1:30 A.M.

1:30 AM, and Zoe woke up to inform me of this pressing issue: "Mud is yuk when it gets on our shoes. When we go outside, we can get mud, and mud is yuk. And the rain, it gets the flowers. The flowers will grow in the rain, but we would get wet in the rain. But the mud, it's yuk."

Twenty-nine Decembers ago, a man on 72nd Street wanted only one thing:To get home in time to say goodnight to his five-year-old son.

Christian fascism in the New York State Police

Here's the "need to know" backstory: the license plate on my car reads NO - RLGN. Everywhere I look in this town is some hyper-Christian with an obnoxious bumper sticker reading "Got Jesus?" or, "Homosexuality is sin! Read the bible" or, "Aren't you glad your mom was pro-life? Read the bible" or, " Elect Jesus president" or my personal favorite, and the most appropriate for the events of this evening, the cross over an American flag with the words "One nation under GOD." Funny how these religious sentiments are so often laced with politics. Me personally, I still think we need separation of church & state, and contrary to popular belief, we don't live in a Christian theocracy, at least not yet. My license plate is my way of responding to all of the confronational bible thumpers which I come across almost daily here in Hudson. I've had bumper stickers before, but evidently the folks in this town don't believe in free speech either, because the bumper stickers that expressed my irreligious views were taken off of my car under cover of night, presumably by someone who goes to church on Sunday mornings while I'm sleeping in. Ironic that the Christian who swiped my bumper stickers was breaking his own GOD's commandment against stealing, no? Try stealing both of my license plates, fuckwad.

Now.

I was out driving this evening on Fairview Avenue in the lovely Town of Greenport, New York, which neighbors Hudson "The Friendly City", where I live. I noticed a shit ton of stateys on the streets as I made my way up the road. There are about 7,500 people in this area, give or take, so when I'm about halfway to a friend's house which is only about five miles from mine, and I've already seen three State Troopers, that's something.

I was thinking to myself, "Damn. Lotta stateys on the streets tonight" when I saw the lights in my rearview. Now I'm thinking, "What the fuck?"

So I pull over, half expecting the cop to speed by me in pursuit of someone who is actually breaking the law.

Nope.

Here's how the exchange between me and Officer Dickhead went:

"License, registration, and proof of insurance."

I hand over the paperwork.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Actually, no, sir, I don't."

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Yeah, about 35 miles per hour."

"Speed limit's 30."

"I beg your pardon, sir, and I'm not trying to be argumentative here, but the speed limit here is 40."

"IIII'm pretty sure it's 30."

"Um, no, actually, sir, the speed limit in the City of Hudson is 30, but in the Town of Greenport it's 40. It changes from 30 to 40 about a mile or so back that way."

"IIII'm not so sure about that..."

"Well, sir, and again, I'm not trying to be argumentative, but there's a speed limit sign right there. If you'll just take a look at it, you'll see that the speed limit here is 40 miles per hour."

He goes and looks at the sign, which is positioned about to the middle of my car as it's parked, and as it happens, is literally right in front of his police cruiser. When he comes back, he's got his flashlight out. He points the light in my eyes.

"Have you been drinking tonight?"

"No."

"You been smokin' any weed?"

"No."

"Could you step out of the car please, sir?"

"Here we go..." I think to myself.

"Why?"

"Could you step out of the car please, sir?"

I get out of the car.

"Do you have any weapons or drugs on you? Anything that I need to know about in your pockets?"

"No, sir."

"Any weapons or drugs in your car?"

"No."

"Would you mind if I searched the car?"

I hesitate. Normally, I'd never let a cop search my car, but this isn't a local cop, it's a State Trooper, and he appears to have an axe to grind. I don't want to give this asspipe any excuses to run me in, so I reluctantly agree.

"Go right ahead."

He shines his light into my car, and then, much to my surprise, out come the handcuffs.

"Could you turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir?"

"What?"

"Turn around and place your hands behind your back."

"I'm sorry, am I under arrest?"

"Not at the moment."

"If I'm not under arrest, why am I in cuffs? Is this really necessary?"

"Juuuust makin' sure that you're not going anywhere."

So now I'm cuffed, and Officer Dickhead checks my pockets. In no time, he's rooting through my car, but while it goes against my principles to let a cop search my car for no reason, I know that there's nothing in there for him to find, so it's only a matter of time before the cuffs come off...

Right?

For those that don't know, my car is an '03 BMW 530. I don't mention that to be all "Hey, look at me, I drive a Beemer." Quite frankly, I could do without it. It's a nice car, but it's an albatross. It's basically a rolling debt. It's $540/month on four wheels. When we bought it, it made sense. That was before we had a two-year-old and a baby on the way. These days, I'd rather spend that money on diapers. At this point, I wish someone would just buy the damned thing from me and save me the hassle. Side note: Anyone wanna buy an '03 BMW 530?

The reason that I mention my car's make and model is this: Where most cars have a center console, which is a great stash spot for contraband, my car has an armrest. It slides forward and back, but it doesn't open. Try telling this to Officer Dickhead.

Now he's sliding the armrest back and forth, utterly confused, and yanking like hell on the thing.

"Hey, easy man! You're gonna break that thing!"

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to open this center console."

"It's not a center console, it's an armrest. It doesn't open."

He keeps yanking on it. Hard. How it didn't break, I'll never know.

"Sir, I'm gonna ask you one more time to open this center console."

(under my breath: "Oh my god.") " Dude. It's not a center console. It's an armrest. There isn't a compartment there. Slide the thing forward. Okay? You see how the exposed part is solid? Right. There's no compartment there. It's an armrest. It slides back and forth and that's all it does. It doesn't open up because what's directly beneath it is the track which allows it to slide back and forth."

Mind you, my hands are cuffed behind my back, so the previous monologue is delivered with accompanying nods and head gestures towards the general area of the center of the cabin of the vehicle, where the armrest is.Basically, I'm trying my damndest to make Officer Dickhead understand what the hell I'm talking about before he breaks my goddamned car. When he's got the armrest forward, I'm frantically nodding forward as I explain how the thing works, which must've made me look like The Chicken Lady from "The Kids in the Hall. " I'm standing outside of the car, handcuffed, almost a foot away from the open door, trying to point at a small part of the interior with my nose.

Finally satisfied that the armrest doesn't open up, but with an extremely suspicious look on his face, he reluctantly gets his keys and takes the cuffs off.

"Okay. I want you to lean your head back, and close your eyes. Extend your left arm flat with your palms up, and bending at the elbow, touch your nose with the first two fingers on your left hand."

Again, under my breath: "Here we go..."

After a full battery of field sobriety tests, I was asked if I'd submit to a breathalyzer test.

"Sure. Why not?"

"You should know that if you're lying to me, this machine's gonna tell me. I mean if you've had so much as one beer tonight, I'm gonna know about it."

I blew, and he took the machine. I could see from the look on his face that he was disappointed by the "0.00" reading that he must've been looking at. He goes back to his car for a couple of minutes, and then returns with my documents.

"Where are you headed tonight?"

"I'm on my way to a friend's house."

"Where's your friend live?"

I point in the direction which my car is currently facing. "Um, that way."

"Alright." He hands me my license & insurance papers.

"That's it?"

"Yep. That's it. You be careful tonight, okay?"

"Um, I thought I was being careful, but, okay."

He turns to walk away, but stops himself. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Um, I guess so..."

"What's that license plate supposed to mean?"

...

"Well, it means that I don't believe in God, and I don't have a religion. I'm an atheist."

"Son, you need to get to know Jesus Christ. Have a good night, now."

"Okay....."



Unreal.

My house (with rainbows)

Chocolate Snowball recipe (flourless chocolate cake)

Back in the day in my hometown, there was a restaurant called Chautauqua Publick Inn. They had a dessert called Chocolate Snowball that kicked serious ass. About 12 years ago the place closed which pissed me off. I thought I'd never have Chocolate Snowball again. While celebrating our 1st wedding anniversary, Tiffany & I were in Vancouver and stoned out of our gourds on legal Canadian weed. Get your passport ready, folks. Those rumors about hash bars in Vancouver are completely 100 percent true. We wandered into a coffee shop to get some munchies, and I bought some flourless chocolate cake. It wasn't Chocolate Snowball, but it was close. I knew that if I could tweak it a little, I could get it right, so I found a recipie online, tweaked it a little, and ta-daa! Now I can eat this stuff whenever I want. I'm sure it is responsible for the 5 pounds I gained last year, because it is by no means good for you, which is why it tastes so good. Here's how you make it.

You need:

Four eggs, separated. If there's a little bit of white in with your yolks that's ok, but if you get yolk mixed with the whites you have to scrap that shit and start over.

7 oz. chocolate that's at least 60 percent cocoa. Don't buy the cheap shit like Hershey's. Shell out the bucks for the Ghirardelli. It's worth it.

One cup sugar.

3/4 cup butter. (a stick and a half).

A few teaspoons of ground espresso. Again, go to Starbucks and get the good shit. Dont use Folger's Crystals for a job of this magnitude, cheapo.

Heavy whipping cream and powdered sugar for frosting.

Some people have told me that they think this cake would be good with nuts in it. To them, I say, "Fuck you. Nuts are gross." I eat peanuts when I'm at the ballpark, because there's a time and a place for everything. Dessert is niether the time nor the place for nuts, and I can't stand shit like walnuts mixed in to what would otherwise be perfectly good chocolate chip cookies, so I'll be goddamned if I'm putting nuts in my fucking cake.

First thing you do is cover the inside surface of a 9 inch cake pan or Pyrex bowl with butter and line it with wax paper. Don't use the butter that you need for the cake, dummy. Then, preheat your oven to 350.

In a big bowl, beat the yolks with half of the sugar until the sugar's all mixed in, and the stuff looks a little wierd.

Break the chocolate into little pieces and melt it with the butter in a double boiler. If you haven't got a double boiler, get a big pot and boil water in it. Put the chocolate and butter in a smaller pot and set that shit in the boiling water. Dump your few teaspoons of ground espresso in the pot with the butter and chocolate. Snoogens.

Now, if you have an electric mixer, you not only suck because I don't have one, but the next step is going to be much easier for you than it is for me, which also makes you suck. Take your egg whites, and beat the living shit out of them. If you've got the mixer, spin that shit on the highest level that you can without spewing it all over the kitchen until stiff peaks form, pansy. If you're like me, get a wisk and whip those egg whites' asses until that shit is super frothy. G-r-a-d-u-a-l-l-y add the rest of that sugar while you're beating the crap outta them whites. They should be all frothy and whatnot, and when you tap off the wisk, peaks should be there. When you think you've beaten the egg whites enough, beat 'em some more. The sugar has a tendency to want to stay on the bottom of the bowl and you want that shit mixed up real good, natch.

Get'cher melted butter & chocolate, and fold it in with your yolks & sugar. Use one of those white Pyrex spatulas for this, they work the best. Stir that shit up good.

Take your egg white & sugar mixture and beat it some more so it doesn't settle. Fold that shit in with the chocolate & yolks in that big bowl with the spatula. Mix alla this crap together until it's all the same colour and consistency.

Dump your batter into the Pyrex bowl or cake pan and stick that shit in the oven. Leave it there for about 45 minutes or so. When you can stick a toothpick in the center, pull it out and have it come out clean, the thing is done baking.

When the cake comes outta the oven, put a plate on top of the bowl or cake pan & flip it upside down. The pan or bowl should lift right off leaving you with your cake on a plate covered with wax paper. Slowly peel the wax paper off so that chunks of the cake don't come off with it. Now cover that shit back up with the wax paper and stick it in the freezer. That's right, the freezer. Leave it in there until it's frozen completely. The cake will fall in the freezer but that's because there's no flour in it. It won't look all pretty like it did when it came outta the oven, but that doesn't matter because you're gonna smear a shitload of whipped cream all over it anyway. If the shape of the cake is important to you, you can mold it in a bowl or some shit before you freeze it.

Before the cream sets out too long, you must whip it. Now whip it into shape. Shape it up, get straight. Go forward, move ahead. Try to detect it. It's not too late. To whip it. Whip it good.

So, yeah. Whip the cream. (Sorry about that. I had to.) Add powdered sugar to your whipped cream until you like the way it tastes. Or don't. Some people like their whipped cream au natural, some do not. I add sugar until it tastes almost like Cool Whip because that's how I roll.

Now frost your cake with that whipped cream, and don't be afraid to slop a bunch of that shit on there. I use a lot of whipped cream when I make these things and I always think they could use a little more. Then, sprinkle powdered sugar over the top of the thing. Now put that shit back in the freezer.

When it's all frozen, you can eat it. It can be kinda hard to cut 'cause it's really dense and you won't want to eat very big slices 'cause it's very rich, but it's definately yummy as fuck. I usually cut the thing in half and stick it in tupperware for storage so that the frosting doesn't end up tasting like the inside of the freezer. I also almost always end up giving half of the stuff away to some lucky soul when I make these cakes, because they'll only keep for about a week to a week and a half, and if you eat an entire Chocolate Snowball in one week by yourself, you'll be able to actually hear your arteries clogging, and the heart attack will be both massive and fatal when it comes.


Enjoy, and if you use this recipe to bake one of these things let me know how it turns out, mbokay?

Happy Holidays

I realize that this is a frightfully original concept, and there's no way that anyone else on Earth could possibly have come up with the idea of adding humorous captions to public domain clip art.

This is me.

Hi!

Zoe in the woods, September 2009.

Also, I'm a dad.

Zoe (2&1/2) and Keely (Due to arrive January 7, 2010) will figure prominently in this blog.
"Look how freakin' cute my kids are!"
Yep. I'm THAT guy.

I make stuff. And junk.

I realize that this is a frightfully original concept, and there's no way that anyone else on Earth could possibly have come up with the idea of adding humorous captions to public domain clip art.