IOC Eye-Opener

A moment of seriousness...

 

Even though I enjoy the concept and potential of the approaching Olympics, I am not a big fan of the International Olympic Committee. Over the years, after reading so many articles detailing the financial finagling and general mismanagement which has gone on within the organization, I have developed a decided distaste and mistrust of their highly self-touted motivations. It is my personal feeling that like many noble endeavors, this group, despite all the good they may have accomplished, seems increasingly more focused on developing dollars than pure athleticism. And, as one rule of human nature indicates, the money the organization can and does generate has given them power. Unfortunately, history also records that power frequently corrupts and every four years now, the organization seem intent in following and enhancing that tradition.

 

An article I read a few days ago in the Washington Post, almost hidden amongst the gradually swelling pages of electronic print promotion and advertising, provides a very tough but much clearer picture of what is happening behind the scenes of enthusiastic athletes and preening officials. The author Sally Jenkins, from her tone, is not a fan of Premier Putin the current Russian head of state, and makes little effort at stifling that bias in her reporting. However, it is the details she presents, not their inflection, which makes the information cut as deeply as it should.

 

I don't like to pass on any such items unless I think they have some merit and are extremely newsworthy, but this particular one has almost a prophetic flavor about it, well in advance of the event. Consequently, I thought I would record it, just in case some of the things talked about within actually do take place. At least the comparison of the report against what actually happens will provide something of a measuring stick, with which to gauge later commentary.

 

And as for the money machine pumping away at the core of those zeros, here is some additional reading. - J.

 

sochi.fbk.info/en/

hrw.org/people-and-power-2014-sochi-olympics 

reuters.com/article/2013/02/21/us-russia-sochi-idUSBRE91K04M20130221

Article Copyright J. Michael Lyffe - 2014

Wild Turkey Suprise!

 

I lied about the cooking. I am a Dutch oven aficionado!

 

I don’t do it terribly well or profess any real mastery of it’s cosmically subtle nuances; but I do enjoy the vibrant miracles that result from my feeble efforts and marvel that such a pioneer process, so simple in concept and process, produces such incredibly tasty rewards.

 

Dutch ovens are those 5 to 15 dollar cast iron pots you quite often see under tables at garage sales, or hanging much more expensively in antique stores. You can also purchase them at outdoor recreational outlets or online. They are fairly heavy, will usually be of sufficient size to handle a small chicken or large roast, and traditionally have three cast iron legs protruding from their typically rusted underbellies. Covering the top is a matching cast iron lid sporting a decent one inch ridge rising upward from its rounded rim.

 

 

The one inch legs on the oven were originally designed to keep the pot sitting above the charcoaled nuggets set ablaze beneath it. The ridged top edge serves to contain more hot embers, permitting additional heat from above. The resulting top and bottom, slow roast effect of the iron clad combination, either performed in dug out ground-pits, on surfaced fire places, or even in conventional home electric ovens, is absolutely amazing.

 

However, the repeated hoisting and repositioning of several of these pre-microwave beasties during a cookout is not for the weak or faint-hearted. I have in my stronger days, cooked for upwards of 200 people during one countrified camping scenario or another, and by the end of the workout, have fully enjoyed the analgesic attributes of Robaxacet or some equally successful muscle relaxant. You see, it takes considerable effort shuffling the various sized pots about for two to three hours whilst ensuring adequate heat advantage for each of the internalized simmering delights. During pioneer times, women and men were frequent users of such heavy hardware, but with the advent of modern culinary capers it is easy to understand why these muscle builders have almost gone the way of the Dodo.

 

And yet, in hopes of forwarding promotion to revive this ancient and almost lost art, I must proselytize that one small pot is quite easily maneuvered. Comfortably, and with little more effort than that used for an electric slow cooker, a Dutch oven can help you relive the colonization history of our forbearers and provide a sumptuous and highly flavorful feast, while permitting you to skip completely the serious hardships of the pioneering experience.

 

My peculiar favorite recipe is “Wild Turkey Surprise”, a concocted title fearlessly gleaned from a Bugs Bunny cartoon of the late 1950’s. The merrymaking begins by sautéing approximately ½ lb of chopped bacon in a preheated, 350 degree pot (use a conventional oven if you have one) followed by a healthy portion of finely diced onion (1 cup at least). These two are baked in the Dutch oven itself until the ingredients are decently cooked. How long is up to you, but around 10-15 minutes is usually sufficient.

 

Then, previously secret-spiced, browned, and reasonably large, tennis ball sized meat rounds - made up of equal portions of finely ground hamburger, veal, and pork, each now center-stuffed with a large chunk of mozzarella cheese - are placed lovingly inside the Dutch oven and amply rolled about within the bacon and onion mixture. Just how many of the delectable orbs you create depends on the size of the pot, the number of Tasmanian Devils you are cooking for, and how desperately hungry you may be, once you are as hooked on the art form as I am.

 

The wonderfully aromatic, but certainly not calorie conscious concoction is then returned to the coals (or conventional oven) for browning, and then as long as it takes to permit the next bit of culinary magic to happen (approximately 30-40 mins.)

 

At this juncture, the Dutch oven is filled with your favorite spaghetti sauce recipe, stirred gently so as to fully engage all the ingredients, and then popped back on the coals to be simmered at a lower, on the bottom fringe of bubbling, temperature. The stirring should be repeated at 10-15 minute intervals, or whenever you remember.

 

After an hour or two of this steeping procedure, and appropriate taste testing, the meatballs and sauce may be amply served onto either prepared spaghetti noodles, or as my family used to prefer, garlicked, mozzarella cheese-toasted, hoagie halves (two each, naturally).

 

Warning: This meal should probably only be consumed on rare occasions, simply to prevent a coronary, or increased hardening of the arteries… but it is very, very tasty! The process is loads of fun and the mystery of how well it works is really quite captivating. The surprise, if you haven’t guessed it already, at least in this particular recipe, is that there isn’t any turkey at all. Nothing is wild, and by the last forkful, nobody even cares!

 

And so, until the next thought bubble decides to burst… here’s wishing you the best of everything the good world has to offer. – J.

Article Copyright J. Michael Lyffe - 2014

As Simple As 1... 2... 3...

 

A very dear friend of mine, in her budding days of recent retirement, has taken up the challenge of learning how to juggle. Her weekly letters, detailing both progress and pause, make me admire her tenacity, and her special idiosyncrasy in selecting this peculiar activity.

 

I clearly remember the day I woke up from a very sound sleep and knew without doubt, that I too, must learn to juggle. I have no idea what my motivation was at the time, other than I just knew I had to learn how to do it.

 

Being of sound body, but also of narrow focused viewpoint and short attention span, I immediately drove down to the local sporting goods store and bought three orange, lacrosse balls. Some cosmic other-worldly knowledge told me that their heft and size would be perfect for my novice efforts. And, in the short time it would probably take to get me to the intermediate level, would also be suitable for more advanced tricks. These projectiles, I pre-calculated, would also provide me with the appropriate bounce and rebound energy I would require a few days later, once I had established mastery over the art.

 

And so it was that I raced home, eager to begin my newly imagined career as a street performer, circus clown, or wild animal trainer. Whatever I had imagined at the time, all I could think of was that the solid rubber trio now jockeying for their appropriate positions in my hands were the keys to future fame and fortune.

 

One can therefore imagine my distain, shock, and heartfelt disappointment when upon launch, the law of gravity did not redirect itself at my will, and the first two of the orange spheres sheared off in opposite directions after colliding mid-toss. Almost immediately, the rebounding property of solidified rubber came into play and both balls ricocheted from whatever surface to which they had connected. One of the orange bullets glanced off my right shoulder, the resulting whack causing me to turn in that direction. Thus distracted, the opposite side of my pumpkin-like head was now open to attack from the other missile and was greeted with an unhealthy thud to the temple.

 

I may have been dazed but I was not discouraged.

 

Once the two balls had settled from their paths of destruction, I retrieved them and gingerly repositioned them in my hands. This was simply a matter of physics I kept telling myself as I once more hefted their weight and gauged their potential trajectories; completely forgetting of course that I had only passed that high school class with a questionable C+ grading.

 

A few more seconds of calculation and once more the balls were airborne…

 

This time however, I needed to shield myself from all three, as I quickly hunched over in reactive panic, my arms flailing madly in defense of their Newtonian blows.

 

Regretfully, I’m not the swiftest runner in a shoestore full of sneakers… so it took a couple of more body blows for me to figure out that either I had to obtain softer items to juggle, or I had to prevent the lacrosse balls from hitting the floor. Seeing as how I was too lazy to obtain alternate implements of destruction, I chose instead to toss the balls while standing alongside, and facing, my bed. This proved to be one of those moments of epiphany, as not only were the spheres prevented from escape and further damage to the house, I also didn’t need to constantly stoop down or bend over to pick them up.

 

From this dramatic moment in my timeline, I also discovered the peculiar human attribute of  knowledge sharing; and the fact that others, before me, had learned this amazing form of art and had documented their revelations for anyone who might care to follow. From those experiences, and the books the explorers wrote about them, I learned that you really begin to juggle with just one ball, just as you begin any journey with a single footstep.

 

Now, where did I put those oranges?

 

Article Copyright J. Michael Lyffe - 2014

Debt

http://www.creators.com/editorialcartoons/ken-catalino/20171.html

Last night, President Obama and House Leader, John Boehner, went on national television to promote their particular, but conflicting plans to raise the U.S. financial debt ceiling.

According to financial experts, without signed legislation by day's end on Aug. 2, the Treasury will be unable to pay all its bills, possibly triggering an unprecedented default; with the U.S. government technically forfeiting on it's outstanding monetary obligations. Officials warn that the inaction could induce devistating harm to an economy already struggling to recover from the worst recession in decades.

I have no comprehension of the magnitude of the challenge currently before that government, nor do I understand the complexity of the financial wheeling and dealing that most likely goes on behind the scenes in order for the day to day business to take place. However, as my wife and I listened to the two speakers, I couldn't help but note that neither politician was talking about keeping the debt ceiling where it was, or reducing it. Both President Obama and Mr. Boehner appeared to take for granted that the amount needed to be raised; they just differed in their methods to do so.

It is fairly easy for me to understand the need to increase one's borrowing power, particularly when emergencies, or unexpected financial demands appear. I have requested and received a temporary increase in my personal credit limit on at least two occasions that I recall, and have been bailed out with temporary loans and the kindness of others on a few others. However, in those cases, I was also disciplined enough to have the card company lower that limit again once I had corrected for the inbalance, and repaid the outstanding debts. As my income during those times, was pretty much cast in stone, or occasionally non-existant, the only method I had of making the adjustment was to shut down as much non-essential spending as possible and work considerably smarter than before. And, even then, the belt-tightening notched frequently into the essential.

No doubt... that general scenario is rather simplistic when dealing with countries and the complexity of agreements that take place in order to keep their economies functioning. The level of power struggles and ego enhancements for individual and organizational gain within politics obscures the day to day "rent and board" micro issues of the average man. Yet the eventual outcome is bound to affect us all.

U.S. Debt Clock
 www.usdebtclock.org

I suppose that those people whose incomes rank them in the category of the so-called "upper class" may feel immune and considerably above the ramifications of the economic tsunami that will result from the political decisions made within the next few weeks and, like the government, will carry on with business as usual. Unfortunately, history has taught us that the piper must ultimately be paid, and that in this day and age, the payment may be far, far much more than we can afford.

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

- John Donne

It has taken me a number of years and a fair number of mistakes to determine the necessity of even reasonable financial management in order to live a decent, and relatively, stress-free life. Any wisdom I might attribute to any of that success comes from a basic formula catch phrase that I heard several years ago:
 

"If the outgo is more than the income... then the outcome will be the downfall."

Article Copyright J. Michael Lyffe - 2011

Judgment

 

Recently, I came down with a flu bug and took a few sick days off work.

Being unable to sleep for much of that time, but not wanting to do much of anything else other than moan or groan depending upon which part of me ached the most, I spent a number of hours in meditation, reclined in my easy chair. I wrapped my withering frame with my most favorite Linus-like blanket, sipped large mugs of hot lemon and honey, and gave best effort to saturate my foggy head with the full content viewing mass related to the exorbitant monthly rate of my TV cable charges.  

While fishing mindlessly through the channels, I chanced to catch the closing segment of a television series, MasterChef, of which I was not previously aware. In it, one of the participants was being praised by co-host and co-judge, Chef Gordon Ramsey, for a dish she had just presented to him. Shortly thereafter, another was chastised (rather brutally I thought) by each of the three co-hosts, for messing up whatever it was that he had created.

The scathing verbal critiques, inappropriately punctuated in too many cases with coarse language, (bleeped out conveniently so that viewers would have no idea what they were really saying) seemed a bit “over the top” to me, despite my reduced mental faculties. And so, I simply chalked it all up to some producer’s concept of theatrical enhancement, in effort for the series to generate shock value (value?), and/or greater ratings. In effect, I sensed that the money people behind the scenes perhaps encouraged the behavior with the simple premise in mind that it would make the show more popular. However, that thought helped me recall an old saying; “Whatever is right is not always popular, and whatever is popular is not always right.”

Following this, the channel I was watching presented the next session of the program, and at this point I was admittedly, both too lazy to search for the remote I had lost between sneezes and, despite my growing distast of the program, to some degree sufficiently hooked by the general format to want to see a little bit more. Consequently, in the next session the program’s contestants and I were introduced to the “Mystery Box Challenge;” wherein a specific dish needed to be created and cooked by the participants within a particular time frame, using only the identical sets of ingredients contained within their large, closed containers.

As I watched the various characters in the contest produce considerably different versions and visions of the identical food stuffs, I marveled at how creatively inventive they all were and how each resourced their passion for cooking and previous experience in the kitchen to produce their current platter.  During the exceptionally hectic pace and pressure of their preparations, I could not help but ponder the philosophical parallel the activity had to what people do every day in problem solving scenarios and how ingenious they really can be in overcoming the obstacles presented to them.

Unfortunately, I don’t recall who won the contest, nor do I remember whatever it was that they created. By this time in the show I really didn't care. All that remained with me was the distasteful flavor of the negative embarrassment shoveled out gratuitously upon the less effective cooks who did not come up to the Master Chefs’ standards.

I kept thinking afterwards, that if these had been children, involved in something that challenged each one’s gifted interests, skills and abilities, what sort of reflective commentary should really be given to them, designed to bring out even greater future results.

If the judges truly were MASTERS of their particular craft, and genuinely interested in their stewardship to assist in possibly creating culinary perfection, over the embellishment of their own egos… I wondered if they would choose to use their blades of critique as butchers or as surgeons?

My mind flashed to a scene of the three judges as eager five and six year olds standing nervously excited on stools behind their adult workstations. Each has a Mystery Box in front of them. As they energetically lift the containers to reveal its contents, they discover only an empty platter holding a short note of instruction. The message directs them either to combine, or not to combine, any number of items from an unlimited pantry, with the tentative goal of creating the Perfect Grilled Cheese Sandwich.

How marvelous the assignment… How daunting the judgment! - J

Article Copyright J. Michael Lyffe - 2011