By request: Cycling and foodie things
Egad. Eighteen degrees with a high of 57 forecast. That sort of thing is a shock to the system. It’s also SOP in Colorado. The trick is finding the sweet spot for a longish bike ride in that temperature range. That, and trying to stay out of the wind.
I’ve been road testing bikes again — a Pashley Clubman and a Bike Friday New World Tourist — but I feel like riding one of my own machines today, maybe the Voodoo Nakisi MonsterCrosser®.
The thing is a tank but it’s become my go-to bike for some reason. The 700×38 rubber suits pavement, gravel and single-track alike, and the low end of 22×26 means I can climb a tree if being chased by an angry reader.
Speaking of angry readers, James wants “more cycling and foodie things, less politics.” We’ve covered cycling, so let’s move on to foodie things.
I’ve been trying to stretch the food dollar lately, having bid adios to Los Zopilotes de San Diego. And it ain’t easy, because I dearly love to commit eating.
Pork chops are a fave, and the other day I pulled a pound and a half of same from the freezer to thaw. But I got to thinking that a pork chop disappears pretty damn’ fast, as in during one meal, unless you’re a nibbler, which I am not.
So I diced a pound of the chops and made a pot of posole, which inspired the cooking of a pot of pintos with chipotle and the assembly of some sausage-and-cheddar enchiladas in red chile sauce. We’re still eating on that mess — in fact, Herself brown-bagged a small container of leftovers to work for lunch.
The remaining red sauce, beans and sausage, meanwhile, will get turned into tonight’s dinner of sausage-and-bean burritos smothered in red with a side of posole and salad.
And that half-pound of pork that didn’t make it into the posole? It was featured in last night’s nuclear kung pao pork with rice. The leftovers from that will be my lunch today.
So there you have it. How to stretch your swine into a fine line, by Chef Dog. Bon appétit.
The State of Disunion, Part 2
Interesting speech. To me it sounded like, “I got your unitary executive right here, motherfuckers,” with a side of, “If you think $21 million per year of unearned income taxed at a rate of 13.9 percent sounds populist, well, I raise and call. Show me your cards, bitches. Plus I killed Osama, so fuck all y’all.”
More in the morning.
The State of Disunion
Well, here we go again. Time for the annual call-and-response comedy that pits Repug against Donk and man against booze.
I thought about a drinking game that involved taking a snort every time Weepy John Boehner pulls a frowny face, rolls his eyes or nods off from martini and/or tanning-bed poisoning, but I don’t think my liver could take the pounding. I’d be drunk-dialing Callista Gingrich 15 minutes into the speech: “C’mon, all I wanna know is what’s he make ya wear? Hah? Does he make ya dress up like Michelle Obama and then chase ya ’round the water bed with a riding crop, callin’ ya uppity? You can trust me, I’m a media elite.”
SOTU addresses drive me to drink far too easily already. Especially when the Congress pulls some monkey-spank bullshit like encouraging “bipartisan seating.” That’s about as far as bipartisanship extends with this lot: “I’ll sit with you, but I won’t put out.” Right. Saving themselves for Wall Street.
Me, I like watching the Repugs squat like dyspeptic toads as the prez delivers applause lines and the Donks rise theatrically to their lightly loafered feet, smacking their limp wrists together in a mimicry of human applause. And I pay taxes at a higher rate than either Newt or Mittens, so I should get what I want.
More after the jabberwocky.
He turned me into a Newt!
These guys watch the Repuglican debates so you don’t have to:
• Charles P. Pierce: “(Newt) Gingrich’s political gifts are solely those of an arsonist. Challenged with the reality of what he’s always been, he will bluster and fume and light a dozen strawmen on fire, but he’ll never actually answer the damn question in a way that anyone with the intellect of an andiron would find to be adequate. Asked any kind of decent follow-up, and you can almost see his megalomania collide with his insecurities while he gropes for what comes next.”
• John Nichols: “Ron Paul and Rick Santorum took some pokes at the front-runners—indeed, Santorum got off a decent “there is no difference between President Obama and these two gentlemen” riff late in the debate. But neither of the other contenders stated the obvious: the leading contenders for the GOP nod embody everything that leads Americans to dismiss politicians as crooks.”
• Conor Friedersdorf: “Republican voters, who like the connotation of ‘conservative,’ say it’s a quality they prefer; revealed preference suggests what they actually want is an inconsistent right-leaning opportunist (George W. Bush, John McCain) who helps them evade certain kinds of cognitive dissonance (like hating deficit-financed government health care in theory and loving the budget-busting Medicare prescription-drug expansions in practice).”
And so on.
Meanwhile, the RomneyBot 2012 outputs some tax info and it ain’t pretty. None of his more than $42 million in income in 2010 and 2011 came from wages — it came from “a profusion of investments, as well as stock dividends and interest payments,” according to The Washington Post. And his tax rate last year? 13.9 percent. Ouch. That’s gotta sting. I tip better than that for bad service.
Notes Steve Benen: “(E)ven if Romney argues that he’s simply playing by the rules — taking advantage of existing tax loopholes to pay lower rates than much of the middle class — this doesn’t explain why Romney is eager to exacerbate issues on tax fairness with his tax plan that makes the problem worse.”
Steve adds: “Romney and his aides believe these materials should end the discussion. That’s backwards — the larger debate is just beginning.” Let’s hope so.
