Don't Put Out That Duck

Our friend came up from Florida to visit. We had been reminiscing about our trip to Bali, so I made Babek Betutu (Balinese duck). I've made this dish numerous times although this particular time became an event.

The recipe I use calls for grilling a whole bird over coconut husks. Well, I don't have coconut husks, so I did the next best thing and broke out the old fashioned charcoal grill. I put it in the driveway a safe distance from anything flammable, filled it with hardwood then fired it up. After it settled down, the duck went on the grill and I went in the house. Ducks are really fatty. When it gets going, smoke billows profusely and flames shoot up. And then there's the stench. Oh, the reeking, foul smell of burning duck fat. There's nothing like it.

While I was in the kitchen doing my prep work, I heard the fire siren go off. I thought nothing of it. We live one block from the fire station, so it's a normal enough occurrence. A few minutes later, in the midst of chopping shallots, I heard the trucks blaring their horns so loud, it sounded like they were in the front lawn. I looked out the dining room window. Burly men were jumping off the truck and running up the driveway like bats out of hell.

Uh, that was my driveway.

They were carrying hoses.

OMG.....the duck.

Like a shot, I ran through the house and out the door. "Don't put out the duck," I shouted. Smoke blinded me momentarily. I headed toward the street.

These men ran straight toward me, carrying a giant hose, like the devil was after them.

Through the toxic cloud, I ran to meet them. "Don't put out my duck!" I shouted, arms waving in the air like a crazed chicken. "Please, don't put out my duck!"

They stopped short, looked at me like an asylum escapee, and asked, "what do you mean..." the giant nozzle on the hose lowered slightly, "...don't put out your duck?" Then he noticed the tiny hibachi sitting on the pavement. It looked really bad. Six foot flames shot into the air and acrid smoke billowed everywhere.

They had to check out this troublesome bird. Oblivious to all that stinking smoke pouring into their eyes, five men stood as if hypnotized, staring at a three pound bird on an eighteen inch hibachi. Flames licked their fire suits.

I answered all their questions. Yes, my person is fine. No, nothing is wrong in the house. No, I didn't know who called 911. No, no one else is home. Yes, it's only dinner causing such a ruckus. Yes, the duck is absolutely fine. Yes, they can come to dinner if they want, but I would have to grill a second duck.

At one point the flames got so bad, one of the guys asked me if I needed his assistance getting it off the grill. "After all," he said laughing, "I'm dressed for it."

As it ended up, a neighbor saw flames reflecting in the upstairs window, smelled smoke, saw no cars in the driveway and called 911. She felt bad for raising a false alarm. She never thought someone would be grilling in the snow. We both apologized for dragging the volunteer firemen out in the cold.

They said a false alarm is much better than no alarm. No worries. Hope we don't see each other again. Heh.

Boston Concert: Past and Present Collide

Way back when in 1978, a bunch of us underage Boston fans rented a bus and went on pilgrimage to see our favorite band. Some us were funded by our parents and others were funded by growing weed under the park roller coaster. No matter who was buying, we left our parents at home to listen to Bobby Vinton, watch Quincy M.E. on TV, or do what ever else ‘old farts’ might do while home alone.

About 30 of us hopped on a decrepit old school bus that had no heat. The exuberance of youth kept us warm despite the cold November night. Some one brought their portable 8-track player. Of course, Boston played over and over all the way to the concert and back. Our chauffeur, a true to life version of Otto the bus driver from the “Simpsons”, dropped us off in front of the arena. Really… what other type of person would willingly drive a bunch of unaccompanied minors to a rock concert late at night?

Back in 1978, Boston was at the top of their game. All the original members were there. No one had yet died, quit or gotten fired. Their career as rock stars was just begining. Their own youth and exuberance was infectious and highly entertaining. They were great.

My experience was so cliché. I leaned on the stage the entire night cheering them on. Tom Scholz, Brad Delp, Barry Goudreau, and Jim Masdea pranced and paraded around the stage singing, playing and tossing their hair. Every now and again, one of them would lean down and slap my hand or toss a guitar pick into the crowd. The stage was dusty and Brad Delp’s sweat would splatter as he tossed his head. From a kid’s perspective, it was thrilling.

Mom gave me $15 for expenses and told me not to spend it all. I remember standing at the t-shirt booth in quite a quandary. Should I spend the entire 15 bucks on a t-shirt or be a good dooby and spend 50 cents on a Coke-a-cola for the ride home? I knew I would get in trouble for spending it all on an over-priced piece of fan wear. Did I want that shirt bad enough to accept the consequences? When last call for the bus came, I finally made my decision. I had to have that shirt. Thirst and consequences be damned.

Which brings us to just the other day – 30 years later.

Boston came to my home town and of course, husband took me to see them. One last time, I washed out the old 'in concert ’78' t-shirt. It barely fits and it's totally beat, but I wore it anyway. My mother, who last time paid the bill only to be left home, came with us too.

As Boston says, “…time doesn’t wait for me, it keeps on rollin.”

Time has replaced all the members except for Tom Scholz. There’s a woman in the band now, which to me, is wrong. The new singer sounds good, but he looks like the Maytag repairman and has less stage presence. The exuberance of a new and exciting career born of youthful dreams has faded. They seemed tired. Maybe they were. Being on the road like that at our age, has got to be tough.

I will never hang on the stage like that again. Even if I still had the desire or the fortitude, it’s no longer permitted. A barrier kept anyone from getting too close. Bic lighters have been replaced by photo-snapping cell phones. Security guards now patrol en-masse keeping a very tight ship. I’m sure that decrepit yellow bus has long since hit the junk yard. The roller coaster was torn down 20 years ago, and the infamous plants growing beneath it disappeared even earlier. I saw no one from that bus ride so many years ago. If by chance they were there, we didn’t recognize one another. Nor do I remember their names.

The concert wasn't nearly as thrilling in 2008 as it was in 1978. I suppose though, that's to be expected. Despite their flaws, I still enjoyed seeing them again live. It was nice to share the experience with husband and mom. And yes, I bought another t-shirt. Maybe I did it because I could; without guilt or quandary. I don’t remember how much trouble I got in over that shirt, but it doesn’t matter now. My mother understands the lure of the ‘in concert’ t-shirt. She bought one too.
.

Time does keep on rolling, and trying to re-live one's youth never really turns out quite right. Experience changes those people and places we once knew. Even though I can't stop time, I certainly can look fondly upon those experiences that touched me as a kid and appreciate doing them 'again' with the freedom that comes with adulthood. And now, 30 years later, stage dust is dirt in need of a mop and splattering sweat is really gross.

“I lost myself in a familiar song

I closed my eyes and I slipped away”

How Much Is A Trillion?

Almost daily, I hear the words billions and trillions casually thrown around in respect to government spending. Have we become desensitized by these huge numbers that the size of the deficit doesn't seem any more of a drain than a $6 cup of coffee? If so, how big are these numbers, really?

The old adage, time is money, can be used to bring the concept of millions and billions a little closer to home.

For this little exercise, think in terms of seconds.

• If 1 dollar equals 1 second, there would be $60 in 1 minute.
• Using this logic, $3,600 would equal 1 hour
• $86,400 = one day
• 1 million dollars would be about 12 days
• 1 billion is close to 32 years

This is where time escapes me.

1 trillion dollars is equal to

31,709 and 3/4 years.

Another example. Scientists say the age of planet Earth, from Big Bang to now, is about 4.2 billion years. If we consider 1 year as one second, that would equal out to around 133 years. Mother Nature could build from scratch, 238 planet Earths to equal one trillion.