let's start with a metaphor, shall we?

Chinese New Year: The Water Dragon!

2012-01-28T08:35:00.000-08:00

Crashing Boar, or Me to a T?

2012-01-27T11:28:00.001-08:00

30-Jan-1911--17-Feb-1912 - Element-Metal(-)

27-Jan-1971--15-Jan-1972 - Element-Metal(-)

The BOAR - Chinese name: ZHU

Ranking Order - Twelfth

Hours ruled by the Boar: 9pm to 11pm

Direction of this sign - North-Northwest

Season and principle month: Autumn - November

Fixed Element: Water

When encountering the Boar, we sense his or her quiet sincerity and purity. He is so honest that he feels guilty for the slightest error, and he is more indulgent and forgiving of others than he is of himself. He is without artifice or pretense, and dislikes forcing himself on others or being the center of attention.

Chivalrous, gallant, obliging, scrupulous to a fault, he is naive, innocent, confident, and defenseless. He allows himself to be duped easily, accepts his own faults calmly, and those of others with tolerant understanding. He is incredibly sincere, almost to the point of doing himself harm, and always disarmed by the bad faith of others. He lies rarely, and then only to defend himself. Powerless against hypocrisy, he will often crucify himself in an attempt to justify his actions. He is an absolutely straight dealer and it's very rarely that he will accept a compromise. Ironically, though the Boar believes without question whatever anyone tells him, he is always finding it necessary to produce proof of what he himself asserts!

People born in the Year of the Boar have a taste for la dolce vita. Possessing a strong sense of luxury, they can be extravagant and take great pleasure in pampering themselves and their loved ones; they delight in the stimulation of the senses. However, when they need to work they will get right to it. At these times a half-hearted attitude just won't do; where they're concerned, it's all or nothing.

Like the Monkey, the Boar is intellectual, a character with a great thirst for knowledge. He reads a lot, but reads anything that happens to be around. Although he appears to be well read, the Boar's knowledge is only superficial. Referring to this, a Japanese proverb says that the Boar is "wide of face but narrow in the back."

The Boar is sensitive, caring, and indulgent. Not only intelligent and cultured, the Boar also has a streak of bawdiness and earthiness. Their various indulgences can verge on gluttony. Unlike the conniving Machiavellian pigs of Animal Farm, Chinese Pigs tend to be helpless and insecure. During fat spells they suddenly lose all and are unable to defend themselves, much less attack others. Boars in general are lucky but lazy.

Boars can be very practical, logical and down to earth. They may at times be considered somewhat cool and reserved because, blessed as they are with composure and self-control, they don't usually allow emotion to cloud the issue. They are cheerful and love company and social life. They find it very easy to make friends and also seem to hang on to them for life. For them the Boar is capable of the greatest sacrifices. He is extremely considerate of the chosen few who do merit his affection. The women of this sign like nothing better than to make presents for people and organize parties; they are marvelous hostesses.

Whatever his ambitions may be, whatever the tasks and goals he has set himself, the Boar will do his duty with all the strength he is capable of, and that same strength can be an inner force to be reckoned with, a force that nothing can oppose. Once a Boar has come to a decision, nothing can stop him from carrying it out.

But before he arrives at it, he spends ages weighing the pros and cons, which sometimes gives the impression that he is indecisive. Nothing could be further from the truth, but to make sure he is avoiding any possible complications, he will sometimes ponder for so long that he destroys his own case.

Untiring workers, Boars will succeed in their careers, especially if they are their own boss. Because they like to accumulate ancient objects and fine pictures, they might become art dealers, specializing in antiquities. Their aim is to live in relative affluence, both for themselves and their families, and to enjoy the pleasures of life.

Materially, the Boar will always have all the necessities of life, regardless of his chosen career. Work and money in sufficient quantities seems to gravitate his way without his having to make any particular effort. People will help him all his life, and thanks to this help he will be able, if he wishes, to reach the highest heights in the financial world.

Popular superstition in the East says that people help him thus just to fatten him up so he will make a better meal over the New Year. Because of this, the Boar may be overly wary and trust nobody. If the Boar's birth date is a long time before the traditional feasts, he will escape a lot of the disappointments in store for him. However, the closer it is to the Asiatic New Year, the more he will be betrayed, ridiculed, duped, and perhaps in the long run, eaten!

Though generally tolerant and fairly placid people, when absolutely backed into a corner, Boars can turn vicious. When they find that their friendship and good nature have been seriously abused, they will give no quarter and that friendship will somewhat unceremoniously be cut short. Perhaps they can be accused of exhibitionism, of being flirtatious and even licentious at times, but there is no doubt that Boars in general are very good sorts -- honest, decent, generous, supportive, loyal to their friends, and thoroughly trustworthy.

The first phase of the Boar's life will be relatively calm. During the second, every conceivable conjugal problem will be visited upon him. But whatever his troubles, the Boar, discreet and shy, will never ask anybody else for help; he'll try to get out of the mess by himself. His reticence in this respect may do him harm, for nobody will even suspect the torment he's going through.

Under the influence of the Metal element, he is proud and passionate, with overpowering sentiments, valuing his reputation. He is intense and demanding and may have excessive appetites, lacking in refinement or tact.

He exerts little control over his personal life, is very social and demonstrative with his affections. Pure-minded, he tends to underestimate his enemies and overestimate his friends.

Ambitious and forceful, but not necessarily objective, He can be a dangerous opponent, violent in expressing his anger or resentment. He does not take defeat graciously.

I'm a Metal Pig...

What's your Chinese Zodiac sign and Element?

Visit: http://www.metaphysicalzone.com/china/index.shtml to find out!

Double Happiness Meatloaf

2012-01-27T09:31:00.000-08:00

Potluck with Michael Patrick McKinley

Re-Published From the October 2010 edition of Stacey's Hot Dish

I've never been a ketchup on meatloaf kinda guy...

When Stacey told me he was planning to "skew Asian" for the October edition of The Dish, I scratched my head for just about a minute. I've been having a life-long affair with Asian cuisine, but a signature dish of my own to share with you? I didn't think I had one.Then I remembered my meatloaf. This is a recipe that's been evolving over time, but started as a simple turkey meatloaf about 15 years ago. You know, the kind with Lipton's Onion Soup Mix .

Only one night on it's way into the oven, I realized I had no BBQ sauce to glaze the top of it with, and I don't do ketchup with meatloaf. Meat pies however, are another story! I digress...

I foraged through the fridge to see what I could substitute for that sweet-salty, caramelizing factor I'd be missing without the BBQ sauce. Then suddenly, there it was. Like a cartoon style light bulb moment, the jar of Hoisin sauce imprisoned in the door compartment beckoned to me to set it free, and slather it across my ordinary turkey loaf. The result was sensational, and I haven't seen Sweet Baby Ray since!

Of course you can bake this in a loaf pan, but why? When you plate these little lovelies, streak each plate with additional hoisin sauce, then place 2 on each plate [one sitting on its butt, the other playfully tilted on it's side], and sprinkle with some chopped cilantro leaves. To me, meatloaf is a very Autumnal meal, so I love to serve it with baked hard squash that's on the naturally sweet side, like Buttercup or Hubbard, and finish the meal with roasted Brussel sprouts.

Make these for your next dinner party, and your guests will not only be impressed by this Asian inspired twist on an American comfort food classic, but your clever presentation too!

1 1/2 lbs Ground Turkey
1 1/2 lbs Ground Pork
2 eggs
1 tablespoon fat
1 small sweet potato, very finely chopped
1 tablespoon seeded and minced jalapeno
2 tablespoon minced dried onion
2 teaspoons Chinese five spice
2 teaspoons soy sauce
1 tablespoon chili garlic paste
6 scallions sliced very thin
1/2 cup minced water chestnuts
1 1/2 cups panko flakes
hoisin sauce

Preheat oven to 375

Saute minced jalapeno and sweet potato in melted fat [I like to use butter or bacon fat] just until the potato starts to soften. Meanwhile, place all other ingredients in a large mixing bowl (except hoisin). Add sauteed potatoes and jalapenos, and mix with hands until all elements are fully incorporated. Pack mixture into the compartments of a 12-count muffin tin, mounding up over the top of the fill line. [The "meatloaves" will shrink as they cook, and release fats and juices.] Liberally smear the crowns with hoisin sauce, and bake for approximately 30 minutes. They should shrink away from the sides of the pan and the tops should caramelize.

Let them rest for 5 minutes, run a knife around the edges to ensure easy release, and remove from tins.

"Quote, Unquote" #3: BE

2012-01-14T17:25:00.000-08:00

"Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary."

~ Sir Cecil Beaton

ARE YOU READY....For Season 5?!

2012-01-13T19:37:00.000-08:00

Season 4 of Killer Bee Cassandra McShepard's vlog THIS IS WHAT I KNOW SO FAR came to close a couple of weeks go, when I uploaded the final installment "He Meant You". After filming 4 Seasons in just 2 years, Cassandra took a little break to concentrate on her hit television show Real Milwaukee, and work on other exciting projects (Details are forthcoming!). But if you're jonesing for ALL NEW episodes, I'm thrilled to let you know that we are currently in preparations to film SEASON 5 this February!

This teaser clip I made for Season 4 now feels like a wonderful look back, and makes me very excited to be getting behind the camera once again...

Blog Discovery: GET MUMMY'S PURSE

2012-01-12T16:09:00.000-08:00

Hello Gentle Bleaders, and Happy New Year!

Its been forever since I shared a blog discovery with you and have decided the best way to start off our new (4th!) year together, is to share someone NEW with you! Born and raised in England and currently residing in London, William Godwin's work is sometimes fictional, frequently confessional, and always engaging. William imbues each piece {even the shortest ones} with his signature style and delicious sense of humor. My schedule permits very little reading for pleasure these days, but Get Mummy's Purse has become a regular must-read.

"In The Beginning" is one of my favorite pieces from last year. I do believe his writing will charm you, just as it has me. 'You are too speaking Charles Spud.' Bless. And bless you William for this absolutely delightful journey through a time machine...to a world full of rectangular ice cream cones and cigar boxes full of of magical loot. I absolutely loved it. I know my readers will too. Enjoy kids!

In The Beginning

In the beginning there was an eye patch - or as they are called these day an eye pad. There were cowlicks, a seventies style void filled with manmade hand me downs, there were tortoise shell NHS specs, and there were fish fingers, mash and peas. (Well actually in the very beginning there was a stripy sausage, num num and nim nim but more on that in the 2^nd pressing perhaps.)

Later came Snantneys (otherwise known as St Anthony’s), swimming, buck teeth, Cornettos, bicycles, Rise and Shine and Adrian, not necessarily in that order and still with the cowlicks and the NHS specs.

So I had cowlicks, I had specs, I had nasty knitwear and I was fed, but how did I get about? Even fashion orphans need wheels. Well, though I was only 3 I did in fact have a very flash car indeed, which went by the moniker of ‘Tommy Rally’.

Tommy Rally was a very special racing car, with a very special chauffeur. Although I liked to think that I was the driver, I was really only the passenger, although most definitely the back seat driver (Royal blood don’t you know). The real driver, pit manger, fuel attendant and mechanic, nose blower and ice cream buyer was Clare, (Great) Aunty Clare.

Tommy had quite a thirsty engine and I would regularly direct Clare to top him up with petrol. This would usually take place at the filling station by the hedge of no. 26.

The sketchy stories I have been able to piece together about Clare, mostly from my Mother, spotlight a life of highs and lows with a key final position as my chief assistant and team Tommy manager. She had been a housekeeper in fashionable swanky hotels in central London through and after the war. She had been married, her surname was Hastings, and had a son Kenneth, who she had to give up. He came looking for her later in life but was shooed away by her family - probably my Gran - Clare’s sister, so they never reunited. It was all a very sad tale, and so no wonder she liked a drink.

When she came to Leamington in later life, pretty much without anything I think, looking after me filled a void, gave her something to do, and distracted her from the Gordons.

Mrs. Franklin’s

In the mornings I went to Nursery. Mum was working in Birmingham forging signatures for a charity trying to help young ladies up the duff not go the termination route, but instead provide them with jobs and homes, leaflets on marriage and priority access to nuns. We had many such young ladies come and live with us throughout my youth and they were all lovely. One, Carol, her mum used to do the hairdressing on the Carry On films! Patsy was a model, Laura had a lovely son Daniel and a guitar or was it an accordion, Margie was Irish, very tall, and had the straightest long hair, Suzie had bleach blond hair with black roots, platforms and smoked. She came to Widemouth with us I happily recalled when I was there last year.

My only real memory of Mrs Franklin’s was of being ‘evacuated’ to a hall in Trinity Street and having milk and biscuits in a line, in beautiful sandals. Although as with most things this might all be down to false memory syndrome, ‘you in a wood in a hood’, and be based on a photograph I may have seen of one of the others when they were at nursery. But suffice to say I have never required the services of a therapist in order to deal with my time there, and although I have no real memories apart from the afternoons, I believe it all to have been warm and appropriate, with lots of colouring outside of the lines and tissue paper glued onto sugar paper. I don’t remember any of the other kids, although I do remember two friends from that time who could have been from there or they could have been the kids of people Dad worked with or played golf with. One was Victoria Selby, who lived in Landsdowne Crescent and had a red plastic tomato with ketchup in which I remember thinking was the height of advancement and excitement. We probably didn’t have ketchup at the Gables as it was a bit ITV. I don’t remember anything else about her. The other person is Charles Budd. Again I can only remember one thing about him, and that was being in the back of mum’s car - Triumph Toledo I think, and he wouldn’t stop talking. My early onset impatience had obviously taken to tire of this and I uttered the immortal line, repeated by my Mother ad infinitum for years, hence the clear memory, ‘You are too speaking Charles Spud.’ Bless.

FYI - this gorgeous child I write of was referred to later in life by my sister Mary as ‘rat on a string’ but I imagine I was wearing a bright jumper and looked half presentable following bath night. ‘You were lovely when you were asleep’ I was oft told.

The Afternoons

Now the afternoons were the jewel in the crown. Aunty Clare would pick me up from Nursery and we would go the 300 yds back to her flat in Bertie Terrace. There she would finish preparing lunch, and we would wait for Gran to come back from mass. Then we world sit at the big table me in the middle, Gran to my left and Aunty Clare to my right and we would have, thank the lordy lord, always and everyday and without fail we would have fish fingers, mash and peas. And I think for pudding it might have been tinned fruit and cream (carnation). All served on blue Beryl.

After lunch we would go to the Dell, which was a sunken garden, more like a hidden valley in the middle of town, where there were swings. Why were swings such nectar of the Gods, the holy grail of activity? We would then traverse, all in Tommy Rally I think, but again, that might have been earlier and some of these journeys might have been on foot, to the post office for sweets - cherry drops are pleasantly burnt in my memory. We would then get a bus, yes a bus, to the Parish Church - Anglican but we asked for the other menu. From there we would meander to the Jeffs and gardens (also known as the Jephson Gardens). Here was a magical world of adventure and intrigue. As a toddler it was as big as a theme park and the rides were just as various and mind blowing. Oh my, what fun. There was the stone fountain, which allowed for paddling in the hot weather, there was the drinking fountain where you could get a drink (strange that), there was a mausoleum stylee building with a statute of some old bloke (Mr Jeffs And I believe) there were box hedges in squares with park benches in between which acted as my house/office, there were animals - parrots and bunnies, all in great Victorian animal houses, there was a lake with huge dancing fountains and ducks to feed, there was a clock tower, and a clock flower bed, there was a huge glass café which sold ices and minerals, there was a mammoth tree with branches snaking down to and across the ground which made them easy to climb even for mini adventurers, and importantly there were ice creams - rectangles of ice cream in rectangular cones. Oh the joy and the excitement, the exhilaration and the fun. My heart is racing just remembering it all which means the joy must be deep etched in my subconscious.

It was a world of adventure and exploration and Clare and I made the most of it, as often as possible. The gardens were split both by level and by a lovely iron bridge, brightly painted blue with a mesmerizing weir you could lean through the bridge and watch as the water passed from the lakes down to the pump rooms and the river Leam. On the other side of the bridge were the mystical and far away swings of Mill Gardens. We didn’t venture there too often, it was another world and ‘miles away’.

Once back in the flat the afternoon had other delicious routines. First of all there was treasure. Aunty Clare had a great big treasure chest filled with lots and lots of treasure (old cigar box with a few trinkets in) which we would go through like pirates examining the day’s spoils. Then there was the musical box, which I still have! A glorious red lacquered box from Singapore I believe which played ‘Comin’ through the Rye’. I would happily wind this up and listen to it over and over again. All these bacchanalian treats, adventuring and discovery would finally tire out this intrepid explorer, who would settle down for a nap on the bed in the sitting room which was topped by a firm green cover so it looked like a sofa without a back rather than a bed, with ‘hundreds’ of bright yellow satin cushions. A lambs wool cardigan would be placed over me which smelt sweetly of Clare and I would rest, while she had a B&H and maybe a sneaky G&T. My Gran would also take a nap in her room so it was probably golden time for Clare.

Then it was back home and to the madness of the family - my other life. But the secrets and the treasures of my afternoon with Clare would come round again, tomorrow whilst the others were back at school, and mum and dad were back at work. The magic would be played out once more and further adventures would be had and more fish fingers and ice creams would be eaten. Oh the sweet joy!


For more GET MUMMY'S PURSE, follow the link!

http://getmummyspurse.blogspot.com/

Musical Treat of The Week- GIRL PANIC !

2012-01-12T14:31:00.000-08:00

Your first musical treat of the year: Sex, drugs, and Duran Duran.
There were some episodes, but I'd rather not talk about them...

Bright and Shiny

2012-01-08T15:01:00.000-08:00

When the big shiny ball drops in Times Square every New Year's Eve, millions upon millions of people make resolutions for the year ahead. I'm definitely a resolution maker. And yes, I'm one of those people who finds it easier to start a diet on Monday, or quit smoking the first of the year, and so on. This sort of system for success appeals to the procrastinator in me.

The last couple of years I've actually been successful with my New Years resolutions. This past Monday marked 2 years without a cigarette, and in 2011 I lost a total of 39 lbs. More than half of which I gained after I quit smoking. So what about this year? No need to break my stride!

I'm an Interior Designer. An artist. A gay man for crying out loud.

I love bright and shiny things. Be it a crystal chandelier, a glittery Christmas ornament, a happy soul, or the occasional handsome fella. We've already determined that I'm a procrastinator. Now add chaser of bright and shiny objects to the mix. Why its amazing that I can get anything done! Easily Distracted may just be my middle name. Although I prefer Patrick.

I truly believe that in 2012 my endeavors with Cassandra will not only continue to flourish, but that they're going to explode. Not just because we've worked so hard, but because the timing feels so right. Almost divinely so.

So the other day we were in her car on our way to our weekly breakfast meeting at the IHOP (What, this surprises you?), and the subject of New Years resolutions came up. I told her that this year I wanted to exercise some discipline. Perhaps acquire some wisdom even, on the subject of bright and shiny objects. You see I'd been pondering, and it occurred to me that some of them are worth the distraction and the chase...and some are just illusions. Or delusions. And it would seem to me that given my age ( I am 40 now, after all ) and with all that I've been trusted to do for and with her- I'd better figure out the difference.

She turned and looked at me with knowing in her eyes, and said "Might I suggest that you've become the bright and shiny object? And that everything your heart desires, everything that's bright and shiny is coming your way? You don't need to be chasing a thing." Being the sentimental sap that I am, my eyes instantly welled up. And then I acknowledged her assertation as TRUTH. Why wouldn't I? Besides, she just made my New Year's resolution a whole lot less work!

I love my girl, I do.

And a diet is always best started on a Monday...

This may just be the brightest, shiniest year ever.

"Quote, Unquote" #2: Peace of Mind

2012-01-07T19:24:00.000-08:00

And The Winner Is (Drum Roll Please) !

2012-01-04T18:57:00.000-08:00

Michelle Paduganan Lopez of Santa Maria, California is this year's winner of the $40 gift certificate from Penzeys Spices! I personally would like to let you all know that at our holiday gatherings, Michelle's prediction that we would "watch them disappear" came true. Aunt J's Maaaagical Cookies are indeed just that. Oatmeal, chocolate chunks, and copious amounts of peanut butter...you might be able to convince yourself that a pair of them makes for a square breakfast- like I did twice this past week! With coffee, mmmmmm. By the way they kept nicely in zip storage bags all week, and I would imagine they freeze well too.

Thanks again to everyone who submitted a recipe (Pamela Anderson- gurl those Peppermint Snowballs!), they were ALL delicious!

The recipe can be found in our recipe box:
http://killerrecipebox.blogspot.com/

A KILLER CHRISTMAS

2011-12-27T06:19:00.000-08:00

We've got that holiday feeling...

THE HAIR: A Christmas Story

2011-12-21T05:52:00.000-08:00

Some man had trifled with my heart and I was sure it was breaking. Or aching. Or something that it wasn't supposed to be doing. This wasn't my first romantic failure, and it wouldn't be my last. I was on the phone long distance with my Mother crying the blues in her ear, and I could tell she wasn't in the mood for it. Of course that didn't keep me from going on. And on. Bored and exasperated she finally said "Honey, I don't what to tell you. At least you'll always have Stacey."

It was December 14th, 1985.

I was at my very first gay party, a Christmas party hosted by my new friend Bobby Herd. Now Bobby was about 24 or 25 at the time and though I looked and acted rather mature for my age, I was just 14 years old.

Bless his heart, Bobby knew I wanted so badly to meet other people "like me", and he took a risk inviting 2 minors (my only other gay friend Joel aged 15 was also in tow) to an adult party where lots of booze (and other party favors) were being served. That fateful night I would meet a fistful of people who would shape my future and remain close to me for many years. But none of them would leave a mark on the landscape of me as indelible as Stacey.

I was crouched on the floor browsing a stack of vinyl when a voice boomed from over my shoulder "You got any Madonna? Play some Madonna!" I looked up to find the raddest, most exotic looking person I'd ever seen with my own eyes. We were both permed and in-between bleachings, suffering from painfully yellow hair. Did I mention it was 1985? He explained that he was a cosmetology student and that he was going white for Christmas. I played some Madonna for him and he was on his way. A short while later he circled back to me with intent.

"Hey. My friends and I will buy you whatever you want if you go to the liquor store and buy us some beer." When I told him I was only 14, he looked at me with disbelief and said "WHATever" as he pivoted on his heels and disappeared back into the party. Moments later he and his entourage of infinitely cooler people were on their way out the door, presumably on their way to a cooler party where beer needn't be solicited from uncool 14 year olds. Stacey Abillie was 18.

His clique tried like hell to avoid our less polished motley crew, but over the following year our paths occasionally crossed. Most famously in Los Angeles at my first attendance of a gay pride parade. By then my hair had moved onto a fiery shade of red, but his was still yellow- only now on purpose. Chrome Yellow by Sebastian to be exact. On an asymmetrical mohawk. He sauntered up to me in the 90 degree heat and asked me (in my pink cotton jersey mini-dress) "What's in the bag hon?". But it was Christmastime once again when it all finally clicked.

Through the suggestion of our only mutual friend Mark Farrell, Stacey ended up seated squarely at my Mother's kitchen table to help decorate Grandma Furman's Christmas cookies. I think we both wondered what in the hell he was doing there, but there he was.We had our first real conversation over frosting and jimmies, and suddenly for both of us it was like discovering a long lost limb.

Our mothers were both blonde haired, fair skinned, green eyed Catholic girls from Wisconsin who were half French, and half Irish.We excitedly exchanged numbers and as soon as he got home he called to tell me something else he'd forgotten to mention. We were on the phone until the sun came up, and from that night on we were thick as thieves.

I was completely fascinated by his every move. He walked so tall in his own shoes, and I followed him around in awe. I didn't want to be him necessarily, but I sure wanted to be like him. Confident and artistic. I'd never met anyone who could dream as big as I, and now at last I had a partner in crime! The cliques that once held us in separate camps were forced to commune, and the most amazing family of friends ever was co-created. Turns out we weren't so different after all.

When he first started coming around the house, my Mother accessed him with great apprehension. Just who was this outrageous looking young man with whom her young and impressionable son had suddenly become inseparable from? She referred to him as the The Hair. "Michael, The Hair called. He needs you to call him back." "Where are you going tonight? The Hair stopped by and said he'll be back to pick you up at 7." It wouldn't take but a few weeks and she was under his spell too. Since they are easily the two most influential people of my life, it seems so right that they shared a loving camaraderie of their own, completely independent of me. By March, The Hair was doing hers.

What to wear, what to wear...

In 1987's Santa Maria there was little for a gay teenager to do but anticipate the next house party. Much thought was put into wardrobe for such occasions and we were even known to drive (or hitchhike when necessary) to LA to buy color coordinating cigarettes from the Nat Sherman store. If Stacey wore one yellow sock and one pink sock, then the smokes were yellow and pink. Yes we were that gay. And we were fucking awesome. However a personality like Stacey's was far too large for our small town, and it wouldn't be long before the siren call of the big city would take him from me. One Friday in August he announced that he was moving to LA. On Monday.

For weeks after he left I moped about. Mom said "He's only 4 hours away, you can visit him all the time if you want." "I know, I said. But its not the same."
I'd lost my limb.

9 months later and armed with a fierce determination to propel myself into adulthood, I moved to Los Angeles. I was barely 17. My Mother was beside herself with fear, but without involving law enforcement there really was no stopping me. She entrusted The Hair with her last born and proceeded to spend the next 2 years sending biweekly care packages with Eric Freitas. Or Lonnie Frye. Or whomever she could get to make a trip down to see the boys. 20 years later I would overhear him at a party, reflecting back on that time when he had felt such a responsibility to look after me because I was so young. He continued on to say that truthfully it had been Michael who had looked after him. I suppose we've always looked after eachother.

We lived a tumultuous and sometimes thrilling life as roomies in LA, but it wasn't always easy. There was plenty of drinking, drugs, and rock n' roll going on at any given moment which caused inevitable drama. And we didn't always get along either. As MJ once famously sang, "I'm a lover, not a fighter", but Stacey holds the distinction of being the only person I've ever fought with. We used to have fights so ugly, we made other people cry. Then we'd forgive and repair. Because that's what family does. Through the course of it all we also let each other down. Hoisted each other up. I do believe that no one has ever made me laugh harder. Seriously, if you've ever experienced us in the same room, then you know this shit is funny. Laughter is important in any relationship, dontcha know.

When I was 20 I left LA and moved to Milwaukee. The madness of the lifestyle I was immersed in seemed like a potentially disastrous course for me to stay on. And I hated the smog. Go back to Santa Maria? I don't think so. I longed to escape to a place where the seasons were markedly different and there were white Christmases, like the ones I'd seen in the movies. It was scary, you know. To leave my family, my friends, Stacey. But I did it and it may have been the smartest move I ever made, figuratively speaking. 11 years later Stacey would finally heed my begging call and follow me here. He loves to bitch about how I forced him to come to "this place". Truth be told he loves it here, except for Winter which is like half the year. I hear about that too.

In many ways we're like an old married couple now. It's an interesting observation that while we still finish each other's sentences, we are far less alike than we used to be. Currently, he's having trouble understanding where my obsession with details and perfection has disappeared to. It makes my life much easier, but it stresses him out! We grew up and into ourselves, but never apart. I love that.

It was March, 2006

I had flown to California at my siblings behest. The human form of the spirit I had known all my life as Mother was about to expire. She was only lucid the first 2 days, and then hospice started her on the morphine. She lingered in the hospital bed which had replaced her own, in what had been her room for 44 years. She was so incredibly frail. We only expected her to last another day or two, but she wasn't yet ready to go, and at the end of the week I needed to return to work. I went to go sit with her for awhile before my flight and say goodbye.

I sat on a chair next to her bed and held her hand and talked to her. She was completely motionless and hadn't uttered a word in 3 days. I was just about to leave for the airport when in a dramatic moment (Oh, she was good for those) she suddenly turned her head towards me and her eyes flew wide open. She looked me directly in the eyes and said with absolute clarity "You tell Stacey I say hello, and give him my love." Just as quickly as her momentary animation had seemingly sprung her back to life, she closed her eyes and drifted right back into the morphine. Those were the last words I ever heard my mother speak.

So many people, places, and Christmases in-between. How do you reduce 26 years of history into something as long as what you've just read? Well you can't, really. Someday when the book gets written there will finally be a place to share these stories, the story of us. Its a good one, and I promise not to sanitize myself or the role I played. It wouldn't be nearly as interesting. Or funny.

This Christmas we are 40 and 44. We look great, by the way. Stacey's sporting a really short, smart haircut. Me? Well I just have allot less of it these days.

Last night we sat at my kitchen table and decorated this year's Round 2 of Grandma Furman's cookies. We talked allot about our Mothers. Stacey lost his in June. About things. About the future. I remarked about how I thought that moving here would fulfill childhood fantasies of powder-coated Winter wonderlands, and how the reality is that over the last 20 years snow for Christmas has been an infrequent occasion.

Once again the forecast for this Christmas is calling for sunshine, but no snow. It seems that white Christmases and friendships that last a lifetime are rare and special. But you were right Mom. I'll always have Stacey.

Moms know things, they do.

Up On The Rooftop

2011-12-20T15:16:00.000-08:00

I like the way this kid thinks...

LONDON (Reuters) - A worried letter from six-year old Leo Park sparked a mammoth operation to test what is believed to be the world's first chimney specifically designed to accommodate Santa Claus.

The little boy's parents are having a house custom built and when Leo viewed the plans he was concerned that the chimney wasn't big enough for Father Christmas and his famous belly that shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly.

As he was penning his traditional letter to Santa, Leo decided to also write a heartfelt missive about the chimney design problem to Jeremy Paxton, who owns the estate on which the new house is being built.
In childish scrawl the letter reads: "Dear Mr Paxton, I am worried that my mummy's house does not have a big enough chimney. I think Santa Claus will get stuck. Please can you help. Love Leo Park."

Paxton, founder and owner of luxury holiday home development Lower Mill Estate in the southwestern English region of the Cotswolds decided to commission a special formula to satisfy Leo's concerns.

Obviously size was the key consideration to ensure Santa won't get wedged tight on his way to stuffing the stockings and so Paxton enlisted a mathematician to take on the challenge and save the jolly old elf from turning red for the wrong reasons.

The Santa-friendly formula looked at risk factors of chimney entry, the size of St Nick's girth versus the width of the chimney at its narrowest point.

To test what they said was the perfect chimney, Paxton enlisted the help of a stand-in Santa Claus in full padded outfit, a crane, a harness and winch to put the new chimney through its paces.

Leo was invited to watch as the great experiment got underway.
"Go on Santa" he shouted out as the faux Father Christmas was lifted into the air towards the chimney.
A few seconds later and Santa was successfully lowered into the chimney of the half-built house, re-emerging shortly after to deliver a hearty: "Ho Ho Ho."

"I can guarantee that this chimney is big enough for Santa and all the presents," he told Leo.

An excited Leo gave a thumbs up to the St. Nicholas impersonator and rushed to hug him.

"I'm absolutely delighted not just that Santa fitted into the chimney, but that that little boy, Leo, said to me: 'That was the best day of my life' which made the whole thing worthwhile," said Paxton.

The Park family won't be able to inhabit their new holiday home until next December, just in time to get the milk and biscuits ready for their very special Yuletide visitor.

(Reporting by Georgina Cooper, editing by Paul Casciato)

Grandma Furman's Cookies: THE RECIPE

2011-12-11T08:38:00.001-08:00

When my maternal Great-Grandmother Rose Ferguson Furman came over from Ireland over 100 years ago, she brought this recipe with her. It wouldn't be Christmas without them, and the ritual of sitting around the table and decorating them is a tradition my siblings carried on with their children, as have I with my circle of friends... it's a much anticipated event! Even in lean years when the only gift I could afford to give was cookies, we've had them.

It's a hearty, DELICIOUS, and curious cookie. Sort of a hybrid between a spicy gingerbread and a molasses. The first year I made them by myself I was 15, and I over-baked ALL of them. I suppose it was a right of passage, and my friend Eric Freitas dubbed them Grandma Furman's Hockey Pucks!

I never knew my Grandma Furman, she passed away the year before I was born. But I can only imagine that it would tickle her to know that the recipe she passed down, the one she simply wrote "Brown Cookies" on the index card for- would be loved and enjoyed by so many people all over the country. In another century, another millennium! Thanks Rose, from all of us.

THE RECIPE

1 1/2 cups shortening
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
3 eggs
1 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1 1/2 tablespoons cinnamon
1 1/2 tablespoons ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon lemon extract
1 cup robust molasses
1 teaspoon baking soda dissolved in 1 tablespoon boiling water
6 cups all purpose flour

Cream together shortening and sugars. Beat in eggs. Add spices and extracts, then molasses. Dissolve baking soda in water and stir in. Add the flour, one cup at a time. USE A STURDY METAL SPOON, OR MAKE IN A STAND MIXER. The 5th or 6th cup of flour will be the end of a wooden spoon!

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. On a floured surface, with a floured rolling pin, roll out grapefruit sized balls of the dough to 1/4 inch thickness. Rose's daughter, my Grandmother, always said to me "Don't be afraid to roll them out nice and thick!" I like to use simple, broad shapes for my cutters. In fact, I now only make circles, diamonds, and trees. As you can see from the pictures, you get lots of decorating possibilities from 3 simple shapes! Space 1 inch apart on parchment lined cookie sheets and bake for 8-10 minutes. Yes, they bake quick and all ovens calibrate a little differently, so watch the first couple of trays carefully, and scope out the bottoms just to make sure. They will puff up and turn a paler shade of brown when they are close. Remove cookies promptly to cool on racks, or on brown paper bags. When cool, stack like shapes together and store in an airtight container until ready to frost. HELPFUL TIP: If they over bake (and become crunchy when cooled) throw a few slices of soft bread in the container and let them sit with the cookies overnight- that should soften them up!

THE FROSTING

These are not delicate cookies, and they should be frosted, not iced. Here's what we do...

Beat together 1 stick of room temperature butter, 1/2 lb powdered sugar with 4 tablespoons of milk. A 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla is optional. I don't like the way it messes with my colors! The consistency should be smooth and creamy, but thick. If it's too thick add a few drops of milk at a time till it "gets there". If it gets a little runny, add a little bit more powdered sugar. You get the idea. Divide amongst smaller bowels and tint to desired colors, but leave some white. The white ones are pretty too! I achieve my rich and funky colors by using a combination of liquid and paste food colors.

THE METHOD
A basic table knife is your best tool. Place a nice sized dollop in the center of the cookie, and working from the center outwards (with just the tip of your knife) spread it towards (but not over) the edges. It should be a nice layer so the cookie doesn't show through the frosting. I find that if I leave a nice little "reveal" of brown around the edge, it has a great finished look.

Festoon with festive sugars, jimmies, and any other edible baubles you can find. Just try not to over do it. Personally I'm in it for the cookie, not a mouth full of crunchy decorations!

When the frosting has "set" (a couple of hours) store them in single layers between sheets of waxed paper, in an airtight container. If you keep them sealed up, they'll keep beautifully for a couple of weeks!

Musical Treat of The Week

2011-12-11T08:32:00.000-08:00

CHRISTMAS TREATS!
I'm sure that after 3 years together you're well aware of my love for the holiday season, and especially Christmas music! Though this tender ballad by Mindy Smith came out in 2007, its new to me this year and already has a special place in my heart. Enjoy.

Jolly

2011-12-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

Holly, Jolly, and All That Jazz.

You know me. I'm the friend who's most likely to see the silver lining when you're too funky to even notice that there's clouds in the sky. I'm your go-to guy for a pep talk, your "anythings possible!" man. And trust me, I really do believe that. But life isn't always roses and rainbows (shameless Julie Budd reference, I know), and even Killer Bees get the blues. I recently had an unpleasant blip on my radar. Over the course of just 10 short days I had two friends pass away (one expected, one not) my dream vacation was ruined and had to be postponed until next year, and a prime business opportunity slipped right between the fingers of myself and my business partners.

Can I tell you that for about a solid week Burl Ives could kiss my holly, jolly ass?

With Christmas just weeks away, I was about to acquire an unprecedented case of Bah Humbugism. Yes, rosy-cheeked me who always manages to make plum pudding out of dried prunes just in time to save the holiday, was starting to think "Meh, Christmas." There's a handful of people in my life who have little time or tolerance for the exuberance of the holiday season, and manage to suffer through each year with gritted teeth and a ticking stop watch. I love them, but I'm not much interested in trying to become them. I say to the Scrooges of the world "Why are you so mad at Christmas? I mean seriously, what did Christmas ever do to you?"

A Holiday Round Table

There's been a recurring theme in discussions lately amongst myself and several friends regarding the subject of expectations vs. disappointment. In case you haven't heard, expectations lead to disappointment. This notion (and sometimes fact) is the subject of much fascination to me, and fodder for debate.

While its true that the source of much our pain is disappointment based, it is impossible to go through life with no expectations. Expectations and aspirations (and all of those other good ations) are key propellers through the journey of life. To further my point, I believe that if you expect nothing, you're usually going to get nothing.

It is a YES universe, after all.

I guess the key is to keep them realistic...and not hold any person or situation responsible when things don't work out the way you had hoped. Including yourself. Maybe everything doesn't happen for a reason per se, but everything is exactly what it is, and exactly what it is supposed to be. Whether we like it or not. So just how mad at Christmas (or anything for that matter) are you going to be?

Hostage Crisis (averted)

Work with me for a minute , will you? I want you to think of The Universe as Santa. They're both magical, so its plausible...

I'll give you an example. There's really only one thing I want for Christmas this year, and I don't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of getting it. So does that mean I should hold Santa hostage for not fulfilling my expectations? While I'm tempted to do so, it would be truly unfair. To both of us. Besides if I'm honest this has been a year so rich, so full of blessings that to throw a tantrum at this point would only reveal what a spoiled rotten brat I am. Nope, not me. I'm leaving milk and cookies for Santa because I want more than coal in my stocking. So much more.

Its all perspective, and the one I choose to adopt is my decision too. You know what? My future's so bright I gotta wear shades. Who am I to wallow in petulance during a season of cheer when my cup is running over with it? If I practice what I preach, then my list of things to be thankful for is pages longer than the post-it note of disappointments that one 10 day stretch brought. In fact a stretch like that can come along simply to remind a person of everything that is shiny and bright, merry and well.

I've been making that list and checking it twice.

And you know what kids? Its all jolly good. Yes, jolly indeed.

From the bottom of my heart I'm wishing all of you and yours the very same (roses and rainbows too) this beautiful holiday season.

Be well my friends, and be jolly ~

Michael Patrick

Christmas Past

2011-12-04T10:35:00.000-08:00

For those of you who pine for the splendor and joys of holidays past, here are the links to my holiday archives. Recipes, videos, and musings aplenty-
Merry, merry!

HOLIDAY 2009

HOLIDAY 2010

Musical Treat of The Week

2011-12-04T09:23:00.000-08:00

This Christmas, I wanna hang out at Judy's...

A CHRISTMAS TRADITION: The Bloody Olive

2011-12-04T08:57:00.000-08:00

Returning for a 3rd year, is our very own holiday tradition here at Killer Bees Make The Most Delicious Honey! Dir. Vincent Bal / Belgium / 1996

The classic Christmas short film noir with inevitable twists and turns. Mylene and Werner are going to make their flat up for Christmas. Then Sam comes with a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Sam tells Werner that he knows Werner has stolen money at work. Werner murders Sam. Soon afterwards, Sam is alive again and it looks as if somebody else would have to die. Who's fooling who? Winner of the Grand Prix at Clermont-Ferrand International Short Film Festival.

Our 3rd Annual KILLER COOKIE CONTEST !

2011-12-04T06:29:00.000-08:00

Does your best holiday cookie recipe hold rank with our 2009 winner Helen McGreevey's
Glazed Fruitcake Drops?

OR can it hang-delicious with Bryon Stewart's 2010 winning entry
Chocolate Spice Cookies?

Well here's your chance to find out!

Send your recipes (pictures aren't necessary) to me at m.mckinley@rocketmail.com

Entries must be received no later than Saturday December 17th.

Once again the winner will receive a $40 gift certificate to Penzey's Spices that can be redeemed in any Penzey's retail outlet, or on their website.

Come on now, don't be shy... The oven's on and The Bees are ready to nosh!

HOLIDAYS by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

2011-12-03T21:19:00.000-08:00

The holiest of all holidays are those
Kept by ourselves in silence and apart;
The secret anniversaries of the heart,
When the full river of feeling overflows;--
The happy days unclouded to their close;
The sudden joys that out of darkness start
As flames from ashes; swift desires that dart
Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
White as the gleam of a receding sail,
White as a cloud that floats and fades in air,
White as the whitest lily on a stream,
These tender memories are;--a fairy tale
Of some enchanted land we know not where,
But lovely as a landscape in a dream.

STACEY'S HOT DISH PRESENTS: Pie Crust 101

2011-12-03T19:38:00.000-08:00

Are you intimidated by homemade pie crust? I know I was, for years... and trust, I'm no slouch in the kitchen! Well its been many years now since my I set my flaky inhibitions free, and I've never looked back. Now OF COURSE its easier to open a box and unfurl a ready-made crust into a pie plate. Believe me, there's absolutely no comparison in flavor, texture, or oral ecstasy. Its so worth it Beezers!

In the first video Stacey shares a simple but showy blueberry nectarine gallette that will impress your holiday guests anytime of the year! In the second, he removes the mystery shrouding the perfect pie crust. Enjoy!

Pass On The Turkey

2011-11-17T20:56:00.000-08:00

I truly have the most amazing friends in the world...

In the 23 years since I left home, I can count on 4 fingers the years I didn't host and cook Thanksgiving dinner. One year I had 22 people and served in 2 shifts. It's my signature dinner, and I could prepare it with one eye closed and a missing leg. Under anesthesia. Anyone who's attended one of these superlative feasts will tell you its the best damn Turkey dinner they've ever had, and that my green bean casserole creams the competition. Sorry Mom, even yours.

Friends are the family you acquire after you grow up, especially if you never marry. Or marry and divorce. Two or three times, for all intents and purposes... It is this family I speak of that has populated the dinner table for all of these feasts. One of my favorite traditions was born on Thanksgiving, in my first apartment on Martin Drive. Each year everyone writes down what they're thankful for and slips the note into an urn I keep on the mantle, and no my Mother isn't in there. She's at my sister's house. On her mantle. Anyway after dinner but during pie, Cherrie reads the slices of gratitude aloud. Inevitably, someones sister has survived cancer, or a son has returned home from the war. We all get a little misty. Me? I always seem to be thankful for the same thing. A houseful of friends, of family.

For my 40th birthday, Jeffrey offered to take me to Europe for the first time. He's been a slew of times and decided that not only did I need a vacation, but that I needed a VACATION! He suggested the last week of November, and at first I didn't even think about it being over Thanksgiving. When it dawned on me that I wouldn't be around to put on the spread, did I suddenly grow sullen and nostalgic for the 20+ years of tradition and camaraderie? Um, no. I'm like bitches please, the brine recipe is in the archives. I have a plane to catch! Smooches.

Always the type to be prepared for spontaneous international travel, my first passport expired after 10 years without a single stamp in it. The second one was stolen in Indonesia with a (fresh) stamp from there, and one from Japan. It was a trip for work, but an adventure nonetheless. Hence stolen. Its replacement has been patiently waiting in the top drawer of my nightstand (sandwiched between The Power of Now and certain unmentionables) for 4 years waiting its turn at customs.As you can imagine my excitement has been palpable.

So then what does one do when their travel partner is suddenly (and unfortunately) unable to travel abroad? Well, when its Jeffrey you say yes when he insists that you go anyway. Because he loves you, and knows you need it desperately. So this Thanksgiving I'll be in London, preparing a very different kind of dinner, for my wonderful new British friends. William is a vegetarian, so no turkey. I've also discovered that certain key ingredients for a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner are exotic across the pond, so I've crafted a menu that's a deconstructed version with nods to the key flavors, sans the bird of course. And I'm packing my Penzeys. If you know you know, and if you don't, then Google it.

My life was very different a year ago at this time. Last Thanksgiving was one of the ones I can count on the 4 fingers. Time heals many things, and honest gratitude manifests more things to be thankful for. Remember that. I personally don't know at this point how I could ever forget, for the power of gratitude has proven magical in my life. Someday, I'll tell you all about it.

In the meantime I have a suitcase to pack, squash to roast, and a plane to catch!

Did I mention that I have the most amazing friends... in the world?

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving everyone.

An Evening With Phoebe Snow!

2011-11-17T19:14:00.000-08:00

I had known Poetry Man my entire life before my friend Jeffrey Elliott introduced me to the rest of Phoebe Snow's musical legacy . It was love at first listen. Her intriguing voice and artistry was matched by an equally intriguing backstory. The world lost a true talent when Phoebe passed away on April 26th of this year, a mere 60 years old.

This Saturday the 19th of November, Jeffrey is producing "AN EVENING WITH PHOEBE SNOW" at Davenports in Chicago. It promises to be a a very special evening and program, and will feature the magnificent talents of Julia Merchant, Becky Menzie, Laura Freeman, and my favorite Chicago Chanteuse Ms. Alma Mendoza. I can hardly wait.

For more info on the show follow the link: http://davenportspianobar.com/

Look for me in the audience, swaying to the beautiful sounds...you can buy me a drink.

And the next time you see Jeffrey, be sure to ask him about the Kimono he made for Phoebe, its a really great story.

CBS Sunday Morning, 2008

Germany, 1989

Hey Old Friends!

2011-11-05T21:40:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit it.

My big splash back into the deep end of the blogosphere went down more like a belly flop.

I honestly thought I'd be able to carve out a little more time for y'all...and yes that was ambitious. Excuses aside here's some more....and I do encourage you to keep checking back in because we're going places, you and me. And trust me, you'll want to be along for the ride. If we don't see eachother again before Thanksgiving ushers in the madness of the Season, then I promise it will be shortly after. And we'll get all caught up. Just like old friends.

Michael Patrick

How Do You Makeover Perfection?

2011-11-05T19:23:00.000-07:00

That's what Killer Bee fan Dan Sylvester said on Facebook the other day when I posted this teaser pic for Cassandra's website. It's getting a sexy makeover by fierce web designer, newlywed, and honorary Bee Cindy Malin, and will feature all new photography by Doug Krimmer. We hope to have it up by Thanksgiving, so stay tuned! Meanwhile her hit show Real Milwaukee remains a ratings champ, and Season 4 of Cassandra McShepard Television on Youtube will wrap up when we upload the final installment of This Is What I Know So Far next week.

What's next? A special motivational CD/DVD package arrives in March...and filming for Season 5 will commence filming in early February. This Bee just keeps on buzzing!

Make All My Dreams Come True

2011-11-05T18:03:00.000-07:00

Schlemeel, schlemazel...

I was 20 years old and my hair was past my shoulders, inching its way down my back. A glorious crown of ringlets I'd spent 2 frustrating years growing out. It is a cruel trick that nature plays on vanity. These days I just have hair on my shoulders and back. How quickly I digress. And how time flies by!

I'm talking about the day I left West Hollywood and my home state of California to move to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Ask any of my friends from that crazy scene I left behind, and they would tell you they were certain I was moving to the dead center of a cornfield with nothing but a mere transistor radio to keep me company on a frigid Winter's eve. Winter of course was something they had seen in movies, but was difficult to wrap the brain around.

Actually, I boarded a train with exactly 15 medium sized boxes, mostly filled with clothes and keepsakes. Stacey and I had sold off our furnishings when we vacated our apartment, and things like dishes, pots, and pans had been packed up and locked in a dry storage unit for when he rented his next place. What I'm trying to say is that I arrived with nothing...but my have I acquired a few things since then.

That day was September 29th, 1991. I remember very clearly my Mother driving me to the bus station in Santa Maria. I'd spent the week with her, but needed to hurry back to Los Angeles to make my evening train. We stood outside the door of the bus and assured each other that tears weren't necessary. I gave her a big hug and bravely climbed aboard. I stowed my satchel over head and settled into my seat. As the driver began pulling out from the station I looked out the window and down into my Mother's car as we passed her. Her face was buried in her hands, she was sobbing. She knew I wouldn't be coming back, and of course I didn't. I cried all the way to Santa Barbara.

Enter Lenny and Squiggy.

I've been feeling rather nostalgic over the last few weeks. I knew this 20 year milestone was coming up, but it only recently occurred to me that since I turned 40 in May, I've been here half my life now. Holy crap. I also realized that while I may have been born and raised in the Golden State, I grew up in Wisconsin. One does not come into his or herself without the aid of triumph and tragedy, and certainly friends and loved ones.

Over the past 20 years I haven't been home to visit my family nearly enough. The people who have stepped in and created my surrogate family are a colorful and diverse cast of characters. Over the next several months, I'd like for you to meet them through a series of pieces I've started writing, which will arrive here as I finish them.

For those of you who have found this blog more recently, its the outgrowth of a book that I had planned to write about my journey and those characters. It was to be called Killer Bees Make The Most Delicious Honey. Perhaps sharing these stories now will be the impetus to start putting that volume together. Or maybe I'll get consumed by other projects and 3 more years will go by. We'll see.

I marvel sometimes at the journey. So little of it has been as I thought it would be, and yet I know in my heart that everything is exactly what it should have been. I've done it my way, yes my way...making my dreams come true....for me and you. So what's next?

Dear 16 Year Old Me

2011-11-05T08:59:00.000-07:00

As a fair skinned Irishman who's suffered one too may blistered-over sunburns at the hands of my own foolishness, I think this is an important and powerful message to share...you should probably share it too.

Intoducing: "Quote, Unquote"

2011-11-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm one of those people. I'm always concerned that I'm not crafty (read, educated) enough in the English language to properly communicate my emotional thoughts when writing. Therefore, I'm forever italicizing words, or throwing "quotation marks" around things that don't need them. Further emphasizing my poor skills, no doubt. Hey, proper intonation is important! And too many commas, way too many.

Don't get me started on the sound bites of Facebook and Twitter, or the decline of real communication. Oh, there I go again. Anywhoo, something I do love is a good quote! One that inspires or causes me to ponder. It seems I've been stumbling upon some great ones lately, mostly through my spiritually "like minded" friends on Facebook, and I've decided to start sharing them with you, here. The first is from C.S. Lewis. It turns out that not only did he write some great books, he said some pretty amazing things. "Enjoy".