Recipe crutch.

1 large can (1lb, 12 oz) B and M Baked Beads

1 large can (1lb, 12 oz) Van Kamps Baked Beans (its in a tomato sauce; drain off the sauce)

1 16 oz. can kidney beans

1 16 oz. can black beans

2 good sized onions

¼ cup yellow mustard

½ cup dark, full flavor Brer Rabbit molasses

¾ cup Kraft original BBQ sauce

1 lb. bacon cut in approximately 1 inch squares

OPTION: Add 1/3 cup Jalapeno Peppers, diced

In a large fry pan cook bacon pieces, but don’t let them get too crisp and dry. Drain off all fat and then pat pieces in pan with paper towels to remove more fat.

Chop onions, add to bacon in pan and cook until translucent.

Put onion-bacon mixture in large casserole dish sprayed with Pam.

Add remaining ingredients, mix well and bake at 325o for 1½ hours. Remove lid, stir well and continue to bake until liquid looks thick, about 1 hour.

Remove from oven to cool to serving temperature.

Standing outside Medium’s classroom today, I perused tweets while waiting to watch the BIG WISCONSIN PRESENTATION™. I am surrounded in news all day long, which means I don’t watch the news on television. Ever. Most often, I get breaking news via Twitter, and today that breaking news was like a swift kick in the gut. A six-year-old boy was aboard a runaway hot air balloon. Alone. Never have I heard a news story and had such a visceral reaction. I had to stop looking at it, because I literally felt I was going to get sick. A six-year-old baby was in unimaginable peril at that very second. There’s the painful side of real-time web for you. Of course, all is well that ends well, and we can all breath a collective sigh of relief knowing that the little boy wasn’t aboard the balloon at all, but was instead hiding in his family’s attic, afraid for himself having unleashed his father’s balloon. PHEW. As relieved as a stranger was hundreds of miles away, I can’t begin to imagine the feeling of finding that kid, having imagined the horrifying alternatives.

While he was missing, I made the crucial mistake of checking the trending topics on Twitter in search of links to more information. Twitter was full of people joking about “balloonboy”. Joking. Posting what they considered witty retorts about a boy falling from the sky to his death. Really? When would that ever be funny? Remember that as far as anyone knew at the time, there was a young child in life threatening danger. Then, when the balloon was found without him aboard, came the reports of the missing portion of the balloon and the deputy having “seen something fall from the balloon”. Was it still funny then? According to not a few people, it was. To anyone trying to ameliorate the absolute cruelty and repulsiveness of making those jokes by saying they somehow *knew* that he was safe all along, I. CALL. BULLSHIT. You did not have more information to go on than the emergency response teams searching for his broken body.

I hope you *NEVER* have to worry about a child. I hope you never have, even for a split second, the terror of looking around and realizing that your baby is gone. To that family, thinking their son was first FLOATING AWAY IN THE SKY and then likely dead, that grief was REAL. Why would anyone make light of it? What else is fair game? If Twitter was around when Baby Jessica was trapped in a well, what kind of ugly jackals would have come out of the woodwork thinking they had the most clever thing to tweet about a baby stuck underground with her parents helpless to save her? It’s NOT FUCKING FUNNY.

People have every right to say whatever they want. What I wish for is a world where people don’t *want* to say stupid cruel shit about children being hurt. I don’t understand it. You know what else? I’m GLAD I don’t understand it, that I have more compassion than I have need to try to distance myself from real feelings. Was it because they couldn’t relate to a six-year-old? Was it too foreign? Here, let me help. Six-year-old boys are still very much babies. They are in the first grade. They are inquisitive and experimental and loving creatures. They are not yet too old to snuggle up to their mothers out of embarrassment of what their friends might think. They are losing their first teeth and walk around with goofy jack-o-lantern grins and they are SO PROUD of that fact. They are open wide to the world. They are magical little creatures. Are they human enough now? Okay, great. Next time you hear about something terrible befalling a child, remember that to someone they are a perfect creature. Imagine that perfect creature alone and terrified soaring away in a homemade hot air balloon with no one to comfort them in their darkest hour. Is it still funny? Have some humanity.

The ending today was the BEST possible scenario, and I can’t begin to imagine the head-spinning intoxication in the joy of finding him safe and sound at home…where he will likely stay, grounded for life. I hope this becomes just an embarrassing story they tell to the dates he brings home, AND I hope he grows up to be the kind of person that first sees the humanity in people before he sees the jokes.

For whatever reason, there are a host of celebrities that I constantly confuse with other celebrities. I’d say that this is all age related stupidity creeping in, but I have had this problem FOR. EVER. In fact, some of these actors, I haven’t seen in anything in years, so I know that this whole mess started when they were actually on TV in the 80’s, which means that there is no way that I was either old enough or had damaged enough braincells by that point for *that* to be a factor. NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE. That said, I don’t think I’m alone. Judging by any number of car conversations with friends and loved ones, I’d venture to guess that this is a universal problem. I give you a small sampling of my “issues”, but fess up. I’m sure you have your own.

Dylan McDermott
Dermot Mulroney

No similarity at all here aside from the initials. I loved Dermot Mulroney’s “Dirty Steve” character in Young Guns for the classic “We’re in the spirit world, asshole. They can’t see us.” read. Dylan McDermott is more of the pretty boy type, which is not to say he isn’t wholly enjoyable. I did like “The Practice.” Whatever. Judge if you must.

Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio
Mary Stuart Masterson

There is no reason at all that I should confuse these two, yet I do. They don’t play the same kinds of roles, or even show up in the same types of movies. You know, now that I think about it, these three name people just throw me off, cus there is this duo and also…

Pamela Sue Martin
Melissa Sue Anderson

You may not even remember these two. Pamela Sue Martin was “Fallon” on Dynasty and Melissa Sue Anderson was “Mary” on Little House on the Prairie. They were both on TV. That’s about all they have in common, I think. I know none of us wept over Fallon, but come on…who didn’t shed a few tears when MARY WENT BLIND?!?!?!

David Horowitz
Ralph Nadar

LOLZ.

Vincent D’Onofrio
Adam Baldwin

It was only like a year ago when I finally realized that Vincent D’Onofrio, whom I think is AWESOME, did not, in fact, star in “My Bodyguard”. This may be the only instance where I can partially explain it away with some physical resemblance between the two. Maybe? A little? Ahem.

I swear I’m not this much of an idiot.

I don’t care who you are. Everyone has a list of music, movies and/or books that they clutch near and dear to them and to which they ascribe great personal meaning. Here’s the thing. That list is extremely personal, not personal meaning private, personal meaning “unless you are ME, and you are NOT ME, you will NEVER UNDERSTAND the awesomeness that is (fill in the blank), and the enduring effect it has had upon me”. Despite knowing this, we, as human beings with a need to connect to other human beings, constantly feel a pull to share what is meaningful to us with other human beings. I mean, isn’t that what the creation of art is really all about, the need to share what speaks to us with someone else, even just one other person?

Some things are harder to share than others. Books are HARD. High effort for the sharee. So much of the reading experience takes place in your own head, that while a book may move two people, it can’t possibly move them in the exact same way. Music is easier. Music can be entirely passive. It doesn’t really require rapt attention to enjoy or to endure while not enjoying. Food is a crap shoot. ( Pun not intended, but duly noted. ) Unless a particular food is inherently repulsive to the other person, they will likely indulge your need to make them sample it, but what can you do if your very favorite food is pickled herring or sushi (shut up I hate it) or haggis? You might have a hard time finding a willing participant in your sharing party. I don’t have this problem, since it is all about Taylor Ham for me, but I’m sure you can imagine. Movies are sort of inbetween. They can be an easy sell, or if the sharee is like me, they can be picky and full of actor aversions and hard to make sit still and therefore a MUCH HARDER SELL. So, the question is, what do you do when you have that unbending, unabated need to share a movie with someone who may not be terribly anxious to sit through…say…anything even remotely related to Kirsten Dunst? What we do at our house is hold a “Movie Hostage Weekend”.

The gist of Movie Hostage Weekend is that each of you pick out one or two OMG MUST SEE movies that the other person is then made to watch like, well, like a hostage. Our first Movie Hostage Weekend went a little something like this.

Picks courtesy of Aaron:

The Hudsucker Proxy - You know, for kids. Enjoyable. I actually never guessed we were talking hula hoops. You certainly can’t beat the cast, and a number of lines have lingered in our repertoire of “movie lines I will pull out and use whenever possible” much to the chagrin of those around me. I think I spent a couple hours walking around imitating Jennifer Jason Leigh afterwards.


I got off pretty easy for a hostage. Both of these movies were well received and not terrible to watch, even under duress. @aaronh did not get off so easily.

Picks from Me:

Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band – Yeah…I’m going to have to make some apologies. I have always had the fondest recollection of this movie. My aunt took me to see this movie in the theater. Twice. She loved loved loved Peter Frampton and I was 8. That’s my excuse. What is fascinating to me is that in rewatching this movie, I suddenly realized the genesis of my strange fascination with Steven Tyler. It all made sense. He was one of the villains in the movie, supposed to be dangerous and desireable and bad news. Clearly, I was highly impressionable. Who knows what bad teenage decisions were based on my imprinting on Steven Tyler in this movie. Hey, the Bee Gees were in this one too. You win some, you really really lose some.


I’m going to have to think long and hard to come up with movies to make up for the last go round.

What would your hostage have to watch?