Pearls in Great Shorts

"Bad artists copy. Great artists steal."

Pablo Picasso

P.I.G.S.

I was trying to think of a way to copy -- I mean steal -- Pete Fiutak's C.O.W. (Cavalcade of Whimsy) approach to S.O.C. (stream of consciousness) blogging.

I haven't finished trying to find a way. So far, I have "Pearls in Great Shorts" and Pigs In (G) Space.

But, Pigs in Space has already been done. And, done quite well, IMHO.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w6GMrybKgbg

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9EoYznuBtU

And, so far, I can't think of a word beginning in "G" to put in front of "Space" that makes any sense at all. Not that I have really spent that much time on it. I have had an overloaded buffet plate of college football to digest today and insufficient attention span to be brilliantly creative.

Separately, whilst searching "pearls" and "pigs" together, I yielded this disconcerting photo.

Pearls in Great Shorts might have potential. "Pearls" would be like pearls of wisdom. "Great Shorts" would refer to the well-conceived and compactly written pearls of wisdom.

It doesn't exactly slip off the tongue with ease, huh?! Not like Cavalcade of Whimsy. Not like C.O.W.

If I had started this blog with "cow" in the title before Fiutak did his C.O.W. thing, I could have thought of Cavalcade of Whimsy. But, flying pigs have always been my thing. And, I've invested too many years into the flying pig thing to turn back now.

Cows have been Shannon's thing. But, I'm not sure cows are her thing today. Things keep changing. She still spreads mashed potatoes on homemade yeast rolls at Thanksgiving dinner without apology. But, everything else is floating in limbo a bit.

Meredith works at Chick-fil-A part-time, so cows have inadvertently become a big part of her life. Even if she only thought she was working for the money and the chicken. The Chick-fil-A cows star on television every weekend during college football season. Cows are my second-favorite animal-theme-for-a-blog now. But, they're already taken.

Chickens don't work well in blog themes because, well -- just because.

It's not like I spent very much time trying to think of a great title to form P.I.G.S. either. I didn't even try to work with W.P.F. - When Pigs Fly. That could make some sense. Unfortunately, it's one slip of the keyboard from W.T.F. And, we don't write dirty here on When Pigs Fly. But, it DOES stand for When Pigs Fly.

I didn't think that one up either. And, I already stole it from a bunch of somebodies. No one has come after me yet. There's still time.

So, I guess my Cavalcade of Whimsy will just have to be When Pigs Fly. And, I'll just have to be satisfied with that. Cuz, the P.I.G.S. thang sure ain't flyin'.

It's not even ready for take-off.

On the Hot Seat

"Over the river and thru the wood,
To have a first-rate play;
Oh, hear the bell ring,"Ting-a-ling-ling!"
Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day-ay!
Over the river and thru the wood,
Trot fast my dapple gray!Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound!
For this is Thanksgiving Day."

Lydia Marie Child, 1844

Today marks the real beginning of the Thanksgiving Dinner countdown. The work-back schedule says that I will cut, chop, measure, package, pack and drive today. Pretty much in that order. It's sort of like being a caterer, except that all of the combining and finishing will occur in a different kitchen.

In between, I'll do that last load of laundry and close my black Big XII Conference travel bag, a gift from the overly-swagged soccer daughter.

After Meredith finishes her shift at Chick-fil-A and checks on her one petcare job in the neighborhood this week, we'll hop into the Wittle Wed Wabbit and go over the river (sort of) and through the woods (sort of) to Nana and Da's.

Tomorrow, Meredith and I will make four desserts. If everyone liked pumpkin pie, we would just make one. But, that's not how it works in this family. We'll have the NY cheesecake with macerated strawberries, the red velvet cupcakes, and the double chocolate brownies. That's just how we roll.

I didn't write "Blog" on tomorrow's schedule. It isn't on the paper for Thursday either.

So, I'll be back on Friday. That's the day before one of the twelve biggest games on USC's schedule this season: Notre Dame at the Los Angeles Coliseum. The Chicago Sun-Times threw Coach Charlie Weis under the bus today. I knew this day would come, and I enjoyed every word of it:

http://www.suntimes.com/sports/couch/1297502,CST-SPT-greg25.article

Fight ON! I'd be more than thankful to win by four touchdowns.

And, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, even if you're not a bloody American. You already know that you don't need a national holiday to celebrate the blessings in your life.

Cap'n Slappy on the Poopdeck - Yar, Genius!!

"They have money; they have power and they are getting stronger by the day," says Abdi Farah Juha who lives in the regional capital, Garowe.

"They wed the most beautiful girls; they are building big houses; they have new cars; new guns," he says.

"Piracy in many ways is socially acceptable. They have become fashionable."

BBC News/Africa, 10/28/08


Yo Ho, Yo Ho - A Pirate's Life for Me!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIN-MqaA_Dk

Mark and I were sitting in one of the front rows of the boat on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland in Anaheim -- the original and best. Meredith, about 18 months old, was sitting between us at the point where the boat finishes the "prologue" - that slow, queue-up part of the ride at the very beginning where they channel the newly-filled boats while the computer spaces them for the voyage ahead.

All of a sudden, as soon as we reached the part where the boat was set to "plunge" down a full story in depth, she stood up and began to wave her arms and shout. The force of the fall and the air generated from it blew Mark's newest baseball cap right off his head and into the blackness behind us.

Boo hoo. I was too busy grabbing onto Meredith's little legs to prevent a REAL tragedy.

I don't know how much time elapsed before my heart beat went back to normal rhythm. Since I had already been on this ride too many times to count, it's not like I really missed anything. But, I certainly didn't process most of whatever was left. My legs were wobbly when I "deboated" at the landing site, which was at the back of the launching site where we had started this almost-fiasco.

To this day, I recall the sensation of thinking that my child was going to be an international headline about an accident at The Happiest Place on Earth, and recoil in horror.

I guess real horror has been unfolding before us for a long time, but some of us weren't paying attention. Some of our fellow citizens in the media have now come off the oxygen tanks, back to the surface of planet Earth, trading their hyperventilating over one man to report real world news. As it happens. Imagine that.

Just proves that there is really nothing new under the sun. Since the dawning of the ages, men and women have found ways to make money, or steal it if necessary. So, the dudes in Somali are just following a time-worn pattern. A new age way of find a need and fill it. More like find an opportunity and steal it.

These pirates aren't stupid -- they keep demanding more money, and ship owners keep paying.

Wonder where it will end....

Meanwhile, estimates suggest that these mates have "earned" close to $100 million in ransom since the 1990's. And, we're just now thinking it might be time to do something about it???

We have people in our government who know a lot about how to achieve energy independence for our country. If we don't want them to be President or Vice President, that's fair -- we had an election, and some people voted against party as much as policy.

But, maybe the new guys -- mostly guys -- could think about what is really good for the country and, at least, have a conversation with some of those people.

I would be happy to locate and forward the coordinates to Juneau, Alaska, if that would help them.

Martha is My HomeGirl

"You were the sunshine, baby, whenever you smiled
But I call you Stormy today
All of a sudden that ole rain's fallin' down
And my world is cloudy and gray
You've gone away
Oh Stormy, oh Stormy
Bring back that sunny day"

Dennis Yost & Classics IV, 1968

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3S63vA67PI

It's another one of those blindingly sunny days in metro Denver, one of the 300 such days we get every year. According to the Chamber of Commerce. If you count the days we get any amount of sun, it's probably true. But, even if it isn't true, it's close enough.

In the spirit of bipartisanship, I have instituted new regulations at "When Pigs Fly." I wouldn't want things to get out of control for lack of oversight, resulting from a failure to lead. Or, worse, a failure to predict every unknown outcome in the future to the satisfaction of every man, woman, and child in the blogosphere.

So, henceforth, let it be known that Monday through Friday will be reserved for anything I want to write about. Saturday, however will be reserved for cooking and football. And, not necessarily in that order. Sunday will be reserved for God. No blogging on Sunday. He didn't just ask for it, He commanded it. And, His Word is good enough for me.

I have purchased - either on the newstand or through subscription - every issue of Martha Stewart Living since she started the magazine. At one point, I had actually SAVED every one of those issues. But, the immovable object also known as our tiny Northern California crackerbox without a basement met with an irresistable force also known as my cookbook collection. What was 10's became 100's; so, the magazines had to be "edited." Thinned, if you will.

A 12 x 18" rattan file box was procured from one of the stores among the many Williams-Sonoma brands that changed my life forever in the Bay Area. One of their many stores of my dreams, "Hold Everything." These stores used to stand alone in malls and sold through mail-order (and, eventually, the internet), but were later "absorbed" into other W-S brands in the summer of 2006. I guess "The Container Store" came along and made it obsolete, with it's unending SKUs of everything imaginable to hold stuff, carry stuff, store stuff, send stuff, travel with stuff. Etc. You get the idea.

But, back to the file box. It holds dozens of files of magazine clippings, sorted by menus, occasion, course, or whatever I wanted to sort separately. Like, cheesecake recipes. That became the home for Martha's countless recipes, which were ripped - triage-style - from the issues before they were discarded.

At first, it hurt a lot to throw any part of those books away. When Martha began implementing her full-on brand extension and merchandising expertise in her business, the cross-channel items began appearing. Many or most of those recipes I had carefully stored began appearing in newly-published, large compendiums of "the best of." I have some of those, too.

I don't care that Martha went to jail for a possibly trumped-up "insider trading" infraction when so many in Washington, D.C. commit more heinous crimes in plain view and actually get reelected for unlimited term after unlimited term. Barney "Fannie & Freddie are Fine" Frank comes to mind. But, I digress. No more politics on Saturday. (If only it worked that way in real life.)

I started the menu planning for Thanksgiving, which is a hilarious statement in it's own right. What's to plan??!! We have the same thing every year. And, no variation. Every dish has it's own set of fans. For some, it won't be Thanksgiving without the best, fresh turkey money can buy. For others, it won't be Thanksgiving if we don't have my homemade yeast rolls. For one, it won't be Thanksgiving or worth living at all if we don't have an enormous bowl of mashed Yukon Gold potatoes.

But, for me, it won't be Thanksgiving without a tub of gravy. Yes, folks - my fear of Thanksgiving originated in the idea that I would never be able to make gravy. I mean the real kind of gravy. Not the stuff that comes in a jar, gets reconstituted with water from powder, or reheats in the microwave, straight from the Safeway deli. Because all of those folks for which Thanksgiving just won't be Thanksgiving without the turkey and mashed potatoes require mass quantities of gravy. They need enough gravy to leave pools of it on the plate when they are too full to eat more stuff that would soak it up.

All of this "planning" to do the same old thing reminded me that, except for one item, the entire menu is basically cooked the way Martha wants me to cook it. But, NOT the Green Bean Casserole. Not for anything.

Campbell's created the mother-of-all ubiquitous holiday recipe decades ago, and it is definitely not up to Martha's standards. Now, Martha did have one of her editors take a go at it -- to make it more Martha-like, lower in calories and fat, etc. I like fresh beans and "real" mushrooms as much as the next guy. I'm just not sure they have any place at Thanksgiving.

Sorry, Martha. I know this dish sticks out like a really sore thumb against all your other handiwork on that Fourth Thursday in November. It makes no sense that I, in my imaginary Marthaesqueness, even like this dish. But, along with gravy, it wouldn't be Thanksgiving for me without Green Bean Casserole.

There it is -- I said it. It's about the only thing that gets seconds on my plate.

How did I overcome my Fear of Gravy? One word. Stock.

Thanks, Martha. It takes hours to make your Stock. And, mere moments at the table to realize Stock was worth every minute of it.

TURKEY STOCK

Makes About 9 Cups

Active Time: 30 min. Start to finish: 5 hr

Martha says: "Using turkey meat rather than just bones adds a deep richness to this stock. Although you have to buy the extra parts, you'll be happy you did; great stock is the key to outstanding gravy, and everyone knows that you can never have too much of that at Thanksgiving."

6 lb turkey parts such as wings, drumsticks, and/or thighs

3 medium onions, left unpeeled, trimmed and halved

3 celery ribs, cut into 2-inch lengths

3 carrots, cut into 2-inch lengths

5 qt cold water

6 fresh parsley stems

1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf

10 whole black peppercorns

1-1/2 teaspoons salt

Put oven rack in lowest position and preheat oven to 500 degrees F. If using turkey wings, halve at joints with a cleaver or large knife. Transfer turkey parts, skin sides down, to a dry large heavy roasting pan and roast, turning over once, until golden brown, 30 to 45 minutes total. Transfer to a large stockpot, then add onions, celery, and carrots to roasting pan (arrange onions cut sides down) and roast, stirring once halfway through roasting, until golden, 10 to 20 minutes total. Transfer vegetables to stockpot.

Straddle roasting pan across two burners, then add 2 cups water and deglaze pan by boiling over high heat, stirring and scraping up brown bits, 1 minute. Add pan juices to stockpot along with remaining 4-1/2 quarts water and remaining ingredients and bring to a boil, skimming froth as necessary. Reduce heat and gently simmer, partially covered, 3 hours.

Cool stock, uncovered, to room temperature, about 1 hour.

Pour stock through a large fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl, discarding solids. Measure stock: If there is more than 9 cups, boil in cleaned pot until reduced. If there is less, add enough water to total 9 cups stock.

If using stock now, let stand until fat rises to top, 1 to 2 minutes, then skim off and discard fat. If not using now, cool completely, uncovered, then chill, covered, before removing fat. Reheat stock before making Turkey gravy.

Stock can be chilled in an airtight container 1 week or frozen 3 months.

Total Recall

"...You ought to see

All your heroes in me

But if we get wise

We can break the walls we make

And you can see in my eyes

Whatever we imagine."

James Ingram, 1983

It was in the back of my brain, somewhere. I knew it would show itself sooner or later.

About 10 o'clock last night, I was brushing my teeth and -- Voila! (Or for all you former Potlatch team members - Viola!)

I'm now considering the possibility that I might do my best thinking over the sink, spinning toothbrush in hand. That I've made the connection between toothpaste and memory revitalization potentially signals a veritable floodgate of recall.

Sammy Pinkerton. That blond, blue-eyed boy I wrote about in yesterday's post. I did a Google search for him this morning, and found a Sam Pinkerton from Lakeland, Florida on the LinkedIn page. That's either his son or some other, unrelated Sam Pinkerton. Either that, or Sammy has managed only four years of work experience since being born in 1956.

No pictures of Sammy, Sam, or any other Pinkerton not currently living in Scotland or Ireland to present. But, imagination survives the truth. A Google search for a blond, blue-eyed boy offered the above option. Close enough.

I wonder where all my little Duck and Cover classmates are today. There's a good chance that most of them are still in Florida. Now, I only go to Florida on business. Lately, not so much.

Nevertheless, I consider this subject resolved, at least to the best of my recollection.

On October 11, I warned all three of my readers that I was about to diverge significantly in tone and subject matter from my little blog thingy. After all, it's been My Blog Thingy all along. It's just a place to practice writing. I'm not trying to change minds or hearts. Although, I could decide to try to do that at sometime in the future.

Currently, I can write whatever I want to write. That could change. But, until it does, I will continue to write whatever I want to write. The good news for everybody else is that nobody has to read it.

Sometimes we float along and think that things will just be OK if we exercise the power of positive thinking. But, sometimes, bad things really do happen. To suggest that they will happen certainly does not mean that I hope they will happen. Or, that if I worry about them, they are bound to happen because I'm acting petulant and unhappy and have willed them to reality.

But, I've definitely been floating. Took my country for granted. Took my fought-for-in-blood freedom for granted.

No more.

So, dear reader(s), feel free to read and digest. Or, read and discard. Or, don't read. It doesn't make a difference to me. If it hasn't been my goal to make anyone uncomfortable, perhaps I should reevaluate that decision and really go for it.

Things nobody will find here: dirty words, dirty pictures, hysterical headlines at the masthead to pulse the blood pressure.

Remember, I'm a self-described cockeyed optimist. It's never been in my nature to assume the worst. So, that should tell you something.

"And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose ye this day whom ye will serve...but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15

What He Said

Mame: Haul out the holly;

Put up the tree before my spirit falls again.

Fill up the stocking,

I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now.

For we need a little Christmas

Right this very minute,

Candles in the window,

Carols at the spinet.

Yes, we need a little Christmas

Right this very minute.

It hasn't snowed a single flurry,

But Santa, dear, we're in a hurry;

So climb down the chimney;

Put up the brightest string of lights I've ever seen.

Slice up the fruitcake;

It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.

For I've grown a little leaner,

Grown a little colder,

Grown a little sadder,

Grown a little older,

All:And I need a little angel

Sitting on my shoulder,

Need a little Christmas now.

Mame:Haul out the holly;

Well, once I taught you all to live each living day.

All:Fill up the stocking,

Young Patrick:But Auntie Mame, it's one week from Thanksgiving Day now.

All:But we need a little Christmas

Right this very minute,

Candles in the window,

Carols at the spinet.

Yes, we need a little Christmas

Right this very minute.

Agnes:It hasn't snowed a single flurry,

But Santa, dear, we're in a hurry;

Ito:So climb down the chimney;

Put up the brightest string of lights I've ever seen.

All:Slice up the fruitcake;

It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.

For we need a little music,

Need a little laughter,

Need a little singing

Ringing through the rafter,

And we need a little snappy"Happy ever after,"

Need a little Christmas now.

Need a little Christmas now!!

Mame, 1966

There's no point in restating the obvious. Mitt nails it. GO, free markets!

Op-Ed Contributor
Let Detroit Go Bankrupt
By MITT ROMNEY
Published: November 18, 2008
Boston

IF General Motors, Ford and Chrysler get the bailout that their chief executives asked for yesterday, you can kiss the American automotive industry goodbye. It won’t go overnight, but its demise will be virtually guaranteed.

Without that bailout, Detroit will need to drastically restructure itself. With it, the automakers will stay the course — the suicidal course of declining market shares, insurmountable labor and retiree burdens, technology atrophy, product inferiority and never-ending job losses. Detroit needs a turnaround, not a check.

I love cars, American cars. I was born in Detroit, the son of an auto chief executive. In 1954, my dad, George Romney, was tapped to run American Motors when its president suddenly died. The company itself was on life support — banks were threatening to deal it a death blow. The stock collapsed. I watched Dad work to turn the company around — and years later at business school, they were still talking about it. From the lessons of that turnaround, and from my own experiences, I have several prescriptions for Detroit’s automakers.

First, their huge disadvantage in costs relative to foreign brands must be eliminated. That means new labor agreements to align pay and benefits to match those of workers at competitors like BMW, Honda, Nissan and Toyota. Furthermore, retiree benefits must be reduced so that the total burden per auto for domestic makers is not higher than that of foreign producers.

That extra burden is estimated to be more than $2,000 per car. Think what that means: Ford, for example, needs to cut $2,000 worth of features and quality out of its Taurus to compete with Toyota’s Avalon. Of course the Avalon feels like a better product — it has $2,000 more put into it. Considering this disadvantage, Detroit has done a remarkable job of designing and engineering its cars. But if this cost penalty persists, any bailout will only delay the inevitable.

Second, management as is must go. New faces should be recruited from unrelated industries — from companies widely respected for excellence in marketing, innovation, creativity and labor relations.

The new management must work with labor leaders to see that the enmity between labor and management comes to an end. This division is a holdover from the early years of the last century, when unions brought workers job security and better wages and benefits. But as Walter Reuther, the former head of the United Automobile Workers, said to my father, “Getting more and more pay for less and less work is a dead-end street.”

You don’t have to look far for industries with unions that went down that road. Companies in the 21st century cannot perpetuate the destructive labor relations of the 20th. This will mean a new direction for the U.A.W., profit sharing or stock grants to all employees and a change in Big Three management culture.

The need for collaboration will mean accepting sanity in salaries and perks. At American Motors, my dad cut his pay and that of his executive team, he bought stock in the company, and he went out to factories to talk to workers directly. Get rid of the planes, the executive dining rooms — all the symbols that breed resentment among the hundreds of thousands who will also be sacrificing to keep the companies afloat.

Investments must be made for the future. No more focus on quarterly earnings or the kind of short-term stock appreciation that means quick riches for executives with options. Manage with an eye on cash flow, balance sheets and long-term appreciation. Invest in truly competitive products and innovative technologies — especially fuel-saving designs — that may not arrive for years. Starving research and development is like eating the seed corn.

Just as important to the future of American carmakers is the sales force. When sales are down, you don’t want to lose the only people who can get them to grow. So don’t fire the best dealers, and don’t crush them with new financial or performance demands they can’t meet.

It is not wrong to ask for government help, but the automakers should come up with a win-win proposition. I believe the federal government should invest substantially more in basic research — on new energy sources, fuel-economy technology, materials science and the like — that will ultimately benefit the automotive industry, along with many others. I believe Washington should raise energy research spending to $20 billion a year, from the $4 billion that is spent today. The research could be done at universities, at research labs and even through public-private collaboration. The federal government should also rectify the imbedded tax penalties that favor foreign carmakers.

But don’t ask Washington to give shareholders and bondholders a free pass — they bet on management and they lost.

The American auto industry is vital to our national interest as an employer and as a hub for manufacturing. A managed bankruptcy may be the only path to the fundamental restructuring the industry needs. It would permit the companies to shed excess labor, pension and real estate costs. The federal government should provide guarantees for post-bankruptcy financing and assure car buyers that their warranties are not at risk.

In a managed bankruptcy, the federal government would propel newly competitive and viable automakers, rather than seal their fate with a bailout check.

Mitt Romney, the former governor of Massachusetts, was a candidate for this year’s Republican presidential nomination.