check all the mails.
blog about what i ate yesterday.
walk the dog.
go to work.
dudes, it's a routine, not a rut.
i like an organized order of operations for my days;
a structure or framework that forms a fixed-point goal system,
so i know what the eff i'm doing when it's time to do something.
...and it's ALWAYS time to do something.
playing it by ear is by far my least favorite method for tackling tasks.
i've got too many dominoes stacked in a row to just start jumping around.
there's a process to doing what i do.
why do you make the pancake batter before you even worry
about preheating the oven with breakfast potatoes in it?
because by the time that roasty 'tato situation is golden brown, and ready for pan-frying,
the batter will be rested enough to start making actual 'cakes on the griddle.
it's an order of operations, man.
i just said that.
watching somebody do something way out of order,
which in turn affects the forward motion of powerful progress
is disturbing in a physically detrimental way.
like, it literally makes me sick.
waiting for one thing to be done, which is barring the path of a hundred other
equally, or more important tasks,
has got me all twisted up and sleepless,
not to mention so impossibly enraged most of the day,
that a whole lot of hot fire is being spat with haste at any and all other minor inconveniences.
that kind of fevered anger has to go somewhere....
here's the thing-
my buddy nate was over here at the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress,
helping me sort out all the headaches and heart-attacks that come with a new business.
that was pretty cool, even if most of that time was spent furiously hating
the overages of mess and breakage that the carpenter seems determined to dispense
against my fledgling foray into fortune-building.
if you're gonna be ferociously irate about a situation,
it helps to do it on a full belly.
that's a thing.
and if you've got company over, in the morning,
what could be better than a big day big B?
that's the best way to bring all the barbarian blueberry antioxidants to bear
upon the circumstances and the frustrations that seem to be mandatory
surrounding this new venture into new hottness.
take all that lightning-striking viking vengeance, and put it's energy into victorious victuals.
and that's just what i did for my homeboy and i.
check the teleport:
HEART-SHAPED BLUEBERRY MANCAKES!!!
i heart them.
and i eat a lot of them.
panniecakes are where it's at, neighbors.
these jauns were too tasty, too,
which is just the way we like it.
homemade boomfire is the business i'm in at breakfast time,
and it's a boomin' big business as soon as the stove gets lit.
rules is rules,
and lame box-mix jemima jerks can't eat with us.
here's what happened to produce those pan-style griddlers, guys:
in a smaller mixing bowl,
1 cup flour;
1/4 cup oat flour:
2 T oat bran;
3 T ground dried coconut;
1/4 tsp salt;
2-3 T sugar;
1 1/2 tsp baking powder;
1 tsp baking soda;
2 T non-dairy yogurt;
1 cup non-dairy milk;
1 tsp vanilla exxxtract;
3 T melted non-dairy butts.
mix it up, and let it rest for about an hour, refrigerated, preferably.
i hope you've got at least 1/2 cup wild maine magical blueberries
(or sh!tty ones from wherever you live i guess).
once you've got a medium-high griddle or pan ready,
and some adorable metal cookie-cutters for shaping these suckers,
you've GOT to drop some bloobs on the tops, so that they burst up all juicy after the flip.
that's molto expert for your face.
what happens once we've got a fat stack of those ready to go?
oh, c'mon, you don't know by now/
what are you?
real new hampshire maple syrup.
powdered sugar sprankles.
vegan whipped cream.
get with it-
too much is the right amount,
and we doo-dooo that freaky sh!t, son.
potatoes? always dope.
homeboyfries? even more so.
friends, i'm on those skin-on oven-roasted butter-fried local red ones,
with smoked paprika and GPOP, pink salt, black pepper,
and red onion and cilantro sprankles.
preheat your oven to 400℉ along with an oiled pan,
arranged with a GPOP'd trio of cubed tubers, until it's at temp.
they're usually ready right as the preheat light turns off, y'feel me?
toss 'em in a buttery pan (and you pick how buttery you like your homeboys, homeboy).
douse 'em with MORE Garlic Powder and Onion Powder, MORE salt and pepper,
and a fat shake or three of smoky paprika,
and you've got something worth talking mad sh!t to other folks about.
i LOVE good homeboyfry-up, friends, and this one was explicit in it's sexxxiness.
...and when you're havin' the big B AND there's an avocado nearby?
you'd better slice it up,
or you're on some sucker-sh!t for sure.
don't be dumb.
do up that avocado stuff, and go with the feeling.
what about that tofu scrambo?
what is it about that tofu scrambo?
like, are you even all about that tofu scrambo?
i wasn't even half as outraged at my present hindrances by the second bite.
that's pretty much the best testimonial i can muster.
tomatoes, red bell pepper, spinach, cilantro, and red onion
all up in there made it almost a mashed omelet, which was something special for sure.
turns out, my scrambo game is evolving, as awesomely as scramble became scrambo,
the inside get more complicated as the nomenclature gets truncated.
i'm pretty sure that's called balance, kids.
that's what it is.
order and sequence.
i need more of that.
left to my own ends, without self-imposing the rigidity of a plan,
i might be a raging bastardface.
i know that when my structure gets fractured by someone else,
i am an absolutely unendurable stormswept war-machine of a bastardface;
i'm going to be verrrrry morbidly obesely fat
if i can't figure out another way to subdue myself beyond devouring allll the pancakes.
it's all really happening,
and i s'pose that IS the whole point-
it'd just be so much nicer if it was happening in a more logically, logistically linear pattern;
never quiet, never soft.....