Ryan's Traditional Cranberry Sauce Recipe
Step 1. Open can.
Step 2. Slide out the purple gelatinous cylinder.
Step 3. Slice along can indentations.
Step 4. Serve on festive McDonalds plate
Step 5. Place in corner and pretend nobody is going to eat it.
Step 6. Marvel at how many people are subconsciously drawn to its jiggly tartness.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
So this is how my brain works. I'll let you decide the level of insanity.
This morning I woke up with Wild Horses playing from inside the dream. It simultaneously existed as the original The Rolling Stones version and The Sundays and Labelle versions.
And I thought to myself what else is on that album? Bitch. or Sway. Mmmmm Brown Sugar. The Album? Sticky Fingers.
How a propos that I awoke half aroused, hand in the flannelpajama pants, and playing in the slowly fading fog songs from Sticky Fingers.
Wait a minute. I always thought it was about thievery, especially with You Gotta Move on the album. Perhaps it was instead about... adifferent kind of sticky fingers. He he he.
Now the "dirty" album cover makes more sense. Oh. Oh! Ok. Duh.
Still, Sticky Fingers is a pretty good album. It's no Exileon Main Street. Come to think of it Tumbling Dice... is a later (not as good) version of Good Time Women which was recorded for uh. Sticky Fingers.
And so I must decide here in the morning, alone. What more to think about Sticky Fingers? Do I go to the cold shower and wash away the last of the dream? Do I work on my own version of Sticky Fingers? A two handed solo on Can't You Hear Me Knocking?
Instead I log into Facebook and post:
"Sticky Fingers was awesome by the Spanish Cover was weird."
Along with this link to Brown Sugar of Mick Jagger in a laaaaaaaaame hat.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
When I was a younger man I was bewildered and mystified by the women's bathroom. What goes on in there? Why do they go in groups? What takes so long? There were rumors of couches and vending machines and pillow fights and who knows what else.
As an older man I have been in the women's bathroom for one reason or another and there is little mystical about it. True there are slightly more amenities in some of the nicer establishments, but nothing that exactly explains the lavatory pack behavior.
I have a new curiosity. The Lactation Room. Before today I just assumed it was where working mothers went to express milk. But today I have seen a working woman dressed to the nines and carrying no bags enter the room and not come directly out.
What is going on in there? Suddenly I imagine that there is a fake wall in that room behind which some Eyes Wide Shut scenario is going on. The pharmaceutical business men and women form around the world are getting their kicks in exchange for large drug sales.
I am tempted to look inside but in case it is what it says it is... my boobgaze may be unwelcome.