ZONKO vs. WALL-E
I have a cat named Zonko. He's nuts. So I pit him against various objects to see how he reacts, as you can see he's wary, but far from scared. (P.S.- Turn the Sound wwaayyyy down)
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Family Ties
These are my two nieces. The oldest is Riley, she's my brother's kid and is turning 4 on Monday. She calls me "Uncle Guy" because she couldn't pronounce the "S" in my name. The youngest one is my sister's kid Hallie, She was just born this last December. I haven't seen her in person yet because my sister moved to Texas a couple years ago., but she's going to be out here in the next couple weeks. Really noe reason to this post except I'm testing my photo software, is it works I'll be adding more photos and videos to the blog. Lets' see if it works. Saturday, June 28, 2008
Best Summer Flick So Far....
Got up at the crack of dawn to take my niece to se a 9am showing of "WALL-E", I hate crowded theaters, so the earlier the better, especially with a 4 year old in tow. Now I've seen all the big flicks for the summer so far except for the "The Dark Knight". Iron Man, Indiana Jones, Hulk, etc..., but "WALL-E" was absolutely the best flick. This is coming from a comic book geek (I have the boarded and bagged file boxes to prove it), all the other flicks were good, but "WALL-E" was just way beyond anything. Keep in mind that this is a film were the 2 main characters rarely speak because they are robots. Their physical actions bring a whole new meaning to the term body language, and when the do speak ,as brief as they are, the inflections and tones convey more than any words could. All in all the flick was marketed and created for kids, but I don't think anybody who sees it will be able to not like it. Like I said the best flick of the summer, actually the best I've seen all year.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Zen and The Art of Drinking Alone
From: http://moderndrunkardmagazine.com/
"What'd you get up to last night?"
"Got wicked drunk."
"Yeah? Where'd you go?"
"I didn't go anywhere. I drank at home."
"You had a party and didn't invite me? Who showed up?"
"No one. I got drunk by myself."
"No shit? What's wrong, man? You wanna talk about it?"
I do wanna talk about it. Not about what my friend wrongly assumed was the dark motivation that would drive me to drink alone, but the very act of drinking alone.
Somewhere along the line people got the idea that solitary boozing is a sure sign that the drinker is about to slip over the edge into something dark and sinister, whether it be suicide, skid row or a staff position at a drinking magazine.
And on the surface, it makes sense. Alcohol is the original social lubricant, after all, it makes any gathering loose and friendly, it has the unique and beatific ability to spin laughter and camaraderie from the dry straw that is the strained silence of the sober. Strangers become friends, friends become cliques and cliques become vast drinking scenes. It is the golden bond that connects you with most of your friends and acquaintances. It sure as hell isn't a collective interest in stamp collecting that holds the gang together.
Drinking alone, on the other hand, is a much more pure and forthright form of imbibing, and I say that because it focuses entirely on the simple act of putting alcohol into your bloodstream. It tosses aside all the half-hearted pretensions about merely using alcohol as a social tool. It gets down to what drinking is all about: getting loaded, and by doing that, getting down to the inner you. The inner joy, the inner madness, the subconscious you, the real you.
Now, there are those who abhor the very idea of spending a moment with themselves. Put them in a quiet room for five minutes and they're picking up the phone or turning on the TV. "Deep down in his private heart, no man respects himself much," Mark Twain was fond of saying, and he was dead right. Why should those people want to hang with their inner selves? That entity is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, and worse, a stranger who knows all their deepest, darkest, most terrible secrets.
Which, ironically enough, is exactly why you have to hang with him, because sooner or later that bastard will turn on you. The longer you keep him locked up by himself, the weirder he's going to get, and he will eventually manifest himself as a nervous breakdown or very self-destructive behavior.
That's where your old pal booze comes into play. You already knew the sauce is the supreme moderator, a perfectly charming go-between when dealing with friends and strangers, but did you also know it is as equally adept at opening up internal lines of communication? Whiskey is the key that sets the monkey free, goes the old saw, and that monkey is your Id, your subconscious mind, the inner you. Instead of letting that monkey out in public, where he tends to go berserk (or so they tell you the next morning), set him loose in a calm room. A quiet place bare of predators and prey. Get to know him. You might be surprised. You might even start liking the little bastard.
Find Your Circle of Solitude
"So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat." —Charles Bukowski
Just as it is nearly impossible to write anything worth reading while someone is looking over your shoulder, it is just as nearly impossible to tap the subconscious mind while drinking in the company of others. Which is a shame because never is the subconscious mind more lucid and willing to speak than when you are loaded.
So find your quiet space. Lower the lighting and unplug the phone. And for the love of God, turn off the TV. That evil box is the antithesis of inner thought, it is a jabbering knave that never shuts up or listens, it is expressly designed to steal your attention and direct it to its own petty needs. Turn it off or, better yet, throw it out the window.
A dining table, in my opinion, is the best place to drink alone. There is something about having the glass and bottle sitting right in front of you, ready for action, it brings to mind Bogart in Casablanca, except you don't have Sam sitting at the piano, tickling the ivories. But that doesn't mean you can't have some music to set the mood.
The Soundtrack of Isolation"The only thing better than one of my songs is one of my songs with a glass of scotch." —Jackie Gleason
While you may prefer metal, rap, punk or, egad, techno when you're out swinging with the gang, the point of drinking alone is not to get pumped up but to hunker down with the inner workings of your psyche. Slow and melodic, even nostalgic music is best. Tom Waits, the Jackie Gleason Orchestra, Johnny Cash and Portishead work for me. You know what puts you in a meditative mood. Find your slow inner beat and cater to it.
Choose Your Moderator
"I let my drinking do the talking." —Humphrey Bogart
Whiskey on the rocks is Johnny Carson. A cocktail is Conan O'Brien. A strong burgundy with some bite is David Letterman. Beer is Jay Leno, which is why I stay away from it. And make sure you're well stocked. The last thing you want is Johnny, just when the show is starting to roll, taking a powder on you.
Now that you've picked your host, you're ready to start rapping with your Id, right? Wrong. Before you can get acquainted with yourself, you have to get acquainted with the bottle.
Befriend the Bottle
"A well-made Martini or Gibson, correctly chilled and nicely served, has been more often my true friend than any two-legged creature." —M. F. K. Fisher
After three or four drinks you'll start realizing there are clear advantages to drinking alone, namely:
You're the bartender. Drinking alone means you can drink exactly what you want. Let's admit it, what we drink in public is not necessarily what we really want to drink. There are social norms to conform to, there are reputations to maintain, there are friends to impress. Your mouth will order a shot of tequila when your soul wants a Black Russian.
You control the pace. Want another? Pour it. No standing in line for a drink, no pressure to take yet another sham shot of girlie juice, no bouncer telling you you've had enough. The bottle in front of you never says no. Only yes, yes and yes!
Booze tastes better. Read a good book alone in a quiet place and you will absorb and understand the beauty of a perfectly worded sentence. Read in a crowded and loud room and you will skim the beauty and absorb nothing. The same goes for drinking. There are no distractions to divert your attention from the rich bite of a mouthful of bourbon. You will notice the vast array of flavors and aromas. You will realize hidden depths of taste in a cocktail you had imagined a shallow pond. Show me someone who is drinking alone, without any desire to seek out human companionship, and I'll show you a drunk who truly enjoys alcohol.
The bottle doesn't jabber. One of the greatest pleasures in life is a comfortable silence between friends. You know what I'm talking about: you're having a quiet drink at a table with an old friend, and both of you feel absolutely no need to engage in idle prattle, there is a fine understanding that nothing needs to be said, you merely sit and bask in the light of each other's company.
Those moments, unfortunately, are few and far between. These days we're so damn afraid the other person will think we're boring and start looking for someone a little more chatty to sit with, or, worst of all, yawn. And it's from the belly of that fear the current plague of pointless small talk was born. I've gone out drinking in the company of a great number of people and at the end of the evening I won't be able to recall having a single inner thought of value. Or a single valuable outer thought, for that matter. When you're jabbering at friends and they're jabbering at you, the inner drunk is neglected, he merely sits there and broods.
When you are drinking with the bottle, however, you are rewarded with a vast, gently rolling plain of comfortable silence. The bottle never gossips or tries to interest you in stereo speakers it is planning on buying, it merely sits there in pristine silence, filling your glass instead of your ear.
You can act any damn fool way you wish. The bottle will not condemn you for laughing out of turn or pounding the table like a bad character actor. It will quietly salute you. You can get as maudlin, dramatic and sentimental as you wish, without anyone telling you to snap out of it, cheer up, or cool out.
Meet Your Monkey
"You don't know a damn thing about a man until you've gotten stinking drunk with him." —Charles Russell
After about five drinks the monkey will start rattling the cage. Let him out.
Examine his fine smile. This is the giddy you that is so charming with the ladies at the bar. Note the wily gleam in his eyes. This is the happy-go-lucky sport that comes up with wholly improbable, yet wildly optimistic schemes while loaded. Sense his light heart. This is the jovial soul that will laugh at the worst bar joke ever told.
Doesn't seem like such a bad guy at all, does he? Introduce yourself. Buy him a drink. Let him buy you a drink. Anyone who buys you a drink can't be all bad, right?
It is now that you will recognize the monkey for who he truly is: he is you without social constraints. A slave unchained. He is you without the worry of what other people think. He is what you want to be, not what your parents, friends, lover, boss and God want you to be.
After a couple more rounds, a rich warmness will settle upon you as the alcohol rallies your collective self esteem. At this point you'll start to think, Hell, this guy is a fucking prince.
Understand that this is the guy who has stuck with you every step of the way, he stood with you in every fistfight, he was there when you were struggling through the blackest shadows of depression, he helped you plant the flag on the tallest peaks of success. All this time you were hoping everyone else was watching, and all along it was always you, gazing from within.
Wallow in nostalgia. Everyone loves a good story and your inner self remembers all of them. Revel in all the good things you've done, laugh off the mistakes you've made. Realize that every step and misstep of your life has led you unremittingly to this single pristine moment: Drinking with the best friend you ever had or ever will have.
Don't be afraid to get emotional. In a crowd you are not likely to follow your own emotional path, you adopt the emotional direction and tone of the gang. Now you can feel anyway you want. Laugh. Cry. Do whatever the hell you like. If you catch yourself feeling self-conscious or foolish, pause and remind yourself you are your only audience. Who's going to tell on you? The bottle? No. I know the bottle, and the bottle ain't talkin'.
As you dive deeper into the bottle, and deeper within yourself, you will start feeling a strange wholeness. The surface you will blend with the submerged you, and though the pair will never entirely merge (if you pull that one off, you should put in an application for the position of Dalai Lama), they will mingle and they will learn to like each other. And that's the whole point.
Before your inner journey ends, make certain you realize exactly what you've pulled off. Look at yourself in the mirror and fairly tremble with your newfound power. You have built bonds and allied yourself with the one person who will determine more than anyone else on the planet whether you fuck up or seize your dreams.
* * *
In the morning you may not remember much of your adventure, but that's okay, because the monkey never forgets. And a stranger who genuinely likes you is a very powerful ally, because he will come to your aid when you least expect it.
The next time you get loaded with the gang, gaze into your drink, your secret mirror, and think: "Hey, old friend. Remember our quiet time together? Remember the thoughts we shared? We'll meet up again down the road. Just you, me, and the bottle." —FKR
"What'd you get up to last night?"
"Got wicked drunk."
"Yeah? Where'd you go?"
"I didn't go anywhere. I drank at home."
"You had a party and didn't invite me? Who showed up?"
"No one. I got drunk by myself."
"No shit? What's wrong, man? You wanna talk about it?"
I do wanna talk about it. Not about what my friend wrongly assumed was the dark motivation that would drive me to drink alone, but the very act of drinking alone.
Somewhere along the line people got the idea that solitary boozing is a sure sign that the drinker is about to slip over the edge into something dark and sinister, whether it be suicide, skid row or a staff position at a drinking magazine.
And on the surface, it makes sense. Alcohol is the original social lubricant, after all, it makes any gathering loose and friendly, it has the unique and beatific ability to spin laughter and camaraderie from the dry straw that is the strained silence of the sober. Strangers become friends, friends become cliques and cliques become vast drinking scenes. It is the golden bond that connects you with most of your friends and acquaintances. It sure as hell isn't a collective interest in stamp collecting that holds the gang together.
Drinking alone, on the other hand, is a much more pure and forthright form of imbibing, and I say that because it focuses entirely on the simple act of putting alcohol into your bloodstream. It tosses aside all the half-hearted pretensions about merely using alcohol as a social tool. It gets down to what drinking is all about: getting loaded, and by doing that, getting down to the inner you. The inner joy, the inner madness, the subconscious you, the real you.
Now, there are those who abhor the very idea of spending a moment with themselves. Put them in a quiet room for five minutes and they're picking up the phone or turning on the TV. "Deep down in his private heart, no man respects himself much," Mark Twain was fond of saying, and he was dead right. Why should those people want to hang with their inner selves? That entity is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, and worse, a stranger who knows all their deepest, darkest, most terrible secrets.
Which, ironically enough, is exactly why you have to hang with him, because sooner or later that bastard will turn on you. The longer you keep him locked up by himself, the weirder he's going to get, and he will eventually manifest himself as a nervous breakdown or very self-destructive behavior.
That's where your old pal booze comes into play. You already knew the sauce is the supreme moderator, a perfectly charming go-between when dealing with friends and strangers, but did you also know it is as equally adept at opening up internal lines of communication? Whiskey is the key that sets the monkey free, goes the old saw, and that monkey is your Id, your subconscious mind, the inner you. Instead of letting that monkey out in public, where he tends to go berserk (or so they tell you the next morning), set him loose in a calm room. A quiet place bare of predators and prey. Get to know him. You might be surprised. You might even start liking the little bastard.
Find Your Circle of Solitude
"So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didn't have you by the throat." —Charles Bukowski
Just as it is nearly impossible to write anything worth reading while someone is looking over your shoulder, it is just as nearly impossible to tap the subconscious mind while drinking in the company of others. Which is a shame because never is the subconscious mind more lucid and willing to speak than when you are loaded.
So find your quiet space. Lower the lighting and unplug the phone. And for the love of God, turn off the TV. That evil box is the antithesis of inner thought, it is a jabbering knave that never shuts up or listens, it is expressly designed to steal your attention and direct it to its own petty needs. Turn it off or, better yet, throw it out the window.
A dining table, in my opinion, is the best place to drink alone. There is something about having the glass and bottle sitting right in front of you, ready for action, it brings to mind Bogart in Casablanca, except you don't have Sam sitting at the piano, tickling the ivories. But that doesn't mean you can't have some music to set the mood.
The Soundtrack of Isolation"The only thing better than one of my songs is one of my songs with a glass of scotch." —Jackie Gleason
While you may prefer metal, rap, punk or, egad, techno when you're out swinging with the gang, the point of drinking alone is not to get pumped up but to hunker down with the inner workings of your psyche. Slow and melodic, even nostalgic music is best. Tom Waits, the Jackie Gleason Orchestra, Johnny Cash and Portishead work for me. You know what puts you in a meditative mood. Find your slow inner beat and cater to it.
Choose Your Moderator
"I let my drinking do the talking." —Humphrey Bogart
Whiskey on the rocks is Johnny Carson. A cocktail is Conan O'Brien. A strong burgundy with some bite is David Letterman. Beer is Jay Leno, which is why I stay away from it. And make sure you're well stocked. The last thing you want is Johnny, just when the show is starting to roll, taking a powder on you.
Now that you've picked your host, you're ready to start rapping with your Id, right? Wrong. Before you can get acquainted with yourself, you have to get acquainted with the bottle.
Befriend the Bottle
"A well-made Martini or Gibson, correctly chilled and nicely served, has been more often my true friend than any two-legged creature." —M. F. K. Fisher
After three or four drinks you'll start realizing there are clear advantages to drinking alone, namely:
You're the bartender. Drinking alone means you can drink exactly what you want. Let's admit it, what we drink in public is not necessarily what we really want to drink. There are social norms to conform to, there are reputations to maintain, there are friends to impress. Your mouth will order a shot of tequila when your soul wants a Black Russian.
You control the pace. Want another? Pour it. No standing in line for a drink, no pressure to take yet another sham shot of girlie juice, no bouncer telling you you've had enough. The bottle in front of you never says no. Only yes, yes and yes!
Booze tastes better. Read a good book alone in a quiet place and you will absorb and understand the beauty of a perfectly worded sentence. Read in a crowded and loud room and you will skim the beauty and absorb nothing. The same goes for drinking. There are no distractions to divert your attention from the rich bite of a mouthful of bourbon. You will notice the vast array of flavors and aromas. You will realize hidden depths of taste in a cocktail you had imagined a shallow pond. Show me someone who is drinking alone, without any desire to seek out human companionship, and I'll show you a drunk who truly enjoys alcohol.
The bottle doesn't jabber. One of the greatest pleasures in life is a comfortable silence between friends. You know what I'm talking about: you're having a quiet drink at a table with an old friend, and both of you feel absolutely no need to engage in idle prattle, there is a fine understanding that nothing needs to be said, you merely sit and bask in the light of each other's company.
Those moments, unfortunately, are few and far between. These days we're so damn afraid the other person will think we're boring and start looking for someone a little more chatty to sit with, or, worst of all, yawn. And it's from the belly of that fear the current plague of pointless small talk was born. I've gone out drinking in the company of a great number of people and at the end of the evening I won't be able to recall having a single inner thought of value. Or a single valuable outer thought, for that matter. When you're jabbering at friends and they're jabbering at you, the inner drunk is neglected, he merely sits there and broods.
When you are drinking with the bottle, however, you are rewarded with a vast, gently rolling plain of comfortable silence. The bottle never gossips or tries to interest you in stereo speakers it is planning on buying, it merely sits there in pristine silence, filling your glass instead of your ear.
You can act any damn fool way you wish. The bottle will not condemn you for laughing out of turn or pounding the table like a bad character actor. It will quietly salute you. You can get as maudlin, dramatic and sentimental as you wish, without anyone telling you to snap out of it, cheer up, or cool out.
Meet Your Monkey
"You don't know a damn thing about a man until you've gotten stinking drunk with him." —Charles Russell
After about five drinks the monkey will start rattling the cage. Let him out.
Examine his fine smile. This is the giddy you that is so charming with the ladies at the bar. Note the wily gleam in his eyes. This is the happy-go-lucky sport that comes up with wholly improbable, yet wildly optimistic schemes while loaded. Sense his light heart. This is the jovial soul that will laugh at the worst bar joke ever told.
Doesn't seem like such a bad guy at all, does he? Introduce yourself. Buy him a drink. Let him buy you a drink. Anyone who buys you a drink can't be all bad, right?
It is now that you will recognize the monkey for who he truly is: he is you without social constraints. A slave unchained. He is you without the worry of what other people think. He is what you want to be, not what your parents, friends, lover, boss and God want you to be.
After a couple more rounds, a rich warmness will settle upon you as the alcohol rallies your collective self esteem. At this point you'll start to think, Hell, this guy is a fucking prince.
Understand that this is the guy who has stuck with you every step of the way, he stood with you in every fistfight, he was there when you were struggling through the blackest shadows of depression, he helped you plant the flag on the tallest peaks of success. All this time you were hoping everyone else was watching, and all along it was always you, gazing from within.
Wallow in nostalgia. Everyone loves a good story and your inner self remembers all of them. Revel in all the good things you've done, laugh off the mistakes you've made. Realize that every step and misstep of your life has led you unremittingly to this single pristine moment: Drinking with the best friend you ever had or ever will have.
Don't be afraid to get emotional. In a crowd you are not likely to follow your own emotional path, you adopt the emotional direction and tone of the gang. Now you can feel anyway you want. Laugh. Cry. Do whatever the hell you like. If you catch yourself feeling self-conscious or foolish, pause and remind yourself you are your only audience. Who's going to tell on you? The bottle? No. I know the bottle, and the bottle ain't talkin'.
As you dive deeper into the bottle, and deeper within yourself, you will start feeling a strange wholeness. The surface you will blend with the submerged you, and though the pair will never entirely merge (if you pull that one off, you should put in an application for the position of Dalai Lama), they will mingle and they will learn to like each other. And that's the whole point.
Before your inner journey ends, make certain you realize exactly what you've pulled off. Look at yourself in the mirror and fairly tremble with your newfound power. You have built bonds and allied yourself with the one person who will determine more than anyone else on the planet whether you fuck up or seize your dreams.
* * *
In the morning you may not remember much of your adventure, but that's okay, because the monkey never forgets. And a stranger who genuinely likes you is a very powerful ally, because he will come to your aid when you least expect it.
The next time you get loaded with the gang, gaze into your drink, your secret mirror, and think: "Hey, old friend. Remember our quiet time together? Remember the thoughts we shared? We'll meet up again down the road. Just you, me, and the bottle." —FKR
Friday Food Recipe
Being something of an amatuer cook, (blame the Food Network), I think I'll start posting a new recipe every Friday for something I cook. It might be a main dish, a side dish, a marinade, or just a seasoning blend, but it'll be something that I use or created. And if any epicures out there have a killer recipe let me know so I can try it out. So onto the first Recipe which is one of my favorites and one I learned when I was 12 years old living in New York from the nice italian neighbor lady that was my Mom's friend
Chicken Parmigiana
Makes 4 to 10 pieces(depends on size)
You’ll need :
4 Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts
2 Cups Bread Crumbs ( Seasoned or Unseasoned and Seasoned Yourself)
1 ½ cups egg beaters (or 4 to 5 eggs beaten to make a egg wash)
2 Tablespoons grated Parmasean Cheese
2 Tablespoons grated Romano Cheese
4-10 Large slices of Motzarella Cheese
1 ½ to 2 Cups of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 ½ to 2 Cups of Sauce (Homemade Sunday Gravy, or store bought Barrillo works)
How to:
1) Take 1 chicken breast at a time place in Ziploc bag, make sure all air is out of bag and then place it on a flat surface. Use a meat tenderizer hammer’s flat side to pound out the chicken to double its original size (if you don’t have a tenderizer a rolling pin will work).
Cut the flattened Chicken breast into the portion sizes you would like or leave as one huge piece, your preference really. Repeat with other chicken breasts.
2) Take Egg wash and place in bowl. Take bread crumbs and place into another bowl, add parmasean & romano cheeses into the bread crumbs and mix. Take olive oil and add to frying pan and heat on medium to high heat (cast iron skillet works the best).
3) When the oil is heated take a piece of chicken breast and completely submerge into egg wash. Remove and then completely cover in bread crumbs on both sides. Then place breaded chicken breast into frying pan. Repeat with other pieces until pan is full. Let cook until the outer edges of chicken cutlet have started to turn white, then turn over. General rule of thumb is about 7 minutes a side, or until desired color of cutlet. Remove from oil then place on paper towels to drain excess oil. You can also pat additional oil off with more paper towels.
4) Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Take a flat cookie sheet, spray with non stick spray, or take olive oil on a paper towel and grease down sheet. Take chicken cutlets and place on cookie sheet. Take sauce (homemade or store bought) and spread over the top of each cutlet. If you have some fresh basil put a piece on top of each piece as well. Now place a large slice of motzarella cheese on top of each cutlet. Put tray in oven for about 30 minutes, or until cheese is melted to your preference. Remove and serve with a side of pasta, or garlic mashed potatoes, or by itself with a little extra sauce on top.
Total Prep and Cook time is 1 to 1 ½ hours.
Chicken Parmigiana
Makes 4 to 10 pieces(depends on size)
You’ll need :
4 Boneless, Skinless Chicken Breasts
2 Cups Bread Crumbs ( Seasoned or Unseasoned and Seasoned Yourself)
1 ½ cups egg beaters (or 4 to 5 eggs beaten to make a egg wash)
2 Tablespoons grated Parmasean Cheese
2 Tablespoons grated Romano Cheese
4-10 Large slices of Motzarella Cheese
1 ½ to 2 Cups of Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 ½ to 2 Cups of Sauce (Homemade Sunday Gravy, or store bought Barrillo works)
How to:
1) Take 1 chicken breast at a time place in Ziploc bag, make sure all air is out of bag and then place it on a flat surface. Use a meat tenderizer hammer’s flat side to pound out the chicken to double its original size (if you don’t have a tenderizer a rolling pin will work).
Cut the flattened Chicken breast into the portion sizes you would like or leave as one huge piece, your preference really. Repeat with other chicken breasts.
2) Take Egg wash and place in bowl. Take bread crumbs and place into another bowl, add parmasean & romano cheeses into the bread crumbs and mix. Take olive oil and add to frying pan and heat on medium to high heat (cast iron skillet works the best).
3) When the oil is heated take a piece of chicken breast and completely submerge into egg wash. Remove and then completely cover in bread crumbs on both sides. Then place breaded chicken breast into frying pan. Repeat with other pieces until pan is full. Let cook until the outer edges of chicken cutlet have started to turn white, then turn over. General rule of thumb is about 7 minutes a side, or until desired color of cutlet. Remove from oil then place on paper towels to drain excess oil. You can also pat additional oil off with more paper towels.
4) Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Take a flat cookie sheet, spray with non stick spray, or take olive oil on a paper towel and grease down sheet. Take chicken cutlets and place on cookie sheet. Take sauce (homemade or store bought) and spread over the top of each cutlet. If you have some fresh basil put a piece on top of each piece as well. Now place a large slice of motzarella cheese on top of each cutlet. Put tray in oven for about 30 minutes, or until cheese is melted to your preference. Remove and serve with a side of pasta, or garlic mashed potatoes, or by itself with a little extra sauce on top.
Total Prep and Cook time is 1 to 1 ½ hours.
Friday (or the day I try to do anything else but work)
I'm at work and have been for a couple hours already. I've managed to get most of the stuff I need to get done, done. Now for the utter mindlessness of cubicle lurking trying to seem busy so no one else will give me anything else to do before the day ends. There are many ways to accomplish this, the classic way, which is also the simplest, is to simply wait until someone is approaching and then quickly tab from the internet to an open excel spreadsheet, word doc, powerpoint, etc.... and simply state to the person that approached that your current project will take you a couple hours longer, and if you can get to their thing before the end of the day you will try.You can also pull the phantom, which is when anyone approaches your desk you simply get up and walk away before the get a chance to ask you for something, or if the manage to get within speaking distance just let them know that you need to go get coffee, fax something, use the crapper, etc..... and that you'll talk to them when you get back. Then fail to call or email them and say it slipped your mind. If you get good at this maneuver you will never need to ever speak to anyone in your office, as you will become like a phantom, there one moment, gone the next. Or you could just waste the day like this,
http://view.break.com/521743
http://view.break.com/521743
Thursday, June 26, 2008
4 Months On
Bad Monkey!!!!!!
I was meaning to blog everyday, but then it kinda slipped my mind. First I was In Vegas for my 30 Birthday and St. Paddy's, really don't remember much that happened it's all kinda green and fuzzy. Then I was in Vegas for my Buddy's 30th as well as my Brother's 33rd, that one isn't quite as fuzzy, however I vaugely remember a midget so it might be a little fuzzier than I think. Then came my yearly physical where the good doctor told me to quit smoking and drinking, because I have high blood pressure(that I now take meds for), My only 2 Vices, well them and Jean Claude Van Damme flicks(long story). So now I'm down to maybe 2 smokes a week, maybe one on Friday or 2 on Saturday Night. And now I'm drinking maybe 1 or 2 nights a week, (and being mindful not to binge), so now that I have this newfound sobriety, I need something to do to keep me occupied. So I figured that i would actually start posting to this thing everyday. Right now I gotta bounce, I'm trying to finish "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller for the 3rd time before I catch some ZZZZ's. Tomorrow I might tell the story as to why I was drunk for 8 years, or maybe why Jean Claude Van Damme flicks are my other vice. Who knows? It'll be a suprise.
"Drunkd" Out
I was meaning to blog everyday, but then it kinda slipped my mind. First I was In Vegas for my 30 Birthday and St. Paddy's, really don't remember much that happened it's all kinda green and fuzzy. Then I was in Vegas for my Buddy's 30th as well as my Brother's 33rd, that one isn't quite as fuzzy, however I vaugely remember a midget so it might be a little fuzzier than I think. Then came my yearly physical where the good doctor told me to quit smoking and drinking, because I have high blood pressure(that I now take meds for), My only 2 Vices, well them and Jean Claude Van Damme flicks(long story). So now I'm down to maybe 2 smokes a week, maybe one on Friday or 2 on Saturday Night. And now I'm drinking maybe 1 or 2 nights a week, (and being mindful not to binge), so now that I have this newfound sobriety, I need something to do to keep me occupied. So I figured that i would actually start posting to this thing everyday. Right now I gotta bounce, I'm trying to finish "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller for the 3rd time before I catch some ZZZZ's. Tomorrow I might tell the story as to why I was drunk for 8 years, or maybe why Jean Claude Van Damme flicks are my other vice. Who knows? It'll be a suprise.
"Drunkd" Out
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