Lobster Killer

Just got through preparing a complete Julia Child Celebration meal with my friend, Steve.

I’ll blog about it later, complete with photos, but for now, here’s how to kill a lobster the Julia Child way.

(You can click here if it takes to long to load)

Back in the Saddle

I’m back in the saddle again.

Well, actually it’s an organ bench.

It’s been about ten years since my feet have touched organ pedals, but I’ve agreed to be a substitute organist at the church where I’m singing – a pinch-hitter in the organist dugout if you will.

The music director has provided me with access to the organ so that I can get my “organ-feet” back. Actually, I’m pretty excited about having access to this beast of an organ during the evenings. It’s quite a step up from the Hammond electric organ that I played as a teenager in my little bitty home town church.

I just ordered a new pair of organ shoes. They’re sort of like slippers but with a tall heel (1.5 inch heel). I ordered the widest ones they have. Hopefully, I can wedge my platypus-feet into them.

I downloaded the music to a really cool Bach fugue to learn. It’s such a happy-sounding thing and will certainly get my pedaling back in shape. Here’s a video of a kid playing the piece. If he can play it, so can I.




I plan to use it as a postlude at the end of the service. How could you ever leave a church unhappy after hearing this thing? A friend of mine said it sounds like a soundtrack for Snoopy while ice skating.

My grandmother was a very talented organist and was my first piano teacher. I’ll always think of her whenever I play this organ and how much she would have loved it.

A Gorgeous Shade of Blue

For those who know me, I have a "thing" for the color blue. Most of the clothes I wear are blue. Almost all the cars I've owned have been blue. I'm in a constant search for the "perfect" shade of blue.

Here's a photo of a pretty blue truck in Keller, Texas. I'll bet the owner is a man with exquisite taste!

I would love to ask the owner of this truck what shade of blue that is!

It's gorgeous!

State of the Union Address

Drinking Game For Tonight’s State of the Union Address

Obama says, “Let me be clear.”
Do one shot

Obama says, “Change isn’t easy.”
Do one shot

Obama says, “Make no mistake.”
Do one shot

Obama says, “Let me be clear, change isn’t easy, make no mistake.”
He’s screwing with you to get you drunk, so do five shots

Joe Wilson yells something.
Do two shots

Obama yells back.
Finish the bottle

Obama says, “jobs.”
Do one shot, two if you’re unemployed.

Obama says, “health care.”
Do not drink. You will not be given a replacement liver.

Nancy Pelosi claps like a seal
Do one shot

Obama mentions Bo.
Put beer in your dog’s water bowl

Joe Biden nods off / laughs inappropriately / starts talking before the speech is over.
Do three shots

Obama uses the term, “Congressional leadership.”
Do two shots carefully as all that laughing will make it difficult to swallow

New Satire Article

It's been a while since I wrote a satire piece, but after Pat Robertson's idiotic remark about Haiti, I couldn't let him get away with that. You can see the published version here.

Pat Robertson Mortified by Haitian ‘Miracle’

by Buckner Wheat

PORT AU PRINCE - Much to the horror of TV evangelist, Pat Robertson, an overwhelming majority of monetary donations to Haiti’s earthquake victims are being sent by gay men from across the U.S. and Canada – a trend that has had Red Cross officials completely baffled.

The TV evangelist came under recent fire for claiming that the devastating earthquake was God’s retribution for Haiti’s “pact with the devil” over two hundred years ago; a statement that immediately brought ire from both the right and left of the political spectrum.

“At first, I thought this might be a knee-jerk reaction by the gay community to Mr. Robertson’s idiotic statement,” said Red Cross President & CEO, Gail McGovern. She cited a Pat Robertson voodoo doll that recently fetched over one thousand dollars for Haitian relief on eBay.

“But there had to be something more to it than that,” she thought.

While waiting for a departing flight at Chicago’s O’Hare International, McGovern notice that members of Chicago’s gay hockey team, the Puck-Buddies, were glued to CNN’s coverage of the events in Haiti while waiting to depart.

“At first, I couldn’t figure out why these men were so engrossed in CNN’s coverage – that is, until Anderson Cooper appeared in his skin-tight, Gap t-shirt. It was very obvious that Cooper’s been working out quite a bit lately and that his muscle-bound physique was quite spellbounding to members of this group.”

The moment Cooper asked the viewing audience for donations to the Haitian relief fund by texting 90999, every member of the Puck-Buddies suddenly whipped out their iPhones and began contributing feverishly.

At one point, airport paramedics had to be called to the scene when Miss Kitty Litter, a local female impersonator and Puck-Buddy mascot, suddenly fainted upon seeing Mr. Cooper rescue a young man from a riot by effortlessly carrying him to safety, thanks to his newly-pumped biceps.

“Millions of dollars have been pouring in every day; coincidently all donations have been received whenever Anderson Cooper has been reporting from Haiti. And frankly, Pat Robertson couldn’t have ended up with more egg on his face.”

Robertson and his staff at The 700 Club refused to comment on the recent turn of events.

“I can’t thank the gay community enough,” reported McGovern. “Due to their generosity, along with Mr. Cooper’s appeal, the situation in Haiti is finally turning around. It’s truly a miracle.”

Not wanting to be outdone, FOX News has deployed their commentator, Sean Hannity, to the scene with little more than several tank-tops and a half-dozen Speedos.

The Quest for Rabbits

Recently, Miss Healthypants and Iwanski discovered that their Cadbury bunny chirps along in perfect sync with the theme song to Hee Haw.

I know!

I was just as amazed.

You can view it here.



So, MHP and I began to think of ways we could make this video even more outrageous. We decided to create a dance to go along with it -- a Country & Western version of the bunny-hop or something.

But then, I thought, “Why stop there?” How about if we do the dance while eating fried rabbit?

I know!

So I began searching for fresh rabbit. I recall seeing it at Whole Foods Market (No doubt, they were organic, free-range, vegan bunnies raised on farms powered exclusively by wind turbines.) so I called WFM to make sure they still had fresh rabbit.

No, they don’t. It turned out that the rabbitular quality of their purveyor had gone downhill and they weren’t selling it until they found another one that met their high standards. Maybe their rabbit farm began using regular electricity or something.

Undeterred, I began searching for a fresh rabbit supplier. I found one here at the Chicago Fresh Poultry House but there was a catch.

They sell only fresh poultry and rabbit. Really fresh poultry and rabbit:

A one-stop shop for Santeria practitioners and chefs alike, this spot buzzes with live roosters, chickens and rabbits. You can have your choice prey killed, skinned and wrapped up on the spot, ensuring the freshest meat around.

Oh my gosh!

In other words, you go in and say, “I’d like two pounds of rabbit please,” and they reach into a cage of cute, furry Easter-type bunnies, grab one by the ears, and take it in the back, kicking all the way, where you hear the sickening thud! of a meat cleaver.

I wanted fresh rabbit. Not a Santerian sacrifice.

But then, where did I think the nice, fresh rabbit at Whole Foods came from anyway? At some point, it too was an Easter-type bunny, struggling away until the meat cleaver had done its work.

I think there would be a lot more vegetarians around if we all had to pick out an actual, live animal to be hacked to pieces anytime we wanted a bucket of hot wings.

I'll just stick to the Cadbury chocolate bunnies, thank you.

All My Children

I see that the actor, James Mitchell, who played evil, nasty, diabolical Palmer Cortlandt on All My Children passed away today at the age of 91.

My addiction to All My Children began during my freshman year of college in 1978 and lasted until 1991. I’ve almost now twenty years of sobriety from my AMC addiction, but I remember those years very fondly.

I got hooked on AMC while working the front desk at my dorm during my freshman year in college. At noon every day, the lobby of the men’s dorm would fill up with guys who were also addicted to this daytime drama. I had little else to do but to become an addict myself.

Throughout my college career, I tried to arrange all my classes around that cherished noon time-slot. This was long before the days of VCRs, mind you. One semester, I was forced to take a class at noon. So, I rigged a cassette recorder to an electric timer, it would record it every day at noon, and I'd come home and listen to what took place in Pine Valley for that day.

That was back in the good ‘ol days when Erica Kane had her claws out for Tom Cudahy, Brooke was a total bitch, Phoebe Tyler was in just about every episode and Tad was a sniveling 17-year-old punk.

I loved the messed-up character of Devon McFaddin. Remember Devon? We watched her go from Miss goody-two-shoes, to unwed mother, to wife, to alcoholic, to lesbian, and back, all within the course of one year.

I remember just where I was when Jenny (of Jenny-and-Greg) died. It was sort of like the Kennedy assassination or 9-11. You’ll always remember right where you were when Jenny died.

Then, there was Palmer Cortlandt. A more conniving, evil, diabolical man would be hard to find. We AMC addicts had to suffer through at least five years of Palmer doing all sorts of evil plots to keep Nina and Cliff apart.

And now, he’s gone.

Maybe Nina and Cliff can finally get together, once and for all. I might just have to start watching it again to find out . . . .

50th Floor

Whenever friends or guests come to my 50th floor apartment at Marina Towers, they always seem to comment at how fast the elevators are. Ears pop. Tummies get that weightless feeling.

I guess I’m used to it, but on researching Marina Towers (wikipedia) it did mention that we do have some really speedy elevators.

So, I recorded it for you.

This is the elevator ride going from the lobby to the 50th floor and then, into the apartment where I live.

Is it really that fast? Maybe I’m just used to it.

It's an icy-foggy day outside. Definitely a good example of Winter in Chicago.
My windows definitely need cleaning, too, but it’s windy, nearing 10 below zero and 500 feet up in Chicago. Dirty winter windows are inevitable.

The Counter-Tenor

Back in days of yore when women weren’t allowed to sing in church choirs, the Catholic church needed to find a way of supplying their choirs with sopranos and altos. (I’m guessing it probably wasn’t much fun to be a yore-woman back then.)

If you were a well-trained boy-musician, you had a pretty good thing going. Singing in choir was probably a whole lot better than working 18 hours a day in a factory. You pretty much had it made, that is, until your voice changed to that of an ugly teenager and you began searching for one of those yore-women to marry.

Legend has it that a lot of adolescent boys, not willing to give up their illustrious singing careers, had themselves “altered” in order to retain their pure, angelic soprano voices. Actually, very few volunteered to become “castrati” but in the early 1700s, over 4,000 of these operations were performed annually – thanks to the influence of the Catholic church. Eeek!

Wives of male politicians probably think there should be more of these 'involuntary alterations' taking place, but that’s another story.

Well, it turns out that guys really needn’t go to such extremes to sing in the alto or soprano range. There’s the counter-tenor.

A counter-tenor is a fully intact adult male who can sing in the vocal range normally occupied by the female voice. A true counter-tenor usually has a baritone singing voice, thus giving a really rich resonance when singing in the alto or soprano range.

Andreas Scholl is probably the most famous counter-tenor these days. Here he is singing a hauntingly beautiful piece from Vivaldi’s Nisi Dominus. (There’s about a minute of orchestral introduction before the solo begins.)



And here is Philippe Jaroussky singing the same piece.



It’s quite apparent that one must also be exceedingly good-looking in order to have a career as a counter-tenor. I doubt a homely fellow could pull it off with much success.

When I auditioned for the church choir that I’m singing in, the choir director asked if I’d ever tried singing counter-tenor. (Right – it was because of my looks.) He vocalized me right up there, even had me sing higher than this Vivaldi piece, and asked if I’d be willing to sing counter-tenor on occasion.

Hey, neat!

The other day, I demonstrated this ability over the phone to my brother.

His response?

“Dude, really, don’t do that anymore.”

I had to laugh.
And to thank him for his honesty; that which only my brother can readily supply.

Perhaps I shall stick to my usual, regular-tenor endeavors.

Faith in Humanity

Well, if you’re disgusted and appalled over Pat Robertson’s latest proclamation that the people of Haiti brought this earthquake upon themselves for partaking in devil and voodoo worship over 200 years ago, you might enjoy this brilliant satirical endeavor.

You can go to eBay and bid on this Pat Robertson voodoo doll. All proceeds go to the Red Cross.
Last I checked, bidding was up to $910.00. Click here.

I SO would not want to have Pat Robertson’s karma right now.

Aon Center

Here’s a really cool photo that I took of the building where I work, the 83-story Aon Center in Chicago.
I just love this building, even before I worked here. It’s the fourth tallest building in the U.S. and there’s nothing pretty about it. It was completed in 1973, the same time as the World Trade Towers in New York and one year before Chicago’s Sears Tower took its world record in 1974.

It has absolutely “no” architectural appeal. There’s no art deco from the 1930s, no new colored-glass from the 1950s, no neo-modern design of the mid 60s -- It’s a pure, blatant, prime example of the strictly utilitarian, functional design from the early 1970s.

But it works.

Although this slender white structure was the second-tallest building in Chicago for 36 years, I doubt that any Chicagoan could tell you that. It's address lies two blocks west of Lake Shore Drive and also two blocks east of Chicago's downtown Loop.

Its towering, nondescript "non-iconicness" connects our city together, really, without anyone ever realizing it.

So that's why I love it, and always have.

Even when I first visited Chicago in 1988, I was really captivated by this building. I was a restaurant manager and church organist back then. . . .

Little did I know that 22 years later would have me being a mid-level manager with a windowless office on the 22nd floor of this fine building.

Sigh . . . It’s always pretty amazing how life works out.

Baby Buck

Why is everyone putting their baby pics as their main photo on Facebook? I didn't get cc'd on that email, apparently.

Also, I can't figure out how to change my main photo on Facebook. Suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

In the meantime . . .

Caption: "Let's see how you did with the buttercream frosting."

Souvenir from Tasmania

My friends, Jack and Steve, recently returned from a long holiday cruise to New Zealand, Australia, and Tasmania.

Before they left, Jack asked me if I wanted anything from Down Under.

“You’re going to Tasmania?” I asked.

“Yes, for one day.”

“Bring me back a platypus. I could really use a platypus around here.”

They didn’t see any platypuses while in Tasmania, though Steve said he was on the lookout for them. It turns out that these nocturnal creatures are very elusive.

But, Jack just dropped off the cutest little stuffed platypus for me. I was just thrilled.
How often have you ever seen a teddy-platypus?

It’s very soft.

Many thanks to Jack for bringing me a platypus all the way from Tasmania.

Now, I need to come up with a name for it. Any suggestions?

The Church Lady

When I first saw Dana Carvey perform The Church Lady skit on Saturday Night Live, I instantly identified with this character.

I grew up with The Church Lady. The REAL Church Lady.

Mrs. B was a steadfast member of the local Baptist church in my little bitty home town in Texas. (I’m sure that as my mom and brother are reading this, they are having quite a laugh over memories of Mrs. B and the association with The Church Lady.)

Here is her photograph that I scanned from my high school yearbook. Besides being a very active member of the church, Mrs. B was also the librarian at the high school.

Naturally.
As steadfast Baptists, we were there every time the doors were open: On Sundays, there was Sunday school followed by church, then “training union” in the late afternoon followed by evening worship. Wednesdays consisted of an evening “prayer meeting” or, if it was the first Wednesday of the month, a church supper followed by a business meeting.

Needless to say, there were lots of opportunities to see Mrs. B in action. Like The Church Lady, she came across with somewhat of a judgmental, holier-than-thou demeanor.

Although she was president of the local chapter of the Women’s Missionary Union (WMU), I cannot recall anything they ever did or anyone else really belonging to this organization.

But once a month, at every business meeting, Mrs. B would saunter up to the front of the church, smile, and proudly give her report on the WMU. The thing is, she had a really nasal voice and with that strong Texan accent, it would come out thus: “I have this month’s report on the activities of the dubya em-meeewww.”

My brother and I would always wait for that and burst into uncontrollable snickers upon hearing “dubya em-meeewww,” followed by the usual glare-and-finger-snap from mom (who was probably doing her best not to laugh as well.)

The best performances from Mrs. B came on Wednesday night prayer meetings when any member of the church could stand and announce a special request for prayers – an activity tailor-made for a Church Lady.

She gave a command performance each and every Wednesday. No matter what, this woman was hell-bent on coming up with an overly-emotional prayer request. It would usually go something like this:

“I would just like the church to offer their special prayers for my niece’s sister-in-law’s brother who is going through . . . (tears would appear) . . . some trials and tribulations . . . (gasping) . . . and . . . . and. . . .”

She’d then crumble into a puddle of emotion. This went on every Wednesday night.

So, yes, I had first-hand influence from the real Church Lady. So much so, that when Dana Carvey’s character became popular, I obtained a Church Lady outfit from a local Salvation Army thrift store (complete with a brooch) and then I became Church Lady every Halloween for several years.

All I had to do was to think of Mrs. B.

Morning Scene - Chicago River (Again)

As you can see, the state of the Chicago River changes from day to day during the winter. Here it is this morning:

And here it is yesterday:
I really love Winter . . . .

Cab Drivers

Since I live in downtown Chicago and don’t own a car, I take cabs pretty frequently.

What is it about cab drivers and their need to be talking on their cell phones at all times? Every time I get in a cab, the driver is always talking on a head set the entire time, usually in a language that I can’t identify.

I used to think they were asking me a question, but after a few occasions of realizing he was chatting away to someone else, I now ignore any dialogue coming from the driver.

Then, there are the times that he really was asking me something concerning my destination, but I assumed he was having a personal conversation like all the other times and didn’t pay any attention.

It’s a wonder I haven’t ended up in Milwaukee.

The other day, it was bitterly cold and windy (duh! It’s January in Chicago) so I took a cab nine blocks to choir rehearsal. The cab driver was speaking a language so incredibly strange – he was emphatically telling someone to "wawawawawa–pglrqaqaqa dlrrrrrr-dlrrrrr-dlrrrr-QaQuqaquqaqu dlgpqrok-wawawawawa!"

Wow. For nine blocks, he was making verbalizations that didn’t even sound human. I just had to know what language that was. As I was paying him, I kindly asked what language he was speaking. (It was Senegalese.)

That got me to thinking. What other profession enables a worker to make continual personal phone calls during every working hour? I certainly can’t do that. Can you?

Can you imagine an OB-GYN conducting a pelvic exam while uttering "wawawawawa–pglrqaqaqa dlrrrrrr-dlrrrrr-dlrrrr-QaQuqaquqaqu dlgpqrok-wawawawawa!" on a head set the entire time?

Unless you're in Senegal, I don’t think that would be acceptable.

I can imagine that being a cab driver might not be the most exciting profession in the world and they may want to do something to quell the boredom. But still, they’re being entrusted to transport a human person safely from one place to their destination of choice. I should think they’d be required to concentrate on the task at hand as much as possible.

At least the OB-GYN isn’t in danger of smashing the patient into a tree.

Morning Scene - Chicago River

Winter is definitely here in the Windy City as evidenced by the freezing of our Chicago River.

The winterized river is so remakably different from the summertime with all its tourist boats buzzing up and down.

For the next couple of months, it'll remain cold, silent and grey.

This 'n That

I absolutely cannot think of anything to write about today. So, this will be just bits of this-n-that.

It’s been snowing all day in Chicago.

I really need to go grocery shopping, but pulling my grocery cart through the snow sounds like a messy ordeal. Snow-covered grocery cart wheels in my apartment aren’t a pleasant thing.

We have a nifty grocery delivery service here called Pea Pod where you can do all your shopping online and it gets delivered for a nominal fee. But I’ll bet Pea Pod is inundated with deliveries right now and the next available time they have to deliver any orders might not be until the Spring thaw.

I could be brave and just scrape the snow off the wheels. After all, Pea Pod is for pussies.

I’ll probably have Thai food and pizza delivered -- like a real man.

Other thoughts . . .

Modern Family is, by far, my most favorite show on TV now. If you haven’t seen it, you really must. It’s hilarious, clever, has great characters, and it’s even heartwarming. ABC, Wednesdays, 9:00 pm Eastern, 8:00 Central.

I still can’t believe I saw Avatar. But then again, I was accompanying my 8 year-old nephew, he loved it, and that’s what’s important.

Next thing you know, I’ll be taking him to a water park followed by a rap concert.

Yesterday, the choir director at the cathedral where I sing asked me if I could play the organ next Sunday. I had to decline. My feet haven’t touched organ pedals in a decade. Maybe it’s time I dust off the old organ slippers though. Gigs like that pay pretty well and in this day and age, it’s wise to have gigs that pay pretty well.

Last night, I dreamed that I could make slices of purple onions levitate. (Only slices, not the whole ones.)

That’s the second time I’ve had that dream.

Flying Home

Air travel.

It’s always worth blogging about.

I arrived home to Chicago late last night -- exactly 12 hours after I was supposed to. The flight I was supposed to take from my little bitty home town to Houston had been cancelled because I would have been the only passenger on that flight.

I can understand an airline canceling a flight with only one passenger. Frankly, I would have felt a little silly being the only passenger, not to mention the huge environmental footprint. But please, dear airline people, don’t try lying to me by saying that the flight was cancelled due to “maintenance”.

I got a $150.00 voucher out of the deal and I was very polite, too.

Yes, that’s irritating to have your travel plans changed, but as with most events, it could have been worse. Perspective mollifies frustrating situations in most cases.

Subsequently, I was put on a VERY full flight from Houston to Chicago.

Why do guys always feel it necessary to sit with their legs spread so far apart? Are they trying to prove how macho they are?

I was sitting in a window seat and this enormous guy plops down next to me and immediately sits in a gynecological manner. Why is that?

After we had reached our cruising altitude, the tiny woman in front of me decided that she needed room enough to play handball or something. WHAM! She snapped her seat back as far as it would go.

So, I’m sitting there in seat 27-D with Enormo beside me and Miss Inconsiderata in my lap. I was already pretty frustrated with the whole flying ordeal to begin with.

What to do?

Well, since my flight had been delayed 12 hours, it had given me time for one more Huge Mexican Food lunch before I left. . . .

Here’s a picture of it. See the refried beans, the chili gravy and extra jalapenos?
So, I treated my selfish seatmates to periodic episodes of olfactory turbulence the entire way. Hey, if they wanna be that close to me, then deal with it.

I got home at midnight.

It’s good to be home.

Comfort and Joy

What is it about the food we grew up with that makes it so appealing? As adults, we fervently search out trendy restaurants, memorize names of sushi, and gush over our favorite zinfandel.

All fine and good, but there’s nothing like going home and having mom prepare something you grew up with. If you’re Polish (like one friend of mine) it might be duck-blood soup. If you’re from small-town Wisconsin like Miss Healthypants, it might be lasagna made with ground meat, scant spices, and lots of cheese.

The day before I flew back to Chicago, my mom brought back lots of great memories by making a particular meal for me – one that I grew up eating. She had been a working, single mother, so this was standard fare throughout the 60s and 70s while I was growing up.

Tuna casserole, canned peas, canned tomatoes, and for dessert, canned pears (not pictured).
It may not be fancy, but I really did love this meal, mainly because it brought back so many memories -- Of eating dinner on the aqua formica dinner table with my mom, grandmother and brother. Or, if it was a Saturday night, we’d be on TV trays watching Mary Tyler Moore.

But mainly I enjoyed this meal so much because, at the age of fifty, I still have a wonderful mom to go home to.

Tuna casserole, canned peas . . .

I am truly blessed.

Just for Grins

Yesterday, I met a long-time friend from college at our old college haunt where we used to share many a pitcher of beer while we should have been studying.

Grins in San Marcos, Texas opened in 1975 near the campus of Texas State University and has been a favorite hang-out for countless university students over the years. When it opened, it was called Just for Grins (as in, “Just for grins, let’s skip class and drink beer.”) but it was later shortened to its present name.

Grins sits on a steep hillside near the campus and has a series of outdoor decks among the native oak trees, thus giving the effect that the place is a giant tree-house.

My friend, Madeline, and I were both music majors, studied piano from the same teacher, and have kept in close contact all these many years. She brought her two terrific kids with her, age 19 and 17, and we had a great time. Madeline is about to complete her theological studies in order to be ordained as an Episcopalian priest.

Besides beer, Grins also has the world’s best hamburgers. Really. They are.

Typical of Texas weather, yesterday was delightfully sunny with a high around 70 degrees. Here it was, New Year’s Eve, and we were sitting on the outdoor deck. Can you believe it?

Grins also has Texas-sized onion rings. The sunlight was playing just right and -- just for grins --I snapped this photo
Good times. . .