Irishland

Don't make me turn this car around. Not that I could ...

I just returned from a brief trip to Ireland with Susan and Mama. We enjoyed ourselves tremendously–some more than others. I spent the bulk of the time with a white-knuckled death-grip on the steering wheel of a Nissan Note trying to remember to stay on the left side of the road while trying to get to some beautiful natural scenery, which, upon arrival was inconveniently hidden by sheets of driving rain. This started to give me a complex and, being the sort who assumes responsibility for everything that goes wrong, I began to think this was turning out to be the worst vacation ever.

Not to worry.

Two Months to Go

It’s October 30 and we all know what that means! Time to panic and run down to the local drug-store to buy a last-minute Halloween costume. You can grouse about how that dented Miley Cyrus mask looks silly and makes your beard itch — or you can make a game of it and be proud you’re wearing The Last Shite in the Shop (as I heard an Irish DJ refer to this shopping pattern).

Oh, and Oct. 30 means we’re now less than two months away from the shipping date of The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival. It starts shipping from Amazon and B&N.com and other online retailers on Dec. 29.

Of course, a lot can happen in two months — like a massive coronal eruption on the sun’s surface frying us all to a crisp — and lord knows I’m tired of waiting, but two months is nothing. Nothing.

WTF? Happy Halloween

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Squirrel Head Potpie

When a recipe starts by telling you to boil ten squirrel heads, you know you’re onto something good! I found this little gem in “Louisiana Cultural Vistas,” one of those fancy magazines they put in upscale hotel rooms in New Orleans. It’s actually an excellent damn mag judging by this particular issue. And the potpie recipe was tucked in an article about Mary Land, author of Louisiana Cookery and a woman light years ahead of her time — conservationist, serial marrier, hunter, fisher, cook.

Anyway, the recipe card reads:

Boil ten squirrel heads until tender in just enough water to cover. Make pie crust and line casserole. Place a layer of heads and some juice. Dot with butter and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Make another layer of heads, juice and more pie crust strips. Cook in oven for one-half hour. (Serves six).

I sure as hell hope the recipe assumes you’ll take the meat off the skulls before putting it in the crust. Otherwise, that would be one huge (and crunchy) potpie.

Reality vs. Fiction in Grand Prairie

This weekend, I made a quick pass through the real Grand Prairie, Louisiana — as opposed to the alternate-reality one I created for The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival. To be honest, I didn’t expect to find that much difference between the two. After all, the one is based on the other.

But I was wrong.

The Recent Reading List

Friday, I finished The Well and the Mine, by Gin Phillips. It was a beautiful bit of Southern fiction, the kind I used to aspire to write, but gave up for comedy and angry satire — because, as much as I love her voice, I know it’s not my voice. The characters in it — the Moore family — were, as they say, something else, and I really didn’t want the book to end. Extra bonus is that my copy is signed. I met Gin at SIBA a few weeks back and she had one of those great stories: Her book was published by a small house and then picked up by Penguin/Riverhead.

Monkey yodeling!

I think they should consider giving Leno’s 10 p.m. slot to the comedic genius of Craig Ferguson. Sent in by Dead Serious, who’s got video of a monkey riding a motorcycle.

Obama Should Decline the Peace Prize

The Nobel peace committee is a long-standing politicized joke. Witness the award to Jimmy Carter, whose sucking up to dictators while in office and complete bungling of the Iran hostage crisis likely set the entire tone for the relationship between the U.S. and tinpots and terrorist groups for the next 30 years.

Building houses for the poor and writing volumes of poetry does not make up for that.

Boudin, Baby. Boudin

Trust me on this one.

Boudin. If you’re not from Louisiana, you probably haven’t had it and you probably can’t pronounce it. Boo-dan. But you have to cut about half of the n off of dan.

Sure, at first glance, a box of boudin may look like a carton full of soft-boiled geriatric, uh, weinies. But I promise you won’t put anything tastier in your mouth. (I’m talking about the boudin, you perv.)