Saturday, April 25, 2009

Scrubbie's Fav Five

Evening boys & girls - Scrub here yet again!

Ok... I just gotta tell ya - here in the Great White (or at least Scrubs part of the Great White) we were treated to summer weather. Ya-frackin'-hoo! All us Canucks were out there without our skins and furs on. Pastey white caucasions everywhere. Looked like mole-people that had just come up from underground. Scrub even fired up the Q tonight and seared up some animal flesh and shoved it 'tween two halves of a bun. MMMMM tasty. ONLY thing missing - cold, frosty and frothy barley, malt and hops blend. OH - and the Wife... she even whipped up a lil' somethin' somethin' in the kitchen too! Huh? Oh - c'mon, don't be shocked. It is, after all, April. So, the Wife - whipped up some onion strings. Wha's that you ask? Oh - just git yer imagination hats on and dig this: BIG sweet onion, sliced up thin, soaked in buttermilk, tossed in a flour, salt, pepper and cayenne dusting, then tossed into some hot oil to sizzle up for about a min or two, taken out of the hot oil, on to paper towel just long enough to cool down. Crispy, seasoned, onion-y. Holy Crap! DO IT! We ate 'em just as a companion to our charred animal flesh on buns. But, I can just imagine those buggers on top of a Philly Cheesesteak, or on smashed spuds. Oh my goodness.

Oh, hey... few of the folk 'round these parts of the Great White see Scrub now and then in the flesh. No, no... not nekkid. Just 'in person'. Ya know. And, there has been some talk 'bout Scrub's most recent post about Hurricane Rona. Not sure what I mean? It was the post just 'fore this one. Scroll down - it's there. Promise. Too lazy to scroll? Ya, don't blame ya. Here's the summary:
  • Hurricane Rona
  • Ditz with directions, just like Scrub
  • Takes magic box of directions to find her way to gal pals house few hours from here
  • Gets there
  • Magic Box of directions says "You have arrived"
  • Hurricane goes stormin into the house 'cause she gots to pee after long trip
  • Hurricane, proudly annouces her arrival to houseful of people - asks where is the bathroom
  • Person at house tells Hurricane that she is in wrong house. All the people there - ya... for a wake. Their pappy just passed.
So - the answer to the question is: YES - rediculous as it sounds - it's true! Believe me - with the cast of characters that Scrub has 'round here - I don't need to make up a thing. (And ya wonder why Scrub's gettin grey 'round the temples...)

But - on to the topic at hand for a Saturday night. Thought ya'll might like to know Scrubbie's Favourite Fives. Sure - now and then, I'll throw out a little list of Scrubbie's Favourite Fives. It's self explanatory. Here goes.

Scrubbie's Favourite Fives: SANDWICHES
1. Clubhouse - on toasted white bread, real bacon, cheddar cheese, 2 tier, sliced diagonal with a frilly toothpick to hold it together. Heaven.
2. Assorted Cold Cuts, Italian Sub. Again - toasted. Onion, lettuce, tomato, hot pepper rings, cucumber slices, mozz cheese - all melty. Salt, pepper and Italian Dressing as a sauce. Sweet mother of Mary. Take me now.
3. Cheeseburger. Homemade, of course. Half ground pork, half ground beef. Salt, pepper, Ketchup, Mustard powder, few drops of Louisanana Hot Sauce, chopped onion, chopped coriander, minced garlic, wee little bit of ground ginger, and egg and some seasoned bread crumbs. Squish like yer makin mud pies. Form deelishush burg patties. Cook 'em up good over fire. Slice of cheese on at the last minute to get gooey on top. Served on a kaiser roll. This, kids, tends to be Scrub's birthday dinner of choice.
4. Grilled Cheese - a classic. Couple slices of bread. Slice of cheese in between. Butter up the outside of the slices. Toss it in a fry pan till golden brown. Diagonal slice. Dollop of ketchup for dipping. Few Bread N Butter pickles on the side. Cold glass of milk. Total comfort food.
5. The grand-pappy of all sandwiches: The PB&J. Yes. Peanut Butter and Raspberry or Strawberry Jam. No description required. And, no better way to feel like a kid.

There ya have it. Scrub - LOVES sandwiches. When I expire - the Wife... she is gonna bury me 'tween two slices of bread.

Those are gonna be BIG frilly toothpicks.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Hi! Gotta Pee!

Global Position Systems: A curse or a blessing?

Scrubs, Scrubettes - How are ya!?

Take it from yer Uncle Scrubbie - yer gonna need somethin' to drink and yer gonna need a chair. Go ahead - I'll wait. By the way - that drink... make it a double.

Ok, back? Good.

Hurricane Rona. Gawd lov'er. It's not like she goes out looking for adventure. It always just kinda comes to her. Know what I mean? Oh - sure - somewhere in there it IS her fault. But, in an ever winding twist of fate, it's not her fault. I can't explain it - I gave up trying oh so many years ago.

Before we get into it... there's always somethin I gotta set up. Today - yep, no different.

Hurricane - she's a bit like Scrubbie. But, aren't we all? Directions. Gettin' from here to there. Like Scrub - not the sharpest stick in the bunch when it comes to figurin' out left, right, left. Scrub - seems to end up in other cities or in the middle of a field when headin to the local trading post. But, since GPS - I tell ya, the incidents of finding myself calling the Wife and sayin "Hunnneeeeee - I don't know where I am" has dropped considerably. I got this little magic box of directions in the car with a smokin hot voice that just tells me "left turn in 1 kilometer" and so forth. Awesome. When I accidentally miss the turn - doesn't get snippy with me. Doesn't call me a dope. No - just announces that she is "recalculating route". Love it.

Hurricane was off to visit gal-pals last weekend. Gal-pals that were off in another burb here in the Great White. So, Hurricane, recalling tales of Scrubbie makin' it to somewhere and back again without so much as a single panic moment of "where the frack am I?" told Scrub that she wanted the magic box of directions to assist her in her trek 'cross country. Good idea Hurricane! While you give me grey hair, I'd hate to see ya lost in the wilderness, never to be heard from again. Hurricane pops over, grabs the magic box of directions, and heads off into the sunset. Well - not really sunset, but it just makes for such a pretty picture, dont'cha think?

Then, came the phone call a short while later where Hurricane yells in the phone "Oh Gawd... I think I did somethin' wrong!" (she, in fact, was only about 10 mins from Scrub's igloo when that call came. Ya. Don't ask.)

Apart from that - all went well. The magic box of directions told Hurricane: Left, right, left, go straight... and so forth. Then... couple hours later... the magic box of directions announces "You have arrived!" WooHoo!

Hurricane hops out of her go-kart and goes struttin' up to the shack. Bursts open the door and yells "HI! Gotta pee!"

So far, so good, right? Not uncommon. Long trip. Gotta pee. Yep... so far, so good.

Whoops - wait a minute. This is Hurricane. The following conversation ensues:

Hurricane: Gee... lotta people here. Can't talk. Gotta pee. Where's the washroom?

Woman at the house who we shall henceforth simple call WOMAN: Just down the hall.

Hurricane: Thanks!

Woman: No problem. Ummmm - who exactly are you?

Hurricane: Huh?

Woman: well... I'm just wondering... who are you?

Hurricane: Isn't this "Joan's" house?

Woman: No

Hurriane: Oh. I saw all the people and thought this was it.

Woman: No - we are all family. My father just passed away.

Hurricane: Huh?

Woman: Yes - it's a wake. I don't know "Joan"

Hurricane: Oh. Soooooo... I guess I'm in the wrong house.

Woman: Yes. It appears so.

Hurricane: Wellllll.... I'll just go then. Don't worry about the bathroom.

Scrubbie had to explain to Hurricane that while the magic box of directions is a wonderful doo-dad to get you to a certain spot, and that it really is a magical box considering it does get you to that certain spot when you could end up ANYWHERE on the planet earth, it is always advisable to LOOK AT THE GAWDDAMND NUMBER ON THE HOUSE before barging in to tinkle!