Anne was looking for a good recipe over the weekend and showed me this. This recipe is taken from the Glenwood Resource Center's "Recipes to Remember..." cookbook. No joke.
Elephant Stew
Shoot medium-size elephant. Cut into bite-size pieces and put into large pot. Add enough water to cover elephant. Cook over kerosene fire for 5 weeks at 465 degrees.
This recipe serves 3,850 people. If more guests are expected, add 2 rabbits.
Seriously, I couldn't make this up.
Well, there is now an open road out of the lake. So should my wife unexpectedly go into labor, I can at least drive her to the hospital. I was thumbing through my old boy scout handbook earlier today just in case I was going to have to do it, "the old-fashioned way." I guess they must've left that chapter out. :)
Here's some video that Chopper 13 shot today over our lake.
Diamondhead Lake Flooding. (Click on the "13 Raw" link)
They aren't technologically advanced enough to let me embed the video into the blog...or, I guess, maybe it's me. Either way, it's some great video showing the all of the water that hit our lake this morning.
Zee plane! Zee plane!
Hour 14 of the ordeal and we can now breathe a sigh of relief here at the Iowa Blog Cabin. Chopper 13 was just hovering over head. This has to mean that help is on the way. Chet Culver, the National Guard, you name it...
Live from the scene...
A flood update.
10:12 a.m. Getting thirsty. Feeling weak. It's been 11 hours and we still haven't seen the FEMA helicopters. Not even any military surplus MREs have been dropped out of the sky. I've tried calling the White House, but all of the lines are busy. They need to change their "on hold" music. It keeps playing a medley of Garth Brooks' greatest hits. I think I'm going to go pee in the corner.
I took a video clip and a few more pics. Here. Crap! I just saw a door float by. I should try and catch it. WILSON!! WILSON!!
To give you an idea of the magnitude of this, typically there isn't ANY water flowing over this spillway.
Anyway, Here are some more pictures, too. Strandedly Yours, Doorah
DIAMONDHEAD LAKE, Iowa - We received around 8" of rain last night - from 11:30 a.m. to 6:30 a.m. It was pretty nuts. Our sump pump worked well, so we're okay, but I am literally trapped here at the lake. Currently, all roads out of the lake are flooded closed. Docks, boats, canoes - you name it - currently dot the lake. People who still have there boats are frantically rescuing boats from all over the lake. I watched a paddle boat go over the spillway.
The main concern right now has to be the dam. I guess the DNR is on it's way to inspect it. The last I saw, the water was about 6" from going over the top of the entire dam. There is one spot where the water is going over.
Presently, I'm sitting on my roof waiting for the FEMA helicopter to arrive. Hopefully it will get here soon so I can find a Wal-Mart to loot. I need a new pair of shoes and an Xbox.
Here are some photos...more updates coming
I'm not a fashion editor. Anybody who knows me knows this fact. Heck, some days I'm lucky if my socks match. But there is something going on that the editorial staff here at the Iowa Blog Cabin is getting sick of and can no longer over look...Crocs.
You know what I'm talking about - those rubbery slip-on things that people wear on their feet. They come in the most absurd colors. I've said it before and I'll say it again - people who wear Crocs on a regular basis, everywhere they go, are people who have pretty much given up on life. Seriously. What's even worse, the people who wear them rarely care if they even remotely match whatever else they're wearing!
I imagine this is how it goes in the morning...
"Hmm...today is casual Friday at work, what on earth do I have to wear? Hmmm. Ahh, yes...this Hawaiian shirt, navy blue stirrup pants and hot pink crocs will work. Ahhh...a perfect fit! Well, I'm off. I hope I get that promotion I've been angling for."
Next time you're out walking around, doing whatever, and see someone wearing them, take a look and...well, you be the judge.
Friends and neighbors, we can do better. If you're going out, I'm not saying you have to get all dressed up, but put some shoes on! At least ACT like you care.
Breathe in, breathe out...this week's rant is over.
Well, I think we're getting close. Yesterday we found out little baby Darrah now weighs over 7lbs. Wow. Technically, the due date is Aug. 22 - but I don't believe it. I'll make my prediction right now that it'll be on or around Aug. 8. Anne's a real trooper. If I was her, I'd be complaining pretty much non-stop at this point.
Read more...
Nerd alert, nerd alert!
I like birds. Some of my friends like to tease me about it - but I don't care. I like them. - and I'll tell you why. Birds make you think. Next time you think of it - whether you're walking to your car, out in your yard, out on a walk, sitting on your balcony - whatever - stop and and watch the birds. Seriously, I think they're pretty much the smartest animal.
The more you watch them - the more you'll notice things around you. The more you'll notice all of the different kinds of birds, trees, clouds, people - everything. You'll become more aware. Seriously. Did you know that right now - wherever you are at - if you look out the window, you'll likely see something like at least six different kinds of sparrows? Take a look.
In my backyard, at any given minute there are probably a dozen different kinds of birds. It's like National Geographic out there. What's even better than that is when you watch them long enough, not only will you see dozens of different kinds of birds, you'll begin to recognize the same individual birds in your backyard.
We've named them. I know, I know...it's the kid in me. We've got Ralph and Gwen, the pair of eastern kingbirds. There's Chip, the little chipping sparrow. Spike, the eastern bluebird comes around a lot. There's Jenny, the little wren who has her nest in the telephone pole. And don't forget Pete, the red-headed wood pecker. We also have a gold finch named Miss Piggy who's been coming around lately. Her name is Miss Piggy because she'll sit at the feeder for about twenty minutes oinking down food regardless of what's going on around her.
So the next time you're outside - think about this post - and stop for a second and watch the birds. I guarantee, it won't be too long and you'll notice one you've never seen before.
NASA's latest mission: to boldly go
For the benefit of all, proclaims the motto of Nasa. Now the US government space agency is calling upon its employees - and indeed anybody passing by who has the urge - to give their all in one of its trickiest missions: to boldly go into a beaker.
Researchers on the agency's Orion programme have put out a call for volunteers to donate urine as it tests toilet designs for the latest generation of space capsules.
Urine poses a unique problem for space travellers: it contains solids that can clog the plumbing of even the most sophisticated of spacecraft.
The urine collection drive will last for 11 days. The aim is to collect 30 litres a day, although anyone hoping to give a personal boost to the agency's mission should be aware that a personal limit of 350 millilitres has been imposed. "While this is not a regulation," the memo reads, "you are not encouraged to over-hydrate as this could dilute the urine we collect."
Wait for it...wait for it.
I realized the other day that I hadn't posted anything about Bluffton 2008. Well, as usual, it was awesome. Absolutely beautiful weather, tons of fun - even with an abbreviated trip - and left me excited for Bluffton 2009!
It's harvest time here at the Iowa Blog Cabin. At least for the beans. I was pretty impressed with our first haul. Tomatoes and most of the peppers are a couple weeks off, but we're getting there.
Roll that beautiful bean footage!
Stories...We've all got'em.
I like stories...not necessarily the kind you read in a book, but the kind that tell of people and the experiences they've had. We all have a dad, crazy old uncle or grandpa who is full of, uh, stories...Everytime you talk with them you find yourself caught up in some crazy story about some crazy thing they've done.
My Grandpa Pearce was one of those guys. He always had a story about something. It was pretty neat. It kind of helped keep things in perspective. You could always go to him and he had 10 stories for everything.
I'll never forget one time - I was about 17 or 18. I was getting ready to go backpacking in Wyoming. I was headed for the Bighorn Mtns. outside of Sheridan. Before I left, he and I were talking about the trip and I told him where I was going.
"Sheridan?" he said with an inquisitive look. He leaned back in his chair - tipping the Dinklage Oil cap he always wore with his arthritic finger. He stared into the distance as if he was remembering yesterday. "Boy, I could tell you stories about Sheridan. I remember when I was a cowboy out in Nebraska - we'd always drink Sheridan Beer. I'll tell you what, that was the best beer.
"He seemed to forget he was talking to a 17 year old...he leaned over to me, so Grandma couldn't hear..."If you think about it, when you're there, pick me up some." He gave me a wink, it didn't matter that it had been about 50 years since he'd last had it - or since it was probably brewed at all.
"I don't think they'll let me buy it," I responded.
"Oh, right. I suppose not."
That's the great thing about having lots of stories. If you have enough, you can actually tell stories about telling stories. :)
I'm sitting here thinking about what to write and watching my wife put together a glider-style rocking chair. It's cute. She's like a little kid trying to figure out how to put legos together - but she's getting it. :) Uh-oh...she just muttered something about, "this is not woman's work" under her breath. I should go help...
Read more...Okay folks, I'm going to tred on a touchy subject in today's rant (no pun intended). Feet. I hate'em. But one thing I hate more than feet is when I'm driving down the interstate and I pass a car with some chick (usually) sitting in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dash, smashed into the windshield.
It grosses me out. Case in point - just yesterday, I'm driving home from work - cruising down the interstate in my Mitsubishi, stuck behind some enormous Ford F-550. You know the kind - the monster truck with "Redneck" in a red font in the back window along with that little cartoon character peeing on a Chevy logo. That's the pickup I was behind. So needless to say, my visibility was limited. All I could see was this dude's tailgate and back window - but I could also see through his back window and out his front windshield.
So for about 15 miles, I'm stuck behind this dude cruising along, seeing nothing but blue sky out his front windshield and, of course, his hillbilly girlfriend's nasty feet smashed against the window. Disgusting. People, come on! Nobody wants to take a road trip and see your nasty, crusty, hobbit feet as they drive down the road. I don't care where you started from or where you're going - no trip is that long. Get your damn feet out of the window! :)
Seriously. Have a good weekend!
If you remember only one thing from this story, remember this: there aren't any liquor stores in Brownfield, Texas. But there is a big, pot belly sheriff. You know, the kind with the mirrored sunglasses, a piece of straw dangling from between his lips and a lonely, helpless button just about ready to pop right off his shirt. And somewhere between Main Street and U.S. 385 in Brownfield, Texas, there is a stop light. This is where our story begins.
One Jason Darrah. One Cory Cramer. One 1999 Dodge Stratus. And one road trip. We decided to head south out of Lubbock, Texas in search of, you guessed it...aliens.
We were heading across the desert to Roswell, New Mexico to visit the "International UFO Museum and Research Center" and settle the mystery once and for all. A few minutes outside of Brownfield, Cory, always the thinker, suggested that we stop off and purchase a few beers to wet our whistles for the long, sandy drive across the desert. I couldn't argue with logic like that, so we agreed to find a store to purchase supplies for our trek.
Now I'm sure the people of Brownfield are nice folks and I don't want to offend, but the town could use a good scrubbing. There's a good reason it's called Brownfield. Anyway, cruising through town we were on the lookout for a convenience store that would meet our thirsty needs.
Along with a convenience store, we were also looking out for our turn - a major intersection that would take us to Roswell. Well, priorities being priorities, I was watching for the convenience store much better than I was the turn - and the stoplight. We whizzed right through a red light and right by the county sheriff - who was sitting at the same light. Oops.
Immediately, we were getting pulled over. Fresh meat, with Iowa plates, no less. I pulled over into a church parking lot, Cory laughing at me the whole time. As the sheriff approached, I reached into the glove box and pulled out the usual documents - registration, insurance card and my license - in preparation for the grilling I was sure to receive.
The electric window made the usual buzz as it went down...There, staring at me through his mirrored sunglasses stood a big ol' Texas sheriff. He was everything you're thinking - big pot belly, a ten-gallon felt cowboy hat (with star) and a tooth-pick between his teeth. There, towards the middle of his pot belly, about half-way down his faded khaki uniform was a button hanging on for dear life. Stretched to the limit, it was one more gas station burrito away from flying off and hurting someone.
"May I see your license?" he asked. Instinctively, I handed him the wad containing the licence, registration and proof of insurance. He opened the insurance card and studied it for a minute. You could cut the tension with a knife. "What's this?" he asked, somewhat confused. "It's my proof of insurance, sir." I replied. "OH! Yeah...Well, I guess it is."
He flipped to my license..."Iowa!?...Iowa?" He looked away from the license and down towards me..."Whatchuu boys doing in TEXAS!?" "Uhh, well...I'm moving to Lubbock...blah, blah...sir," I responded - again with the utmost respect."Oh. Well..."
He than proceeded into the typical lecture you might expect to receive from a sheriff who just caught a criminal red handed. After he concluded, he pointed us to the road to Roswell and wished us the best of luck. I thanked him for the help and not giving me a ticket, put it in drive and continued on.
Cory was still laughing. "That was just like that Little Feat song!" he laughed. I rolled my eyes.
Now, you may think this is the end of the story. But it's not. After all, we were still thirsty.
A couple blocks away was a Phillips 66. New and shiny, it was just what we were looking for. Cory and I pulled in and popped out of the car. We walked in and went straight for the usual corner - that end of the convenience store where they always keep the brew. Straight by the Coke, the Pepsi, the Mountain Dew...didn't even slow down for the milk, the water or the Gatorade. All of a sudden there we were - at the freezer looking at a wall of ice. Huh? That's weird. We looked around and scanned the store - there wasn't any beer. How was this possible?
Confused, we walked up to the counter to ask the clerk. "Where can a guy get a 12-pack of beer in this town?" we asked. The clerk looked as though he'd heard this question before. He grinned a sly smirk. "Uh, there is no beer. We're a dry county."
What the hell is a dry county? Is this some kind of desert joke? Well, it's not. There is no beer in Brownfield, Texas - that's the dirty little secret they don't put in their Chamber of Commerce and tourism brochures.
Cory and I looked at each other - stunned. Speechless. How could this be? As we were walking out, the clerk hollered, "the closest place to get beer is New Mexico." Boy, that was a kick in the teeth. New Mexico was probably 40 miles away.
Dejected, we loaded into the Stratus and began heading west - towards the New Mexico border. The wind was harsh, the dunes were deep - and at first it looked like a mirage. But there it was. Literally 10 feet across the Texas/New Mexico border was a liquor store. Not so coincidentally, the parking lot was full of cars from Texas. We were saved. The quest for aliens could now continue.
I was talking with somebody about this the other day and it got me thinking...Of all the places I've been, what are the top ten places in North America to kick back and have a cold one? Here's the list. My top ten favorite bars of North America. I could tell you some great stories from each of them. :)
Anymore, whenever "they" come out with a new "reality" show, I just roll my eyes. Or worse. But yesterday, after we got back from camping, I was bored and feeling pretty lazy. There was no NASCAR on, it was raining outside - so needless to say, I was in trouble.
I finally stole the remote away from my pregnant wife when I simply couldn't stand watching some other reality show with Denise Richards. Anyway, I flipped to the very start of the season 2 marathon of "Ice Road Truckers." Can I just say one thing? These guys are wusses. I don't care if you are driving a 90-ton semi across the frozen Arctic Ocean in -40 degree temperatures. There isn't any traffic! :) What the heck? How is that hard?
To those who may not have seen it, it's basically a bunch of Canadian hillbillies loading up their semi's, driving straight down a frozen river, into the frozen ocean to this tiny eskimo town. Over, and over, and over again. (Did I mention that evil oil companies are involved?) Once in a while, one of the hillbillies (the one with a purple mohawk) will get pissed and break his truck. Somebody else will get pissed because the dude broke his truck and they'll go round and round for a few hours yelling at each other. To maintain the suspenseful tension, the narrator will talk about how "dangerous" the ice is - about every two minutes. Give me a break. They measured the ice and it's 51" thick. Wussies. Get a real job.
Regardless, I watched it for about 5 hours. Every single episode, in fact. I felt like it was real-time it took so long. I can't wait until next week when we find out if Alex makes it to the tiny eskimo town - for about the thousandth time.
If it's July 4th, it's Bluffton. Every year since 2000 I have spent an extended 4th of July weekend in northwest Iowa in a tiny, tiny village of Bluffton. It's right on the banks of the Upper Iowa River, arguably the most beautiful rivers in Iowa. It's not like the typical Iowa muddy, sewage-filled, polluted sludge channels. It almost reminds you of a mountain stream. We typically head up to Lanesboro, MN for some biking one day, canoe down the Upper Iowa river another, tube a third day - throw in a TON of fireworks for fun and you have the recipe for a good tim. God willing, I'll have all my fingers come Monday. :)
Most of my friends are already there. Because we're a little over a month away from the kiddo arriving, Anne and I decided to abbreviate our trip a little bit this year. We're heading up on Friday - in time for the fireworks and a some tubing (me, that is). Either way it's looking like a nice weekend.
Oh, and in case you've never seen Bluffton fireworks and the world-famous "atom bomb"...here's a little taste.
Atom Bomb - 2007
Anybody need tomatoes? We're going to have a boatload here in a few more weeks. the whole garden is looking pretty good, actually. The sweet corn is about 3 1/2 feet tall, all of the peppers growing like weeds and there are going to be a lot of tomatoes. We should have some good salsa here in a few more weeks.
I harvested my first jalapeno the other day and I have a lot of cayenne peppers that are about ready.
I'm going to say something that is intensely politically incorrect - I like oil. I like thick, black oil. I like oil that makes the gas that powers my SUV. Now, I don't like paying $4 a gallon for gas - BUT, since I like my SUV, and need the gas that powers it, I live with it.
I watch a lot of CNBC. And one thing I don't like is ignorant politicians who don't know anything about business going on business channels spewing their ignorant political blah thinking that smart people will eat it up like their other ignorant politician friends do. Case in point:
People who know me know that I tend, once in a while, to go on sarcastic, well-meaning rants about topics. :) And, usually, the direction of my rants tend to swim upstream against general public opinion. This is one of those rants. :)
Shawn Johnson. Am I the only one in Iowa who is sick and tired of hearing about her? Am I the only one who thinks that there are more important things to talk about? Probably. Now, it's not everyday that somebody currently living in Iowa participates in the olympics - don't get me wrong - it's definitely news. But everywhere I go, everything I read and everytime I turn on the TV...all I see is Shawn Johnson. Somebody is trying to make a buck, grab a little publicity find a new angle for a story - all using Shawn Johnson. It's driving me nuts.
So today I'm sitting at my desk, sipping on my tortilla soup and reading a few articles over lunch. I stumble across this little gem, "Coming to State Fair: 'Butter Johnson.'" Unbeliveable. What the heck is going on? I think somebody knows this drives me crazy and is just trying to pull my chain. :)
© Blogger template The Professional Template by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008
Back to TOP
