JustWalt's Mental Meanderings

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Cheap Bastid's: Who Wants a "Pink Slime" Burger?

Doesn’t that sound good? A big old double-stacker of Pink Slime.

Last week, “pink slime” leaped to the top of the standing in Google searches after a series of stories hit the news about 5 million pounds of it being sold to school lunch programs.

All of a sudden people were questioning whether or not their kids should be eating such stuff. Well hell, they’ve been eating it for a while in the burgers and tacos they snarf down at fast food joints.

Beef Products, Inc. of South Dakota (or BPI) is apparently the main purveyor of this tasty product which they call “finely textured lean beef”. Dr. Gerald Zirnstein of the USDA coined the
term “pink slime” in a memo a while back defining it as “boneless beef trimmings”, or such products that have gone through a centrifuge.”

“Mary Jane’s Farm”, a blog which was quoted in a post by TLC (The Learning Channel) described “pink slime” like this:
“Ten years ago, the rejected fat, sinew, bloody effluvia, and occasional bits of meat cut from carcasses in the slaughterhouse were a low-value waste product called ‘trimmings’ that were sold primarily as pet food. No more. Now, BPI transforms trimmings into something they call boneless lean beef’. In huge factories, the company liquefies the trimmings and uses a spinning centrifuge to separate the sinews and fats from the meat, leaving a mash that has been described as ‘pink slime’, which is then frozen into small squares and sold as a low-cost additive to hamburger”.

Oh yeah, and BPI produces more than 7 million pounds of it. Per Week! That’s a million pounds a day. Enough each year for more than a pound of this magical elixir for every person in the U.S.

What the blogpost didn’t say was that the “mash” is treated with ammonium hydroxide in order to kill germs like e coli.

Supposedly this product now is present in 70% of the ground beef sold in the U.S.

OK, if you’re alarmed, worried or a bit scared raise your hand and let’s count. Yep, I see quite a
few hands raise out there, including mine. I don’t want to eat that stuff, do you? I wouldn’t want my kid eating that stuff at school either.

And, there’s no requirement to label the product or otherwise warn consumers that the amburger they’re buying contains “pink slime”. I’m not too thrilled about that either. Janet Riley, Senior Vice President of the American Meat Institute told ABC News that there’s no need to label this product as anything other than “beef”. “It’s beef,” she said. “and it’s labeled as beef.”

Huh? I have a problem defining “connective tissue” and the waste meat that was discarded then treated with chemicals and put into a centrifuge as beef. I have a big problem with it.

What’s the motivation behind it? How about profit? I would guess that it’s more profitable to
take the stuff that would normally be thrown out because it dropped on the floor or might be contaminated with fecal matter to “process” it and sell it as an “additive” for ground beef than to box it up to be processed into pet food. If it can be peddled to the consuming public it means that they can 1) charge more and 2) not have to raise and slaughter as many cattle.

So, WWCBD? (that’s short for “What Would Cheap Bastid Do?”) I rarely buy pre-ground hamburger. For the last several years I have about 90% of the time selected a chuck roast or round roast when it’s on special at my grocery store and asked the meat cutter to grind it for me. My grocery store will grind it for no extra charge. I typically spend less than $3 a pound for ground beef that is $4 or more per pound if it’s already ground up.

I know the roast I picked out comes from one cow. It’s clean. I’m confident in its quality—and
there is NO “pink slime”.

When I get home, I take my meat package, open it up and divide it into freezer bags. (One other
Cheap Bastid secret is that I’m usually planning on cooking for 2 so, to me, a “pound” is 12 ounces—we don’t need more than that for 2 people. If I have “pounds” or about 2 ¼ pounds of
actual meat, I’ll put 12 ounces each into bags and then divide the last 12 ounces in half, wrap each 6 ounce lump in plastic wrap and put the 2 of those in a bag—that’s in case we’ve got more than 2 to cook for). It takes about 5 minutes to do when you get home. You’ve got enough time to do it.

Check with your grocer’s meat department to find out if they will grind meat for you. And ask the meat department manager if they use “pink slime”. If they do, find out in what products and don’t buy that product anymore if you’re concerned.

You know, my father was a food safety inspector in the Air Force for 30 years. After that, he did
the same job for the Florida Department of Agriculture for another 20 years. I remember what seemed to be his favorite word when it came to food. That word was “wholesome”. His job was to make sure that the food being processed and provided to people to eat was “wholesome”—that it was safe and fresh and that it met “standards”.

That’s what I think this is all about. There are a lot of us who wonder and question whether or not “finely textured lean beef” or “boneless beef trimmings” or “pink slime” is “wholesome”. We’re paying for it at the grocery store and at the restaurant and I think we’ve got a reasonable expectation to know exactly what’s going on and to have any product which contains “pink slime” labeled with big bold letters “contains chemically processed trimmings”.

That's the Cheap Bastid Way: Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Apathy Man to the Rescue on Super Tuesday

Yesterday’s San Diego Union Tribune (a newspaper which is sliding inexorably downhill at an ever increasing rate) had an editorial cartoon which really got my attention and made me stop and think.

It seems as though we have been in the most insane political “season” that I can recall ever since the mid-term election. It’s been non-stop posturing, debating and spending. All of this to the point where so many of us reached our saturation level long ago and wish only for it all to go away.

Anyway, before I take off into my rant, I wanted to share the cartoon with you. This is from R.McKee at The Augusta Chronicle on March 2:

Yep, it’s “Super Tuesday”, a supposedly pivotal date in Presidential Primary season. I love this cartoon suggesting that somehow or another we should be paying attention and become actively engaged. But why on God’s green earth would any of us want to participate in this insanity and inanity?

Apathy Man. What an apt description. But one has to wonder—what caused it? Is it that we just don’t care? Is it that we’ve been beaten down by the incessant “nattering nabobs of negativism” (remember that fromSpiro Agnew?) who day after day after day come up with some piece of minutiae to waggle in the face of an opponent and the public?

We constantly hear about SuperPacs and we cringe and grow numb. We don’t know where the money comes from exactly but we suspect it is from sources that we don’t trust. So why then, are we apathetic?

Primaries and caucuses have traditionally been the venue for the “party faithful”. They’re supposed to be an exercise in which the candidate proves his or her credentials and worthiness—and ultimately electability. They used to be occasions for candidates to get out into the “hustings” and communicate directly with small groups of voters in a give and take which crystallized positions and clarified issues. But no more.

It’s like the internet where one is inundated with a constant barrage of crap. I went to a job search site the other day and got an e-mail this morning from them bluntly asking why I haven’t paid for their service. Geesh, because it’s a free site, that’s why. And that’s what happens on the political front. I had the temerity to “sign up” at a site promoting Obama and now I get solicitations each day for money.

It used to be that we had some sort of sense that our point of view and our vote counted for something. There are those who, like this cartoon, lament the apathy of voters and point to that as a signal that voters are either satisfied or just too ambivalent to do anything other than accept all the garbage that is being pewed forth. And this becomes a justification for all the garbage that’s dumped on us through various media sources.

It’s not that at all. We’re numb. We’re beaten down. We’re tired of it already and we’ve got to go until the first Tuesday in November.

Sometimes I wonder though, maybe “they” (whoever “they” are) want it this way. If enough of us get sick and damned tired of all the garbage then perhaps “they” (whoever “they” are) win. See, if we become apathetic then those who aren’t apathetic get their voices magnified. That means people like the “teabaggers” get a stronger voice. (By the way I always use the word teabagger—uncapitalized—because I refuse to refer to those folks as a “party” of any sort. Using the word “party” legitimizes them and I won’t do that).

It’s a technique that has been used pretty effectively in the past. What we need to do is just to
sit back in the weeds. Observe. Think. Talk to each other. And then at election time, kick the bastards to the side of the road. I’m tired of the crap. I’m more disgusted now than ever before in my adult and political life—and that includes Watergate and Bush the Younger.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as though anyone gives a fat damn about what people like me think. And between now and November it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets any better.

And now, Sen. McCain is advocating that we bomb Syria. President Obama is trying to mollify Israel with veiled promises that if necessary, the U.S. will bomb Iran. Legislatures are trying to force women into invasive procedures to be “eligible” to have an abortion and state and local
revenues aren’t covering the costs of services.

We’re numb. We’re overwhelmed. And we know that ultimately we’re the ones who will have to pay the price. Not some politician who’s trying to coerce us to vote for him.

Friday, March 2, 2012

These Guys Take the Damned Cake

Ann Landers once provided her definition of chutzpah in her column. She wrote that chutzpah is the young man pleading for mercy from the court because he is an orphan—when he was
being sentenced for murdering his parents.

That’s kind of what’s been going through my head today after reading an article from Bloomberg News. The headline of the article read “Bonus Withdrawal Puts Bankers in Malaise”. So while you’re reading the rest of this play this song because it really, really fits these guys.

Now I don’t know if the headline was suggesting that bonuses
have been withdrawn or that bankers were suffering withdrawal like an addict
goes through but probably it doesn’t matter.

Over the last few years I’ve gotten kind of numb to the machinations of brokers and investment bankers and the harm they have done to both our economy and our nation. And I’ve avoided taken too much umbrage because it just doesn’t do any good.

I’ve kind of taken an approach like Mister “T” who has long been know for saying “pity the fool”.

But this is just the absolute worst kind of arrogance. Unmitigated gall. Sense of entitlement. Here's a couple of excerpts from the article that really got me spitting and spluttering:

"People who don't have money don't understand the stress," said Alan Dlugash, a partner at accounting firm Marks Paneth & Shron LLP in New York who specializes in financial planning for the wealthy. "Could you imagine what it's like to say I got three kids in private school, I have to think about pulling them out? How do you do that?"

And:

The malaise is shared by Andrew Schiff, the New York-based marketing director for Euro Pacific Capital, where his brother is CEO. His family rents the lower duplex of a brownstone in Cobble Hill, where his two children share a room. His 10-year- old daughter is a student at $32,000-a- ear Poly Prep Country Day School in Brooklyn. His son, 7, will apply in a few years.

"I can't imagine what I'm going to do," Schiff said. "I'm crammed into 1,200 square feet. I don't have a dishwasher. We do all our dishes by hand."

He wants 1,800 square feet -- "a room for each kid, three bedrooms, maybe four," he said. Imagine four bedrooms. You have the luxury of a guest room, how crazy is that?" The family rents a three-bedroom summer house in Connecticut and will go there again this year for one month instead of four. Schiff said he brings home less than $200,000 after taxes, health-insurance and 401(k) contributions.

The closing costs, renovation and down payment on one of the $1.5 million 17-foot-wide row houses nearby, what he called "the low rung on the brownstone ladder," would consume "every dime" of the family's savings, he said.

"I wouldn't want to whine," Schiff said. "All I want is the stuff that I always thought, growing up,
that successful parents had."

Awwwwww, too bad for those poor fellows and their underprivileged children. Having to sacrifice by only renting their summer home for 1 month rather than 4. Having to risk the spectre of their children attending public schools with the “unwashed” and “untouchable”.

Man I feel bad for these guys. Don’t you? They are so obviously struggling just to make ends meet.

And people wonder why there is talk of a risk of class warfare in this nation? And people wonder why so many are angry at the “1%”?

I just leads me to shake my head and mutter to myself, “assholes.”

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Cheap Bastid Finally Kills Off the Thanksgiving Turkey

It’s taken me 2 months but that bird is finally gone. Well not completely. We’re having the last of the turkey noodle soup tonight with home made French bread and I’ve got a bunch of turkey stock that will last me several months.

But that damned turkey breast carcass is finally out of the freezer. All that’s left is a small mound of bones which now resides in the garbage.

The weather forecast for the weekend was for rain and blustery winds—which is the closest thing that the San Diego area will ever get to a blizzard. So I decided it was time to finish off the carcass with stock and soup.

You can make your own any time you want. All you need is to keep the carcass of a turkey, turkey breast or chicken with shreds of meat still attached. Do what I did, take out your slow cooker or your stock pot and put in about 6-8 cups of water and put it on slow heat. Now toss in your carcass (I mean I just took mine out of the freezer, pulled it out of the freezer bag and dropped it into the slow cooker).

That’s all you need to do. Except if you’re like me, go check it occasionally, especially after it starts to send off that fantastic aroma. After a couple of hours it’ll start to look like weak broth and a couple hours after that it will look and smell rich and start to taste a bit richer. I’m going for stock here, not broth. Broth is for wusses.

And after 4 or 5 hours you might want to add another cup or so of water. So after 6 to 8 hours I turn off the heat and slide the cooker pot into the fridge overnight. The next morning what I’m going to do is skim any congealed solids off the top and throw it away.

Then, strain the liquid getting out all those meat bits and bones which could cause a problem. After you do that, just pour the liquid into ice cube trays and turn it into “stock-cicles”. Let them freeze solid and then put the cubes into freezer bags for use throughout the year.

But I wasn’t done. I was going to make stock AND soup. I kept about a cup and a half of the stock for “stock-cicles”. And I used the rest—about 2 ½ cups as my soup base. Then I picked through the meat—shredding it and discarding the bones and any remaining skin. What I had left was just about a pound of turkey.

Sample the broth! Add salt and pepper a little bit at a time. I also add garlic powder and cumin (why do I add cumin? Because we like cumin!). Remember, go easy with the spices—you can always add more, but once it’s in, you can’t take it out.

That went into the pot and I let it simmer for several hours. From there, I added a little over a cup each of diced onion, diced carrot, diced celery and diced jalapeno. I let that cook for a couple more hours and added 2 or 3 handsful of frozen corn.

Now about an hour before serving, toss in about half a bag of egg noodles. By now this is going to be smelling so fantastic that you’ll be drooling. Sometimes I make drop dumplings for this soup, but not this time. They’re fantastically easy to make. Instead, I sliced some French bread and lightly toasted it in the oven for dipping into the soup.

Oh man, it was fantastic. Stick to the ribs good. Silky, tasty texture—just enough spices to bring out the full flavor of the soup. And what’s best is that this was really inexpensive.

The Cheap Bastid Test: This started out as an 8 pound turkey breast. We got 3 dinners and several sandwiches from it. And we just got 2 more nights of dinner out of the soup plus multiple meals with a flavor boost from the homemade stock. That’s a bargain. And for the soup, I used the left-over carcass and meat and added about $2.50 worth of vegetables and noodles.

In today’s world, you have to stretch every dollar. It’s even better when the result of the stretching is comfort food this tasty and nourishing.

That’s the Cheap Bastid Way: Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!

Monday, January 23, 2012

Warren Buffett Gets it Right Again--He Blames the Tax Code Not Romney

Bloomberg News just reported on an interview today with Warren Buffett. He echoed his earlier sentiments about how the rich should be paying a higher rate of tax.

While some may take it as a swipe at Mitt Romney, Buffett put himself in the same category. Buffett said that the tax rate that he pays along with Romney comes reflects “poor laws rather than failings by the candidate…”

John Boehner probably classifies Romney and Buffett as “jobs creators” who should pay even less than they are now. But, a guy who can buy and sell Mitt Romney 25 times over says otherwise.

Buffett is kind of like the old fashioned ads from E.F. Hutton. When he talks, people listen.

Here’s the full article from Yahoo News and Bloomberg:

Buffett Blames Congress for Romney's 15% Rate
By Andrew Frye and Andrea Ludtke Bloomberg – 5 hours ago
Warren Buffett, the billionaire calling for more taxes on the rich, said Mitt Romney's U.S. tax rate of about 15 percent reflects poor laws rather than failings by the candidate for the Republican presidential nomination.

"It's the wrong policy to have," Buffett told Bloomberg Television's Betty Liu in an interview today. "He's not going to pay more than the law requires, and I don't fault him for that in the least. But I do fault a law that allows him and me earning enormous sums to pay overall federal taxes at a rate that's about half what the average person in my office pays."

Buffett, chairman and chief executive officer of Berkshire Hathaway Inc. (BRK/A) , supports Democratic President Barack Obama and said Congress needs to raise taxes on the wealthiest Americans to close the budget deficit. Romney has agreed to release his 2010 tax return tomorrow, under pressure from Republican opponents, after saying he pays about 15 percent. Romney co- founded Boston-based private-equity firm Bain Capital LLC.

"He makes his money the same way I make my money," Buffett said. "He makes money by moving around big bucks, not by straining his back or going to work and cleaning toilets or whatever it may be. He makes it shoving around money."

Friday, January 20, 2012

"I'm Building A Ship"

Once upon a time, in the later 1980’s, I lived and worked in the small city of Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin. This town of 9,000 was the county seat of Door County which was, and still is, one of the largest destination tourism areas in the Midwest. I ran the County’s Chamber of Commerce.

There were 3 sizeable shipbuilders in the city—between the 3 employing about 2,000 workers. One, Peterson Builders was the lead contractor for a new series of minesweepers for the U.S. Navy. These are fiberglass sheathed, wooden hulled vessels (you don’t want much steel on a ship which neutralizes mines, many of which have magnetic detonators). Peterson was expert at designing and building these vessels.

It was quite an event whenever one of these ships were launched or commissioned. There would be dignitaries from Washington and Madison in attendance and I was fortunate to participate in several of them.

One of my all time favorite stories though deals with another organization in our community called the Sunshine House. This was a sheltered workshop for adults with developmental and other disabilities. It was an amazing place full of people engaged in work that was both therapeutic and meaningful.

The Chamber contracted with Sunshine House to do quite a bit of our “fulfillment”. We would get thousands and thousands of inquiries from tourists for information on lodging and activities in our area heading up to the busy tourism season. We found that we could contract with Sunshine House to put mailing labels on our “vacation planning guide” and mail them quicker and cheaper than we could do it in-house. We’re talking 100,000 or more pieces of mail over a several month period.

One day I was touring the Sunshine House. They had just picked up a new contract for Peterson Builders. It seems as though the decks of the ships were made of white oak and needed pegs to hold them together—the pegs were about ½ inch by 6 inches. Another company had been making them but their quality wasn’t very good and their price was quite high. So, Sunshine House bid on the contract and received it and started to make the pegs out of scrap white oak from Peterson.

OK, to make this long story short, as I was touring the facility I stopped next to a young man who was sanding one of the pegs. I stopped and watched and then asked him, “so, what are you doing?”

And instantly he answered me, with a light in his eye and a smile, “I’m building a ship.”

I’ve thought of his answer many times over the years. When I was working in economic development I knew that I was “building a community”. When I was a consultant for Ford Motors I knew that I was “building a car company” or “building a car dealership” even though I was helping a dealer do a better job of selling more vehicles. When I sold cars, I thought of myself a “building a dealership” rather than selling cars or just making commissions.

Yeah, “I’m building a ship.” That young man was a professional. And he was right. For building that ship is the sum of all the parts that go into it and his part—a humble white oak peg—was a vital part without which the whole ship would not come together.

Let’s build some ships. Maybe those politicians who constantly bloviate with the new buzz-word “jobs creators” will get the message.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Sleeping Through the "Southland" Premier on TNT 1/17/2012

My wife and I really enjoy TNT’s “Southland” (formerly on NBC which was stupid enough to cancel this well-written, well-cast, well-directed and well filmed show).

So, we we’ve been anticipating it’s “season premiere” which has been promoted on Facebook and other places for the last couple of months (I don’t “like” too many things on my Facebook page but “Southland” is one of them). It premiered last night at 10 p.m., a little late but we’ll stay up occasionally for something worth watching.

So, here’s what the season premiere was like…including the welcoming of Lucy Liu to the cast.

9:45: Carolyn announces that she’s going to go into the bedroom and watch it in bed. I’m in the living room reading a book (you know, those things with covers and paper with words printed on them). “OK,” I say, “you know that if I come into the bedroom that I’ll just fall asleep and miss it.”

10:05: Carolyn comes out of the bedroom and wakes me up on the couch to tell me that it’s started. Damn. “Why don’t you come in and watch it in bed?” “Naw, I’m fine here,” I respond.

10:06: Cops driving down street. See young street thugs chasing one another with guns. They give chase in car. One kid gets shot. Cops chase the other. Thug runs into school yard chased by 4 cops. Kid is shot but keeps going. They follow blood trail through corridors of school and find kid “bleeding out” on floor of restroom.

10:15: I wake up again. Michael Cudlitz, Officer John Cooper, is working out, lifting weights shirtless going through full range of motion including lower back. He gets done and walks towards showers showing a scar running up back from surgery. “Hmmmm, he got his back fixed. Wonder if it’s OK.”

10:20: I wake up again. They’re in briefing for their “tour”. Michael Cudlitz is assigned to a new partner who wants to drive. New partner is Lucy Liu. Looks a lot different from other roles she’s played like in “Kill Bill” and “Ally McBeal”. Hair’s pulled back, not playing the vixen…

11:10: Carolyn comes out to the living room. Wakes me up. Drags me off to bed. “Did you watch it?” I ask. “Oh yes, but you didn’t”. I crawl in bed and go back to sleep.

Dammit.

Monday, January 9, 2012

How Many Public Works Guys Does It Take to Change a Light?

About a month ago I did a post on my recent experience serving—albeit briefly—on a redevelopment committee for the City of Vista, CA where I live. It was, to say the least, an interesting, although brief, experience. If you recall, a month after I was appointed, the City disbanded the Committee.

Well, since then I have had a wonderful opportunity to get “re-acquainted” with the machinations of the City of Vista. Here’s my sordid, but true tale. It all started on October 25, 2011.

You see folks, there’s a street light just in front of my apartment building. I mean if the wind is right I can spit on it—that’s how close it is. In mid-0ctober I noticed that it was dark along our street—really dark. Now, the City had been threatening/promising or whatever for months that it would have to turn off most of the residential streetlights as a budget saving measure. But, the light would come on. Then in about 5 minutes it would fizzle out. A few minutes later it would sputter and come back on. It did this all night long—well at least as late as I’ve ever chosen to stay up.

I put up with it for a few nights. When it’s out, it’s dark along our street. Really dark. Dangerous dark—there are always pedestrians going up and down the sidewalks. So I decided to do something about it.

But what to do? I went into the City’s website which is decidedly not “user-friendly”, almost as if the City acknowledges that it has to have a public website but that it would really prefer if no citizen actually used it to get information or contact their local government. I was looking for the Department of Public Works or some other way to contact someone who could do something about my streetlight. Finally, I stumbled on a “feedback” link which let’s someone send a generic message to the “city”.

I sent about a 2 sentence message (I was limited to about 300 characters, which for me is not much) and much to my surprise within an hour I had a response. Not just one response but 2! The second one was from a project assistant in public works who actually read what I had sent and who said she would check it out.

A little while later I got a second e-mail from her telling me that there wasn’t a streetlight out in front of my building but that there was one on the other side of the street about 100 yards away. Hmmmm, no, there’s one in front of the building all right. What to do? I was encountering bureaucracy.

So I took out my camera and took a few pictures showing the light from my balcony and then went across the street to photograph the light with my building and its address in the background. These I attached to a new e-mail. Oops! The city official sent me back a response saying that she would update the city’s map and put in a “work order” which should be taken care of in 6-7 “business days”. OK, 2 weeks.

Two weeks go by. Nothing happens. In fact, on October 30 (the day before Halloween and trick or treating) I sent another e-mail to the person suggesting that it would be nice if the light could be fixed before Halloween and all the extra kids and families who would be walking up and down the street the next night. No response—even though I played the “public safety trump card”.

So I waited some more. Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t sit out on my balcony all day, every day waiting for a city crew to come by. I kept on with my life but each night, I would grumble and complain while watching the light “bzzzzzt” off and on, off and on all night long.

The positive side of it was that at night when the light was on we could get a much better view of the stars in the dark sky. It was in its own way pleasant—but not really safe.

About the 5th or so of November, I called the Department of Public works and talked to a nice guy who also told me that there was no light in front of my apartment. And then, just as quickly told me that there was (he had just pulled up my original e-mail proving it’s existence). He also pledged that he was updating the map and would schedule the work—apparently it hadn’t happened the first time. And so I waited. And waited. Still nothing.

So, along about mid-November I dug out the big guns. I prepared another e-mail. This one (after doing some more online research) was addressed to the Mayor, City Manager and Director of Public Works. Wow! Even though City Hall is a whopping 3 blocks away, one could almost hear the gears of the system screech and grind as these officials seemed to drop what they were doing and take action.

In less than an hour I had an e-mail from the City Manager AND the Public Works director pledging action the following day. I don’t think I was very snotty to them in my e-mail—OK maybe a bit sarcastic. And maybe it helped that I sent the pictures of the light, along with a new photo of the light at night, burned out.

Anyway, there were e-mails and promises. “Yeah, yeah,” I thought.

Let’s fast forward to the very next morning. It’s 8:10 a.m. I don’t work until 2 p.m. So I’m checking out e-mail and the blogs and the news and drinking coffee—still in my pajamas.

My phone rings. “Walter, this is Jim Howell, the Director of Public Works here in Vista,” a voice tells me.

Now, my first thought is that it’s pretty early for a city employee to be on the phone. The guy’s voice is a bit hard to hear because there’s a diesel truck out in front of the building idling.

“I’m standing out in front of your building and we’re fixing your light now,” he proceeded to tell me. “Do you have a minute so I can explain the situation to you.”

“Hold on just a minute, Jim,” I replied. “Yep, I see you. Tell you what, I’ll come down and we can talk rather than on the phone.”

There’s this tall, professional guy in a shirt and tie and leather jacket standing across the street talking into a cell phone. I went out the door and down the stairs—still in my pajamas.

There’s a boom-truck with several guys right by the streetlight and they’re actually working. OK, so how many city workers does it take to change a light bulb? A total this day of 5—one in the bucket, one to run the controls on the truck, 2 to keep an eye on traffic and the Director of Public Works. Damn! This has got to be a fairly pricey light bulb change!

So I went down and talked to the guy while my wife took my picture in my jammies. He explained to me that they had actually done some work on the light (and showed me a work order) on October 10 but apparently didn’t realize that the ballast was bad.

OK, that’s fine with me. I’m just glad that they’re getting to it. Now, I know that Vista, California is a bigger city than I’ve lived in most of my life and that by California standards at 100,000 it’s not that big but…

Yeah, “but”…I still didn’t think that it should take the better part of a month to fix this and to have to convince people that there is, indeed, a streetlight in front of my address. I can’t help but wonder whether it would have been accomplished any quicker if I lived in a more “upscale” neighborhood—but that’s not fair to the folks at City Hall.

But these guys showed up and didn’t laugh at me out talking to the Director of Public Works in my pajamas. And, start to finish, it only took a month.

I guess I’m just getting too old and grumpy but it was kind of cool seeing that big old truck hoist a guy up in the air to change a light bulb and then hang around watching it for a half hour to make sure that it worked.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Iowa Caucuses--Gotta Know the Territory, Territory, Territory

Here we are, January 3, 2012. It’s Iowa Caucus night. It’s the night Republican contenders/wannabes/candidates have been anticipating for months now. Regrettably the preening and posturing is just getting into high gear.

Most Americans, I think, wonder why the process of nominating a candidate starts in such an unassuming state like Iowa or New Hampshire. After all, these places really “don’t count”. Or do they?

And, Iowa’s not even a primary. It’s a damned caucus for crying out loud. What’s a caucus anyway? I did the Iowa caucuses 3 times over a 12 year period of living in Iowa. They were a fascinating experience. All 3 of them were as a Republican even though I was almost invariably the most liberal person in the room. (In Iowa a pro-choice Republican is like being a fiscally conservative Democrat).

But wouldn’t it be nice to have some sort of rule that says the candidates can’t even begin to posture and preen and sling manure until after Halloween the year before primary season? If that were the case, the only “losers” would be the media—both “news” and advertising.

Here’s the thing as far as I’m concerned: Meredith Wilson wrote a wonderful musical set in Iowa (he was from Mason City, after-all) called “The Music Man”. Professor Harold Hill gave all traveling salesmen a bad name. Why? Because as the opening number in the musical said, “he doesn’t know the territory, territory, territory.”

But I digress. Yes, indeed Iowa’s caucuses count. I remember the caucus season in 1983 (damn, I’m old, aren’t I?) when I was living and running the local Chamber of Commerce and Economic Development Corporation in Algona, Iowa—population 6,000. This was the year that Democrats were trying to wrest the White House from Ronald Reagan who had defeated incumbent Jimmy Carter in 1980. Walter Mondale, Carter’s VP, secured the nomination.

One of the things I remember best was John Glenn coming into town to a gathering at the Chrome Country Café—a truck stop at the junction of Highways 169 and 18. There were about 20 people who showed up—mostly older farmers and their families along with a smattering of business types from town. Glenn showed up in a van, with a retinue of maybe 3 people accompanying him. And no media—other than the local reporters from newspaper and radio station.

It was a conversation over coffee. What were people actually thinking? What did they want? How was Glenn going to help provide that? It was a time for a very short “stump speech” and lots of feedback. And that’s what the caucuses are all about—putting a human face on the candidate; expecting the candidate to do this thing called listening.

Now, the expectation is for the candidate to strut their stuff and address their “core” or their “base”. Hell if they want to do something with their core, they should do crunches and planks.

Yeah, Iowa is a largely rural state (unless you live in Des Moines or Waterloo or Cedar Rapids and think the world revolves around your city). And indeed, many in the larger cities started out in small towns. But the caucuses are about interaction. They’ve been bastardized by the changes in the process over the years.

My last caucus was in the late 90’s when “W” was going after the nomination. By then the process had become totally centered on the media and mean-spirited. And it has only gotten worse.

Here’s the thing—Iowans tend to be “what you see is what you get”. They have a fairly low bullshit tolerance. This is a state which has consistently re-elected arguably one of the U.S. Senate’s most liberal members, Tom Harkin and one of it’s most conservative members, Chuck Grassley to term after term.

Why? Because each, in his own way, speaks to the people of this state. Each is passionate about his beliefs and yet shares the root values of the state. The cross-over vote each time one is up for re-election is phenomenal. Republicans routinely vote for Harkin and Democrats for Grassley.

Yeah, Iowa counts. But I don’t think the current crop of contenders really understand the how or why of it. Wouldn’t it be nice if they made an effort to know the “territory, territory, territory.” Maybe then they’d be able to muster the ability to actually do something productive and positive.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Christmas Music--"Ugly Christmas Sweater" It's a Hoot!

Just for fun today and to nudge you a little further into the spirit of Christmas. If you don’t get a laugh out of this then there’s no hope.

Friday, November 11, 2011

A Tale of Two Veterans

Many is the time when my wife and I have gotten to talking about our fathers and how interesting it would have been for the two of them to have met. One was Hispanic from Kansas and the other was a farm boy from the hills of Kentucky. Both of them were veterans. More importantly, each of them spent more than 30 years in a military career.

Carolyn’s father, Onofre “Hank” Hernandez, retired as a Master Gunny in the Marine Corps. My father, John R. Blevins, Sr., retired as a Senior Master Sergeant in the Air Force. Both of them started their service in World War II. Carolyn’s father enlisted in the Marines shortly after Pearl Harbor. My father was drafted when he turned 18 in 1943. Carolyn’s dad saw multiple campaigns in the Pacific theater while my father hit the beaches at Normandy on D-Day and spent the next year and a half on the ground in Europe.

Carolyn’s father was about 12 years older than my father. He was a dirt poor underground coal miner in Kansas. In many ways his patriotic act of enlistment was his ticket out of the poverty and prejudice a Mexican man lived with in the 1930s and 40s. My father was self-described “white trash” whose family cash-rented cropland in Kentucky to raise tobacco. He was the second oldest of 11 children.

There wasn’t going to be much of a life for either of them in the environments in which they grew up. The military changed all that. It was a profession of honor and service and, yes, of risk. Carolyn’s father served in combat in WWII, Korea and Viet Nam. My father was only in combat in the Army in WWII. He served throughout the Korean War and Viet Nam. My father earned a Purple Heart in WWII while Carolyn’s father was fortunate to have been in combat far more often but went unscathed.

So, this is Veteran’s Day a day when we remember and honor veterans. The military has long been a profession where men, and increasingly women, from very humble backgrounds can thrive in service to their country.

Here’s what Carolyn had to say about her father: “My dad loved this country. Maybe he didn't agree with the way it was going or its politics, but I have literally never met more of an 'American' than my dad. He believed in this country and the concepts and idelas upon which it was founded, even though - being a poor Mexican and all - they were definitely not written nor intended for the likes of him. Or maybe, in their noblest form, they actually were.”

My Dad never talked of his experiences of combat in World War II other than to say that he had never been so cold or hungry or scared in his life. That was it. It was personal and private, locked in the recesses of memory. Like many veterans he knew that combat was nothing to be bragged about like a fourth grader during “show and tell”. That’s probably something else that he and Gunny Hernandez would have understood about one another.

Carolyn and I joke from time to time about the “military-isms” we grew up with. Lessons like “clean up after yourself—leave the latrine clean for the next guy” were mantras we both heard from the time we were youngsters. In my household, shoeshines were obligatory. But, Sunday mornings sitting in the old high chair while my Dad shined my shoes for church were also times for the old man to have some one-on-one time with his son. Just like when we were throwing the baseball or fishing, they were times when the remoteness of a military father softened to just a couple of guys.

By the time I was a bit older, I was spit shining my own shoes. I remember high school classmates who thought the wing-tips I wore with my choir blazer and slacks were patent leather. Nope, they were just spit-shined in a “thoroughly military manner”.

And in a lot of ways, our respective fathers could be unreasonable hardasses. But that was just the way they were hardwired from their background and by the military.

We always talk about how they would have found that they had far more in common with one another than one would ever assume and we think their conversation would have been fascinating. Both had a background of poverty. Neither was well educated (until later in their careers) but both were articulate. And both grasped the opportunity of service and honor and discipline as a path to a career.

These men took pride in their military professionalism. They had risen much further than they ever imagined from their humble backgrounds. Both of our fathers took pride in the fact that they were in “the service”. That term has stuck with us our entire lives. They served. There is no more noble calling.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Cheap Bastid Chewing on "The Chew" and Blasting Yahoo

Cheap Bastid has done enough Cheap Bastidly cooking and writing by now to be entitled to express an opinion or two. So that’s what I’m going to do today.

I’m going to take a swipe at ABC’s new food show “The Chew”, a cutsey play on “The View”, and take a swipe at an insipid piece that showed up yesterday on Yahoo finance.

First, “The Chew”. This new show features Karla Hall who was a contestant on Top Chef along with Food Network Iron Chefs Mario Batalli and Michael Symon. It’s been on for a little over a month now. And it’s all right although a bit vapid. They’ve even made some efforts at showing how to cook good food fast and on a budget.

But yesterday they managed to pretty much alienate me with their snarky, almost condescending, take on “Southern Cooking”. Sure, they paid some lip service to the traditions of Southern or country cooking but they also managed to insert a recorded “Yeehaw” everytime they mentioned the theme or took a commercial break.

Hey jackasses, southern or country cooking is the epitome of making food dollars stretch. It’s not fancy but its inexpensive and filling and good and, most importantly, is usually made with more pinches of love than the paid shills manage to add.

To stand up in front of America spewing fake southern/country/Texas accents in the cause of entertainment demeans what they do and disrespects the food that they’re supposed to be extolling.

Certainly it’s entertainment but there are people from all over watching—not just foodies from the East coast. I thought it was offensive. Oh, and remember when earlier I said the show was all right? Too bad, because their audience (including me, at least for now) deserves something better than “all right”.

Now on to Yahoo. There was an article yesterday in Yahoo Finance—Financially Fit titled “How to Feed a Family on $15 a Day”. OK, not bad. It got my attention—I’m the Cheap Bastid. Fifteen bucks seems a bit generous, but it’s for a family of 4.

The article rubbed me the wrong way with its lead which said that the “average family of four” spends upwards of $1200 a month on groceries. Say what? The author was citing data from the USDA on monthly food costs—the $1200 a month comes from the column titled “Liberal Plan”. Even the “Thrifty Plan” at $615 per month struck me as high.

More particularly, the author was interviewing some expert who had “stopped by her kitchen” to share some advice. This expert, Allison Fishman, contributing editor to “Cooking Light”. Fishman was right when she said the important thing is to plan menus and plan shopping. I started doing that when my kids were little. Planning a menu prior to shopping was the key to making sure that ingredients were on hand and, even better, it had the result of significantly reducing the total grocery bill.

But Fishman was also suggesting that meat be used “almost like a condiment” rather than as the main feature of a meal. Huh? Meat, a condiment? She suggested that beef at $5.99 a pound and chicken breast at $5 per pound was out of reach for many to be able to provide other than a sampling of it in a meal.

That’s all well and good. But where the hell is she buying her boneless, skinless chicken breast? I pay $1.97 a pound for it. The same with beef. I now buy “lesser” cuts such as bottom round (London Broil). I can get ground beef for about $2.50 a pound by having my grocer’s meat department grind it for me when chuck or round is on special. And maybe Southern California (or at least my neighborhood) isn’t as expensive as someplace like New York City but it’s still plenty expensive.

The way this expert was presenting herself, I kind of got the impression that she was trying to educate the ignorant masses to eat a diet based on beans and squash and legumes along with using the same chicken bone for a couple of weeks to flavor the meager soups.

The “average family” spends far less than $1200 a month on food. The average family spends less than $600 a month on food. Who are they kidding. And this kind of advice does little, if anything, to enlighten or encourage or educate. What it does instead is frustrate and infuriate.

And Cheap Bastid sees that as a disservice not as being helpful.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

SOAP

A while back I wrote about one of my “big scores” at Costco—a year’s supply of Irish Spring. Now, I was going to say “dirt cheap” but that’s just too cheesy a pun to put into the context of shower soap, so I won’t say it.

Anyway, it’s been great not having to remember to put this nectar of the shower on the shopping list for months at a time knowing that I’m always going to have a goodly supply of the fresh smelling, clean feeling soap that used to be advertised as “Manly yes, but I like it too,” by a winsome young Irish lass with light red hair and freckles inhaling the aroma next to a stream on the Emerald Isle.

But I digress.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I have a bar of Irish Spring in the soap dish on the bathtub. If I count all the bottles, tubes, brushes and razors belonging to my wife and step-daughter in and around the edges of the tub, it numbers somewhere north of 20. It’s tough to pull back the shower curtain and step over the lip of the tub without knocking something on the floor or into the tub and have to precariously bend over, pick it up and put it somewhere where it can be found and where it no longer presents a hazard.

But I digress again.

(Note: Under of threat of punishment from my wife, I am compelled to notify the reader that this is NOT our bathtub but is one that I found on Google).

So for the last few mornings I’ve noticed that my green bar of soap is rapidly shrinking to sliver status. I’ve been telling myself for the last few days, “Self, you need to replace it.” I’ve even gone so far as to confirm that there isn’t another bar handy in the bathroom. But, by the time I think about it each morning I’m already wet in the shower and I’m not going to climb back out and open the bathroom door to go to the linen closet to retrieve a couple of bars to last me a while. So I’ve been making do with a sliver.

Besides, I keep having this mental image of me, stepping out of the shower in my birthday suit and bending over the shelf in the linen closet where we keep extra soap, room freshener, toothbrushes, etc. and have my step-daughter come out of her bedroom three feet behind me and being introduced to my “full moon”. Noooooooooo way. Carolyn would kill me.

Well, this morning the sliver disappeared in my hands. It’s no fun showering when you know you’ve got just a tiny bit of soap to wash your face and pits and between each of your toes, not to mention your rungi-schmelli and “nether regions” (that’s probably TMI but I’m sure most know the drill in the shower at least as well as I do). So, which parts do I skip? Hmmmm, well, I’m going to use deodorant so pits you just get a water scrub. And I’m going to put on clean socks, so toes I’m just going to rub you good and you’re going to be on your own.

Crap, this is just way too much decision making for early in the morning. Now, I wouldn’t have this problem is I left a bit more time each day. But, I usually head for the bathroom about 20 minutes before I have to leave for work—after 3 cups of coffee (one to function, one to wake up and one to soften things up--if you know what I mean). And after sitting and “reading” for a bit, I’m ready to hit the shower, then shave (yes, I have a beard but I still shave every morning) then clean my glasses, brush my teeth and head into the bedroom to get dressed for work.

With a “schedule” like that, there’s just no time left for Irish Spring inventory control unless I’m forced into it. So like a good boy I got done in the bathroom, went to the linen closet and took 3 fresh bars out, opened one and put it in the soap dish and put the other 2 in the drawer next to the tub. Now I’m good to go. Until the next time I run out. Damn.

There will be those who say to me “why don’t you just leave more time in the morning?” And to those I say, “Yes dear, you’re right”. But for me showering and then dressing and then heading out the door is like a matador or a knight getting ready for the bull-ring or the jousting arena. I’m transitioning from home to work and getting my “game face” on.

What ever happened to “soap on a rope” anyway? Tomorrow morning…the glory of a virgin bar of Irish Spring. I can’t wait.

Friday, October 14, 2011

I Just Made Up a New Term: Assholitics

“So why,” you might ask, “have you come up with such a derogatory term?”
“It’s simple”, would be my response. “I just came across the most assholey piece of political crap that I’ve ever seen and I’m sick and tired of it.”

Or, the articulate political scientist in me would say, “I take extreme umbrage to the tone and tenor of the survey recently sent to my wife by the Republican National Committee.”

Yes, indeed folks, my wife is a registered Republican—but I love her anyway. I’m not sure if I forgive her for being a Republican but I love her. She puts up with my uber-liberal rants and even agrees with me some of the time.

Yep, my wife received a survey in the mail recently. On the outside of the envelope it says “2011 Obama Agenda Survey” and Republican National Committee. The 4 page letter inside “explaining” the survey and asking for donations is signed by Republican National Committee Chair Reince Priebus.

This diatribe is an absolute classic of every devious propaganda technique we learned in Dr. Tomasek’s “Political Propaganda” class way back in 1972. Hyberbole, reversal, half-truths run rampant both in terms of the description of Obama and Democrats and in reverence to the Holy Grail that is all things Republican. Good Lord, how can anyone with a measurable IQ buy into this crap?

And the “survey” itself. This is a classic of a “push poll” taken to the “nth degree”. It’s laughable. Here are some examples of questions in this “survey”:

Do you believe that Barack Obama deserves a second term as President?
(OK, not bad. A fair question although it smacks in the face for those who don’t believe he should have had a first term or for those for whom the word ‘deserve’ is a red flag).

Do you believe that Barack Obama’s nominees for federal courts should be immediately and unquestionably approved for their lifetime appointments by the U.S. Senate?
(OK, this is just wrong on so many levels. For some people if it were George Bush’s nominees then they would be fine with it. For others it’s the idea of a Democrat making nominations to the Federal bench. For still others the words “immediately and unquestionably” is a huge red flag. I’ve even got problems with that! And still others have issues with “lifetime” but that’s what the Constitution of the U.S. allows.)

Are you confident that new medicines and medical treatments will continue to be developed if the federal government controls prescription drug prices and sets profit margins for research and pharmaceutical companies?
(Huh? Confident? The evil federal government controlling drug prices and telling private companies how much money they can make? This is asking whether you think the “boogie man” will finally stay hidden under your bed and not jump out and scare you.)

There are a total of 16 questions in this “survey”. Yeah, I know that it’s only a pretense of a survey and really a pitch for donations especially since the bottom is a half page that is a “Contribution Reply”. Maybe this was written by someone who got their start doing mailers for a televangelist.

And I would imagine that it will appeal to only about 5% of those who receive it. Once upon a time I identified myself as a liberal to moderate Republican (socially liberal, fiscally moderate). But the organization turned mean-spirited in the mid-90’s. I can only hope that those who consider themselves “moderate Republicans” will read this and be appalled and turn away from those who would try to position their party in this way.

That’s why as soon I read through this I thought to myself, “Self, this is asshole politics”. And thusly a new term was coined “Assholitics”. We’re in for another 13 months of this and it’s only going to get worse.

I’ve always been naïve about politics—despite having both a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in Political Science. I believe it should be about issues and fairness (sheesh, how naïve is that!). I believe candidates should run “for” something rather than “against” someone. When I have been actively involved in campaigns I always strived to have the campaign focused in this way and was even successful in doing that several times.

But apparently Assholitics is now the way of American politics. I reject it and reject those who practice it. You know, if we all did that maybe we could get things to start changing just a bit.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

You Just Gotta Love Those Folks in Gubmint

Remember the old saying “Think global; act local”. I’ve always been a believer in that. Take a look at what the world needs and then do something in your little corner of the world to make it happen. Touch the lives of people who are your neighbors. If we could, or would, do that, we could change this big old world in no time flat.

So, when an opportunity presented itself here in Vista, California, I volunteered. Here’s my tale of adventure and woe.

I live in an apartment with my wife on the edge of an area known as the Townsite Neighborhood. Whenever the local newspaper prints a story about something happening in our neighborhood, it invariably uses the description “hardscrabble Townsite Neighborhood”.

Redevelopment in an area like this is a good thing. When the City extended its redevelopment district boundaries 3 years ago, it had to form a “Project Area Committee” to provide advice and feedback to the City Council about the area and improvement projects—known as Redevelopment Community Improvement Projects.

In late June I was looking for the dates of a particular community celebration and happened into the City’s website. While there I came across a listing for a vacancy on the Project Area Committee (PAC). It was a seat specified for a “residential tenant”. In other words, a renter. Hey that’s me! I’d love to do that.

You see, I spent over 15 years doing this type of work—community and economic development. I’ve done redevelopment planning. I’ve set up TIF districts—especially in industrial parks to create new manufacturing jobs. I have huge empathy for the people who live in my neighborhood and would like to see our local government do a better job of serving their interests. I was a natural.

So I filled out the application. And I was accepted (actually I think I was the only person who volunteered—let’s be honest here). I was invited to the committee’s July meeting (They meet every other month for an hour and a half. That should have been a red flag).

The committee meets in a meeting room in the City's 1-year old $55 million City Hall right on the edge of our "hardscrabble" neighborhood. We call it the Taj Mahal. It was financed by a local sales tax imposed by the City.

I sat through the entire meeting, listening (not my greatest skill) to the discussion and keeping my mouth shut (again not one of my greatest skills). I sat next to a man who had taken to time to go out into our neighborhood and photograph areas that have no sidewalks and streets that have crumbling asphalt. Yeah, there’s a chunk of this area that’s run-down and neglected.

And I’m thinking to myself, “Self, this could be interesting”. Then it came time to introduce me (the very last item on the agenda) and tell a little bit about myself. I told the members of the committee—property owners, renters, Chamber of Commerce members all from this neighborhood—a bit about myself and a tongue in cheek summary of some of the things I had done in the City in the 6+ years I’ve lived here.

I managed to get a stripe painted on a street (what I asked for was a street light at a dangerously dark corner). I managed to get the fences fixed at the nearby athletic fields of a junior high school so people couldn’t trespass (what I asked for was for the gates to be left open so people could continue to use the football field for pick-up soccer games). And I’ve managed to get a half dozen higher end cars towed from our street at a community festival earlier this summer and then a “no parking anytime” sign posted. When all I wanted was to get the cars ticketed for hindering traffic. Heads bobbed up and down—hmmm they’ve heard of me. In fact, one of the committee members commented, “oh, so you’re the guy…” Yep, that’s me.

They vote me onto the committee and I have to stand up and take an oath of office pledging to uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States. OK fine, it’s a bit odd but I’ll do it—yep I just renewed my social contract, this time officially.

So, I’m waiting for the next meeting. Hmmmm, there’s no follow-up generated from the previous meeting. There’s no communication from city staff. What kind of committee is this? Well, it’s a city committee. It fulfills a legal requirement. Does the City really want it to actually DO something? The notion that it meets for an hour and a half every two months should have been a hint.

Well, about a week before the next meeting—I still haven’t received minutes of the previous meeting or an agenda for the coming meeting—I got a call from the Redevelopment and Housing Director of the City. He’s calling to inform me that the required 3 year term of this committee expires at the end of the month and that the coming meeting would likely be the final meeting of the committee. What?!? I just got on the damn committee. I’m just getting going.

He told me that the City Council could, at its discretion, extend the PAC for an additional year. “OK,” I thought, “we can just get the council to do that.” But, the Director told me, staff is recommending that it not be extended in order to save money.

“And why not,” I asked.
“Cost saving in the budget,” I am told.

Rather than belaboring this further, let’s advance to the next, and final, meeting of the PAC. As they say in government, “discussion ensued”. The 2 staff members from the City re-iterated their recommendation that the PAC be allowed to “just fade away”. And they renewed their reasoning that the statutory requirement had been met and that it was a cost saving measure.

Ever the skeptic, I asked these 2 gentlemen just how much would be saved from the budget by the demise of this group. They didn’t know.

“Wait a minute,” I started up—starting to head toward righteous indignation. “You’re both professional staff members of this department (actually the top 2 guys) and you’re saying that the reason for eliminating this group is for budget savings but you don’t know how much you’ll save? It would seem to me that if you’re making this argument that you would have run at least a rudimentary time and motion analysis to be able to estimate how much it’s costing.”

The 2 guys looked at each other. Their lips got tight. They had no response. I managed to keep my mouth shut as other discussion ensued.

The long and short of it was that eventually I made a motion to recommend that the City Council extend the committee for a year. The committee delegated to me the task of communicating the committee’s position to the Council. I wrote a short, impassioned letter about volunteers volunteering for additional service.

The Council vote was unanimous. The Project Area Committee was allowed to sink into the oblivion of its 3 year term. Of course, the City’s motion thanked us for our service.

Service? What service? I was only on it for one entire meeting and the last 5 minutes of another. Crap.

Just as I was getting over it, a large flat envelope arrived in the mail from the City. The cynic in me said, “looks like a certificate”. This morning I opened it. It was a form. The form was accompanied by a letter. The letter said that the form was a Statement of Economic Interests Form 700 from the California Fair Political Practices Commission. I have to fill it out. And supposedly list all financial interests I have including stocks and 401k, etc. It is a required form when someone “leaves office”.

Office? I didn’t have an office. I was on a committee. And I served for 2 months.

Here I was, expecting a certificate of appreciation and service. What I got was a state form to make sure that I didn’t profit from my long service on the committee. Remember the scene from “A Christmas Story” when Ralphie gets his secret decoder ring along with a certificate conferring “honors and benefits”. When he discovers that the “secret message” is really a commercial for Ovaltine he says “son of a bitch”!

I had hopeful expectations about being able to, in some small way, do some good for my neighborhood and community. “Son of a bitch.”

Monday, October 3, 2011

Cheap Bastid Does Sonoran Hot Dogs

I love Coney Dogs—a hot dog swimming in an ooze of chili. And I love Chicago Dogs—a concoction that’s a salad on a dog complete with iridescent green relish. But now, I lust after Sonoran Dogs.

What makes them so different from other “Dogs”? One word: bacon. Yes, bacon. Visualize a hot dog wrapped in crispy bacon, just waiting to be slathered with a host of toppings that will create a fiesta in your tastebuds. Wow! You’re going to like these.

The Tucson Citizen described Sonoran Hot Dogs as being “like a chili dog on steroids”. I disagree. I think they’re more like a Chicago Dog in afterburner.

Now, I don’t know where I came across these, but Sonoran Hot Dogs rule in Tucson and Phoenix and they’re making inroads here in San Diego and in L.A. They first appeared in the Sonoran capital of Hermosillo in the 60’s and erupted across the border in the 80’s. Now, they’re a staple of lunch-time and bar-closing time in the Southwest.

I’m doing the Cheap Bastid version of this recipe and find that I can get 90% of the taste for 60% of the cost. I’ll throw in the elements that make it pricier and more “up-scale” later.

So on Saturday Mrs. CB got a text from Miss Meggie that she wouldn’t be having dinner with us so we figured we were on our own with my newest concoction until she pulled up in the driveway and into the apartment at 6.

“So are you home for dinner?” Mrs. CB asked.
“What are you fixing?” Miss Meggie asked me (she knows who the cook is).
“Well, I doing Sonoran Hot Dogs. They’ve got salsa and beans and…” but she had quit listening, like 22 year olds do to old folks. “…and they’re hot dogs wrapped in bacon…”

Her eyes lit up at those 3 key words—hot dogs bacon. That was enough for her to become a willing participant in Cheap Bastid’s latest experiment. How about you? Here it is:

Cheap Bastid’s Sonoran Hot Dogs
Ingredients
• 1 package hot dogs
• 8 slices thin cut bacon
• 1 package hot dog buns
• 1 can refried beans
• 1 recipe Cheap Bastid’s Pico de Gallo
• ½ cup Mayonnaise or “salad dressing”
• Chipotle or cayenne
• Mustard
• Shredded cheese (your choice—jack, cheddar, mozzarella, blend, etc.)

Directions
Take out a skillet and put on the stove. Wrap the bacon around each hot dog (use shorter dogs so the slice of bacon thoroughly wraps around it). Take the mayo and add the chipotle/cayenne to it and mix thoroughly. How much chipotle or cayenne? Enough! To taste! Bear in mind, that as it sits, it’ll get hotter so start with a little, sample, add more, stir again, sample, etc. until it’s the way you want it.

Open the can of refried beans, put into a microwave dish and zap on high for 2- 2 ½ minutes until it’s hot—or put it in a sauce pan on the stove.

Get everything arranged for fixing the dogs—plates, bowls of pico de gallo, cheese, etc. so people can fix their own. Now turn the stove on to medium and put the dogs in the pan (see, do all this other stuff first because you’re going to want to pay attention to the bacon wrapped dogs as it cooks and keep giving them quarter turns so they brown and cook evenly.

When done, remove the dogs from the pan and put on a platter with a doubled over paper towel on it to absorb the bacon fat.

Assemble: Take bun and slather some beans on the bottom. Then drop the dog in. Put a line of mustard on the side and then top with the mayo mix, pico de gallo and cheese. Now you’re ready to really enjoy a taste treat.

Imagine, biting through this concoction! The flavors and textures explode in your mouth! There’s crunch from the fresh pico de gallo, there’s softness from the cheese, there’s tang from the mayo and heat from the spices. Then there’s more crunch of bacon followed by the meat of the dog with the taste and texture of the refried beans putting the finishing touches on the bite you just took. Oh man! This is good!

Now, you’ve just had the Cheap Bastid version. There’s other versions of this as well. Some call for freshly cooked pinto beans, others for a can of rinsed pinto beans. I used my Cheap Bastid “ends and pieces” bacon—which didn’t work as well because it’s thick cut. You might want to go with thin sliced bacon. And, most recipes called for “all beef” hot dogs. My problem with that is if I’m going to spend $4-$5 a pound on beef, it’s not going to be a hot dog! That’s how much all-beef dogs cost now.

Some people add guacamole which is fine but CB just isn’t a guacamole lover. And I left out the mustard the other night and a hint of mustard on these would make a big difference—with that hint of vinegary tang to add to the dog and re-frieds. Plus you can also add a fresh-roasted or even jarred pepper to the side (just like on a Chicago dog) for extra taste and texture.

Bolillo rolls are often used for these, adding authenticity and a more upscale taste and texture. If you want to do that, slice a “pocket” in them—don’t cut end to end like a hot dog bun. This will take the Sonoran Dog up a notch. And last but not least—next time I’ll use toothpicks at each end of the dog to hold the bacon in place while it cooks and then pull them out when I finish the dogs.

The Cheap Bastid Test: So how’d I do? Let’s see, the dogs were bought on sale at $.75 a package. The Pico de Gallo cost me about $1.50 and I used half a recipe so it was $.75. The re-fried beans were on special for $.89 a can. The buns were $1 at the dollar store. And I spent $2 on a pound of bacon and used, let’s say ¾ lb so the cost was $1.50. What’s the total for 6 Sonoran Dogs that provide dinner for 3? If my arithmetic is right: $4.89 or $.81 per dog. That’s pretty cheap!

That’s the Cheap Bastid Way: Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

It's Repelling that the Media Can't Spell Rappelling

OK, so maybe this isn’t the most grave and compelling thing happening in the world right now. But it gripes my butt.

What the hell has happened with our ability to spell? Have we gotten that lazy that we 1) don’t KNOW how to spell or 2) don’t bother to run spell check—even though spell check doesn’t correct every error?

It’s bad enough when you or I do it. It’s even worse when the media does it so conspicuously as was seen yesterday all over the internet, TV and print media. And when it comes to the media, whatever became of editors or even interns who double check this stuff?

So just what the hell am I ranting about? Yesterday, inspectors crawled out of a tiny “hatch” at the top of the Washington Monument in order to begin inspecting the entire structure. They are going to work their way down the monument by rappelling.

NOT REPELLING!!

They’re two entirely different things. TV stations got it wrong. Newspapers got it wrong. Bloggers got it wrong. And, in all likelihood, the poor schmuck who wrote the press-release got it wrong and everybody else just copied him or her in their collective ignorance.

Apparently it takes an anal retentive like me to spot it and take umbrage.

Here’s what they’re doing—rappelling

Here’s what they’re not doing—repelling (as in “repel all boarders”)

And it's certainly not this kind of repel:

No wonder most of the adults look so dufus on “Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader?”

Monday, September 19, 2011

Cheap Bastid Brings Home the Bacon

Today, let’s talk a bit about bacon.

Let’s talk about how damned expensive it’s gotten. In the last year or so, it’s doubled. Now I find this kind of interesting because other pork prices haven’t doubled. Is that because there’s just a lot more demand for bacon and the producers charge anywhere from $4 to $6 a pound now because they can?

But geez, I’ve been thinking not just twice but three times before buying bacon. We’ve gone from cooking up a pound for BLTs or breakfast to a half pound (Wow! Talk about sacrifice!) We’ve gone from having 2 or 3 pounds in the freezer to a pound.

Crap, I don’t like that. There’s got to be a better way. Well, thanks to the meat manager at my local Stater Brothers grocery store, I came up with a solution. I was chatting with him one day and mentioned how bacon had taken a big jump. He agreed and told me what he buys—“ends and pieces”.

And I thought to myself, “Self, those are going to be little bitty 2 or 3 inch pieces of bacon and they’re just not going to be the same.” I was wrong.

Usually, the ends and pieces are mostly slices that weren’t as uniform as the other slices that went into the meat display case or they’re half slices with just a few “pieces”. Take a look:

Here’s the package:

Here’s what was in it:

And here’s the best part. This bacon is $4 a pound in the display case. The “ends and pieces” are $1.99 a pound. I can do that math. And all I have to do when I get it home is take it out of the package, separate the full slices from the half slices from the pieces and repackage it for the freezer. That takes about 5 minutes. And I’ve got 5 minutes to save half the price of the bacon.

The slices and half slices get fried up just like any other bacon and the pieces end up in something like Spaghetti Carbonara.

If your grocer has “ends and pieces” for cheap, then check it out and see if you can save some money. Give it a try.

And here’s a couple of Cheap Bastid bacon recipes you might want to check out:

http://just-walt.blogspot.com/2010/03/cheap-bastids-classic-spaghetti.html

http://just-walt.blogspot.com/2009/06/cheap-bastids-foodie-tuesday-chocolate.html

That’s the Cheap Bastid Way: Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!