A few weeks ago, wandering around the local library's music section, I came across a CD by a band called Disciple. I'd never heard of them, but the cover art was promisingly gothic, so I borrowed it on impulse.



After uploading the album to my iPod (what? I wasn't supposed to do that? I'm *so* sorry, RIAA ...), I listened to it in my car on the way home. I instantly liked the songs. Good solid hard rock, with a firm touch of heavy metal, reminiscent of 80s bands like Metallica and Europe. The lead singer had a great raspy voice, the drums were explosive, the guitar riffs at once memorable. Damn catchy lyrics too. The more I listened to the music over the next weeks, the fonder I grew of it. It was infectious, powerful, danceable (or at least hair-shake-able) to the core. The boys themselves were tattooed and wild-eyed - just like proper rockers.

[Note: You can get a taste of some of their newer songs over on their MySpace page - which in good ole MySpace fashion totally sucks...].

Now, normally, I associate headbanger music more closely with the darker side of things, right down to the good old practice of satanic backmasking, popularized by metal bands like Slayer, AC/DC and Judas Priest.

So although I really enjoyed listening to Disciple, I grew suspicious after a while. Something was off. Take for example the lyrics for the album's opening song The Wait is Over:

I can feel it in the thunder rolling, lightning crashing
It’s our time, the wait is over
Fire’s burning, floods are rising
It’s our time, the wait is over

Sitting in ashes, we’re broken,
with our faces downward,
Like there’s nothing we are looking forward to

We’ve been waiting so long
For this moment all of our lives
Let it pour out

Hm. Fires? Floods? The Wait is Over? For what exactly are they waiting?

A quickie search on Wikipedia then revealed the truth about Disciple: they are a Christian hard rock band.

Oh. Pff. Duh.

Now - y'all know I don't subscribe to the whole Christianity-thing. And it goes against my very grain to evangelize the cause. I knew standing firm on my morals was only a Shift+Delete keystroke away. I stared at iTunes for a while.

Then I realized I wasn't willing to get rid of some really kick-ass ear candy for the sake of keeping my conscience snowy-white. If I didn't play it in public, with other innocent ears to get infiltrated by its message, I would be ok, right? I knew *I* would be able to withstand the subliminal gospel ...

I suppose writing about them here in a way violates that non-evangelizing pact I made with myself. It may prompt you, alert reader, to rush out and acquire some Disciple tunes yourself. And I suppose that's ok - as long as you realize *what* exactly you're listing to. Just don't tell me afterwards I didn't warn you.

[This one's for Kat ...]

Ok - so it's 6pm, snowing outside like a mother, you haven't mounted the studded tires on your car yet because you stubbornly believed it was NOT GOING TO SNOW. You've been working all day on your computer till your eyeballs threatened to abandon shop and peel out of your skull - and all's you want now is a soothing little martini.

That's not too much to ask for, is it?

Well, unfortunately, my fridge doesn't share that sentiment. Namely, by being completely devoid of martini ingredients, i.e. assorted fruit juices. Sure, there's a little cranberry juice. And some Gordon's in the freezer (I know.. I know... Pitiful). But that's about it.

What's a girl to do?

It's too late to hit the liquor store (thank-you-very-fucking-much, over-protective State of Oregon), and besides - a venture to any store is not an option right now. Not with ice on the road and slicks on.

Goddammit.

Ok - so back to the drawing board. I survey my fridge. Hey - I have fresh blackberries I paid good money for (out of season)! What if... I combined the cranberry juice with the berries in the blender?

Done.
Oh.
Bitter.
Add ice and vodka in the shaker.
Still bitter.

Another peek in the fridge. What do I have that's liquid and sweet? I'm out of chocolate syrup (that has been applied to other creative uses - note to self: buy more).

But - I *do* have whipping creme.

No - I couldn't.
Wait.
Sure I can.
What the hell.

I add whipping creme to the shaker. I shake vigorously. I pour.

Oh. Look at that. How pretty. It looks like a purple universe, populated by tiny white snowflakes.

I taste.
Oh, hey....
Not bad.
I could have definitely done worse.

I christen it The Snowflake Martini (Note to Bend Distillery: Trademark is pending on this one, fuckers).

I drink. I feel the alcohol take hold, relax me. My eyeballs decide to stay where they are. Yay.

All hail to the mother of invention. And that subsequent buzz.

Confession: I love chicken.

No, I'm not talking about the ugly, feathered creature with the beady eyes, nasty scaly clawed feet and hideous scream in the morning (that is supposed to romantically wake you up, but really only makes you want to get up for the single reason so you can wring its neck).

Instead, my affection extends to the fowl you find at the market: that plump little poultry body, sans head, claws and feathers, with skin so smooth and clean, in its moist flesh lurking the promise of a thousand delicious dishes.

I realize the only difference between the two is that one is dead, and the other is (momentarily still) alive.

Be that as it may ...

The pinnacle of chicken goodness is most definitely the roasted whole chicken. This was proven to me beyond doubt at the tender age of 16, when I was backpacking on my own for the first time, and found myself in Rome one day.

Fresh off the train and just barely settled into my charmingly bare (but very cheap) room in the city's red light district, I went out in search of something to eat. I was ravenous. Following my olfactory sense, not far away, I found a simple shop whose sole merchandise was roasted chicken. Hundreds of them merrily turned on their spits, in various stages of tanness. Being Italian-language-challenged at the time, I nonetheless obtained one by pointing at the rotisserie and holding out some Lira.

There was no time to further forage for side dishes. My stomach demanded immediate satisfaction. So I returned to my room, the hot chicken in the plastic bag tantalizing my senses with every step. As I popped the bag down on the simple table, I realized I had no plate, no cutlery, no napkins. Having been raised with impeccable table manners, I was momentarily mortified. Then I decided "Oh, what the hell", pulled the chicken out of the bag - and yes, unceremoniously tore a leg off with my bare hands.

I still remember very acutely the sensation of that very first bite: sinking my teeth into the moist goodness of that chicken leg, the feeling of crispy skin between them, my mouth filling with herby and salty juices, the tender flesh like silk on my tongue. My taste buds were dancing the conga.

And after that first taste, there was no stopping me. I cradled the entire fowl in my hands and savagely dug into it, tearing at its meat with fingers and teeth, not in the least caring about the mess I was making. Every bite, every morsel, was pure culinary ecstasy.

Only after I had ate my fill and sat there, contently licking the last bits off my fingers, did I consider the carcass on the table. What marvelous animal, I pondered - transformed with spices and a rotisserie into the most delicious, filling, and satisfying, yet simple meal anyone could ever enjoy. Without the distraction of side dishes, I was also for the first time allowed to truly appreciate the flavors to their fullest.

And I realized that if properly attended to, seasoned and cooked, chicken had to be the pinnacle of protein, the king of culinary satisfaction. Some might argue that chicken is rather flavorless and neutral in texture, and they are right. But that's exactly what makes it so wonderful: its blank canvas properties. With chicken, you can freely and uninhibitedly create and experiment in the kitchen. What's better than that?

And maybe, during those last 10 minutes, you may have briefly wondered why I have engaged in this love-struck rant over poultry. The answer is simple, of course: I currently have my very own chicken - spiked with garlic, and massaged with olive oil, fresh thyme, rosemary and other spices - roasting away on the table-top rotisserie. As a latest obsession, it's of the organic, happy-free-range kind - because I figured out they taste so much better. The scent wafting through the air is getting me hungry too.

Hm. I better go eat it. Savagely. And without side dishes.

Sadly, I can relate to this:



More great stuff just like it (for geeks and non-geeks alike) over at xkcd.com.

It's getting cold and rainy outside now, with snow just around the corner. Soon, the world will darken and be drowned in the seductive merriness of flickering candles and twinkling holiday lights. Bands of children will skip about, singing Christmas carols on the streets. Warm scents of baked apple and pumpkin pie, roasted meats, steaming mashed potatoes, hot cider, and spiked eggnogg will waft through the air and hypnotize our senses. We will feel the distinct need to gather our families around us, make roaring fires, and indulge in long evenings of playing card games and watching "It's a Wonderful Life".

But WAIT.

It doesn't have to be this way.

Don't get me wrong. I'm all onboard with the whole candles and food scene around the holidays. Turkey? Pie? Cranberries? Yay! Bring it on. And candles have a certain gothic appeal I enjoy throughout the entire year. But my big beef with the holidays (aside from the insane shopping frenzy) is the entertainment on those long, dark nights. And sorry - I'm just not into football.

So what's left? Christmas with the Kranks? Deck the Halls? Miracle on 34th Street? And please, god - say it ain't so - endless re-runs of Home Alone?

Somebody pass me the pistol.

So I reckon I have to make up my own Holiday Movie List. And as any alert reader will have probably guessed, this one's not exactly sticky-sweet. More like punk-rock-gothic. And anti-Holiday. No sappiness here.

- The Doom Generation: Rude, lewd, violent, yet hypnotically entertaining if you're not afraid of the F-word.
- GoDeadwood's Timothy Oliphant is beyond brilliant as pissed off drug dealer, Scott Wolf and Jay Mohr have perfect comic timing, and Sarah Polley shows ... uhm ... true survivor ingenuity. What's not to like? Oh, right. Ignore Katie Holmes.
- Bram Stoker's Dracula: Brilliant. Timeless.
- A Nightmare Before Christmas: Awesome movie, moderately enhanced by 3D. Catch it on the big screen if you can.
- Anything else Tim Burton's ever made. Particularly: Sleepy Hollow. Beetlejuice. Mars Attacks!
- Almost anything with Rose McGowan in it. Especially: Jawbreaker. Devil in the Flesh. Death Proof and Planet Terror. And of course Doom Generation.
- Also - anything with vampires in it, but mostly: Interview with the Vampire. Underworld. And the somewhat lighter From Dusk Till Dawn.
- And randomly: Cursed, Bound, A Clockwork Orange, Natural Born Killers, Bitter Moon, Chronicles of Riddick, Four Rooms, Sin City, Fight Club, Gladiator, The Jacket, Name of the Rose, Moulin Rouge, Passion in the Desert, Cat People, Ravenous, The Crow.
- On the crossover: anything Quentin Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, and Roman Polanski have ever directed.
- And last, but not least - is there anything more effective against the twisted sentimentality of Christmas than a movie about the presence of hell? Therefore, I give you: Constantine. The Ninth Gate. The Omen.

There. That should keep you entertained for a while.

Updated note: OMG - how could I have possibly omitted Rocky Horror? Shame, shame ...

Hubby wants the world to know:

This is a great bike! Absolutely hate to see it go. I bought this KTM from the original owner with 5k miles in April 07. I rode it on a couple of trips this summer and had an awesome time. Plenty of power, and it handles like a dream. The bike now has 8500 miles [pic]. I live in Bend, Oregon, and would be happy to deliver the bike to Western Oregon via an enclosed trailer. Couple o' minor dents in the left side of the carbon fiber tank guard. Otherwise, the bike is in perfectly beautiful condition. A bargain at $10,750.



Details:

-Black/Orange 2006 KTM 950 Adventure
-Transferable extended service contract good through 6-13-2011
-All services and warranty issues taken care of by the dealer
-Hepco & Becker side bags and KTM Top Case [pic]
-Torque limiter conversion kit installed by dealer
-Orange anodized front brake cover and clutch cover
-Canisterectomy and Flapectomy done by dealer
-Remus Revolution carbon fiber pipes (great sound and extra power!)[pic]
-Lockable tank compartment



If you're interested, email him for more info.