Over Yonder

     I am not a food snob. Hell, I'll eat just about anything. My wife won't eat anything with a bone it. I am an adventurous eater. From baby octopus to raw oysters, I love it. Neither of those have bones. However, my wife doesn't eat them either. My son, Jackson is an adventurous foodie like me. We'll try anything. I haven't eaten many things that I don't like. In fact there is only one dish that I can think of that I won't eat again. Kimchi.      I haven't eaten Kimchi in about 30 years. It's a rancid dish from hell. I would rather eat the gelatinous globs that form on the edge of Bourbon Street puddles at 3AM on Fat Tuesday. I can't imagine a more horrible taste.      Tonight I ate a steak that was delivered to La La Land (our apartment for those that missed my earlier blog post). The steak came in a bag and was delivered by a guy that looks like he hit a hookah with his buddies while cruising backroads in central Alabama in a 1982 Chevy Ci

     I have been asked why I named this blog "Over Yonder". Over Yonder is southern slang for "over there". To me it means "just a little out of reach". With our current situation, our normal routines and desirable living situation seem to be just a little out of reach.      Along with this blog, I have named the house that we are building "Over Yonder". It's there. We know that it is a reality, but at times it seems like an unreachable dream. A dream that is slightly out of reach at the moment. I have named this apartment (the one with the pee pad porch and combination rooms) "La La Land".  We aren't merely residents of La La Land. We are captives. Prisoners within the walls of our second floor dwelling.      I was in Wal Mart last night. I got off work at a decent time and planned on smoking a cigar and having a beer when I got back to La La Land. My wife sent me a text while I was on my way home. She asked me if I would sto

     "Verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" is a sound that greets me on occasion. It doesn't bother me, but apparently it strikes fear in my teenage daughter. It's not just the sound that affects her. It's everything that comes along with it that gets to her. "Verrrrrrrrrrrrr". I don't mind the sound. In fact, I find it kind of soothing. It allows me to truly express myself. I have read to that sound. I have enjoyed deep thought while hearing that sound. But mostly, I have relaxed to that sound.          Making the best of a situation can take on many forms. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, right? As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I am currently living in a world of combination rooms. This has been a struggle. It really has. The cramped spaces and the loss of privacy can be annoying, stressful, and uncomfortable as Hell. These are "lemons". I have a teenage daughter that is building a middle-school social life...Let's make "lem

     There was a time when I wouldn't fruit my beer. It wasn't a manly thing to do. There was  also a time when I would only drink full-bodied beer. Sitting on an apartment porch that is covered in dog urine could be considered manly, maybe. It could. OK. OK, it's not. Yet, here I sit. A Corona Premier with a lime in one hand and a spray bottle of bleach-water in the other hand. Corona Premier is too wimpy to even be called a "light" beer. The yellow spots on the pee pads have a haunting presence.      I light a dark wrapper cigar to regain a portion of my manhood. I don't have a hairy chest, but I do have a few hairs around my nipples.  Van  Halen plays on my playlist. So, there's that. Some semblance of testosterone is fighting its way through.  I guess. That's where I am at right now. A cigar and hairy nipples. I will enjoy the moment. I will embrace it. The cigar will eventually be gone and I may pluck my nipple hairs. Not to mention the fact that

     Garlic stuffed olives are both delicious and disgusting. I love them and I hate them. I am indifferent about lettuce. Sorry lettuce, like rice, you are merely a filler. Garlic stuffed olives, however, rile my senses. I love olives. I love garlic. Mix them together and I hate them. And I love them. They are putridly delicious. I am popping one in my mouth right now.      Holes. Why do we have to put stuff into holes? We can't control ourselves. Got to fill the hole with something. We fill pot holes with asphalt. We fill holes in our teeth with fillings. We fill swimming holes with water. Metaphorically speaking, we sometimes fill holes in our lives with alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, anger, etc. Unless we have our lives right, then we fill those holes with family and God. The fine folks at the Mezzetta company filled the holes in these olives with garlic cloves. I wonder how many things these folks have shoved into their olive holes. I wonder if they have ever stuffed bacon into

     Ever wonder what happened to all of those people that lived in "Melrose Place"? You remember the show in the 1990's, right? The young people. The happiness. The sexiness. The drama. What happened to them? Where did they go? Why did the show end?      I am eating a "Joey bag of Donuts" and washing it down with a Coke Zero. There is a Moe's Southwest Grill right across the street from our current residence. Our current residence is a place that I call "After Melrose Place".      They put a lot of rice in this burrito known as the "Joey Bag of Donuts". I like rice. However, too much rice in a burrito can make you feel like you are being cheated. Let's face it. Rice is basically a filler. It's pretty much tasteless. A bland vehicle to carry brown gravy to your soul. Well in this case, it is a burrito filler that makes the "Joey Bag of Donuts" seem like a large bargain.     Stephanie and I just got back from the pool

     Sisu. It's a word that doesn't have an actual equivalent in English. It stands alone. Gracie and I text this word back and forth from time to time. Of my three children, she embraces her Finnish heritage the most.      Sisu. It has a lot of meanings. Grit, endurance, tenacity, determination, resilience, and bravery are just a few words that embody the concept that is Sisu. There is a saying in Finland that says it best "It doesn't take sisu to go to the North Pole; it takes sisu to stand at the door when the bear is on the other side."      The Kristoff Maduro is not from Finland. It is from The Domincan Republic. It is dark and robust. The Miller Brewing Company is in Wisconsin. It is a fine pilsner. The Wheaton Terriers that are on the porch with me right now are from Missouri. The pee pads are from Wal Mart. The dog turds are from the Wheatons. It doesn't take sisu to enjoy the cigar and the Miller on the pee pad covered porch amongst the dog droppin

     While living in Baltimore several years back, I was introduced to Magicicada Septendecim. Like my children, the  Magicicada Septendecim will sleep for years before awakening to make a lot of noise. A LOT of noise. My children are better known as Trey, Jackson and Gracie. The  Magicicada Septendecim are better known as the 17 year Cicada. They all make a lot of noise. A LOT of noise.      I could go all scientific here, but I won’t. The North Eastern U.S. is overtaken by these tree bugs every 17 years. They come out of the ground or wherever and shriek incessantly for weeks. My kids do basically the same thing. They lie dormant in their dark cavernous bedrooms for what seems like years only to emerge and shriek incessantly for food or money.         John Secada is another creature. Not to be confused with the shrieking of the Cicada or my teenage children, Secada had a hit single in 1992 with “Just Another Day”. It was a catchy tune. I was extremely disappointed in 2009 when h