Beets Me, Boris

I’VE ADDED “NONSENSE”

To The Search Category On Kuched …

Joining Such Ubiquitous Essentials As: Life – Confessions – Humor – Satire – Shorts. And, The Soon-To-Released Darlings … Ka-Ka-Say-Ional and Meh-Vel-Ous.

Adding Nonsense Seemed Obvious Because I’d Bought 10 Lbs. Of Fresh Beetroot – Beta Vulgaris To The Botanical-centric Smarty Folks … Phytologist … If You Must – Last Sunday.

“Oh, How Betterave, Bertrando.”

FUN FACT / CONFESSION / DELUSION

I Divided A Goodly Portion Of The Bloody Burgundy Bulbs And Dumped A Batch In A Large Stock Pot Filled With Clean, Potable Tap Water The Mama Once Did … And Simmered Until Nearly Tender – So Al Dente, Dante – And “Pickled” The Betelgeuse Out-Of-‘Em In A Brine Of Apple Cider Vinegar, Curated Regret And Look-At-The-Holy-Mess-I’ve-Just-Made-In-The-Kitchen-Carl!

A Local Discount Grocer, “No Frills” – My Once-A-Month Diversion Whenever I Feel The Urge To Stretch-A-Buckeroo Excursion – Was Running a Beet Sale.

“Exactly Who Can Resist The Primordial Pull Of A Beet Sale? Not Me – Enough Reason That I Scooped Up A McChunky Ten-Pounder (4.5 Kg) Bag For $1.99. And, With The Purchasing Power / Means@Hand, I Was Puppy-In-Snausages-Happy To Be In A Blessed Position To Procure The Big Sack.”

At A Fraction Less Than $0.20 A Pound, I Kept Blue Idling Out Front Just In Case The Produce Manager – A Barely Mustachioed Fellow Drabbed Down In A Black & Gold Company ‘Apron-Smock-Lab Coat Uni’ … I’ll Call Phil (Not Phillip) – Ever Got His Senses Back And Stopped The Sale. Okay, It Wasn’t Actually A Beet Sale – More Beets On Special Weekly Promo – But Where’s The Fun In That?

TURNS OUT …

The Big Sack Is A Crapola Bundle Of Beets … Possibly 9 Lbs. Way-Too-Many … For Me.

As One Fully Realized, Rationalized, Non-Marginalized, Masculine-Positive Dudeman With A Reasonable Appetite/Appreciation/Apprehension – Foodie Fondness – For Beets And The Color Betanin, I’ve Tapped Deeply Into My Beet Peak. Betanin = Fancy Pants Red With A Purple Primer = Stainiest Pigment Known To Humanity.

Si, Si … I Donated A Small Heap To My Ragazzi – Uno & Due – When The Kuched Sequels (Male Offspring No. 1 & No. 2) Popped In For Dinner With Dad Last Weekend.

The Rest?

I PROMISE, I PROMISED … PLUG-PLUG-PLUG

A Baby Bundle To Fellow Blogger Das Heidi Of The Honest Design Blog – Ooops, Was That A Non-Compensated Plug For The Upstart Design Diva’s? – But I Haven’t Delivered As Yet.

Heidi Is Ehtch (pronounced: 8’cha) = Heather. She’ll Take Two Bulbs. That’s What She Said After I Asked. I’m Strictly Enforcing A 4-Bulb Minimum. We’re In Negotiations. I’ll Settle At 3 – If She Likes This Post – But She Owes Me, Right?

I Should Also Mention, Das Heidi Has A Partner, Amy-Not-Aimee. Not Actually A Partner Partner Partner – But Still, Never Mind The Semantics – Bee-Eff-Eph’s From The Way Back Glory Days, Which Is KuchedSprechen For They Just Might Be The Next Big Deal You Mayn’t Have Heard About – Yet – So, Get In There And Follow. The Honest Design Blog. Big Creative + Design Talent. Bigger Hearts. Honest-To-Goodness. Really, Next Level Social Media Influencers – Sans Elevated Egos – Making A Ripple-Splash-Quake.

HGTV Will Probably Discover Them After You Do. Shame Lame Blame. Let Eh + Ehtch Know I Sent You. There’s A Big Thank You In It For All Y’alleses. And, A Beet Bulb, Baby.

BORSCHT, BABA!

The Last Time I Made Borchst I Spelled It Borsch Or Borsht.

I Was Single, Living Alone, Ambitious, Full Of Promise/Potential, Full Of Poop/Popcorn … And, Happy-Happy-Happy …

Like I Am Today – Just Not 21 – And Way Poopier.

“And, I’m Back – Beguiled By Borshch – With A Multitude Of Varietal Spellings. Here’s Another 3-Take: Boarsche. Boresht. Borished.”

BUT, FIRST THERE’S STOCK TO BE MADE

A Reality Unravelling Behind Me – Over My Shoulder – In My Newest Kitchen Darling:

A Sensible-Sized 5-Quart Proper Dutch Oven. Old School Slow-Cookery.

“I Swiped Online For A Value-Quality – Roll Back / Don’t You Damn Think About It / Screw Cognitive Dissonance – Option From The Beautiful People’s Republic Of Walmart. We’re Enjoying A Temporary Truce After My Jacked-Up Licorice-Flavored Valentine To Them Whenever That Was …”

It Comes Courtesy Of The Pioneer Woman. In The Greatest Color Ever Baked On Enamel-Coated Cast Iron Cookware – Aqua – Call It Teal, Even Once, And We’re Not Friends Anymore. Ah-Kwuh. Og-Wah?

POURQUOI PAS ‘LE CREUSET’?

Being A Shameless Fan Boy Of The Iconic French Brand Le Creuset Has It Limits …

For Instance And Assorted Whatnots, How Can I Justify Spending Over $600 On A Pot? For The Oven. Well, I Can Because I’m Genetically A Self-Indulgent Dink With Materialistic Consumerism Leanings Whenever I Start Jones’ing/Wang’ing Over More Crap I Don’t Need. But, Here’s The Inflammatory Rub: Am I That Daft A Dumbass?

“Please Submit Your Answers/Best Guesses In The Comments Section Below. Remember To Hashtag It: #NotSureWhatYou’reTalkingAbout. #Yep. #LittleBit. #Sure. The First 1,000 Correct Answers Will Receive A Complimentary Digital Copy – Free-Download Code – Of The Preamble To My Never-To-Be-Released Bio, “Delusions Of Adequacy: Da-Da-Da.”

… Just When A Pretty Darn Good Ol’ American – Made-In-China – Specimen Costs Significantly Under A Cool Hundo.

IS IT JUST AS GOOD?

I May Never Care To Know … It’s A Question I Don’t Believe Warrants A $500 Premium To Ante Up To Find Out.

Or, Put Another Splendid Way:

“Would A Good Cook … Cook-As-Well … As A Good Cook Could Cook … Could A Woodchuck Chuck Wood … With A Less Premium Brand?”

Auguste Escoffier May Have Claimed Otherwise Asks My Inner Julia Child.

Image by Anna Sulencka from Pixabay

Shoo-Shoo, Fly Boy!

IT’S TIME TO SCRAM, MR. TONY BOLOGNA

Anthony Has Over Stayed His Welcome At The Grotto

My Humble Abode With A Lovely View Of A Nice Suburban Park Across The Street.

Perhaps, That’s The Appeal To Him – An Uninvited House Guest – A Petulant, Little Pest With No Self Control.

“… ‘T-Bone’ Is A Common House Fly – Musca Domestica – Meh, Hardly Rare, Dude. At Last Global Inventory, He Was About 1-In-17 Quadrillion … 15 Zeros To The Bean Counters.”

IMAGINE THE CRAZY ODDS

Of Us – Tee & Mee – Meeting?

17,000,000,000,000,000:1

“And Oh, So Unapologetically, Clingy – I Don’t Do Well With Clingy – Or, Clingetty-Clingsters … Any Type Of Cling/Clung/Clink/Clank/Clunk … Hey, Is ‘Clunduggery’ A Proper Word?”

I Need My Space – Fly-Free – Shoo-Shoo. Also, I’ve Never Tried Shoo Fly Pie.

TEE’S BEEN BUZZING AROUND …

Flapping His Tiny Wings And Parking His Diptera Sticky Under Carriage All Over My Joint Since Saturday Morning …

Sure, I Left The Front Door Open – It Was A Pretty Day And I Felt Like Letting Some Of My Love Out To Mingle With Nature – But, I Don’t Remember Pitching A Sign Suggesting:

“All Free-Loading Members Of The Suborder Cyclorrhapha Are Welcome.”

I’m Not Running An Airbnb For Cheap-Ass Migrant Muscoidea.

MUST HE FOLLOW ME TO THE BATHROOM?

Wait While I Finish Showering? Loiter On The Counter When I Shave? Touch Everything?

Lounge On My Bluetooth Speaker? Thumb Through My Curated Spotify Spotifly Lists?

He Likes Funk-2-Funky – So, We Have That Bit Of Cool In Common – And, Tee Dances … Moves Like Jagger With Wings.

“Dancing Fool, I Miss Him Already. Please Don’t Tell Carl V.”

Photo by Yogendra Singh from Pexels

Faux Bee-Yah’s

FAKE FEARS?

Yep, We’ve All Got One Or Two We’re Harboring

Claustrophobia I Can Do Without: I Once Thought I Was Claustrophobic. This Silly Charade Lasted Three Or Four Decades.

It Turned Out I Didn’t Like My Own Company – Self Diagnosis Gone Way Wrong – Obviously, I Get Along Splendidly With Myself Now.

“So, Am I Really Afraid Of Enclosed Spaces?”

NOT.SO.BLOODY.DAMN.MUCH

That I Need To Write About It – More Irksome In The Under Carriage – Than Freak-Me-Flat-Outish.

Also, It’s Not Something I’d Ever Include On My Curriculum Vitae.

Or Brag About In A Blog.

“Perhaps, A Podcast – You’ll See – Though It’s Not Going To Be All About Me.”

FUN FACT / CONFESSION

I Successfully Gestated In A Womb For 3 Full Seasons …

With Nothing Much To Do, But Bide My Time Suspended In Perpetual Day Dreams And A Placenta Buffet – And Didn’t That Work Out Remarkably Well? – Once I Hatched.

“Alright, I Don’t Like Dancing-At-Heights – I Prefer Loitering On Terre Firma – My Pretty Toes Planted Firmly On The Ground.”

But, Fear? C’Mon, Now.

OH, ME … OH, MY …

I’m Dreadfully Fearful Of Stupid Though …

Being Selectively Dumb Isn’t My Thing – Or, Blissfully Ignorant – Not A Wise Life Strategy.

“Why In Tarnation-To-Betsy-&-Eugene Would Any Fool Wish To Play Dumb When Being Smart Is Within Reach?”

That Doesn’t Mean I’m Not Open To Trying It Again – Just Not Today – Because Monday’s & Stupid Don’t Mix.

Photo by Everton Nobrega from Pexels

Oktoberfest: Meine Lederhose Diary

TODAY MARKS THE 38TH ANNIVERSARY

Of Missing Oktoberfest In Munich. I’m Not Happy – I’m Not Over It – I’m Not There.

This Year I Have Another Excuse For Missing My Only True Bucket List – Letzte Wunschliste – Item.

The Planet’s Largest Volksfest Is Cancelled. It Should Be As Obvious Is The Answer To Why 6 Million Celebrants Should Stay Home.

So, I Will Netflix & Chill My Way Through The Next Two Weeks. Yeppers … Bratwurst & Sauerkraut – Get My Schnitzel On – Nosh On Chewy Pretzels.

I’LL PROBABLY ENJOY A BEER

Definitely-Not-Pumpkin-Spiced – A True Beer That Rhymes With Erdinger Dunkel Weissbier – Best Illustrated By The Product Descriptions I’ve Lifted Straight From The LCBO:

“Deep black/brown color with thick head; aromas of coffee, toasted malt, caramel, spice and banana; medium-bodied and well carbonated, with a velvety texture; toasted malt, dried fruit and spicy notes on the finish.”

Erdinger:

“This elegant wheat beer has a lustrous, deep dark-brown appearance in the glass. The first sip reveals a harmonious symphony of carefully selected wheat and barley malts with exquisite Hallertau aroma hops. The taste buds detect hints of caramel, nuts and fresh bread. An unmistakable top-fermenting accent is provided by ERDINGER’s traditional yeast.”

And My 42nd Favorite Blogger … Me:

“As Above … The Perfect Weekend Breakfast Beer … Pairs Well With Camembert & Pears, Or Obatzda – My Lips – And Tummy. Best Enjoyed Responsibly With Company – Now Or Whenever – 100% Pepita-Free. Christmas In A Brown Bottle. Occasionally Available In My Cantina.”

I’ll Be Donning Traditional Tracht … Waxing Back To My Faux Austrian Roots – My Maternal Grandmother Was Born In Austria Of Ukrainian Heritage – Close Enough For Me, Ancestry.

And, Visit Das Schmitt Haus – Hans Jr.‘s Joint Up In Hali (Northern Ontario) – Like I Said I Would, But Haven’t, Yet. He’s Reading This.

Noch ein Bier, bitte! 

Image by Couleur from Pixabay

Picking A Pseudonym

I’M NOT A FAN BOY OF PEN NAMES

Made-Up Monikers Sound Smuggly – Pretentious-As-Frangipane – Obvious In The Most Unnecessary Way.

“Like Picking Apples. Why Bother When One Juicy Red Nugget Will Eventually Fall From The Tree If You Hang Around Long Enough? Its What Die-Hard, Cracker-Jacked ‘Fruitarians’ Do … Loitering In An Orchard Waiting For Fruit To Drop On Their Melons … When They’re Not Waiting For Seeds To Pop Out Of Their Tightly Closed Pods … And Into Their Wide Open Pie-Holes.”

As A Side Dish, I’m Planning On Going Apple Picking Soon. As In Likely Tomorrow. To A Local Fruit Farm Where One Must (Actually) Pay To Pick Their Own.

Never Mind For Now … Spoiler Alert: It’s Almost Autumn. Harvest Time. I’m A Reducetarian/Flexitarian Damn It. Not A Fruitarian. I Don’t Play By Their Rules.

ANYWHOODLES

Unless You’re Enrolled In A Witness Protection Program – Who Isn’t These Days? – Or Forced/Elective Incognito Status. Hates Their Dumb Birth Name? Or, Can’t Remember It …

I Don’t See The Point On Scribbling Under An Assumed Name.

Sure, If You’re J. K. Rowling And Decide To Go Way Off Genre And Write Shitty Adult Erotica … Go At It, Hermoine.

“Wait, J.K. Is A Pen Name?”

IT’S POSSIBLY NONE OF MY BUSINESS

What Some Folks Choose To Call Themselves …

“I Didn’t Have A Choice With Kuch – Sure, It’s Cool As Warm Butter Tarts & A Chilled Root Beer In A Frosted Mug – Way-The-Effigy Better Than The What It Was Supposed To Be And Thankfully Wasn’t, If Only Papa Lothario Manned Up And Paid For The Privilege To Name His Son … Yeah, I’m Still Ripping On The Father Who Wasn’t.”

And, Besides, I Look Precisely What A Kuch Should Resemble.

Dontchathink?

NOM DE PLUME

Qui?

I’m Getting Ahead Of My Self – Two Words – Same Guy.

So, I Made A List. Crossed Out A Bunch. Can’t Decide.

“Wanna Play? Help Me – Help My Self – Choose A Name That Doesn’t Suck. Open For Suggestions. Except Cassandra (Taken). K-Drizzy (Done That). Or, Kyle.”

HERE WE GO NOW

There’s Meh To My Madness …

I’ve Included A Few ‘No Yo Ditten’ Selections

Goofing On Celebs

Ligation-Proof.

MY FAVS?

Doug Las Velveeta

Vichy S. Soise (The Name Is Ssoise. Vichyssoise.)

Clementine Ste-Augustine IV

Miguel Escobar Patron

AND THESE CELEBRA-CENTRIC DITTYS …

Wylie E. Wabbit

Tim Kruise

Free Oprah

Broose Kardashian

I’M THINKING …

Xavier Bertrand Americano

Chino Pantaloons

Milo-Milos Moo-Moo Ma

Buck Barista

MONO MONIKERS

Tangelo

Booyahka

Cecchi

Oodles

Image from Pixabay

Whyn’t?

IS AN UGLY-SOUNDING CONTRACTION …

Of The Words “Why” And “Not” – It’s A Fact – Brought To You By The Duo Of Obvious & Yuck.

Who Says ‘Whyn’t’ And Gets Away With It?”

It’s Like Daren’t – Another Nefarious Dweebescent-Dinkish-Doofussy Word I Can Do Without – I Do Not (*) Trust Most Contractions. No, I Don’t (*).

Except “Loven’t?”

Now. There’s A Pretty Word Poorly Disguised As A Rhetorical Question, Isn’t It?

With An Obvious Answer. Yesn’t!

Image by aliceabc0 from Pixabay

Want to Get the Ultimate Handwritten Set of Thank You Notes? — Borden’s Blather

Then you’ve come to the right place. I first wrote about the wonderful non-profit organization, DonorsChoose, over five years ago. In fact, it is one of the posts that were part of my initial foray into blogging through a 30-day challenge. Here is a bit of an excerpt from that post: Imagine making a donation […]

Want to Get the Ultimate Handwritten Set of Thank You Notes? — Borden’s Blather

Elephant Farts & Ass Mints

IT’LL COME BACK

I Don’t Know What’s Up With Me?

Or Why The Elephant-In-The-Room Keeps Giving Me Sleepy Side Eye As If I Nibbled On His Bowl Of Hot Porridge While It Cooled And He Snoozes Like A 6-Ton Breathable Brick.

Damn Those Gassy Pachyderms Dropping Stink Bombs – Floating Air Biscuits – When They Nap.

I’d Like To Blame My Shooting Literary Blanks – Blanking Out – On The Weather. The Pandemic Deserves Its Share Of The Discredit, Too. The Truth – My Beautiful Truth – Is … I’ve Never Been In A Better Place In My Life.

I’M ONE

Happy, Purposeful, Content Little Creature Roaming My Patch Of Earthly Paradise – Loitering, Really – At The Precise Cross Hairs Of Jim & Dandy. Happy & Shiny. Meh-Less & Fabby Tastic. Living In The Darling Zone.

“… The Gooberish Alternative Reality Though Is That This ‘Writing Thing’ Just Isn’t Happening The Way It Once Did. ‘Its Not Serious, It’ll Pass, Mick’ Is The Convenient Lie I Keep Perpetuating.

Much Akin To The Time I Denied The 4-Year Stretch Of Writer’s Block I Nursed Through Way, Way Back … Before It Passed And Words Fell The Hell Out Of Me.

The Second Hyperbolic Thesis Is I’m More Fluid And Proficient As A Writer When I Scribble From A Point Of Pain, Not Joy.”

I SUPPOSE, I MAY, I MIGHT …

Make Peace With Dubya Pea’s Newish Block(Head) Editor – Used Here Under Duress/Protest Because Of The Unnecessariness Futility Of It – That Would Help Plead My Case Of Simple Works Best / Don’t Try To Fix Shit That Isn’t Shit By Killjoying What Was Once A Pleasure.

Also, I Shouldn’t Talk To Imaginary Elephants. What This Magnificent Lump Of Love Laid Out At My Feet Keeps Telling Me. No Matter How Many Peanuts He Bribes Me With

And Trying To Plunge A Jumbo-Size Ass Mint Up His Posterior Orifice?

C’mon Now.

Image By Pixabay