" /> BRAINPAN LEAKAGE » Evil Redhead
  • Death March 2016…


    Why did The Redhead cross the creek?

    For Tacos, duh.

    Just keep reading. It’ll make sense…eventually.

    So, when you have a dog a good portion of your life becomes filled with holding a leash in one hand and a knotted up Shop ‘n’ Save bag full of canine poo logs in the other.

    When you are married to Evil Kat, THE redheaded nature goddess (when she’s not being all redheaded dominatrix goddess) you go on death marches. Hmmm… Come to think of it, with those death marches she’s pretty much still being a redheaded dominatrix goddess, just sans stilettos and whips…

    But anyway… Put the two together and what do you get? Yeah… Taking the dog on a death march and picking up poop – or sometimes just carrying empty bags because the dog has the presence of mind to go off into the woods 30 feet off the trail and dump her load there in the underbrush. Probably because she’s trying to escape the death march.

    We’ll get to the tacos in a minute. I promise.

    Because, it's important to PRETECT the land

    Because, it’s important to PRETECT the land

    So, this unseasonably warm February 28th morning Her Supreme Worship was dead set on taking one of those death marches through a local conservation area. Sending the Teen off to The Ethical Society (it’s both wonderful and nerve wracking for a parent when a teenĀ gets his or her driver’s license) we set out to conquer the mountain that is the object of her death march. Why? Because we’d been there before, and in reality, we had actually conquered said mountain. However, there was a Holy Grail which she had yet to trample – that being the creek. More specifically, the creek crossing at Taco Trail.

    See, I told you we’d get to the tacos.

    Now, in all seriousness, Taco Trail is actual Taconic Trail, but the sign we came across on our first excursion there had been defaced – much as many other signs in the area – and it read Taco– Trail, therefore it shall forever be known as the trail of crunchy Tex Mex goodness in our minds.

    Taco-supreme-2_smBut, it doesn’t end there. During the death march Her Worship kept looking for places to ford the creek. When I pointed out that there was a bridge in sight she would simply say, “Too easy.” This compelled me to comment that her single-minded dedication to achieving a goal was admirable, but that not everyone shared her goal. Then the dog jumped in the creek and went to the other side and The Redhead just looked at me with a smug, “You were saying?” sort of expression. Finally, I asked why it was so important to cross the creek. Her answer? Yes, you guessed it, “Because it’s there.”

    So, long story short, we ended up crossing the creek. Oddly enough, I’m the only one who got wet shoes out of the deal, mostly because The Redhead almost fell and I jumped to catch her – because I knew it would be MY fault if she splashed. That’s just how it works with redheads. And, upon crossing, we were at the trail head of crunchy goodness. Taco Trail… And, I have to say, it was well worth the walk.

    To top it off, five miles later we climbed into the truck and started for home. Along the way we stopped and bought a sack full of tacos.


  • Drinking Customs…


    I will soon be heading to Florida for some book signings. As it happens, I was there around the same time last year. Now, many of you may be aware that I am not only a fan of good craft beer – especially IPA’s – but an avid homebrewer as well.

    Well, this isn’t about homebrewing, but, it IS about craft beer. More specifically, how craft beer is consumed in different places around the country. Now, I’m sure many of you are thinking, “Don’t you just drink it out of a pint glass?” Or, in the case of us heathen sorts, right out of the bottle?

    Well, most places I have gone that is exactly the case. However, while in Florida last year I was introduced to a drinking custom involving craft IPA’s. I have to say it wasn’t at all what I was expecting, and it’s not how I generally enjoy a liberally hopped, cold, fermented beverage of the malted barley variety, but I suppose it could have been worse.








    I’m afraid to ask what customs surround the drinking of bourbon.