Pair. . .

. . . ing


(from http://www.wikihow.com/Pair-Food-and-Wine)
Build on the basic understanding of what might match. It's easy enough to say that chicken goes with white wine, or beef goes with red wine but which wine exactly? And is this choice clear cut? The wine that goes with the food will depend heavily on the manner in which the food has been prepared. For example, it isn't as simple as saying that chicken goes with white wine. If, for example, the chicken has been poached, making it simple and delicate, a simple wine such as a young Semillon will be good. When roasted, the fat makes the chicken richer, thus requiring a heavier textured wine such as an aged Semillon. If barbecued, the chicken becomes smoky, and goes well with a wine aged in wood, such as a light Chardonnay. When chicken has been cooked in cream, it becomes really rich, a heavier Chardonnay will pair well. When it's made into a darker dish, such as by adding soy sauce, it can take a light red such as a Pinot Noir. Place chicken into a red wine marinade, and it makes sense to pair it with red wine.

    Learn the different flavors within each wine style and seek to match these to the food ingredients. For example, fruity elements and wood overtones impact the wine flavor and are important considerations when partnering the wine with food. If you can taste peaches, coconut, tropical flavors, smokiness, herbs, etc., then take those flavors and find their food equivalents.

    Weight of the wine has an impact on pairing with food. Wines are light, medium or full-bodied, referring to the depth of flavor on the mid-palate. When trying to discern the weight of the wine, either ask the retailer, or check the depth of color. Apart from Pinot Noir, the darker the color, the heavier the weight.

    Use your sense of smell to help you pair food and wine. The two senses are one, and you can trust your nose unless it's blocked. Wine smells can be floral, perfumed, mineral, fruity (common fruit smells are peach, melon, and fig), butter, nuts, earthy, truffle or mushroom, meaty, or even like the barnyard. If the smell is unpleasant, avoid it. An aging wine can have overtones of toast or engine fuel.

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Someday . . .

There's a fireman that's deep down inside of me
Trying hard to get out ever since I was three
When I grow up
When I grow up

I'll be saving little children from a tragedy
Put out fires to make them happy as a child can be
When I grow up
When I grow up

I''d never do the things I'm doing now
I'd be happy helping others
I'll know just how
When I grow up

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Moderation . . .

mod·er·a·tion

ˌmädəˈrāSHən/

noun

noun: moderation

1.

the avoidance of excess or extremes, esp. in one's behavior or political opinions.

"he urged the police to show moderation"

Aristotle said, "Moderation in all things" and even wrote a book detailing multiple situations to which is can be applied. On the surface, moderation seems to be a wise and prudent approach to take with many things from diet to politics.  Still, Americans seem to find it a very difficult thing to practice.


Yet . . .

"A wise man is superior to any insults which can be put upon him, and the best reply to unseemly behavior is patience and moderation."
-Moliere

"Water, taken in moderation, cannot hurt anybody."
-Mark Twain

"Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess."
-Oscar Wilde

"Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation."
-Saint Augustine

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Love . . .

by William Wordsworth


All Thoughts, all Passions, all Delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal Frame,
All are but Ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the Mount I lay
Beside the Ruin'd Tower.

The Moonshine stealing o'er the scene
Had blended with the Lights of Eve;
And she was there, my Hope, my Joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the Armed Man,
The Statue of the Armed Knight:
She stood and listen'd to my Harp
Amid the ling'ring Light.

Few Sorrows hath she of her own,
My Hope, my Joy, my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene'er I sing
The Songs, that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful Air,
I sang an old and moving Story--
An old rude Song that fitted well
The Ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
For well she knew, I could not choose
But gaze upon her Face.

I told her of the Knight, that wore
Upon his Shield a burning Brand;
And that for ten long Years he woo'd
_The Lady of the Land_.

I told her, how he pin'd: and, ah!
The low, the deep, the pleading tone,
With which I sang another's Love,
Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting Blush,
With downcast Eyes and modest Grace;
And she forgave me, that I gaz'd
Too fondly on her Face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
Which craz'd this bold and lovely Knight,
And that be cross'd the mountain woods
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage Den,
And sometimes from the darksome Shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny Glade,

There came, and look'd him in the face,
An Angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew, it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leapt amid a murd'rous Band,
And sav'd from Outrage worse than Death
The Lady of the Land;

And how she wept and clasp'd his knees
And how she tended him in vain--
And ever strove to expiate
The Scorn, that craz'd his Brain

And that she nurs'd him in a Cave;
And how his Madness went away
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying Man he lay;

His dying words--but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the Ditty,
My falt'ring Voice and pausing Harp
Disturb'd her Soul with Pity!

All Impulses of Soul and Sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve,
The Music, and the doleful Tale,
The rich and balmy Eve;

And Hopes, and Fears that kindle Hope,
An undistinguishable Throng!
And gentle Wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love and maiden shame;
And, like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her Bosom heav'd--she stepp'd aside;
As conscious of my Look, she stepp'd--
Then suddenly with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half inclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head look'd up,
And gaz'd upon my face.

'Twas partly Love, and partly Fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful Art
That I might rather feel than see
The Swelling of her Heart.

I calm'd her Tears; and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin Pride.
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride!

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Third-Hand . . .

 . . . Intelligence . . .


Heard somebody say. . .

. . . They overheard you
Just the other day
A simple word
About the way we get along
If only I were sure
Of the semantics
Having doubts 'cause I'm
One hopeless romantic
Could it be
You're slipping away from me
What will I do
If what I'm thinking is true
And you want to be
Really free of me
I won't last very long
Very far from your heart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts.

Heard somebody say
They thought they saw you
Walking in their way
You were not alone
They said he didn't look like
Thinking to myself
Must be mistaken
Try not to believe
but still badly shaken
Why would you
Deceive me in things you do
So many years
Sharing our laughter and tears
Lasted very long
Maybe I was wrong
Not to ask you
Why you feel
We've drifted apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts

Are my sources reliable
Wait and see
Wait and see
Is my psyche too pliable
It could be
It could be

If somebody said
The sky was falling
Soon we'll all be dead
Have to quit our stalling
Try to be prepared
Would you believe it's true
Or would you question
All the things you do
And change your direction
From spinning round
When it hits the ground
That's just not true
Any believers are few
When you've seen it all
It could never fall
Any more than
I think you could
Tear us apart
And this third-hand intelligence
Might be the way that it starts


Hear THIRD-HAND INTELLIGENCE
©1997 Raymond M. Jozwiak





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Hitch . . .

. . . or the late Christopher Hitchens who I liked to refer to as 'our modern-day' H.L. Mencken. . .


(from 1999's No One Left To Lie To;  The Values of the Worst Family by Christopher Hitchens where he is quoting his contribution to the Los Angeles Times in January of 1998)
Montesquieu remarked that if a great city or a great state should fall as the result of a apparent "accident," then there would be a general reason why it required only an accident to make it fall.  This may appear to be a tautology, but it actually holds up very well as a means of analyzing what we lazily refer to as a "sex scandal."

If a rust-free zipper were enough on its own to cripple a politician, then quite clearly Bill Clinton would be remembered, if at all, as a mediocre Governor of the Great State of Arkansas. It is therefore silly to describe the present unseemly furor as a prurient outburst over one man's apparently self-destructive sexual compulsions. 

Until recently, this same man was fairly successfully fighting a delaying action against two long-standing complaints.  The first was that he had imported unsavory practitioners like the disgraced Webster Hubbell.  The second was that he viewed stray women employees as spoils along the trail. . .

. . . Had Clinton begun by saying:  "Yes, I did love Gennifer, but that's my business," many of us would have rejoiced and defended him.  Instead, he disowned and insulted her and said he'd been innocent of that adultery, and treated the voters as if they were saps.  Having apparently put Ms. Lewinsky into the quick-fix world of Jordan and Morris, he is in no position to claim that it's a private emotional matter, and has no right to confuse his business with that of the country's. Which is why he has a scandal on "his" hands, and is also why we need feel no pang when he falsely claims that the press and public are wasting his valuable time, when the truth is exactly the other way about."

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Things . . .

. . . we've ALL forgotten. . .

. . . conveniently. . .


The Kennedy assassination conspiracy theories have never been convincingly refuted.

Ted Kennedy's episode with Mary Jo Kopechne was never satisfactorily explained.

People actually praised Richard Nixon upon his death in spite of his suspicions, grudges, lies, deceit, vulgarity, mean-spiritedness and paranoia.

Mother Theresa is internationally revered even though her positions were ultra-reactionary and fundamentalist even in orthodox Catholic terms.

Ronald Reagan is viewed as a hero even though he single-handedly sought to destroy the credibility of the United Nations, spat in the face of international law, and brought misery and suffering to the oppressed working class across the world.

George H. W. Bush is deemed an innocent incompetent notwithstanding his incomplete triumph in the first Gulf War or the broken promise ("read my lips: no new taxes") which came to embody his Republican Party's unwavering commitment to perpetual tax cuts and staggering debt.  Instead, Poppy's legacy can be summed up in three words he introduced to enable Republicans and their conservative amen corner to brush off charges of their own corruption and law-breaking: "criminalization of politics."  From Iran-Contra, Plamegate and Tom Delay to the U.S. attorneys purge and his son's regime of detainee torture, 41's criminalizing politics defense  has been part of the GOP scandal playbook ever since.

The events of 9-11-2001 have never been fully investigated to the point that the 9-11 Commission's conclusions appear to be a coverup.

Barack Obama ran for president of the U.S. on the premise of change but has, in reality, changed very little of what the prior administration hath wrought.

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