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Friday, November 18, 2011
Friday, November 11, 2011
Roasted Peruvian Aji Chili Peppers
The peppers came in last night, so they were all ready to go as soon as I got to work. I walked out to the floor and began scanning the inventory on my way to the produce section. We are short on candles, hot chocolate, and handwarmers. We set them out on endcaps and they've been flying out the doors. Has it been getting cold? I haven't noticed.
Anyway, I saw the peppers sitting there in their display box teasing me, yellow smiles with flourescent-reflection-teeth. Usually, these peppers are dried and crushed, you can probably find them in your latin-spices section but this time they were nice and fresh. When selecting peppers, it is pretty common for the smaller peppers to be hotter. The same thing goes for the firmness. So I chose a variety of sizes and firmness to ensure a wide variety of flavor and spice. One of the nice things about working at a grocery store is that you get first pick and if its something like produce, you can get first and free pick! I put the peppers in my pockets and carried on with my day.
As the day progressed, I could smell the chilis. If my life was a cartoon, it would show me walking through the aisles with a green vapor drifting up from my pockets before forming into little fingers in front of my nose. Finally, it was lunch time. I grabbed some bread and milk and went back to the break room to evaluate the new peppers.
However, as I pulled the prize out of my pocket, they came out slimy and skinless. I was holding roasted chilis in my hand. Disappointed, I spent the rest of my lunch break gnawing on boring bread while trying to clean out the insides of my pockets.
Anyway, I saw the peppers sitting there in their display box teasing me, yellow smiles with flourescent-reflection-teeth. Usually, these peppers are dried and crushed, you can probably find them in your latin-spices section but this time they were nice and fresh. When selecting peppers, it is pretty common for the smaller peppers to be hotter. The same thing goes for the firmness. So I chose a variety of sizes and firmness to ensure a wide variety of flavor and spice. One of the nice things about working at a grocery store is that you get first pick and if its something like produce, you can get first and free pick! I put the peppers in my pockets and carried on with my day.
As the day progressed, I could smell the chilis. If my life was a cartoon, it would show me walking through the aisles with a green vapor drifting up from my pockets before forming into little fingers in front of my nose. Finally, it was lunch time. I grabbed some bread and milk and went back to the break room to evaluate the new peppers.
However, as I pulled the prize out of my pocket, they came out slimy and skinless. I was holding roasted chilis in my hand. Disappointed, I spent the rest of my lunch break gnawing on boring bread while trying to clean out the insides of my pockets.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Back to the plan
So, I had originally set up this blog to be a sort of diary about world peppers. Those of you who know me are fully aware of my obsession of peppers and my borderline psychotic need to try as many peppers as I possibly can. I prefer the spicy ones, but I want to try even the sweet ones. I've managed to get the produce manager in on my scheme and he's agreed to order different peppers periodically. He's told me that tomorrow, he is getting in a small amount of some S. American chili. I'll let you know all about it tomorrow.
I'm feeling better now, btw. Hopefully it was some frreak occurence and its done now.
I'm feeling better now, btw. Hopefully it was some frreak occurence and its done now.
Monday, November 7, 2011
E.P.D.
Oh, What a harrowing week I've had. So, you know about my Monday and Tuesday; but it just never ended. Tuesday night, or possibly Wednesday morning, I woke up. My house flipped on its side and an elephant was dancing on my door. Bam! Bam! Bam! "Brian!" "You there?" "Brian, please man, are you ok?" "Enumclaw Police! Open the door!"
My eyes popped open and I sat up and my house righted itself. Shaking my wits back into my head, I stood up and went to the door. "Hold on a sec. Let me get dressed," I called through the 2 inch wood. I ran into my bedroom, threw on a shirt and sweats and was halfway back to the door when it struck me. I didn't hurt. Wasn't it just a few hours ago that I burned alive, died, had electricity surge through me, inexplicably burned THROUGH an ambulance and skipped along the road like an old cigarette butt casually tossed out a window? My arms were a bit bruised as I pushed up my sleeves but the skin was all there. no scabs, no scars, no blood. I was hale and whole. It wasn't all a dream, was it? If so, why are the police here? "Oh!" I peeped as I remembered the reason for my waking. I grabbed hold of the door knob, twisted it and opened the door. On the front porch were two of Enumclaw's finest on either side of Jake B.
"You alright, man?" Jake B. blurted out while relief eased his features as soon as he saw I was alive.
"May we come in?" asked Officer 1.
Looking them over, they didn't really seem aggressive, their guns were holstered and they seemed more concerned than anything. I stepped back and let them in. Apparently I wasn't dreaming about any of it. Between Jake B., the police, and me, we were able to come up witha pretty solid account of what happened. They have been trying to find me for over 56 hours, it was now Thursday morning. They knew I was home because I used my home phone to call work. They had a car parked outside my house since Tuesday morning. Jake G, Bria, Mom, my boss. . .everybody came by my house, everytime with the police. They were about to break down my door to recover my body.
The police asked so many questions but I never had an answer for them. They asked the same questions multiple different ways. I tried to stay calm and answer them but it was getting quite annoying. I think they may have been trying to hide something from me because the longer they were at my house and the more unanswered questions they had, the more they sweated. I was the only one there who seemed fine.
So, anyway, that was Thursday morning. I called work and asked told them I was feeling much better and that I'd be in to work on Friday. I had to go to the store because all of my food had gone bad over the past week. I think my fridge is on the fritz too. I grabbed the milk I had bought over the weekend but it was warm and sour. I just went to the quickshop down the street grabbed some bread and peanut butter. It was going to be simple food for awhile. Then I headed home.
The rest of that day I spent calling my mom and friends letting them know that I was ok. Then I sat down and tried to figure out what happened to me.
My brain was a well-toned AK47 with a full clip of blanks. I had idea after idea after idea but they were completely empty ideas. as soon as I thought of something, it was gone. over and over again. Thursday night I went to bed just as confused as before.
Friday morning, 7am came and I was roasting in my bed. I got up, took a steaming hot shower ate my peanut butter sandwich and walked to work. Have you ever taken a vacation at a crucial time? The back storage area looked like a daycare had come to visit for a week, there were Halloween decorations mixed with Santa and Frosty's flakes. Coffee in hand, I called over some of the stockboys and got to sorting. It was around 10:30 that I started feeling sick. By lunch I was coughing and hacking. I was so worried that I was going to get another fever that I went and grabbed an orange juice and a bottle of vitamin C and started overdosing. The store manager was probably worried too, that would explain the insane micro-management that day. By 2, I clocked out and went home.
Sorry that I just keep going on and on about how difficult this week was but I hope you understand. I'll try to liven things up as the week progresses.
My eyes popped open and I sat up and my house righted itself. Shaking my wits back into my head, I stood up and went to the door. "Hold on a sec. Let me get dressed," I called through the 2 inch wood. I ran into my bedroom, threw on a shirt and sweats and was halfway back to the door when it struck me. I didn't hurt. Wasn't it just a few hours ago that I burned alive, died, had electricity surge through me, inexplicably burned THROUGH an ambulance and skipped along the road like an old cigarette butt casually tossed out a window? My arms were a bit bruised as I pushed up my sleeves but the skin was all there. no scabs, no scars, no blood. I was hale and whole. It wasn't all a dream, was it? If so, why are the police here? "Oh!" I peeped as I remembered the reason for my waking. I grabbed hold of the door knob, twisted it and opened the door. On the front porch were two of Enumclaw's finest on either side of Jake B.
"You alright, man?" Jake B. blurted out while relief eased his features as soon as he saw I was alive.
"May we come in?" asked Officer 1.
Looking them over, they didn't really seem aggressive, their guns were holstered and they seemed more concerned than anything. I stepped back and let them in. Apparently I wasn't dreaming about any of it. Between Jake B., the police, and me, we were able to come up witha pretty solid account of what happened. They have been trying to find me for over 56 hours, it was now Thursday morning. They knew I was home because I used my home phone to call work. They had a car parked outside my house since Tuesday morning. Jake G, Bria, Mom, my boss. . .everybody came by my house, everytime with the police. They were about to break down my door to recover my body.
The police asked so many questions but I never had an answer for them. They asked the same questions multiple different ways. I tried to stay calm and answer them but it was getting quite annoying. I think they may have been trying to hide something from me because the longer they were at my house and the more unanswered questions they had, the more they sweated. I was the only one there who seemed fine.
So, anyway, that was Thursday morning. I called work and asked told them I was feeling much better and that I'd be in to work on Friday. I had to go to the store because all of my food had gone bad over the past week. I think my fridge is on the fritz too. I grabbed the milk I had bought over the weekend but it was warm and sour. I just went to the quickshop down the street grabbed some bread and peanut butter. It was going to be simple food for awhile. Then I headed home.
The rest of that day I spent calling my mom and friends letting them know that I was ok. Then I sat down and tried to figure out what happened to me.
My brain was a well-toned AK47 with a full clip of blanks. I had idea after idea after idea but they were completely empty ideas. as soon as I thought of something, it was gone. over and over again. Thursday night I went to bed just as confused as before.
Friday morning, 7am came and I was roasting in my bed. I got up, took a steaming hot shower ate my peanut butter sandwich and walked to work. Have you ever taken a vacation at a crucial time? The back storage area looked like a daycare had come to visit for a week, there were Halloween decorations mixed with Santa and Frosty's flakes. Coffee in hand, I called over some of the stockboys and got to sorting. It was around 10:30 that I started feeling sick. By lunch I was coughing and hacking. I was so worried that I was going to get another fever that I went and grabbed an orange juice and a bottle of vitamin C and started overdosing. The store manager was probably worried too, that would explain the insane micro-management that day. By 2, I clocked out and went home.
Sorry that I just keep going on and on about how difficult this week was but I hope you understand. I'll try to liven things up as the week progresses.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Sick
Gah! can you believe it? all this crap and now I have a cold. My nasal cavity feels like a 50 year old storage unit for snot. Even my cheeks are sore from the pressure build up. I'm going back to sleep.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Next Day
I have done little but sleep for the past few days. All-Saints-Day found me naked in the tub, the water barely pooled up in the bottom. The sun was streaming through the window, washing everything in dusky rose and peach. I don't know what time I got home from the nightmare of my Halloween night, but I must've been asleep for nearly 16 hours.
The most painful thing I've ever done in my life was to stand up from that tub. Lifting my 100 pound arms up to grasp the porcelein rim, I felt my shoulders pulling, stretching, screaming in protest. As I began to heave the skin bag of sticks and boulders that used to be my body out of the tub, my arms started trembling. The more weight I transferred to the tub walls, the stronger my arms shook. Eventually, my arms gave out and I collapsed; a yelp escaped from deep within my lungs.
Try after try found me in different positions on the bottom of the clawfoot. After the tenth or twentieth try, I was laying facedown and I was able to get my knees under me so I could at least kneel. From this position, all I could see was a giant pink smear over the entire surface of the tub. Waves and dogs, wisps and streaks, I sat there seeing images in the layer of blood I spread over everything. My scabs from the night before must have softened up in my 16 hour siesta and now I was bleeding.
Feeling feint, I finally managed to struggle to my feet. I got out and went back to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich and check my messages. 72. I had 72 messages and I didn't even try listening to them. I called up work, told them that I won't be in for a few days. I had to listen to how the police had come by, my friends had come by, even my mom. I listened then told them that I won't be in at all this week and I will call them if I won't be in next.
Then I laid down on my sofa and passed out.
The most painful thing I've ever done in my life was to stand up from that tub. Lifting my 100 pound arms up to grasp the porcelein rim, I felt my shoulders pulling, stretching, screaming in protest. As I began to heave the skin bag of sticks and boulders that used to be my body out of the tub, my arms started trembling. The more weight I transferred to the tub walls, the stronger my arms shook. Eventually, my arms gave out and I collapsed; a yelp escaped from deep within my lungs.
Try after try found me in different positions on the bottom of the clawfoot. After the tenth or twentieth try, I was laying facedown and I was able to get my knees under me so I could at least kneel. From this position, all I could see was a giant pink smear over the entire surface of the tub. Waves and dogs, wisps and streaks, I sat there seeing images in the layer of blood I spread over everything. My scabs from the night before must have softened up in my 16 hour siesta and now I was bleeding.
Feeling feint, I finally managed to struggle to my feet. I got out and went back to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich and check my messages. 72. I had 72 messages and I didn't even try listening to them. I called up work, told them that I won't be in for a few days. I had to listen to how the police had come by, my friends had come by, even my mom. I listened then told them that I won't be in at all this week and I will call them if I won't be in next.
Then I laid down on my sofa and passed out.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Halloween Part 3
So, there I was, sitting in the middle of Porter street, 5 minutes from the hospital covered in fire extinguisher gunk, shreds of skin where my shoulders, elbows and legs should be intact with a paramedic staring at me as if I just burned through an ambulance floor. My wits crept in like ants through an open window as I realized I needed to get out of there. If I stuck around they would be expecting answers to questions that I did not have.
I glanced over and saw the ambulance just sitting there, the siren still wailing out its demise. Standing next to the ambulance were the driver and another paramedic paying attention to a screaming white mass. Sandpaper scrubbed my eyes as I tried to blink moisture back into them. Trying to refocus my eyes, I zoned in on what they were doing. The screaming mass was the third paramedic, screaming as the others were pulling latex from his blistered, swollen, red raw hands.
Holding up my hands, I looked back at the paramedic near me and said, "I'm ok, how's he?" Snapping back to reality, he looked over at his partners, back at me, and back to his partners trying to make sense of everything, I assume. After taking a step toward me, he hesitated remembering the dripping latex, "Stay there! lie down! I'll be right back!" he yelled out before turning and running over to help his partners. It was at this point that I decided to disregard everything he just said and get out of there.
I checked myself over, it was so strange. My skin was shredded, I should've been bleeding profusely, my blood pooling under me before seeping through the pores of the intersection of Porter and Chinook. But I wasn't. Everywhere my skin was shredded, it looked like my blood was already scabbed up and three days old. I was sore, about as sore as you would expect to be if you just tumbled down the street at 50 mph. But nothing seemed broken and I needed to hurry. I got up, took a last look over at the people who saved my life and I repaid with pain and fear. Then I ran. Ducking through alleys and staying off the main road (remember, I was naked) and I eventually made it home.
I locked the door, and headed straight into the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water, drank it in one gulp and poured another. Glass after glass of water flooded down my throat. With each swallow, I could feel each individual cell absorbing it. My eyes finally focused and the eyelids stopped scratching me. After about 10 glasses or more, I went into the bathroom poured myself a bath of cold water and climbed in. The water warmed up and at some point, I passed out.
My dreams were too weird that night, but I can't really remember what they were.
I glanced over and saw the ambulance just sitting there, the siren still wailing out its demise. Standing next to the ambulance were the driver and another paramedic paying attention to a screaming white mass. Sandpaper scrubbed my eyes as I tried to blink moisture back into them. Trying to refocus my eyes, I zoned in on what they were doing. The screaming mass was the third paramedic, screaming as the others were pulling latex from his blistered, swollen, red raw hands.
Holding up my hands, I looked back at the paramedic near me and said, "I'm ok, how's he?" Snapping back to reality, he looked over at his partners, back at me, and back to his partners trying to make sense of everything, I assume. After taking a step toward me, he hesitated remembering the dripping latex, "Stay there! lie down! I'll be right back!" he yelled out before turning and running over to help his partners. It was at this point that I decided to disregard everything he just said and get out of there.
I checked myself over, it was so strange. My skin was shredded, I should've been bleeding profusely, my blood pooling under me before seeping through the pores of the intersection of Porter and Chinook. But I wasn't. Everywhere my skin was shredded, it looked like my blood was already scabbed up and three days old. I was sore, about as sore as you would expect to be if you just tumbled down the street at 50 mph. But nothing seemed broken and I needed to hurry. I got up, took a last look over at the people who saved my life and I repaid with pain and fear. Then I ran. Ducking through alleys and staying off the main road (remember, I was naked) and I eventually made it home.
I locked the door, and headed straight into the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water, drank it in one gulp and poured another. Glass after glass of water flooded down my throat. With each swallow, I could feel each individual cell absorbing it. My eyes finally focused and the eyelids stopped scratching me. After about 10 glasses or more, I went into the bathroom poured myself a bath of cold water and climbed in. The water warmed up and at some point, I passed out.
My dreams were too weird that night, but I can't really remember what they were.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Halloween Part 2
From amidst the blackness came a screeching awareness. Electricity was pouring through my body. Lightning was striking me on both sides of my chest and the bolts were surging through my body. Then I was at peace again, nothing. I know the saying that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same spot, but apparently it does. 3 times. The third time the bolts entered my chest; they wrapped their little arms around my heart and gave it a nice squeeze. My eyes flew open, my arms and legs tried to soar upward and I saw faces all around me. Masked faces. They were masks and eyes with uniforms hanging underneath. There was wailing in the background, an inhuman monster crying out to the darkness of the ongoing storm. Almost as soon as my eyes opened, I felt hands touching me. People were putting icepacks on me. I could smell something burning. Then one of the men next to me threw up his hands and released a fervent cry; molten latex dripping from his hands. The icepacks were leaking water everywhere and steam was filling the room I was in.
Instantly, I fell. I was lying on my back looking up at faceless uniforms and then I was lying on a floor staring up at dripping red hot steel with a 6 foot hole in the middle. The wailing continued but now there were shouts amid a cacophony of other noises. I was still burning up, but now there was more. . .everything. five seconds later and I was falling again, this time it hurt. I landed on pavement with tires on both sides of me just before they passed and I tumbled and rolled down the street. The ambulance kept rolling for a while, then it exploded in a fiery inferno.
Well, that’s how it will happen in the biographical documentary. What really happened was more painful and less anti-climatic. I did fall through the bottom of the ambulance and when I hit that pavement, we were probably going about 50 mph. I flipped and flailed and bounced along the road. The ambulance rolled for a bit and came to a stop, unable to continue. The paramedics poured out of the broken ambulance with fire extinguishers spraying the ambulance floor. One of them came running over to me and sprayed me down for some reason. It was at this point that I realized that I had cooled down. My massive fever was gone, but they seemed too scared to touch me. That’s when I remembered the melting latex gloves on the one paramedic. There is no way that my fever was so high that I burned through latex and solid steel of an ambulance.
No way.
No way.
Instantly, I fell. I was lying on my back looking up at faceless uniforms and then I was lying on a floor staring up at dripping red hot steel with a 6 foot hole in the middle. The wailing continued but now there were shouts amid a cacophony of other noises. I was still burning up, but now there was more. . .everything. five seconds later and I was falling again, this time it hurt. I landed on pavement with tires on both sides of me just before they passed and I tumbled and rolled down the street. The ambulance kept rolling for a while, then it exploded in a fiery inferno.
Well, that’s how it will happen in the biographical documentary. What really happened was more painful and less anti-climatic. I did fall through the bottom of the ambulance and when I hit that pavement, we were probably going about 50 mph. I flipped and flailed and bounced along the road. The ambulance rolled for a bit and came to a stop, unable to continue. The paramedics poured out of the broken ambulance with fire extinguishers spraying the ambulance floor. One of them came running over to me and sprayed me down for some reason. It was at this point that I realized that I had cooled down. My massive fever was gone, but they seemed too scared to touch me. That’s when I remembered the melting latex gloves on the one paramedic. There is no way that my fever was so high that I burned through latex and solid steel of an ambulance.
No way.
No way.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Halloween
I died last night.
I hate Halloween. I mean, sure, its great that kids get to go around and get candy and dress up in cute little costumes and all that, but from a inventory regulations inspector (read desk job at a grocery chain), its a nuisance. Every November first I have to go throughout the whole store, pull all the unsold halloween candies, decorations and costumes count them up, tag them all with a discount price (still a huge markup) and throw them into a bin to make room for Christmas stuff. However, this Halloween was exceptionally crappy.
I was out screen golfing with the Jakes and Bria. The room was stifling hot. So hot the gum in my pocket was soft and beginning to ooze out of the wrapper. Jake G tried turning on the A.C. but being Halloween, it had already been winterized. By the time I was teeing off the 7th hole, I had begun sweating so badly that the club slid right out of my hands and flew through the air hitting the screen before clattering to the ground to the sound of my graphic description of what the owner likes to do with his mother and where he came from.
Walking over to pick up the driver while wiping the sweat from my hands like a 7th grader at his first school dance I started feeling faint. It seemed to get hotter and hotter as I got further from the vents. The Jakes and Bria seemed fine, a little warm maybe, but nothing like what I was feeling. Grabbing the driver, I turned and stumbled for the door passing it to . . .someone as I headed out the door for some fresh air.
Things started to go black. I remember being in the bathroom at the golf zone shirtless, splashing water all over myself. Somehow I ended up outside naked with steam rising off my body. My head was pounding, my mouth was cracking and super dry. Someone was calling my name but my sandpaper eyelids wouldn't open. They were frantic. "Brian?" they called out. " Are you okay?" "What's happening?" "What are you on?" "Someone call 911!" "BRIAN!" Then there was a scream. I think I was on my knees but I may have been laying down or floating in a fiery cauldron of burning tar while someone poured pure molten lava over me, I couldn't really tell, or care. I just kept getting hotter and hotter until I stopped. Everything stopped. Pain, Caring, Their Cries, All the debates of the world, Everything. It all stopped, including me. I was dead. My blood boiled inside me, eventually, it cooked my heart and I was done.
Death is quiet.
I hate Halloween. I mean, sure, its great that kids get to go around and get candy and dress up in cute little costumes and all that, but from a inventory regulations inspector (read desk job at a grocery chain), its a nuisance. Every November first I have to go throughout the whole store, pull all the unsold halloween candies, decorations and costumes count them up, tag them all with a discount price (still a huge markup) and throw them into a bin to make room for Christmas stuff. However, this Halloween was exceptionally crappy.
I was out screen golfing with the Jakes and Bria. The room was stifling hot. So hot the gum in my pocket was soft and beginning to ooze out of the wrapper. Jake G tried turning on the A.C. but being Halloween, it had already been winterized. By the time I was teeing off the 7th hole, I had begun sweating so badly that the club slid right out of my hands and flew through the air hitting the screen before clattering to the ground to the sound of my graphic description of what the owner likes to do with his mother and where he came from.
Walking over to pick up the driver while wiping the sweat from my hands like a 7th grader at his first school dance I started feeling faint. It seemed to get hotter and hotter as I got further from the vents. The Jakes and Bria seemed fine, a little warm maybe, but nothing like what I was feeling. Grabbing the driver, I turned and stumbled for the door passing it to . . .someone as I headed out the door for some fresh air.
Things started to go black. I remember being in the bathroom at the golf zone shirtless, splashing water all over myself. Somehow I ended up outside naked with steam rising off my body. My head was pounding, my mouth was cracking and super dry. Someone was calling my name but my sandpaper eyelids wouldn't open. They were frantic. "Brian?" they called out. " Are you okay?" "What's happening?" "What are you on?" "Someone call 911!" "BRIAN!" Then there was a scream. I think I was on my knees but I may have been laying down or floating in a fiery cauldron of burning tar while someone poured pure molten lava over me, I couldn't really tell, or care. I just kept getting hotter and hotter until I stopped. Everything stopped. Pain, Caring, Their Cries, All the debates of the world, Everything. It all stopped, including me. I was dead. My blood boiled inside me, eventually, it cooked my heart and I was done.
Death is quiet.
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