Potatoes are "apples of the earth" in French but maybe apples are potatoes of the tree

This reminds me I have to prepare some potatoes for dinner.  2 hours 15 minutes at 375F.  Luckily the oven has a timed bake feature so that it will finish when it is good and ready and turn itself off.


 An elderly woman visited a produce store.

She requested 6kg of potatoes. The owner was delighted to help and started packing the potatoes. However, the woman stopped him and requested that each potato be wrapped individually. The man complied and asked if there was anything else he could help with.

The woman then decided she needed 4kg of onions to be wrapped in a similar manner. The shop owner packed the onions and asked if there was anything else. The woman asked for 8kg of carrots.

"Let me guess," said the owner with a sour face, "you want them wrapped individually."

"Oh, that would be grand." she said.

The shop owner fulfilled her request and packed all her items in a bag.

The woman then asked: "What are in those crates behind you?"

The man flushed red and said "Madam, these are grapes and they are not for sale!"

I have an entomology joke, but it clearly bugs everyone.

 Apparently I have a property that is perfect for raising interesting insects. 

Congratulate me, it's a boy and a girl.  Twin Monarch Butterflies.  The girl flew off.  The boy is still resting on my front porch at 830 in the morning.

And in the back yard, there is a colony of bees who have decided that an old cabinet we have there is perfect for them.  They will be dispatched with the utmost prejudice.  As big as I am, I am terrified of bees.  This is Florida.  They could well be africanized.  Dunno, don't want them.  They are swarming all over that cabinet and my backyard is pretty much blocked off.


Anyway...  Unless I used this one before, here it is again!



 A man tells his doctor "Doctor, my girlfriend is pregnant, but we always use protection and the rubber never broke. How can she be pregnant?"

The doctor considered his question for a moment, and then began to tell a story:

“I have a friend who is an avid hunter and never misses a season. One day, he was setting off to go hunting. In a bit of a hurry, he accidentally grabbed his umbrella instead of his gun. As he neared a lake, he came across a large beaver sitting at the water’s edge. Since he only had his umbrella, he couldn’t shoot the magnificent creature."

"Whimsically, he raised his umbrella, aimed it at the animal as if it were his hunting rifle, and said ‘bang, bang’. Miraculously, the beaver flinched twice as if it had just been shot, then fell over dead.”

"Now, what do you think of that ?” asked the doctor.

The man said, “Logic would strongly suggest that somebody else pumped a couple of rounds into that beaver.”

The doctor replied, “Exactly! Next patient, please.”

Looking Inward, Watching Me.

The view from the rocker is furry. 

It would be much less furry if I could stop procrastinating and actually run the vacuum.  More frequently, of course.

Here I sit in my rocker.  No, I am not off my rocker, but I am being watched.

Every day.  No matter where I am.

The view from the rocker is out the front door.  Actually out of the front of the house but from the rocker, I look out to the driveway.

It's impact glass.  A Step or three less thick than what you see in the bank.  When I tell people that I live in a bunker I mean it. 

None of this prepper post-apocalyptic nonsense.  We have codes here to try to make a hurricane survivable in South Florida.  Roofs are tied down with extra straps.  Walls are made from CBS.  The house is a Concrete Block Structure.  Windows with Impact Glass. 

Where a Californian won't worry about an earthquake over a certain strength, I don't worry until a hurricane is above a Category 2.  Cat 3 or stronger. 

I have had birds fly into the windows with a resounding "thump".  They generally need time to at least clear their heads.

Cats.  *Sigh* There is no such thing as an outdoor cat.  No matter what you think, you are wrong.  It will be a much safer kitty if it is inside your house.  Why?

Coyotes.  Yes, most places have "yotes".  They will eat little kitty cat if they find them.

Two legged vermin will do dastardly deeds to them as well.

Love your cats, keep them with you.

They look in on me too.  I am blessed with all sorts of critters coming up to my front door and looking in at me.  Typically I will walk to the door and flick the lock and they scatter.  I'm not welcoming I guess.

But Rack.  He's doing his job.  He watches the front door and scans for intruders.  Letter Carriers, package delivery, Pizza deliveries.  They all set off a cacophony of barks.

Luckily he's losing his hearing.  Selective deafness. 

If I want to go out to that Jeep in the great outdoors, he won't like it.  Nothing loud, I am the alpha after all.  I'll just get sad dog eyes.  So I either slink out the "Illegal Door" in the car port, or I will step over him.

"You're a good boy, watch the house".  I tell him.

Not that a mostly toothless almost 14 year old dog will be that much of a guard but we humor him. 

If he spots anything outside, he'll "let us know".

Just back from a dog walk and dinner, he has been pacing for a half hour and finally settled.  Right back at his place.  In front of the door. Looking inward and watching me.

Why don't you find hippopotamuses hiding in trees? They're really good at it.

Strange thing about summer in South Florida.  We get rain storms float through.  It looks like a Leopard's hide on Radar.  Green Blobs.  It's also 90F and 65% humidity when it isn't raining.  If you want to go outside and work on the yard and you are doing it casually, you wait for the rain to get close but not here, then get in a little bit done in the clouds just before the rain hits.  

It's a strategy game.  If you will excuse me, I have a mango tree I have to attack!




 2 roofers at work

Two roofers, Bob and Dan, were putting a new roof on a barn when a bundle of shingles slid down the slope and knocked the ladder over.

Bob and Dan decided since it was early they would continue working because someone would surely come around by quitting time.

It was nearing 5 PM and they hadn't seen hide nor hair of anyone. So they walked around the roof a few times and finally decided there was only one way down.

On the west side of the barn was a big manure pile.

Bob said, It's the only way down. I will go first."

Bob jumped.

Dan heard the squishy landing and yelled, “Hey Bob! How deep did you go?"

Bob yelled back, “I went to my ankles Dan, come on – JUMP!"

Dan jumped and sank clear up to his neck in manure.

“I thought when you jumped you went up to your ankles!” he shouted at Bob.

“I did, explained Bob, "but I landed head first.”

If you turn a canoe over, you can use it as a hat because it is capsized.

I have to say that this is basically one of the reasons I park where I do when I go for a workout.  The spaces are all the same, but there is a tree to the passenger side. 

While I park close to the tree, there is always some knucklehead right on my driver's side.

Enjoy your dent.





  A parking story

So God is chilling up in heaven.....

And he wants to go down to Earth and see how things are going. But he can't just go down to Earth, that would cause the rapture.

So he calls up St. Peter and asks him to go do some recon on his behalf. St. Peter does as he's told, takes off, and comes back 2 weeks later.

"God... I don't know how to say this but it's terrible down there. Absolutely terrible."

"Really?" God responds.

"Well for starters 90% of the people down there don't know how to park a car correctly" St. Peter says.

"Stop right there." God proclaims. "We need to fix THAT issue right now."

So they brainstorm for a bit and God goes "I got it! We will make a plaque, and we will give it to the 10% of people who know how to park"

And do you know what that plaque said???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Oh you didn't get one?

23 Years, 55555 Miles, Third Jeep Wrangler

Yes, I still have that Jeep.

23 years later.  It finally hit a milestone number on the clock.  55555 miles.

89407 km for the Imperially Impaired.

I was sitting at a stop light in Pompano Beach.  Southbound on Federal Highway, US1, and Mc Nab Road.  Seems like that's been my history for quite a while.  Always heading south on US1. Always carving a groove in US1. 

I got into Jeeps back when AMC was a going concern.  I had a friend who was influencing me.  I commented that I was tired of "Fussy Cars" that had problems.  I wanted something I could fix if I had to but had to be well supported.

He took me out into the NJ Pine Barrens with his own CJ 7.  I was hooked. 

I got myself a CJ 7, charcoal with a hard top.  I had that car for about 3 years and enjoyed it until I drove it to Indianapolis.  It ruined my back.  So I got a small car and drove that back home. 

That was a mistake.  I never stopped missing that CJ. 

So after I wrecked the small car and had a mistaken flirtation with a Ford Taurus, I got a Chevy Nova.  Mind you that was basically a Toyota Corolla and it fit me well for 10 years.  It started having issues with rust and someone who I was seeing was being cranky about being in a small car so I was pointed to the new Jeeps.

"It's a Jeep TJ.  The Wranglers.  They are actually comfortable unlike your CJ and you never stopped talking about that one."

So I test drove a TJ.  Bought it that day.  Only draw back was it was an Automatic.

I don't know why anyone wants a Jeep with an Automatic.  It's just not... Jeeplike.

I need to "Row My Own".  I need to be in touch with what I am doing. 

Three years later, I got this one.  5 speed.  4 liter inline 6 motor.  One of the last indestructible engines that was made.  Still AMC designed but built by Chrysler in the Toledo Ohio plant. 

It has the nicest sound when you drive it on the road.  Between 30 and 50 it sings to you in third gear, purrs in fourth.  I should know, I put it in that gear myself.

It's also a thirsty beast, and has always been.  16 MPG is a good time for me.  The best I ever got was 23 mpg and that took a tail wind and a trip to Key West, FL to do it.

Pro Tip is if you ever are going to Key West, plan your trip to hit the Seven Mile Bridge at sunset and make sure you have a convertible car.  Put the roof down and enjoy that ride.  One of the most beautiful rides you can ever have, I did it both in that Jeep and a Honda GoldWing Interstate motorcycle.  If you plan your timing right the stars come out like someone threw glitter in the air.

No, really, it is truly that beautiful.

I'd even consider driving you there, if you talk nice to me, and pay for gas, food, and lodging.  I may be nostalgic and a bit of a travel romantic, but I am not stupid, Key West is damn expensive!

If we do go, you had better be comfortable with my choice of music.  My Jeep, My Rules.  No country, none of that "Album Rock" crap.

But let me get the old boy serviced.  23 years is a long time and the hoses are starting to crack.  That's why the engine light is on the dash board.  It has been for about 10 years.  I suppose I should get that looked into, but the code is the gas cap code, and I am tired of buying new ones.

For the most part, it's been a good friend.  Mechanical friend that only let me down once.  Ironically at that self same intersection, the clutch master cylinder failed on me.  I limped to a dealer and they did repair the clutch.  I told the advisor what was wrong, and after a week they found the part and replaced it.  It's been good ever since.

I pulled in and the service advisor said "we don't have a loaner or a driver for you".  I had just come south from the park and a workout.  Pointing at the bike on the back of the Jeep I just said "You are only 6 miles/10K from my house and I just finished a marathon, a little bit more will be fine".  It was the look of astonishment from all the service advisors that convinced me that remaining in shape all these years and being able to ride 38 miles in one day on a bike was well worth it.

Yes, that old dusty Jeep is a friend.  A good ride.  They don't make them like this any more.  They got big just like every other car on the road.  They are transitioning to hybrid which would be nice.  That 16 MPG is tough to take but I have been told to hold onto my old boy.

I do talk about it like a cowboy talks about his horse.  Funny thing about all that.  I see a lot of cars on the road but nothing really catches my eye.  Prices have tripled and quadrupled.  But I still have my old Jeep and I'm comfortable in it.  Nice not to have a car payment for the last 20 years.

I may even be convinced to take it in for service to have that gas cap code looked at.  I know what has to be done and I am not finding the idea of lowering a gas tank for an inspection to be attractive in my own carport.

More than I would like to attack.  I did replace the stereo more than once and made a bezel and a mount for the speaker out of a laundry detergent bucket.  I am still picking up bits of blue plastic in my kitchen that flew off the Dremel from that day.

Better to make your own microplastic waste than absorb it from the environment I guess!

If I can find a truly good mechanic who knows old cars, I may be able to relax enough to trust my old friend to.

I've never tried sarcasm. How does it work?

I do try my best to keep things G Rated.  I will say that if a pre-teen were to hear this one, they'd be confused and have to "Come back in a few years". 

But the language is rather clean at least.  You be the judge.




 Meeting a new neighbor

A guy moves into a new apartment in New York and heads to the lobby to put his name on the mailbox.

As he’s doing so, a stunning young woman steps out of the apartment next to the mailboxes, wearing nothing but a robe.

She flashes him a warm smile and strikes up a conversation. As they chat, her robe slowly slips open, revealing that she’s wearing absolutely nothing underneath.

The poor guy starts sweating bullets, struggling to keep eye contact.

After a few minutes, she gently places a hand on his arm and whispers, “Let’s go inside—I hear someone coming…”

Without hesitation, he follows her into the apartment. She closes the door, leans against it, and with a sultry look, lets the robe fall completely open.

“Tell me,” she purrs, “what would you say is my best feature?”

The guy, now a nervous wreck, stammers, clears his throat, and finally blurts out, “Uh… your ears!”

She looks absolutely baffled. “My ears?! Look at these boobs—perky, natural, no sag! My butt? Firm, flawless, zero cellulite! My skin? Perfect, no blemishes! Out of everything, WHY would you say my ears?!”

Still flustered, he clears his throat again and mutters, “Because… when you said you heard someone coming… that was me.”

Muffins spelled backwards are exactly what you do when you take them from the oven.

 Hmmm Maybe I need to make some of those muffins today.  15.25 oz of cake mix and a 12 ounce can of soda make cupcakes.  Bake at 350 until toothpick comes out clean, about 8-10 minutes.




A Cowboy gets captured by a tribe of Indians.

The chief comes to the cowboy and says “We mean to kill you in three days, but you get one wish a day and if we can fulfill it we will, so go ahead and ask for your first wish.”

The cowboy seems indifferent and grumbles “I wanna talk to my horse.” So they bring his horse to him and he whispers something in the horse’s ear.

The horse runs off and an hour later comes back with a beautiful brunette on its back. She jumps into the tent with the cowboy and leaves come morning.

The next morning the chief asks him for his second wish, the cowboy again says “Let me talk to my horse.”

They grant it and once he whispers in the horse’s ear it speeds off and comes back three hours later with a gorgeous blonde that jumps into the tent with the cowboy. Once again she’s gone by morning.

The next morning the chief says “Alright this is it Cowboy, what’s your final wish?” The cow boy is sweating and shaking at this point but once again asks to talk to his horse.

This time the cowboy grabs his horse by the ears and looks it dead in its eyes and says loud and slow “ POSSE, P-O-S-S-E, BRING ME A POSSE.”

I Guess I Can Call It My Mutt Pizza

I know someone who goes to London, frequently.  He is aghast at what they call pizza over there.  His description was Jarred Spaghetti Sauce with Cheddar Cheese.

No, Really.  It sounds like an abomination.

Mind you if you try to serve me Pineapple Pizza, you will wear it.  I am flexible but it needs to taste right.  Pineapple belongs in an upside down cake.  Period.  Or perhaps on a different dessert.  Keep that dreck to yourself.

When I moved here to Florida, I was struck by how mediocre the pizza was.  Think sauce from a can and flavorless cheese.

I set on a path that allowed me to develop a recipe that my Italian Mother would be proud of.  It tastes like a 1970s Pizza Shop sauce.  The kind of place you walk in and see a giant vat of the stuff reducing on a slow flame on the stove.

Remember to add the spices when you take it off the heat.  You want the punch of oregano to shine through.

Today I came home from a marathon on the bike.  That seems to be my normal workout at this point.  Today was 28.02 miles - I was close and made sure to round out the distance.  After two hours, and getting hit by some light rain, and I wanted the pizza.

This thing's crust is not so very good.  It is a large tortilla.  Sure, it saves me about 300 calories but it is kind of soulless and I describe it as an "Italian Quesadilla".  Nothing against Mexican cuisine, I love and respect that and this mashup is strange.

I was in a rush so it has its place.

I did want to use up some of the oddball ingredients I had on hand.  The Mozzarella I had ready was only about half of what I needed so I got "creative".  Adding in the main flavor of the Parmesan would help this effort greatly. 

Still I was short.  I remembered the discussions of the British Pizza.  If we want to laugh, we look at each other and say "Cheddar Pizza" and cringe. 

At this point I realized either thaw out some more Mozzarella or get the Cheddar.  It's a good Cheddar, I equivocated, but it is still a cheddar.  It also was on the "old side" and I had cut out all the "spots".  It needed to be used up.

Ok, admittedly, all the ingredients were weird, let's make a pizza out of these bastard ingredients.  I cook to get a flavor profile as well as a balanced amount of protein with a specific calorie count.  That meant that in order to make the pizza 1000 calories, I needed 5 ounces of cheese total.  I ended up putting a mix together of 1 ounce of rather good sharp Parmesan, 2.5 ounces each of Mozzarella and Extra Sharp Cheddar.

Assembling the pie or quesadilla, I poured a glass of Chardonnay.  Taking a sniff of that glass, I realized it was for cooking.  We made Beef Stroganoff and it put the "Ordinaire" in the term "Vin Ordinaire".  Not great stuff.

Somehow the combination of that wine and the strange pizza worked well together.

I guess the moral of the story is not to be so rigid.  If you have to use Cheddar, it isn't the end of the world, just make sure that you have a strong sauce, and that the Cheddar is Extra Sharp.  Having it be the minority cheese in a mix won't ruin a pizza, it will pass if you are caught up short.

And a glass of Ordinary Wine never hurt anyone.

I don't advertise my lip reading business. It's all word of mouth.

Be safe out there.  I'm going to blow off some steam and go carve some large circles around a gasbag.  





 Two lumberjacks, Bill and Frank, are out in the forest cutting down trees.

Not paying attention, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets his arm cut off. In a mad scramble, Bill wraps Frank’s arm in plastic, and rushes his dismembered friend to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and to his amazement finds him back in tact, playing ping pong in the physical therapy area.

A few days later the men are back in the woods, cutting down trees. This time, Frank loses his leg after again getting too close to the saw. Just like the last time, Bill wraps his friend’s leg in plastic and rushes him back to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank the next day, and this time to his amazement finds Frank in the physical therapy area, all in one piece, running on the treadmill.

A few days later, the pair are back in the woods, sawing down trees. This time, Frank gets too close to the saw and gets decapitated. Bill, now an old pro at this, wraps his friend’s head in plastic and rushes him to the hospital.

He goes to visit Frank at the hospital the next day, only to find out that his friend didn’t make it. Distraught, he asked the doctor what happened.

“Well,” the doctor said, “your friend would have made a full recovery, if some idiot hadn’t wrapped his head in a plastic bag.”