I Made Chokes! (Well, not me exactly...)

Last week, inspired by a warm afternoon and a long walk, I decided to have a little cookout. I called my peeps, Leigh and Ruble, to see if they were hungry and scanned my tastebuds to see what might satisfy my charcoal cravings. In popped the Carribean Chicken with Avocado Relish that we made last year at my mom's Bon Voyage/Mother's Day party. It was just what I wanted, so after our workout, me and Leigh and Ruble headed to Kroger to load up on some groceries. I'm all for new food experiences, but sadly, my cooking knowledge base is restricted to what's in the cookbooks my mom gives me or the old standby Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook that I have lost somewhere along the line. So when Leigh, the mistress of the kitchen, suggested we make an artichoke, I was all for it. Well, all for watching her do it.

A pot of water set to boil was flavored with olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette, as best as I could see, and a spikey, weird artichoke was placed on top in its grated bowl to steam for 45 minutes. It came out looking more sage green than avocade green, but it still was a mystery to me. How do you get to the goodness that is the artichoke? Leigh whipped up a creamy dressing from mayo and worchesteshire sauce and did a little demo for us. Take a "leaf" from the outside edges, dip the bottom half in the dressing (you could also use melted butter) and then scrape it into your mouth using your teeth. It's weird at first, but it's how I've been eating bananas for a few years now, so I warmed up to the teeth scrape pretty quickly.
We ate around the core until a weird last layer was left, sitting in a wad on top of a round base.
Leigh pulled it up and offered it to me. It was just like the leaves I'd eaten before, hearty like a meat but still vegetablish, except this was a lot less work for a lot more reward. Underneath this wad was a prickly little sheild, something that I would have thought meant the end of the artichoke if it were just me.
But I would have missed out on the heart... The heart is the richest, thickest, heartiest part of the artichoke and is just beneath the prickle. It's worth the effort, and is even better when you've got three pals on a warm spring evening helping you seek it out.
Here's the delicious, fresh Carribean Chicken w/ Avocado Relish in case you're inspired to cook out (and maybe if you ask really nicely, Leigh will give more extensive tips for the artichoke):

Caribbean Chicken With Avocado Relish

Ingredients:

3-1/2 pounds boneless -- skinless chicken
breasts - split and trimmed
(12 small pieces or 6 large pieces)
-----marinade-----
3 medium clo garlic
3 medium oranges
1 cup peanut oil
1 can chipotle peppers in -- (7oz)
adobo sauce
1 cup loosely packed cilantro
leaves
-----avocado relish-----
1 large tomato concasee
2 medium avocados; peeled and pitted
cut into 1/4" dice
1/2 small lime
1/2 small orange
1 small onion - minced
1 small cl garlic - minced
3 medium scallions - thinly sliced
1 small jalapeno chile - seeded and
minced
2 tablespoon minced cilantro
1/8 teaspoon hot red-pepper sauce
1/8 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
salt & freshly ground black
pepper to taste
3 small plantains or bananas
2 tablespoon vegetable oil

Instructions:

For the marinade: peel the garlic and put in processor work bow l fitted with metal blade; squeeze in 1 cup orange juice and remaining marinade ingredients; process until pureed; transfer to a non-reactive bowl; rinse chicken, pat dry and add to marinade insuring chicken is covered completely; cover and refrigerate 12 hours or up to 2 days. (I'm never prepare long enough in advance to fully marinade the chicken and it's still delicious... I usually marinade for 45 minutes to an hour)

For the relish: put tomato and avocado in medium bowl; squeeze in 1 tbsp lime and 2 tbsp orange juice; add remaining ingredients; mix well and set aside. (May be covered and refrigerated up to 2 hours). (I never buy plantains, but instead use banana in the relish. You can also use bananas or omit them below. If you don't like something, leave it out. I usually use 1/4 the amount of onions.)

Remove breasts from marinade and let drain; grill turning once during cooking until juices run clear when chicken is pierced with a skewer, about 6 minutes. Peel plantains and halve lengthwise; oil lightly and grill, turning once, until marked by grill surface, about 2 minutes. Transfer 2 pieces of chicken and 1/2 plantain to serving plate; spoon 1/4 cup relish along side chicken. Serve immediately.

Five Down, Four To Go

Leiah has turned the corner on the half way point of her preggers session. We found out last week she's having a baby boy, to be named Benjamin Ace Messer (BAM!), but the poll is still going from the previous post if you want to make a guess as to birthday and dimensions (weight, length, etc). Congrats to Leiah and Matt!

We'll be having a shower for them on May 21, Sunday, from 3-5 pm, so plan on being there. It's a party for boys and girls, and everyone will be expected to fight for prizes by competing in exciting baby contests. Jeremy, start growing that affinity for spinach that you had at Kate's shower! Look for your invites in the mail this week. In the meantime, here's the progress update and the first glimpse of the thing that makes Ben a boy (the last on the right) as well as his hands and feet and manly little profile.
Which reminds me of the totally parasitic question mom posed to Leiah after her last visit: "Do you realize you've got ten toes inside your body? And ten fingers? And a penis?!" In effect, Leiah has a penis right now. That's just gross. And weird. Good one, Mom.

They're BAAAACK... almost

The love birds flew south for the winter, and are now on the grey isle of England, soon to be hopping the ocean to springtime Kentucky. Charles sent us this pictures to tempt us, and since they're beautiful -- both the pictures and the people in them that I love -- I wanted to share. Shan and Chaz get home in 6 days!!! I have not seen their faces in eight months, have only heard her voice once in that time, and have happened to catch her on Google chat twice since she left. Finally, that space in my heart will get filled again!

What a Long, Strange Week It's Been

I guess in honor of the full moon's shift to a half moon, this week has decided to be one of the strangest in my life. Not bad strange, just weird, kind of how every week of Shannon's life is. First, it's the incredible, intense, inspiring Women Writers Conference weekend, so since Thursday I've been nurturing the words in my brain and trying to coax them out in some way that leaves them with the meaning that they had in my head. Trouble is, well, there's not much time for it. Good news is that I've got lists of blog topics, so stay tuned as I detox from inspired to mundane.

On to the real action. As some of you know, my house at 411 Picadome Park is a couple of stone's throws from Bob-O-Link, which, as some of you know, is where at some point or another Leiah, Amy, Phil, Elizabeth, Justin, Phil and Tracy (unofficially) lived with me and David, the original dwellers. Dave stayed til the end, and when I moved out, Venus and I took a few walks over to the old homestead for some visits. Venus loves David, probably more than she loves me, but I will never fully accept or believe that, even though it's probably true. When we all lived together, she slept in his bed. When she got in trouble, she'd go to his room to sulk. I think she thinks they are married (sorry Lisa!), which is why, one afternoon when Phil called to let me know Venus had stopped by unannounced for a visit, I was suprised but not in disbelief. We'd made that walk together sooo many times before, since I walked in the neighborhood I live in now even when I lived at the Link. That stretch was a beaten path for me and my canine companion, and that she felt competent to do it on her own on that one occasion really made me proud. See, to get to Bob-O-Link, you only have to cross neighborhood streets and negotiate Lafayette High School's grounds. No immenent threats there, unless you count the teenagers.

The other day, after frantically driving to Frankfort to apply for a temporary liquor license it turns out I didn't need to get and wondering why I know Kentucky has Unbridled Spirit at the expense of having street signs near government buildings, I came home and felt that weird, scary, vacant feeling that comes when Venus doesn't run up to me when I pull in. Where did she go?

I rode the bike around the block to see if I could find her. Nothing. Hopped in the car and drove over to Bob-O-Link to see if she'd braved that journey again. Nothing. At this point it was time for work, and Mack had asked 25 times, "Do you think she went to Dave's?" and I had answered, "She wouldn't go there. She doesn't know where it is," I decided to swing by just in case. We've only walked to Dave's house once, we've only driven there four times, and she's only stayed with him on a couple of occasions for no more than two days. There was no way she would know how to get there, how to safely cross both Rosemont Garden and Clays Mill, how to figure out which house was Dave and Lisa's.

Imagine my surprise as she ran up to my scooter to greet me then.

I was so excited to see her stupid, bad face that is too smart for my own good that I forgot about the tears I'd shed earlier while on the phone with the Humane Society. I put her in the back yard at Dave's and went to get the car to bring her home (I was on my scooter, see). By the time Mack and I got back, David was home, understandably confused to see Venus in his backyard. I explained the situation, which he still probably doesn't believe, and on our way to the car he says, "I get off around 5, Venus."

Venus and Her Lover, Reunited at Long Last, if Only for the Afternoon

Venus heads home as I go to work, where the weird Ketch people contributed to the weirdness of the week in their special way, and when I got home I noticed the moped we have for some stupid reason which recently sold on ebay wasn't in the carport. "Hey," I say to Mack as I come in the door. "Where's the moped?"

"It's not out there?"

After some speculation we had several scenarios of possibilities, but nothing that left us feeling vindicated. Mack wanted to show me the car Bubba had just bought at the auction, a golden 4-door Ford Escort all clean and posh inside, for $1800. (ASIDE: If you need a car, set your ego and class aside and go to the KASP auction. They're cheaper there than anywhere else, and the auction experience is worth a blog itself. I mean, they sell nachos at the auction, it's such a big event!) We hopped in the car and set off around the block, where, about half way up the hill, we spotted our abandoned moped laying on its side, unharmed and still a piece of crap. This newfound evidence led us to believe that either our theives were lazy and got tired of pushing the scooter up the hill or reconsiderate and realized they wouldn't be able to ride it around the neighborhood without us spotting them. Whatever the reason, we got the stupid moped back and are again waiting for the ebay winner to claim his prize.

So the next day...

Dave calls me around 6, while I'm in the midst of the Dinner & A Movie event with the WWC, to ask if I'm missing anything. I didn't know, so I called Mack, who couldn't locate the dog. She did it again, this time in the pouring rain! Dave let her spend the night and I picked her up the next day. Hopefully she's had her refill of Dave and will stick around for a while. If not, Lisa, I'm afraid you might have some smelly, biting, angelic competition on your hands.

Ice, Ice Baby

He asked.
I said yes.

And so begins
happily ever after.





Boo. Ya. Ka. Sha. Respek.
Seriously, the ring is a little too pretty for my manly hands, but I guess I'll wear it if I have to.

Something I Discovered

This was the quote of the day courtesy of google's personalized home page. I loved it. Realize it.

Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.
- WH Auden

Heroes & Sickos

Just finished watching a documentary called Sick about S&M expert Robert Flanagan, who also suffered from cystic fibrosis , and would like to officially proclaim him a hero. Yes, the film is disgusting and painful, both watching him suffer through every breath and watching him hammer a nail through his penis, but his courage and his strength is one of the most inspiring things I've watched since beginning my subscription to Netflix. Flanagan and his partner-in-crime Sheree Rose shied away from nothing ugly and left a picture of raw human, flesh and bone made beautiful through its honesty and realism. Before he died in 1997, at the ripe old, record-breaking age of 43 (most CF sufferers die before their 20s, and two of his sisters died from the disease -- one as an infant, one at the age of 21), he kept a pain journal, which you can read here, and exhibited several performance pieces from New York to Los Angeles. In the documentary he talks about an exhibit he wanted to do post-humously called The Viewing, where a video camera would be placed in the coffin with him and subscribers/collectors could subscribe and watch his evolution beyond death. I don't think this happened, and although I think it's cryptic and sad and somewhat mocking that he would do that, I can't help but admire his bravery at showing even the most disgusting parts of his life/death in real time and without any fancy make-up or lighting tricks. Bob Flanagan, self-proclaimed SuperMasochist. Just goes to show you never know where you'll find a hero.

This is the poem that wraps up the documentary. It's difficult, brutal, pure and bare. I loved it.

"Why"

by Bob Flanagan

Because it feels good;
because it gives me an erection;
because it makes me come;
because I'm sick;
because there was so much sickness;
because I say FUCK THE SICKNESS;
because I like the attention;
because I was alone a lot;
because I was different;
because kids beat me up on the way to school;
because I was humiliated by nuns;
because of Christ and the Crucifixion;
because of Porky Pig in bondage, force-fed by some sinister creep in a black cape;
because of stories of children hung by their wrists,
burned on the stove, scalded in tubs;
because of Mutiny on the Bounty;
because of cowboys and Indians;
because of Houdini;
because of my cousin Cliff;
because of the forts we built and the things we did inside them;
because of what's inside me;
because of my genes;
because of my parents;
because of doctors and nurses;
because they tied me to the crib so I wouldn't hurt myself;
because I had time to think;
because I had time to hold my penis;
because I had awful stomachaches and holding my penis made it feel better;
because I felt like I was going to die;
because it makes me feel invincible;
because it makes me feel triumphant;
because I'm a Catholic;
because I still love Lent, and I still love my penis, and in spite of it all I have no guilt;
because my parents said BE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE, and this is what I want to be;
because I'm nothing but a big baby and I want to stay that way, and I want a mommy forever, even a mean one, especially a mean one;
because of all the fairy tale witches, and the wicked stepmother, and the stepsisters, and how sexy Cinderella was, smudged with soot, doomed to a life of servitude;
because of Hansel, locked in the witch's cage until he was fat enough to eat;
because of "O" and how desperately I wanted to be her;
because of my dreams;
because of the games we played;
because I've got an active imagination;
because my mother bought me Tinker Toys;
because hardware stores give me hard-ons;
because of hammers, nails, clothespins, wood, padlocks, pullies, eyebolts, thumbtacks, staple-guns, sewing needles, wooden spoons, fishing tackle, chains, metal rulers, rubber tubing, spatulas, rope, twine, C-clamps, S-hooks, razor blades, scissors, tweezers, knives, pushpins, two-by-fours, Ping-Pong paddles, alligator clips, duct tape, broomsticks, barbecue skewers, bungie cords, sawhorses, soldering irons;
because of tool sheds;
because of garages;
because of basements;
because of dungeons;
because of The Pit and the Pendulum;
because of the Tower of London;
because of the Inquisition;
because of the rack;
because of the cross;
because of the Addams Family playroom;
because of Morticia Addams and her black dress with its octopus legs;
because of motherhood;
because of Amazons;
because of the Goddess;
because of the moon;
because it's in my nature;
because it's against nature;
because it's nasty;
because it's fun;
because it flies in the face of all that's normal (whatever that is);
because I'm not normal;
because I used to think that I was part of some vast experiment and that there was this implant in my penis that made me do these things and that allowed THEM (whoever THEY were) to monitor my activities;
because I had to take my clothes off and lie inside this plastic bag so the doctors could collect my sweat;
because once upon a time I had such a high fever that my parents had to strip me naked and wrap me in wet sheets to stop the convulsions;
because my parents loved me even more when I was suffering;
because surrender is sweet;
because I was born into a world of suffering;
because I'm attracted to it;
because I'm addicted to it;
because endorphins in the brain are like a natural kind of heroin;
because I learned to take my medicine;
because I was a big boy for taking it;
because I can take it like a man;
because, as somebody once said, HE'S GOT MORE BALLS THAN I DO;
because it is an act of courage;
because it does take guts;
because I'm proud of it;
because I can't climb mountains;
because I'm terrible at sports;
because NO PAIN, NO GAIN;
because SPARE THE ROD AND SPOIL THE CHILD;
because YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE.

photos by Sheree Rose

A Learning Journey

Took a journey down the Bluegrass Parkway, which I hereby rename Most Boring Stretch of Highway on the Planet, on Tuesday. Mack had a HIS 109 exam and I wanted to come along so I could give his history teacher, Ms. Plummer, a piece of my mind. The class is a whopping three credit hours, and she releases hour-long lectures about 20 times a week. Then she has required reading. Then she has required discussion boards. Someone needs to remind this woman that it's HIS 109, that it's offered over the internet, and that the information contained therein does not need to be so specific as to trace the lineage of every Roman emperor, especially if they attained that status by being the fastest runner. The thing is, I'm not in Ms. Plummer's class, but because Mack is, I, by default of us living together, have to listen to her monotone drone word vomit academia swollen head babble without end, and frankly, I want to kill her. Well, maybe not kill her, but a serious curling iron accident or toenail loss might even the score.

Turns out Ms. Plummer was in Germany reading dusty old books, as Mack likes to say, this semester, so I used my campus journey to learn a couple new things.

1) No college campus is immune to the short, yellow Oxford donning, Jesus-freak sidewalk preacher with bumper stickers stuck on his briefcase that applaud abstinence without acknowledging human nature, regardless of the college's geography.

2) Jesus-freaks will never learn.

3) There are no fewer than 18 semi trucks per mile on the interstate anymore (I took several random samples).

4) Americans need, desperately, to resurrect the train.

A tad bit of explanation. The Jesus-freak was surrounded by so many people, about half of them black and a third of them with cameras, that I actually thought I had walked up to a real live battle, the kind Eminem does in 8 Mile. Not so. The group started to disperse right after we walked up, and then we were in the middle of all these cameras. That's when we spotted the briefcase and its attached weirdo.

The train/semi lesson came from this:
and this:
and this:
and this: While I was driving home from Louisville one night, I called Eli only to have my cellular reception interrupted by the semi I was passing. A few select words and a compressed gas pedal on mom's Celica convertible later, and that over-sized truck was a thing of the past... until I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the headlights make a 90-degree, counterclockwise turn toward the lane I was just in, saw a billow of smoke rise up behind it, and watched, horrified and feeling grateful, as the semi skid on its side in my direction. I never slowed down, and with my newfound reception, called 911 and hoped that the cars behind the trucker were able to stop in time. If we had trains, I'd have been on it reading a book and sipping a glass of wine, that cargo would have been on it getting transported safely and efficiently, and that driver would have been getting the rest he obviously needed instead of living what had to be a nightmare.