I've been uninspired for far too long. In simple hope of igniting some sort of alcohol fueled frenzy of creativity, I will be having a few friends over to screw around with over priced guitars and bad poetry and enjoy my attempt at southern cooking: Roasted ham, cured in a brine of molasses, brown sugar, sea salt, whole cumin, fresh ground black pepper, cardamom, and garlic, along with Collard Greens, Black-eyed Peas, Corn Bread, Rice, and a "New Orleans Potato Casserole" from a recipe stolen from a surprisingly good restaurant in Lubbock called Harrigan's. (Maybe I'll follow in my little friend, Maxi's example of posting photos of the end result before gorging ourselves.)
At any rate, I have had a strong urge to revisit the deep-south ethnic upbringing I always wanted, but, as a fat little white kid in the Permian Basin, never had. You see, I was blatantly lied to as a child. I was told that I could be anything I ever wanted, but from my earliest days, I can remember what I wanted most was to be an old black blues-man. John Lee Hooker was the coolest motherfucker I could imagine, and, you can say what you will about my boy Stevie Ray, but it just ain't the same when a white boy sings the blues.
At any rate, I have had a strong urge to revisit the deep-south ethnic upbringing I always wanted, but, as a fat little white kid in the Permian Basin, never had. You see, I was blatantly lied to as a child. I was told that I could be anything I ever wanted, but from my earliest days, I can remember what I wanted most was to be an old black blues-man. John Lee Hooker was the coolest motherfucker I could imagine, and, you can say what you will about my boy Stevie Ray, but it just ain't the same when a white boy sings the blues.
maeby:
ah yes, if only i had taken that into account before getting hitched. the possible death. dammit. i never think of the important things!
