1st meme thingy

So, like, I was just chillin', and like, this dude like comes up, and like, tags me, and I was like all, chishhhhh.........yeahhhhh! And he was all like, like, cheawww!

And so I sat down and thought about a response to being tagged for a list of 5 things you don't know about me. As usual, I thought about it WAY too much.

1. I love to carry everything I need on my back out into the backcountry to go fishing, alone occasionally where I can have the entire fish, and pizza, to myself.....oh yeah, I did a post about that one.

2. Ummmm, I like to take my monkey's stuffed animals and pose them amongst food on occasion. Oh yeah, been over that before.

3. Okay how about, to some people I look like Jesus! Damn! Said something about that too.

4. I'm a serial murderer. Apparently someone out there wrote a story about it and they're on to me.....sshhhhh!

5. I could live off of sourdough bread products and water. There, I've never said that before. (BFD though, as if you couldn't guess that one from reading anything on this blog.)

Uhhhhh, 6. Over-analyzing things is certainly a problem for me......but wait, I've even said that before somewhere.

*wind and rain for two days*

Ahhh, there, I've had a few days to mull it over. 5 things, hmmmmm......as this is a new-ish blog, I had to do a little unabashed self promotion and point you toward a few things you could know, if only my blog were cooler and more interesting and perhaps you had checked it out before. Since it is really only in the last month or two that I have had any traffic, and this tag really is about knowing something, I think maybe I should start at the beginning. You know touch on a thing or two from childhood, then maybe talk about a non-food interest, slink on back into the kitchen for a fun food anecdote, and then wrap it up with a phobia. How's that sound?

Here goes:

One: I was baptized in my Grandma's kitchen sink. Seriously. My parents were hippies, my grandparents staunch catholics. On a rare opportunity that my Grandma had me over without my parents, she and my eldest aunt conspired to baptize the "heathen" whilst they were away. Really. This aunt was very involved in the church when she was young and wanted to be a nun. She reminded my Grandma of some bible passage that talks about the intention of the act being one of the key components, and so my head was wetted. And although this aunt is my father's sister, she is the godparent to both myself and my mother. That's really a whole 'nother story though.

Two: I love elephants. I didn't have a teddy bear as a child. I had an elephant. In a way, I still do. I don't have them absolutely everywhere in the house, but I will admit that I can now decorate half of a medium sized christmas tree with elephant decorations. I'm not really proud of this, but I am pround of the love it represents from folks who see this icon of bulk, loving care, big ears and bad skin, and think of me. If I could spell out the sound of an elephant blowing out its trunk right now, I would.

Three: I'm a sadistic hiker. I once hiked from the valley floor of Yosemite all the way to the top of Cloud's Rest and back in a single day. For those who have not been there, this hike starts at an elevation of 4000 feet and in a short 11 miles, climbs to nearly 10,000 feet. On that particular day, when I finally reached the top, a very kind person asked me where I was coming from. I was very sweaty and gasping for air, as nearly 6000 feet of elevation change is huge, especially when you live at sea level.
"Did you camp on Sunrise creek somewhere (translation: ~8 to 9000 feet elevation) and come the rest of the way (approximately 2-3 miles) this morning?"
No (drip, drip, gasp, pant, pant)
"Oh, so did you spend the night in little Yose (~7000 feet elevation) and hike up (6-ish miles) this morning?"
No (drip, drip, pant)
"Where did you come from then?"
The valley floor.
"You know. there is an EASIER WAY to do this hike, RIGHT?"
Yeah, I know.
For clarities sake, she explained how besides the two previous options, I could have hiked from another direction and started at a much higher elevation, not hiked as many miles, and not had nearly as much elevation change.
Mmm, hmm, I know.
She shook her head like I was crazy, which was true, so I just smiled, said nice talkin' to ya' and tried to find a place to rest and grab a bite.

Four: I cried the first time I killed a crab for making cioppino. You see, my grandmother and my father made cioppino the old-fashioned way; killing the crabs with your bare hands (maybe a knife too) by tearing their shell open, then pulling all of the legs off and tossing most everything into a boiling cauldron of fishy, clamified, wine laced, tomato sauce base. This next description is a bit graphic, and the animal rights-ists might get alarmed (of which I dabble in a bit by eating humanely raised stuff when possible, thank you), so look away for the next minute and twenty three seconds: When you rip open the shell, you see the innards beating away, and this takes a few seconds to stop. While tearing the legs off, if the crab is really fresh and feisty, they will flex in a contracting manner, giving the effect of a severed limb fighting back. And to keep it a little more fair (whatever that means), I don't rubberband the pincers anymore before dispatching them. They have a fighting chance in my kitchen, and oh boy! them stinkers can give you a good nip or scratch, let me tell ya'. I write this not for grossing you out, but for a taste of what goes on in that empty space upstairs while making cioppino in my home. And it is a process that has evolved over time. I still think of the initial battle with the first one, how it was the hardest one emotionally and physically, how confronting being the executioner was a struggle from the moment I bought the beautiful magister. Only now, when it's time for action and we're thirty minutes from eating, I start my routine by imagining that scene from Star Wars (Empire was it?) where Vader walks out amongst the battalions of storm troopers while the big symphony sound booms: BUM, BUM, BUM, BUM, BA-BUM, BUM, BA-BUM, BUM..........and I place one belly down on the counter, put my thumbs in that convenient gap in the back, and show this ancient species what my monkey strength can do to one of their kind. It is now an exercise in communicating and fixing my place in the animal kingdom, keeping it real somewhat, and enjoying crab at it's freshest. Boo, hoo, hooooooo........*sniffle*

5. I have a fear of worked butter. This one is gonna take a bit of explaining, so bear with. Lets see......what comes to mind when I make this statement are things like butter carvings resembling turkeys, in full plumage mind you. If this were chocolate, or just about any other food item I'd be okay with it, but somehow, the amount of handling is what really creeps me out and makes me fearful for the rest of the meal. I can't explain why, it just does. Yes, I struggle with understanding it too. I don't really mind molded butter, as in general it seems like it is freshly churned or beaten and then immediately put into a form of sorts. That's all good with me. But when you take a block of it and carve an animal or something else stupid out of it, all the way down to even just taking a melon-baller and scooping out little individual servings, I just want to hurl. And it realy sucks, cause I love butter, but just not when you do cutesie things with it. Barf!

That's it! So what do you think? Do you feel you know more about the wrangler? Let me know. It's called "leaving a comment" and it's a new way of communicating back to what you are reading. Go ahead, give it a try, it don't hurt, trust me......

So I guess I've got to reach out and tag five more, and politely request that they share in the madness and selfishness and let us know more. I've got my tickle-torture finger reaching out and I'm gonna tag:
you, because you're new and I really like pizza.

you, because your stuff looks amazing. Tasting and looking.........has anyone seen this stuff yet? Damn!

you, because you come from one of my favorite places, currently live in the home of my favorite sweet potato variety, and your food sounds incredible. Please, do tell.

you, because you are most unique. Where else can you find such fantastic writing, beautiful artwork, food to die for, and honest humor. Besides, you expressed interest in knowing more about these meme things.

and......you, cuz' you're a dude. I'm not sure you check your comments much, and surfers, how do I say this lightly, tend to "forget" things for one reason or another, but I'd like to know some more, because your stuff is super creative and inspired. And I thought that I'd rib callipygia a bit by tagging you, as I found out about you through her.


freya/paul, this way too long a rant of mine is all your fault, so as a trade for giving up the source of my name, I'm gonna tag you guys back, because in my eyes you cheated a bit. If Paul is a full-fledged, badge wearin' kind, then we (the monkey and I, and she can only type her name, so you can't do this back) want five more. I know he responded for both of you, kind of, but if you're going that route we want ten overall. No hard feelings, really, me being punky to you guys is a sign of affection, cause, I love your blog. Thanks!

Catch y'all later......





ps: WATKT, oh yeah, the name. So, the little one was about one, and I was going for a bike ride with a buddy and some of his friends. When folks were being introduced, his biking friend asks what I do for work, and my pal blurts out: "D-man? Oh, he's a monkey wrangler like you." Neil is one hilarious guy, and I love him dearly, so thanks for that title. As for the sourdough part, I was researching what to name my blog and thought about the sourdough that was consuming my life and threatening to die on me if I didn't start paying closer attention to it. I searched around for blog names with sourdough and there wasn't much really. I thought about how my folks were both born in San Francisco and how I have literally grown up on sourdough. Add the usage of sourdough as a name for a prospector/miner (I'm a geologist remember) and the name was born. I was looking for something unique for a domain name and I guess my logic worked. There.

nyah, nyah, na, nyah nyah, you're it........ again.