Ask any piggy you happen to see, what’s the best pork chop? Piggy of the Sea.

This is something that had always puzzled me. Thanks again to the “internets,” that George Dubya Bush spoke of and which Al Gore invented. (sometimes I do satire.) I’m speaking of “Chicken of the Sea.” That’s a tuna company of course. The name comes from what fishermen called albacore tuna because of its white meat and mild taste reminding them of chicken. Perhaps that is where the habit of saying different foods, particularly unusual choices for meat at least in the U.S., saying that the food “tastes like chicken.”

Frog legs? Tastes like chicken. Rattlesnake meat? Taste like chicken. Rocky Mountain Oysters? Tastes like chicken. No, no, wait a minute now. Mountain oysters taste like calf fries to me.

But Chicken of the Sea. It’s a hell of a name, especially when you extrapolate a bit. Turkey of the Permafrost. Zebra of the Lower Fourth Ward. Gecko of the Locker Room. Dog of El Camino Real. You see what I mean?

Back to the whole tastes like chicken thing, have you ever had chicken that didn’t taste like chicken? It can happen. So what do you say when that happens? Tastes like grout on a cracker. Tastes like honey badger. Tastes like … Well, you get it. It just doesn’t make sense.

I’m just glad that Chicken of the Sea wasn’t named after some dude who was afraid of the ocean. So let’s say he goes back to dry land and moves somewhere out West where Kenny Rogers writes a song in his honor called “Coward of the County.” No? Okay, I gave it a shot.

Little football for Texans but a lot of soap

What in the Sam Hill Freaking Yankee Doodle Dandy is going on with my alleged pro football team a.k.a. the Houston Texans?

Their eighth loss in a row to Oakland was the most pathetic of the team’s recent disasters. That is saying quite a bit because the Texans had their head coach back from a mini-stroke, although he did his stuff from way high above Reliant Stadium in the press box.

Even former starting QB Matt Schaub came back in the second half. He had what would have been a winning toss to one of the first Texans and best damn wide receiver in the universe, Andre Johnson, but it didn’t work out. It did result in a sideline tiff between Schaub and Johnson. Ever cool Johnson left the game to cool down as the Raiders were taking the winning knees. Johnson, of course, downplayed the spat. Kiss and make up? Don’t want to think about it.

Coach Gary Kubiak said rookie QB Case Keenum will start against next week’s game with Jacksonville. Keenum, who lets his balls (footballs) all hang out is fun to watch but that doesn’t always get the job done.

So what will happen next on “As The Texans Turns?” (“Or As Texans Fans Stomachs Turn.”) Will Schaub and Johnson make up? Oh man, don’t want to think about it. Will Keenum win his first start as a NFL quarterback? Will Wade Phillips take over for Gary Kubiak as head coach. Stay tuned. (Organ music please.)

 

How I somehow got on a discussion of roadrunners

Seeing a roadrunner is not an everyday kind of event in my neck of the woods.

This ground-dwelling cuckoo known as a roadrunner may have coyotes to worry about in some places but there are fewer high places on which to launch a dangerous bank vault. Bureau of Land Management photo/S. Schmidt.
This ground-dwelling cuckoo known as a roadrunner may have coyotes to worry about in some places but there are fewer high places on which to launch a dangerous bank vault. Bureau of Land Management photo/S. Schmidt.

The Geococcyx californianus  as they are scientifically known aren’t completely alien to the pine forests of East Texas, where I was raised. Neither are roadrunners completely foreign a little south of the Pineywoods, in what is the Big Thicket area and into the coastal plains of Southeast Texas where I currently reside.

Scientists who study these sort of things say these speedy ground-dwelling cuckoos have been found in each of the 254 Texas counties. The North American Breeding Bird Survey shows the roadrunner habitat through most areas of the Southwest U.S. and into areas of states bordering Texas. This is in conjunction with the areas of northern Mexico where one may also find these birds.

Roadrunner habitat in the United States from the Breeding Bird Survey. USGS map
Roadrunner habitat in the United States from the Breeding Bird Survey. USGS map

The map provided by the Breeding Bird Survey (BBS) — a U.S. Geological Survey/Environment Canada effort — shows that one is most likely to see a roadrunner in the Chihuahuan Desert, the North Texas plains and the Rio Grand Valley in Texas as well as the Sonoran Desert in California. But other than a two or three day adventure in Big Bend National Park — in the heart of the Chihuahuan — the only roadrunners I have ever seen were in the wooded areas of eastern Texas.

 

Sometimes called the chaparral or chaparral cock, this cuckoo is pretty damn smart when it comes to ferreting out the sustenance it needs to survive and doing so just about wherever it needs to survive. The first roadrunner I saw was while riding to a picnic with my neighbor kids and their mother. We kids recognized the bird, of course, because the “Roadrunner” cartoons had recently begun its run on network TV. Folks around the area where I grew up said the first such birds they had seen were sometime in the 1940s or 1950s. The birds actually spread pretty rapidly because of the changes in land use. Whether that growth has stopped or slowed down, I don’t know. But the BBS map shows that they haven’t traveled very far from eastern Texas. Once again, the physical terrain and vegetation, whether changed or not, probably is the major factor.

I have to admit that the roadrunners are curious-looking, as well as curious-acting, feathered fellows. I think they are quite majestic and quite handsome even though its long legs and neck do somewhat resemble the flightless ratites. The major difference between the chaparral and ratites such as the emu is that roadrunners are capable of a weak effort at flying. As for photogenic, I’d have to say the roadrunner wins hands, or feet, down. And while the emu is not generally given to aggression they are apt to cause humans to hurt themselves as the “smarter creature” takes flight. The good old roadrunner just takes off instead of fooling with humans. Then again, I have had strange encounters with emus. I think I will just leave it at there, for now at least.

Although I certainly hold no claim as an expert on roadrunners, I can say without reservation that I’ve never hear them utter sounds such as “meep meep.” Also, since coyotes can be found just about anywhere I wouldn’t draw any conclusions.

Five years and yet still no book. What a Dick!

Friends, Romans, Country Boys, lend me your ears. I don’t know quite what to do with them but I am certain I will find a use. Just keep your ear wax, you heah?

As you can see, I have nothing worth writing this afternoon. And, although that has not stopped me before I shall be brief here. That is, less than 500 words, or so I hope.

I thought I would update the writing project. What? You didn’t know I had a writing project? Why I do every day, or so. But other than hitting or missing here I have been continually on the path during the last four or five years of what some people call a “writing a book.” I just don’t know what I want to write a book about. That has been my problem for the last four or five years. That and medical problems. Those problems and financial problems. We’ve had hurricanes. A 32-hour-per-week job that is called “part-time.” And on and on.

I can say that this project will not be a work of fiction. Or for the most part that is. Or maybe it will be fiction that is based on truth. Or maybe it will be an epic poem. Or maybe it will be … Or maybe it will be. Hell. I don’t quite know still. I do have an idea, though it sounds kind of stupid. But perhaps Hemingway thought a fisherman’s obsessing over a large marlin was stupid. I don’t know. People have all sorts of stupid ideas.

My novel will need specific structure to succeed. It must be short. I mean really short. It should be so short that having finished this work might move even a village’s most accomplished nincompoop to boast of his bookish conquest.

My struggle with writing a book is probably my greatest conflict in life. Well, it is certainly one of those. I thought of passing along my idea in this blog. But why would I do that? What if it turns out to be an excellent idea that some smart but unscrupulous writer discovers? Then again, why would a smart writer be reading this blog? I’m just using a little self-deprecating humor there. I know I have smart readers. Especially those who continue to follow my work year after year.

Okay. That’s it for today. The next day I have off that I don’t have to visit a doctor, I will begin on my literary journey — once more with renewed purpose. I can see myself on Charlie Rose. Uh, on his PBS show, not on Charlie Rose himself, my heft sitting on his shoulders beating him upon the ribs shouting “Faster, faster, Rose, you old scoundrel!” Well, that just prevented me from ever appearing on the only interesting talk show to be broadcast these days. Plus, that sentence just kept me from all the rest of the TV shows. Why I couldn’t even get on Jerry Springer, I bet.

Enough grandiosity. I’ve yet to even write my first words. Well, okay, how about these?

“Call me Ishmael. Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.”

The Blue Norther comes sweeping down the plains. It must be Texas, by golly!

Today brought the first “blue norther” of the fall for these parts, perhaps all parts, of Texas. Granted, it isn’t much of a blue norther and one could understand how folk-weather purists might challenge the cold front that just blew into Southeast Texas and its worthiness of the blue norther name.

Blue norther is a pretty ambiguous term, even in Texas, where the term seems to hold a great deal more meaning than in certain other parts of these United States.

The Handbook of Texas, with its title self-explanatory, says:

“What is peculiar to Texas is the term itself.”

The folk attributions mentioned by the excellent explainer of all things Texas seem to agree the term holds a strong reference to its blue, or blue black,” appearance as a leading edge to a strong cold front. The Weather Channel likewise indicates a strong kinship to Texas with a rather full outline of the meteorological phenomenon’s attributes. Yes, the sky is usually blue black to dark blue. Chilly and gusty winds accompany most such fronts. Sometimes the front will bring rain, sometime not. The precipitation may also be white in color, as noted in this NOAA piece about the so-called “Sleet Bowl” between the Dallas Cowboys and the Miami Dolphins on Thanksgiving Day 1993 in Irving, Texas.

My memory of the Sleet Bowl was not due to my dying fanaticism for Dallas or Miami. Rather, I was in the tiny burgh of Fischer, Texas, about 200 miles south of Texas Stadium, at the time. I only recently knew the location of the Devil’s Backbone Tavern was in a town. Back then it was out in the Hill Country wilderness between Canyon Lake and San Marcos. The town of Wimberley, about 10 miles down the road from the tavern was not the tourist destination it has become.

The Devil’s Backbone Tavern, is named for the nearby ridge that rises to more than 1,200 feet. It is supposedly haunted though I never personally noticed any apparitions appearing . Holding up in a little country beer joint with a nice inviting fireplace doesn’t seem proper habitat for “haints” anyway.

I was staying in nearby San Marcos that Thanksgiving. I don’t really know why. I liked that area from previous visits and I decided to go stay there alone, knowing there would be few students hanging around. Southwest Texas State (now Texas State University) was closed for the holiday. I went out Thanksgiving morning and studied the areas of rugged hills or small mountains to the west of San Marcos. In the afternoon I stopped at the tavern. It was the only watering hole around at the time, so I had some beers for which I was thankful.

Later in the evening, folks who frequent the bar, started bringing in eats for what some might call a “pot-luck” but we all called Thanksgiving dinner. I felt a little strange sticking around, an outsider eating their delicious food, but they didn’t care. I was just one of the folks who came for Thanksgiving dinner. One’s name did not need be known to all like the proverbial Norm of Cheers. That’s what made dinner so great. Sitting inside the warmth and watching two teams that hardly ever played in cold weather try to navigate the sleet-covered field. The game pretty much sucked, but the company, food and beer, were stupendous.

This Texas Monthly article from some years back provides perhaps as good an explanation as any when it comes to the Blue Norther. As cumin is the spice which sets chili from the soup bowl, so does the cold-ass Arctic air provide the key ingredient that makes the Blue Norther a Texas big blow. Well, sometimes that is the case.