Picture (?) Sunday

Hello, end of weekenders, and welcome to the rear side of another weekend, and the front side of another work week.

My weekend had a bang smack-dab in the middle of it. A summer gig by your very own Sauerkraut Band. Sauerkraut Band gigs not in the months of September or October are always a little weird for me. It's kind of like seeing Santa Claus in July.

But nonetheless, there were some people who had money enough to throw a private party and hire a band. And yes, I was wondering it too, if you have the money to hire a private band for your party, why choose us, but these people wanted us and so there we were.

You know, the SKB have been hired for the odd private gig here and there, and generally we're treated like the hired help. Which, you know, we are, but geez, I can remember the wedding party we played some years ago where they herded us into a different area for food, and then didn't have any for us! While the people at the party were feasting like the rich kings they were.

Not so at this gig. The people who hired us were an older couple, and they were so incredibly sweet I wanted to put them in my pocket and take them home with me. They had their sons in from all over the world, there was a couple there from Scotland, and lots of other people, there were dogs everywhere, and they treated us like old friends. Seems kind of unfair to get paid for a gig like that. It would be enough just being invited to the party.

The band itself could have played better after all that kindness, but the partygoers liked us and I guess that's what matters. I woke up this morning with a sore back, and I'm being perfectly honest when I say I don't know whether to attribute it to standing up for most of the gig or the tightness of my dirndl. Which was, in a word, tight.

Earlier this week, I got a special surprise. The missive came from Mr M on Wednesday. "Don't make plans tomorrow, because you're getting a surprise."

I thought I knew what this was. See, Mr M has been working for some time on a method wherein I can take a clarinet lesson online from his teacher and friend, David N. (Hey, piss off, David!) I thought Thursday was going to be the trial run of this, and I was to be around for a lesson first draft.

Thursday I found Mr M online and asked when my lesson was. I was told I wasn't getting one. And that my surprise would be arriving shortly. "Via email?" I asked. "Nope, at your house," he replied.

Now, it's hard to set the scene for this effectively, but I was sitting at my house, in my pajamas, in glasses, no makeup, and with wet hair from where I'd just given myself a conditioning treatment. My house was an absolute shambles. He assured me none of that mattered, and so I started looking out the door, waiting for the UPS truck to come, for surely he'd ordered something he was having delivered to my house. Probably another clarinet.

About a half-hour later, I got a knock at the door. It was - Kellie! With an ie!

Seems she had to fly into town to get her car and make that final drive to Denver. And she stopped by to see me and spend the night!

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I'm sorry!" Was about all I could say for the first half hour. "This is the living room, I'm sorry. This is the kitchen, it's a mess. This is the bedroom, I'm so sorry." You know, the surprise was wonderful, but it would have been nice to have a clean house. I also had, and I promise you this is true, no food in my house, and so Kellie even took me out to dinner. Then we came home, hung out, watched "My Name Is Earl" and "The World Series of Pop Culture" (where Kellie with an ie impressed me), and she had to turn in a little early to prepare for the long drive west the next day.

But it was great to see her one last time. The final final stop on her Farewell Tour. Hope you 15d and are back home safely now, Kel.

So those were my last few days, and now it's time for the recipe du jour.

This week's recipe comes from the mind, hands, and camera of our own Mr M. And so I'm taking it from the "Mr M's World" file at cardland, say hello to it if you dare, Strawberry Shortcake, Version 2.0.




















I shall give you the directions as a direct quote from the man himself.

1. Go to Kroger to find some shortcake.
2. Don't come back with any because a big woman with a tattoo muscled in front of you and grabbed the last package.
3. Leave Kroger thinking about how you hate being bullied by women, and forget the other ingredients until you get home.
4. When you get home, remember what you've forgotten.
5. Return to Kroger, but get antagonized by all the Virginia Tech students who descended on the place, yakking on their cell phones and buying all the beer they can carry, and leave again, narrowly missing getting hit by a septuagenarian in a pickup having a loud argument with his wife…who also has a tattoo.
6. Try the carryout, but find that they don't have shortcake, just beef jerky and Skoal (wintergreen flavor).
7. Think about substitutions.
8. Come up with substitutions.
9. Substitute Arnolds Multi-grain bread for the shortcake.
10. Substitute large, pimento-stuffed green olives for the strawberries.
11. Substitute maple syrup for the strawberry syrup.
12. Substitute the rest of the Ready Whip that's been sitting in the back of your refrigerator for two years for real whipped cream.
13. Top with a prune.

Sounds good to me. I'd much rather see those nice fat olives floating in a martini, but I'm odd that way.

Happy week.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* Just finished my first week of Hell Week at work. Boss on vacation. Beginning the second. San on vacation. I keep being one of a two-person office working situation! I need a vacation.