It's Malarkey with No Reservations Thing

Dear America,

so on this day in the life we will be getting around to the marvelous malarkey; it's really good stuff.

no, scratch that, it isn't all that good or all that marvelous or all that at all.

It's politics.

Here's a good one from just this past weekend's turn of events -- Arlen Specter died.  Oooh G gaffe, right off the bat, too,  Bad girl. Bad girl.  So allow me to clarify, if you will:

He is being generally referred to as a "centrist."  Yes. That is a good one.  A registered democrat throughout his early life when one day he decided to get into politics; long story short, he passed himself off as a "republican" to gain the seat...then fast forward through the years -- making a history of casting rather suspicious votes, voicing contentious opinion against his party -- then finally turning around in a rough re-election bid only to change party affiliation just in time to lose the election altogether.

Specter's political career defines malarkey.   If you were to give it a color -- it would be gray.

Oh that is rich.
Yes!  Indeed! When you put it like that -- He IS a centrist!  Well I'll be, call me butter and slather me on toast.

Rest in peace, Arlen.

More malarkey now; and this one takes us wee, wee, wee, all the way home to the original source:  joker Joe Biden.  Given that tomorrow we get to be trick or treated to the second presidential debate,  unfinished business of the vice president's showing keeps ringing my bell.

While over the weekend I got lucky -- not lucky, lucky, but just lucky to find a sweet and tangy list of the top ten malarkey moments.

HERE YOU GO...eat this letterman-joe.

go ahead.  click away...read it....devour it....savor it...save some for later....

The "10 Lies and Counting" post is prefaced with the following quote:

“‘What I’ve been doing mostly, quite frankly, is studying up on Congressman Ryan’s positions on the issues, and Gov. Romney has embraced at least everything I can see. I don’t want to say anything in the debate that’s not completely accurate,’ Biden told reporters outside a Hy-Vee in Council Bluffs, Iowa.” (Arlette Saenz, “Vice President Joe Biden Says Accuracy Is Key At Next Week’s Debate,” ABC News’ Political Punch, 10/4/12)"

ooooooh boooo "I don't want to say anything in the debate that's not completely accurate," he says with malarkey moxie.

well done.
good one... Mr. Vice President of the City of Vice.

and now thinking back to the big white teeth, smiling like a Cheshire cat ready to pounce, sitting there just shaking his head....wavering back and forth in his chair....going "it's not true, not true" "ah no"  "ah no" "not true, not true"  ah "with all due respect, that's a bunch of malarkey." That last link just sends you to the HuffPost -- so no need to go there really...only if you want to...but talk about a bunch of malarkey...

At least good, ole Joe also said this:  "I always say what I mean."

Scary, isn't it?

From the reprehensible...GO...Mr. "They want to put y'all back in chains"

To a bevy of remarkable video clips...GO..."Mr. The middle class has been buried the last four years" all the way on through the 'top ten to "Stand up, Chuck..."  and simply stunning the entire audience after asking the Senator, a paraplegic, to stand up from his wheelchair.

"I always say what I mean."

Let's hope not.

My girl and me have a thing for Anthony Bourdain...there is just something about the way he moves, man...   While in this moment, all of a sudden, I'm seeing this sharp contrast between a guy who has made a career of living off "a bunch of malarkey" -- from one politician to another to his own -- to a guy who has made it his business to be so honest, so real, so all about being true to the food and the scene.

He is in the middle of the farewell season of his show, No Reservations.

But the thing is, there is never a day when I don't watch him roam a city far and wide that I don't come away with a new reality; perhaps it's something rather small and insignificant, but sometimes it becomes so big, taking on a life of it's own, I can't get it off my mind.  And it's the latter being just the case while watching Bourdain somewhere in France, sometime over the last couple of days...He was in the middle of a field of vines.

It was there where the vintner turned to Tony and said something about the hard, rocky soil the grapes call home...remarking how the conditions are so difficult, so rough, for the little vines to grow -- that the roots must actually struggle every day to find sustenance and water and nutrients -- that it makes the grape more concentrated in flavor.    


Of course, all I can think of is wow -- what a wonderful, wonderful world if those very conditions met the field of Congress each and every day.  But no.  They live in an unending field day, sunrise to sunset, making oodles of money, from investment and favor to salary and expense accounts.  See also  General Malarkey with no reservations here.

Just how hard do they really have it?  huh?  am I right? am I right? huh, am I right?  I'm right, right?

Where is the congressional strife and struggle?  It may be an oversimplification, but without it, real substance has no way of being produced. [and funny how that works for all of us...and yes, I drink my own label]

If I were in charge of the world I would cut the congressional vine right off -- slashing salaries, putting them on bare bones expense accounts, cutting off all kickbacks and wiggle room for personal investment and wealth building, and make them work forty hour weeks in Washington, just to start.  They have this job to SERVE us, the people -- and THIS is what we get?

We seem to be funding malarkey by the barrel...and while perhaps half the country finds our Vice President's debate debut with Paul Ryan something worthy of a ribbon if it were a 'gotcha' and 'bring it' fest...the rest of us are wondering how did we get here?   What an embarrassment he is. Honestly, liberals, is THAT what you like?   what you respect?   Is Joe putting your best foot forward?

Is Obama really a uniter?    We thought he would be -- he had all the right stuff to make it so, or so we thought (in general...old G thang not included).  But that is some kind of malarkey to save for another day, indeed.

Ahh Another favorite moment with Bourdain is flashing before my eyes...

somewhere in Emilia-Romania one day, Tony got a chance to hang his own prosciutto for future noshing [did that come out alright?  to Bourdain worshipers, you know what I'm sayin'...]  -- anywho, he was gonna have to wait, like years, for it to be ready.  But it's there, signed, sealed and dated, as if an everyday ham could be passed down from a long line of royalty.  In the process, the little Italian gentleman in charge began to describe the essence of refining the basic pork shoulder like you wouldn't believe...

first, you have ah, this window here, eh... the air comes in ah from d'north and ah then you have it waft over d'river here, ya see, and then it moves ever so gently through d'window and begins to caress-ah d'little piggie until a rich, sweet, noble mold grows, ca peesh?

He said it better.
But let's not dwell, shall we?

A thing of substance takes time, care, thought.  It needs to be earned -- strengthened and compounded in it's very nature through hard work, toil, struggle, thereby having it's convictions tested in every way, day in and day out.  There is no gray.  There is no middle.  There is no center.  There are only principles left or principles right.

In other words, malarkey has no place under the sun, Tuscan or otherwise.

Ah to have a George Washington grace us with his presence of leadership; to have an Adam Smith enlighten us with his natural law; to have a Jefferson, a Madison, a Paine, a Franklin root us firmly in self-reliance and bring us sustenance.  If there was ever a need so great... this is the time... this is the moment,  for a sweet and noble mold to envelop us and enrich us and bring us home, with no reservations.

happy monday, sweet people, happy monday.

Make it a Good Day, G

For No Malarkey and All Substance everyday:  GO TO THE PATRIOT POST.   
TODAY is no exception...it's a Memo to Mitt...please read...you and Mitt..

Dear America,

"There has never been the slightest doubt 

in my mind 

that the God 

who started this great work in you 

would keep at it and bring it 

to a flourishing finish 

on the very day Christ Jesus appears." 

Philippians 1:6

exuding confidence I am, I am. (yeah right...all over that)


but anyone who knows me -- I mean really knows me -- knows just how funny that sounds; my life is not quite right right now; as a matter of fact, it has turned into one hot mess. Yet, this weekend was ripe with little messages to my soul to keep on keepin' on; and to that end, a very happy monday goes out to you all.


Of course, as we went along our merry little way this past week, a prediction which didn't come to fruition came to pass.  We had thy preacher, Camper (that's Camping and preacher put together) prophesying about the end of the world, DOOMSDAY; that in fact, DOOMSDAY would hit the eastern shoreline by 6 pm Saturday evening --  and judgment day would be served -- prepare!  The media picked right up on it -- everyone had some fun with the idea in one way or another.


And so this morning, the extra sugar thrown in the coffee, that little saunter out to the car to begin the morning commute breathing in the fresh air, the simple kiss on the cheek to your loved ones going off to school (or to the dog!), runs a wee bit softer, sweeter, gentler, appreciating the reality of living to see another day. 

Or, like most of us who paid no mind to the man behind the bible curtain, laughed it off as just another fifteen minutes of fame in a world thoroughly wrapped around the seen and be seen and be seen again, only this time with a wardrobe malfunction, with hell and damnation, or something to that effect.  

The preacher made an outlandish prediction, rushing us to our "flourishing finish" without so much as a smidgen of understanding that it is not even his place to say so.  

Geesh, humans.  We are so full of ourselves, aren't we?.


The Apostle Paul was in prison, circa 61 A.D. in Rome, when he wrote a letter to the Philippians, which would ultimately become part of the greatest book for all time;  Paul called out to all believers, begging them to fear not, to trust in the Lord with all your soul, with all your might, and simply reminding God's people to keep on keepin' on with a joyful heart -- remember, all behind bars, mind you.  It was this very verse (above), right from the get-go, that was quoted by a preacher, Joel Osteen, just yesterday...


Osteen spent nearly thirty minutes, recanting stories and experiences, filling up our hearts and minds with promise, perseverance, making way for hope to endure all things, and summed it all up with this:  "If all is not well, than it's not the end."  In other words,   if you are experiencing doomsday in your own little world, take heart, for God is not finished.


And I just have to retell the story he told of a woman holding tight to her last dying wish -- to be buried with a fork in hand. just trust me. stick with me for a quick corny story, it's a good one -- 


so this woman walks into a bar, 

oopsie daisy, wrong one...

so this woman dies -- and like I said before, her last will and testimony made a strange request of a fork.  

Well, to understand this, you need some background.  For starters, this woman had lived a life revolving around her faith, her church; between quilting circles and community outreach, she spent the better part of her life centered around the joy of communing with friends, fellow congregants, and neighbors, attending god knows how many potlucks and picnics and church buffets.   She always remembered that when it came time to picking up the dinner plates, people were told to "keep your fork."  Why?  for the best part was coming right up, of course -- the dessert.  The flourishing finish to the meal, as Osteen points out.  

SO the odd culinary accessory --  to go along with the floral dress with a flared skirt, the one that didn't make her feel fat... the shoes, the one's only brought out for Sundays and special occasions... and the aqua marine earrings, her birthstone -- yes, and the same one's her husband gave to her upon their first Christmas -- there was a fork.  For the best part, you know, was coming right up.  She had it all planned out. She knew exactly where to put her trust, her faith, her hope, her life.  And truth be told, by all appearances anyway, there was never any doubt.


Oh to be that good at this thing called life.


Now, the misguided preacher may have been wrong, really wrong, but I  believe he had his heart in the right place --  but really, how good on the prediction could he really be -- after all, he is only human.  He was entirely wrong about his prediction, and now, he's got to live with that and move on, while probably facing a buffet line of snide comments and jokes for some time to come.  

All I got to say is he picked it.  
He asked for it.  
AND DON'T WE ALL when it comes to even the unappetizing side of life -- for the most part, we pick it.  we invite it in.  

Sure, sometimes, we jump in without thinking two seconds about it.   While other times, we almost search the buffet of choices over and over, dwelling on it for quite some time before sticking our spoon into something for a big, fat helping of it.  Sometimes the decision is so laborious, it seems like days go by -- should I have some of this or that?  I don't know.   What to do, What to do.  Oh the heck with it, that looks good, load me up on some of that...my mouth is watering just thinking about it...

oh my gosh, but what if it turns out to be too good to be true?  

and it was.  ew. 

But if you really think about it, this preacher is really no different than the 'global warming/cooling/depending upon as the wind blows' enthusiasts -- their predictions  (and some even by learned men/women/scientists), have all come to pass without fruition, leaving their ideas of flourishing finishes totally unanswered, and waiting in a sea of false promises like the rest of them.

Leaving us with the one and only reality worth any measure -- that a promise, or a prediction, is only as good as the one who makes it.  we are only human.  But  God is God.  Only God knows when the end of the world will be.  Only God knows the intricacies of the universe and our planet.  God can do and will do exactly what God wants when it is time.  Who are we to think we know any better.

Our only duty is to recognize how truly little we are and, at the same time -- ladled up with a heaping serving of irony on the side -- just how magnificent we can be.  It is a twisted game of eat this, not that.  Do this, not that.  Believe in this, not that.  And if everything goes to pot, to have faith -- to keep on keepin' on..

Another tidbit of good advice came from a surprising place, during an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations, which was looking a whole lot more like a home on the range.  He caught up with the avant garde living locally in Livingston, Montana -- an eclectic crowd of painters, writers, foodies and ranchers.  And one of the guys spit this wisdom out along with his favorite tabacco, saying:  "RIGHT IS RIGHT even when nobody is doing it; WRONG IS WRONG even when everybody's doing it."


The thing is, when life really feels like doomsday is upon us (and for me, and how! nothing tasty on this buffet these days) the right thing to do, the only thing to do, is focus on the things that are right, and good, and sound, and secure -- and of course, the more reliable source the better.  For, by doing so, we lift ourselves up to the Lord.  This is about all we can do to know, really know, without any doubt, that we are still -- in spite of all appearances to the contrary -- on the right path.  


For certain IS this moment --  now embracing the wisdom and real life experiences of those who have come before us marking the path, showing us the way, being the light.......  

Which could come from someone so great and wonderful as to have lived a life as an Apostle, like Paul, who had the courage to tell all the world, to write about it (and ultimately be jailed because of his faith in the end)....

.... or, perhaps, it comes from the church lady without a name and known only by the rare brand of Osteen folklore, or do I dare say, Forklore (badadump ba) which continues to live on inside each and every one of us when we are open to receive it...

.....or just maybe, it comes from a best friend through and through, who comes along to pick you up just in the nick of time reminding you, you had it in you the whole entire time... as if, all of a sudden, you are wearing Dorothy's shiny red slippers, or something...telling you to take courage, follow your faith, be the light, and just keep on keepin' on baby...a flourishing finish is in the making and at hand.

Which reminds me of something that just might be a suitable final thought for my flourishing finish :

"what we do for ourselves dies with us; 

what we do for others remains immortal."

Make it a Good Day, G

and how about that prediction from a football guy, Ray Lewis of the Baltimore Ravens, saying basically, if there is no football, plan on a whole lot of fire and brimstone, crime sprees, total chaos in all directions.  That what he thinks will happen.  hmmm...and he might be onto something....

Dear America,

happy tuesday

there is always a peculiar sensation that takes over, when in the midst of the week between Christmas and New Year's Day -- or is it just me? 

Granted, this feeling is compounded that much more, given the absence of nearly a week due to the annoyances that come with the common cold;but it's funny how the mind works, it is so easy to get squirrel-ly over the things we wished to have happen in the last year, coupled with the things that actually do, and then combined with that which I have no recollection whatsoever as I was buried in the sheets in a NyQuil slumber.

As the fog lifts, and the business as usual takes hold, all the thoughts of the year almost past, meets up with a glorious southern California day outside, while the future rests in the hands of the destiny yet to be illuminated.

It is exciting, almost invigorating -- yet, the angst and worries of this last year still remain -- so the dichotomy of emotions toy with me; surely pushing and pulling me into crazy town, if I were to let all my inhibitions go at the same time.

The absence of my girl this week is startling and noticeable, as it is just way too quiet; so what does a girl do, when no one to cook for is in the room, let alone in view, a few steps away, or calling out for something to eat in regular intervals -- she watches the Travel Channel, the Food Network -- anything that can take me world's away in a flash.

And may I extend a heartfelt gratitude to you, Anthony Bourdain, who turned out to be everything I ever wanted in a stolen afternoon with no real responsibility to be seen, or heard from, in a day.  As it just so happened, it was a day set aside for a Bourdain marathon! 

One after the other, in some obscure neighborhood across the globe, dining on the sublime to the not so fine, the rock star of being super cool, while eating the innards and out-turds of just about anything that moves, conversing with the locals over shots of whiskey and beer, pontificating about life, liberty and the pursuit of world peace over a plate of good food, made his way into my living room and into my heart.  Totally love struck for the duration, from Vietnam to Columbia, Panama to Tokyo, I couldn't take my eyes off his scene.

Having watched him many times before, something about yesterday was different; I felt a certain self interest as to what he was telling me, personally, and tried to take it all in as if he were speaking just to me, to see where that would lead me...kind of like the old Buddhist saying, "when the student is ready, the teacher appears.."

And there it was, in the middle of an itty bitty Yakitori Bar and Grill, as Bourdain and his Tokyo tour-guide were laughing it up over the nearly raw chicken they were about to put in their mouth, it hit me: the Japanese don't seem to have an FDA, of sorts, they have no regulations on how long a meat must cook, and they pretty much survive, trusting that the restaurateur and the restauran-tee are completely happy and satisfied with one another within the dynamics of a shared experience and commercial transaction.  That's funny, isn't it?

And listening to the Japanese native, describing the daily workings of this one restaurateur was in a word, amazing.  For this little shop in Tokyo, which specializes in simply making yakitori, really, truly, turns the makings of yakitori into an art form (as in most things they do as a culture-- as a people, they inherently lean to finding and creating the natural beauty, no matter what they are doing).

So with great consideration, this yakitori-shogun-chef begins the day, looking over his farm raised chickens, and with his own hands, takes the life from the very chicken he will serve later in the day; with full honor and integrity, following customs passed down for generations, grateful for the bread of life that the bird freely gives, the process comes full circle with life, death, bringing new life, with none of it, as it would appear, being taken for granted.

He carefully trims the meat -- using the bones, the organs, the entire body of the bird for other things -- and makes every meal to order from a place of reverence, for not only the chicken who gave his life, but for the life of the customer who sits at the bar about to partake in it's bounty.  Everything is sacred; nothing is spared attention to detail; while every bite seems protected as if held under some kind of culinary godliness and holiness. 

The yakitori restaurateur serves not only the skewered teriyaki chicken fresh off the grill, but even takes choice pieces to add to a simple bowl of broth and herbs and spices, hardly cooking the chicken at all -- what, as we gasp at the sight of pale pink meat floating at the top of the colorful ceramic vessel -- stop, how can you even think about eating such a thing?!

No worries; as in the natural phenomenon that occurs in the midst of any game of truth and consequences, if the chicken is healthy, if the chef takes good care, if the integrity of the action is safely held from start to finish -- what's to worry about it?  The chef works with honor -- rest assured, if the chef did not, people might die, or at the very least, get really sick, and his business would surely falter.  The consequences of serving up anything less than a delightful meal is far too great, and most of all, beneath the standard set for himself. 

No government regulation is needed, if, in fact, you set out to do the right thing for all concerned (including the big fat chicken).

This land we call America was designed to work like this; funny how far off the mark we have grown.  The A-ratings that our restaurateurs live by don't seem to save us, protect us from harm, or keep us from experiencing the ills of food borne discomfort and complications, sometimes even death.

The only thing that really protects us at this level, is the integrity of every food handler along the way -- and oh the number of hands our food comes in contact...how we would lose count in our complicated world from farm to family.  How we must trust each and every one of us to do the right thing all along the way -- as mind boggling as it may be -- is paramount to the root cause of all that we do, how we do it, and if we will be successful at it from here on out.

Of course, don't even get me started on the lack of regulation against serving an endangered sea turtle at a local cabana bar and grill, on the beaches of Columbia -- hello?  You think Greenpeace, or the like, would venture down in 'dem dare parts to see what's up, just sayin'. 

Or how about the city buses, all individually owned and operated and PAINTED, colorfully and flamboyantly to distinguish one neighborhood bus from the next, who just a few years back were confronted by the Columbian government to ban together, become uniform, streamlined, and "organized" for the betterment of the whole -- and they said NO. no way, Jose, nada, never in my life time. comprende? 

but I digress.

What is spinning in the back of my mind is how so much of the rest of the world has no regulations -- they live and let live, and try as they might to act with honor, respective of their cultural norms and ritual, in keeping with their inherent need to preserve the integrity of their people as a whole all the while! Fantastic. 

America seems to be doing just the opposite these days...

America is the endangered species.

America is the individually owned and operated, multi-colored bus line.

America must return to the A-rating just because...it's the right thing to do; and we don't need government to do it for us, or tell us how, or control who gets what, when and for how much.  The right thing to do never changes; and to that end, having the integrity of finding the natural beauty and honor in all things would serve us well in our days to come.

thank you, Bourdain! 

Hourly packaged in your irreverent, yet compassionate, style, the foreign world you present to us may not be that unfamiliar; for it rekindles the spirit at the heart of things past, present and future, centering from the virtues of family and food and the everlasting faith in who we are, where we came, and where we go from here.

Starting locally, maybe as close as our own cupboards, what we choose to pass on to our children, by design or by consequence, and especially by the love and example we share over a warm meal, is the only thing that matters.  IF we all choose to do it well, with honor -- perhaps even with no reservations -- half the battle would be won already.

make it a good day, G 

and play your song today, click on dear america