Cheap humor: Typos

Note: Most typos in this blog are intentional. MOST. 

Since words are my business, and business is food, then I present food for thought: Typos are the best. Instead of rapping your own knuckles with a ruler every time you make one, laugh at it, especially if it’s one that can be made into a dirty joke or longstanding bit of humor.

Case in point, the pointy case that inspired this blog: This very evening, I was texting with my Best Good Friend Renae, and I told her she needed to watch “The Walking Dead” on AMC. I’m sure all you zombie fans out there agree with that – but what made it hilarious was that I accidentally typed “The Walking Deaf.” Not to pick on the deaf, but the good deaf people I know are a skosh less scary than zombies. “They’re doing sign language! AAAAGGHHH!!” was my next text. It got Renae laughing, and lessened some of my unnatural fear of zombies. See? Cheap humor with long-lasting benefits. 

A google search of  "The Walking Deaf" brought up this very cute image. I hope that dog is not a zombie.

A google search of "The Walking Deaf" brought up this very cute image. I hope that dog is not a zombie.

Now every time “Walking Dead” comes on I’m going to imagine hearing aid-equipped folks walking around not doing much of anything. Just walking.

I worked for a long time on a sports copy desk for the Tulsa World. It was some of the best, and most educational, times of my career. And during that time, we had a lot of stressful shit go down. But through it all, the typos kept us laughing. My old deskmates and I still converse in a language that not many will understand, the language of overstressed copy editors laughing hysterically at each other’s mistakes. I’ll do my damndest to explain it.

I present, K-Tel’s Tulsa World Sports Desk Greatest Hits of Typos!

  • Sprots. This was the most common of our typos. It’s an easy mistake to make when you look at the proximity of the letters, and with the commonality of which we used the word. But it became so funny that every time one of us effed that word up, we had to tell everyone. The sports desk was made up of a circle of desk around the slot desk. The slot is the person in charge of getting the section out every night. Anyway, if there was a sprots incident, it usually got yelled loudly in our department. Which I’m sure agitated the news desk to no end. (Note, now they’re all one big universal desk. I’m sure the sprots folks have had to tone down their rambunctiousness, which is sad to me.)
  • Cowbots. Since both the Dallas Cowboys and Oklahoma State Cowboys are near Tulsa, we used the mascot Cowboys a lot in headlines and other display type (that’s everything besides the story itself.) Cowbots is a mistake I still make at ESPN, since we do a lot of reporting on that team in Dallas that I’m writing off. But that’s another story. Cowbots became such a popular typo that my dear friend Stacey named her fantasy football team The Cowbots. Pretty sure she wins the name challenge hands-down.
  • Toronot: We made-believe that Toronot was the Anti-Canada. This was a common typo during baseball season.
  • Jerf Gerden: I’m pretty sure this was only my mistake, but went down in history. For some reason, every time I typed Jeff Gordon’s name I fucked it up. It came out “Jerf Gerden” once. We had a guy on the desk named Jeff Huston who bore the brunt of this typo, since he was henceforth known as Jerf.
  • Stroms. No, not Thurmond. But since weather often affected sporting events, and Oklahoma has its own weather pattern that only meteoroligcal masterminds like Travis Meyer and Gary England can predict. Thus the need for sprots (ha!) people to write about stroms/storms. We had one whole high school baseball season that had to be played well into June to finish because of stroms.

There’s another incident that I can’t really explain — and it wasn’t so much a typo as a complete shut off of all my brain functioning while trying to get University of Oklahoma pages done in about a 10-minute window. I was trying to write a cutline (caption for you non-newspaper folks) about Bob Stoops having something stuck in his craw… and I basically wrote that Bob Stoops was stuck in his own craw. What the hell is a craw, you ask? I don’t know. Something to do with a chicken gizzard.

And on the subject of Bob Stoops, we all agreed that “Boob Stops” was a typo we were sure to make at any moment. Some nights, we  could only make fixes to pages if it something crucial, we called those “Boob Stops” nights.

I know there are a lot more. And I know I’ll make a lot more in the future. There’s one I’ve made at ESPN that fortunately I caught – we send out this thing called the Hot List every few hours. In the subject line of the email, I type, in all caps, making it even more privy to typos, “HOT LIST.” I cannot tell you how many times I’ve accidentally typed HOT KIST. That just makes me sound trampy. And that is NOT the image I want to convey as a proper, prim news editor for the Worldwide Leader of Sprots.

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Filed under Brain Disorders, ESPN, General Nonsense, Newspapers, Tulsa, TV, Uncategorized, weather

The Great Northeast’s Super Bowl, or How I Fell Back in Love with the NBA

It’s not like I fell out of love with the National Basketball Association, really, I just would’ve been really ticked had they not played this year. For all the good that was done last year with the Mavericks winning, Kevin Durant and Co. bringing fun back to the game and the Heat and Lakers losing (HA! Still funny) it would’ve all been undone had the fools in suits tossed aside the year. I understand it’s a business, but for selfish reasons, I’m really glad they came to an –albeit tenuous — compromise.

Kevin Durant

Oh, Kevin Durant... you're the reason God make the Oklahoma City Thunder. Besides that whole Longhorn thing. We forgive you.

And if it wasn’t for the NBA and its glorious offspring, NCAA men’s basketball, I’m not sure I could tolerate the end of the football season. You see, I live in Connecticut, a state divided among Red Sox and Yankees fans, Jets and Giants and Patriots fans and Rangers and Bruins fans. A state that probably likes the Celtics a lot more than the Knicks, but I understand that.

What I don’t understand is how the 49ers and Ravens let this happen. For the love of Pete — it’s a rematch game. Didn’t we get enough of those during the BCS title game? I certainly did. And though I’m not a huge fan of any NFL team, I would’ve liked to have seen the 49ers back in this — and as a somewhat Cowboys fan, it’s not easy to  say that. My Canadian brother-in-law, whom I adore, is a big-time 49ers fan, even if their stadium looks like a glorified summer league baseball diamond. He loves the 49ers for who they had — namely Jerry Rice. And he’s Canadian, so he really doesn’t understand anyway. He doesn’t like being in the dark, either (points if you get that reference.)

Side note: The first time I saw Jerry Rice lurking about the ESPN newsroom I swear I felt a little faint. I haven’t spoken to him yet, but he seems like a nice guy, one who should be my friend. I’m afraid if I start talking to him I’ll go all Chris Farley and start asking, “You remember that time you were in the  Super Bowl? That was awesome.”

And I assume the rest of the world isn’t too thrilled about seeing Tom Brady trot his funky bunch out there again to face Eli “Elite” Manning and his stable of giant-handed receivers.

It’s safe to say that the good folks at ESPN who are from around these parts are thrilled with the participants of the Super Bowl, except for the large contingent of Jets fans, who’ve thrown their support to the Giants. I’ve moved on, to bigger and better — and rounder — balls. (Teehee! You know what I mean.) I have found myself watching the NBA ad nauseum lately, even insignificant games. But at the Worldwide Leader, with access to every game every night, I watch whatever I want. Yesterday I watched the team I hate the most, the Los Angeles Lakers, get defeated by the Milwaukee (Algonquin for “The Good Land,” thank you Alice Cooper) Bucks. It was glorious. And needless to say, if Kevin Durant and the Thunder are playing, they’re on my TV. Same with the Clippers, unless their times conflict.

The NBA was my first pro-sports love, the sport that harvested my very soul during the late 80s and 90s. So it seems natural that once again, I’m able to name starters for  most teams, as well as sixth- and seventh-man alternatives for a lot of them.

But going back to the Super Bowl: As a semi-Cowboys fan, I shouldn’t say this. But I will. I am cheering for the Giants. Have been in every game except the NFC Championship, when my love for my bro-in-law Joel and my yet-to-know-it-yet BFF Jerry Rice flourished. I am not a good Cowboys fan. I realize this. I loved Clinton Portis, have cheered for the Steelers, and didn’t hate Donovan McNabb as much as I should have. I did, however, laugh when The Real Roy Williams broke Terrell Owens’ leg. But let’s not go off-topic.

I will watch the Super Bowl. I will probably enjoy the Super Bowl. But I think the Patriots are going to win, even if I really, really, really don’t want them to. My vehemence against a team doesn’t usually help it, case in point Every Lakers Championship Ever. The day the Spurs beat them for the 2003 Western Conference semifinals, I went outside to make sure the sky wasn’t falling. I’m not making this up.

But know this: not everyone in the ESPN newsroom is basking in the glory of an all-East Coast Super Bowl. There are a lot of Cowboys fans in the newsroom, though few of them come by geographically like me. There are also a lot of Eagles and Steelers fans. Even a few Bengals and Browns fans, and a fair share of Packer Backers. It’s a motley crew of fandom.

But if you don’t want to watch the Super Bowl, that’s cool, it’s on a competing network so I’m not going to try to force it on you. I will, however, politely suggest that you tune into the NBA this season. It’s fast-paced and fun, and strike-shortened, which gives it a gladiator quality: Only the strong will survive. So many more injuries than a typical year.

And there’s talk that Gilbert Arenas may be a Laker soon. Talk about taking a gun to a knife fight! Arenas AND Artest aka Metta World Peace. Wow.

Another blog for another time…

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Filed under Connecticut, ESPN, Fun!, Kevin Durant, Oklahoma, Sports, Tulsa, Uncategorized

Accidental anarchy, a breakup, and how I refuse to stop being a 14-year-old

Because I’m an accidental anarchist, and a wanter of things that I can’t have, I feel compelled to write today.

Anarchy socks, for when you really, really want to show the world how tough you are!

I’ve had a perfectly good computer sitting in front of me all these weeks since I last posted, but have I blogged? Heavens no. I’ve been too busy completely immersing myself in all things Penn State, Tim Tebow, NBA, being a crazy person, college football and Gossip Girl. More on Gossip Girl later…

But my computer has quit me like a bad habit. We had a good run; we’ve been together since 2005, that’s longer than any other relationship I’ve ever had, so you can understand why I’m beside myself with grief. Fortunately, I backed all my scads of music up the week before. I had preminisced – no return of the salad days (Points if you get that reference.)

So of course, without a computer, my writing need emerges, and I take to the keyboard in my cube at ESPN, where I’m sort of working today. We have these things called prep days, and I got all the prep stuff out of the way so I could use the computer for more important things like the Garish Chicken.

On to my anarchy, which wasn’t as much accidental as just plain dumb. My Oklahoma car registration expired a while back, and I didn’t realize that Connecticut took having a registered car so seriously. I worked through the holidays, and on the night after Christmas I got pulled over for having a headlight out. The officer warned me that the next guy who stopped me would tow my car for being unregistered. I got the headlight fixed and vowed to get my registration with my next paycheck, and to be a good citizen until then, keeping out of reach of the long arm of the law.

So on the next payday, I couldn’t go to the DMV because of work, but I was going to go the next day. I set off to work, going a way I never usually go because I needed gas, and I got pulled over again a mile from my home. The previous cop was right – they towed my ass home. A MILE. And charged me $100 for the mile tow. Cash. They wrecker driver took me to an ATM.

WANT.

Thus began the process of trying to get my car legal. I had to call every branch of the DMV between here and Oklahoma City it seemed. I need a certified letter from God that I exist and did not steal my 2003 Toyota (if I was going to steal, wouldn’t I aim higher?) This all happened last Thursday, a week ago. I am still waiting for all the paperwork to come together.

In the meantime, anarchy urge quelled, I am in a rental car that is going to end up costing me a kidney. Or I’ll have to wash cars – I assume that’s the rental car place alternative to washing dishes, right? It’s my own fault for not taking care of this when I had the money and the time.

It just doesn’t seem like I’ve had the time. Because:

* On Oct. 9, Tim Tebow was named starting QB of the Denver Broncos.

* On Nov. 9, Joe Paterno was fired from Penn State.

* From Dec. 9-Jan.-9, we haven’t stopped talking-reading-investigating either topic.

* I decided on a funny whim based on a funny moment on a serious Sunday to take on a self-improvement plan. I’ll reveal that funny moment someday, but not now, and NOT HERE.

My days at ESPN are long. But they are interesting, and I usually leave happy. That doesn’t mean that I don’t go into a sort of coma when I’m off work, but I leave Bristol, Ct., smiling and head back to my idyllic little ‘burg, where I’m also happy.

It’s just been hard to wrap my head around reality – all those car registrations and bills and real-life things that I had down in Oklahoma seem to have vanished somewhere along the way, possibly in Pennsylvania. Side note, the entirety of Pennsylvania, sans Philly, is like Adair and Cherokee counties – you get one free killin’, because no one would know that you even murdered anyone. As someone told me a few weeks ago, Pennsylvania is 5 percent Philly and 95 percent Alabama. I subbed in Oklahoma in my mind because that’s what I do.

I’m beginning to feel at home. I like it here. I know that I’ll return to Oklahoma someday and that I’ll be buried there with my people, but I like it here. That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop getting excited when I see a Tulsa reference in a story on our air, or that I’m going to cheer any less for any team with even the slightest Oklahoma influence.

As I typed that last sentence, I got an email from the Tulsa 66ers of D-League fame. I miss you too, Oklahoma.

I’ll be glad when this car registration thing is over. I am so near the end of a lot of milestones in my life – paying off my car and debt, being free of my home in Oklahoma, losing weight and becoming healthier – the last part of the waiting is cruel, and this latest chapter of not being able to drive my car because I’m an idiot just magnifies the wait.

But someday, I’ll be a real adult. With a real goal in life. And someday, I won’t have to reach so deeply into my bank accounts to recover from stupidity.

I am lucky. And though I may sound a trifle whiny today, not a day goes by that I don’t realize my blessings, and that makes the wait worthwhile. That makes life seem a little bit easier.

Double-hotness... so close together... Oh, and they're not bad at football either.

Now if Tim Tebow and the Broncos win the Super Bowl, I might be physically chained to my desk. I’ll be forced to watch highlights over and over. But that’s OK – Tim’s hot. He may be the Antichrist, but that’s another (slightly serious) blog.

Chuck Bass, AKA Ed Westwick... He brings sexy back and then back some more.

Oh, and Gossip Girl? So far out of the realm of normalcy it’s captured my fancy. That and Chuck Bass. I watched five seasons of GG over a three-week period. And it was good. My inner 14-year-old blossomed and bloomed. I may someday be a real adult, but I’ll never give her up!

And me and the computer have decided to take a break. I’ll probably replace Dell. He’s been good to me, but I can do better.

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Filed under Connecticut, ESPN, General Nonsense, Tulsa

Jane’s Addiction: Welcome back, old friend! (Warning, it’s a record review!)

I could be called the World’s Biggest Perry Farrell apologist — but even I couldn’t make up excuses for his last project, Satellite Party — just not my kind of party. Members of the Beastie Boys probably kept their respective penises out of the mashed potatoes whilst hearing it. (It’s Beastie Boys humor. If you don’t get it, Google it.)

But my love for the Big Three Jane’s Addiction albums — the first self-titled live album (which I consider a full album, since it contains so many songs you can’t find elsewhere), “Nothing’s Shocking” and “Ritual de lo Habitual” — is never-ending and deep. It’s a love that began on my BFF’s bedroom floor in 1988. I heard the opening strains of “Up the Beach,” fell in love hard and instantaneously, and was buying the live album a few weeks later, waiting on tenterhooks for “Ritual” and buying it the day it came out, with the banned and now-available cover art… the insert in the cassette with the lyrics and heroin-fueld diatribes of band members… Damn I loved being a weird kid. I still love being a weird kid.

Then JA broke up, and no one was surprised, because Dave Navarro had lost his mind and went to hang out with the only band with more heroin baggage than Jane’s, the Chili Peppers. Plus, Perry seemed to be going kind of off the deep end, though I guess he really wasn’t.  (Side note, Navarro’s joining of RHCP, sadly, was when I really  started hating RHCP — and that’ll never change. They’re just dead to me, though their first four albums aren’t.) Eric and Stephen just kind of shucked along, doing albums with Infectious Grooves, Polar Bear, Banyan… and Perry did the Porno for Pyros thing… it reminded me of when I was a kid and Duran Duran broke up. I grieved, but bought the new stuff happily.

Nothing's Shocking is sublime. It is perfect. It is beyond measure. It'll never happen again. "The Great Escape Artist" is good, however, even if it does make you go back and listen to the old stuff afterward.

But back to my welcoming back of JA. The new album, “The Great Escape Artist,” is GOOD. I’ve read reviews that panned it — but I don’t think they get it. This is undiluted JA –whispery weird and whiny Perry lyrics, meaty guitar hooks, spooky/sexy/indulgent percussion — Stephen Perkins is the finest drummer of my generation, bar none — and, while more produced than past efforts, a revisit to the coolness that I first hungrily supped in eighth grade.

But imma let you freaks off with a warning: It’s not “Nothing’s Shocking.” That quality of album just won’t EVER happen again. This’n

Great Escape Artist, Jane's Addiction, from janesaddiction.org

Great Escape Artist, Jane's Addiction, from janesaddiction.org

is a grown-up but still cool JA. It’s more reminiscent of that sound, but it’s not 1988 anymore. They’ve made quality albums since then, each a bit more different. I love the Porno for Pyros albums almost as much as I do the JA albums, but they’re not Nothing’s Shocking. I/we/they can never recapture that magic. They make a different kind of magic, and I like this new effort enough to give it several turns of the disc and not just put it on my iPhone and listen to tracks. I’ll listen to the whole thing. “Strays” didn’t give me that — so I’m glad to have that back. I’m a fan of album rock, and JA and the Pixies were the kings of whole-album rock until grunge came along…

(Side note 2: I love that I believe my era is the best and can’t be topped. I have officially reached a music nirvana, no pun intended. Mine’s better than yours, kiddo.)

I have grown up with the band — maybe that’s why I’m attracted to this more mature effort. I didn’t love “Strays,” though it had its moments, but GEA feels like a Jane’s Addiction album.

So far, the initial track “Underground” has really struck me as brilliant. No, Perry, you’ll never leave the underground, like Liz Phair, Dave Grohl, Courtney Love and so many other “undergrounders” have. Yet you’ve survived, like others who’ve refused to change haven’t — Layne Staley and Shannon Hoon come to mind, just on quick reflection.

Navarro is back to that piercing guitar solo, that searing sound that is solely JA. It’s not present in every song, but when you hear it, it’s brilliant and refreshes my soul.

The only thing missing is the fabulous Eric Avery. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I miss him. And Perry still talks a whole lot about that wife that he is so mad for — he’s such a romantic, albeit a weird one (the bizarro “Gift” was co-written and dedicated to one of his girls, Casey Niccoli, and while I watched it because it was JA, I felt kinda dirty afterward and probably showered.)

I bought the deluxe version of GEA, and it came with live versions of some of the greats. I got chills when “Three Days” started and heard a crowd cheering for them.

I so wanted to see JA at their album release party in NYC in mid-October. But I am still too chicken to go to NYC by myself and know no one who’d come with me. I am going to see them before I die, as God is my witness.

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Filed under Brain Disorders, General Nonsense, Music

The Zombie Apocalypse ain’t got nothin’ on this nor’easter aftermath

I came home last night to a warm, illuminated house. Not a rarity, normally, unless you have become a resident of the state of Connecticut in the last three months.

I didn’t have power for the better part of four days — and I’m one of the lucky ones who got it back before the week is out. I have guilt about this. They’re forecasting a restore time of Sunday at 11:59 p.m. for the majority of the Farmington Valley (where I live),  capital Hartford and its glamorous offshoot, West Hartford.  Heaven help Connecticut Light and Power if they go even a second beyond that. Tempers around here are hair-trigger, and I don’t blame people.

Even as I’m typing this, I don’t know how my little hippie ‘burg got so lucky to get power back. I’m working a semi-late night shift at ESPN, one that sees me getting home around 11:30 p.m. For the last few days, it’s been a ridiculous drive home, as there are no stop lights working and I don’t have the best memory of where they should be. Since the Valley is composed entirely of tree-lined two-lane state routes and not highways, there are no other alternatives to getting home. And people drive fast — myself included — so I’ve found myself doing the ol’ “Okie Roll” through the absent stop lights, when I see them. Often I don’t see the stop spots until after it’s too late… Sorry, Connecticut!

There’s nothing spookier than driving home in pitch blackness, except my drive home from ESPN during the nor’easter itself on Saturday — but that’s another story.  Suffice it say my knuckles have never been whiter, and Garrison Keilor’s voice more welcome. That calming man got me home. Back to last night – I was so surprised when I pulled up into my little town of Collinsville to see it not only lighted, but kinda bustling. We don’t have a convenience store (C’MON QuikTrip! I NEED YOU!) in our area, but we’ve got a semi-nightlife, oddly enough. I’m not complaining about the power being on, it’s just odd that we got it back before other, more populated, parts of the state.

I think it has something to do with the trees. We’re on a sort of mountain, and the trees fall forward, it seems, and don’t do a ton of damage. My drives home from ESPN have been not only darkened, but full of peril. Felled trees crowd the shoulders, and my poor baby Corolla has accidentally scraped many a branch I didn’t see. Giant trees dangle perilously on power lines overhead, nearly touching the top of my car. Broken trees lean in, hugging the restraining fences but nearly winning the inertia war. I’m convinced one is going to just snap off and fall when I’m underneath. My driveway at home is partially blocked by a huge limb too — but I just park where I can at this point. One of my neighbors blocked entrance to the semi-circle drive by parking her car in the middle and retreating to safer parts when the nor’easter hit. Not that I blame her — but it’s a parking free-for-all outside my ancient home.

No restaurants are open in the Valley, as far as I can tell. If they are, they’re accepting cash only, which I don’t have — and ATMs are electric, it seems. I’m eating at home or at ESPN every day. Accidentally dieting, as it were — I’m a fan.

I awoke yesterday to a digital clock flashing in my face and I didn’t understand why. I was under two heavy blankets, my spare bedroom’s comforter and my down comforter, a cave of warmth, with a sleepy orange kitty cuddled with me. (The dog has personal space issues and sleeps on his own bed; Percy Cat doesn’t care much for anyone and sleeps in the other room. Penny, however, thinks I’m the best thing that ever happened to her.) I leaped out of bed when the ray of understanding hit me that yes, dear, that is electricity — and I made the happiest pot of coffee. With ground beans. I brought in all the stuff from my refrigerator/front porch and marveled at what stayed viable. The days are getting up in the 50s, but it’s so cold at night, the milk stayed fine in the shade, as did everything else. Connecticut’s trash will be extra-smelly the next few weeks with ice cream and meat remnants, but if you put your stuff out in Nature, you at least got  something edible out of it. If the ‘coons didn’t get it — that’s why I hung mine. I am SO country sometimes.

So I got up yesterday, drank coffee, reveled, washed some clothes, and then the power went out again. I ran to the bathroom to take the world’s fastest shower, and resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn’t get it back again — but it came back in 15 minutes, and it’s stayed on. I had chicken soup, watched ESPN, and curled my hair with hot-rollers. I put on an actually carefully planned outfit, not the first warm thing I could lay hands on. Let me tell you, changing clothes in a 48-degree house is ridiculous — strapping on a bra is akin to strapping frozen bags of corn onto your midsection. And I never remembered to keep my clothes in bed with me, like some suggested — besides, with the cat, they’d be coated with even more fuzz than normal.

Just to recap my first three months in Connecticut: Earthquake, hurricane, October nor’easter. I expect state officials to ride me out of town on the proverbial rail as soon as they pinpoint that I’m somehow behind this. I guess my Oklahoma weather juju just came with me — and for that, Nutmeg State, I apologize. With intensity.

In the aftermath today, and yesterday, music is  sweeter than ever, which is saying a lot, since my music collection is like fine dining to me. I heard the Osborne’s “Rocky Top” and felt complete again. As I’ve typed this, the silly Bangles song “In Your Room” has been on — I bought it a long time ago when I was in love or something — and I didn’t even try to change it. I’ve only changed it when it’s played the slow sad stuff. Can’t have that right now. It’s a time of relative joy.

What saved me from my four days in darkness was reading and my iPhones, which I ran dry every night, if we had cell service. Lost that for a day too. I finished Patti Smith’s “Just Kids,” which is EXCELLENT, and got about halfway through Jerry West‘s “West By West.” I went to  West Q&A session the other day at ESPN. He’s a wonderful, charming man who makes me hate the Lakers a little bit less — but not much. His book is funny, conversational, intriguing, enlightening — and candid. I appreciate his honesty. I read both under battery-powered light. I tried to remain thankful for the multitude of blankets I had, and the job I have that has showers, warm food and Starbucks — ESPN got me through the hardest part.

Haha, “Dancing in the Dark” just came on my iTunes, no foolin’. I didn’t do any of that — too cold — but I did channel some of Bruce Springsteen’s grit since Saturday night — and I hope everyone else can too. It’s tough. But it’ll be over soon. And he’s right — you can’t start a fire without a spark. I should’ve also mentioned that the entirety of Connecticut smells like a campfire.

If this doesn’t end soon, there will be an apocalypse that zombies will fear — seriously, cold, bored people can only take so much.

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Filed under Connecticut, ESPN, Pets, Sports, weather

GC’s incredibly easy “That’s Italian!” tomato gravy stuff, or why I love Connecticut grocery stores

Whatever Italian the Garish Chicken has in her mottled bloodline has been ever so present since moving to New England.

Maybe it’s the people. The people here are different shades than those of Oklahoma. Not that I’m smart enough, I’ve figured out, to determine who’s what. I’m from Oklahoma. I assume everyone’s Indian. Here, we got a lot more Jewish and Italian people. I don’t know the difference. I like to think it’s because I’m a lover of all people, but it probably just means I’m an under-educated hick.

Despite my ignorance, I know there are more Italians here because the grocery stores are jam-packed with delicious Italia. The kind of stuff the foodies talk about. Real pastas, not just American Beauty or Martha Gooch (that WHORE… kidding, I don’t know anything about her). The kind that you cook al dente and go “Oh, that’s what that’s all about.” And then you know how to cook it that way, and never want mushy crap pasta again.

San Freakin' Marzanos.

That's the stuff: If you can't find these, buy them on Amazon. DO EEEEET.

My first trip to the grocery store in Avon, Ct., not far from une casa, I found San Marzano tomatoes, which Giada goes on and on about on her TV show. (I don’t tend to trust skinny chefs, but she’s the exception. I’ve cooked many of her recipes and been pleased.)

That's Amore! Garlic paste.

Amore Garlic Paste: I know it sounds like I'm being lazy, but this stuff is incredible. Trust me.

I’d never seen San Marzanos in Oklahoma. Here, they were $4 for a large can, but apparently that’s fairly cheap.

So I bought a large can of San Marzano tomatoes, thinking I would further adapt one of Giada’s recipes for Little Thimbles Sciue Sciue (hurry hurry) that I adore, but wish it was saucier and a cooked sauce rather than her precious raw sauce. I don’t like raw tomatoes – I know, I’m weird. I could mainline marinara, but raw tomatoes make me gag.

I also found garlic paste at the store. I’d never seen or used it before, but I thought, it’s garlic in a tube, I can’t think how that would be bad. I went to the pasta section and found ditalini from a brand called Sclafini, a Connecticut brand. They had all the pasta shapes I’d dreamed about but were hard to come by in Tulsa. Little hats, tubitini, pasta rings – but the ditalini is what’s called for in this dish, though the little hats are  quite good too.

I next went to produce and found a large container of basil for $3. Enough to curb my basil tooth. Some folks crave sugar, I crave herbs. I use a lot more basil in this dish than you probably have to.

Anyway – I went home and concocted something I thought was pretty amazing. It’s probably breaking some sort of Italian code or is the same thing as Ragu or something otherwise basic.

But this little recipe, since I’ve moved to Connecticut, has been made once, sometimes twice, a week.

The key is to use less pasta than tomatoes. You want the tomato gravy. And that garlic paste? I will die happier having found it. It’s salty and luscious. And I could use a lot of it at a time, but it’s kind of expensive so I’m moderate with it.

This one is so different than my basic sauce, which requires onions, lots of fresh garlic, wine and lots of time. But I think I like this one better, at least for now, and it’s ready in like 15 minutes, counting pasta time.

 

GC’s Ditalini with Fresh Mozzarella

1 28 ounce can San Marzano tomatoes whole tomatoes (find them. Trust me.)

Half-bag (1 cup or so) of ditalini pasta, or some other small pasta (get the good stuff)

Garlic paste, Amore brand is delicious

Basil

Salt and pepper

Herbes de Provence

Dried basil or whatever you like dried-herb wise

1 ball of fresh mozzarella

Fancy or unfancy Parm (your choice. I won’t judge.)

 

Coat the bottom of a medium skillet with olive oil. Like enough so that when you drop in the tomatoes, they will separate from the acid and oil meeting. Like enough to flavor a sauce.

Meanwhile, in a laboratory downtown… kidding, on another burner, get some pasta water a-boilin’. Add salt. I always forget, but I’ll say it this time. ADD THE DAMNED SALT. And some olive oil if you’re so inclined.

Back to the skillet. Heat on low-medium. Add the can of whole tomatoes. Let it heat up a bit, then take a wooden spoon and mash the tomatoes bits. They’ll cook down – I like mine smooth, so I stir them into oblivion. Why not buy tomato sauce you say? The whole tomatoes are so good and when they break down slowly, it tastes so fresh.

Add however much garlic you like. You can, of course, use fresh garlic. I just think this stuff is so flavorful that I can’t match that with fresh garlic. Maybe I’m doing it wrong – but I work 12 hour days and don’t have TIME TO MAKE GARLIC PASTE, OK FOODIES?

I’m sorry. I lost my mind for a minute.

Deep breaths. Squirt in the delicious no-excuses garlic paste. Add your herb mix – I love herbes de Provence, mostly because I bought a shit-ton of it and keep it in my freezer, so I just try to use it in everything. But it goes well in this sauce. Just use a little, like teaspoon or so. Add some dried basil, or if you’ve gone off the deep end like me, buy the Amore Italian herbs in a tube.

But don’t use too much – you don’t want herbs to overpower the general deliciousness of the tomatoes and garlic. Add S&P to your taste, but don’t overdo salt.

Let that simmer slowly. Taste for S&P.

Throw your pasta in boiling water. If you bought good pasta, it will take a bit longer to cook, but you should never overcook it. Every time you overcook pasta, a darling Sicilian grandmother dies. Do the al dente thing and never look back. Again, good pasta doesn’t overcook as fast, so keep that in mind.

When the pasta’s done, turn off the heat on the sauce and let the pasta sit for a minute in the hot water – just a minute though. Tear your fresh basil into the sauce. With a slotted spoon, add the pasta directly to the sauce. If you get a bit of pasta water in it, no one would judge you. You can even thin out the sauce if you’re so inclined with a tablespoon of that water. I always keep it aside for such reasons.

Open the fresh mozz and tear it asunder and top the pasta-sauce mix. Stir it all together. The mozz will melt quickly, so serve it quickly. Top with whatever parm you have.

Another weird Connecticut thing – they have Parmeseano Reggiano pre-shredded in bags for less than $10. I’m happy here.

Seriously, this is a fast, delicious meal – I don’t even need bread with it. And I’m sure you could serve some nice sausage or chicken or something on the side, but I’m nearly a vegetarian these days, so do what you feel.

Enjoy!

Love, the Garish San Marzano-chugging Chicken

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Paying college athletes? Worst idea ever

I really love college football.

I think it’s the best sport in the best time of the year. Sure, I love fall weather too – and I’m sensing that in my new home in Connecticut, there will be more fall-like weather and less of that Oklahoma four-day fall stuff.

Thursday night was the debut of college football, though Saturday is the real First Day of the Season. It’s immaculate, really. Except this season, it seems so weathered, almost dirty. Scandals of people taking money, stealing, embezzling… it’s rotten.

Honestly, how can anyone think that paying players is a good idea? Paying players would only perpetuate these awful actions. “Oh, he’s got money… I’m going to find out how I can get some too, come hell or high water.”

I am so tired of hearing how college athletes earn money for universities – guess what? We all do in our own way. We all pay tuition. Most big-name college athletes don’t, but more importantly, all universities make money off of those who pay tuition. It’s called business. And the NCAA doesn’t monitor that… just those who try to make their amateur status a lot less honest.

I’m going to put my “pride in your school” mantra aside for this, though I believe that you should play because you love the game and the school you’ve chosen first, not the dividends. I admit that’s naïve. It’s what color the sky is in my world, and I refuse to give up the belief that some college athletes subscribe to that belief. But college is inherently a tryout for the NFL for a lot of players, so let’s just acknowledge that some people’s motives might not be as pure as others.

I had a really good time in college. Really, really good. I am paying for my tuition through the good folks at Sallie Mae. I will be until my 50s. It’s my fault for taking the long way through college – but I wouldn’t change course even if given a time-traveling DeLorean. Even though throughout college – and late high school, for that matter – I was broke. I’ve been broke for years, and am just now crawling out of the Monster Debt’s jaws. I worked at McDonald’s, a chicken fried steak house, a convenience store – all while carrying a full load of classes. One year I juggled freelancing with a full-time management job at a restaurant and an internship. I got pneumonia. I was exhausted. But my mother’s words, “Once you get that diploma, they can’t take it away” pinballed through my head.

I got the degree. And worked making very little money. For years and years and years. Sure, I wanted to make more money – but I knew I had to earn it. And once I earned it, I was so appreciative. I had done it… and learned a whole lot along the way. Now, I’m marketable because I worked every job they asked me to do, from McDonald’s, to the newspaper industry, to TV where I am now. I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.

Why do people feel so damned entitled to everything? The old adages are true: There is no free lunch, nobody rides for free, you can’t always get what you want… Star college athletes – guess what? You just haven’t earned it yet, baby… you have to struggle. You get two, maybe three years of “hard time” in college (which I WOULD relive if given a DeLorean) and then what? A career in the NFL… millions. The stars don’t have to pay tuition or room and board, so they don’t even have to work. How ‘bout studying? Get that degree, finish what you started, just in case your Cam Newton face and talent don’t get you as far as you thought.

It’s a travesty to the game of football, college athletics, a huge slap to everyday athletes and students, to imply that some players need to be paid for their college years. They haven’t earned it – and they won’t appreciate what’s been given to them.

College students are poor. And those who just put their heads down and work through it usually end up doing alright. Don’t scam, don’t cheat, don’t steal, don’t lie – just make it work. Know that there is something at the end of the hard work. Make hay while the sun shines and all that.

People really like quoting the Founding Fathers these days, usually to bash a member of their opposing political party. Here’s another use: Do you think our Founding Fathers would approve of paying college players for being good at sports? I love sports – more than almost anything – but really? We barely pay our military, and some might get free military education, but it’s certainly not the kind of treatment football players get on campus. Our Founding Fathers, Mothers and Livestock worked their asses off. And many died before the work was done and they saw results. Martin Luther King Jr. worked his ass off. And died many years before we had a black man as president, much less equality.

I’m not arguing what people make in the NFL – I realize it’s a hard job and the shelf life is short. Make your millions in the NFL. But you have to earn your ticket there. And no one’s going to earn anything if it’s just handed to them again and again.

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