By Michael E. Miller
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Sabrina Rodriguez
By Michael E. Miller
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Luther Campbell
By Kyle Munzenrieder
I got home from work, put on Bad Religion's new one, Stranger Than Fiction. One of my brothers, Rog, a heavy-equipment operator, knocked on the door. "Bro," he says when I let him in, "I came within an inch today." A friend of ours, one of his co-workers, had knocked down a live power line, nearly killing several people. Then the phone rang. It was JB, a close friend of mine for more than twenty years. His mother, Emily Winkelmann, had just died, at age 73. All of us called her Big E, but not in a mean way A rather as a term of endearment, a nickname. A former Marine who served during World War II, she often cast herself as the villain, yelling at us for something or another, but we were the screwups, and no one didn't like her. Some of us argued with her, made fun of her, but in our hearts we never held any enmity. And often her kindness knew no bounds. She made the best stuffed cabbage you could ever dream of. I remember one time, many years ago, sitting with her and going through her old scrapbooks. I remember a lot of things. She will be missed in my neighborhood.
Up at Musicians Exchange tonight (Thursday), two cool bands, Live Bait and the Kazuals, take stage.
How much suffering could be alleviated, how much death could be postponed, if people had free access to marijuana? Too much. The weed would only save the friggin' planet. On Saturday at Churchill's Hideaway, bands such as Natural High, Smoking Toad, Da Tribe, and the Baboons perform at the University of Miami's Hemp Awareness benefit concert. Be there or die.
I can't be bought (for less than a beer), just tell me what you want plugged and I'll tell the eight or nine idiots who read this alleged column. And be careful -- you take a real risk when you say that if I plug your band here, you'll play free at my next party. That could get you banned from this space. A new band threatening or promising to play my next party free if I plug them, Red Road, plays at Stephen Talkhouse on Sunday with the Baboons and Second Coming.
And speaking of banned from this space, those snotty little punks whose asses I'm still going to kick, the Holy Terrors, cause trouble tonight (Thursday) at Rose's.
The craziest band from the old country I've seen in my life, Limpopo, plays on Wednesday at the Talkhouse, with I Don't Know. I saw Limpopo on Star Search (don't ask me how I came to be watching that) A they play bizarre instruments, dance like monkeys that ate spiked bananas, and generally make for fun. My editor says he even saw them on a Kit-Kat candy bar commercial. But I don't eat that junk.
So, no more Friday-night concerts at Squeeze, huh? Tomorrow (uh, Friday) Atlantic recording artists Collapsing Lungs play a concert at Squeeze.
Recipe of the week: I know it's a pathetic apathetic attitude, but I kinda think that if the animal is dead anyway, I might as well eat it. In France, it's not uncommon that people save the blood of the chickens they murder, cook the blood and some garlic into pancakes, and then use those in other recipes such as salad and a type of omelette. In that spirit, I offer one of my favorite dishes: Buy a package of chicken guts (available at most grocery stores in packages of about one pound and at a cost of about one dollar). Do not buy chicken livers. Buy guts (gizzards), and, if you can get them, hearts. Wash thoroughly and drain. Heat (on medium) a large skillet. Combine in any way you like any of the following: butter, olive oil, vegetable oil, bacon drippings. Pour a layer about a quarter inch thick into the pan, add the guts. Mince fresh garlic (two or three cloves -- live a little, it's good for ya) and toss it over the guts, then chop or slice about half an onion and toss that in, too. Season with Old Bay and black pepper. Cook the gizzards, stirring often, until they are gray in the center. Serve with a variety of hot sauces and some sort of bread, or, my preference, potato chips. Enjoy.