12-D (memories from a time when clothing and costumes were the same thing).

This structural failure allowed all the kids in costumes from my brain-crypts to invade the areas inhabited by kids with better bikes, faster shoes, or longer capes than I had.  The shock of that level of awesome in one place at one time caused a long-forgotten character from my youth to resurface.

I know this kid.  He only came to my school for one grade, but the impact he had was amazing.  This is all you need to know about him (i.e. all you can handle):

• 1) This is what he wore every day.  They are his real clothes
• 2) The moustache is real.  How do you compete with a kid sporting that kind of man-face-pelt
• 3) He was expelled for starting a corn fight in the cafeteria.  Someone offered him corn and he went absolutely berserk.  One second he was a little kid like us, just with cooler clothes.  The next he was a red and blue tighted blur, his  tiny fists and red sneakers striking everything that dared move close enough.

The bottom line, I guess, is that my day was going pretty normally before I saw this photograph.  Remember that all this took place like 80 years before Nacho Libre.  Now I am not sure of anything.  Well, I am sure that this kid spent all day every day of my kindergarten year rocking.   In my recently flooded brain, he still does.

The Road: II

Dearest Driver of the White Jeep Laredo,

I thought it was pretty neat that you tailgated me on a trafficky Interstate this morning. Then it was totally awesome when there was a break in the never-ending stream of 18-wheelers, and I moved out of your way, you passed me, moved in front of me and then slowed down. Thanks for that and the way you varied your speed for the duration of the drive to Baton Rouge.

But, do you know what was my favorite part? I have to say, this part just really made my day. I just love it. LOVE IT! As in, cannot get enough! Can you guess what it was (what it schwas? It is soooo good to hear it)?

OKAY! I'll tell you. It was when you sprayed windshield washer fluid on your windshield thereby gently misting my windshield with a fine haze of minuscule droplets. YAY!

So anyway, just wanted to say thanks! That was so fun. Let's do it again sometime!

René

Guest Entry: From the Pacific Northwest

Dear Guy who sits in the cube next to me,

Please do your grooming at home - there's no need to clip your fingernails AT WORK!

The Road

Dear Interstate 10 Driver,

How smelly is the interior of your vehicle that it requires not one, not two or even three but four pine tree air fresheners?

What are you doing in there?

Wait a minute. You know? On second thought, don't answer that one.

Sincerely,

René

How is this anything but awesome?

Yes, these are Star Wars chopsticks (by kotobukiya). I saw them on a blog called That's Hideous, which is normally pretty accurate about relative hideousness of objects. This one baffles me, however, and I am going to start calling the site "You keep your mouth shut about my religion." I'm pretty sure people would get upset if I started making fun of people using crucifix ladles and stations of the cross tea sets.

Of course they are part of a larger collection of Star Wars artifacts (or dining gear, if you prefer the more secular description).

Here is a link to the original site. In case you are afraid to visit the chopsaber page for fear of going crazy from extended exposure to awesome, I will sweeten the pot. The collection includes C3-PO and R2-D2 tumblers (R2 looks more like a highball glass, but whatever).

Well, my warranty ran out today, or Muscles spasms are not the laugh bonanza I thought they'd be

I woke up this morning with what I will call "a profound inability to get up, change position, or otherwise budge without gasp-inducing pain in my hips." After various pills and the application of a heating pad, I spent an hour of so thinking two things...

1. 1) Who is doing all that whimpering?
2. 2) Will my whimpering become so commonplace that Rene eventually forgets to feed and water me as I lay in bed, on the floor, or under the house eating wet cigarettes in the dark like a god-damned dog? A dog with terrific back pain, no less.

We hauled the becrippled old coot (me) to the doctor with only slight intervention from the crane operators repairing the immersion school across the street. All things considered, I will probably not take the time to dig out my 1st grade notebooks and check the box next to "ride in a crane bucket" from the collection of humorous essays "Awesome things I will do when I grow up that will have nothing to do with drug interaction worries or chronic pain management." Crane rides are supposed to be fun and informative, rather than hurried and embarrassing. Also, they should not involve children jeering in both English and beautiful, fluid French unless it takes place in a dream or a wes anderson movie.

The doctor very quickly determined that a muscle, or set of muscles, in my lower back were spasming. I was very relieved at the diagnosis, because it was simple, direct, and not permanent. As the king of worst cases scenarios, I was prepared to have to answer questions like, "Josh, how long have you known about this wiccan ceremonial lance in your kidney?" and "Would you describe the pain as bubonic, septicemic, or vampiric. It's the plague, but we need to determine which one?" so the actual visit was pretty tame. I got a prescription and started taking pills.

I have spent the remainder of the afternoon aching, struggling to stand, and looking up potential interactions between the stuff I was prescribed and the stuff I had in the medicine cabinet that I felt certain would help as well. I am not a medical doctor, but am able to mimic one in my bathroom (and by "in my bathroom" I mean "in a hallucinogenic fog").

Wish me luck. I am planning for the muscle relaxer to peak just as I start my Hendricks and St. Germain IV drip.

Dear tattooed man with the swastika emblazoned wife-beater,

I saw you at the coffee shop this weekend ordering a Mochasippi®. You were wearing crocs and camouflaged cargo shorts. I also noticed that you had what appeared to be the beginning of a beer gut. Quick question: are you trying to be a stereotype?

Sincerely,
Rene

Since I spray ink to confuse predators...

Like most folks, I spend a large portion of my day dealing politely with people who say "Although I've never met you, or know you only peripherally, I am driven to shower you with gifts. Please give me some indication what form these gifts, so numerous and expensive, should take."

Worry no more, strangers: Octopus Jewelry. I don't mean pendants and whatnots designed for invertebrate formal occasions. I mean jewelry made with real octopus. I'm not kidding. Take a writhing tentacle, subject to some unspeakable alchemical process, voila.

Day Two...island life monotonous

The sun comes up every morning and the afternoon showers are the only interruption in an otherwise sandy, shoeless, marooned existence. Get it... a person on a blog is like a marooned sailor and the internet is the ocean. He is ostensibly free, having no modern stresses like running water and antibiotics to trouble him, but Rene is still not posting. What is keeping her?

1. 1) Coconut addiction?


2. 2) Late Stage Scurvy?


3. 3) Swanky new lifestyle with the natives?

The truth is any of these, or a thousand other solutions could be correct. She is a complex lady.

I decide that perhaps she is unable to locate me because I am too perfectly concealed (my custom camouflage consists of a swarm of live bees tethered to my clothing via spider silk). I had hoped it would make me look blurry and distant, but instead just makes me look very badly stung.

Well, I am not giving up my bees...no matter how many die for having stung me. Look harder, madame. Look harder.

First post on our new blog

Rene and I are going to give blogging a shot. Our lives are so unbelievably exciting that the world will suffer without daily glimpses.