Accidental Carolina Style

Leave to Sienna to help get my pulled pork recipe correct.

I've been experimenting with various Pulled Pork recipes in my crockpot for oh, the last two years and FINALLY I managed to experiment my way into a little tasty bit. It ends up wet, tasty, and more toward a tangy Carolina style.

What happened was I had pork butt in the fridge that I was going to cook overnight. Probably. Sienna had to visit the Doctor, so I worked from home. I ended up dropping her off at day care around noon and upon coming home I figured I'd throw the pork into the crockpot.

I wasn't paying attention to the time or I would have notice that five hours from putting the food into the pot would put me right into the middle of picking up Sienna from day care. After five hours in the pot I had to do a SUPER FAST shread, adding of BBQ and rushing off to pick her up.
Naturally it worked out perfectly. Happy accidents. Here is the recipe.

• 5 pounds of pork butt (I prefer the fattiness of a pork butt to the tenderness of the pork shoulder)


• 4 cups of apple cider vinegar


• 2 cups of red wine vinegar


• 1 white onion sliced (in retrospect I'd go with 2


• 16 ounces bottle of bbq sauce - I used mesquite, though you can go with whatever you flavor preference happens to be

1. Throw it all the crock pot, 5 hours on low


2. Drain 99.5% of the liquid and LEAVE the onions in


3. Shred, removing most of the fat as you go along


4. Add sauce and stir it up


5. One hour on high
   Tasty.
   

Anything longer on the low cooking dries out the flavor more than I like. Danielle and I ate it with some mac & cheese and we were happy. Sienna will give her own trial and error someday and in MORE news - we get her high chair this weekend and she will now be able to watch us cook.

Very excited.

Now she knows where the recipe came from.

Wayne

AAA Ratings: Government v Banks

Interesting question in the offering - at least to me. If the Debt Ceiling limit is reached without a new agreement , the U.S. defaults on its loans and Moody's downgrades the U.S Government rating to less than AAA.

Fair enough ask the Greeks what happen when a nation defaults. The real question I have is how banks were never downgraded after the MBS mess. Could private banks suddenly have better ratings than the U.S. Government?

Scary though.

Wayne

Movie Review: The Smurfs

Let me get straight to the point: you can see this movie with kids, with family, and on a regular 2-D screen. It is a perfect escape for a blistering summer day or even a mildly warm summer day where the kids wants to see the movie. It covers enough nostalgia and Smurfs canon for people like myself and gives the adults chuckle at the jokes thrown in for our sake. Some violence - think Home Alone - throughout the film. No need to see it in 3-D though.

Feel free to skip the rest of the review.

Danielle and I made a way to the World Premiere* on Sunday; since the tickets were free I'm sure this disqualifies my opinion in most people's minds. That is fair. You have to consider the source in my case. One bit that we were both wondering was: do today's kids know who the Smurfs are?

The Smurfs have not been on Saturday mornings (though they can be found on assorted cartoon channels) since the 80s I was curious on whether kids in the theater had any idea who they were. Luckily there were two children - ages approximately 4 to 7 next to us and Danielle asked the mother. "From the iPad game," the mother said. Well all right then, question answered.

Story wise, the Smurfs manages to pull off actually having a point. It is about family. Hokey, yes; though this is the Smurfs and it was actually well executed (and what did you expect?). For comparisons sake it's up there with the animated movie Cars for actually having a plot and point.

Neil Patrick Harris balances the line of husband who wants to keep his career going and becoming a parent with Jayma Mays (best known for her work on Glee) who holds up her end of the bargain by actually being a three dimensional wife in the middle of a movie with little blue creatures running around. It is also going to be remembered as the movie where Hank Azaria steals the show at Gargamel. It is rather difficult to comment on the Smurfs acting - after all they pretty much play their namesakes through out the movie.

The most you can ask for from this type of movie is that you believe in the reality that Smurfs would be running around New York City being chased by Gargamel. Which you do. Your small children will also not be screaming and fleeing the theater (I think) though Danielle remarked there was some dark scenes.

Remember Smurfs canon? The movie shows some great self referential humor by actually showing Peyo's cartoons, joking about 99 guys and 1 girl, Smurfette's lack of wardrobe, Gargamel blowing up his own castle, and even how Smurfette was originally created by Gargamel.

What can I say? I grew up watching the Smurfs and remember this. It's more the a nostalgia trip, it is actually a really well done movie, and yes, you will be singing the Smurf's song at the end. Which is a good thing.

Wayne

* Free chicken McNuggets, popcorn, celebrity sightings including Katy Perry, Brooke Shields, someone from N' Sync and Tim Gunn.

Sienna turns (turned?) five today

Really. Holy shit. I mean seriously. Wow.

How did this happen? Biologically, of course, I know EXACTLY how it happened. The kid eats like a horse - okay, she is a little small so it is more like a pony.

Still. Five months.

People weren't kidding when they said kids grow up fast. Well...all I can say. I haven't dropped her yet.

Wayne

Talking with People: Real-Life Caricatures

"I bet you that is the prosecutor." Those were my first words when the man in the cheap tan suit with the bright yellow tie walked into the room. If a John Grisham character were to leap off the page and walk into an actual court room this was the man. His white hair added to his real life ensemble, providing a striking resemblance to the fictional mayor from Spin City.

It was just about hour three into my not-sure-how-long sojourn into jury duty at the Brooklyn County Court. Danielle had warned me that there is nothing quite like jury duty in Brooklyn and that a pen and pad of paper was not so much a suggestion as a commandment from her.

Smart wife I have.

There twenty of us stuffed into a small windowless room with egg shell white walls. Incredibly enough the chairs were attached together in pairs of two - if you planned on moving then your neighbor could either stop you or receive an unexpected free ride in whatever direction you were going. A would-be oscillating fan was in the front of the room, mockingly located 3/4 of the way up your wall. I say would-be since nobody had bothered to turn it on. The only other adornments were a wooden table and three cushion chairs behind it.

The Tan Caricature immediately lived up to my expectations by opening his arms as wide as possible and stating, "Welcome everyone!"

Joining him in the front of the room was a short, bald white man who would have drawn much more of my attention as a resemblance to a Soprano extra. His suit was much sharper and his entire demeanor screamed, "This is ridiculous."

As the Tan Caricature continued to stand Soprano-lite sat down and looked around the room. That is, I think he looked around the room - he had a wandering eye. I immediately put some of my brain power to trying to decipher whether this would be an advantage or a disadvantage in the jury selection.

I'm still not sure.

The third gentleman in the room was mostly arms and legs - his lanky frame seemingly half a step ahead of his torso. He wore a cheap brown suit. The reason I know it is a cheap brown suit is because I could see the edge of the pant legs were frayed and I could see the color difference in the collar. I guess I should say it was a cheap brown suit with a slightly lighter brown collar.

Somehow he sat down in his chair. I can't say I actually saw him sit down, more that he was standing one second and then the next second he was in the seat with his legs crossed. I took a closer look, trying to figure the odds of him being cross-eyed. Nope. Though he either had drank some chocolate milk that morning, was really an eight grader trying to grow a mustache for the first time, or should consider investing in a razor since there was something growing on his upper lip.

These would be the people involved with the case.

Tan Caricature kept his arms spread wise as though he was trying to embrace the room. What happened next was an off-off-off-Broadway theater audition gone completely wrong. He over enunciated every word and with every word there was an over exaggerated gesture.

It was impressive. Doubly-impressive was he spoke for no less than 18 minutes. I did not know that was legal in jury selection. He explained the case - several times using almost the same words - and I felt he was trying the case. What surprised me was that neither Soprano-lite nor Milk-stache was stopping him.

Then it occurred to me, They've seen this performance and they're going to give him enough rope to hang himself. Almost on cue Tan Caricature said, "We've been together two days and seen each others performances."

That is really what the jury selection was to me. Performance art by three lawyers - it was such good performance art I laughed out loud several times* at different words that spilled from their mouths.

Soprano-lite was a partner in a law firm that represented a management company. His greatest performances were his slight shakes while Tan Caricature spoke and asked questions of potential jurors. It was a great, subtle performance - except after shaking his head he would look around and see if anyone noticed.

Milk-tasche gave the unintentional double impressive highlight of the day. He asked a question so complex to the potential jurors that I can't even repeat the gist of it since I still had no idea what he asked. It didn't matter as Tan Caricature and Soprano-lite turned pale, Tan Caricature actually said, "I object!" and they then went to Judge's quarters for 45 minutes to clear up whether the question could even be asked.

It was singularly impressive as it was the second thing he had said all day. The first being his name.

What was more impressive was upon returning Milk-tasche asked an equally confusing question. Blank looks all around. He then asked if we understood, myself and another person said, "Um, no." He then repeat the question only...more...slowly. The only reason he still isn't trying to explain himself is that Soprano-lite stepped in and cleared up the proceedings.

It was definitely an interesting event. Mostly since I got to see some humorous performance art, called it my civic duty, and am slightly bummed out since I wanted to see Soprano-lite destroy the other two lawyers in the court room as that is what is going to happen.

The mafia guy always kills off the southern and inexperienced new guy. That is just how life works.

Wayne

* I'm pretty sure this is why I was not selected. Tan Caricature, when it came time to interview me even mentioned, "You seemed to be having a good time in the back laughing along." I answered Yes.

Colonel George Young (Softball Field)

New York City and its softball fields have gotten a major face life in the (gulp) nine years that I've been playing. Fields have been torn up and re-sod, turf that was laid seemingly directly onto cement has been re-layered to provide your knees with a fighting chance to survive a game and Central Park's Great Lawn fields would be the crown jewels of the number of fields you'd love to play on.

Colonel George Young Field is not one of these crown fields.

Colonel Young Field is a throw back to a different era of baseball. When players like Mickey Mantle roamed cow pastures located next to mining operations - carefully avoiding cow chips, seeing large swathes of grass eaten away by hungry bovines and a giant mud puddle situated in what would be center field. The infield resembles something that looks like it was dug out by two spare miners in their part time and they've thrown around the base paths combines with the dirt to form a substance that has the consistency of the part of the beach where the tide has just gone out and you end up with over-saturated sand that gives way to each of your steps.

Other than cows eating and leaving cow chips I feel as though I've given a pretty good representation of the field. Since there are multiple fields at the location there is the unique New York experience of outfielders from separate games standing back-to-back. Coincidentally that is the least of the problems of New York softball fields - there is a code of brother (and sister) hood where you learn to warn each other of flying objects. Usually it involves someone screaming "DUCK!" or "COMING THROUGH!"

Colonel Young Field is located in the heart of East Harlem and over the years that has led to some pretty unique visual experiences. Today a crackhead fell to the ground and started banging the back of his head against the cement. One of my teammates was polite enough to ask him for help - everyone else shrugged and kept walking.

Sometimes you just need to keep walking. After one particular game I watched two Spanish guys in their mid-twenties try to pick up my teammate Silvia. "I play ball in the minors," one of them boasted. "Oh, I work for baseball," Silvia said, "where do play?" The guy stammered something unintelligible and walked away, caught in a pretty poor lie. Though, hey, it must have worked on someone.

That isn't even the weirdest visual I've ever seen at Colonel Young Field. The universe will be hard pressed to top the guy standing between two parked cars - one hand on the front bumper, one hand on the back bumper, pants around his ankles grunting loudly as he took a crap on the street. I did not disagree with the Police Car that pulled up, flashed its lights, fired up the siren and drove off without bothering to arrest or ticket the guy.

I am not asking the universe to take it as a challenge.

The people hanging out around the field are pretty nice though. They're always asking me if I need a smoke. Mostly though it is a set of baseball fields and even on a blazing hot day like today - when the air doesn't move and inch and somehow the sun sets in a way to blind you where you're at bat - there are people always around who just love ball.

There are some serious players who hang out there and you can see some pretty good action. one fine day my team was involved in a 5 pm softball game up there, the game finished and it was still nice and bright out and there was a really good game between two Spanish teams. Some enterprising people were selling pork sandwiches and beer in cups - and yeah, we bought a bunch and watched the game. It was fantastic, and I'm pretty sure we ended up getting a contact high.

New York City softball fields - definitely unique. Especially Colonel George Young's field.

Wayne

The Battle of Brooklyn

Danielle, Sienna and I paid a visit to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens on the Fourth of July. It had an unintended consequence of actually celebrating Independence Day (exact date of the Declaration of Independence may vary) in an almost suitable fashion.

The Botanical Gardens sits adjacent to one of the Revolutionary War's pivotal battle sites Prospect Park - this is a hidden facet of Brooklyn and the Hudson Valley Region that I actually enjoy, there are a lot of revolutionary war hot spots. The battle has a couple of different names: the Battle of Long Island - another hidden fact of Brooklyn is that Brooklynites hate being reminded they are part of Long Island - or the Battle of Brooklyn Heights.

From a historical aspect it's a pretty important battle. It was the first major battle fought after America's heave hoe to United Kingdom ownership.*

Important moment in U.S. History. Imagine you are some farmer - clothes barely clinging to your body as you travel up from someplace like Pennsylvania, armed only with a musket that has equal chance of blowing up in your hand as it does firing at your enemy. A regularly meal if more of a dream than a fact, yet you aren't going to give up until the English have left the area.

You hunker down with the Continental Army, next to the arrogant Bostonians and the equally dour boys from Maryland. There isn't enough food and it is so dark you can't see your own hand. It is okay that you don't get along since everyone is fighting for freedom together and the New Yorkers, despite being English sympathizers are on your side, having torn down a statue of King George III.

It is so dark and you start hearing whispers and rumors. Whispers of a giant enemy army and rumors that it is near.

What's that on the horizon? The mast of an English ship. And another. And another. And...are those Hessian mercenaries? Hold on, there is a humor that Washington doesn't have nearly as many men as we should only if we hold New York we'll certainly...what's that? We're going to retreat.

We're going to retreat?

Retreat.

That's right. America the strong. America the bold. America the beautiful. America-don't-back-down-and-take-any-crap...we lost our first major battle in out history.

Yes. That is what I was thinking about while I was resting on a bench in the botanical gardens. Some poor guy from Pennsylvania came up to join a cause and his first experience was being routed. Life is like that sometimes. You take a chance and lose - then you learn and you lose less - then suddenly you don't lose anymore and you have a lot of victories.

That poor guy who got routed - if he showed up today I'm sure it would be a combination of satisfaction and horror at what he helped create. Maybe that's why we're interesting sometimes - beauty of gardens covering up the horror of where blood was shed. Or maybe we're just covering up a loss with some pretty roses.

Wayne

* Some historians say the Siege of Boston qualifies as the first battle. You can always count on historians to disagree on these major points.

The Man with Work boots on the Train

What first caught my eye was the Hasidic Jew's coat was taking up half the empty space. That is not my commentary on religion, description, or anything else in the world of a million disclaimers that I feel like I should disclaim. Merely that the man was a Hasidic Jew and his coat was taking up half the space where a human being could sit down on the subway seat.

I gave him the universal nod and the Hasidic Jew moved his coat out of the way. I've done the same action a couple of hundred times with my own coat. No offense, no anger, merely a piece of clothing getting a little ahead of itself.

Which is probably why I didn't fully notice the guy on the other side of me. I say fully notice in the sense of I certainly knew there was a human being to the side. Male. Work boots on. Pretty good condition. Leaving enough space where I could sit down when the coat was moved.

Less than a stop later I had my copy of Fast Food Nation out and was blissfully aware that I was not overcrowded there were no pregnant people looking for a seat or anyone about to keel over.

Three stops into the trip I heard the moan.

There are approximately four hundred thousand variations of a moan one can hear in life. Most of these moans you do not want to hear on the subway. You especially do not want to hear any moan, subway preaching, or a challenge of a fight coming from the person right next to you.

This moan was pretty low key and work boots started shifting around in obvious discomfort. I took a closer look at him via the peripheral vision - if you look wrong at the wrong person and you might get punched.

His face was pale and withdrawn with thousands of wrinkles- though not the type of pale of withdrawn of a drug addict - the thousands of wrinkles from too much time in the sun where a man constantly crunches up his face and the pale and withdrawn look of being in immediate pain.

Currently, work boots was clutching his right arm in pain. The type of clutching where there is pain shooting through your body and there is no way to stop it.

I'll admit it - if he didn't look clean I probably would have gotten up and moved. Instead I asked, "You okay, man?"

Work boots half-laughed. I did not have any real expectations or thoughts of what he would or would not say other than my hope it would not require immediate medical assistance. "My back's all messed up. It's embarrassing to make these noises." The first part was said through a half-laugh, the other part what I guessed was his normal voice.

Work boots voice was scratchy, most likely the result of spending too much time outdoors inhaling dust and pollen. It wasn't quite gravely, though certainly well on its way.

"I'm heading to the Doctor," work boots added, while he self consciously tried to pull his hand away from his pained arm, failed and returned to clutching his own bicep. "I gotta get there before 9 or they cancel my appointment. Doctors."

He said the last bit with one more half-chuckle. The same half-chuckle you use for dealing with mechanics, tax agents, or anyone you have to deal with when you don't want to.

He kept talking. I couldn't blame him. I've been in pain before and all you want to do is distract yourself from the pain.

"My back's all screwed up, it's got these discs --they're--they're" he started searching for the word. His expression was one where he knew what he was looking for, knew exactly what it was, only he couldn't verbalize it.

"Bulging discs," I added.

"Forgot to take my aspirin this morning and this ride's killing me." He shook his head and winced. "Doctor gave me two choices. My discs are degenerative--"

He looked at me and I nodded for him to continue. I've had my own back issues and years of playing sports has made me aware of the potential risks.

"--I don't want surgery 'n that's choice one. Choice two is an epi--epi--epi." His face suddenly contorted. "I sound like I have fucking turrets." The last part came out in a blaze of fury. The fury dropped and his eyes darted around to see if anyone had overheard.

"Epidural," I finished for him. "They want to shove a needle into your spinal column."

Work boots pulled his hand away from his arm as whatever wave of pain finally passed. "I forgot my aspirins this morning. Tylenol to thin the blood so everything moves a bit more. Ibuprofen for the swelling. I went to my chiropractor - he can't even move my back. He gets behind me, jams his shoulder into my back," he lowered his shoulder slightly to demonstrate, "and can't move it."

"You ever try acupuncture?"

His face lit up at this question. "No, is it good?"

"I've had all sorts of back stuff. Acupuncture really helped me at one point."

"Can't hurt." The way he said it wasn't in defeat - only admitting to an option that wasn't there a minute ago. "All of this stuff has to be done before 5 though. Otherwise I lose a day of work."

Conversations are weird like this. Writing his segue out makes it seem like he jumped a thought - only he didn't jump a thought at all. He merely thought how he could incorporate a new found option into his life.

"You stretch at night too?" I asked him. My own back issues coming to the forefront.

"Hah. My girl massages my knees, neck, back; I stretch. Some days I'm hunched over drilling for 10 hours - you know what 10 hours folded over feels like? Like you don't feel like unfolding."

I wondered how he could forget his aspirin this AM, so I asked. He smiled a grim smile. "I left them - just forgot. I take them without water. Can't even swallow them so I chew 'em like candy."

I winced. "That sounds disgusting."

"Even when I was a little kid I couldn't swallow 'em. I don't want anything stronger - no codeine, or whatever else, that stuff'll kill you."

I thought about how daily aspirin use can cause liver damage. I kept the thought to myself.

He reached up and touched his right shoulder. "Torn rotator cuff too."

"You always outside?" I pretty much knew the answer. I had met work boots before. Different variations. Different times. Same guy.

"Outside. Inside. Whatever the job calls for." Work boots looked up the clock in the subway, "I gotta make it there by nine."

We watched at the subway sign told us we were approaching Union Square. It kept repeating various messages as it got closer - none of them the actual time. Humanity turned over and the subway pulled out of the station - finally the clock read: 8:41.

Work boots face dropped. "I gotta make it 77th and Fifth. Going to be tight."

"Day after vacation for a lot of people. Everyone is half a step behind," I told him.

Work boots smiled at that. "I'm 44 years old - man - take care of your back. Everyone should know if you're lifting, bend your ass down and lift from the legs. How's that book?"

He gestured toward Fast Food Nation. "It's good. It's about the fast food industry and all the businesses that are involved with it."

"Fast food. We're a nation of convenience. I want it now. I want it yesterday. Big business has it smart - they get everyone. You know how gas is expensive? Other countries laugh at us 'cause it's five bucks a liter in most countries. Unreal, right?"

He looked up at the clock again. Suddenly aware of the time.

"You should transfer at 42nd for the local, that way if the escalator is out you don't have to walk the steps at 59th. It always breaks when you need it the most."

He nodded. "I ain't leaving this seat right now. With any luck the doctor will send me home. I could use the day off."

The train pulled up to 42nd street. "This is my stop," I told him.

Work boots stuck out his hand, "Thanks man, I needed that." We shook hands and I exited. I felt like thanking him. Whatever work issues I was thinking about. Whatever twinges I felt in my own body. Whatever was bothering me - it reminded me that you can think you're having a bad day or something tough is happening and there are people who are having a much worse day.

Though if I asked Work boots if it was a tough day I'm sure his answer would be the same answer my blue collar Uncle Bill once said, "What? Am I supposed to stop getting up and working this morning?"

Wayne