Although it's been said many times, many ways

Here we are in the midst of the fastest and--I do believe that old cliche--most wonderful week of the year. I threw a pork roast in the crock pot Monday. One thing doesn't have anything to do with the other. I just thought for historical record it should be noted that I cooked my first roast.

One of the highlights of my holiday season thus far has been having the opportunity to go caroling. I had either never been caroling or hadn't been since I was in school. It's hard to say as my memory gets foggy once you get past November.

Friday night, a group of ten of us loaded up in a rented church van. (Oh, the great tales that have started with that line.) We began by just going to houses of elderly people in the area that one person or another knew. But at the end of the night, we wound up at the nursing home.

Originally, we went there to sing for a specific person, but shortly after entering we found ourselves in an area where five or six residents in wheelchairs were sitting around. It just seemed like we should do something, so we sort of did an impromptu performance right there in the hall. After that, we wound up going to a couple of different rooms.

It was hard to see people who were in such bad shape. I wondered how frequently they had visitors. Or infrequently. I felt guilty when I thought about what my Christmas would be like compared to theirs. The image of a bedridden man mouthing the words to "Joy To The World" as we sang in his room--that will stay with me.

None of us said much as we left. It's hard to put the experience into words. But I think it's safe to say we were all affected. We were all glad we had decided to stop there, and I think to some degree, wished we would have gone there in the first place.

It was a re-centering of perspective, for sure. A reminder to be thankful for what I have. That time and good health are two things never to be taken for granted.

I'm off now to purchase a last-minute gift. I always like to go out to the stores a day or two before Christmas to soak up the atmosphere, be amongst the crowds, feel the cold, and hear Christmas music playing. You know, because I'm deranged like that. I dunno, that's a pure life moment for me. It only happens once a year, and the years--well I've learned to cherish them more as I go.

So Happy Festivus (today) and Merry Christmas from my humble abode to yours. I hope the season finds you in good health and good humor. But especially good health.



"Of all the gifts, love is the best..."

I think I'm turning healthy, I really think so

Update: Dad had to be hospitalized this morning with viral pneumonia, causing them to postpone his open heart surgery for a couple of weeks. Thanks for all your thoughts and prayers and words of encouragement.

At some point duing the past year, I fear I may have turned into a... healthy person.

A year ago, I was filling my grocery buggy with frozen burritos, snack cakes, and Doritos, which for some reason I thought were sort of healthy. I was ingesting Little Debbies like there was no tomorrow, and chasing them with one of the five Sun Drops I drank per day. And I was eating fast food five or six times a week. Then something happened.

I think it all began with the John Tesh-inspired Great American Coke Out, which is more accurately described as the Pretty Decent American Coke Reduction. Then a co-worker brought in some handouts the doctor had given her husband when he underwent bypass surgery. Included was nutritional information for several restaurants and fast food places. It was one of the most disgusting things I'd ever read not involving Andy Dick.

At that time, I had already been trying to eat a bit healthier. From that day on, I cut back to only eating fast food about once a week. My arteries and I are actually on speaking terms again.

Today, I check the label of most everything I buy. I look at fat content, cholesterol, sodium, even riboflavin. I haven't a clue what riboflavin does, but I know 10% of the RDA is better than zero. My eyes light up at words like reduced fat, low sodium, and no preservatives. And fat free, well, I'm not ashamed to say I get a little flush.

Recently, I was given a healthy cookbook, and now I try and cook a couple of times a week. I'm dicing, grating, preheating, and sauteeing everything in sight. It's been good, if not always easy.

Maybe it's because I live in a smaller town, or maybe it's because I live in the South, where ranch dressing coarses thru our veins and we fry everything from twinkies to pickles. But I've discovered that finding things such as frozen creamed spinach in low-fat sauce, 95% lean ground beef, or those little tiny edible corns on the cob aren't so easy to find here. Still, I make do.

Friday night, I made creamy spinach ravioli. Except I used tortellini. I figure I got a pasta ending in -ini, that's close enough. Normally when I cook, it tastes pretty good, but winds up looking like a decroded piece of crap. Never like the picture in the cookbook.

Well, for once, my dish turned out aesthetically pleasing. So I wanted to share it with you. Presenting Bone's first attempt at creamy spinach tortellini:



It's OK if you don't think it's pretty, just don't tell me. I'm proud of it. It's my baby. I'll be glad to send you the recipe. Or perhaps we could do a recipe exchange. I've been wanting to try a radish rose.

And you thought a bachelor's blog would be all General Hospital and random hook-ups with hot girls.

"Greasy cheeseburgers and cheap cigarettes. One day they'll get me, if they ain't got me yet..."

Who's bad?

Today is the day!

Occasionally I wonder if people get tired of reading the same old things here on ye olde blog. Especially when every weekend lately is the same old thing: football, girls, and golf. I mean, seriously, anymore golf and I'd have to change the name of my blog to Greenside Chats With Bone.

Besides, there's more to life than that, right? There's video games and Seinfeld and... well anyway. In an attempt to change things up and show another side of this bachelor you know as Bone (but mostly because I was craving something sweet), I added another element to my weekend.

Friday, I attempted to make some cookies. Unfortunately, I was on the phone while making them. Bad idea. Let's see, how shall I describe the end result? Have you ever bitten into a stick? Well, they were dryer than that.

By the way, on a completely unrelated note, did you know peanut butter can go bad? Sure, it might take a few years, but trust me, it can happen. Who knew!

I also went to the driving range Friday, then spent the rest of my evening watching the South Florida/West Virginia game and image googling Hope Solo. Hey, I gotta fit girls in there somewhere.

One might think that would have been the highlight of my weekend. Think again. Little Joe and I went to play golf Sunday afternoon. I was standing behind my car when he pulled up and opened his door. His radio was blaring "Bad" by Michael Jackson.

My first instinct was to say, "Turn that down before someone hears!" You know, because that's what I do anytime I'm jamming to George Michael or Bobby Brown and I think someone might be able to hear. But I kept my mouth shut. I mean, you take away a man's music, you take away his spirit, his will to live.

As we were walking towards the clubhouse, LJ informed me that he had come across an old Casey Kasem countdown on the radio and that's what he was listening to. Friends, at that moment, I wanted to suggest that we skip golf entirely and just sit in the car together listening to AT40 with Casey. But I felt that would be socially unacceptable, so we golfed.

Sunday night, not to be defeated by my earlier misadventure, I tried making cookies again. Except I didn't have enough of the required ingredients remaining, so I decided to halve the recipe.

Well, I'm not sure if I got confused with the fractions or if some recipes just aren't meant to be halved. I mean, do you halve the cooking time, too? Suffice it to say I was 0-for-2 on baking this weekend. I guess lessons learned during my one semester in 8th grade home ec have been forgotten.

I feel much more at home on the patio. So last night, I grilled, trading in my wooden spoon for tongs and an oven mitt. Apparently, the King of Pop isn't the only one who performs better with one glove.

"And the whole world has to answer right now just to tell you once again, who's bad.."

Grillmaster B

"And so, in honor of the laborer, we do hereby create Labor Day. It shall be a day of rest, upon which the laborer may eat, watch TV, and nap liberally and unashamedly." ~ An unknown 21st Century blogger

I hope you all had a wonderful Labor Day. My day began at the crack of 11:45 AM, with the first order of business being grill assembly. Well, actually the first order of the day was eating a toaster strudel, followed by the second order of the day, showering. But you get the idea.

Once I unpacked the grill and unfolded the instructions, I saw that there were no words, just pictures. Tiny diagrams filled with numbers, dotted lines, and arrows. It looked like a cross between a blueprint and a rebus.

Assaying the situation, I knew that what I had hoped to be a late lunch was most likely going to turn into supper. Or at the very least, lupper. It was an accurate assumption on my part.

The grill was completed around 2:00. It felt good to have assembled something and for once in my life not have any parts or pieces left over. I feel things like this prepare me for when I begin to replenish the Earth with my seed and have to assemble things like cribs, swingsets, and diapers.

Now that the grill was standing on four legs and did not appear as if it was going to fall, it was time to put on my proverbial chef's hat and begin my transformation to Grillmaster B (not to be confused with Grandmaster B, Thighmaster B, or Bed Wetter B).

Every man believes he has an innate and extraordinary talent for grilling, that within each of us lies an ability to achieve pyro-culinary greatness. And I am no different.

There seem to be fewer opportunities in this day and age for a man to find his inner caveman, but grilling is one of those. There is something inherently manly about cooking over an open fire. Something very primitive about providing food for the entire cave.

Standing there yesterday donning my khaki Gilligan hat, wielding a set of tongs in one hand and wearing a decorative pot holder on the other, I can honestly say that I've rarely felt more like a man.

For yesterday, I grilled.

Then I napped.

I am man. Hear me snore.

"And as I think back, makes me wonder how the smell from a grill could spark up nostalgia..."