Ribs

My first foray into the world of real barbeque was Saturday.

Using the advice of a friend at work, I slow cooked two racks of pork ribs over charcoal and was pretty pleased with the results. I bought all my equipment the night before, unfortunately forgetting to buy a thermometer, which made me especially nervous considering my lack of experience. The ribs were tender and not overcooked, which satisfied my main goal the first time out. The fun comes in learning as I go and continuing to improve until I come up with something truly exceptional.

The key to cooking the meat is using indirect heat, which sounded strange to me at first. I have a small roasting pan that I filled with water and put on one side of the grill, with the ribs on the grate over that. On the other side I put the charcoal. I was surprised at how intense the heat was inside the grill. It took about three and a half hours to cook the ribs. I had soaked some mesquite wood chips overnight and threw them over the coals periodically throughout the whole process. I actually used the entire bag, about the size of a loaf of bread, because it was so much fun and because the smell was incredible. The mesquite smell is exactly the smell of Dinosaur BBQ. One of the things I will change next time is use about half as many wood chips. The smoky flavor overpowered the rub and the sauce I used. The second thing I will change is cooking under lower heat. I probably should have waited another fifteen minutes to put the meat on, and I probably should have put fewer additional briquettes on the fire halfway through. I think the combination of the high heat and the smoke put a chocolate-colored crispy layer on the surface of the ribs that wasn’t very enjoyable. Temperature can also be regulated by using the air vents, and in that respect I was flying in the dark because I didn’t have a thermometer. I hate the idea of regulating the temperature too precisely as if I was using an oven, but it would be nice to have some idea what the temperature is. There is really no way to guess.

Just yesterday I read an article in the Rochester D&C about home barbeque, with the tired theme of “man conquering fire.” Not only is this a clichéd and belittling notion, it’s not accurate. There is something very pure and basic about it, but it’s also a very social thing. It’s an event. It reminds me of something that the great Jackie Martling said once about drinking beer. If you pull a beer out of a cooler, it’s a party. If you are cooking outside, it’s a party. And when you put the beer and the cooler and the grill together outside, it’s just about perfect. I think I’ve reached the old age where I have the patience to try different things on the grill and maybe not have it turn out perfectly the first time and then give it another go. I also think that with two small kids, things have hurried up to the point that I can really start to appreciate slow. Maybe home brewed beer is next.

Ciao Sopranos

Without the definitive proof that so many people were looking for at the conclusion of The Sopranos, I have come to accept the following.

Tony was murdered by the suspicious man stepping out of the restroom in the moment following the cut to black. I struggled at first to make sense of the abrupt ending. During the last scene in the restaurant, my brain raced to identify and then catalog what seemed like a series of rapid-fire clues that would solve the ending of the series. My initial frustration was based on my feeling that I was one or two clues short of the solution when the screen went black. In the days since, I have contemplated that final scene in the context of the entire last season and reached my conclusion.

The murders of Bobby and Phil this season were notable for how obviously they were set up. Bobby just misses the warning call from Silvio. The camera focuses on the mirrors in the train store, and the model steam engine looks unstoppable as it rolls down the track. Phil prolongs his conversation with wife and grandkids at the side of his car at the gas station. Just as deliberate are the moments leading up to the final shot of the series. I have no reason to believe that in Tony’s case, this setup did not lead to its logical conclusion. One would have to accept that Meadow’s multiple attempts at parallel parking were entirely meaningless, rather than see how it delayed her just long enough to put her where she was to watch the murder unfold. It is much simpler to conclude that Tony was murdered rather than try to make exceptions for why he was not. The murder also gives meaning. I don’t think there is any meaning without it.

Despite the sit down that Tony had with Phil’s men, it seems likely that the New York family would seek revenge for Phil’s murder. The way in which Phil was killed makes it especially so. We have learned that above all, these are men of self-preservation. As circumstances change, so do the methods of survival. Pride dictates retribution on Tony. It seems odd that the murder of Phil was treated like the conclusion of Tony’s problems with New York, with no concern over who would fill the top job and how they would relate to the New Jersey family.

With fears of being indicted, Tony makes final preparations as if he was dying. He visits Junior and Silvio. He tries to make arrangements for Bobby’s kids. He has dinner with Meadow. His final moments are with his family.

One of the most compelling parts of The Sopranos is the way it shows how the actions of the mob affect families. Jackie Jr. gets whacked. Vito’s son is dragged off to boot camp. Unable to leave the family and hounded by the FBI to inform, the Soprano associate with the recent inheritance hangs himself in his garage. The cost to “real” families is enormous, and the welfare of Tony’s own family has been a central theme throughout the entire series. The final scene consisting of Tony, Carmella, AJ, and Meadow comes back to that central theme and gives it the importance it deserves. We imagine that the Sopranos are like any typical family on a typical evening out. We see our own families in them for a moment, until we see the man in the Members Only jacket, or until we hear chimes and the restaurant door opens.

The scene ends at what must be the moment before the gunshot. Showing a gun blast would have given the definitive conclusion, but the actual final shot is revealing as well. We see Tony Soprano in his last conscious moment, looking up at his daughter as she enters the restaurant. Maybe because the death of Tony equals the death of The Sopranos, we are not allowed to see it? Here we have the antithesis of the murders of Bobby and Phil, with their graphic and comical elements. Tony is separated from the other characters in this way. We have already seen countless shootings, including a shooting of Tony himself. This becomes like a Greek Tragedy where the death occurs offstage. We look at Tony’s humanity in that final shot and are left to consider the aftermath of his murder. The imagination creates richer images than could be shown on film. We can contemplate Tony slumping over, Carmella in shock and calling his name, AJ’s clenched face and breakdown, Meadow’s eyes locked with her father’s during his final moment. Meadow could have easily been sitting next to her father at the time. Instead, the hitman drops his gun on the floor and bursts by her on his way to the door.

This conclusion is enough for me. I’m not bothered by not knowing David Chase’s actual intentions. I am not willing to say the ending was an artistic triumph and I won’t start rating it in the pantheon of series finales, but for the reasons I stated above I thought it worked.

Broadway By The Bleeech

What else happened on our vacation?

We went to “Broadway By The Beach,” which is a god-awful “attraction” that consists of shops and restaurants nowhere near the beach. It’s kind of like an outdoor mall. The worst part about it is that there are speakers placed about 30 feet apart throughout the entire acreage that blasts mind-numbingly trite and overplayed popular music. My problem wasn’t that they played music, or the music they played, because it’s all to be expected. The problem was how loud it was, as if the music was an attraction. Just a little quieter and it would have rightly been background music that you would only hear in your subconscious, but no, it was just loud enough that you actually had to raise your voice to have a conversation. And the fact that every step brought you one step away from one speaker, yet one step closer to another speaker was right out of Orwell.

I didn’t really mind going, because this was a family vacation and in fact I am not as big of a beach Nazi as I am made out to be. I actually enjoyed watching Syd at “Build A Bear.” So much of what she does is interesting to me only because it’s her doing it, whether it is filling and emptying a sand pail a million times or picking out an animal to stuff and outfit. Syd also enjoyed the Dept. 56 store because they had a huge Halloween display, and Syd loves Halloween and all the assorted monsters and gimmicks more than I think she even cares for Christmas. As soon as I got her out of the store, she ran right back in to check it out. It was a riot. I don’t know if she is a future Slytherin or not.

We were pretty much starving by lunchtime and got orders to head towards Tony Roma’s for lunch. I had never heard of it and thought it was noodle place, but in fact it’s ribs and assorted meats. Make a note to yourself – they serve one of the most flavorless and non-enjoyable pulled pork sandwiches you will find anywhere. The cold beer was great, as were the special effects. Dee insisted on changing Drew right in the dining room. I suggested going into the restroom, but Dee was concerned about cleanliness, and since the dining room was practically empty, she proceeded to change him in the stroller. As soon as the diaper was off, Drew peed right in Mommy’s face. To think we could have missed it!

It's A Shame About The Ray

I feel like I’ve told these vacation stories a million times already, so the task of retelling them here feels tedious. I might as well jump into the tale of how I got stung by a sting ray.

As everyone probably knows, splashing around in the water is one of my favorite recreational activities, especially in the ocean where the waves knock you about. On Monday evening I noticed a red brushburn or rash under my right forearm and figured it must have been a jellyfish sting. It was more severe than any jellyfish sting I had ever had, but being so far south I thought that maybe the wildlife was a little more fierce. While I tried to sleep that night, the burn seemed to sting worse and worse every time it brushed against the mattress or was touched by the sheet. When I woke up I found a blister that was about ¼ the size of a dollar bill, dimpled where my arm hairs were poking through. Dennise called a pharmacy to get some advice on how to treat what we thought was a jellyfish sting, and learned from the pharmacist that the predator had actually been a stingray. I found out later that typically a ray will scoot away when it knows you are coming, but when you surprise it, the ray will sting you with its tail. The fact that I got stung on the arm must have meant that I put my hand down near where one was. I noticed later two small spots on my stomach and two small spots above my knee where it must have grazed me as well. Anyway, half of the blister really started to bubble up pretty grotesquely during the day and caused me to worry that it would break or that I would keep bumping it into things. It actually didn’t hurt at all unless I bumped it into something or one of my kids kicked it. I had to drain it and dress it for three nights until it actually started to heal sufficiently.

It didn’t keep me out of the water or really affect my vacation too much. Other people were still enjoying the ocean, so for me to stay out just because I had gotten stung didn’t make too much sense to me. It’s not like if I had learned that someone else had gotten stung, it would have affected me. I love the water too much, although I understand that people who don’t feel the same way might have had a different reaction. Dee obsessively kept asking about it. I didn’t think about it nearly as much. She also kept trying to place herself at the scene of the crime, thinking that I was stung while we were in the water together and checking herself for burns. I guess I can’t blame her, because a ray sting is a lot cooler than a dumb jellyfish burn.

The sting actually kept me out of the pool, not the ocean. With all those little kids in the pool peeing and doing who-knows-what, I would have been just asking for an infection and amputation at the elbow.

To Myrtle

I am going to try to write a vacation-related post every day this week. It won’t be a diary per se, but I think I can come up with at least five amusing entries. And at the end I will share my thoughts on The Sopranos.

We set the alarm for 4:00 AM so we could make our flight on Saturday. The good news about the early start was that we flew in to Myrtle Beach before noon. The bad news was that the rental place wasn’t ready for us until about 2:30. We really needed to get to the “home base” for the kids’ sake, so it was a bit trying waiting for the realty place to give us the key. We stopped at the grocery store first to pick up some things, some of which were eventually eaten and some of which were thrown out at the end of the week and wasted. I myself wasted about a half gallon of milk by backing the rental car over a styrofoam cooler with ice that I had bought to preserve the food until we could get inside the condo. It was funny, aggravating, and embarrassing at the same time, although I was too exhausted at that point to react much at all. Dennise's mom was able to salvage what was left of the milk. I thought the container had exploded, but I had just crumpled it a bit. At the store I got the week's beer, including a case of Natural Lite, which I associate with that part of the country. The kids were really great throughout all the travels the first day. When their grandparents arrived, we went to a hotdog stand near the beach for lunch, which looking back I think is one of the better memories of the trip. I think there is always something special about the first moments of a vacation, like the first time you see the beach, the first time you step on the strip, or the first time you check out the rental, get settled, and have that first beer. Everything is new and different and you are excited with the anticipation of the entire week ahead of you. The hot dogs and the cold beer were good, too.

We were all able to sit together on the first leg of the flight, but the second plane from Atlanta to Myrtle only had two seats in each row. Dennise was going to sit with Syd in the pair of seats on the right side of the plane and I was going to hold Drew on my lap in the single seat on the left side of the plane. Because there were fewer oxygen masks on the left side of the plane, however, the lap baby had to be on the right side. That meant Dennise had to have both kids. Syd slept and Drew was well-behaved, so it actually worked out quite well, but we were a little nervous about the whole idea.

I sat in the front row seated next to an army colonel named Mike who was returning from Iraq on two weeks’ leave. Mike had actually entered the gate with us and helped us by carrying our stroller down the passage. Before the stewardess made Drew move, Mike showed a real interest in Drew, even holding him for me while I buckled my seatbelt. I told him that I thought it must be good luck for Drew. We chatted for the entire trip, and I had the fortune of meeting a very remarkable person. We talked about our families and our jobs, and I was in awe of the fact that he commanded a brigade of nearly 4,000 people, which are more people than are employed at my company. Most people can’t imagine even serving in Iraq. It was hard for me to fathom doing so and also have such an incredible amount of responsibility. I think everyone cares deeply about those who serve this country, in that they are members of families just like ours. I had never been so deeply struck by the quality of people who serve this country, though. Leaders such as this would do very well in the private sector, but they choose to do much tougher work. Mike talked just as easily about the three provinces in Iraq he covers and the Iraqis he works with as he did about his wife and two kids, who I felt I knew by the time the plane landed.

I found this news article about Mike this morning. He is stationed at FOB Kalsu, named after Bob Kalsu of the Buffalo Bills, the only active pro football player to have been killed in Vietnam.

http://community.adn.com/?q=adn/node/105222

That night we had dinner at a place along the beach that we were able to walk to. Syd had a blast running up and down the beach. On our way back, she got down on all fours and somehow ended up face first in the sand. Her mouth was characteristically open. We cleaned her off the best we could and she was back to “normal.” We have a few pictures of her sandy face. She looks like the worst “Survivor” contestant ever.

the Modfather

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3fDXsPE0Sc

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life cos it's the one we'll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus cos those rosey days are few
And stop apologising for the things you've never done
Cos time is short and life is cruel but it's up to us to change
This town called Malice

Rows and rows of disused milk floats stand dying in the dairy yard
And a hundred lonely housewives clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts
Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry
It's enough to make you stop believing when tears come fast and furious
In a town called Malice

Struggle after struggle year after year
The atmosphere's a fine blend of ice
I'm almost stone cold dead
In a town called Malice

A whole street's belief in Sunday's roast beef gets dashed against the Co-op
To either cut down on beer or the kids new gear
It's a big decision in a town called Malice

The ghost of a steam train echoes down my track
It's at the moment bound for nowhere just going round and round
Playground kids and creaking swings lost laughter in the breeze
I could go on for hours and I probably will but I'd sooner put some joy back
In this town called Malice.

Suucki & Suucki

Article about this Kurt Cobain ad for Doc Martens here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/05/business/media/05adco.html

This is really one of the most profane things I think they could come up with. The Heather Chandler memorial spread in the Westerberg High yearbook was more tasteful. It’s precious that Saatchi & Saatchi considers these ads a beautiful tribute to four legendary musicians. And she is including Sid Vicious as legendary musician! In the same breath as Joe Strummer! And not to pass judgment, but in terms of these guys’ eligibility for heaven, can we just not go there? Especially when you consider the demise of Kurt and Sid, it’s totally depressing. They are selling image and cheap, meaningless, shopping mall sentimentality. If you want a tribute for Joey Ramone, pay $7 to see a punk band at The Bug Jar.

A couple of really embarrassing things from last Friday:

We had our third bi-weekly neighborhood happy hour, and on the way home we were walking with our next door neighbor and her daughter. I was pushing Syd in our wagon and Dennise was carrying Drew. I got tired of pushing the wagon up and down the street while everyone else ambled home, so our neighbor’s daughter pushed instead and I took her scooter. So I started scooting up and down the street and was doing pretty well until I ran into a pinecone and fell off. I didn’t fly off or do a flip or anything, the scooter just hit the pinecone and stopped and I fell like a tree. I had two outstretched hands to break my fall so I actually went down pretty softly, but it wasn’t my coolest moment. I was thinking, what am I doing, I am going to be 35 years old! When my dad was 35, I was eleven! When I was eleven, I had a better chance of seeing President Reagan on a scooter than my dad.

Anyway, I’m afraid to say the biggest embarrassment was at the party itself. Neighbors have taken turns hosting these get-togethers, and I’ve wondered if and when the time comes for us to host, what five CDs would I put in rotation to best let everyone know just how cool and awesome I am and how much more with-it I am compared to everybody else. We don’t have the nicest house, we won’t have the best food, we don’t have the nicest things, but I really thought we could shine by putting on some awesome tunes. The music at the other parties has been fine, but kind of predictable. I wasn’t able to listen too closely last Friday, but I thought I heard some unfamiliar Elvis Costello before it went into (what else) Dave Matthews Band. So as we were leaving I asked Ryan what Elvis Costello CD we were listening to, but it was Coldplay. And this mistake of mine can never be undone. Even though I barely really heard the music and only caught a few bits of it, really no excuse will suffice when you bring up Elvis Costello and it's Coldplay. Dennise was standing right there and she knew exactly what I did and she made this sound like she was a schoolgirl who realized I just said something out of turn to the teacher. So that’s a credit I guess to how well she knows me, because she understood that in my mind I had just stepped into a big pile of dogshit. Then Ryan goes into this spiel about who Chris Martin is, and what Coldplay is like, and basically just trying to introduce me to the whole thing. Every second was just unbearable because I really wanted to find a hole to go crawl into. So now we have to move!