Month: November 2008

Thanks!

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It’s that time of year again, another pre-printed entry on every calendar we own.  We note it, we look forward to some time off of work/school/whatever.  We start shopping so we can fill ourselves to critical mass on traditional family meals that are lovingly made with blood (“I’ll kill you if you don’t get the hell out of my kitchen!”), sweat (“Jeebus, it’s hot in here… and they’re all gonna die if they don’t get out of my kitchen!“) and tears (*sob* “I can’t take it any more!  Can you blame me for hamstringing little Timmy… that little bastard wouldn’t get out of my kitchen!).  We feebly fight over the remote control as we communally bloat on every horizontal surface available — sofas, floors, sidewalks, the dog — eventually ending in a slow motion slap fight as our insulin levels peak and shut us down one critical subsystem after another (life support being the last).

Oh, how I love Kwanzaa.

No, wait… Thanksgiving.

I wanna thank the universe for causing my path to cross — and sometimes run parallel with — the paths of so many spectacular people.  I may not always say it, show it, or express it in interpretative dance, but I do love and appreciate the family I was born into, and the Family I chose along my travels.

I am thankful for the shoulders to cry on in pain, the livers to destroy in celebration, the late nights shooting the shit about any and everything, the long days silently enjoying movies.  The memories… good and bad, the influences… good and bad, the ever-lasting opportunities to learn and grow,a the fights, the laughs, the sex.  The ho-hum times, the exiting times, the frightening times too.  The jokes at each others (and our own) expense, the conspiratory evils perpetrated, the impromptu angelic deeds performed.  The passion, compassion, indifference, love and hate.

We’re all a rotten mess.  We have not only ourselves to blame, but those who have drifted in and out of our lives to blame too, and I’m thankful for that almost more than anything else.  I’m a mutt… a conglomeration of my own thoughts and opinions stirred together into a gumbo with everything I have experienced from those who have besmirched my brain by sharing my world.  I like who I am — as much as anyone who isn’t born with a rabbit’s foot up their ass, and has been blessed with super-genius intelligence, wealth, looks, and not a callus on their hands from a hard day’s work, can.  I could certainly use more of the afore mentioned blessings, hell everyone could, but otherwise I make do well enough.

If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you’re one of my cosmic crossroads, and you’ll know precisely what I mean by this:

Its’a Birthday Time.

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Meh.  It’s my birthday.

I’ve never been one to go ga-ga for my birthday, or expect the known free world to acknowledge my existence, and shower me with love, attention and adoration just because this is the day I was born on a few ice ages ago.  I have good friends and family, and well wishers, and if someone wants to make a deal of it (big or small), I’m grateful and happy as can be — and usually just a wee little less happy than that to let it slide without a peep.  I love when people remember, and don’t fault those that don’t (hell, I never remember anyone else’s, so why should I get even a little upset if they don’t remember mine?).

I’ve never felt the pressure of age or getting older, and never looked forward with fear, dread and loathing at the big waypoint birthdays — 20, 25, 30, etc.  A birthday to me is a way to mark the time as it passes: “Oh, its been another year.  Neato.”  Currently my age is somewhere between speed limits on surface streets, leaning toward the direction of multi-lane, divided roads.  Talk to me when I hit highway speeds.

Today I do feel a little down and drained, and I think it has to do more with spending the last four days performing an archaeological dig in my server room at work to unbury years of neglect, and many generations of lazy techs letting shit slide rather than do things the right way, rather than today having anything to do with a biological coincidence.  I’m feeling a bit quiet and a smidgen low.  *shrugs* This too shall pass.

You’re only as old as the girl you feel… and if that’s the case, I’m damn near a spring chicken.  Who am I fooling — I’m a gray, grizzled, wrinkled old cock.  *grins* But, I am very immature for my age, so I have that going for me.

Ca-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ke!

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New cake in the gallery… a life sized zombie emerging from the ground.  The cake is broken up into two galleries — “Construction” and “Completed Cake”, and there are a lot of pictures.

The torso is “green velvet” cake and was a nasty mossy-black green with gummy bones sprinkled between the layers for a fun texture, iced with a tissue colored buttercream. The hands are green rice treats wrapped around a copper armature, iced with the same buttercream. The head contains a white chocolate “brain pan”, filled with a sweet blood sauce, and the rest of the head is sculpted from green rice treats and iced with the buttercream as well. The teeth are cast white chocolate. The whole thing is covered in fondant, then painted appropriately.

The base is bordered with fondant stones, and the soil is made of a combination of graham crackers, ginger snaps, and chocolate cookie snacks.

Sweets and I had a hell of a lot of fun making this one, even though it was as ton of work.  It is also the first specialty cake we’ve worked on together,

Change Is In The Air.

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Well, it’s pretty much over — and the Old Boys are out, and the new young Hooligan is in.  Dear Jeebus, please let there be a fresh breath of air somewhere in the years to come.  Let’s see if business as usual really does become business unusual.

While surfing my usual haunts tonight, I stumbled across the most sobering post I’ve seen yet with regard to this election, and I’d like to share it to help temper the blind celebration and enthusiasm that is running rampant around me.

Don’t get me wrong — there is cause to celebrate — but please do bear in mind that we are still talking about politicians here, and a force much larger, and with more impetus than simply pulling a lever can stop dead.

We’re standing on the tracks, trying to reverse the direction of a train that is barreling at us at top speed by merely throwing our hands out before us and locking our elbows.  Congratulations, the impossible has happened and we weren’t instantly pulverized by the train… but it’s still pushing us backward as we dig our heels in to stop its progress.  We still have to bring it to a halt and push it back down the tracks from whence it came, but it’s a heavy sonofabitch, with a hell of a lot of momentum behind it already.  Honestly, I think the best we can hope for is to steer it to the nearest junction and switch it to a different track… which still requires a lot of energy.

I don’t think one term is enough to gain back a lot of ground, but if the Hooligan can be more human than politician, we may slow the ugly beast down, and maybe open a few minds in the process, giving us some momentum of our own.  It has to start somewhere, folks, and this is as good a way to start it as any.

Just don’t stop pushing, and don’t ever take your eyes of our leaders for one second, because a politician — after all is said and done — is still a politician.