Running to the Edge of the World

Duke Miller, exceptional as always.

tin hats

“Would you like another drink?”

“No thanks.”

“You don’t seem very happy right now.”

“Parties…I’ve never liked them.”

“Why not?”

“No reason….”

The music died and there was only the sound of insects and low voices.  The full moon winked in the clouds beneath the apathetic stars.

“When I was a teenager a girl invited me to her birthday party.  Her name was Francine.  She wasn’t very popular.  No friends to speak of.  You know the type I’m sure.  She was tall and boyish, gangling with thin arms and big feet.  And I had befriended her because she liked to run.  She wasn’t fast or anything, she just liked to run in the countryside, across the fields and up the dirt trails above our little town.  We would take our dogs and run in the evening as the sun slowly disappeared in the trees.  We always said we were running…

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Holy Mole

You are a determined woman! Congratulations. What next? A cheese sandwich?.

JT Twissel

On the third day of chili grinding (see Making Mole Sauce and Making Mole in the Modern World) the chili-nut-fruit mixture was still not ground to Liz’s satisfaction and so I kidnapped every grinding machine I could find in Joel’s well equipped kitchen and brought them to her house.

Grinders

Then we got an assembly line going – using one grinder until it started to overheat and then switching to another.  BTW – the best grinder in our assortment was the small white one on the right (a Grup).  I’m happy to say that no grinders were permanently damaged.  Finally we had a Costco-size pretzel jar full of perfectly ground mole powder!

orkMole Above is pork mole with sourdough bread and my share of the mole powder. It should last a year.

Liz then added a cup of the mole powder to 8 ounces of tomato sauce and sauteed the mixture with a cup…

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Making Mole Sauce

I shall follow this epic with interest. Always longed to make a mole but freaked out by all the ingredients and process. Lucky you to have the wonderful Liz.

JT Twissel

Baseball Liz and I on another of our adventures – coaching softball, something about which we knew NOTHING!

When my friend Liz announced she was going to make mole (pronounced mole-lay) I offered to help. The process of making mole takes at least a day, even in Mexico where there are special mills for chili grinding so I saw this as a chance for us to spend some time together. You see, her life is in constant flux and I’m always writing, blogging or taking care of my elderly mother so mole-making would force us each to take a day off just for ourselves. In fact, Liz is so busy I half expected something to come up which would postpone our adventure, maybe forever.  But, miracle of miracles, it did not.

Here’s what a commercially made mole looks like:

IMG_1724

It’s actually a powder which, before serving, is mixed with crushed tomatoes and freshly…

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Humor is Lost upon the Dead

The Duke is back.

tin hats

As I write there is a dirty sheet being placed over the body of a child.

She is no more.  What shall we do?

She was playing in the sand, even though her family had told her to stay inside.  A piece of shrapnel killed her.  It left only an inch gash in her chest, tore through her heart, and then ripped her shoulder blade and part of her spine away from her body.  Flesh and blood splattered a wall and spelled a word by the freak of nature: H and I.  She flopped around a bit before she died, alone there on the broken earth.  Only a few knew her and fewer still will remember the circles she drew in the dust.  HI she died.

Later they will bury the girl in a rocky field and the hands of a bare tree will sprinkle bark and brown straw upon…

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A Curse on Your Erection

saehorses kissingWhat kind of scumbag would steal a seahorse from his happy little home beneath the waves?

There he sits harming no one, simultaneously swivelling both eyes in different directions, mating for life, and giving birth to his babies. That’s right. His babies. Seahorses are the only species on earth that trust this task to a male.

And that’s not even why they’re called Hippocampus erectus. Despite their horny appearance, they probably don’t even have anything to get an erection with. They don’t need it. A female simply lays her eggs inside his pouch and this amazing little bloke fertilises and carries them for about three weeks before giving birth.

Which is all pretty ironic as the bums who are poaching them are selling them on the black market to be ground up and sold for erectile dysfunction.

Chinese medicine, hugely on the rise in this age of jaded western medicine, has dozens of other uses for these defenceless creatures once they are dried and pulverized . Other lowlife are passing them along to rich aquarium owners in Asia and Australia. Along Australia’s coast their numbers are down as much as 95%.

Without the added scourge of  a thriving black market,  the seahorses are doing it tough. Warming oceans and boats anchoring in their delicate habitats are decimating the little sponge gardens, seagrass beds and soft corals they call home. And wrecking their food supply.

To save them from extinction, a ‘Seahorse Hotel’ is being planned within the gorgeous Parsley Bay in Sydney’s inner harbour. A year-round net in the water that they can hang onto, goggle their eyes and do their tranny thing.

In ancient mythology, mighty Poseidon, God of the Sea, chose seahorses to pull his carriage.  Bad tempered and bi polar, his wrath called down storms and tsunamis and watery deaths on anyone who pissed him off.

May he now rule as the protector of the new “Seahorse Hotel” and wreak havoc on the erections of anyone evil enough to kill a Hippocampus  Erectus for a lousy hard-on.