A Chili Sauce to Crow About

Hey, back to the newspaper idea...  I've got a big backstop for my "shoulda never gone public" argument about newspapers and stock offerings.  Shareholder just suck, let's be honest.  They don't DO anything except sit around and whine and kvetch and then bitch when things go bad.  Like they deserve anything.  And who agrees with me?  HUGH HEFNER, that's who.  He wishes he'd never taken Playboy public.  The New York Post says so.  http://tinyurl.com/pbmn7w

isles,
so what is your proposal?  and more important, why am i still awake?
 

Since shareholders are the owners of corporations and the managers are simply 'hired hands' it would seem shareholders should have the right to kvetch and the 'help' should simply keep its mouth shut (lest the owners show them the door....).  The board of directors -- named by the owners to take policy and keep management 'in line' has the power and sometimes the responsibility of kicking bad managers out on the street.  They sometimes actually do what their job theoretically demands.... oversee the management!  

For anyone into hot sauce go to www.peppers.com.  You won't believe the selection. From mild to what is called "the ring of fire", you'll find it there in sauces, dips, rubs, etc.
Great stuff. 

And if you go into the shop there are always free samples.

I spray hot sauce on my tomato plants. The insects don't go near them.

Very timely advice LJ. My tomato plants, at present, have lovely yellow blossoms... I'm going to purchase a bottle of pepper sauce today... lest an insect be getting designs on my gardening endeavour.

Eye Neighbors!  Try the Thai chicken sweet potato and spinach curry link.  There is a JPeterman side dish (treasure) when I clicked on the recipe!

It seems that as I get older I like food hotter. I have come to depend upon the line of Tabasco pepper sauces. I admit it-I love them! Green, Chipotle, and original have so many uses! But when I found myself considering how they might do on ice cream, I knew I had a problem.
I made a few calls, and found some help, but it hasn't been easy. First, there was that aversion therapy, with the noise, the pictures, the strobes. Not good. Then the gum-yuck. Now, I'm trying the patch, but I'm conflicted. When I found out how they got the chemical that finally lets you off the hook, it was disturbing. Those poor chickens-they don't know what's going on, but they know they don't like it. Once their little legs are in the stirrups, though, what can they do? It's wrong, and I just hate it.
Now I'm having my doubts about the whole program. But I don't think I have the strength to go cold turkey, and weaning hasn't worked. There is another option, but I don't think I can handle all the needles, the incense, the chanting. I went to one session, and I was a bit overwhelmed. Grown men wept like babies, women fainted, I think one therapist had a seizure. Rough stuff, and not for the faint-hearted.
The other path? That's all downhill, a spiral that takes you out of control. After what I saw in the condiment aisle last week, I'm scared straight. I'm determined not to go there. I'll find a way off this treadmill of dependency, because I can't take the heat-not at that level of intensity.
Root, hog, or die, like the tattoo says. I'm almost there...
 

To go with the Thai Chicken Sweet Potato Curry recipe above:
 
http://www.singhabeer.com/Day/mainpage.html

I looked at the scale of "hot" (the chili index, above) and I saw that pure capsaisin registers as the most fiery, and I couldn't argue with that, it's hot stuff. I remembered a curative, prescribed by an MD, for my husband who poor guy developed an awful case of shingles on his chest. and this doctor (alleged) told me to buy some Capsaisin -- that rub for arthritis -- and apply it to the affected area. Okay, said I although I was dubious at the very least.  Husband and I were both young and hadn't had first-hand experience with this stuff, not being arthritic or any of those other pains that wait til later to lay you low -- anyhow, my husband tried it, just rubbed his chest with Capsaisin, and oh god the look on his face and the screams and the cussing, all of it warranted -- well, the shingles went away on their own, needless to say. Now, my question:  has anyone here ever heard of this treatment for open type rashes, or specifically, shingles -- where I guess your nerve endings are already screaming.   Anyone? Or was that doctor the Marquis de Sade reborn?   

Olivia,

With your high level of intestinal fortitude, I just know that.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZ2HcRl4wSk

yes...... You can do it.!

Quit the hot spices he hastily adds.... Peace out

having a marked preference for hot and spicy non edibles, leaves but sparce requirements for sustenance of the body. 
 
may the souls journey be corpulent from the buffet of life.
 
hot and spicy men, horses and lingerie!!!! 
 
 

where's the club car? a round for the house!!!!

My two year old just drank a bowl of fresh salsa, jalapenos and all. There's no way this is a two year old I've got here. She's a 90-year-old Buddhist monk come back for another go-round. Add her obvious appreciation of salsa with her love of red wine and scotch ('tis true! Don't leave any glasses unguarded in my house with the wee one about), and I'm tellin' ya! 90-year-old reincarnated monk!!!

Shandonista... My proposal is to take Playboy private again. There's nothing more inherently private than a bunch of pictures of naked twenty-something women. I will strenuously resist making any puns that sound like "my privates". BUT PRIVATE. Playboy shouldn't have a board or a director. It should just be a nice, fully owned corporation. Mine, maybe. But I don't have $300 million laying about just now.

I'm moments away from formulating a masterful argument for why the generally ignorant readers of the newspapers should NOT be the common stockholding owners of the newspapers, for reasons that have something to do with letting the monkeys run the zoo, but there's that afore-mentioned toddler loose in the house and I must be off my arse to go save something breakable.

With respect to you all, no MissIve, no Willie, no Georgia, Nacho, Kindlee. Holding breath, purnining turple...

little box asking "what do you think?"  i says to myself...been meaning to find the words to that song.....colorado kool aid, sung by johnny paycheck....reminds me o....

"Well, I was sittin' in this beer joint down in Houston, Texas
Was drinkin' Colorado Kool-Aid and talkin' to some Mexicans
An' we was, what's that you say
What's Colorado Kool-Aid?

Well, it's a can of Coors brewed from a mountain stream
It'll set you head on fire an' make your kidneys scream
Oh, it sure is fine
Yeah, we was havin' ourselves one of them real good times.

But you know every beer joint that you've ever been in
Some big, mean drunk who just ain't got no friend
Sure enough, he wants to fight
Yeah, he's gonna whip everything in sight.

Well, he took him a big swallow of beer
And he spit in my Mexican friends ear
And, sure enough, that made my buddie real mad
That's somethin' like he ain't never had.

Well, sir, he pulled out a big, long switch blade knife
Quick as a whistle he began to slice
An, that big mean drunk stood back, his face full of tears
Lookin' down at the floor, an' one of his ears.

Ha, he cut that thing off, even with the sideburns
You might say the little Mexican fella, he just didn't give a durn
But he was a gentleman about it, an' bent over and with a half way grin
Picked it up and handed it back to him.

He said: "Now big man, you get the urge to spit a little beer
"Just open up your hand there, and spit it in your own ear
"Won't be no trouble that way."
That's what I heard him say.

And I said: "Barmaid, set us up a round of that Colorado Kool-Aid
"An while you're up their, bring this big fella, here, a box of Band aids."

Now let me tell you: if you're ever ridin' down in south of Texas
Decide to stop an' drink some Colorado Kool-Aid
An' maybe talk to some Mexicans
An' you get the urge to get a little tough
Better make damn sure you got your knife proof ear-muff.

Hey, ain't that right big man? I said ain't that right big man?
Ah, hell he can't hear, not on this side anyway, he ain't got no ear.
Hey barmaid, bring us all a big, tall glass of that Colorado Kool-Aid
How about it?

How you doin', big man? Still got your ear there in your hand?..."

it was that or a continuous loop of monks chanting for 180 minutes....i'm past purple....

Ah, you're bored. You need to find an alternate diversion for these occasional dreary mind-numbing negatively charged days here at Casa Peterman. Hang in there.  You'll probably live. Sing another song or something.That's amusing....
  

if ya can't hang with the big dogs, stay on the porch.  i'm a porch dog that doesn't like salsa unless your dancing it.

I would imagine, Stoney, that all of the distinguished folks you named are out roasting weenies or shooting fireworks or something. Me, I have been away from the Devil Box doing some planting (only daylilies...  STELLA , STELLA) and movie watching:    the entertaining, but not to be taken seriously DARJEELING LTD.  Now there is a piece of product placement to make MissIve's eyes water.  The real star of the movie was the set of Louis Vuitton luggage.  I do wonder why they bothered to use Jason Schwartzman in a role that surely Luke Wilson was considered for...          Topic? Oh, yeah...     http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Md7MYS06Tdw

Cuuckoo, here is a simple salsa recip that you just MIGHT enjoy:                    Start with a pound of dried  black beans. Soak and prepare them. ( Just for fun, try soaking them in leftover wine or chicken stock or just about anything you can think of that will add flavor...) Now add the beans to about half a box of Niblets frozen cut corn, a handful of finely chopped green ( spring) onions, a chopped red bell pepper, and a jar of Pace Picante Sauce. Mix it all up.  Eat it up.  Suddenly, I am feeling a sense of deja Vu. If I have repeated myself, I can only apologize again, too.  If I am not repeating myself, I am sure somebody will recognize this as "redneck caviar" as it is sometimes called. You can swap blackeyed peas for about half of the black beans, to give it that Southren twist.
  

In a cross, down and tired mood- ('across and down'- puzzling, no?) I was buoyed by a marvelous personal, outside of the Eye, message directed to one of the village elders and to me.

With our main computer in the shop for its annual cleaning and updating, our backup out on loan and the old lappies requiring re-acquaintance with their outdated OS, I managed to lose that wonderful message and could track it down only by resorting to the very handy: "My E-Mail," online.

My mistake was to reply from that online format. If you think that the Eye's lack of respect for spacing and paragraphing is annoying, try my email.

It was as if a well-oiled wino had streamed an onion sack of marbles at the keyboard but, to be fair, there were plenty of breaks although randomly applied .  

One can but hope that the intended sentiment survived.

Speaking, were we?, of the Apple Store, while there, I took pity on a stressed out woman who arrived pushing a four-wheeled cart containing what looked to be two desk-tops, a laptop, a large garment bag and maybe the only five year-old on earth who, finding himself in that wonderland, was not happy to have done so.

Chances are pretty good that if you are out three computers, (their home had suffered some kind of local electronic mischief), you are suffering and I sympathized.

To make matters worse, the person designated to have met her at the mall and take the garments to the cleaners, had failed to show.

My business having been quickly and pleasantly resolved, I noticed the far-north side address on the tag attached to the bag and in that I was headed that way, offered to drop it off for her.

I was not insulted by her reticence and offered the receipt in my hand that contained, actually, more personal information than called for.

She studied it, looked at Jason, my personal Genius, who nodded as if to say: "I would."

It was a good thing that the cleaner's address was precise because their too-discreet sign was about the size of an index card.

If there is such a thing as dark blond, it would be useful in describing the thick but stylishly cut hair of the twenty-something young woman who had been forewarned to expect me.

In a black sleeveless top and khaki pants, with a slightly sun-kissed pink nose and shoulders, she said: "Oh, it's Robin Hood" and asked me to-"Hold-on," before disappearing with the bag.

Returning, she wondered if I had noticed the white smear on the left shoulder of my green Travel Coat?

I had not and didn't think, looking back, that it had taken a direct hit from the urpping baby held by a tall man behind me at the store. More likely, the infant had wiped her precious little dukes there.

"Please," said the pretty girl, holding out her hand, "permit me."

She pushes across the counter a large wire basket and watched in amazement as I emptied all five pockets. It had to be a little like the the circus clowns and the tiny car experience for her and she smiled and chuckled .

She took the jacket from me and I stepped back against the possibility that a next customer or two, diligent enough to have found the place, might feel the need to fall in behind me.

Then, something very unusual happened, visible to me only by virtue of a mirror located so it was possible to see around the corner: She held the jacket up, tidied, brushed it and just before she appeared ready to drape it over a pair of foam shoulders, she, instead, put it on, pulled its still warmness close around herself and sniffed deeply its turned up collar closing her eyes, swaying, holding onto the moment.

It is crucial to note, at this point, that Stoney is not one who wears his three score and five lightly. With a face like a discarded work boot kicked a generation ago into the corner of the shed, and showing the effects of gravity and erosion; this could not be about him.

And, it wasn't.

After expertly removing the spot and steaming it into a tidy state, she, somewhat reluctantly, offered it back- saying:

"I miss my Bumpa Bob."

In response to a quizzical look, she explained that her grandfather was not dead but far away.

So, there you go, Robert, you may be six hundred miles down some road but the warm pressure you feel on the back of your left shoulder from time to time is not a looming coronary, it is Megan's cheek. Hot sauce? Okay as long as the price is paid in full today.
 






 

Hi PARK4:
 
The doctor was quite right about that use of capsaicin. It doesn't work instantaneously, but over several days will deplete pain sensory fibers of substance P, the neurotransmitter that when released is interpreted by the brain as pain. It doesn't cause anesthesia at the site. Neurites that perceive pressure, touch, and temperature still work.
 
The key thing with it is that one really needs to stay with it for several weeks ideally so as to prevent post-herpetic neuralgia.
 
There was some good evidence years ago that substance P might play a role in the central nervous system as regards depression, or the tendency to it. Merck developed a CNS-active substance P inhibitor, and there was hope of a new 'blockbuster' medication. However, it died at phase II in clinical development, about 5 years ago. The reason there was excitement is that everybody has come grudgingly to realize that the serotonin reuptake inhibitor class of agents (Paxil, Prozac, Zoloft, and a few others) really have a hard time showing effectiveness when scrutinized in clinical trials. They may make people feel better for the nonce, but they also may have led to a class of "walking wounded" people who never really get over their depression. Having said that, however, there is also no question that this class of agents has prevented many a suicide, and eased suffering for millions.

Stoney, I already pointed out that Darjeeling LTD was second rate. You didn't have to go giving it an inferiority complex.          .          .          .          .          .         
What an amazing little gem you have pulled out on this holiday weekend. However, it does remind me of two things, related closely: 1) You know you have reached a certain age when the person serving you calls you "sir", and 2) these little bits of Haiku:                                               Lunch, a Haiku Cycle

Lovely waitress lunch
As she bends, thong is in view.
Did I floss today?

Cute smiling hostess
Her stylish blouse a-gaping,
Peek -a-boob to you.

She deserves her tips
Unwittingly she frustrates.
Must she call me sir?

Pretty lovely youth
I fear to guess at her age
Mine is her father’s.

Whither good service?
Fifteen percent is too much.
Who needs this waiter?
  

Ana Marie Cox, my favorite political commentator and the woman who started the website Wonkette, announced this week on Rachel Maddow's show that she is becoming a regular columnist for Playboy as of this week.
 
Isles, the biggest reason for a company not to go public in my view is not that then the company's value is tied to the mood of money managers, mob psychology, varying beta parameters, and shark-like short-sellers. It is that upon becoming public, the company is hopelessly yoked and ensnared by Sarbanes-Oxley considerations.
 
As bad as being public can be, I have a very distilled wrath for corporate boards, with all their incestuous insidership, mutual back-scratching and favor reciprocity. When I was an assistant professor at UT MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, the Enron debacle broke.
And what became apparent very quickly was that two lapdog MD Anderson physicians were on its board (doctors on the board of an energy company???). Three members of the board comprised the so-called audit committee, the ones who stood by and blessed and signed off on the skullduggery of Kennneth Lay and Jeffrey Skilling. And who was the head of the audit committee? Why, none other than John Mendelson himself, president of MD Anderson. The same Mendelson who was buddy-buddy to the criminals Sam Waksal and Martha Stewart in their misdeeds over ImClone stock.
 
I soon resigned from MD Anderson. I could not stand or stomach the idea of working at a place where the president was someone who rubberstamped events that led to suicides, decimation of 401k's, and the greatest corporate fraud in US history. He was remorseless, and belongs, in my view, in jail. It wasn't "moral grounds" on which I left; it was the stench of bad karma that I didn't want to affect me in this life or another.

Stoney,   keep an open mind...and maybe... just maybe, your favorites will expand.  And if they do not, I will gladly, refund your money. And, by the way... your last entry was extraordinary. 

MARK SWAIM: 

Thank you.  It's good to know that the MD wasn't a secret sadist. What fascinating information -- it's much appreciated.