Michael T. Dogg, Remembered

Five years ago this month, we said goodbye to our friend and companion, Mike The Dog. To pay tribute to his life here is an obituary I wrote shortly after his death.

MICHAEL T. DOGG (1991 – 2006)

Our longtime resident and companion, Michael T. Dogg, was “put to rest” on September 22, 2006 after a short illness and has moved on to meet Dog. Mike was always quick to point out that, although his last name was spelled the same, he was not related to Snoop in any way.

Mike was an idiot, even by canine standards, and his medical records confirm that he had a brain approximately the size of a (small) pistachio nut. But he was a kind soul who loved his family and appropriately barked at the UPS truck as well as other dangers that threatened the family. Always lean, in his younger days he had greyhound speed and loved to sprint around 10 acre fields for no apparent reason.

In addition to running, his hobbies included coprophagy and the dominant mounting of any male dog that dared to set legs onto his territory (not that there's anything wrong with it).

Mike will be missed by his family: Tami, Joe and Ian Clark, as well as his cat and understudy Harvey D. Birdkill. In lieu of flowers, cards or donations, Mike asked prior to his death that well-wishers bark uncontrollably at the vacuum cleaner once or twice in his memory.

Orcas Island Getaway

I have a confession: I've been a native Washingtonian and resident for more than fifty years now, and there are places in this state that I can hardly believe I haven't visited. One of those places I can now happily check off that list. Although I've been to San Juan Island, I've never visited Orcas Island in the same vicinity until recently.

A member of my book group, The Plummeting Tortoises, happens to have a family cabin that sits on the north side of Orcas Island. We got together for an overnight stay last week where we discussed the book ("The Year of the Flood" by Margaret Atwood which we all liked a great deal) and did an admirable job of eating, drinking, listening to music and generally doing plenty of nothing.

View from the beach: Robert, Steven, Tim

In the morning I immediately hit the kitchen and prepared chorizo and scrambled eggs for breakfast. Give me any opportunity to impose Mexican food of any kind on a captive audience and I'm all over it.

One of the highlights? That would be Robert and Steven breaking out the dulcimers (doesn't everyone have a dulcimer or two sitting around the house?) with Steven's vocal and Tim accompanying on body percussion. Here is a clip I recorded in a clandestine moment:

Weekend in Leavenworth

Okay, so the town of Leavenworth, WA is to Bavarian culture what surimi is to authentic crab meat. But it's been years since we've made the scene there and BowlingWidow chose this Central Washington destination for the celebration of her 50th birthday (oops, did I just reveal her age???).

The first thing you notice when you get into town is the traffic. My advice for anyone arriving on a hot Saturday after noon is this: find a free gravel parking lot on the edge of town and walk. You'll get there faster. The second thing you notice is that every business in town is decked out in some sort of quaint livery. As one might expect this is true for the vast amounts of wine, cheese and sausage shops. But it also spills over into Safeway, Union 76, and McDonalds. Any city that can get McDonalds to roll over and fetch like that is okay in my book. And here's an added bonus: there are more clean public toilets per capita in Leavenworth than any place I've been. I can't believe that Frommers hasn't mentioned this.

A quiet Sunday morning in Leavenworth

After we finished making our first pass through town, we had some time before checking in to the bed and breakfast. And there is one craft brewery, Icicle Brewing, in Leavenworth. I think you can connect the dots that lead to appetizers and a frosty IPA.

The place we stayed at was called Abdenblume, a top of the line B&B that's about a mile north of town. It was rustic and elegant with stylish and tasty breakfasts. I know this was the case because I couldn't pronounce the names of whatever it was we were being served. Just one complaint about things: the bed and the bathtub were so elevated that I needed a vaulting pole to get to them. I should have asked for the room that's made for the man with a 29-inch inseam.

Abdenblume bed and breakfast: that's our balcony on the left

Saturday's dinner was an unsuspected hit. We ate at a place called "South"a restaurant specializing in the traditional regional food of Mexico. BowlingWidow had the Fish Veracruz while I indulged on an array of pork tacos. Forget about being in the land of sauerkraut and go here. It's well worth it.

After Sunday's breakfast we ventured back into to town for a 2 hour float on Icicle Creek and the Wenatchee River. For just 17 bucks each, Tube Leavenworth will drive you to the river entrance, issue you a covered inner tube (that's surprisingly comfortable), and pick you up when it's all over. A great deal and it's quite the laid back experience. The only real "danger"is dodging the occasional rock or deadhead (no, not those kinds of deadheads) and avoiding bored anglers who cast their fishing lines at you.

BowlingJoe and his new friend

As luck would have it, we were dropped off after the float right next to a beer garden called Der Hinterhof. This played right into our hand as we hadn't had a bratwurst sandwich yet. This is a great place, outdoors with plenty of umbrellas and live music every now and then. BowlingWidow enjoyed a beer from their vast selection. I had to one-up her with my own liter tankard filled with draft dark lager from Roslyn Brewing. I figured that its keg made the 2 hour trip to the tap in better shape than something that was dispatched from Europe.

A true liter of beer

The next day we packed up and were outta there after the obligatory shopping for German mustard and a gift for Muffinheadedboy. But I'll be darned if we didn't get halfway home and realize we forgot to buy lederhosen. Oh well. Maybe next time.

Lunch With Dan Hicks

There are quite a few bands I've been listening to for a long time that I'd like to catch live. Last Friday was a perfect storm of an opportunity to chalk up another one of those. If you read about my Jethro Tull experience a couple of blogs ago, it's obvious that crowd behavior and excessive ticket prices are becoming more of a reason for NOT attending concerts as I enter that phase of life called curmudgeondom (if that is in fact a real word). That's why the prospect of a free noontime concert at a small park in downtown Seattle featuring Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks was a no-brainer for me. And I was more than willing to take a half-day of vacation to do it on a nice day (defined as a day with no rain in these parts).

It was probably a bit earlier than what the band is accustomed to for a start time but they answered the bell without any problems. Aside from Hicks performing vocals/acoustic guitar, there was a stand up bassist, a mandolin player/fiddler and two ladies on vocals and a host of different percussion instruments. Their music is described in Wikipedia as at the "intersection of cowboy folk, jazz, country, swing, bluegrass, pop, and gypsy music". Really. It's all over the place and a lot of fun to listen to, even when helicopters are flying overhead.

Dan Hicks and a couple of the Hot Licks

Dan Hicks is 70 now. He's obviously not as quick and nimble as he once was, but still not bad for someone who survived the San Francisco music scene of the 1960s and 70s as a member of The Charlatans. To be alive and touring after all of the "medication" that he likely partook in at that time is really saying something.

It was a fine day. And anytime it costs more to park the truck than to attend a concert, I view it as a perfectly good deal.

In Praise of Papa Murphy's

This isn't a food blog but I often find myself writing about food anyway. I'm dedicating this entry to one of mankind's greatest creations: the take and bake pizza. More specifically, Papa Murphy's take and bake pizza. Yeah, I know, it's fast food and not particularly healthy if you're counting calories. But that doesn't stop BowlingWidow and me from a weekly stampede to what has become a Friday night dinner ritual.

Papa Murphy's is a good company with an affordable and good tasting product. But don't just take my word for it. The other day, Consumer Reports gave them a stellar rating as the best pizza chain in America. Considering that they occupy strip mall real estate in every town with a population of greater than 5,000 this is good news.

Now, we don't just get a pizza, throw it in the oven for 15 minutes and call it good. Here's the drill:

1. Purchase a basic one-topping pizza with Canadian bacon or pepperoni. You can print a coupon on Papa Murphy's website for a large one-topping for around 7 bucks, which can be upgraded to a family size (their largest) for two dollars more. And don't forget to get your "frequent flyer"card punched while you're there. Ten punches is worth a $10 credit, or approximately a free pizza.

Before: The basic Papa Murphy's one-topping pizza

2. Put your own toppings on. You are empowered to put as much or as little of these as you'd like. A true custom pizza. We usually add: scallions (or red onion), green pepper, black olives, tomato (Roma or sun dried), garlic and Italian seasoning. And maybe a little extra mozzarella or Parmesan cheese. I've also been known to throw a few bottled sliced jalapeno rings on some slices with the understanding that they're a safe distance from BowlingWidow's slices of pizza.

3. Follow the cooking instructions.

4. Enjoy the sight and smell of your creation. It is art after all. Besides, it needs to cool down for a few minutes before you take the pizza cutter to it.

5. Slice, serve, and enjoy. Preferably with a nice Northwest brewed India Pale Ale.

After: Pizza as art and ready for the oven

6. Wait! There is more. If there are just two of you, there WILL be leftovers to wrap up and put in the fridge. And there's no better Saturday morning breakfast than pizza a la microwave.

Saturday Night Tull

Jethro Tull has long been one of my favorite bands. But before I get started here, I need to point this out for those who may be misinformed (probably nobody who reads this, but there are many out there): Jethro Tull is not a person in the band. Jethro Tull invented the seed drill in the 18th century. The guy you're really thinking of is Ian Anderson, the vocalist who also plays flute. If I only had a dollar for everyone who has told me, "Jethro Tull....I really like his music." No you don't.

I've seen them a few times over the years, and thought it would be a nice thing for Muffinheadedboy, at age 23, to catch their act before Ian Anderson and Martin Barre became Too Old to Rock and Roll and Too Young to Die. So, along with five other friends, we bought some non-reserved lawn tickets at the St. Michelle Winery outdoor amphitheater in Woodinville, WA. Forty-five bucks plus a $12 "service fee" from Ticketmaster (which I truly believe is misleading and borderline criminal. Someone recently wrote a book about where the service charge money really goes among other things).

Pre-concert at Village Wines (L-R): 1/2 of Rob, Caitlin, Tim, BowlingJoe,
Muffinheadedboy (Thanks to Leftynemesis and Geoff for taking the picture)

We rendezvoused at a nearby place called Village Wines for some food, conversation, and vino. Nice place. Very comfortable. A destination where that slice of humanity once known as "yuppies" might gather after they get done working at Microsoft or the law office.

Under threatening skies, we arrived at the venue around an hour before the show started. Most everyone else must have arrived a half-hour before us, as we parked our blankets plenty of distance away from the stage. We headed down the hill to fetch a bottle of wine or two and it became readily apparent that we were way behind the group of people in front of us in the wine drinking department, judging by the number of empty bottles on the ground next to them. OK...NOW I remember why I gave up going to large outdoor concert venues where alcohol is liberally served.

Our view of the show: at least it wasn't foggy

As the show started with Jethro Tull really sounding nice, one of the morons in front of us clearly didn't want to sit down, obstructing the view of many behind him. We asked him he wouldn't mind taking a seat after putting up with it for a while but he was having no part of it. Courtesy was clearly not his strong point and he appeared to be enjoying his role. It's one thing to be a sociopath. It's another thing to be a drunk. But to be drunk AND a sociopath is simply not acceptable. Eventually, Muffinheadedboy (whose lap he drunkenly stumbled upon at one point) and I had a bit of an animated chat with him. At that point, the so-called venue "security" noticed that there might be trouble and intervened. It would have been nice if they were observant and proactive enough to do something about Mr. Stupid during the first few minutes of the show but they obviously had no interest in doing so.

Oh, well. Nobody really got hurt. That is except for the small gash on another one of the drunk losers that he acquired in an impromptu wrestling match with his buddy. Too bad he wasn't a hemophiliac. The 57 bucks would have been worth paying.

Here's my scorecard for the night:

Jethro Tull Performance: B-plus (great band, good sound, not too loud)
Weather: C-minus (it only drizzled during the last song)
Venue: a generous C (at least from my vantage point)
Fellow Audience Members: .18 on the breathalyzer

The impeccable Ian Anderson (left) and Martin Barre of Jethro Tull

The Accidental Reverend Strikes Again!

A couple of weeks ago I officiated another wedding, my sixth, as my longtime bowling buddy Karl tied the knot with Petra. It took all of 5 or 10 minutes in a small park in Everett WA on a nice Memorial Day afternoon, with a few family members in attendance.

With the Happy Couple: Karl, BowlingJoe, Petra

My philosophy as a legal and functioning internet certified reverend in the Universal Life Church is quite simple: I don't advertise. I don't charge a fee. I really don't even have a yearning to perform weddings. BUT..if you're crazy enough to desire my services as a licensed Man of the (Loin) Cloth, then I'm crazy enough to accept the job. And to date, there are twelve of you out there who fall into that enigmatic category.

This all started several years ago when my friend Tim's daughter (Caitlin), who I've known her whole life, asked if I would officiate her wedding. I thanked her for asking but dismissed the idea and suggested that she find someone legitimate. She didn't take my "no"for an answer, however, and brought the topic up again. Since she asked me twice and appeared serious about it, I figured she actually did want Uncle BowlingJoe to do this. So it took place, in front of a nice crowd of her family and friends atop the Smith Tower in Seattle.

Since that fateful January night, friends, friends of friends, and family members have heard via word of mouth that I do this and have taken the plunge with The Accidental Reverend. I'll read whatever it is they want me to read for the occasion or even quickly improvise my way through. It's their day, not mine.

The Evidence: You Too Can be a Reverend in Minutes!

Finally, I can honestly state that my percentage of success as a wedding officiant is as good as or better than anyone in the business. They're all still together. Six for six. 100%. That's right up there with the Archbishop of Canterbury and clearly a better value for the customer. And yes, as an official in the Universal Life Church, I can legally perform exorcisms. Doing them in Latin, however, will cost you $200 plus expenses.