The saddest dog in the world

This here is a picture of Chickenbone on his first road trip. And as you can see, he's positively thrilled about it.

Seriously, am I the only one who can see those sorrowful little eyebrows? ACTUAL puppy-dog eyes, which bore into my soul every time I turned around to check on him? Pooch, you are KILLING ME.

OK, a little background: This year my husband and I are going to spend Christmas with my family in New Mexico. And while we like PetSmart and how they serve dishes of doggie ice cream to "hotel" guests, I hate how the animals are forced to pee and poop in their cage. I know it gets cleaned up right away, but I also know dogs don't enjoy going to the bathroom where they also sleep and eat. CALL THEM CRAZY. Plus, they don't even get to go outside! Not one time! So rather than make Chickens go through that for five days (five days during CHRISTMAS for heaven's sake) we figured we'd just toss him into the back seat and take him along.

To prepare him for four full days in the car, we took a warm-up lap in September, an hourlong drive to Fort Funston in San Francisco (that's when I took the picture above). And last weekend we tried a four-hour trip to Santa Barbara. The verdict? Chickens and road trips are not exactly getting along.

I mean, it's not like he doesn't love the car. Car rides are his favorite. Trouble is, he likes to spend them staring gleefully out the window, with his back paws digging into my legs, front paws digging into my boobs, and his panting wet doggy lips two inches from my face. So for these trips, we put him in his crate, which gets him off my lap and will keep him from blasting through the windshield like a baseball if we're in an accident.

But in the crate, he is a very unhappy little guy. And he doesn't even have the spirit to get mad about it, which breaks my heart. He just becomes this quivering, mewling mess. He whines and weeps - there were ACTUAL TEARS! - and refuses to lay down and go to sleep. Also, you know how normal dogs often sit with their butts on the ground and their front legs extended? The "sit" position? Well, Chickens never sits like this at home, I think because of his weirdly-shaped torso and short toothpick legs. But on this trip, he sat up almost the entire time. He simply could not relax.

I'm not sure what we'll do now, I guess keep practicing and trying to get him comfortable with being back there. If we haven't figured it out by December, I suppose I could drug him. Seemed to work OK on Saturday, when he wouldn't stop barking at our favorite State Street pub. After I fed him a couple of scotch-covered ice cubes, he crawled inside my sweatshirt and went right to sleep. He also had a good time at the bed and breakfast, where we stayed in a cottage that had a fenced-in private courtyard. There were lots of gorgeous plants, flowers and bushes, as well as an enormous gnarled peppercorn tree, just like the one in our back yard. Here's Chickens meditating in the sun after his petrifying car ride:

And here he snoozing in the cottage. You can't see from the photo, but right next to that bed are his little doggie steps, which we brought so he can get up and down as he pleases. That's also his favorite blue blanket, and the little half-chewed rawhide burrito he likes to nibble on at night. So, see, Chickens? WE'RE NOT TERRIBLE PARENTS! So please stop looking at me like that!

When the mind wanders at meetings

OK, get ready, you guys. Because you will never in your life hear a better idea than this.

So are you ever grossed out by greasy lipstick stains all over women's Starbucks lids? Like, uh, could you please stop frenching your latte? And it's not just other people -- I don't even want to drink my OWN beverage after I see my big ol' lip prints smeared all over the lid. It seems so unsanitary. So "not to alarm you, but there was just a human mouth here."

Well, Starbucks, why don't you just make PINK AND RED LIDS! That way women can slurp to their heart's content without being icked out. And people who aren't paying attention because it is their sixth meeting in five hours won't have to sit there staring at your waxy, germy mouthprint.

p.s. Ooh, special disease bonus! Do pink in October (breast cancer) and red in December (AIDS/HIV) and you'll "raise awareness" AND make the world a less unsightly place!

Why more dudes should write cookbooks

These two recipes were given to me by male friends - one is in the middle of a bond-measure campaign, and the other only gets invited to parties if he swears to bring this dish. After the chuckles, make the food. Both dishes are certifiably to die for. 

p.s. Don't even THINK of wincing at the vegan thing, because goddammit, I'm from New Mexico. If I say this is good posole, it is.

Cee Dub’s Vegan Posole

(serves six, or one for a few settings, or two big dudes)

*2 cans of Juanita’s Mexican style white hominy, 29 oz.each
*2 cans diced green chilies, 4 oz. each
*Fake pork or similar – enough of your favorite. I tend to use around half as much meat as I use hominy, or thereabouts. Worthington’s “tasty bites” or veggies steaks are good, St. Yves shredded turkey is great, or simmer a big brick of tofu, chopped, in your favorite Mexican spices.
*Four or five cups of water
*Two or three veggie bullion cubes, or a dollop of “Better than Bullion” (my fave)
*Four or five cloves of fresh garlic, chopped
*One peeled and finely chopped yellow onion (optional)
*One glass of chardonnay (not optional)
*At least one tablespoon of New Mexican chile powder (Hatch, Nambe, Dixon, Chamayo if you can get it; www.thechileshop.com)
*Plenty of ground cumin, Mexican oregano – maybe half a tablespoon of each
*Half of one bunch of fresh cilantro, washed and chopped

In a large pot, cook the onion and chopped meat in a little oil until the onion is soft and the meat is browned a bit. Toss in the garlic for four minutes and six seconds.

In a large election, cast one (1) vote in favor of Measure A. Quickly add the resulting revenue to the construction of one (1) large hospital (public).

Add everything else into the big pot. Stir it up, little darling, cover and simmer low for 30 minutes.

Drink the glass of chardonnay.

After 30 minutes, examine. It should have enough liquid to be stew-like, but not quite soup-like. Add h20 if you need, remove the lid for 20 more minutes if you need. Taste it. Need more chile? Sure you do! More garlic? Why the hell not? Depending on the meat you used and the amount of bullion you spooned in, you may want salt. Add more chile too; this isn’t Quiet Riot.

Simmer some more, 30 minutes additional at least. Did you save any of that cilantro? Just before serving in small bowls, cool people sprinkle some on top and stir it in. Other cool people say they top with chopped purple cabbage, which sounds good though I’ve never done it. Serve with Sonny Rollins’s “The Bridge” or Burning Spear’s “Dry and Heavy”.

Kevin's Taters

CHOP THIS SHIT:

* You want about one supermarket plastic bag full (the kind you get from the roller in the produce aisle) of potatoes. I prefer the smaller yellow yukon potatoes over your typical brown baking potato. They take longer to cook, but have better flavor. Yeah, some real motha-fuckin' gourmet advice here! Also, you don't have to peel those potatoes if you don't want.
* Two yellow onions, medium to big.

* One of each: red pepper, yellow or orange pepper, green pepper
* New addition: one shallot. I keep hearing how much flavor they add. So, fuck it, give it a try. Might be a little too onion-y, so, use at your discretion.
* Two jalapeno peppers. Dice those fuckers up good and fine, and keep the seeds for heat. If you go the habanero route, just slice one and leave it sitting in the taters, so you can pull it out whole. I've never tried dicing one. It might kill someone.


PUT THE SHIT TOGETHER:

You need three pieces of aluminum foil. Lay them out like a flower, so you have three layers in the middle, and a fan all around.

Put the potatoes in first. Salt, pepper (tons), cayenne (just a bit, don't overdo it) and crushed red pepper (i love this shit). You want the taters to have a nice seasoning to them.

Add everything else in, and mix with your dirty, just-scratched-myself hands.

Cut two or three sticks of butter into halves, and spread them in the mixture, generally toward the top (so the butter melts onto everything below. Mmmm...).

Begin pulling up the leaves of your aluminum foil flower. Try not to spill, but make it as tight as possible. Add another two pieces of really long foil to tighten up the corners. DON'T RIP THE FOIL, DOUCHEBAG! THE BUTTER WILL LEAK OUT!

* Added bonus: Crisp up a shitload of bacon, and dice it. Add if you want to die.

Throw it on a hot-ass grill, but don't leave it over high heat for too long, or the bottom will burn. If you've got the gas grill, leave one side on high, the other on low, and put the taters over low once the sizzling begins.

After 40 minutes or so, begin burning your precious little fingers by opening the foil into a giant bowl. Start pulling taters out to taste their texture. Keep cooking them until you're happy with the texture. Could take 10 more minutes, could take 30. You never know.

Sprinkle on a shitload of cheese.

Enjoy!

Happy birthday to me

In honor of the big three-two, my top childhood birthday memories:

1980, Age 4 - I'm on a huge Smurfs kick, so mom tells me she's going to order a Smurfette cake for my birthday party. Only she must not have spent a year of Saturday mornings with her butt planted two feet from the TV screen like I did. At the party, she gathers all the kids around the cake box and proudly lifts the lid. I gasp in horror. "Mom, what IS that?!" She looks puzzled. "What do you mean? THAT'S Smurfette!" Um, no, mom. ALL smurfs are blue. Not pink. Not even girl smurfs.

1982, Age 6 - While sitting in my desk doing schoolwork on a warm, sunny afternoon, I hear a faint thumping sound of music in the hallway. The music got louder as it grew closer, and then all of a sudden, Miss Piggy appears in the doorway of our classroom. THE Miss Piggy, with bouncing blonde curls, a boombox on her shoulder, and a clump of brightly colored balloons. She walks up to me, and I nearly wet my pants. First she leads the class in singing "Happy Birthday" to me, and then she produces a box of chocolates, which I get to hand out to all my classmates. As I walk home from school proudly holding my balloons, I see my mom, who surprised me by meeting me halfway down the block. I am so overcome with happiness that as I run toward her, I burst into tears.

1986, Age 10 - In the middle of the night I am awakened by rustling noises in my bedroom, along with some "shits" and "goddamns." I lift my head up and see two figures huddled at the foot of my bed. It's mom and dad, trying to set up my a new stereo so that I'll be surprised when I wake up the next morning. I pretend to go back to sleep, but I'm too excited and my heart is pounding. I listened to the whole thing. The next day I unwrap my first two cassette tapes: Janet Jackson's "Control" and Johnny Cash's "Man in Black," both of which I had specifically requested. Within a week, I had memorized every single word of "Nasty" and "A Boy Named Sue." That's right, folks - even back THEN I was this cool.

School days

In honor of the work-work-work mentality that appears to have stolen away all my blogging time, I offer you three random tidbits about my new career in a high school:

1. Overheard at an assembly this week:

Teacher, to students: "Grass monkey? I mean, what the heck IS that? Whoever heard of a grass monkey?!"
Student: "No, it's BRASS monkey."
Teacher: "Really? Aw, geez. Well, uh ... guess I'm old."
Student, drawing heavy sigh: "Uh, yeah, it's from the EIGHTIES."

2. Hanging in the cafeteria above the microwave is a sign that reads "Do not use a napkin when heating cookie. We can catch a fire!" Every time I see it, I envision this little cartoon flame with arms and legs and a worried look on his face racing down a street, with an angry mob of high school girls chasing after him.

3. My school is Catholic, but I'm not, so I don't partake in communion during Mass. But I'm starting to feel somewhat obsessed about those little white wafers. Are they crisp, like saltines? Or more crumbly, like a Ritz? Maybe they're gummy and bland, or maybe they're seasoned and tasty? The aspiring foodie in me is dying to know.

Uncredited appearance

That right there on the TV, my friends, is your good buddy Chickenbone Jones. Nestled in the arms of some hot babe, because where else would you find a television star who was completely naked except for his fake-diamond-studded collar?

This was filmed back when Kathy Griffin and a camera crew from her reality show "My Life on the D-List" appeared at the Humane Society Silicon Valley's Fur Ball fundraiser. I tried to dodge the mob because I was sweaty, rumpled and covered in dog hair, but evidently the cameras couldn't resist getting a shot of our beastly little cur. Don't be fooled by that wide-eyed-angel gaze up there – last year at this party he growled at a three-legged dog, and this year he lunged at a dog with one eye. Yep, we got ourselves a real little philanthropist here.

Let's catch up

There is so, so much going on lately. I mean, if you could read all the blog posts I've composed in my head the past couple of weeks, you'd wet your pants from laughing. They were HILARIOUS. Oh, and the photographs! OK, well, those actually do exist. Only they're inside my new BlackBerry, and evidently I'm not smart enough to figure out how to get them out of the BlackBerry and into my computer. And the "instruction manual" that came with it? Please. I got a more informative booklet with the four-button walkman-on-a-neckstrap I got when I was 10. For the first week I despised this thing. But I worked at it, tried to stay patient, and now I have settled into more of a mild disgust. Hoping that when I get it linked up to actual useful things, like Outlook e-mail and schedule at work, we'll live happily ever after.

But the pictures. So first off, I have some shots of Princess Leia hugging my husband. THE Princess Leia, who was at the San Jose Rep doing a one-woman show written by some broad named Carrie Fisher. She showed up at a pre-show reception and went around to all the tables saying hi to everyone. I thought she looked beautiful, though I was a little WTF? on her eye makeup. Royal blue eyeliner, bright and thick, sprinkled with glitter the size of diamonds. Later I realized that she isn't quite as freaky as all that, it was just stage makeup. I also realized this woman has created for herself a job where she sits around on stage in pajamas, telling stories and smoking cigarettes. So if she wanted diamonds in her eyes, she could probably make it happen.

I also have pictures from the Gilroy Garlic Festival, which I attended for the first time despite the fact that I have lived in the Bay Area for six years. To all of you who told me this is a stupid hillbilly event that isn't worth the drive or the effort, well, I would like to introduce you to my new best friend, crab fries. CRAB FRIES, YOU GUYS. Crunchy, golden, beer-battered garlic fries, topped with creamy aioli and a heap of shredded dungeness crab. I began to slobber just typing that sentence.

OK, I must interrupt myself and say that just now I went to Yelp to see if other people liked these greasy little babies, and yikes! People hated this festival?! I really can't understand that. The biggest complaints seem to be the heat (because Gilroy in July is normally so pleasant, right?); the traffic (one einstein whines about "bad traffic planning by the organizers;" mm-hmm, because there's so much with Highway 101 you can get creative with!); and the food (CRABFRIES-CRABFRIES-CRABFRIES.) Someone even complained about a lack of beer! I just don't know what is wrong in people's heads sometimes. The beer was icy cold and plentiful. The food was outstanding. In addition to the crab fries, we really enjoyed the buttery shrimp scampi with garlic bread, and the garlic sausage sandwich. We also tried the garlic ice cream, and Yelpers, I'll give you that one. Eww.

I wasn't the only one who didn't care for garlic ice cream. Emily West, an up-and-coming country music artist and also my very good pal, didn't like them, either. Emily was at the festival primarily to the hell out of a song called "Rocks in Your Shoes," which is her first Top 40 hit and a song I'm crazy about. It was so awesome to hear it live. And I'm telling you, this woman is adorable (if you can manage to be adorable while also being a 6-foot-tall blonde bombshell.)

At the end of her set (after she tried garlic ice cream onstage and declared it to be "awful") she came out to sign autographs. Now, normally I stay far away from celebrities of any kind. I love to gawk at them, but I don't want to talk to them because I know I'd say something stupid. Like "You are cool" or "I love you." But for some reason I had a little burst of courage with Emily, maybe because she toughed it out for our small crowd, in dust and wind and cruel heat. I liked her sense of humor. At one point she casually dropped some remark about her tour bus, and then she chuckled and whispered into the microphone, "Yeah, I don't have a tour bus." She also used her cell phone to take pictures of the crowd and some some self-portraits of her and her guitarist, the only other person on stage. Then she asked us to please become her MySpace friend. Awww-WUH!

So I got in line and when it was my turn to meet her, I told her that I really appreciated her coming all the way out to Gilroy. Then I said her song kicks so much ass. She laughed at that, and as I walked away I looked down at what she wrote on my program. "To Amy: You kick ass. Emily West." Emily, you are cool.

Finally, since we seem to have a bit of a celebrity theme going on in this post, I may as well tell you that someone you all know (hint: IT'S CHICKENBONE JONES!) attended a photo shoot with his dad this week. San Jose Magazine is doing a feature for their October edition about local celebrities and their pets. The photographer said Chickens was the most "energetic" dog they saw that day, which was probably putting it kindly, since Sal said he was sprinting around and around the hotel suite and wouldn't sit still because he was too busy trying to kiss everyone. On the plus side, he did not pee on any people or furnishings. Really, that should be their headline.