Friday, July 23, 2004

Hello, Neighbor...

Here is an 'actual' profile of one of the registered offenders in your area…
Last Name: Cavanaugh
First Name: Richard
Middle Name: E
DOB: 1967-11-23
State: NJ
Zip: 07204
Hair: Brown
Eye: Brown
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 195
Race: White
Scars and Marks: SCAR LEFT ANKLE
Sex: M
Conviction Date: 1987-12-04
Victim Sex: F
Source: NJ
Convicted: Yes
Address information is that of the Courthouse: No

Ok – I’ll say it. The worst thing I possibly could have seen next to this profile was – “Sorry… Image Unavailable”. Of course, I tried the ‘ol white pages, and Mr. Cavanaugh wasn’t listed. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t exactly help me sleep better, now that I know that Eddie C. lives THREE BLOCKS AWAY. So let’s get to the chaser to this nice drink of reality…
I got this info from the US Protection and Care Society’s web page. On the home page you can do a ‘sample’ lookup and from this I got Mr. Offender’s info, sans picture. After reading a little deeper into this organization’s page, it occurred to me that this non-profit gets its funding from you and me in terms of membership dues. Um – what? Ok – I’ve done some work for non-profits and every one of them – I mean – EVERY ONE of them gets some kind of grant or other subsidization for their operations. If these guys were true to their value and mission statement, I would only think they would have the grey power to ask Uncle Sam for small slice to help the rest of the law abiding citizens from each other.
Yeah, yeah, yeah – it’s a great idea and cause. Man, I almost sound liberal here, but I just don’t think that because I have an extra $20 a year I am entitled to info that I am already supposed to be getting from the enforcement of Megan’s Law. Here’s another kicker – the USPCS isn’t the only folks doing this – the National Alert Society (probably the same folks) are charging the same thing for the same info and alerts.
Check it out, learn a name, and try to sleep better. If you can, let me know how.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


Hot Damn I love to cook. No, really. The firecrackin’ national holiday of the fourth of July has come and gone, and I took good use of the Monday off to seriously abuse both my grill and my liver.
Thanks to the fruits of my Thai hot pepper plant, I kicked this weekend off to a vat of my oh-so-amazing chili. For those interested – check the history – the recipe is there. For those really enterprising individuals – I still have some left. Hoo boy…
Sunday and Monday brought two racks of ribs to perfect completion, thanks to the glazing of the homemade BBQ sauce. What’s so good about the sauce? It’s the fact that it has a base of strong black coffee. You heard me – java. Dark, bitter, and jacked up with the sugars and spices to make simple ribs KICK ASS BONED PIG FLESH. I’m talking about wanting to laminate your greasy sauced fingers when yer done jamming as much food in your craw so you save the flavor and memory sensations for later. I mean, this pork was so good I had a delegation from the Union/Elizabeth Al-Qaeda at my door to renounce their misguided notions just so they can enjoy the fruit of the pig and my grill. Damn straight…
I will only disperse the BBQ sauce recipe upon demand. And I will make more, to possibly accompany me to various friends’ cookouts (if the invites come) to help their gatherings turn into legend. Good thing I’m modest about this action, or else it could get ugly.
Bottom line – I need to cook. Fire plus meat plus hunger equals some kind of preternatural instinct to create foodstuffs el mas bueno. And to Hell with baking. You want a cake? Go to Shop-Rite. You want to spend too much on the cake? Go to the Italian bakery on the corner with the lines and attitude. Or – if you’re good – ask an Aunt that digs that crap. But – if you want to eat – and I mean EAT – you knock on my door with an eleven pack and you’re in for it. Cicero was wrong – you don’t eat to live, you live to EAT.