New Mexico Chili Cook Off

My friend Ray sent this.  Like chili, it is earthy, so if you are easily offended - you were warned.  Also, so far as I know, there are NO TOMATOES in chili.  Hank

                                                                                                        

If you can read this whole story without laughing, then there is no hope for you.  I was crying by the end.  This is an actual account as relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off in New Mexico.

Note: Please take time to read this slowly.

If you pay attention to the first two judges, the reaction of the third judge is even better.

For those of you who have lived in New Mexico, you know how true this is.  They actually have a Chili Cook-off about the time Halloween comes around.  It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the Santa Fe Plaza...

Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chili taster named Greg, who was visiting from Springfield, IL.

Greg: 'Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off.  The original judge called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table, asking for directions to the Coors Light truck, when the call came in.  I was assured by the other two judges (Native New Mexicans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy; and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted and became Judge #3.'

Here are the scorecard notes from the event:

CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI

Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato.  Amusing kick...

Judge # 2 -- Nice, smooth tomato flavor.  Very mild.

Judge # 3 -- Holy crap, what the hell is this stuff?  You could remove dried paint from your driveway.  Took me two beers to put the flames out.  I hope that's the worst one.  These New Mexicans are crazy.

CHILI # 2 - EL RANCHO'S AFTERBURNER CHILI

Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork.  Slight jalapeno tang.

Judge # 2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor needs more peppers to be taken seriously.

Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of the reach of children.  I'm not sure what I'm supposed to taste besides pain.  I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver.  They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

CHILI # 3 - ALFREDO'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI

Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili.  Great kick.

Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.

Judge # 3 -- Call the EPA.  I've located a uranium spill.  My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano.  Everyone knows the routine by now.  Get me more beer before I ignite.  Barmaid pounded me on the back, now my backbone is in the front part of my chest.  I'm getting shit-faced from all of the beer.

CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC

Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice.  Disappointing.

Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans.  Good side dish for fish or other mild foods, not much of a chili.

Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue, but was unable to taste it.  Is it possible to burn out taste buds?  Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills.  This 300 lb...  Woman is starting to look HOT ... Just like this nuclear waste I'm eating!  Is chili an aphrodisiac?

CHILI # 5 - LISA'S LEGAL LIP REMOVER

Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili.  Jalapeno peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick.  Very impressive.

Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef could use more tomato.  Must admit the jalapeno peppers make a strong statement.

Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes.  I farted, and four people behind me needed paramedics.  The contestant seemed offended when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage.  Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer directly on it from the pitcher.  I wonder if I am burning my lips off.  It really ticks me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.  Screw them.

CHILI # 6 - VARGA'S VERY VEGETARIAN VARIETY

Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili.  Good balance of spices and peppers.

Judge # 2 -- The best yet.  Aggressive use of peppers, onions, garlic.  Superb.

Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames.  I crapped on myself when I farted, and I am worried it will eat through the chair.  No one seems inclined to stand behind me except that Sally.  Can't feel my lips anymore.  I need to wipe my butt with a snow cone.

CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI

Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.

Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment.  **I should take note that I am worried about Judge #3.  He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.

Judge # 3 -- You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin, and I wouldn't feel a thing.  I've lost sight in one eye, and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water.  My shirt is covered with chili, which slid unnoticed out of my mouth.  My pants are full of lava to match my shirt.  At least during the autopsy, they'll know what killed me.  I've decided to stop breathing.  It's too painful.  Screw it; I'm not getting any oxygen anyway.  If I need air, I'll just suck it in through the 4-inch hole in my stomach.

CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM'S TOENAIL CURLING CHILI

Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili...  Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.

Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili.  Neither mild nor hot.  Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself.  Not sure if he's going to make it.  Poor fella, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?

Judge # 3 -- No report.

Irene? I Rain!

...

It seems cruel that every channel out of two-hundred plus choices is covering hurricane Irene.  Poor New York.  It gets all that rain (mebbe) and it is going to waste, while we have barely enough water to frac our oil wells.  It ain’t fair, I tells ya.

Luckily, I found a “Stooge-a-Thon” on an obscure channel this morning.  I shall limit my viewing to that channel until the weekend is over.  Monday will be soon enough to learn if my wish that Washington, D.C. washed down the Potomac River and out to sea came true.  My other wish is that the Congress would rush back into emergency session this afternoon, while there is still time to join the buildings and monuments.

I know it is a faint hope.  It is going to be 106 again today.  The sprinkle of rain we received last week sizzled like spit on a hot griddle when it reached the ground.  Sometimes, a faint hope is the difference between hanging-on and simply hanging.

Even in despair, I remain a man of action.  This afternoon, I promised myself I would shop for a sailboat.  See you at sea! 

...

Daddy Long Legs

Ron sent this and it was just too innocent and sweet not to share. HB
...

Stories about children and their views of the world are always touching.

A father watched his young daughter playing in the garden.  He smiled as he reflected on how sweet and pure his little girl was.  Tears formed in his eyes as he thought about her seeing the wonders of nature through such innocent eyes.

Suddenly she just stopped and stared at the ground.  He went over to her to see what had captured her attention.  He noticed she was looking at two spiders mating.

'Daddy, what are those two spiders doing?' she asked.

'They're mating,' her father replied.

'What do you call the spider on top?' she asked.

‘A Daddy Longlegs,' her father answered.

'So, the other one is a Mommy Longlegs?' the little girl asked.

As his heart soared with the joy of such a cute and innocent question he replied, 'No dear.  Both of them are Daddy Longlegs.'

The little girl, looking a little puzzled, thought for a moment, then lifted her foot and stomped them flat.

"Well", she said, "that may be OK in California, but we're not having any of that shit in Texas."

Bon Voyage, Gerard Depardieu

...

In a world filled with reports of gloomy and hateful events, Gerard Depardieu managed to elbow his way to the front of the news line.  Mr. Depardieu apparently felt an urgent need to relieve himself while sitting in a commercial airliner on the tarmac.  The story says he asked to visit the restroom and the steward told him he had to wait.

No, he had to go!

The next part of the tale is that the actor stood up and proceeded to urinate in the aisle of the airplane.  (I can hardly keep from laughing at this.)

Next, the plane returned to the gate, released Mr. Depardieu into the custody of the bladder authorities and called maintenance to clean up the mess in aisle one.  Given the high-resolution X-Ray machines operated by the TSA, I am surprised they did not tell him to “go tinkle before boarding the plane.”

I am confident Gerard will feel the heavy boot heel of justice on his neck for his wanton act.  Still, I cannot blame him so much as the airline and the Federal Government for this crime.  (I am sure there is a law specifically forbidding this sort of thing on the federal books.  Aren’t you?)

Some have even suggested alcohol might have been involved.  Well, D'uh!

All I can say is everyone knew he was French when he bought the ticket.  Serves them right.

...

The Churches Before Katrina

My cousin Jerry sent this.  Several times.  All hate mail shall be forwarded to him. {:-)  HB
... 

The hurricanes that hit the Gulf Coast of our nation were devastating.  It did not spare the houses of worship in and around the area.  One of the local television stations in South Louisiana aired an interview with a woman from New Orleans.

The interviewer was a woman from a Boston affiliate.  She asked the woman how such total and complete devastation of the churches in the area had affected their lives.  Without hesitation, the woman replied, “I don't know about all those other people, but we ain't   gone to Churches in years.  We gits our chicken from Popeye's".

The look on the interviewer's face was priceless.  [Or racist?]

Ta Tump!

'''

...

The Second Time Around

... 

It has begun again.  Appliances that have served me without complaint for years are dropping like flies.  You may recall I experienced a mass failure of household appliances around December of ’09. 

I will never forget that particular episode because it began just as my son rolled into emergency surgery in New Mexico.  He suffered an attack of peritonitis and cheated death by a narrow margin.  While the doctors worked to save his life, I was organizing a flight to the hospital and receiving new appliances.  I received a new refrigerator, a new dishwasher and a new clothes washer at about same time.  The deliverymen hauled the dead machines away.  No one knows where.

On this past Sunday, the last holdout, the old clothes drier went toes up.  I made a quick trip to Home Depot for a replacement.  It showed up yesterday.  Today, I am back in the laundry business.  Now, I can launder a few shirts while I wait for the dead battery in my truck, which I discovered yesterday evening, to either charge or melt.  I am seriously wondering, “Who or what is next?”

I study other items around the house, trying to identify any suspicious noises or other indication of an imminent demise.  You know, electrical sparks, oil leaking onto the floor, grinding noises and such.  So far, I have found nothing.

The major difference this time around is I do not care.  My children and grandchildren are nearby and in good health.  At least no one has called to tell me anything different.  As far as I am concerned, it can rain broken appliances; the house could burn, and the wreckage be swallowed by the Earth.  I would not bat an eye, so long as my loved ones are safe and well.

I suppose I will be reminded of how blessed I am every time some electro-mechanical servant quits or bursts into flames.  I will be reminded how unimportant such things are and feel profound gratitude for those I cherish above all else.  A drier and battery are a small price to pay for renewed appreciation of all life has brought me.

Tips for the Handyman

 ...

On Sunday, I wrote about the new and improved bicycle seat I received for my birthday.   It was a thoughtful gift.  I was eager to install it and say farewell to the “ice pick” style seat I have used these many years.

I went into the garage at first light this morning and studied the installation of my current seat.  It was a simple clamp operated by an Allen screw.  I retrieved the proper wrench and set to work.  After ten minutes, I set out on my first potentially comfortable ride in several decades.

I finished riding a few minutes ago and I want to pass along a few tips to others who might be considering a similar project.  Listen up, men.  (I want to write this while it is still fresh in my mind.)

Tip 1:             The pointy end of the new seat must point directly at the center of the handlebars.  A test ride of, say, 50 feet will help you detect even the smallest misalignment.  No, you cannot detect this small error with the naked eye, but other organs can.

Tip 2:             When properly installed, the pointy end of the seat angles slightly downward.  Under no circumstances should the average male rider trust his eyes to determine the proper angle.  I am just guessing here, but I suspect your personal architecture determines the minimum proper declination of the seat.  Unless you are a colossal fool, test this in your driveway before heading far from home.

Tip 3:             Finally, tighten the Allen screw to “red in the face” torque.  You might save yourself the embarrassment of having the seat tilt forward into a near vertical position, dumping you onto the frame member.  Ouch!  Conversely, you do not even want to imagine the seat spontaneously tilting backward to the vertical, either.  The consequences could be severe.

Tip 4:             Take the Allen wrench with you when you go for your first ride or two.

There you have it.  Follow these simple suggestions and your first ride on your new bicycle seat will be memorable for all the right reasons.  Overlook even one of them at your own peril.

I am keeping this short because I need to soak in a hot tub for a while.  Then, maybe an ice pack…

...

The Birthday Boy

... 

As one of millions of Baby Boomers, I felt obliged to celebrate my recent birthday.  At first, I considered hanging, but ruled it out, at least for the present.  Instead, I celebrated with my children and grandchildren.  The clan descended upon my shack in the sun on Saturday.  They were heavily loaded with gifts, cards and an ice cream cake.  Since the cake is not on my diet, I limited myself to eating about half of it, instead of gobbling it down while my guests looked on.  It was a tasty treat indeed.  Oh, we also fetched in a giant order of Pizza.  After the feast, I began to suspect methamphetamine laced one or more of the dishes.  The grandchildren went completely nuts with gleeful energy.  It was too warm for them to play outdoors, according to their parents, so they screamed and yelled, racing in circles through the house, bouncing off strategically placed furniture for that last bit of thrill.  I think they had a great time and I enjoyed watching them.  Occasionally, I would catch a ricochet before he/she plowed headlong into a table or lamp, but otherwise I simply went with the flow.  The swarm repeatedly piled upon my son, who was only casualty.  I think they bent one of his knees “the other way” once or twice.  All, especially I, had a grand time.  There were gifts and sentimental cards involved, you know.  Here are a few of the loving sentiments I received on my “Special Day.”

…

From G'son, William

From G'sons Augie and Josh

From Sarah and Charles

From G'daughter, Sophia

From Ben & Tam

 …

How could I not feel cherished after these?

As if these were not enough, I received some special gifts.  One of the best was a set of dumbbells, just the right size for children who have taken an infernal interest in their grandfather’s collection of “big boy” weights.  More than once, I have entered my weight room only to discover a team of grandchildren trying to lug or hoist more than their own weight in pig iron.  This scene has a very disturbing effect on me, thus the lighter (2 and 4 pounds, I think) dumbbells will allow me to actually show them a few training exercises without too much concern that they will come away crippled for life.

My other favorite is my new bicycle seat.  It seems my son took pity on his dad when he learned I was riding an “Ice Pick.”  He went to the farm supply store and found a seat worthy of a 1940s vintage tractor.  (Could it be for my 1940s vintage bottom?)  You have seen those old seats, right?  They are about 30” wide and supported on soft springs.  

This one is really designed for a bike, but is sprung, heavily padded and even has a comfort feature for the prostate challenged rider.  I guess I have that to look forward to, too.  At least I shall be prepared in the bicycle department!

Other cherished gifts included golf shirts, cookware (huh?) and some recommended reading.  My son-in-law thinks I should try the “Dresden Files,” a series by Jim Butcher.  I respect his judgment and shall acquire an early volume soon – while I can still buy a paper printed book.

That is it for me.  I am thankful for all the loving attention.  I am also grateful I shall not turn 65 again anytime soon.

…

The End of All Things

... 

Don’t worry.  Be happy!

As I sit here typing, I can hear the financial experts on CNBC discussing the stock market.  I should mention it is 2:00pm CDT and the Dow Industrials are in line to fall 400 points today.  Even gold is down $50 per ounce.  I can hear the stress in those knowledgeable voices.  In their own way, they are all saying the same thing: “EEeekk!”

Okay, I will admit a few things are wrong with the economy.

First, the US has a $60 trillion unfunded liability for various pension and health programs.  Second, the US Congress recently demonstrated that as petty and mean-spirited as they are, they cannot cut a single dollar from their spending addiction.

Next, 20 million or so folks are out of work or under worked.  The lucky employed are largely paid on a par with workers in India or Russia.  That is not good.

Then, there is Europe.  Specifically, the European Union, sometimes called the “EU” (Rhymes with “Pee Euw”) is falling apart and they have no central bank or printing press to save them.  Soon, most of Europe could return to the dark ages.

The US has trouble and may not fare much better than Italy or Ireland when push comes to shove.

I am not worried.  Why?  I am not concerned because the US Congress is on vacation for five glorious weeks.  I plan to relax; sun bathe (10 minutes at a time, y’know?) and mebbe sip a cold beer in the evening for as long as they are out of town.  Everything might blow over and get better in their absence. :)

When they return, I will begin to worry.

Until then, I suggest everyone eat, drink and make merry.  (No, not make Mary... sheesh!) The unpleasantness will be upon us soon enough!

...

Over and Under

Sorry, dudes and dudettes, but the official high temperature in Dallas, Texas today was 110.  Since no one chose  "over" the prize money remains with yours truly.  No one chose "under," either, so I'm keeping that, too. 

We can play again another time.  :)

Hank

The Great Debate

 

...

I had business in another city on Monday, the first day of August.   The ride from my home to my appointment is about 120 miles, each way.  I wanted to beat as much of the heat as possible, so I set my alarm at around the time the U.S. Marines landed on Guadalcanal.  Well, maybe I slept in a bit later, but 0400 arrived at the same instant I turned out my lights for the evening.

I sipped and guzzled all the tea I could hold, hoping at least one eye or the other would be open for the entire journey.  

As I waited for consciousness to arrive, I snapped on the television and scanned several stations for a report on the definitive issue of our times.  That is right; I was looking for the weather reports.  The first estimate I got was for a high temperature of 105.  No chance for rain and the country might be broke before it got that hot anyway.  Educated meteorologists debated back and forth.

If this were not gloomy enough, the next person guessed the temperature would hit 106.  The Weather Channel posted a 102, I think, and I was on their side, but the screen was too blurry for me to say for sure. 

By the time I left the house at 0730, the high bid was 108 and I felt the weight of summer gloom heavy on my shoulders.  “Why would anyone live here,” I asked myself rhetorically.  “Why indeed,” I answered.  I sped south where the air was 90 at 0900.  “Very symmetrical,” I thought.

In Washington, D.C., The Congress was in full showboat mode, dazzling the people with a full frontal assault of smoke, mirrors and dire predictions.  Many in Texas had bigger fish to fry.  Those fish would be the ones they picked up from the mud where their stock tanks used to be.  Without water, cattle and fish are equally perishable commodities.  You can sell cattle, but you might as well eat the fish.

I arrived home in the middle of the afternoon and collapsed.  Even in a 68-degree cabin, the intense heat dehydrated me.  Two liters of Gatorade later, I was able to collapse on the sofa until the cool of the evening.

Whoever had 107 in the pot won the prize yesterday.  I fear that will not cover it today.  I am guessing 109.  Anybody want the over or under?

I plan to spend today reading brochures from Finland, Yellow Knife, Yukon Territory and other frozen places as a spiritual present to myself.  Later, I may go out for ice cream.

Stay in the shade, my friends.  November and autumn will be here before you know it.