I just made (blue)fish head soup.



I was feeling experimental, and J and I hit the fish market yesterday (I love that place, you can buy a whole fish, and they’ve got a worker who will gut and clean and slice is up for you, and his hands move like a blur — he earns his tip, every time)


and, the head was left over, again.


I hate wasting animals.  And I knew before today, that there was a such thing as “fish head soup/stew” but

I didn’t know it was also Jamaican.  I thought it’d be an Indian thing, or a chinese thing, or whatever….cause I see them selling fish heads in chinatown all the time (fun fact: salmon fish heads are damn cheap, and still meaty, and good for cat owners)



Anyway, I started off by frying said head of the fishy.  Olive oil, salt, lil brazing water, throw it in a wok, cover, and bam


I went to pick herbs

Then I stripped the meat, even though I read the ENTIRE head is edible.   I included the eyeball, because it ends in ball, and you are what you eat, and there are two of them.

I am balls


Then kale, diced squash, fresh parsley, fresh basil, cherry tomatoes, fresh sage, tumeric, thyme, papricka, salt, peppah watah, HEAD OF THE BLUE FEESH, 3 chicken bones in the water to make it more brothy, garlic, yellow cherry tomatoes for garnishes and flavor pops….took 10 whole minutes.


Put it over yesterday’s rice n beans.  (btw, I GREW AND SHOOK THE BEANZ MAHSELF!)
And at first it was just “hey not bad”

then I added the correct amount of salt



I originally made this cause I didn’t want to waste food, and I figured before J gets home I could make a thing that was beyond her comfort zone

but now I find myself saving her some.


I love experimental cooking that isn’t fail.



PS:eyeballs aren’t the worst, but they kind of absorb lots of salt and aren’t the best either.




OMG the energy

With Jaidree out of town, I decided to keep indoors.

And I found myself enjoying healthy food, cause I decided I was too lazy to go to the stupormarket.  And too cheap to order.  What began as a pot of my favorite rice n dry beans became a moderately cheesey, onion-y, pepper dish with just a lil lean meat that was more garnished with so many vegetables from the garden.


(Have I mentioned that I effin love, my, garden? It feeds me, and I feed it.  [this is, btw, the only, only decent line in the entirety of “The Bad Batch” which is officially, the worst movie evar.)


Almost done with bahamut. Almost done with bahamut.  In marathons, the most tempting point to stop is mile 23.  I’m at mile 23.  But we all know I’m not gonna stop.


Since deciding I want to live clean, since J’s been out of town, I haven’t smoked a thing.  No tabbaccy.  Ganj is obviously out.  I’m not drinking a drop of anything except juice, water, and coffee. The last one I don’t think I’ll ever quit.


And I’m noticing….my work outs have gotten younger.   Yes I want to jump up and down again and again and again and again.  I wanna work out to select songs from garbage.

And there’s different stuff too.  The number of pushups. According to my heavy bag, my punches and kicks are harder than they’ve ever been.

And it’s weird because, I’m not younger.  I’m 220 pounds now, fer chrissakes.   Which is funny, cause I used to be 180.   Both of these numbers are pushing the limit for a healthy body range for the 6’4 height.  But I sense, now that I know I can easily drink 1500 calories in booze a day (didja know some people have genes that enable them to process alcohol in the short term super well?) the 220 weight will easily be going down.


But there’s an excitement, and a confidence that seems to creep into my brain when I live cleanly.  An, “ok if I need to fine, let’s me against the world. But I’d rather smile.” kind of confidence.  And the people upstairs, those disappointments who’ve screwed everything up, they….seem more distant.  Like, to put it cleanly, they can go fuck themselves.  I have a private life they simply aren’t a part of, and I’m able to enjoy it.

I think it’s most important to love, respect, and appreciate one’s self before trying to get along with the rest of the world.  It’s a massively privileged thing to say, because that takes privacy, well it takes nutritious food and water, and it takes the access to things that one knows they enjoy.

But I think we overestimate those things.  It doesn’t cost 20-30 bucks a day to eat.  Clean water isn’t that inaccessable in 99% of this country.  Youtube, while ad-filled, still gives near-instant access to so much media.  The internet gives so much to read and observe and play with — especially when you know what you’re doing.

There are some people out there I suspect are afraid of how irrelevant, and trite, and banal, and unliked and crappy they really are.

I think they respond to that by trying to control others. I think they try to mark their tribe by whom they can control, and that, more than almost anything else, makes for a person who’s pathetic.

Meanwhile, if you try to influence yourself into betterness, as soon as you’re doing anything efficacious and succesful….to me it seems that fear just instantly vanishes, and you get to enjoy this gift that is life.

You can tell I’ve had my coffee today.


Really weird long dream today

Jaidree, two friends, and I were at Grand Central, and my mom came but it was too crowded

And I tried to get her to follow, but she identified a wrong person as part of our group, and some protesting crowd made things too hard, and was too loud, and somehow she was too fast and she couldn’t hear me go nooo so she split the group
so I was frustrated that we got so separated from the main party, and mom couldn’t understand that the guy she was following totally wasn’t with us….the chaos was like a donald trump protest

so it was me and her

and I kept trying to call Jaidree, but something weird kept happening EVERY time I tried to press to her number, it was like someone would bump my hand, so I couldn’t call straight

and then mom said “here” and handed me a flip phone (lol) but on it, I couldn’t find Jaidree’s damn number, and then after getting more frustrated, I looked up and mom wasn’t there. Lost in the crowd.

So now I hate this crowd. They’re blocking everything, and going around them seems like so much jostling, I actually decided to climb a crane over them.

next thing I know, for some reason I’m jumping off a crane to get into a skyscraper because, I’m determined, (clearly) to not go into the crowd of protesters, who I still super hate.

but there’s a problem: it turns out the skyscraper is full of people who are puking green gakt, and turning into zombies. Very 80’s bad special effect zombies

but it’s ok…ish…..because (clearly) walking dead style, I can take a hard object and whack ’em on the head. That’s how it was.

But there’re too many, I end up in a clear glass office, and then eventually two other people bang on the door to join, and I let them (but one of them’s bitten) and more and more zombies start swarming this glass office, and I start to feel DA FEAR for the first time. It’s that moment where I realize how few alternatives there are besides, being eaten. But then I get pissy again. I got us and me in this situation.  I want to get us out.  Hard.  But more and more bad 80’s zombie are puking neon green gackt at the windows at us, hungrily

I try calling again and again, and finally get mom on the mechanical button phone.

She says she’s at some party at carnegie hall….I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m kind of fucked, so I tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.  That’s kind of true.

I get an idea, kill all the lights. Now it’s dark. The second they can’t see us with their dead-ass eyes, they go into random zombie-over-here-mode.  Over time, half the zombies have wandered away.
That’s enough. There’s space to move between them now, and swing.

I look to the group like an even worse 80’s hero and say that we’re ready. We grab the hardest objects we can, and unfortunately, mine’s an empty plastic potter.

But that’s enough.

we whack our way through, but we all get bitten on the way, and the door with EXIT over it is too blocked. So we jump out a window, onto a nearby skyscraper’s roof, and ride another cable to the street level. Logically.

Because of this ordeal, we have now bonded, we believe we’re going to die, we’re all like “fak!” and I say “not like this.”
I somehow know there’s a weird construction platform, surrounded by a giant hole that  goes into the subway, I push through, am followed by the other three, and descend until I’m on a ladder of a giant square platform, with a giant hole that plunges into god-knows, but it’s a big fall

my logic is that if I turn, I’ll be so stupid that I’ll fall, I won’t turn anyone else. The rest of the group sits with me. It is anime

but then it gets even MORE anime because we will ourselves out of the transformation. Somehow we survive,

and after sitting for what feels like ever, the urge to throw up green gackt goes away. We are saved. I can visit my mom who, clearly, is still waiting at carnegie hall, because #DreamTiming.

Well waddyaknow, there’s the subway. While sitting on that big square platform, with it’s massively long ladder, we’ve heard trains coming and going, so now I say my goodbye, and descend to get a free ride.

On the way upstairs from subway platform, I bump into my old english teacher, Ms. Lerhman, she is happy to see me.

She tails me to carnegie hall for some reason. Mom bought me tickets, which turn out to be drink and meal tickets. Little red cheap raffle tickets that are symbolic and usable. I figure Ms. lerhman can tag along as long as she can because I like her, and how can she have a problem with Carnegie culture?

At the party, something lavish and groupy, I find my mom is seated, by herself, and I say I’m gonna get a drink. After the zombies that I don’t want to tell her about, I certainly feel I’ve earned one. She says sure, so I go to the lower level of this grand Carnegie party. For some reason no one else is there except one red-vested bartender. I’m famished. I’m also thirsty. I point and ask the bartender what does he have on shelf — and by this I clearly mean, what are these classic cocktails in front of him. He spends an inordinate amount of time explaining the drinks, and they’re not ingredients I understand at all, but they all look lovely, and all I know is the first one is a spritzer. I want the one that’s in a clear solo cup, he says no problem, and after looking up, I look back down to the tray where, mysteriously, all the drinks are gone.

He says “FUCK, AGAIN!” and rages out and gets really shitty at his job. He walks away, yelling about some guy named Harold, and annoyed (it feels like it’s been 15-20 minutes at this drink station) I reach over, grab this bottle of the blue stuff, and some clear spirit, and make my own drink, and I also eat his hero out of revenge. It is meaty, melty-cheesy, and delicious. He comes back, and gets fixated on finding his sandwich and this makes him even shittier about his job. I realize I have one more drink/food ticket, and somehow, am still starving.

The entire rest of the party gets in line behind me the second I grab a plate for the buffet, and this doesn’t seem weird to me. For some reason, the evil ninja woman from skyscraper is leaning over and narrating behind the scenes things to me and shittalking the guy who threw the party. I feel like she is being flirty, and putting me in some in-club, I nod politely and smile, as I don’t want her to notice that I’m making the HUGEST plate at their buffet, and filling it with deliciouses like salmon, poached eggs, different steak with savory sauces – and one noodle.  A lot of the buffet trays have tons of meaty, noodle dishes, and I’m scooping the meat, and taking one noodle. Skyscraper villainess does the same.

Because the line is so long, I am so thorough with loading my plate with a massive amount of food. This takes what feels like 15 more minutes, but I delay gratification. I keep thinking soon, at last, I can sit next to mom, with this sweetass blue cocktail with its fancy blue ingredient, and with this mega-buffet plate done my way. And the evil ninja does notice. But that’s ok, because she’s still building a plate EXACTLY like mine…until I steal the last salmon fillet. There’s one, and like a the last nyc subway seat, I take it and feel something like ‘that’s damn bad.’

She says “is there no more salmon” and for some reason I put my plate down for a second and look up to act like maybe that shitty bartender, who’s now rage-smoking a cig in the corner, knows where to find more.

When I look back to my plate, everything is gone except the poached egg.

And there is a fat man, with bulging eyes, and his mouth is full of everything else from my plate, he is chewing madly

I am enraged


the bartender goes IS THAT HAROLD

I’m enraged, I wring his neck and throttle him. I yell “SO MUCH FOOD”

I tell him to spit it out. It doesn’t matter that I won’t eat it. Just, the principal. That was my salmon, motherfucker…

He does. It’s not enough for me. The rage has taken over

I yell “SO MUCH FOOD!”

the bartender comes over, we start clobbering him on the head, it’s almost mean, but it’s also slapstick. It feels like slapstick.

And naturally

Paul Rudd comes over


The bartender goes “YEAH!”

Paul rudd goes “DAMMIT HAROLD!”

somehow, he produces three empty bottles

we all whack him on the head at the same time

they shatter, like it’s sillyglass

I wake up now

IRL I literally say “SO MUCH FOOD!”

I realize the egg sammich with mozzerlla, collard greens, and refried beans with lemon are right next to me

I scarf it down as I realize it was aaaallllll a dream.





I have a sudden short temper and hatred for assholes

and mediocrity.





These were my words at Grandma’s funeral.  They’re better spoken than written, in that I didn’t read the typos, and replaced things like “sucks” with “tough”

I still mean it all.    (Even if Granny taught me more through board games.)   Might post a digital upload of the slideshow movie I made later, and that’s going to be it for grandma tributes here.   Yes I know the death of a loved one is always morbid.

No, I’m not doing badly, but I’m not doing well, either.


“How are you?”


No one says that.


________________My last words over grandma___________________

I know so many people know her as Dolly, Benjamina,

But my father’s branch knows her as Mumsy, and that worked just fine


To realize there’re no more grandparents in your life…..it really sucks.

This really really sucks.

This is hard and I need to write this down,

A grandparent like mumsy.

She was special in so many ways, and I’m gonna miss her….she’s gonna be missed.

I know that goes way beyond just some people.  Mumsy had a wide-ranging impact that I’m not even sure she knew, but she definitely, 100% tried to realize.
As so many here will tell you, she had a mind for that


This’s  just another thing that made her special.

I know I don’t even need to say it, but it needs to be said

Mumsy raised such strong family.  Mumsy contributed to such a strong family.  Mumsy contributed to even more than that.

Mumsy was another woman who taught me values. Sorry if I’m making this too personal, but even when I was a young silly dumb sprout, and tried to be a brat, the way she said “no” and “you can do better” was special.

And there’s more, and I don’t wanna get too deeply into this, but, I it’s not hard to see how Mumsy worked to teach ideal humanity. To her family, and more.

Going through the pictures for the slideshow show, and going through people’s words, I’ve realized that life to my grandmother was about way, way, way more than her.  It made her special.

It’s become clear to me that mumsy thought about people.

And that’s another reason I think Mumsy was another one of those, a good person.

This is hard.

But I know many things.

And as my silly slideshow says, mumsy was loved, and she more than earned it.


My grandmother was one of those people who embraced her values, head on, head strong,

And as a grandson, it’s less that I know she was beautiful, and lovely;

I know that she was loving

I don’t mean this in any negative way: she proved you can be hard, and hopeful against hope, because of having a big heart.

I like that she was another woman who taught me that. I’m never gonna forget her memory just for that.

It’s really hard to say goodbye to a woman and a person like my grandmother.

And I just want to say she was a really, really great grandmother.

I’m afraid some of my first memories of this grandma was when I’d fake sick from school and knew I’d be with her and at her house, and we’d do stuff like play checkers, and while she knew my weak game, she’d teach me other important things in between rounds.

And I know that’s special.

Sometimes my grandmother, mumsy, expected a lot, and it’s because she gave, and meant a lot.

I know she was hopeful, beyond idealistic, wonderful, wonderful woman.

I will never stop loving her memory.

For me, it’s more than she was generous as heck

It’s just part of who she was, that caring, having a standard, having a give a darn, having a loving side that could be fortified by a “We need to” good value side.

And I just want to say I know that everyone who does good

Hey, she’d love that, and she’d always take joy in the good, decent, and more than decent things.

That made her really special in so many ways.

So I wanna say: all the good people who live well, and are good

I firmly believe, and I know it in my blood that she’d love that.

I really hope we all keep on a part of a memory of her by living our lives well

I’m gonna celebrate her forever, no matter what, cause I know I was blessed with one heck of a special grandma.

I can’t tell you how hard it is to say goodbye.

My grandma spread love, she created love, she made loving dynamics by her existence

And I hope everyone else does, too.

I think that’ll honor her, and I know she’d love that.


It’s “Let’s move things forward” day.


I’ve queried more agents, and also started applying back to finance gigs, because that’s a way, way faster path to not failing as a bread-haver.


Cleaned house.

Resume updated.   Smartly.


These people in this country, who think it’s good to just “have a job” are still silly.  Like, you can be 30 and work in a pizza shop, and that’s not something I’d ever poop on, but what I’m saying is, a good resume, I’m pretty sure, doesn’t list that, unless you’re applying to pizza shops.   And I’m confident my resume is strong.


I won’t say more than that, except that I’m really, really, really honored that 3 guys, the second I reached out over LinkedIn and mentioned that I’m looking to get back into compliance, gave me referrals.  I feel like they liked me, or something.



Traditional publishing is still something that moves at glacial speed.   That sucks when you hoped your ideas would grow at plant speed.


I’m still adjusting to how much is going to change in the next few weeks……about how much already has changed.  But that’s ok.  I feel like that’s time, and the world.