Keep it to yourself, sister

The weather outside yesterday was what they call "low cloud cover". Low ceiling, gray clouds, occasional sprinkling rain.

This makes most people think, "brr, cold" and toss on all matter of arctic gear.

This is not true for me. Low cloud cover means the heat is held in and the drizzly rain means humidity.

See, I was brought up in New Mexico and my body has been attuned to be a convection cooled device. Or, more accurately, an evaporative cooled device. I sweat. The dry desert air slurps that up, thus cooling my rig and allowing me to continue on.

I'm attuned to this and it suits me just fine.

When it's warmish and humid, I cannot effectively evaporative cool my hard working human mo-chine.

You can ask anyone who knows me, my internal temp tends to run a little hot anyway. The frosty pawed feline doesn't favor me as a sleeping device because she thinks I'm nice, ok?

So what all this means is, even on a cloudy drizzly day like today, I don't want anything to do with a jacket.

This tends to make the biddies and would-be work moms crazy.

"Aren't you cold!?!" they shriek.

"Where is your jacket?!?!" they demand in harpy voices.

Look, I have a mother. She's a fine, upstanding lady. She taught me to be self-sufficient. If you are cold, put on a jacket. If you aren't cold, don’t. If you are cold and don't put on a jacket, it's your own damn fault.

Mom and I have been in agreement on this for years.

Yesterday, I was wearing a sweater dress with a long sleeved sweater over, tights and knee-high black boots. That is practically Nanook of the North for me, and yet, one of my menopausal coworkers eyed me up and down and screeched "Aren't you cold!?!" because I was sans jacket.

It was close to sixty frapping degrees outside, but it was drizzly, so that must mean everyone should wear an overcoat.

An overcoat? Hell. No. I was hot in what I was wearing!

But if I had said to her, "Hey, you look a little hot, why don't you take some clothes off" I would have been reported to HR.

It's a bizarre up world out there, and I’m but a passenger on this carnival ride.

Image via FreeFoto.com

What is wrong with these people?

You can employ them at a Fortune 500 company, but you can't make them think.

Found this today in the copy room where I work.

See, what's happened here is that someone needed to get at some paper, and were foiled by those sturdy yellow bands around the box. I get that. They suck.

And yes, there isn't a pair of scissors to be found in the area, which has often perplexed me.

Right above those reams of paper, there is a staple puller, which is my usual tool of choice to hack and nip at the confounded yellow band until it comes loose.

But that right there is just the work of savages. I mean it's like an animal got at it and tore away, struggling for their very life for....a packet of copy paper.

Last time I saw something that brutal was a picnic lunch left in a car in Yellowstone.

I'm all the more ticked because I'm collecting those paper boxes. There is a MASSIVE home clean out and storage project underway, and a sturdy box with a lid is useful. This one is now rendered useless to me. And it is, after all, all about me.

Although, if I step back and take a different perspective, that was sort of an ingenious "I shan't let you beat me, confounded yellow band" tactic. Sort of raccoonish, really. Tear a hole, reach in and get the goods, slip away unnoticed.

Ok, I've gone from thinking this person a buffoon to thinking them a quiet genius.

I can talk myself into or out of just about anything.

Na Na Na Na, Hey, Hey, Hey...

Goodbye.

Ok, not goodbye, but welcome to bankruptcy.

From CNN:

Muzak files for bankruptcy

This story is a couple weeks old, so I don't know how I missed it.

Ah Muzak. That bastion of elevators and department stores everywhere. Making the artistically fascinating into dreck.

Sure, bastardizing Beatles and Creedence Clearwater tunes is bad, but the first time I heard "Smells Like Teen Spirit" done up Muzac style, I was not only appalled, I was angry.

I fear they will crawl out of debt restructuring like the oily swamp monster that they are, reaching out a webbed hand to assimilate Flo Rida and Beyonce and Lady Ga Ga and all the other Top 40 pop crap, coming soon to a Seven Eleven near you.

Once upon a time, in my former job, I had the opportunity to interact with the beast that is Muzac. They were entrenched as the on-hold music for our busy call center. The telecom team found a supplier they liked better and asked me to pull the ripcord on the termination clause in the contract.

Is it wrong that I giggled the whole time the pages fed through the fax auto-feeder? I stood there giggling like Beavis and Butt Head for the whole time the machine made high pitch squeals, and gladly took the confirmation page from the paper tray, confirmed all pages were sent, and filed that bad boy with satisfaction.

One of those "I love my job" kinda days.

If that kind of glee is wrong, I don't wanna be right.

Ah well, even oily swamp monsters have to make a living.

A new look at an old topic

Far be it from me to be short sighted, but there is one issue I discussed recently that, as of today, I've seen a whole different view on.

See, I've found a way this can benefit me, and that's a horse of a whole different color.

The topic was about the guy in my office snack shop talking wildly to himself. I thought he was on a Bluetooth headset. He was not. Original post here.

Well, today, driving to work, I had my iPod shuffle rigged up in the Jeep. See, while in New Mexico, I begged, borrowed, and *ahem* borrowed some music from my best friend's extensive collection of classic country tunes.

Many of them made their way to my iPod, and as is my way, when a real good song comes on, singing along isn't just a choice, it's a mandatory.

So as I rolled into the parking lot at work holding a car concert, I was in full voice along with Gene Watson. (If you are a fan of country and don't know Gene Watson, well...you should...).

Anyhow, I turned the corner into the parking lot as a lady who had already parked her car skittered in front of me. She looked my way and I didn't even miss a beat, I kept singing along. The lady just looked away and kept walking.

I thought, "Wow, she didn't even give me a strange look."

Then I realized...she probably thought I was talking on a Bluetooth headset.

Crazy cuts both ways.

A little self-reflection

Or maybe a little self-awareness?

At my place of employment, we have a bank of five elevators that get all us little minions to and from the multitude of floors in our fabulous office building.

Every day I ride in these elevators, and it gives me time to notice some stuff.

Like the fact that the interior of the elevator cars is mirrored. Yup, to a high polish. What this means is each person's visage is clearly reflected back into the car.

Meaning...if you are standing in the back surreptitiously picking your nose, you are not surreptitious at ALL. We all have to just look forward to see what you are doing back there. You aren't hiding.

Most people get in there and lock their eyes on the television screen scrolling headline news. You know, the ol' don't make eye contact elevator rule.

I sometimes watch the headline news, and have become a repository for useless trivial information that I can whip out at random times to the utter disinterest of The Good Man.

But lately I've been watching the show in the reflected doors. People really are odd little creatures.

I've caught *numerous* male colleagues checking out the backsides of the comely young ladies who work here. And who can blame them, really?

I've also caught quite a few roll eyes or scowls as someone apparently unliked gets on the car.

There are the salespeople on the elevator who try to read the names on people's badges, I guess perpetually making a sales contact list.

I've witnessed some personal grooming that is best left for a private moment.

On Friday, as I got on the elevator and found my spot, I saw the lady to my side and a step back look my Friday casual outfit up and down, roll her eyes, then put her hand to her stomach and smooth it down, as though to assure herself that her midsection was smaller and flatter than mine. It was, she has nothing to worry about.

Evidently people seem to go through life believing, "If I can't see you, you can't see me." Except when your every move is reflected back.

Believe me, I'm all too aware of this little feature of the elevator and make sure to keep my hands away from my nose, my errant underwear or my boiling zit.

I kinda want to put up a sign that says, "Objects in mirror may be you."

PS Yes, I really did take an iPhone photo in my elevator at work.......don't think that wasn't odd to explain to the guy who got on two floors down.

PPS Yes, I'm wearing my kicking Fat Babies to work today. Saaaalute! Since Fat Babies are one of the highest searched keywords on my blog, I figured I'd give them another plug.

I told you so!

She says bitterly. As the rain pours outside.

See, last week, the media drama queens proclaimed that it was the drought of the century. Times were rough. Water rationing was imminent.

I said to The Good Man, "they always say that...every year. It makes me tired." He reminded me that he lived here during the great drought of the 70's and times were bad.

Yeah, yeah.

Guess what I read in the SFGate today?

"The state's rainfall total for the year late Sunday was at 90 percent of normal, said National Weather Service forecaster Bob Benjamin."

Bite me, Bob! And oh yeah...I TOLD YOU SO!

If everyone would just listen to ME, things would go a lot easier.

Sonsabitches.

One of ours finds her way back home

After moving to the Bay Area back in 1997, I settled into my new apartment, without any friends or family to speak of. I was completely alone in a big town. It was at once both terrifying and exhilarating.

I knew very few places I could drive to without getting lost, but I made myself the solemn promise that I would not just stay holed up in my apartment. I would leave the house and explore, even if it tested my bounds of comfort. And it did.

On earlier visits to the area for work, some people I knew in the East Bay had taken me to a restaurant in San Francisco. They had given me directions to get there, and I still remembered the route. I recalled the food was good and the people who worked there were nice.

So it became a steady destination. The restaurant is named Sodini's, and I've spoken about it here before. If you've been out to visit me, I've likely taken you there.

Anyhow, as I went out every weekend, a little New Mexico girl picking hayseeds out of her hair, the people at Sodini's began to know me. They looked after me. They gave me advice on how to live in the Bay Area, and they protected me.

Usually, I'd eat at Sodini's then go across the street to a bar called The Grant and Green to listen to live music. Once in there, a part time cocktail waitress, part time stripper took over looking out for me. She was beautiful but also one tough lady. She would scare off guys she knew were bad news who had come sidling up to me, or would shout down anyone trying to run a scam on me (there were plenty who tried. What did I know? They didn't have people like this in Albuquerque).

Then, several months later, I began idly dating a blues musician. So now I really had reason to be in North Beach. The blues scene is thriving. Over plenty of nights in various North Beach bars, I became a regular. I became part of the North Beach family. A loose band of a variety of strange and not so strange. Some talented. Some educated. Some rich. Some homeless. We are a little bit of everything. I've both been read to from Plato and offered the chance to buy crack in the same evening.

As motley as these folks are, truly, they became my family. I was often alone considering my boyfriend was a working musician. The more I fretted, the more they looked out for me. And I began looking out for them, too.

With all of the people I knew who lived on the streets, I began to worry about them. My big heart would be crushed if I didn't see Willie on his regular street corner, playing harmonica to cheer passerby. Or if Lorne wasn't standing outside Café Trieste, looking for some money or maybe to fix someone's car for a couple bucks. And then there was Millie.

She's about four feet nothing and would bop from bar to restaurant to bar with a huge gap toothed grin and a Polaroid camera. For $5, she'd take your photo and then give you the biggest hug you've ever received from someone so little. Her smile would brighten the entire room.

As the years passed, things turned rather sour with the musician. Then I went through an odyssey of my own psyche. And to add to all of that, then my father passed away. All life changing events.

I stopped going to North Beach so much. When I did go, my family would hug me, ask after my health, worry over me and welcome me home. Then they'd chide me for being gone so long.

Finally, as more years passed, I was alone again and unable to get up the courage to explore like I had before. Things were changing. I was changing. I was profoundly alone and considerably lost.

Then on a sunny day in November, my gray skies parted when I met The Good Man. For a while when we first dated, he lived in North Beach, which meant I visited my old haunts with a new set of eyes and a new man in tow. My North Beach family eyed him warily at first, but were soon as charmed as I over The Good Man.

But, to be honest, that's not the point of my story. The point is this...recently our friend Millie, the cheery, adorable Polaroid taking woman had gone missing. I'd heard this through the grapevine and was sick to my heart. She isn't a young lady, and I feared she'd ended up like a lot of my family and succumbed on a cold San Francisco night.

I cried this morning when read this article in the SFGate.

Millie was found in a Reno hospital after taking a bus up there and getting turned around. Some kind folks went up and brought her home.

She's back in North Beach with her Polaroid and her amazing smile.

I don't get back to North Beach all that much anymore. The Good Man and I moved into our place on the peninsula and now we're all married and domesticated and living our new lives together. That's ok too. It does my heart good to know that even though I'm not still running around North Beach, that my people are there and they are okay.

I'm a strange kid, I'm the first to admit it. I can manage to be homesick over two places at the same time. Both New Mexico and the Bay Area beat inside my heart. I'm not sure how to ever resolve that.

I'm not sure I even want to try.

Photo from the SFGate.

Aaaaaand we're back...

Had a *fabulous* time this weekend in southern New Mexico. The weather was clear and cold and my fair New Mexico is looking gorgeous. I didn't know how much I needed that trip back home, but I can say I feel "right" since I got back.

The trip was mostly to visit with my best friend, her husband, and my two amazing goddaughters (now 9 and 6). My own version of NewMexiKen's sweeties.

And I ate. Oh did I eat. Whoa. My best friend and her husband are both amazing cooks, and they treated me right for three solid days.

I got a good snootful of green chile, so I can continue to survive with the appalling lack here in the Bay Area.

I also got a chance to eat oryx. This was my first try at oryx and it was TASTY! My dad was a hunter, so I've eaten a variety of game meat sampled from the great state of New Mexico and have no qualms. My friend's husband is especially good at field dressing so as to help alleviate the gamey taste, so what he brings home is really fantastic.

Plus he's good with the seasoning, so the outcome was tender, sweet, delicious and quite satisfying. I was able to have oryx prepared a variety of different ways, but by far the most amazing was tacos al carbon cooked down on a disk. (you gotta love game meat cooked on something that used to be a farm implement)

Reflecting on the last post I wrote about good food bringing people together, I smiled on Sunday night when, at the same moment, my best friend was frying rellenos, her husband was cutting up the meat for tacos and I was rolling enchiladas with the help of my oldest goddaughter. While we worked, we shared stories and listened to good music.

That right there is family, and I'm deeply grateful to have it. Food made with love tastes that much better.

I also had the chance to drive up to Cloudcroft looking for snow. They had gotten three inches a few days back, but as you can see by the photo below, there wasn't much left on the ground. It was a nice day trip anyway. Had lunch, shopped a bit, took a few photos and spent time with my friend.

Back home now. Mainly I'm just a bit homesick, happy to have made the visit and glad to be back in the house with The Good Man and the Cranky Cat.

This going back to work thing, on the other hand..........

(click for full size)

Photo by Karen Fayeth

Unity brought about by food

Upon starting my new job, it was perplexing to me how often they feed us at this place. I mean, I'm not complaining. But seriously, I get at least two meals a week provided, sometimes more.

Good food too, full meals, like chicken and potatoes, cheese tortellini with salad, lavish Mexican buffet, a full course Vietnamese meal, and more.

This was especially peculiar to me, since, at my former employer, I usually ate my lunch by myself at my desk. A friend and I would walk over to the cafeteria, get food, walk back and go our separate ways. Clean. Sterile. Boring.

Now that I've been at the new gig 90 days, and having just stuffed myself silly at the potluck to end all potlucks (yum), I realized that this habit of sharing meals together is a bit of brilliance.

Really, how more primal can you get than breaking bread with other people? It creates connections.

Earlier today, I looked around the room at all these people I've come to know. Over a plate of homemade food (that's our pot luck rule, it must be actually homemade), I found an easy camaraderie.

I know that one lady's young daughter loves red velvet cake, and when she heard another lady at work was making it for our potluck, begged her mom to bring some home.

I know that the lady who sits right next to me was raised in the Philippines, and her homemade lumpia is worth weeping over. (I had three)

I discovered that the guy on the next row who identifies himself as Asian actually has a Mexican mother, who was kind enough to make flan for our potluck. Really, really good flan, too.

The reason for our potluck was to "Share the Love" for Valentine's Day. As we all ate and complimented each other and asked for recipes, yes, there was love, and connection and a diligence to work together and believe in each other and do our best to get through the obstacles.

All because we got out some paper plates and plastic forks and brought out food that represents a little of ourselves. We're all taking in a bit of each other and blending into something that much better.

I think that kind of connection is rarely found at work, and has to be part of the reason why this group I work with and for manages to get along so damn well. That's the kind of "corporate goodwill" you just can't force.

By the way, the contribution that represented me was a kickin' bowl of guacamole. I make *really* good guac and today I earned some new fans.

Bet you never knew that guacamole tastes really good on lumpia!

Bringing cultures and oddball coworkers together, one delicious meal at a time...

On this same topic, I am fortunate enough to be able to make a trip to Southern New Mexico this weekend. I'll be with my best friend of twenty years, and when we settled the date for a visit, one of the first things she said was, "we have to plan the menu".

Food, for us, is family, is bonding, is life, is earth, is the heart of who we are. Nourishing both body and soul.

I can hardly wait for her homemade rellenos. Right then, I just did a little jump and clicked my heels.

New Mexico, here I come!

Back in my day

You know, back in my day, if a person were to have occasion to be walking down the street, holding an entire conversation with only themselves, we'd call them nutty, cross the street to get away from them and cover our children's eyes.

These days? No, it's commonplace. We just figure it's all normal.

I went downstairs this afternoon to the snack shop in my building for a cup of frozen yogurt. When I walked in the small shop, the oddball guy working there was deep in the middle of a conversation. By himself.

He was speaking, answering, getting a little lively in the discourse.

I naturally assumed he was on the Bluetooth headset for his cell phone.

So I went about the dispensation of some boysenberry no-fat fro-yo. When I went to pay, the young man was still chatting away, waving arms.

He saw me and was like, "oh hi, that will be two dollars."

He wasn't on the phone.

Nope. He's just a good old-fashioned slice of crazy in a brown apron.

Hiding in plain sight.

Questionably sane people can't even get noticed in this town anymore!

The times, they are a changin'....

Just read in the ABQjournal today that the ancient and well established (though closed for some time now) Ice House strip club in downtown ABQ is getting repurposed.

As a teen oriented arts and entertainment center.

The irony isn't lost on me.

Thanks, Oh Fair New Mexico, for the mirthful smile this morning.

It is a fine use for that old place, IMHO.

Remember the scandal it caused when the Ice House first opened? Back then we would have never guessed the demise....

New Mexico Deliciousness

Got a great link in email today from a great lady, Jamie Dedes.

Penny Postcards from New Mexico.

It's an image collection of great old postcards from the great State of New Mexico. I love seeing how places we all know were advertised back in the day.

In fact, I think this one is my favorite.

Doesn't that look like a fun, convivial place for a weary travel to rest and refresh? Yeah....I know the Bow and Arrow. Over there on Central. I believe they rent by the hour these days?

I like this one too:

Other than the tentative Natives, that's pretty much how it used to look...I remember strolling around on the tarmac, going out to meet travelers and such.

Wow, good stuff. Makes me homesick as heck!

Enjoy!

(All images belong to USGenWeb Archives Web Site)

Time for some honesty, here.

I believe I've arrived at the time of my life where I need to be honest with myself, my fans, and my fellow mankind.

Yes, it's true, I have used. Used a questionable substance. Used it real good.

In my twenties, I was strong. I eschewed this terrible enhancement. I was totally clean, and felt righteous and strong, though brittle. I was able to use the sheer force of my will to avoid using. A moral victory.

In my thirties, it was harder to get there, harder to be as successful, so with the guidance of a certain suspect doctor, I reintroduced this substance into my world, using as often as possible. In public. I didn't even try to hide it.

I sometimes even used with my best friend. And my own family.

My sister is a known user. We use together. She has even drawn her children into the circle of usage. Those young'uns love the stuff.

My husband uses too.

I know there is a growing sentiment against this substance, but it helped me. Truly. Got me past the difficult times. Gave me a sense of peace when it seemed the whole world was upside down. Helped me be grounded. Right next to a stack of pancakes.

Maybe I was just young. Naive. Didn't know better. Listening to bad guidance. Following the crowd. Trying to be one of the team. Just working to be popular.

I did it for the fans.

Yes, I'm a user. I own it. It makes me a better person.

I still use. You people can't stop me.

That's how you own it, ARod, you lying sack of ____.

Friday, oh my Friday

So happy you are here.

I wouldn't even mind being a DMV employee. Sure, I wouldn't get paid, but furlough Friday sounds not so bad.

Oh, and also, rain, rain, go away. Unless you live in Bolinas. Then bring a gully washer.

Mainly. I'm happy for the weekend. Happy Friday to you, wherever you are.

The Successor?

Val Kilmer ponders run for NM governor in 2010

Really? I mean... Uh. Really?

Damnit, I already live in a state with a movie star Governor. I don't recommend it.

Ugh.

Do not mess with a Blues Queen

Especially a cranky Blues Queen.

I think most Americans either tuned in or saw coverage of Inauguration Day, right? There was that tender moment in the evening where the President and First Lady took to the floor to dance the first dance. (if you were under a rock January 20th, click here for video).

The song the first couple swayed to was "At Last", performed by, much to my dismay, Beyonce.

Now, I like Beyonce enough for who she is. The lady who brought the phrase "I don't think you're ready for this jelly" into the world. Oh yeah, and popularized the word "bootylicious". Sure, she's a bard for our times. Or something. She wearies me, but I have a few of her tunes on my iPod. I can't hate on a lady who writes so much of her own music.

On that special day, however, I personally winced when the camera panned to B and she began warbling the Etta James classic.

I haven't voiced this much because everyone I seem to talk with was like "OH! That Beyonce was SO wonderful!"

No she wasn't. It was a special moment, but it was made special not by the singer (no way) but mainly by the sentiments of a kick ass song written by Mack Gordon and Harry Warren.

Given the exhaustion of our country with the previous administration, the notion of "at last" really resonated. It was the perfect song performed by the wrong singer.

I wondered why, on that day, it wasn't Miss Etta up there. She's still got the pipes and she's still out there performing.

In fact, on January 28th, she was performing in Seattle at the Paramount Theater.

Where she said: "But I tell you that woman he had singing for him, singing my song — she's going to get her a-- whipped."

Oooh, it's ON now! And I believe the 71 year old lady could do it too, with one bejeweled hand tied behind her tiny back.

She went on to say: "She has no business up there, singing up there on a big ol' president day, gonna be singing my song that I've been singing forever."

Not sure what set Miss Etta off since Beyonce has been slinging her crappy rendition of "At Last" all over the place, including at least once in the presence of Miss Etta.

I think what galled *me* the most about Beyonce getting up there, was that it was a publicity stunt! Seems Beyonce is working on a movie called "Cadillac Records" in which she portrays Etta James. What a great marketing chance on the national stage.

Opportunism. Great. Makes me like Beyonce even less.

: rolling of eyes :

Personally, though, I think Miss Etta is just ticked that Aretha Franklin got a shot on inauguration day and she didn't. Just my two cents.

Speaking of Aretha, remember when Beyonce got into hot water with her too?

Doh!

__________________

By the by, Miss Etta who has notoriously struggled with her weight is looking HOT right now thanks to gastric bypass surgery a couple years ago!

Go Etta!! Look at her tiny self!

Source and Source.

Go Me!

That last post was, get this, number 500!

Five freaking hundred!

In just less than two years.

Wow.

Considering that when I started this thing back in March of 2007, I was unsure what the heck to write about.

Thanks to those who have come along for this crazy ride.

w00t!

What the hell have I been doing with my life?

I went to an "all hands" meeting at work today with the CFO of my company. They had some corporate news and business to discuss so we all dutifully showed up.

Our CFO is a pretty well known guy in the industry. Incredibly smart and articulate. Laid back in his khakis and blue button down. Comfortable in his own skin. Has been with the company since he came out of college so knows our business well. Been here just about fifteen years all in.

Successful C-level officer of a thriving multi-national company.

And he's exactly one year younger than me.

I wonder, sometimes, if I had worked harder or was more focused on my job or if I actually even made being an executive part of my game plan if I could have gotten there, too?

There was a time, in my twenties, when I was set and determined on rising to the top, or as far as I could get. It seemed that getting ahead was what I was about, so I worked my tookus off, and yes, had some good success.

Then somewhere around age thirty I started to realize that maybe just going to work, doing a decent job, then coming home and having a genuine life were more important.

I look at the CFO, the Boy Wonder, and think "Yeah, he makes a lot of money and has a lot of power...but his life is his job."

I don't want my life to be my job.

This is not the most popular outlook given the very success driven area where I live. Actually, the expectation of my former employer that everything you did, you did for the company was part of the reason it was time to leave.

Funny how time mellows my mind.

So maybe I'm not CFO of my employer, but I'm Chief Food Officer for my feline and Chief Administrator of the Smooch to my husband and Chief Artist in Residence at our home.

Heck, for a troubled little girl from Albuquerque, that's some damn fine success, if you ask me.

Though I'm still negotiating compensation.....*grin*

Whoa! Refreshing!

Things you would never have heard from the former administration:

"I take responsibility for this mistake," (President Barack Obama) told Fox News.

Doesn't matter what it was for. He took ownership.

Damn. He's going to make me like him.

Source.

My People

I am always filled with a not-so-quiet joy when I see the place from whence I came showcased on the big stage.

It somehow validates me.

Sure, having Big Bad Billy run for President surely upped New Mexico's cool quotient and "put us on the map" in plenty of ways.

But my heart sang and my eyes wept last night watching an episode of "No Reservations" on the Travel Channel.

I love this show. Starring Anthony Bourdain, a career chef, New Jersey born, New York resident. This is a high class, high dollar guy who knows his food.

He was head chef at upscale Les Halles in New York for many years. He's also a prolific writer and avid traveler. I've read a few of his books, many of his editorials and some blog posts. His writing is tight, snarky and well, just good.

I've watched his food/travel show since it was called something different for a season on the Food Network. I've also seen every episode of the long running series now on the Travel Channel.

I've been around the world with Tony. Watched him get pummeled by bulky bodybuilders in Finland, seen him travel the back roads of Viet Nam eating god knows what, watched him get bucked off a four wheeler in New Zealand, and am intimately familiar with his love for all pork products.

So last night's episode (actually, it was last week's, I missed it and caught a rerun), Anthony was given use of a BMW SUV, then set out on a road trip to the American Southwest.

Hoookay, Mr. Snappy Chef Boy, you are dancing on my terrain now.

I was pretty certain I'd see plenty of Arizona, lots of Texas, and none of my Fair New Mexico.

I was wrong.

In between stops in Indio, CA (god, why would *anyone* willingly stop there) and Waco, TX (home of one Mr. Ted Nugent), the No Reservations crew made a stop in Hatch.

Yes, Hatch, New Mexico, home of one of the finest food ingredients in the world.

Tony sat at a vinyl-topped table with the owners of The Pepper Pot, and talked with them about the troubles of chile farmers (mostly that there is lack of demand, so farmers are converting crops to more profitable items, like corn).

While they talked, the host was served both a red and a green enchilada.

And Mr. Bourdain, world traveler, renowned chef, he of highly calibrated taste buds turned to the camera and said, "That is the best enchilada I have ever eaten."

Yes, yes it is. The best you'll *ever* eat.

Take that to Manhattan, big man.

Because if it was the last day of my life, and I was told that I could choose one of two places for my last meal: a high end, high dollar establishment, or a crappy diner in New Mexico, there would be no contest.

Chicken enchiladas, green, with a fried egg and sour cream.

And I would go quietly into that great beyond with a big smile and a full belly.

Salute to my home state for getting a good review from a snarky host of a travel show!

To celebrate, I'll have feet on the ground in just less than two weeks.

Because it's time. And because my sweet New Mexico calls to me.

Mostly because my best friend said she'd make rellenos.

Green chile chicken enchiladas, here I come!

The real victims of the economic crisis...

The wives and girlfriends of the wealthy stockbrokers and bankers facing economic woes!

Fewer mani-pedis! Less lunches out! Reduced baby sitter hours! No more Ferragamos!

Oh the humanity!

Thankfully these poor souls have taken to the blogosphere to find relief (and hopefully a book deal! Reality show? Anyone? Anyone?)

Check 'em out at Dating a Banker Anonymous.

Bring a box of tissues.

Source

Copy Cat!

Seems the shoe throwing way of expressing dissent has found itself a new audience in China.

From the BBC, the Chinese Prime Minister was giving a talk when an athletic shoe came soaring his way, but a bit offline, landing about a meter away.

At least the guy in Iraq had some arm on him, eh?

Anyhow, don't let my employees know that this is in style. Some of the ladies on my team wear these tall clunky heels. That would cause bosslike hematomas and such. Ouch.

So is this now a trend? A latest fad? If so we're all going to need helmets. ugh!