Quint

Back when I was courting my wife, I often told her in what I thought was a dashing and mysterious way that I wanted to work on shipping docks, grow a beard, and wear heavy wool sweaters -

And brood!  Brood like it was nobody's business!  

I wanted to be Captain Quint and fight Great Whites and sing about Spanish women -

And brood!  Brood like strong coffee!

I soon learned that working on shipping docks is real, actual work.

Growing a beard makes your face all itchy and if you have red hair, you look like Notre Dame's mascot.

I did find a great wool nautical sweater, though.

Its very comfortable and warm (Made in England for Quaker Marine Supply Company of Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.  It even has anchors on the tag).  Sure, it set me back three dollars, but it was worth it.

The spring weather here in Delaware just took a turn.  We are now in the forties on the thermometer and the wind and rain are making their way inland.  This meant I got to wear my sweater while I grilled chicken after coming home.

From my office job.

Clean-shaven.

I did, however, get the girl (now a woman) and that is what really counts.

Plus the sweater.  I have it on now.

And I am brooding! 

 Brooding like a black heart filled with cement!

The Horror

I rank myself fairly high on the Toughness Meter.  I played football and rugby.  I have broken several bones.  I smoke cigars.  I got a bunch of tattoos.  I pick up snakes when I see them out and about.
However.......
when the above pictured house centipede goes scurrying across my floor, I have been known to promptly Curly-shuffle far, far away and assume the fetal position in a remote corner.


Known in the science world as Scutigera coleoptrata, these bad boys originated from the Mediterranean area but have creepy-crawled their way all over the world, including my basement.  
There is no way any description can give their heinous looks any justice, but it is sort of a mutated cricket with about a trillion legs that work in unison like an evil mustache.  


They are repulsive creatures, to say the least, and grow to be about four inches long.  As if that was not bad enough, when you try to capture them, their legs break off and do a funky voodoo death twitch across the floor.  Just thinking about it gives me the heebie-jeebies.


Fortunately, my wife takes command when the ruffians show themselves and she has found that the best way to rub one out of existence is to don elbow-length rubber gloves, get a piece of packaging tape and stick the things up (literally).  She then disposes of the glued suckers in the trash.  Thank goodness for her because I can not deal with them.  I officially tap out and submit.  I would sooner wrestle a tiger shark or tangle with a crocodile than have to take on the horror that lurks in my cellar. 


Now if you will excuse me, I am running late for a pedicure.

Sunday Evening Post

You know the drill.

Pick of the pics of the week.

Old Delaware barns.

I love 'em.

The thrifty grab of the week was this Giorgio Armani jacket with the Barneys New York label.

I paid three bucks for it.

I have an axe to grind with the "experts" in drinks.  I stop by Sonic on occasion and the only thing I order is unsweetened iced tea and every single time they give me sweet tea.  Are they messing with me? Is this some sort of joke?  If this continues, I will be forced to write a stern letter to the corporate office.  That'll fix their wagon.

My son, "Muscles", helping mix Mother's Day cake.

I sent my wife a text requesting a picture of her cans.  She sent this photo back.

I give her credit.  That was pretty funny.

Speaking of cans.....

My wife took this photo while we were splitting a salad at the Christiana Mall.

Is it drafty in here?

We spent Mother's Day in Baltimore at my sister-in-law's house for outstanding food and a wonderful family gathering.  My brother-in-law, Terry, kicks a mean old-school grill.

Of course any trip to Baltimore would not be complete without some pie.  These three came from Dangerously Delicious Pie.  Strawberry-rhubarb, Banana cream, sweet potato...

and everyone's favorite - Eli-pie, the nephew with the most chutzpah.

My wife received some ever delightful gifts from her sisters.  This is Taza Chocolate, "bean-to-bar chocolate that is good for farmers and seriously delicious".  I will probably never get to know because she will no doubt hide it from me.

Her other sister gave her some boss modern-day doilies, called Doileez.  They can be used a trivets, pot holders, and pasties (I hope).

The future's so bright.....

See you next week!

Mom (Saint Susan)

I wish a very Happy Mother's Day to my Mom, Susan.  Here are a few of my favorite stories about her.

 One Saturday morning Mom was in the yard raking leaves when two Jehovah Witnesses going door to door approached her.  One of them asked, "If you were to die today, are you one hundred percent certain that you would go to heaven"?
Mom replied, "Yes, sir.  As a matter of fact, I can't think of anyone who deserves to go to heaven more than me."
Mom went back to raking leaves.  The two guys looked at her, looked at each other, and quietly walked away.

When I was about ten years old, I wore my "Pirates Lumber Company" T-shirt almost every day.  I remember we were at the beach and my mom told me that if I came downstairs to breakfast wearing that shirt, she was going to cut it off me.  I sat down to the table sporting the aforementioned shirt.  True to her word, she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut it off.  To this day I still search ebay and the internet in hopes of finding one to replace it.

One day we were driving home on US 13 through Felton, a small farming town.  At an intersection, my mother saw a chicken that had fallen off of the poultry truck on its way to be slaughtered.  She promptly slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car and began to dodge in and out of traffic to catch it.  She eventually did and it rode home in my lap.  She nursed it back to health and named it Magoo.  That chicken literally ruled the roost.

My mother is a University of Delaware alumni and is a hard-core Blue Hen football fan.  Our family spent many a Saturday tailgating at the home games and traveling to the away ones.  After one glorious Delaware upset, Mom drank a few too many whiskey sours in celebration.  While in the parking lot of a nearby restaurant (that was packed) she decided it was her duty to lead everyone in a boisterous rendition of the Delaware Fight Song.  She is only 5 foot 2 inches tall, so she thought it best to stand on the hood of a parked car to insure that everyone would see her.  My father promptly drove away and left her to get a ride home with relatives.

Mom would experiment from time to time in the kitchen to create new entrees.  Our family favorite was pork chops covered in sauerkraut and melted parmesan cheese.  When she placed it on the table for its first and last appearance, my father, my brother, and I began to gag.  Our eyes watered and our nostrils reared at one of the foulest stenches ever experienced by any of us (mind you, my dad was a homicide detective at the time).  We still rib her about it and it is now a family joke.


Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I know a lot of sons and daughters think that their mothers are the best, but in my case, it's true.

Word of Advice.....

If you happen to lose twenty-five pounds and wish to impress your wife with your accomplishment, DO NOT attempt to do so by putting on a pair of her favorite* jeans.  This behavior is not well received. 










*My wife requested (OK, demanded) that I mention that I fit into her boyfriend style jeans, NOT her skinny jeans

Deer Park

My parents sent me off to college certain that I would return home after a single semester in academic ruin. Admittedly, I had done nothing up to that point to prove them otherwise, so they were pleasantly surprised (shocked) when I returned on the dean's list.  My education leading up to college was free, but mom and dad were footing the bill for university, so I gave it my best.  I worked hard.  I never skipped class.  I studied Monday through Friday.
However, when Friday afternoon rolled around and I was dismissed from the afternoon lecture, my best friend and I met at the Deer Park Tavern toot sweet for our personal stress seminar.
The Deer Park was on the edge of town on Main Street next to the railroad tracks.  The place has been around for a couple of hundred of years and was a magnet for every freak this side of the Mason Dixon line.  Talk about eclectic - bikers, hippies, frat brothers, preps, academics, goths - you name it - they would be there come Friday afternoon, and they were all there for one thing - import night.
We were all kindred spirits that congregated at this watering hole based upon one idea - good beer for a low price.  When 7:00 PM struck on Friday, all ales made outside of the USA were a dollar a bottle.  My  compadre and I would both show up with an extra fifteen bucks and were ready for a good six hours of entertainment.
The evening always started quiet and slow.  We were usually the first ones there and liked to grab a corner table out of harm's way.  Pleasantries would turn to long discussions as the evening waitstaff started filtering in.  Slowly the top of our table would clutter with empty bottles (New Castle Ale, Guinness, Heineken) as our talk went from the mundane (how was class...I have a term paper) to more serious matters (Could there be aliens so ugly that we would die when we look at them?).
Soon the sun would begin to set, darkness took over, and the place would be wall to wall people.  It would get hot and muggy.  The noise of talk and movement would rise to alarming decibels as those left standing would eye our chairs with contempt and jealousy.  I often wished we had set up a time elapsed video camera on us for a Friday evening seated there.  My guess would be that we would have remained relatively still in our corner as the world warped by around us.  It seemed only an instant before it was 12:30 am, time to meander through the crowd to find out where the late-night party was being held.  No other haunt seemed to fit us like the Deer Park did - sort of like a comfortable pair of slippers to throw on after a hard day's work.
On a whim, my friend and I returned to the place about ten years after we had graduated.  The DP had changed hands and it was quite evident.  The place was no longer grimy and smokey, but clean and fresh-scented.  No more side bar, no more freaks, and most importantly, no more import night.  We ordered a few sandwiches, but my friend demanded we leave when he noticed his burger came with a side slice of cantaloupe.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that the beers cost five bucks a piece.

Sunday Evening Post

The best of the week from my iphone.

I stopped by Little Gary's Tattooing for a spring session.  I asked him to ink "Born to Lose" on my arm so he gave me the Pittsburgh Pirates logo.  Same thing.  Bucs are now 10 and 14 going into tonight's game with the Dodgers.  Please wish them well.

Taking Care of Business ........ in a flash!  I just wish he could make the ink a little darker.

The nice thing about living in a rural area is that nature is right around the corner.  

This guy was huge!

I asked him how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop, but he remained silent.  We will never know.

My prized possession, the "official" Dick Tracy car.

It says so right on the side.

My wife and I did a weekend getaway in Philadelphia.  This tri-color Ben Franklin display sits in the lobby of the Hotel Palomar where we stayed.

Scene from the city.

Who is bigger - Liberty One or Ryan Howard?  You be the judge.

I forgot to pack socks, so I bought these on the street.  Jack Daniels is affecting my camera focus.

We took in the Peek-A-Boo Revue show at World Live Cafe.  They are a burlesque troupe.  Fun time.

My photo of this was too blurry, so I took this one from the Nodding Head website.  I chose this place based solely on the name and cartoon.  This annoyed my wife, but we were both extremely happy with the food and drink.

The muffuletta at the Nodding Head makes one of the top five sandwiches I have ever experienced.  If you ever get to the City of Brotherly Love, check it out.

I do not know who this B.J. guy is, but he must be very popular.  It gets harder and harder to keep up with what is "in" these days.

Short pants for the young and spry are finally here!

See you next week!