Tabasco Chipotle Sauce

Tabasco Chipotle Hot Sauce

Once upon a time there was a guy named Jalapeno. He was British. His friends used to make fun of his name. They said his name made him sound like the diminutive version of a word used to describe an old car (His friends were smart, but they lacked the ability to make a good jab; that and they all drove jalopies anyway). This hurt Jalapeno, but he was a stoic British lad, and kept it all inside. He also thought to himself, "What good are my friends if they all drive beaters?" So, the next day, Jalapeno decided to tell them what for.

And so, Jalapeno had no friends.

But Jalapeno didn't care. He drove a nice car. It was a jaguar. That, and he got an invitation to a jolly good (as the host put it) social function in Lousiana. Jalapeno lived in Devonshire. However, he did always fancy America, and wanted to see what all the fuss was with cajuns and gumbo, and swamps. He also wanted to get a tan*. England would just not cut it.

So he went to Lousiana and met a man named McIlhenny. In fact, it was McIlhenny that had invited him to Louisiana in the first place. It seems they both had funny names. And, while they were chuckling and guffawing gaily about this obviously humorous connection (while at this social function), McIlhenny slipped something** in Jalapeno's drink.

When Jalapeno awoke everything was dark. It smelled like peppers. His skin burnt. His eyes burnt. He was burnt. He deduced that he had been put inside an oaken barrel of aged peppers. But, being the stoic Brit he was, he grinned and bore it, and realized it was all for the greater good. And now we have Chipotle Tabasco Sauce. Thanks dead British guy with the funny name! You made my eggs taste delicious this morning!**

* Like Snooki, his favorite trashy reality TV star

** It was a ruffie. Just so there is no ambiguity.

***This is a true story. My eggs were delicious, and Jalapeno is a pretty funny name (I mean, especially for a British guy)

Oh CUTE!

English is an interesting language.

Well, some people seem to think so anyway. And, I guess I fall into the category of "some people". But something that makes English so interesting is that it is a living language. It lives in the same way Frankenstein's monster does/did/I don't know if he's still alive. I say that because of how much it is driven by popular culture, vernacular, and is in essence a flowing amalgam of bits and pieces from many other languages and cultures beyond merely those of the British isles and places that were at once part of the British Empire. Ok, let's get to the point.

The word CUTE has become in a way, it's own sub-language. It's versatility is frighteningly unoriginal:

Here is the way in which it was at one point, and may sometimes still be used:

- That baby/puppy/halloween outfit* is CUTE.

*all terms can also be exchanged for butterfly wallpaper, floral arrangements, kittens, etc.


However, here is the way in which it is now used:

- He's CUTE. - (in reference to a boy/man - who should in fact never be considered cute, unless he looks like a puppy holding a floral arrangement while wearing a children's halloween costume - and in that case I believe the correct terminology would be FREAK. A man/boy used to be called attractive, handsome, good-looking, etc., but now, he has unfortunately been relegated to puppy status. If that were all, then no worries, but cute is a universal coverall as we shall see)

- That's so CUTE! - (when referring to any object that has a favorable color scheme or design, when one could just say, "I love those colors, such and such compliments the other, and/or that is a clever or creative way to use yellow and blue/pink and mint green/etc. and etc.)

- Oh what a CUTE sign! - (When the sign is actually not cute at all, bearing no resemblance to a newborn baby, puppy, and containing nothing resembling a kitten with a bib and pacifier. Most often the sign contains a clever turn of phrase, is witty, or is just cleverly being offensive while also subtly attempting to be innocuous)

- Oh CUTE! - (When referring to anything, ever, for any reason at all)

So there you have it. Is there a remedy for this generic way of describing things. Yes. Will anyone really make any concerted effort to come up with a more in depth way of evaluating their sentiments about people, places, and things that will avoid the temptation of cute's simplicity? Probably not dude. I mean dude. Really dude? Dude.

Sharing Colloquialisms with the World

I had to chuckle today (Yes, I was forced at gun point). I was looking at some of the stats for this blog and I ran down a list of all the languages people read this blog in. I find it amazing, and I don't know quite who would be responsible for translating this thing in so many languages. I guess google does it for me. Here is a list of the languages (some of which I know are distinguishable, others I don't quite get):

US English, English, British English, French, Brazilian Portuguese, German, French from France, Hungarian, Portuguese, Portuguese from Portugal, Spanish from Spain, Italian, Finnish, Danish, Dutch/Flemish, Swedish from Sweden, Swiss, Argentine Spanish, Croatian, Polish, Turkish, Chinese from Taiwan, Greek, and just straight up Swedish.

The ones I find most humorous are the US English versions versus the British English versions. Now I know I spell words like an American, and even use a lot of American events and colloquialisms as material, but how do they translate my blog into British English? When I say, "That's just right" do they translate it as "Spot on"? When I put a question mark inside the quotation do they push it to the outside? I'm curious. I think I'm going to start reading my blogs in British English. Then maybe I'll move on to Finnish. What pleases me is that I do seem to get more than just a few readers from outside the United States. I have regular readers in Java and Taiwan apparently, and plenty of French and British readers. I salute you all.

Oh, and while I'm pretty sure this is available in various Indian dialects, I haven't seen all that many Mumbai residents reading this. Pakistanis seem to like it though. I don't know what that means. But, at any rate, I wanted to share with you a list of colloquialisms I found online. And, I make this list in part because I think it would be hilarious translated into Mandarin or Swedish.

(This book is a must read)

My kitchen's so small, you can't swing a dead cat in there without getting fur in your mouth.

He has the attention span of a chicken on speed.

As busy as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking contest...

So ugly he could back a dog off a meat wagon...

As shallow as a saucer

Lower than a duck's butt

As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs

It's rainin' like a cow pissin' on a flat rock

Time to piss on the fire and call the dogs.

Busier than a cross-eyed cranberry picker.

Tighter than a camel’s ass in a sandstorm

That's slicker than snot on a doorknob!

Couple Sandwiches short of a picnic

Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt.

Nosier than a mule in a tin shed.

Faster than a blind dog's tail in a meat market.

Trying to nail Jell-O to the wall

Quit running around like a fart in a bottle.

His eyes bugged out like a stomped on toad frog.

It'll work...Like a windshield wiper on a goat’s ass

(to have suffered diarrhea): "I've just spent tuppence in ha'pennies and farthings"

I'm hungry enough to eat the ass out a dead mule...

Slower than smoke off of a cool turd...

On Futility: It's like trying to herd cats.

Don't get your crank shaft all up in a two stroke!"

Quit your cryin'. You're gettin' the floor wet.

Elevators in the basement and the cords have been cut.

Obviously, you weren't spanked enough as a child.

Happier than a four-peckered goat.

Whatever blows your skirt up for ya

He's so clumsy he'd trip over a cordless phone.

He's about as handy as a back pocket on a shirt.

That's about as useful as a trap door on a canoe.

He couldn't carry a tune if he had a bucket with a lid on it.

She was so tall she could hunt geese with a rake.

She was so tall if she fell down she would be halfway home.

He was so fat it was easier to go over top of him than around him.

It happened faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

NO!! I AM NOT FALLING ASLEEP!! I was just checking for holes in my eyelids.

I hope you enjoyed those. Although you may not think so, I did take out some of the more crass ones.



This clip is a great remix of a fabulously underused colloquialism.



And this is just funny. And, maybe it's how this blog gets translated into British English.

An Unimportant Role in a Short Film

Today I played an unimportant role in a short film. I was a piano mover. And, as realistic as it probably looked with me wearing a Ralph Lauren sweater and boat shoes with a splint on my hand, the real genius in my part was that they never saw my face. My co-unimportant actor/piano mover friend Brian was on the back end of the piano and I faced him as we moved it onto an elevator. 

All we were supposed to do was get in between this guy who was desperately trying to talk to a girl in the elevator, but we hammed it up. We took several takes and each time we changed either the accent, the language, or the dialogue. On the last take I spoke Cantonese saying, "Thanks trash," and "I love you," while Brian stared longingly into the eyes of the main character. On another two takes we both spoke portuguese and talked about football and the sexuality of the main character. In another take Brian started talking with a cockney accent and I was speaking in French. He said, "So what did you think of her then?" To which I said in French, "Excuse me madam, I am cheese." And on another take I said in a South London accent, "Pardon me love," to the elevator girl and then talked about the English Premier League.

All in all it was good fun and I hope we provided the film makers with some stuff that won't get them kicked out of their film class. I also suggested that they enter it into an international film festival. Then the world could get to see the back of my head in Hong Kong, France, the UK, and in Brazil. 

I think I'm turning British

Have you ever felt extremely British? I know some of my British readers have. Probably every day of their lives. Well, I've been feeling pretty British lately. 

I've been walking around with an umbrella more, using it like a cane. And, when I don't have an umbrella I feel strange. 

I also have a pension for walking at a more leisurely pace, with the posture of a Londoner on a foggy day (This fact could be very debatable). 

I fall into at least 2 British dialects a day. Whether I'm in the locker room getting gym clothes, or talking to some attractive woman I've just met, I slip into an accent (I've even been asked a couple times if I'm English). If that weren't enough, I speak with British inflection as well, with emphasis on the last part of a phrase. And, I'm really not trying to do it, it's just some subconscious habit.

I have a hankering for tea. Or, at the very least "tea time." I stick to herbal teas for religious reasons, but occasionally call hot cocoa good at tea time too. And I guess that's another thing. I don't call it hot chocolate. I call it cocoa.

Here's the clincher: I'm a nasty cricket player. Just friday night I was meandering the corridors of a building on campus where they were having a party. The party included a lot of on-campus clubs and "free" food. Well, as I was going from the Mexican Culture Party Club to the Dodgeball Club to the Jiu-Jitsu club, I cam across two Sri Lankan guys and a cricket club. I grabbed the paddle and asked one of them to pitch to me. He started out slow, not realizing I have quite a bit of hand eye coordination, but then sped the pitches up as he saw me smashing the ball all over the place. And I hit every good pitch. Line drives, towering fly balls, whizzing grounders. Oh yeah. Cricket is my new game.

So I'm basically British. Citizenship aside. 

Do you think it was right that I voted in this year's US election? Maybe I should've written in Gordon Brown and David Cameron. 

Sandwiches

Some people speak figuratively about 'divine ambrosia,' and 'nectar of the Gods.' Some people use elaborate language and metaphors to describe a good meal. Some people only believe they'll eat well in another life, or in Paris. Well, I have a secret. I found the best food for the best price. I've got your ambrosia right here. And it's between two slices of whole wheat bread.

Sandwiches are delicious, varied, and easy to make. However, they are not easy to make well. And that is why subway hires sandwich artists, and not just employees. You see, a sandwich is not something to be trifled with. It all starts with the bread. The bread is the the foundation. It makes or breaks the sandwich. Bad bread, bad sandwich. After the bread, the next most important ingredient is good sauce and seasonings. There are many options, but you must make sure they work with the bread, and the third most important items, which are meat and cheese. After those, lettuce, spinach, tomatoes, onions, sprouts, pickles, or any other variety of vegetables are fine. And that is the essence of sandwich making. The amount of sauce used, the way you cut it, what layer goes on first, which side is top and which is bottom all matter however, and if you screw it up, you will never taste the nectar of the Gods (or a good sandwich might I add).

But sandwiches were not, and perhaps to some of you, still are not, an art form. Shame on you for thinking that way. The Earl of Sandwich, a British noble, created the idea of putting a meal between bread so he could play cards.  So, a sandwich, while still remaining delicious, is convenient. It allows mobility, and has always been a silent supporter of poker, gin, ratscrew, and even 'go fish.' And what other kind of art can you eat? What other kind of art encourages gambling? What other kind of art is temporary like a sand castle, but so much more memorable and better tasting? None. The sandwich holds it's place. As 'the Count' from Sesame Street said on several occasions:

"I love sandwiches I eat them all the time..."

Well, so do I. And so should you.

Obamamania!

You know what I've heard from the McCain camp, and numerous non-American press outlets? I heard that Obama is getting more publicity from the media than McCain. I am shocked. I mean, it just doesn't make sense for the press to be chasing around a handsome, young, energizing mulatto from Chicago's south side. They should be chasing a battle-worn, cranky, white septuagenarian like McCain.  

The statistics are pretty interesting though. In the past month, of the new stories regarding Presidential candidates, 77% have been about Obama, with only 33% about McCain. That disparity is a tad disconcerting. And, many in the press have been blatantly open about their lack of objectivity, saying, as Chris Matthews did, that they have "felt a tingling sensation go up [their] legs" when hearing Obama speak and campaign. It would not be quite so funny if it weren't actually happening. But, at the same time, most American news is nothing but sensationalism passed off as journalism. And that's one reason I read more news from Britain and other countries.

However, I can't help but think I am only contributing to the Obamamania by mentioning him in my blog as much as I do. I try to get both McCain's name, and Obama's in the same post, or in the same sentence (like this one), but it can be tricky. They are trying to outmaneuver each other using the press.  Well, I won't be bought. The fact is, regardless of the press's favoritism of Obama, the polls have remained relatively the same. Obama has a slim 2-3% point lead and it hasn't changed much at all for a few weeks. That should be comforting to McCain, and a little sign of trouble for Obama. Either way, I think it will be a fun race to watch in these upcoming days and months.

Candle Light Potato Dinners

There are many vegetables in the world, but only one potato (excluding the hundreds or even thousands of varieties). The potato is our friend. The average British person consumes 200 pounds of them a year. And, it is America's favorite vegetable. We eat them with our hamburgers as french fries. We eat them with our deli sandwiches as potato salad. We eat them with our breakfast as hash browns and in omelettes.

So then, why with the vegetable being so popular have we not reverenced it and given it a special place at our tables? Why must we sit at a dimly lit table by a veranda overlooking Venice with pasta and salad, instead of a giant baked potato? The answer is simple. We don't.

We can have a splendidly romantic evening with whoever we are wining and dining with just a little music, lighting, and a potato. I must say from experience, that it brings out the best in people. It goes down smoothly and agrees with the stomach much better than salad, making the opportunity for a perhaps more extended romantic evening. The potato has a special magic to it. It has texture and poise, and is beloved by millions. With a potato, you cannot go wrong. Perhaps this year, instead of a bouquet of roses for Valentine's Day, you get her something she'll really appreciate. A sack full of potatoes.