Month: November 2018

This bud’s for you

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

It probably wasn’t what Anheuser-Busch had in mind when they developed that tagline, but many years later, as certain laws have loosened their Sam Browne belts a notch or two, a number of craft brewers — and a few larger outfits, too — are finding ways to work a little lower-case bud into their beverages.

The New York Times has the good shit here.

Now, some of you may find this hard to believe, but Your Humble Narrator has some (ahem) small experience with hops and herb, coming of age as he did when he did, and as a Geezer Third Class he is prone to reminisce at length on such matters.

So you might as well lift one, light one and lean back for another enhanced episode of Radio Free Dogpatch.

P L A Y    R A D I O    F R E E    D O G P A T C H

• Technical notes: This episode was recorded with an Audio-Technica ATR2100-USB microphone and Rogue Amoeba’s Audio Hijack. I edited the audio using Apple’s GarageBand on a 2014 MacBook Pro. The background music is “Departure Lounge” by Keshco, used under a Creative Commons license (CC BY-NC-SA 3.0) from The Free Music Archive. Other sounds courtesy Freesound.org, with an assist from Your Humble Narrator, who played the opening riffs from “Don’t Bogart That Joint” by the Fraternity of Man on a Tony Dixon tin whistle and an Art & Lutherie Roadhouse acoustic guitar.

The day after

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 19 Comments
Chicken cacciatore as envisioned by Emeril Lagasse, a gent of Canuck-Portagee extraction but a Cajun by temperament.

As is often the case, Turkey Day was not turkey day at El Rancho Pendejo.

Longtime inmates of the asylum will recall that we generally cook something other than the usual on Thanksgiving, and yesterday was no exception.

I went with a pairing from our greatest hits — chicken cacciatore a la Emeril and a side of stir-fried succotash with edamame from Martha Rose Shulman — while Herself contributed a delicious apple crisp from Diane Kester via Allrecipes using local apples supplied by a colleague.

As I rooted through Thanksgivings past it struck me that this iteration of the Dog Blog recently reached its 10-year anniversary. As hard as it may be to believe, it was in 2008 that we shifted over from the old self-hosted WordPress model so that all y’all could contribute comments, and those comments have been part of what makes the place hop.

Anyway, while I was zipping around and about in the Wayback Machine, and just ’cause I could, I snatched up 10 years’ worth of Thanksgiving posts for your amusement, a little waddle down the Memory Lane Buffet. Grab a tray, click the link, and help yourselves.

Get your moldy-oldie Thanksgivings right here.

A friendly gesture

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Shut up, kid.
Shut up, kid.

There’s a chain across this dump and a big sign that says “Closed on Thanksgiving.”

Here’s hoping that you’re all having a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat. Don’t forget to pick up the garbage. Look out for Officer Obie, the judge, and the seeing-eye dog.

And if the “Alice’s Restaurant Back By Popular Demand Tour” comes around on the guitar, well, remember — if you want to end war and stuff you gotta sing loud.

Happy birthday, Mr. Mayor

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
While the yard art spun here, I spun there, as in on the single-track, on a cyclocross bike. I did exactly 64 minutes.

While the rest of yis were prepping for medium-heavy holiday duty tomorrow, my man Chris “Da Mayor” Coursey was celebrating his 64th birthday in Santa Rosa, Calif.

He had been contemplating a 64-mile ride — jeez, who does these things? — but the weather and wildfires refused to cooperate with those best-laid plans. So when last seen he was celebrating indoors with friends, family, grub and grog.

Having an edge on him as regards the calendar, if nowhere else, I advised him thusly:

I trust that you will be slouched in an overstuffed chair with stocking feet up, snappin’ galluses and holding forth, one eyebrow raised and one index finger stabbing at the air, providing sage counsel, rendering keen judgments, ordering swift departures from lawns, and telling all those dad jokes with the obscure references that somehow elude everyone under the age of 64.

Also, all stories henceforth are to begin thusly: “You prob’ly won’t believe this, but when I was your age [insert improbable, unlikely and apocryphal tale here].”

I was going to include a picture of me in that pose for purposes of illustration, but I couldn’t find my galluses. I will forward this shot of our blue, blue skies because I am a cruel, cruel fellow.

Happy birthday, Chris. And many, many more.

What’s for breakfast?

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 11 Comments
Back In the Day®, when the cops decided to grab some shuteye during a shift, they called it “cooping.” But this Cooper’s hawk isn’t napping on the job. He’s up early and inspecting the menu from our backyard maple.

I saw this when I stepped out to shoot the sunrise this morning. Our bird feeders have become a bird feeder.