DidactDon - Installment 1

Some food for thought.  Yes, my dear friends, an introduction that cheap is not below me.  Don't fret yourselves, though:  there are food comments on the way.  

Another Revolution in Vain? Sometimes, Only the Good Die Young

Worse, too soon...

Now in the main, I first aver:  in concrete terms, political incorrectness does not exist.  You'll just have to trust me for now and follow me for the duration.  I beg your understanding here, my gentle friends:  at this point, I've worked this from top to bottom.  I just completed the bottom to my satisfaction, and I hope yours, too, but my addendum, viz., my assertion that begins this paragraph, would not be denied.  I am now tired, and hungry.  I ask that you now allow me my leave so that I may have a nice meal prepared by my host and then rest.  Thank you in advance.  

As my friends and comrades with on the left side of the ideological line (line, spectrum, line, spectrum... I'm going with line for the sake of my own sanity.  You've got yours, I've got mine.) side know, I occasionally head east, and I ain't talking Taxachusettes.  No, neighbor - I'm going where the Kobe beef's raised.  During my brief stay, I will delight in the slaughter and savor of these dumb, delicious animals, with delectation and delight the reward.  Alas, my M.O., more often than not and for better or worse, is to do something full-on or fuck it, and fuck-it, let's DidactDon full-on.  Giddy-up, friends and fellow travelers.

Those who, like me, align themselves with liberal ideology need to practice self-effacement:  too often too little gets accomplished because we debate, for example, what is is ad nauseum.  In short, the left coined the term politically correct as a means of invocation when they got too wound up in the minutia.  and that they need to quit being wishy-washy.Of course, those whose lean lists right caught wind of it and appropriated the term for themselves; as a result of this revisionism, even Che Guevara, GOD REST HIS IRONIC SOUL, would adopt the phrase.  So, what originated as a tool of self-deprecation for the left has become a pejorative for all of us to abuse.

A humble suggestion:  the next time any of us might be inclined to characterize a disagreeable word, phrase, or idea as politically correct would serve everyone better if we used a more correct term, such as "offensive" or "disagree."  If referring to black people using the vile pejorative we're all familiar with, state you are offended.  If someone, and that someone could be me, states that he doesn't agree with your position that welfare recipients don't get the money until their piss passes muster (haha, you want to pass a law), simply retort that you disagree. 

Also, please be ready to explain yourself or apologize if you say something offensive or disagreeable.  And please understand that I'm not advocating licentiousness just because the terms have changed.  Exercise the discretion that we, as mature adults, should have developed by now.  If you're going to use vile terms with regards to someone's being, use those terms in their proper contexts or self-referentially.  For example, if I refer to myself as "white trash," that's okay, at least according to me.  If another black person refers to a brother or sister using the vile term, that's their business, although that offends me.  Dig it, whitey:  if you witness such an exchange, don't feel like you're robbed of some sort of privilege, because really, the privilege you're asking for is to be just as base and destructive.  Do some finger painting ("and not some finger pointing" - Ba-dumb-PISH!) instead: there's dignity in finger painting.  Or heck, as much beloved and missed institution Marvin Zindler exclaimed before signing of for the weekend, "Have a good weekend - good golf, good tennis, or whatever makes you happy."  Throw in good lovin', dear friends.  

But what the heck:  if calling a minority ugly names gets your rocks off, knock yourself out, but without my blessing.  If you get your rocks knocked off, don't tell them I sent you and Praise the Lord for your new-found infertility.  One hateful bastard is one too many.

Before you're rendered a shell of a man, though, I implore you:  take the advice I delineated above.  Reason your way out, or apologize with everything you've got.  If the former doesn't work, you deserve to have the void replaced with a scented candle colored pink and stinky; if the latter works, you've found redemption, we can all hope, and maybe a friend.  The choice is yours:  a neutering or beers and hugs?  There's options.  

I'm happy to at least entertain dissenting points of view, but I'm booked solid for children's parties.  That's because I'm a riot.   

Chef?

Last night, we needed to sink our teeth into slow-smoked pork spareribs, which we hadn't had in a while due to new-found and acknowledged health concerns. Last night, though, we needed some soul food, real nitty-gritties for the feelin' shitties.  Well last night, we got it, like papa got a great big ol' brand new bag of feelgood.  Let me tell you about it.

A wittier man than I declared that brevity is the soul of wit.  I say get him here pronto so he can tell my dear yet insufferable friend and edit my introduction.  In the interest of... rather, briefly:  I'm wiped.  My friend can get real windy and be a wet, sour blanket.  He means well, but once the flap starts flying, flee the premises, but take your sanity and do so with more dignity.

I'd like to share with you all my adaptation of Goode Company Barbecue's Austin Baked Beans, which better the disconcertingly similar-sounding counterparts of our eggheaded friends to the East (we all know that Austin's where it's at, and that go for beans, too.)  For now, the rib recipe stays close to the chest.  We also ate baked potatoes the size of Manute Bol's right sneaker.  I'm happy to share my potato recipe:  if you can't bake the potato, the potato will inevitably bake you, garnished with sour cream, cheese, chives, and bacon.

As I said, I'd like to share the bean recipe.  I also said I'm wiped.  I assure you, I'll share recipes for all of last night's menu items in due time.  Pictures too.   

And the "b" in BBQ means "brevity, brothers."

Daddy gots to cook/Get the eats on the table.