Ode on Beef Jerky

Ah, beef jerky,
Leath'ry meat...
Strips of heaven,
What a treat!

Zesty, salty,
Dried-out cow,
Don't want it later,
I want it now!

So many flavors,
Oh, how they mock me!
Pepper, garlic,
Ter-i-yock-ee.

Other beasts,
Can be jerky too,
Rabbit, deer
And kangaroo.

But you, beef jerky,
are jerky king,
Smoky, chewy,
To you I sing.

So buy a package,
Toss the wrapper,
It's jerky time,
Now shut yer yapper!

nwb

Click here to read my other foray into bad poetry about a food of dubious merit.

The McBone List of Civilized States

Hey, opponents of same-sex marriage, do you know why you will lose your futile battle with equality?  Because you have no argument!  While we may be a nation of Christians, we are not a Christian nation.  Nor are we Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu, Wiccan, Scientologist, or god knows what else. That's already good news for an atheist, who is perfectly free to marry his Buddhist girlfriend in the chambers of a Jewish judge.  One day it will be good news for gay people too, in every single state.

Also, please try to understand that your ideology isn't protecting anything, not families, not marriage, not morals.  Certainly not children.  The children!  Can you please stop infecting their cherubic little heads with the filth of your backward and miserable convictions?  That'd be super, thanks.

One day you will wake up and realize that, in the face of your whithering notions about the way people ought to live, you were on the same side of history as the segregationists and anti-suffragists.  Nice legacy.  Enjoy!  In the meantime we applaud these states and their supreme courts for having the backbone to stand up to bigotry of the most ludicrous and baffling kind:

Connecticut
Iowa
Maine
Massachusetts
New Hampshire
Vermont

McBone also would like to salute Governor John Matrix for changing his mind about Harvey Milk Day this past Sunday.  Eat that, Prop 8, you flea-ridden cur!

nwb

By the way, Protect Marriage website, way to look nonprejudiced by having a rotating banner picture featuring each of the four basic races: white, black, Mexican and Chinese.  Puh-thetic.

Smoke Winston Instead

You need proof that the world is a dirty, rotten, filthy, stinking, godforsaken, rat-infested place with worms and maggots crawling all over it?  Look no further than this display of Food Club Mayonnaise, encountered while I innocently browsed the aisles of the local Kroger.  This furtive shot taken with my camera phone reveals what mayonnaise is retailing at these days.

Why this sort of thing is tolerated in public spaces, I have no idea.  At $2.69, a 32 ounce jar of Food Club Mayo is no bargain.  Considering the health care costs of long term mayonnaise abuse, you're much better off buying a pack of Winstons at twice the price.

nwb

Barack Obama-Nobel Laureate

In what is bound to be the most controversial handing out of a coveted prize since Zoilo Versalles was named the American League MVP in 1965, President Obama, the man at the helm of two wars that few would argue are going well, awoke yesterday to learn that he had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.  Sure beats me waking up to learn I still had a bite of pizza in my mouth.

I haven't read up on this yet, and I'm going merely by gut reaction, but I have a feeling this may just have something to do with the way this country conducted itself from 2000-2008.  Having spent a decent amount of time in Europe during those eight years, we had the chance to talk to a lot of people and gather their impressions about the US and its president.  Their collective opinion was one of almost unqualified disdain.  You think a 30% approval rating was low?  Try asking the French.

So, is the giant sigh of relief that the world exhaled when the Bush regime finally rolled over and died enough for his successor to claim an award that has been given to the likes of Martin Luther King, Mother Teresa and Nelson Mandela?  I don't know.  Elie Wiesel commented that this Nobel Prize was based on a beginning.  In other words, the award is based on what Obama is trying to do--fix the economy, reform healthcare, end two wars, reduce carbon emissions and resuscitate our standing in the world--rather than what he's done.  Does that make the decision controversial?  Considering that the Bush presidency wasn't very interested in most of the stuff listed above, stuff that much of the developed world considers vital, and considering that a great deal of what Obama is trying to accomplish amounts to bringing the most powerful nation in the world up to speed, maybe it's not as crazy as it seems.

Still, I'm going to withhold the McBone Seal of Approval on this one. 

Incidentally, I would also argue that Obama may be slightly more deserving than some of the other past winners.

nwb

PS--Check out West Lawn Park's more thoughtful take on this subject.

My Nemesis Blogger

Somewhere out there, blogging his (or her!) brains out, is my diametric opposite, my antithesis, my arch nemesis.  I don't know if he is aware of me, but I am aware of him and I have a fairly clear picture of what he's like.

My arch nemesis will be proudly blond, but unable to abide a single hair growing on his body.  You will see him at the gym every day obsessing over his body fat.  Like a moth to flame, you may find yourself drawn to him.  His blogging topics are pretty consistent:


He thinks that people in Venezuela all speak Mexican.

He thinks the Earth still needs to be peopled.

He loves late Heathcliff more than early Heathcliff.

He wishes his wife's fake breasts were just a little bigger.

He buys 64 gallon cups of Mountain Dew, then disposes of his empties in my yard.

He leaves his Hummer's motor running in the parking lot all day while he's at work at Halliburton.

He loves the New York Yankees and Ronald Reagan equally.

He can barely contain his outrage that Michael Bay has yet to win an Oscar.

His celebrity crush is Megan Fox.

He thinks the "Chan" in Chan Marshall is pronounced like it's spelled.

He makes love in a hot tub filled with mayonnaise.

He sips $90 bottles of wine and describes them as "reticent," "flippant," and "enigmatic."

He shows his NRA membership card to everyone he meets.

He thinks McBone is something McDonald's employees do during 15 minute breaks.

He thinks Al Pacino is the greatest actor of all time.

He thinks literature begins and ends with The Firm.

He thinks wind energy is "gay."

One thing I know my nemesis is not: a fool.  No indeed.  If he is out there, he will reveal himself when the time is right.  Just know, rival blogger, I am ready.  The McBoners are ready.  We stand united against you.  The Sword of Damocles hangs but an inch above your precious blond head.

nwb

Hey Indiana, Can You Please Start Selling Alcohol on Sundays?

Hey Indiana, I have a confession to make.  When I first learned that we would be moving to Ohio's next door neighbor, I was a little nervous.  Well, I underestimated you, and it was unfair.  When I swore you would vote McCain, you chose Obama.  When I expected mile after mile of flat farmland, you showed me idyllic country roads that pass through charming towns of antebellum architecture.  You have parks, cities, sports teams, universities of great renown.  You have microbreweries and wineries....

Which brings me to the crux of this post, and here I'm forced to alter my tone a little, because while the Hoosier State is great indeed, you're not perfect, and I have to ask you what the hell is going on with this Sunday ban on alcohol sales?  I mean, are you kidding me, Indiana?  Are you honestly for real about this thing?  Do 94-year-old teetotalers hold so much sway over state legislators that an honest guy or gal can't walk into a grocery store on a Sunday, slap down a few hard-earned bucks and walk out with a well-deserved six pack?  Who are you, Indiana, that when I'm in dire need of a bottle of wine to take to a dinner I've been invited to, you have the nerve to say no, I may NOT go to the local wine store and get some sound advice on a good Cab Franc?  As if my money, which you're perfectly willing to let me spend on booze any other day of the week, suddenly isn't green on a Sunday.  And, hey, what about football?  Do you realize what day the majority of NFL games are played?  Are you aware that football is the most popular professional sport?  Do you know what legions of football fans like to drink while watching the game and devouring all manners of greasy, salty and fried foods?  I invite you, Indiana, to offer a Colts fan a refreshing glass of Tang to wash down that pile of buffalo wings.  Go on, I dare you! Just see what happens.  I promise I'll be laughing in your face.

Now, this might be a touchy subject, Indiana, but is this a church thing?  Because that stuff doesn't apply here at McBone, or to a lot of Indianans, so how about this for an idea: for those people who think it's wrong to buy alcohol from a liquor, convenience or grocery store on a Sunday, even though anyone over 21 with the proper ID can waltz into a bar or restaurant (or a winery!) and drink themselves into oblivion and drive home, I say ok--those people are perfectly welcome to refrain from doing so.  Only don't tell me I can't, because you know what else?  After 21 long, hard years of livin', I deserve to kick back with a cocktail, beer or glass of wine, no matter the day of the week.  Stock up on Saturday you say?  Bite me, I say.  What if Sunday is the only day I can manage to shop?  Do you know how infuriating it is to have a pimply, 16-year-old clerk at the Kroger tell me in a barely pubescent voice that I can't buy that case of Sam Adams?  I know it's not his fault, but I still get the urge to rip all $10,000 worth of dental work from his mouth.

So, Indiana, my friend, begone with antiquated laws.  Prohibition on any day is wrong, plain wrong.  Let the chains blocking the beer aisle be broken!  Let the liquor stores open!  Let the booze flow, seven days a week!  Who's with me?

nwb

A Birthday Portend?

Behold the twitching, dying form of a cedar waxwing, one of nature's most glorious winged specimens and one of my very favorites.  Annually the waxwings come to feast on the berries from various trees and bushes that surround our house.  On the eve of my 34th birthday, this poor juvenile bird met its fate in the form of our dining room window.  The unmistakable thump of bird meeting glass could be heard from every corner of the house, and I knew as I came running that an ill omen had come calling.

What doom, what evil fate awaits me, I cannot say.  Having watched hundreds of movies, I know only this: a dead bird can only mean perils and pitfalls galore. Death, disgrace, ruin--they dwell in the shadows, drawing near, an avian nightmare about to come true.

Happy birthday to me.

nwb

The McBone Beer Journal; Back Road Brewery Specialty Ale

The microbrew movement is what transformed the United States from an intergalactic laughingstock to a world-class producer of fine lagers, ales, stouts and porters, but that don't mean that all microbrews are good.  No sir, a small batch brewery gets no free pass from McBone just because we prefer independent businesses operating on a tiny profit margin to huge bloodsucking corporations.  Who is more worthy of our business, an intrepid hippie with a genuine passion for beer or a faceless, soulless factory that churns out mediocrity or worse in twelve ounce bottles? The former, we argue.

Yeah, I know I was singing the praises of Pabst Blue Ribbon in my last McBBJ post, but I have only so much patience for run of the mill malted beverages.  Yes, I believe that macro and microbrews can coexist in peace, but if given the choice, I'll go with the small market team any day.

I had never heard of the Back Road Brewery, located in LaPorte, Indiana, prior to visiting a local purveyor of ales, wines and spirits, where I spotted a humble looking six pack wedged between the more ostentatious packaging of other brewers.  More than anything I was drawn to the austerity of the plain green label and the modest promise written thereupon: Our ale is only made with malted barley, fresh hops, yeast and water.  No preservatives or chemicals are used.  Since it is not pasteurized, it must be refrigerated or stored in a cool location.  These are admirable claims, and I coughed up eight dollars with little resistance.

Like I said though, just being a microbrew is of limited merit, just like being an indie movie is no guarantee of quality.  The proof, as the proverb so wisely puts it, is in the pudding.  Does this beer live up to its premise?  Almost.  Sort of.  Not really.  Specialty Ale pours clear but not crystal clear (this is not a knock) and has a nice honey color and the slightest fizz of a head.  It's not easy nosing a beer that is icy cold and doesn't want to let go of aromas, but this one has some noteworthy characters of honey and toasted oat that waft into my nasal passages.  As I drink, swish and swallow, I am moved to utter the following assessment: meh.

What else can I say?  Neither sip nor swig nor subsequent bottles yield anything more than a mild maltiness that quickly dissipates into a brisk, brief aftertaste that has just a slight metallic edge.  I can't condemn Specialty Ale as bland, nor is it the taste sensation that I was hoping dwelt behind the green label, which I might add is curiously absent from the website.  I will happily try their other varieties, but I confess to being a bit let down by this retiring and unremarkable ale.  I get the 'less is more' philosophy of the packaging.  That doesn't apply inside the bottle.

Official rating: 2.5 McBones.

nwb