I made a bouillabaisse tonight from some of the fish I brought home, though it lacked saffron...and I added rice. So what I really made was gumbo, except that it didn't have any okra. Okay, call it Mulligan Stew, see if I care.

Maybe I should just call it free-writing on the stovetop, and leave it at that. Most of the things I enjoy the most end up in the same basic category. I throw a bunch of things in the pot and turn up the heat. I pick out the bits I like later and call it a meal, or a blog post, or a relationship.

The wife doesn't particularly care for my stews, often peering into the pot or at the post with a wrinkled nose and asking in a slightly disapproving tone, "What is that?"

"That's jazz, baby," I inevitably reply. "Want some?"

And inevitably, baby don't want no jazz, which kinda lets the air out of the whole stew/jazz/melange metaphor. Baby don't like jazz, and baby don't care for metaphor. Baby is, after all, an accountant.

"Why can't you just say it's a bunch of leftover crap you threw in a pot?" is her objection.

I can't say that because that doesn't sound tasty. I can't say that because it implies that my contribution to the whole is unneeded and therefore unwanted. I can't say that because to do so would be to deny my creative nature.

I can't say that...because I added rice.

Have some jazz, dammit.

Asking The Carthaginians about Violence
The Road to Surfdom - Living With The Snipers - I was alerted to the sniper attacks by a guy at my wife's work who rang to tell me about it. "Someone is shooting people near where you live; it's all over the TV; maybe they've caught whoever did it; you shouldn't be concerned." At that moment I wasn't concerned; I was oblivious. Then I turned on the television to see what he was talking about, and three weeks later, I finally got to turn it off again.

Silent Running - Vlad The Impaler - He was a ruthless, sadistic, blood-soaked maniac, and would not have been terribly concerned about being described as such. Heck, he'd have probably grinned. Once, a delegation from the Sultan in Constantinople arrived for peace talks. When they refused to doff their turbans in his presence, he smiled and said in that case they can stay on...and had someone nail the turbans onto their skulls.

a small victory - Dear Susan Sarandon - You and your friends better start coming up with some viable alternatives besides making nice if you are going to continue your protests. I mean, rallying and marching is all well and good, but unless you have some kind of action and plan behind it (blaming the Republicans for everything does not count as a plan) then just shut your mouth, go home and take your hairy-armpit, placard wearing, thickheaded friends with you.