Russel's Salsa Recipe.
1 jalapeno, finely diced
1 Anaheim pepper, finely diced
1 habanero pepper, finely diced (if you like it hot).
1/2 red onion, finely diced
1/2 sweet onion (vidalia, or Walla Walla) finely diced
1 Roma tomato, finely diced
1 tsp ground cumin
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp white pepper
1-1/2 T lime juice
1-1/2 T red wine vinegar
3 T chopped fresh cilantro
1 small can Hunt's tomato sauce
Mix together, and chill for a couple of hours to let the flavors mingle.
If
you take everything but leave out the tomato sauce and mix together
with 2 large or 3 small avocados finely diced, it makes a wonderful
guacamole.
The Love House
It's love. In a house.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Friday, December 23, 2011
The Sugarplum Favor
Tad
Williams’ new short story collection, A
Stark And Wormy Knight, is available now, worldwide, as an ebook, $4.99 (or
equivalent) for one month
The
following story is unique to this blog and a few others. Happy Holidays.
THE
SUGARPLUM FAVOR
(A
Christmas Story)
Tad
Williams
Danny
Mendoza counted his change three times in while the teacher talked about what
they were all supposed to bring for the class winter holiday party
tomorrow. It was really a Christmas
party, at least in Danny's class, because that's what all the kids' families'
celebrated. Danny had his party
contribution covered. He had volunteered
to bring napkins and paper plates and cups because his family had some left
over from his little brother's birthday party with characters from Gabba Gabba
Hey on them. He’d get teased about that,
he knew, but he didn’t want to ask his mother to make something because she was
so busy with his little brothers and the baby, and now that Danny’s stepfather
Luis had lost his job they had a Money Situation. Danny could live with a little teasing.
Danny
was going to buy a candy bar for his mother, one of those big ones. That was going to be his Christmas present to
her and Danny knew how much she'd like it -- he hadn't just inherited his small
size and nimble fingers from her, he'd got her sweet tooth, too. And she had just been talking about the
Christmas a few years ago when Luis had a good job with the Sanitation
Department and he'd brought her a whole box of See's chocolates. Danny knew he couldn't match that, but the
last of the money he'd saved up from raking leaves in the neighborhood and
walking old Mrs. Rosales' wheezy little dog should be enough to buy a big old
Hershey bar that would make Mama smile.
No, what to get wasn't a problem.
The thing that had him thinking so hard as he went down the street at a
hurried walk, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, was whether he dared
to get it now or should wait another day.
In Danny's San
Jose neighborhood the Mercado Estrella was like an African water hole, not only
a crucial source of nurture but also the haunt of the most fearsome predator in
his 3rd grade world. Any stop at the
little market meant he risked running into Hector Villaba, the big, mean
fifth-grade kid who haunted Danny's days and often his nights as well. Danny couldn't even begin to guess how much
candy and other goodies Hector had stolen from him and the other kids over the
years, but it was a lot -- Hector was the elementary school's Public Enemy
Number One. About half the time his
victims got shoved around, too, or even hit, and none of the grown-ups ever did
anything about it except to tell their humiliated sons they should learn how to
fight back. That was probably because
Hector Villaba’s father was a violent, drunken brute who didn't care what
Hector did and everyone in the neighborhood was as scared of him as the kids at
school were scared of his son. The last
time someone in the neighborhood had called the police on Hector’s dad, all
their windows had been broken while they were at church and their car scratched
from one end to another.
Danny
was still trying to make up his mind whether to risk stopping at the market
today or wait for better odds tomorrow (when class ended early because of the
holiday) when he saw Mrs. Rosales walking Pinto, her little spotted dog. He almost crossed the street because he knew
she'd want to talk to him and he'd spent a lot of time doing that already last
week when went to her house to get Pinto nearly every day. He was too close, though, she’d seen him, and
Jesus hated being rude to old people almost as much as he hated it when kids
lied, or at least that was what his mama always told him. Danny wasn't expecting much from Santa
anyway, but if Jesus got upset things would probably be even worse. He sighed and continued toward her.
"Look
who's here!" Mrs. Rosales said when she saw him. "Look, Pinto mi querida, it's your friend Danny!" But when he waved and would have passed by
she told him, "Hold on a moment, young man, I want to talk to you."
He
stopped, but he was really worried that Hector and his friends might catch up
if he stood around too long. "Yes,
Mrs. Rosales?"
"I
short-changed you the other day."
She took out a little coin purse.
It took her a long time to get it open with her knobby old fingers. "I owe you a dollar."
“Really?” Danny was astonished.
She pulled out a
piece of paper that looked like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times
and handed it to him. "I know boys
need money this time of year!"
He
thanked her, petted Pinto (who growled despite all their time together, because
Pinto was a spoiled brat) and hurried toward the market. Another dollar! It was like one of those Christmas miracles
on a television show – like the Grinch’s heart growing so much it made the
x-ray machine go sproing! This changed everything. He could not only buy his mom's present, he
could buy something for himself, too. He
briefly considered blowing the whole dollar on a Butterfinger, his very
favorite, but he knew hard candies would be a better investment -- he could
share them with his younger brothers, and it was Christmas-time, after all.
But whatever he got, he didn't want to wait for tomorrow, not now that
he had something to spend on himself.
Danny Mendoza had been candy-starved for days. Nothing sweeter than the baby's butterscotch
pudding had passed his lips that week, and the pudding hadn't been by his own
choice. (His baby sister had discovered
that if she waved her spoon things flew and splattered, and she liked that new
trick a lot.) If he hurried to the
market he should still get there long before Hector and his friends, who had
many children to harass and humiliate on their way home. It was a risk, of course, but with an
unexpected dollar in his pocket Danny felt strangely confident. There had to be such a thing as Christmas
luck, didn't there? After all, it was a
whole holiday about Jesus getting born, and Jesus was kind to everybody. Although it sure hadn’t seemed like a lucky
Christmas when Luis, Danny’s stepfather, had lost his job in the first week of
December. But maybe things were going to
get better now -- maybe, as his mama sometimes said, the Mendoza family’s luck
was going to change.
He
was even more willing to believe in miracles when he saw no sign of Hector and his friends at the market. As he walked in Christmas music was playing
loudly on the radio, that "Joy to the World" song sung by some smooth
television star. Tia Marisol, the little
old lady who ran the place on her own since her husband died, was trying to
hang some lights above the cigarettes behind the cash register. She wasn’t his real aunt, of course. Everybody in the neighbohood just called her
“Tia.”
"Oye, little man," she called when
she turned around and saw him.
"How's your mama?"
"Fine,
Tia Marisol. I'm getting her a
present." He made his way past the postres to the long candy rack. So many colors, so many kinds! It almost seemed to glow, like in one of
those cartoons where children found a treasure-cave. When Danny was little, it was what he had
imagined when the minister at the church talked about Heaven. The only better thing he had ever seen in his
whole life was the huge piñata at one of his school friends’ birthday party,
years and years ago. When the birthday
boy knocked the piñata open and candy came showering out and all the kids could
jump in and take what they want – that had been amazing. Like winning a game show on television. Danny still dreamed about it sometimes.
Danny realized
that he was staring like a dummy at the rack of candy when every second the
danger that Hector and his friends would arrive kept growing. He quickly examined the big Hershey bars
until he found one with a perfect wrapper, a massive candy bar that looked as
if it had been made special for a commercial.
He would have loved to spend more time browsing -- how often did he have
a whole dollar to spend just on candy? -- but he knew time was short, so he
grabbed a good-sized handful of hard, sour candies for sucking, took several
different colors of candy ropes; then, as worry grew inside him, as
uncomfortable as needing to pee, he finally snatched up a handful of bubble gum
and ran to the front counter.
"What's
your hurry, m'hijo?" Tia Marisol
asked.
"Mom
needs me," he said, which he hoped was not enough of a lie to ruin Jesus'
upcoming celebration. After all, Mom did always need his help, especially by
this time in the day when she'd been on her own with the baby and the littlest
brother since morning, and had just walked the other brother home from
preschool. He pulled the three dollars
worth of much-counted change out of one pocket and mounded it in front of Tia
Marisol, then put the Hershey bar and his own handful of candy down beside it
before digging out the crumpled dollar Mrs. Rosales had given him. She slid her glasses a little way down her
nose while she looked at it all.
"Where'd
you get so much money, Danny?"
"Raking
lawns. Taking Mrs. Rosales dog for
walks."
Tia
Marisol smiled, handed him back twenty-three cents, and put everything into a
paper bag. "You're a good boy. You and your family have a happy Christmas. Tell your mama I said hello, would you?"
"Sure." He was already halfway through the door,
heart beating.
The
Christmas miracle continued outside: other than a couple of young mothers with
strollers and bundled-up babies, and the old men who sat on the bus bench
across the street drinking from bottles in paper bags, the area around the
store was still clear. Danny began to
walk toward home as fast as he could without running, because he had the bag
under his coat now and he didn't want to melt Mama's candy bar. Still, he was almost skipping, he was so
happy. Joy to the world, the Lord is come...!
"Hey, Mendoza," someone
shouted in a hoarse voice. "What's in the bag, maricon?"
Danny
stopped, frozen for a moment like a cornered animal, but then he began to walk
again, faster and faster until he was running.
There was no question whose voice that was. Pretty much every kid in his school knew it
and feared it.
"Hold
up, Mendoza, or I'll kick your ass good!"
The voice was getting closer. He
could hear the whir of bike tires on the sidewalk coming up behind him
fast. He looked back and saw that Hector
Villaba and his big, stupid friends Rojo and Chuy were bearing down on him on
their bikes, and in another second or two would ride him down. He lunged to the side just as Hector stuck
out his foot and shoved him, sending Danny crashing into the low wire fence of
the house he was passing. He bounced off
and tumbled painfully to the sidewalk as Hector and his gang stopped just a few
yards ahead, now blocking the sidewalk that led Danny home. The hard candies had fallen out of his bag
and were scattered across the sidewalk.
He got down on his knees, hurrying to pick them up, doing everything he
could to avoid eye contact with Hector and the others, but when he reached for
the last one Hector's big, stupid basketball-shoe was on top of it. The older boy leaned over and picked it
up. "Jolly Rancher, huh? Not bad.
Not great, but not bad." He
waved it in Danny's face, making him look up from all fours like a dog at its
master. "I asked you what's in the
bag, Mendoza?"
"Nothing! It's for my mama."
"For
your mama? Oh, iddn't dat
sweet?" Hector's fingers hooked
under Danny's chin and lifted. Danny
didn't fight -- he knew it wasn't going to help -- but he still flinched when
he saw Hector's round, sweaty face so close, the angry, pale yellow-brown
eyes. Hector Villaba even had the
beginnings of a real mustache, a hairy smudge on his upper lip. It was one of the things that made him so
scary, one of the reasons why even bigger twelve year olds like Chuy and Rojo
let him lead them -- a fifth-grader with a mustache!
"C'mon,
open it up," Hector told him.
"Let's see what you got for your mama." When Danny still didn't offer up the bag,
Hector's friend Chuy put a foot on Danny's back and pushed down so hard that
Danny had to brace himself to keep from being shoved against the sidewalk. “I said show me, maricon," said Hector.
"Chuy gonna break your spine.
He knows karate."
Danny
handed Hector the bag, biting his lip, determined not to cry. Hector pulled out the big Hershey Bar. "Hijole!"
he said. "Look at that! Something for your mama, shit -- you were
going to eat that all by yourself. Not
even share none with us. That's cold,
man."
"It
is for my mother! It is!"
Danny pushed up against Chuy's heavy hiking boot trying to reach the
candy bar, which didn't look anywhere near so huge clamped in Hector Villaba's
plump, dirty fingers. Chuy took his
weight off for a moment, then kicked Danny in the ribs hard enough to make him
drop to the concrete and hug himself in pain.
"If
you try any more shit, we'll hurt you good," said Hector, laughing as he
unwrapped the candy bar. He tossed a
piece to Chuy, then another to Rojo, who grabbed it out of the air and shoved
it in his mouth like a starving dog, then licked his fingers. Hector leaned down and gave Danny another
shove, hard enough to crash him against the fence again. "Don't you ever try to hide anything from me.
I know where you live, dude. I'll
come over and slap the bitch out of you and your mama both." He pointed to the hard candies still clutched
in Danny's hands. "Get that other
shit, too, yo," Hector told Rojo, and the big, freckled kid bent Danny's
fingers back until he surrendered it all.
The
Christmas chocolate bar, looking sad and naked with half its foil peeled away,
was still clutched in Hector's hand as he and his friends rode away laughing,
sharing the hard candy out of the bag.
For
a while Danny just sat on the cold sidewalk and wished he had a knife or even a
gun and he could kill Hector Villaba, even if it made Jesus unhappy for
weeks. At that moment Danny almost felt
like he could do it. The rotten, mean
bastard had taken his mom's present!
At
last Danny wiped his eyes and continued home.
It was starting to get dark and the wind was suddenly cold, which made
his scratched-up hands ache. When he
reached the apartment he let himself in, dropped his book bag by the door, then
called a greeting to his mama feeding Danny's baby sister in the kitchen as he
hurried on to the bathroom so he could clean up his scratches and tear-stained
face and do his best to hide the damage to the knees of his pants before she
saw him up close. It wouldn't do any
good to tell her what had happened – she couldn’t do anything and it would make
her very sad. Danny was used to keeping
quiet about what went on between home and school, school and home.
After a while he
went out and sat at the table and watched as his mother fed green goop to the
baby. Even her smile for Danny looked
tired. Mama worked so hard to keep them
all fed and dressed, hardly ever yelled, and even sang old songs from Mexico
for Danny and his brothers when she wasn't too tired...
And now that cabron Hector had stolen her present, and
he didn’t have any money left to get her something else.
*
Later that night,
when the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, Danny found himself crying
again. It was so unfair! What had happened to the Christmas luck? Or did that kind of thing only happen to
other kids, other families?
“Please, Jesus,”
he prayed quietly. “I just have to get
Mama something for Christmas – something Hector can’t take. If that’s a miracle, okay – I mean, I know
you can’t do them all the time, but if you got one...an extra one...”
*
Something
woke him up – a strange noise in the living room. For a moment he lay in bed wondering if Santa
Claus might have come, but then he remembered it was still three days until
Christmas. Still, he could definitely
hear something moving, a kind of quiet fluttery sound. His brothers were both sprawled in boneless,
little-boy sleep across the mattress they shared, so he climbed carefully over
them and made his way out to the living room.
At first he saw nothing more unusual than the small Christmas tree on
top of the coffee table, but as he stared, his eyes trying to get used to the
dark, he saw the tree was...moving? Yes,
moving, the top of the pine wagging like a dog’s tail.
Danny had never
heard of a Christmas tree coming to life, not even in a TV movie, and it scared
him. He picked up the tennis racket with
the missing strings Luis kept promising to fix, then crawled toward the
scraggly tree with its ornaments of foil and cut paper.
As
he got closer he could see that something small was caught in the tree’s
topmost branch, trying to fly away but not succeeding. He could hear its wings beating so fast they
almost buzzed. A bird, trapped in the
apartment? A really big moth?
Danny
looked for one of the baby's bowls to trap it, then had a better idea and crept
to the kitchen cabinet where his mom kept the washed jars. He picked a big one that had held sandwich
spread and slithered commando-style back to the living room. Whatever the thing was, it was really stuck,
tugging and thrashing as it tried to free itself from the pine needles. He dropped the jar over it and pulled
carefully on the branch until the thing could finally get free, then Danny
clapped the lid on the jar to keep it from escaping.
The
thing inside the jar went crazy now, flying against the glass, the wings going
so fast that it made it hard for him to see for certain what it was. The strange thing was, it actually looked
like a person -- a tiny, tiny little person no bigger than a sparrow. That was crazy. Danny knew it was crazy. He knew he had to be dreaming.
"What
are you doing?" the thing said in a tiny, rasping voice. It didn’t sound happy at all. "Let me go!"
Danny
was so startled to hear it talk that he nearly dropped the jar. He held it up to the light coming in from the
street lamp to get a better look. The
prisoner in the jar was a little lady -- a lady with wings! A real, honest-to-goodness Christmas miracle! "Are you...an angel?" he asked.
"Let
me out, young man, and we'll talk about it." She didn't sound much like an angel. Actually, she sounded a lot like that
scratchy-voiced nanny on that TV show his mama watched sometimes. Her hair was yellow and kind of wild and
sticky-uppy, and she wore a funny little dancing dress. She was also carrying a bag over her shoulder
like Santa did, except that hers wasn’t much bigger than Danny’s thumb .
"P-Promise
you won't fly away?" he asked this strange small person. "If I let you out?"
She
had her tiny hands pressed up against the inside of the jar. She shook her head so hard her little sparkly
crown almost fell off.
"Promise. But hurry up -- I
don't like enclosed places. Honest, it
makes me want to scream. Let me out,
please."
"Okay. But no cheating." He unscrewed the lid on the jar and slowly
turned it over. The tiny lady rose up,
fluttering into the light that streamed through the living room window.
“Oh, that’s so
much better,” she said. “I got stuck in
a panoramic Easter egg once, wedged between a frosting bunny and a cardboard flower
pot. Thought I was going to lose my
mind.”
"Wow,” he
said. “Who are you? What
are you?"
She
carefully landed on the floor near his knee.
"I'm a sugarplum fairy," she said. "Like in that ballet."
"Huh?"
"Never
mind. Look, thanks for getting me loose
from that tree.” She turned herself
around trying to look down at herself.
“Rats! Ripped my skirt. I hate conifers.” She turned back to Danny. “I didn't mean to scare you, I was just
passing through the neighborhood when I felt somebody thinking candy thoughts
-- real serious candy thoughts. I mean, it was like someone shouting. Anyway, that’s what we do, us sugarplum
fairies -- we handle the candy action, especially at Christmas time. So I thought I should come and check it
out. Was it you? Because if it was, you’ve got the fever bad,
kid.” She reached into her bag and
produced a lollypop bigger than she was, something that couldn’t possibly have
fit in there. “Here, have one on
me. You look like you need it.”
"Wow. Wow!"
He suddenly realized he was talking out loud and dropped his voice,
worried that he would wake up his mama and Luis. He reached out for the lollypop. "You're really a fairy. Do you know Jesus?"
She
shrugged. "I think he’s in another
department. What's your name? It's Danny, isn't it?"
He
nodded. "Yeah.” It suddenly struck him. “You know my name...?"
"I've
got it all written down somewhere."
She started riffling through her bag again, then pulled out something
that looked like a tiny phone book. She
took out an equally small pair of glasses, opened the book and began
reading. “For some reason you fell off
the list here, Danny. No wonder you're
so desperate -- you haven't had a sugarplum delivery in quite a while! Well, that at least I can do something
about.” She frowned as she took a pen
out of the apparently bottomless bag and made a correction. “Of course, they may not process the new
order until early next year, and I’m not scheduled back in this area until
Valentines Day.” She frowned. “Doesn’t seem fair...” A moment later her tiny face brightened. “Hey, since you saved me from that tree
branch I think I’m allowed to give you a wish.
Would you like that?”
“Really? A wish?”
“Yes. I can do that.”
“You’ll give me a
wish? Like magic? A wish?”
She
frowned again. “Come on, kid, I know
you’ve been shorted on candy the last couple of years but is your blood sugar
really that low? I just very clearly
said I will give you a wish. We’re allowed to when someone helps us
out."
He
was so excited he could barely sit still.
It was a Christmas miracle after all, a real one! "Could I wish for, like, a million
dollars?" Then even if Luis didn't
find another job for a while, the family would be okay. More
than okay.
She
shook her head. "Sorry, kid,
no. I only do candy-related wishes. You want one of those extra big gummy
bears? I hear those are popular this
year. I could bend some rules and get it
to you by Christmas."
He
was tempted -- he'd seen an ad on television -- but now it was his turn to
shake his head. "Could I just get a
big Hershey bar? One of those extra-big
ones? For my mother?"
The
little woman tilted her head up so she could see him better from where she
stood down on the ground.
"Truly? Is that all you
want? Gee, kid, I could feel the
desperation coming off this house like weird off an elf. You sure you don't want something a little
more...substantial? A pile of candy,
maybe? A year's supply of gumdrops or
something? As long as it's
candy-related, I can probably get it done for you, but you better decide
quick.” She pulled quite a large pocket
watch on a chain out of her bag, then put on her glasses again. “After midnight, and I’ve still got half my
rounds to go." She looked up at
him. "You seem like a nice kid, Danny,
and it doesn't look like you guys are exactly swimming in presents and
stuff. How about a nice pile of candy,
assorted types? Or if you'd rather just
concentrate on -- what did you say, Hershey Bars? -- I could probably arrange a
shopping bag of those or something..."
For
a moment his head swam at the prospect of a grocery bag full of giant chocolate
bars, more than Hector the Butt-head Villaba could ever dream of having now
matter how much he stole...but then another idea came floating up from deep down
in Danny’s thoughts – a strange, dark idea.
"Can
you do all kinds of wishes? Really all
kinds?"
"Yeah,
but just one. And it definitely has to
be candy-related. I'm not a miracle
worker or anything."
"Okay. Then
I'll tell you what I want."
Danny could suddenly see it all in his imagination, and it was very,
very good.
*
The
school holiday party was nice. Danny and
his classmates played games and sang songs and had a snack of fruit and cheese
and crackers. Nobody brought Chips Ahoy
cookies, but one of the mothers did indeed bring cupcakes, delicious chocolate
ones with silver, green and red sprinkles for Christmas. There were even enough left over that
although Danny had finished his long ago despite making it last as long as
possible, he was allowed to take home the last two for his little
brothers. He suspected that the teacher
knew his family didn't have much money, but for this one day it didn't
embarrass him at all.
After
the bell rang Danny followed the other third-graders toward the school gate,
holding one cupcake carefully in each hand, his book bag draped over his
shoulder. He was watching his feet so
carefully that he didn't see what made the other children suddenly scatter to
either side, but as soon as he heard the voice he knew the reason.
"Look
at that, it's Maricon Mendoza,
yo," said Hector Villaba.
"What'd you bring us for Christmas, kid?" Danny looked up. The mustached monster was sitting astride his
bike just a few yards down the sidewalk, flanked by Rojo and Chuy. "Oh, yeah, dude -- cupcakes!" said
Hector. “You remembered our Christmas
presents." He scooted his bike
forward until he stood directly over Danny, then reached out for the
cupcakes. Danny couldn't help it -- he
jerked back when Hector tried to take them, even though he knew it would
probably earn him another bruising.
"Punch
the little chulo’s face in,"
Rojo suggested.
Hector dropped his bike with a clatter. The other kids from school who had stopped to stare in horrified fascination jumped out of his way as he strode forward and grabbed the cupcakes out of Danny's hands. He peeled the paper off one and shoved the whole cupcake in his mouth, then tossed the other to Chuy. "You two split that," he said through a mouthful of devil's food, then turned his attention back to Danny, who was so scared and excited that he felt like electricity was running through him. "Next time, you better remember to bring one for each of us, Mendoza. You only bring two, that's going to get your ass kicked."
Hector dropped his bike with a clatter. The other kids from school who had stopped to stare in horrified fascination jumped out of his way as he strode forward and grabbed the cupcakes out of Danny's hands. He peeled the paper off one and shoved the whole cupcake in his mouth, then tossed the other to Chuy. "You two split that," he said through a mouthful of devil's food, then turned his attention back to Danny, who was so scared and excited that he felt like electricity was running through him. "Next time, you better remember to bring one for each of us, Mendoza. You only bring two, that's going to get your ass kicked."
Danny
backed away. It was hard to look into
those yellow-brown eyes and not run crying, let alone keep thinking clearly,
but Danny did his best. He dropped his
book bag to the ground and out fell the stringless tennis racket that he had
brought from home. Hector hooted with
angry laughter as Danny snatched it up and held it before him as if it was a
cross and Hector was a vampire.
"Que?
You going to try to hit me, little boy?" Hector laughed again, but he didn't sound
happy. He didn't like it when people
stood up to him. "I'll take that
away from you and beat your ass black and blue, Mendoza." The bully took a step nearer and held out his
hand. "Give it to me or I'll break
your fingers."
"No." Danny wasn't going to step back any
farther. He lifted the racket, waved it
around like a baseball bat. It was old
and flimsy, but he had come to school determined today. "You can't have it...you fat
asshole."
Behind
Hector, Rojo let out a surprised chortle, but Hector Villaba didn’t think it
was funny at all.
"That's
it," he said, curling his hands into fists. "After I kick your ass, I'm gonna rub
your face in dog shit. Then I'm gonna
kick your ass again. You're gonna spend
Christmas in the hospital." Without
warning, he charged toward Danny.
Danny
stepped to the side and swung the racket as hard as he could, hitting Hector
right in the stomach. With a whoop of
surprise and pain Hector bent double, but when he looked up he didn't look
hurt, just really, really mad, his eyes staring like a crazy dog's eyes.
"That's...it. I'm...going...to...get...you...Mendoza..."
he said, then sucked in air and stood up straight, but even as he did so a
funny expression crossed his face and he looked down at where he was holding
his belly. Hector’s hands were suddenly
full of crackling, cellophane-wrapped hard candies, so many of them that they
cascaded over his fingers and onto the ground.
He lifted his hands in disbelief to look and dozens more of the candies
slid out of the front of his open jacket -- candy bars, too, fun-size and even
regular ones, Snickers bars, Mounds, Tootsie Rolls, lollipops, candy canes,
even spicy tamarindos. The other
children from the school stared in horrified fascination, guessing that Danny
had broken a bag that Hector had been carrying under his coat. They were so scared of Hector that they
didn’t move an inch toward any of the candy that was still slithering out of
the big boy’s coat and pooling on the ground at his feet.
"Oh,
man," one of the other third graders said in a hoarse whisper, "Mendoza's
going to get beat up so bad...!"
But
even more candy was pouring out of Hector’s belly now, as if someone had turned
on a candy-faucet, a great river of sweets running out of the place where Danny
had knocked him open with his old tennis racket.
"What
the...?" Then Hector Villaba looked
down at himself and began to scream in terror.
Candy was showering out of him faster and faster onto the sidewalk,
already piled as high as the cuffs of his pants and still coming.
"Hijole, dude!" said Rojo.
"You're a piñata!"
Hector
looked at him, eyes rolling with fear, then he turned sprinted away down the
street squealing like a kindergartner, a flood of candy still pouring from him,
Crunch Bars, M&Ms, (plain and
peanut) as well as boxes of gumdrops and wax-wrapped pieces of taffy, all
raining onto the street around the bully's legs and feet, bouncing and rolling.
Rojo
and Chuy watched Hector run for a moment, then turned to stare at Danny with a
mixture of apprehension and confusion.
Then turned from him to look at each other, came to some kind of
agreement, and threw themselves down on their knees to start scooping up the
candy that had fallen out of Hector Villaba.
Within a few seconds the other school kids were all scrambling across
the ground beside them, everybody shoveling candy into their pockets as fast as
they could.
Danny
waited until he wasn't breathing so hard, then started for home, following the
clear trail of candy that had gushed from Hector Villaba as he ran. He didn't bother to pick up everything, since
for once in his life he could afford to be selective. He stuffed one pocket of his jacket with
candy for his brothers, then filled the other just with Butterfinger Bars, at
least six or seven, but kept walking with his head down until he spotted a
nice, big Hershey Bar in good condition which he zipped in his book bag so it
would stay safe for his mother. The rest
of the way home he picked up whatever looked interesting and threw it into the
book bag too, until by the time he reached home he was staggering with its
weight up the apartment building walkway.
For once, Hector Villaba had been the one who had run home crying.
He
didn't feel sorry for Hector, either, not at all. Scared as the fifth-grader was now, he would
be all right when he reached home. Danny
had made that a part of the wish and the fairy had said she thought it was a
good idea. Jesus didn't want even mean
kids to die from having their guts really fall out, Danny felt pretty sure, so
he had done his best not to spoil the Lord's birthday. Of course Hector Villaba probably wouldn't
have a very merry Christmas, but Danny had decided that Jesus could probably
live with that.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Maps in Books
Many
times when I look at the maps of great fantasy novels, I do feel a bit
let down. My undergrad degree was geography, with my primary track being
urban geography (and transportation geography), and physical geography
(and meteorology) as my secondary track.
Many of these maps are
not possible in the natural world, and if they were formed by magic,
the weather patterns must be dictated by magic also, because in a natural system, there are patterns that could be very beneficial to a plot.
Not only that, there are patterns to the distribution of settlements,
many of them related to the land itself, but most of them relative to
each other. These patterns influence the relative importance of every
locale.
In many novels, there are vast spaces, slow
transportation, yet little difference in the culture and language from
one end to the other.
In other words--authors, I can give you
good, smart, meaningful maps, that will be as realistic as the language
you have worked so hard to invent.
That is all, my rant is over
Thursday, August 18, 2011
“Muy A Gusto” Salsa
“Muy A Gusto” Salsa
Ingredients
· 2 cans (14.5 oz. each) Hunt’s Tomato Sauce
· 1 can (14.5 oz) Hunts Petite Diced Tomato (or 4 or 5 fresh tomatoes, diced)
· 4 cloves Garlic
· ¼ cup Balsamic Vinegar
· 2 Tablespoons Lime Juice
· 1 Medium Sweet Onion (Walla-Walla or Vidalia)
· 3 Jalapeño peppers (or, if you like it HOT, 2 Jalapeños and 1 or more Habañeros)
· ¼ teaspoon ground cloves
· 1 teaspoon ground cumin
· 1 bunch fresh Cilantro
· Pinch of ground sage
· Pinch of mace
· 1 teaspoon instant Beef Bullion granules
· Salt and pepper
Prep:
Remove stems and seeds from peppers and finely dice 2 Jalapeños. Reserve the other pepper(s). (it makes it a bit easier if you have some latex gloves to wear while chopping).
Crush the cloves of garlic.
Finely dice the onion.
Finely chop the cilantro.
Empty one can tomato sauce in food processor or blender, add the garlic and reserved pepper(s). blend until smooth.
Assembly:
Empty all ingredients into mixing bowl and stir well.
If salsa has too much bitterness, add a little more salt (I usually add about a teaspoon)
--Russel Maxwell
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Alaska Permanent Fund
It was recently announced that the Alaska Permenant Fund grew to $40,300,000,000. I found the following comments on the Anchorage Daily News website...
"Alaska's PF is rated the 17th largest in the world at $40.3 billion. Norway's is #2 at $571 billion. Both are funded by oil. Both countries have produced around 20 billion barrels since each struck big oil in 1968. Alaska made its first deposit to the PF in 1977; Norway made its first deposit to it fund in (ready for this?) 1996.
Norway's fund contributes $20 billion a year to its national budget. Alaska's budget (operating and capital combined) is less than half that amount."
Norway's fund contributes $20 billion a year to its national budget. Alaska's budget (operating and capital combined) is less than half that amount."
"But look on the bright side...
BP, XOM and COP take the rest of our money and invest it in places like Angola, Trinidad and Russia, where they make triple digit returns with it!
Those filthy socialists in Norway might have 'free healthcare' and 'the highest standard of living in the world' according the the Human Development Index, but we have street bums, one of the highest rates of sexual abuse in the country AND a very small and over-stuffed oligarchy of CEO's, Vice Presidents and directors making obscene amounts of money via stock option bonuses at these 3 companies.
Take that, stupid socialists!"
BP, XOM and COP take the rest of our money and invest it in places like Angola, Trinidad and Russia, where they make triple digit returns with it!
Those filthy socialists in Norway might have 'free healthcare' and 'the highest standard of living in the world' according the the Human Development Index, but we have street bums, one of the highest rates of sexual abuse in the country AND a very small and over-stuffed oligarchy of CEO's, Vice Presidents and directors making obscene amounts of money via stock option bonuses at these 3 companies.
Take that, stupid socialists!"
http://www.swfinstitute.org/fund-rankings/
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
So some helium walks into a bar...
Or, rather than walks, floats; for helium, at room temperature, is a gas, and thus has no legs with which to walk, and, due to its lighter-than-air nature, does not sink to the ground. The bartender himself is confused, for not only is helium invisible to the naked eye in the absence of another object to contain it, should quickly dissipate. Furthermore, a cloud of helium, lacking any sort of motor system, is at the mercy of atmospheric currents and cannot enter a bar under its own power. It should not have been capable of opening the door to the bar. Even if it could, hypothetically, propel itself in such a manner, the lack of any semblance of a nervous system would make meaningful coordination difficult, if not possible. And, if the cloud of helium has no nervous system, how can it think to enter a bar? How can it be self-conscious enough to know that it desires a drink? To question it is to question the nature of the self itself. What is the self? Is the self the physical body? But when the body is wounded, and, say, a limb is lost, the removed tissue is no longer considered part of the self. Is the self the consciousness? Yet nobody denies that an individual is no longer himself when he sleeps. Is the self a spiritual force, invisible and nebulous like the helium which provokes these questions? No scientific, empirical evidence of such exists; it is the domain of scholars, priests, and mortals who chase the shadows of the unknown. Who could say? It is a question that mankind has struggled to solve since the dawn of time without success.
The bartender is facing an existential crisis when he recalls the bar's policy towards noble gases and his psyche is once again put at ease. "You're going to have to leave, we don't serve your kind here," he says, grunting at the mass of atoms.
The helium doesn't react.
(note:I didn't write this, I just thought it was funny).
The bartender is facing an existential crisis when he recalls the bar's policy towards noble gases and his psyche is once again put at ease. "You're going to have to leave, we don't serve your kind here," he says, grunting at the mass of atoms.
The helium doesn't react.
(note:I didn't write this, I just thought it was funny).
Friday, July 8, 2011
Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)
Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) by Don McLean
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...
Get the MP3 here
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...
Get the MP3 here
Friday, January 28, 2011
Remembering Challenger
It has been 25 years, but I will always remember the moment when I first heard about the Space Shuttle Challenger tragedy.
I wanted to be an astronaut. I was an eager follower of anything to do with the space program, and NASA. I had written to NASA and received lots of information about the Space Shuttle program, including a ticket to attend the launch of the Columbia the previous month while we were vacationing in Florida (that launch was scrubbed at T-14 seconds).
I was sick that day with the flu, and because we didn't have a TV, I was listening to the radio to try to listen to the launch. The station was playing a commercial, and they interrupted to say that, "The Space Shuttle Challenger lifted off from the Kennedy Space Center a few seconds ago..." I felt elated, yet wishing I could be there, "...and there has obviously been a major malfunction."
Huh? What did that mean?
Another announcer cut in, "The Space Shuttle exploded. Oh my God!"
Suddenly it was as if the rug was pulled out from under my feet. I called my dad and interrupted his work, and he couldn't really talk. Yet I wanted to talk about it, and I was at home by myself, so I paced the floor and cried and called everyone I could think of who might be home.
Within days, people started telling NASA jokes that were sometimes morbid, sometimes crass, but tried to cover our national uncertainty with something less horrific. After the Columbia broke apart on re-entry many of those same jokes were bandied about as a new generation saw their hopes in the space program tested.
The last time humans walked on the surface of the moon, I was a very small child. Yet, we have not gone back since. From one administration to the next, our national vision for the space program changes direction. Challenger was rushed to launch, with the warnings about the o-rings becoming brittle in freezing temps ignored.
Our current space program needs more direction than it has. Today we have space tourism, and more satellite launches. One administration wants to land people on Mars, another wants to land on an asteroid. Yet we founder as to what our Space Mission should be.
NASA has lost its place in our National Psyche, Space has dropped out of our National Dream.
The Apollo program was a very real response to the Soviet Union in the Cold War, and it captivated our nation. The Shuttle program captivated us too, on a slightly smaller scale.
Yet on that January morning, 25 years ago, our national dream of space exploration took a major blow as millions of people witnessed the death of 7 brave Americans, in a tragedy that we now know was easily avoidable.
America needs a new dream for space. Not just America--our entire world needs a new goal to push towards. In 2001 we were supposed to be sending people to the outer planets. And if our progress continued at the same pace it did in the 1960's we would be there.
How are we going to get to Star Trek-like exploration, if we can't even figure out what to do next?
I wanted to be an astronaut. I was an eager follower of anything to do with the space program, and NASA. I had written to NASA and received lots of information about the Space Shuttle program, including a ticket to attend the launch of the Columbia the previous month while we were vacationing in Florida (that launch was scrubbed at T-14 seconds).
I was sick that day with the flu, and because we didn't have a TV, I was listening to the radio to try to listen to the launch. The station was playing a commercial, and they interrupted to say that, "The Space Shuttle Challenger lifted off from the Kennedy Space Center a few seconds ago..." I felt elated, yet wishing I could be there, "...and there has obviously been a major malfunction."
Huh? What did that mean?
Another announcer cut in, "The Space Shuttle exploded. Oh my God!"
Suddenly it was as if the rug was pulled out from under my feet. I called my dad and interrupted his work, and he couldn't really talk. Yet I wanted to talk about it, and I was at home by myself, so I paced the floor and cried and called everyone I could think of who might be home.
Within days, people started telling NASA jokes that were sometimes morbid, sometimes crass, but tried to cover our national uncertainty with something less horrific. After the Columbia broke apart on re-entry many of those same jokes were bandied about as a new generation saw their hopes in the space program tested.
The last time humans walked on the surface of the moon, I was a very small child. Yet, we have not gone back since. From one administration to the next, our national vision for the space program changes direction. Challenger was rushed to launch, with the warnings about the o-rings becoming brittle in freezing temps ignored.
Our current space program needs more direction than it has. Today we have space tourism, and more satellite launches. One administration wants to land people on Mars, another wants to land on an asteroid. Yet we founder as to what our Space Mission should be.
NASA has lost its place in our National Psyche, Space has dropped out of our National Dream.
The Apollo program was a very real response to the Soviet Union in the Cold War, and it captivated our nation. The Shuttle program captivated us too, on a slightly smaller scale.
Yet on that January morning, 25 years ago, our national dream of space exploration took a major blow as millions of people witnessed the death of 7 brave Americans, in a tragedy that we now know was easily avoidable.
America needs a new dream for space. Not just America--our entire world needs a new goal to push towards. In 2001 we were supposed to be sending people to the outer planets. And if our progress continued at the same pace it did in the 1960's we would be there.
How are we going to get to Star Trek-like exploration, if we can't even figure out what to do next?
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