Mastering Procrastination

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If you haven’t noticed, ol’ Mr. Charlton hasn’t exactly been posting a whole slew recently. Now, I could give you a bunch of excuses as to exactly why I haven’t been writing. You know what? Let’s try out a few excuses. It’s been a really long time since I’ve had to give an excuse, and it couldn’t hurt to flex that muscle. Just in case I ever actually have to start blaming things other than myself, like circumstances, scenarios, the weather, or other people.

  • I’ve been busy. (False. I’ve been getting caught up with season six of Game of Thrones and playing a lot of Fallout 3. )
  • I haven’t been feeling well. (False. I feel like the God/Prince I normally feel like)
  • The dog requires a lot of attention. (False. Pookie is about eighty-four in dog years, all she does is sleep and eat)
  • I’ve been learning new things. (True! Teaching myself some more programming junk, as well as a very specific program that’s used to write called “Scrivener”)

Long story short; I’ve spent a small amount of time learning some new skills, but most of my time in the last two weeks has been games and television. Some of the time, though, has been setting up a profile for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo.org). Time has been also spent learning Scrivener. I’ve been doing research for this novel I’m going to try and complete in a month. That’s also work, right?

Here’s what’s probably what’s going through your mind right now.

“Why the hell is Mr. Charlton telling us he’s being a lazy dickbag?”

See? I love it when you ask questions. Totally makes me feel like I’m not talking to myself. Here’s the reason. I’m making a point that procrastination sometimes tries to disguise itself as work. While I’m doing research for writing, or learning an incredibly complicated writing program, or getting setup for a writing contest, there’s one thing I’m not doing. Writing. Sure, it feels like I’m doing something, but truthfully there’s no actual work getting done, no words are being written down, no ideas from my mind brain are being chiseled onto the stone sitting on my desk. If I’m doing everything in an attempt writing

I like to write. I find it an enjoyable, and there’s a lot of people who find the hobby enjoyable as well. Musicians are the same way, there’s something incredibly satisfying about taking a song from your head and getting it onto an instrument and have it come alive. At the end of the day, though, whether your writing or making music or sculpting or whatever you’re doing creating stuff, it’s still work.

When I sit down, shit doesn’t just magically appear, I have to work to make it appear. There’s this weird idea (which is perpetuated by a number of pretentious folks) that creative endeavors just pour out of people. There might be a handful of geniuses that have absolutely had to write or paint or whatever, but for the 99.99999 percent of us regular folk, you actually have to do work. I love to write, but there is a slew of things I would rather be doing than writing. I would rather…

  • do nothing
  • eat some food
  • play a game
  • read a book
  • watch crappy television
  • go for a walk
  • put intoxicating substances, like scotch, into my body
  • touch myself inappropriately
  • touch someone else inappropriately (with their consent)
  • pretend I’m writing by mashing the keyboard

Procrastination goes even deeper. Sometimes, I’ll work on one project to avoid working on another. I lovingly refer to that as ‘Procrastinception’. It’s incredibly weird to think that sometimes you’ll do work to avoid other work. There a common theme in this ‘doing work to avoid work’ scheme. You’ll say to yourself “Hey, you know what? This place is messy, totally unorganized. I’m not going to be able to focus on the task at hand until I get this junk in order.” You’ll spend the next four hours arranging your bullshit into piles where you think it belongs, pat yourself on the back, then tell yourself that when you get some more free time, THEN, then you’ll get down to brass tacks and start working. If you’re a creative person, you’ve probably done this once or twice.

The secret is, there is no good time to start writing or painting or picking up the guitar. That’s a luxury many people can’t afford. Your home is always going to be a little messy, there’s always going to be interruptions, and there’s always something that’ll come up to pry you away from writing a book, or painting a picture, or laying down a track. In fact, try to learn to work when there’s chaos around, like when you’re at your job on your lunch break and everyone is yelling at each other.

I constantly see images online of people writing in nooks, with tea and paper. But if you’re like me, life is going on around you. You can try and fight the stream, telling yourself you’re  just  waiting for the right moment. Or you can get to work and learn to write or paint or play when

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I’m done binging on media for a while, maybe I’ll get some actual shit done now.

p.s.s. Seriously, if you’re into writing, check out Scrivener. Completely solid writing tool.

Clinton Vs. Trump Vs. Taxes

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There was a debate recently between the two presidential incumbents. Hillary Rodham-Clinton and Donald J. Trump. I haven’t actually watched the debates. What I have done, on the other hand, is read the transcripts of the debate instead. This is not only a faster way of absorbing this clash of titans, what it also does is remove any kind of charisma and showmanship from the verbal sparring match, and leaves only the words. If you want to fell smarter and fulfill the role of smug asshole in your group of friends, there’s no better way than announcing that you only read the debates.

When asked how they prepared for the debate, Hillary responded by stating she’s studied the issues facing our nation. Trump responded by telling the press that he, along with some of his friends, sat down over burgers to prepare some solid zingers. This sums up what this entire election is about. One of these people is prepared to be commander in chief, the other is prepared to host an episode of Saturday Night Live.

I wrote about both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump in the past. I’ll be honest, I was scathing towards Hillary and pretty light towards Donald. Both articles were written at a time where Bernie Sanders was still competing for the Democratic nomination. I’ve been doing a re-examination of why I was so harsh with Hillary and gave Donald a free pass. At first, I thought it was maybe some weird inherent sexism that might have been lying dormant in me, but I’m usually pretty self-aware of any kind of privilege I might be lugging around. It was definitely in part because I really wanted Bernie Sanders to win. But now that Hilary is the nominee, Bernie is backing Hil-Dog, and the first debate is over, I’m certain I know why I was so critical of Hillary and not with Donald. I fell like I can  criticize Hillary as a politician and an adult, whereas I can only criticize Donald as a faux  celebrity and an unruly teenager stuck in the body of a 67-year-old man.

About half way through the debate, Trump’s tax return came in the conversation. Trump hasn’t actually released his tax returns to the public yet. Nominees, for decades, have released their tax returns to the voters. This is to ensure the future president doesn’t have any conflicting interests between business and public service. The New York Times recently got a couple of pages of his 1995 tax return, and in that year Donald Trump took a financial hit of almost a billion dollars. This is incredibly significant because it would mean Trump could forgo paying taxes for over the next decade and a half. I’m not under the impression that Trump did anything illegal, but fact remains that he’s tight-lipped about his finances. In the upcoming weeks, that’s going to bode terribly for his campaign. Unless he reveals his tax return, he’ll jeopardize his presidential candidacy.

Looking back on the history of these two candidates reveals a lot about their character. Hillary Clinton spent decades working for various charitable events. When she was the first lady of Arkansas, she co-founded the Arkansas Advocates for Children and Families, worked with the Children’s Defense Fund, and served on the Arkansas Children’s Hospital Legal Services. Not to mention she practiced law during this entire tenure. Donald Trump, on the other hand, hasn’t spent any time doing any kind of volunteer work. He’s purportedly donated millions, but his actual time is spent being a business man. He’s a cut-throat, ruthless business mogul who specializes in real estate. That’s totally fine, but it leaves him woefully unprepared for the presidency. Because, on one hand, you have someone who’s dedicated most of their life to public service, while the other dedicated most of their life to themselves and their business ventures. .

Donald Trump, plainly put, cares about Donald Trump. That’s it. He’s not interested in public service, he’s not interested in politics, he’s interested only in what benefits Donald Trump. He’s always been that way. It’s his entire persona. I’m certain Hillary wants to be the first female president and earn a massive place in history. Her beginnings in politics were someone who championed the rights of women and children. She was someone who fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. She had to fit the mold of politics in order to accomplish her goals, as all politicians do, unfortunately.

The debates were a perfect allegory of the battle for the position  of commander in chief. You have someone who’s been preparing for a long time and has put a lot of thought into what they’re doing. The other person’s trying to win by being louder and more entertaining. It’s a contest being the class nerd and the class clown. Sure, Donald isn’t part of the mainstream political crowd. He just happens to be from the old family money, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, coke-out one percent. There’s still two more debates, though. Maybe Donald can forgo a tanning session to actually prepare this time around.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I’m now backing Hilldog.

p.s.s. To those who think Donald is better because he’s more honest and down to Earth, he’s a billionaire who spent the better part of the 80’s doing blow and lingerie models. He’s got more in common with the Wolf of Wall Street than he does with you.

 

Cooking on a Campfire – Part 1

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“Are those meatballs cooked?” I asked. Mom had prepared a bunch of meatballs for camping. Meatballs don’t exactly strike me as camp food, but she was also bringing a round of brie cheese, which will tell you exactly what my mom thinks about camp food. “No, they’re not,” she replied. “We’ll slow cook them in a spaghetti sauce, boil up some noodles, and yum Yum YUM!” she stated afterwards. “It’ll be easy.”
See, one of the major issues I previously had with camping was camp food. Most of my friends who are hard core campers aren’t exactly gourmets. Everything is freeze dried and eaten out of a pouch. Sometimes they’ll bring out an MRE, the Meal Ready to Eat rations that are given to soldiers serving in the army. Eating oatmeal for breakfast every day isn’t my jam. I’m a prissy city boy hipster who’ll take up issue when I don’t have a selection of at least three kinds of lentils available to me. This is a fact about myself.
When my mother suggested spaghetti, though, something in the back of my mind started twisting. Spaghetti is easy to make at home. Out in the woods, on the other hand, there’re a couple of challenges that are presented.
1) Spaghetti noodles need a big ass pot to boil in. Noodles need a big pot to swim in or else the water gets starchy and the noodles suffer because of it.
2) If you’re cooking a spaghetti sauce with raw meatballs, it’s going to have to slow cook for a long ass time. The kinds of pots that are super lightweight for camping are also super thin – anything that stays in the pot too long will get burnt. Normally, the sauce should sit around for a period of time so all the flavours can get cozy and talk to each other. At the very least, the sauce should be cooking for an hour.
The problem I ran into was we’re cooking on a little camp stove. Don’t get me wrong, Kat spared no expense when she got the Primus camp stove. The stove can boil water in a minute. It wasn’t meant for low and slow, though. Not to mention the fact that the largest pot we have was meant for two people, not the seven I was feeding.
I made it work, but it was a goddamn hassle. I had to boil three separate batches of noodles, and I burnt the shit out of the bottom of the sauce. It was a total pain in the ass to clean up. Simple and easy my crotch. It also went through two bottles of propane. So it was a slog and it was expensive. Mom then mused if we should do butter chicken the next night. Tasty, but also low and slow.
Between the seven of us, we had three burners, and cooking anything was going to eat up propane. Low and slow was costly, inefficient, and I wasn’t having a good time cooking. We had to get away from the idea of using the stove to cook our big dinner feasts. I turned to the fire. If I had my way, every single meal out camping would be cooked over hot coals in the fire pit. After seeing how spaghetti turned out, I decided internally that we’d do most of the cooking over the fire. The stove would be reserved for side dished.
Cooking on a fire is pretty easy, once you get the hang of it. Start a fire, get it going until it doesn’t have a problem burning bigger pieces, then get some glowing coals going. You want those coals, that’s where the toasty, easy to maintain, heat is coming from. My brother Kelly was thinking the same thing I was because he brought a grill to put over the fire pit. Then you just have to cook on the fire. With those coals going, I was treating it like an oven that was only cooking from the bottom. Potatoes, corn, and fish went into tinfoil bags and then were flipped every now and again. Sausage and steak were cooked right on the grill, and everything came out all tasty.

Here’s the weird thing, though. Until this camping trip, there was a stigma that cooking over a campfire was this incredibly tough thing to do. There was this strange mystique to the whole procedure, that somehow this was going to be difficult. I was under the impression that people who cooked over wood fires were some sort of wizards. The truth is, cooking over the fire was one of the easier cooking tasks I’ve had to deal with. It was easy!

Some clown in a suit somewhere has convinced people that cooking over a fire is tough. I’m here to tell you it’s not. You don’t have to be stuck to hotdogs when you’re cooking on a fire. Get a cheap little stand grill, and you can start whipping up meats and veggies just like you were grilling at home on the BBQ.

But it begs the question. People have been cooking all sorts of things on the fire for centuries. You can do low and slow on the fire. You could get a bowl of rice with just some hot coals. Bread, aka the staff of life, has been around as long as people have lived in houses, and the electric oven isn’t that old. This can only mean there’s going to be some crazy experimentation in the future because I’ll be damned if I can’t make a tasty loaf of bread out in the woods.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Brie? In the woods? Totally a good idea.

Mr. Charlton Goes to a Concert

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In my younger days, I used to go to a lot of metal shows. This was due to the fact that my roommate, Metal Rob, was seriously into Heavy Metal music. At least once a month, a band he wanted to see came into town, and Jered (another roommate) and I would almost always go with him. Here’s a laundry list of some of the bands that I’ve seen. Bask in my metal credentials.

  • MegaDeth
  • Anthrax
  • Slayer (twice)
  • Strapping Young Lad (god knows how many times)
  • Tool
  • System of a Down (twice)
  • Dimmu Borgir
  • Nile
  • Napalm Death
  • Opeth (Three times)
  • Korpiklaani
  • DethKlok
  • Ensiferum
  • The Devin Townsend Project
  • Three Inches of Blood
  • Amon Amarth
  • Zimmers Hole
  • Wood of Ypres
  • Acid Bath
  • Children of Bodom
  • Cavalera Conspiracy
  • FinnTroll
  • Moonsorrow
  • Turisas
  • Tyr
  • Pericardium
  • Therion

And probably a bunch I’m forgetting. I also saw Roger Waters a few back (great show) and Green Day (lame show). I’m throwing the list down to let people know this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve driven to Seattle for the sole purpose of seeing Strapping Young Lad. I’ve flown to Toronto to see Ensiferum. In my early twenties, I was a complete metal head and going to shows was something I was doing all the time. Fast forward a decade. I haven’t been to a show for five years, and since 2013, the only thing I’ve listened to is new retro synthwave.

I only want to listen to music that makes me feel like I’m in a John Carpenter movie.

So it was pretty weird when I get a message from Willoughby, a guy from high school I haven’t seen in 15 years, asking me if I wanted to come see Five Finger Death Punch this last Tuesday. Tickets were free.

Truthfully, I didn’t want to go at first. I’m getting old, and I’ve seen enough live music to last me a lifetime. I was going to have to work the next day, and knew we were going to be getting into a few beers. Here’s a Life Pro Tip kids, right from Mr. Charlton himself. If you have an opportunity to go do anything, whether it’s a rock show or a knitting class, and it’s free, you goddamn go do that thing. You don’t complain about free beer, you don’t bitch about an application that you downloaded for nothing, and you certainly don’t say no to a concert because you might be a little groggy at work the next day. If it’s free, consider it a gift.

A couple of other guys from Golden were going as well; Ringo and Santuchi. So not only was I going to be going to a show for the first time in half a decade, I was going to be hanging out with guys I knew from small times. I’ll be frank here for a second, it’s goddamn weird hanging out with guys you haven’t seen in a long time…

… for about five minutes. Then it stops being weird and now you’re just drinking beers with some dudes you haven’t seen for a bit. Everyone is a little fatter, a little wiser, and with new stories to tell, but everyone is pretty much the same. So we drank beer and then we went and saw a rock concert.

It was a pretty good concert. We saw three bands; Sixx AM, Papa Roach, and Five Finger Death Punch. Let me tell you all about it.

The Good

I’m not really familiar with any of the bands. The only one I’m really familiar with is Papa Roach, and that’s because they had that hit song “Last Resort”, released 16 years ago. I wasn’t expecting much, but both Papa Roach and Five Finger Death Punch put on a great show. I was pleasantly surprised by the performances, and the sound quality was good.

The Bad

I quit smoking almost two years ago, but was using a vaporizer for the longest time. Recently I gave up vaping as well. This was the first time I had drank beer since I gave up nicotine. I didn’t have any cigarettes, but I did stand outside in the smoke pit soaking up second-hand smoke.

The Weird

Sixx AM is the project of Nikki Sixx, the Bassist from Motley Crue. And I’m not going to bash the quality of their performance, because even though it was the first time I heard them, I thought they were pretty good. The only thing is, Nikki Sixx is old. Like pushing sixty old. And he’s done a lot of drugs. You could tell he was the old guy, ’cause while the rest of the band were running around, he kinda just slowly walked everywhere. The stage had this box everyone was leaping off of, except for Nikki, who would step up slowly, play for a bit, then hop back off. And it was definitely a gingerly, I-do-not-want-to-pull-anything, kind of hop. Again, I got nothing against Nikki Sixx, just a little bit of a contrast to the rest of the band.

Here’s the final question, though. Would I go to another concert? And the answer is; maybe. Slayer and Anthrax are coming to town on Willoughby’s birthday, and part of me really wants to go. The other half of me is getting old, and to be honest, I’m one of those people who thinks the record sounds better than the performance. I used to go see shows ’cause it was the thing to do. Now I’ve got other things I’m doing, and getting tinnitus isn’t one of them. If I do go to see this show, it might be the last metal concert I ever go to. But a Slayer / Anthrax combo would be a hell of a way to go out.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Not to brag, but I have gotten the least fat.

p.s.s. Alright, I’m totally bragging.

 

 

Mr. Charlton Goes Camping – Part 2

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Sometimes lightning strikes twice. Sometimes the Blue Jays have two great seasons in a row. And sometimes Mr. Charlton gets his game face on and heads out to the woods two times in a summer. Yes, for whatever inexplicable reason, Mr. Charlton packed up his tent, tarp, and trail mix, loaded his cooler with ham steak and beer, and whisked himself off to the magical land of paying thirty bucks a night to sleep on the ground.

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For another $40, you can get a bed, a sink and a roof.

Actually, l have been planning this trip for a while now, and it was an attempt to recreate the camping trip me and my family used to go on when I was but a wee lad. Every year, for a number of childhood years growing up, my mom and dad would back up the truck, station wagon, or shaggin’ wagon (the trio of vehicles my folks drove when I was a kid), and take us camping a couple times a year. There was one campground that stood above the rest, by leaps and bounds. It was so popular you had to book months in advance. It was the Scotch Creek provincial park campground, nestled on the north side of the Shuswap lake.

It was the crème de la crème when it came to campgrounds. It had paved roads, hot showers, a huge park, awesome interactive shows at night. The campsites were big and spaced far apart. You could become a member of Ranger Jerry’s ranger squad, by completing tasks and showing up to the previously mentioned interactive shows. If you were rolling as part of Ranger Jerry’s squad when you were a kid, you were rolling deep. They were handing out stickers and awards for those who hustled for Ranger Jerry.

It wasn’t just me and the brothers that went down with my folks, it was a lot of our extended family as well. We had a big meetup of aunts and uncles and cousins, pretty much everyone on my mom’s side of the family. Combine that with the fact that most of the cousins were on the verge of transitioning from kid to teenager to adult, there was a lot of us getting into trouble. Staying up late, flirting with strangers, sneaking beers or wine from the parents, there was definitely a loss of innocence as we were all getting older. Some of my favorite times of my youth were spent hanging out with my brothers and cousins, storming around the park in a large mob.

The campground was a popular enough location that a number of attractions sprouted up around the area as well. There was a mini golf course, go-carts, bumper boats, and an arcade all situated close by, close enough that you could walk to them without any adult supervision. Tons of allowance money was blown at these little amusement locations close to the campsite. To top it off, there was a candy / ice cream store right across the entrance to the campground, where we’d go to get our sugar buzz on.

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This little guy blew his allowance on heroin.

Needless to say, I hated camping growing up as a kid, but I loved the hell out of Scotch Creek. Mostly because I got to hang out with my cousins, aunts, and uncles. The question I wanted to answer by re-creating this trip was simple; Has Scotch Creek held up as a campground since I last went there? It has been almost two decades since I went there, how is it the same? How is it different? Will it be better, or worse?

Well…

Right off the bat, the only people who could make it were my brothers, their respective wife and girlfriend, and my mom. No big deal, we could report back to the rest of the family and let them know how the campground was. We could still go and have a good time. And I had a great time, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t seen my brothers in the flesh for over a year now, and it was great to reconnect. The campground, though…

It’s pretty much exactly the same. Almost. It’s the same, but a little worse for wear. The interactive programs? There wasn’t any. The mini golf, the go-carts, the amusement center? Gone. Fire wood used to be free, now you’re paying $7.50 a load (this isn’t exactly a bad thing, mind you. The campground used to be filled with wood smoke pretty much all the time, as people were burning wood 24 / 7. They also deliver the wood to your campsite). The little store has been replaced with a massive one. Which would be okay if the shelves weren’t completely bare. It reminded me of a bodega front. They may have been smuggling cocaine on their breaks.

The worst part by far was the beach. This was the main attraction. It was the reason people flocked to this campground, the reason it was so incredibly hard to get a spot, the reason everyone in my family was willing to put up with the overflow campgrounds in the area, the long wait times, the bullshit of trying to get a coveted spot in this park. Almost all the time we spent was at the beach. The sand was soft, the lake was warm, and the sun was almost always hot. A dock was set up not too far away, where you could congregate and dive off of. The swimming area was massive, and getting to the buoys was a challenge for adults, let alone children.

Now the beach is rocky and it’s painful to walk barefoot to the water. We used to have to get to the beach before 11:00am to get a spot, but the beach was mostly empty this time around. The lake is still warm, the sun still hot, but the dock is gone and the swimming area has been massively reduced. We ended up leaving the campground to go find a nicer beach down the road in Anglemont. Twenty years ago that would have been considered blasphemy.

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They would not let me ride the Unicorn. Also look at the rocks.

It’s still a great campground, it’s just that before it was an amazing place that people flocked to. It was the campground that people fought over. Now, it’s just a campground with paved roads and plumbing and friendly staff. This isn’t just nostalgia talking. From what I can gather, the park just doesn’t have the same resources it once had, and it’s now suffering a little because of that.

Would I go back? Probably not. It was the beach and the family that made camping there an experience. The beach isn’t the same, and the family can vacation a little closer to the mainland next time.

Do I absolutely love camping? I want to tell people “Hell yes, camping is the goddamn best thing ever!” but to be frank, I’m a city boy at heart. I love the urban life. There’s one thing that makes camping amazing, though; Cooking on a campfire. And I’m not talking about greasy wieners on a stick. We’ll get to that next time.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Truthfully, I don’t know how the Blue Jays are doing this season. I just see a lot more hats, that’s all.

 

 

Mr. Charlton Makes Tacos

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You might have read my post about tacos the other day. You might have a lot of things to say when I mention that four dollars for a little taco is unreasonable.”Mr. Chartlton is a cheap asshole” or “Mr. Charlton doesn’t respect good cuisine” or “Why the hell is Mr. Charlton making such a big deal about a fucking taco?”

Let’s talk about tacos, shall we? Tacos originally are from Mexico and predate the arrival of Europeans. The local population was stuffing their faces with tacos before the Spanish popped over. They come in a variety of styles, and there hasn’t been a taco I haven’t liked. I’ll admit, the tacos I had last week, although small, were pretty tasty. So what the hell is my problem?

Tacos are really, really easy to make. I’m not talking about the boxed bullshit that comes from the supermarket, where they have a bunch of nasty old hard taco shells with a salty powder you throw in with some ground beef. I’m talking about real homemade tacos, with homemade tortillas and homemade Pico de Gallo and the works. The whole thing is such a straight forward process I’m going to teach you folks how to make it. Can you put a roast into a pot? Can you make pancakes? Can you cut up vegetables and put them into a bowl? Then you have got tasty tacos under your belt already

Tacos de Lengua – Beef Tongue Tacos

The Tongue – Creepy Looking Deliciousness

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We’re going to make this tasty

Thigns you’ll need:

  • Beef Tongue (go to a butcher and grab one)
  • Bay leaves (About 6-7 of ’em)
  • Peppercorns (Maybe a teaspoon)
  • One Onion, cut into large chunks
  • Five Garlic cloves, smashed
  • Kosher Salt (or regular salt, I mean, fuck it, it’s not that important the salt’s kosher)

Alright, throw all of this shit into a pot or a slow cooker and cover with water, making sure the tongue is submerged. If it’s in a pot, put in the over and set at 225° F. Leave it in for 6 to 8 hours. You have a slow cooker? Throw it in the slow cooker and forget about it for 8 hours or however long one of those things take. In the mean time, while this tastiness is cooking, you can get started on the other stuff. But the other stuff is really quick and easy to make, so you might want to queue up a movie or go run some errands or have a nap.

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All cooked up real good

Once it’s done, take it out of the pot or slow cooker. You see all that liquid left over? Keep it! Or don’t. It’s basically soup. Anyways, there’s a membrane on the outside of the tongue. Cut it down the middle, peel it off and throw it away. It’s tough and nasty, and you’re going to want to get at the tasty stuff inside.

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The tongue, with the membrane off.

Cut it up into chunks and set aside. We’ll come back to it later.

Pico de Gallo – Basically Fresh Salsa

Things you’ll need:

  • Tomatoes (Five medium sized ones)
  • Half an Onion
  • Maybe half a Jalapeno
  • Garlic cloves
  • Cilantro
  • Salt
  • Pepper
  • Lime Juice

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Vegetables!

You noticed how I didn’t put down an amount for a lot of that stuff? Because it’s up to you. You like garlic? Throw a bunch of it in there. You like heat? Throw in more Jalapeno. I’m leaving this up to you. So people like a bunch of lime juice in there, so they add a bunch. I think cilantro is overrated, but hey, that’s me.

Cut all of that into small pieces and put into a bowl. Oh my God, look at you! You just made Pico de Gallo like a champ!

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You cut up the vegetables!

Tortillas – Small Salty Mexican Pancakes

Things you’ll need:

  • 2 cups of flour
  • 2 cups of corn flour
  • 1 teaspoon of salt
  • 2 teaspoons of baking powder
  • 2 tablespoons of oil (anything works, but lard is best. I used bacon fat)
  • 1 cup of water

Mix all the dry stuff in a bowl. Then add the wet stuff. mixed with anything, like a spoon or a stand mixer or your hands. If it’s sticky, add some more flour. If it’s not smooth and holding together, add some water. You’ll notice I’m using both corn and wheat flour. It’s because I want the best of both worlds. And I get what I want (in regards to flour).

Dry stuff, then wet stuff

Once you have a smooth ball of dough, cover the bowl and let it sit for half an hour or more. Then roll that bad boy out, cut out circles (I used a small bowl) and throw on a hot pan, I had my electric range set at medium. You don’t need any oil or butter or anything, there’s oil in the dough and that will be enough. Once it starts bubbling, flip it over and cook the other side.

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Action Shot!

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Cooking it up!

Boom! You have just successfully made homemade tortillas. They will be the best tortillas you’ve ever had, I promise.

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Plate of tortillas!

The Finish Line – Putting it all together.

We’re going to fry up that meat. Yes, we’re taking that sweet tasty meat we cooked for 8 hours and we’re cooking it again. Heat up a skillet, on my electric range I had it at a 6 out of 10 for heat. Put some of that meat in the pan and fry it up. You save any of that liquid soup you made earlier? You’re going to use a little bit of that to deglaze the pan, I used a couple of tablespoons of the leftover liquid. Once all the liquid has evaporated, get that meat to the table. Set out a spread and there you are; homemade tacos.

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Fry up that meat

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Set up a spread!

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These tacos are bigger than the ones I had last week. No joke.

The Final Word

Were they any good? You bet. Was it worth the hassle of getting a beef tongue? Not really. If you got a cheap roast instead you would be just as well off. There’s this weird hipster idea that an establishment has to have beef tongue tacos in order to be a legitimate taqueria. It used to be a really cheap cut of meat, but the weird body parts of animals that used to get tossed are becoming somewhat gentrified.

The amount of actual cooking time is less than an hour. You are going to spend a lot of it sitting around. If you want to cheat and grab some store bought tortillas and salsa, I ain’t going to judge. The point I’m trying to make is tacos are so stupidly simple that selling them is almost a crime.

I think I made my point. Tacos are easy. If you folks like this I’ll put up other recipes or write a cookbook or some shit. Let me know.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Yes, my beef tongue tacos are better than the ones you get at Native Tongues, but only because the tortillas are crazy fresh.

How the Kat Saved Festivus

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You’re going to have to excuse me on my birthday. It’s going to get a little heavy in here.

Back when I was 23 (I think it was 23), I thought I had the worst birthday ever. I spent most of it by myself, my friends were all busy, my girlfriend wasn’t around, and there was no cake to be had. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own, and from then on, I decided that I would take complete control of my birthday. I was taking the reigns of the day I was born in my hands, and through that promise to myself, Festivus was born.

Every year since then, I would take the week off surrounding my birthday and celebrate however I wanted. I saw something I wanted? I’d buy it. A restaurant I want to eat at? Goddamn it I would eat there. The wine, beer, and scotch would flow. Some years I’d throw a party, where I’d have a bunch of people over and make food for everyone. One year I threw the famous ‘Reverse Surprise Party’, where I invited a bunch of friends out to a bar for unknown reasons, then told them it was my birthday, brought out hats for everyone and opened a bunch of gifts that I purchased for myself. All the gifts were labeled ‘To Me, From Me’. For years, my birthday was something I looked forward to more than any other holiday, simply because it meant I could be absolutely selfish for a week. I was certain that my birthday would always be an awesome one because I was in control and nothing could change that. Life occasionally has a wonderful way of throwing a wrench in your plans.

The worst birthday I ever had was my 30th birthday. I was surround by family and friends, and I was in Vancouver over at my uncle’s place. Unfortunately, my father’s funeral was the next day. On August 11th, 2013, my father passed away in Victoria. A couple hours later, I opened the gifts that he got me for my birthday. It was a surreal experience, one I’ll never forget.

Needless to say, since then my birthday has had my father’s death shadowing it. I have not really celebrated my birthday since. What used to be a week-long festival of selfishness turned into me wanting to hide away under my bed for a month. And, until very recently, I was about to write the whole birthday thing off completely.

Enter my girlfriend Kat. I was telling her about Festivus and how I used to celebrate my birthday before meeting her. She knew why I didn’t celebrate my birthday anymore, but because she’s awesome she decided to do something about it.

There’s only one gift I demand for my birthday from people if they’re so inclined to get me something. And that’s a macaroni card. A card decorated with macaroni. Or basically anything that you have to sit down and make. Write a poem, sing a song, or paint a picture. Something I can’t buy for myself. I have a box full of the cards I’ve gotten for my birthday over the years, and every once and a while I open that box and reminisce about birthdays past and the friends who’ve made me something.

Kat, knowing I’ve been kinda down in the dumps the last couple of days, went ahead and painted me a picture every day for the last five days. My dull office now has a wall full of art. Considering she’s finishing her degree in Fine Arts, they also happen to be great paintings! Here, I will show you some of the art I’ve gotten this week.

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Day one: Unicorn and Narwhale

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Day Two: Lonely Bird

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Day Three: Scaredy Owl

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Day Four: Chilling Crows

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Day Five: Odin’s Raven

I’ve got nothing but good things to say about the past relationships I’ve had and the gifts I’ve received. But never has anyone taken as much time to pull me out a depressive funk as Kat has. If she hadn’t done this, there’s a good chance I would never have celebrated Festivus ever again. This week, it feels like my birthday again. So thank you very much Kathryn, I owe you dearly and I love you very much.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I still have to work today, which is the first time I’ve worked on my birthday in years. And I think it will also be the last time I work on my birthday.

p.s.s. Yes, there is clearly a theme going on in the paintings.

p.s.s.s. I’ll be taking Sunday off, because it’s going to be a taco fest here in the apartment! Beef tongue is ready to go!

Mr. Charlton Electrocutes His Dog

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You may have heard that Mr. Charlton is a proud dog owner. I wrote about it here. You have to understand, though, I’m a new dog owner, and with that comes unfamiliar territory. I ain’t used to owning a dog. I’ve had a cat, sure, but cats are a goddamn breeze to take care of. You have a cat? Here are some tips.

1) Make a spot in the house for the cat to eat, and make sure the cat gets fed.

2) Make a spot in the house for the cat to poop, and clean up its shit every now and again.

3) Occasionally the cat will want to be pet. Pet the cat in the appropriate areas.

And that’s about it. A cat pretty much takes care of itself after that. A dog, on the other hand, needs a little bit more from its owner.

1) You’ll have to feed the dog. The dog thinks it gets the same privileges as you do, so when you’re eating, the dog will want some too. You’ll have to train it not to beg.

2) You can’t really have a spot in the house for it to poop, so the mutt will have to go outside every once and a while. Rain, Sun, Sleet or Snow, the dog is going to have to poop at least once a day.

3) Now that your dog is no longer in the house, it might find things that are outside, like dead animals. Dogs have terrible fashion sense, and will try to accessorize it’s fluffy coat by rolling on top of squirrel corpses.

4) You now have a filthy dog on your hands, covered in squirrel bits. Best case scenario, you just have to bathe the dog. Worst case scenario means either a trip to the groomers, or you get out the shears yourself and give the furry idiot a hair cut.

5) Dogs need a lot of attention. You will have to play with your dog.

Through all the new learning I’ve had to do, I’ve come to discover something about dogs. Their lives exist in a hierarchy. They will challenge you every now and again, to make sure you’re not going to fuck up and get the entire pack killed. And our dickhead of a dog, Pookie, likes to challenge you during meal time.

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This little fluffy asshole likes picking fights over drumsticks

There was a reason I put the ‘food thing’ first when taking care of a dog. Pookie will go back and forth between me and Kat when we’re eating dinner. Most of the time she’ll bugger off if we tell her enough times to beat it, or apparently in dog’s language “Git!”. For some bizarre reason, and I’m chalking this one up to Kat training her when she was a young teenager, is that Pooks will respond to the word “Get” better if you sound like an 19th century gold prospector.

Occasionally, on that very rare instance where Pooks is sizing you up and trying to make sure you’re not a chump, she’ll piss right in front of you when you’re not sharing. If you’re mowing down on something she finds tasty, like either tuna fish or chicken, and she’s not getting anything, she’ll look you right in the eyes, squat down and front of you and take a piss. Part of me is angry, sure, but when a dog, the size of a loaf of bread, defies you in such a punk rock fashion that GG Allin gets a smile in hell, you can’t help but feel a little pride. I mean, I could totally kick this dogs ass, it’s not very big and I can pick it up, but it’ll still try to pick a fight and pissing in defiance. That’s pretty hardcore.

The other day, me and Kat are kicking it on the couch eating dinner. We’re having some tasty leftovers, which consisted of some quinoa, both broccoli and cauliflower, and chicken. Pookie, getting a nose full of chicken, darts over and starts trying to act cute. Dogs do this as a strategy in order to get food. Scientific fact right here. We tell her to take a hike. No go, the dog isn’t going everywhere. We tell her to ‘Git’. Still, the dog is making noise and being a general pain in the ass. Finally I look her right in the eyes, point my finger at the poofy dipshit and firmly say “Pookie, I’m not giving you any chicken. Bad Dog.”

Well, it seemed the words “Bad Dog” set the bitch off, because very calmly, and with stern conviction, Pookie stared right into my soul, squat and took a piss. As I’m standing to pick her up and yell at her, Pooks eyes pop out of her head, jumps a foot in the air while yelping out loud and then bolts out of the room. It took me a second to figure out what happened.

Pookie picked probably the worst spot to take a leak, because she was squatting directly over the spot where the extension cord meets the Xbox. Unfortunately for Pooks, she zapped her junk when she decided to pee in anger.

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A bad spot to take a piss

Now, I’m not a cruel man. I don’t find pleasure in the misery of others, but when a dog gets buzzed in the genitals by a hundred and twenty volts of alternating current, I mean, you’re going to laugh. For at least ten minutes as you unplug the cord and clean up a bunch of dog piss, while your girlfriend tries to reassure a scared puppy to come back in the living room.

Pookie’s okay. The little turd is 13, which is almost a centennial in dog years, so I’m glad she didn’t have a heart attack. But if you want to train your dog not to beg for food, electrocuting her bathing suit area is definitely a quick way of going about it.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. I wanted to use ‘Hot Dog’ somewhere in there, but Pookie’s a girl dog, so it didn’t really apply.

p.s.s. Fried Taco? Buzzed Clam? Alright, I’ll see myself out the door.

 

Mr. Charlton Goes for Tacos

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I was in Calgary for a wedding this weekend, and although it was a whirlwind trip, I had a great time. The wedding was fun and it was great to see a lot of faces I haven’t seen in a while. I didn’t get to see everyone I would have liked to, but a couple of days in my old stomping grounds is never enough time to get in and see all the sites.

Now, I love two things. Going out for food and Mexican cuisine , so one of the joints I was told to check out was a taco bar called ‘Native Tongues’. I had a couple of friends hype this restaurant up to no end, saying it was the one place I needed to hit up while in Calgary. So, me and my partner in crime Kat decided that after a long car ride, we would crush our hunger pains with some delicious tacos. I was really excited to make this taco thing a reality, so parked the car and sat down for some tasty Mexican food.

It was okay.

Here’s the deal. They were pretty good tacos. I wasn’t completely blown away, but they were tasty authentic tacos. The problem I had with them is that they were small. Adorably small, actually. Which would have been okay, except they were four bucks a pop. We both had four tacos apiece,  which is what the server recommended. We could have easily eaten ten. It’s not like me and the girlfriend are huge eaters, either. We don’t get excited for all you can eat buffets. We don’t get giddy over the prospect of massive portions. On the flip side, it kind of sucks to go out for lunch, drop $40 and walk away hungry, getting what amounts to basically a snack.

I mention this to my buddy, one of the guys who recommended the place to me. When I mentioned the price and how it wasn’t really worth it, he put up his hand, stopped me right there, and said, “Don’t talk to me about price point”.

Hell yes, we are going to talk about price point.

It reminded me of the time I went to a Tapas place in Edmonton called Three Boars. Now, I’m going to start off be saying Tapas are bullshit. Not my thing. But Three Boars is a good place, has a nice tap selection and I was usually pretty impressed with the restaurant. The guys running it are creative and I usually walked away happy with the food. Except for once.

Me and my lady friend at the time, the good doctor, went to Three Boars and got a new item. The kimchi salad topped with foie gras. I thought, sounds good! I like some spicy kimchi, I love me some foie gras, how could you go wrong?

We get this dinky little bowl of kimchi, and there was foie gras shaving on top, layered so thin it might as well have been canola oil. To top it off, this little bowl of salad (I mean it was tiny) was set at $16. It wasn’t very good. I earned the title of honorary French man that night, as for the next forty-five minutes I raged about the salad being overpriced hipster garbage.

Before I went to Native Tongues, I was told it was a little hipster-ish. Now, I listen to eclectic music you probably haven’t heard of, shop at thrift stores, and think that punk rock was at its peak in the 1980’s. If I’m not a hipster, then I’m pretty damn close. One thing I don’t get pretentious over anymore is food. I don’t have a problem with paying four simoleons for a little taco, but that taco better be worth four goddamn dollars. The tacos at Native Tongues were good, absolutely, but they weren’t four dollar tacos. It was the kind of taco platter I’d expect at Hudson’s, not at a place of this hype.

The pork and chicken tacos were a little dry, the flavor on the pork was a little weird. To be honest, the best part of the taco was the tortilla, and it wasn’t the best tortilla I’ve had (that would be Jalapenos, which unfortunately shut down recently). They were dinky, slightly boring little tacos. The first bite at a restaurant should be “Wow, that is amazing” not “Man, I can do this at home with minimal effort”.

If some clown tells you that price doesn’t matter, tell ’em to stuff it. Price matters when you’re going out for food, and if the money your spending outweighs your enjoyment of the meal, then take your money elsewhere. Life is too short to be eating over-price hipster bullshit.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. Native Tongues did give me a bunch of great ideas for making my own tacos, though. The meal wasn’t a complete wash.

p.s.s. I’ll try anything twice, so maybe I need to hit up Native Tongues again at a different time. Maybe the cooks at night bring their A game.

p.s.s.s. The secret to becoming an honorary French man is to use the word ‘abomination’ to describe a salad.

 

Mr. Charlton Goes Camping

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Some of the people reading this know Mr. Charlton. They’ve got a pretty good idea of what I’m about. If you’re not in the know, then I’ll lay out a few things about me, things that everyone should know.

  1. I have an affinity for good food and drink. I’ve got no qualms waxing poetic when it comes to what I’m stuffing into my face hole.
  2. I come across as classy. I tend to dress well when I need to dress well, I can speak effortlessly in the company of strangers, and I tend to send handwritten thank you cards after an enjoyable engagement. Classy stuff. And I don’t use words like face hole in public.
  3. I know enough about computers that people who don’t think I’m a wizard. On the flip side, I know enough about computers to be a complete hassle to the people who actually do know a lot about computers.
  4. I hate camping.

Now, when I say I hate camping, I mean I hate it down to my very core. It’s usually the last way I’d want spend vacation time. To give you an idea about how much I detested camping,  I’ll give you a breakdown how many times I went camping in my twenties.

  1. There was the one time I went camping with two buddies at the tail end of April when I was about 27 (I think).

That’s the only time I can remember going camping. Put it this way. It’s safe to say that the number of days I went camping for a decade and a half was probably less than seven.

There are a couple of reasons I’m not a big fan of camping. Probably the biggest reason is I’m from a small town in BC, where the community is nestled in the Rocky Mountains. It’s a beautiful place to grow up. I also hated it as a kid. I was fascinated by the city. The skyscrapers, the millions of people, the hustle, and the bustle. That’s where I wanted to be when I grew up, so the second I had the chance to move to the big city, I did. A fresh faced eighteen year old me went straight to Calgary when I had the chance. And I loved living there.

I could also mention the bugs, the smoke, the dirt, the not being able to shower every day. I hate plastic plates and cutlery. Can’t stand outhouses. People tell me “It’s not like camping when you’re a kid. You can drink now.” So what? I can drink at a bar in the city, surrounded by people instead of animals that want to eat me. Which makes it really weird that I’ve planned camping trips this summer.

You see, my girlfriend Kat loves camping. She has a camping box, with a camp stove, and a bunch of camping gear. One of her favorite stores is MEC. When we first started dating, it was one of the questions she fired in my direction right off the bat. I can actually still remember it, we were talking about the hobbies that consumed us, and she snapped her head in my direction, eyes bright and full, and she joyously asked “Do you like camping”? I remember staring off into the distance for a moment, trying the best way to phrase my displeasure in a manner that wouldn’t break her heart.

“No, I fucking hate camping”.

My response lacked tact, certainly. But when I saw her eyes droop and she quietly muttered “Ok”, I knew that if I were to spend any time with this girl, I’d have to occasionally go camping. I’d have to sit out in the cold, in rain , with mosquitos, with no showers and no martinis and no grocery stores within a walking distance. It would have to be done.

Fast forward a year, and we have yet to go camping. I decide to plan a camping trip, to the campground of my childhood, Scotch Creek provincial park on the Shuswap lake in BC. I make it a family affair and invite my brothers, my mom, aunts, uncles, and cousins. That’s camping trip is going to be happening in a couple weeks from now. But we needed to do a dry run, test out the equipment, figure what we can pack in the car. That happened last week, and here is the report.

I had a great time!

The weather was gorgeous, we went for a little hike, had a couple of fires, there weren’t any mosquitos, and our neighbors were quiet. Here’s a whole bunch of pictures I’m going to whore out, so you can live vicariously through me.

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This was the second toad Kat caught.

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Wild strawberries!

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I caught a tiny bear, then decided to humiliate it by putting it on a leash.

Everything went absolutely according to plan for this camping trip. That’s kinda the problem. What happens when it starts to pour? What if the campsite is next to a slough and the mosquitos are out in full force? What happens if we get shitty neighbors that are playing shitty punk music until 5:00 in the morning?

It’s a gamble when it comes to camping. And I’m not a gambling man. Right now, the jury is still out on whether or not I’m a convert. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be a camper. In two weeks we’ll be spending a week outside, so I’ll have more to report when I’m back. Until then, if I had to pick between the outdoors and a nice hotel, I’ll take the king size bed with the air conditioned room. And hopefully, there’s a good bar close by.

Sincerely,

The Illustrious Mr. Charlton

p.s. To be fair, camping at Scotch Creek is hardly camping. They have hot showers and paved roads, so it’s not exactly roughing it.