Beef Wellington: Dr Who vs. Santa Claus

I don’t know when this years Christmas became a uniquely British one, but it did.  As per tradition, I will be cooking Christmas dinner.  This year I’ve decided to conduct an experiment by way of making my first ever Beef Wellington, first Creamy Whiskey Peppercorn Sauce, first Carrot Purée, and the staple Mashed Potatoes.

Don’t worry, I’m serving an “Endless Summer Salad” with the whole thing too.  Because, #veggies.

And as much as I love food, and as much as I love cooking and trying new things…I’m really just counting the minutes until Nick Frost’s Santa Claus joins forces with Peter Capaldi’s Doctor to save Christmas from evil aliens–though, they’ll probably end up not being evil and just being horribly misunderstood–but should, in the end, bring me a load of happiness.

This is my son’s third Christmas and at 2 ½ he’s finally starting to “get it,” which is awesome, despite the fact that we’ve watched nothing but Mickey Mouse, Curious George and Thomas the Train Christmas specials for the last two months.  He knows who Santa is, though he’s not quite sure what Santa means, other than that he say’s “Ho, Ho, Ho,” and that he means Christmas…on one level or another.

I began shooting the pilot episode of a web-series, “Cooking with T3,” I’m making with my son, and should be streaming it via Youtube by the New Year.  He’s a little young still, so the first episode may be the last for a while.  Maybe shoot the next one closer to his third birthday.

Anywho, I guess this really isn’t a blog post as much as it is a rambling, but I’ll be sure to take pictures of my food–something I’ve done my whole life, yes, even before digital photography–and will be posting them to my Instagram, no doubt.

Merry Christmas everyone, be safe, and remember to enjoy yourself.

Brain Farting; In Need of Mental Colonic.

I have found, lately, that I’m feeling stuck.  Immovable.  It’s not that I’m not going places, that things aren’t happening and that I’m not an active participant in my life.  Because I am.  No, what I mean is: Have you ever had so many projects going on at the same time, that you lose the “forest for the trees?”  Like a deer in headlights, I have just stopped.

D3Now, don’t get me wrong–I love Diablo 3–it’s a great game, despite Blizzard Entertainments attempt to remove everything that was awesome about Diablo 2 from it.  I’m still playing the game.  I’m having fun doing it.  But what am I not doing?

I’m not writing.  I’m certainly not blogging, until right now, of course.  I keep saying “yes” to things I should say “no” to.  I need a mental cleanse.  I need to find my bearings.  To come up with a new schedule for feeding my brain and for vegging out with my hardcore Barbarian, hardcore MP10 Witch Doctor, and MP10 Wizard.  ‘Cause, they’re awesome.  🙂

Unfortunately, this sounds easier than I’m finding it to actually be.  My son keeps my quite busy, which I don’t mind.  He’s awesome!  He gave me a thumbs up for the first time the other day.  I felt accomplished and I hadn’t done anything.  How awesome is that?  And yes, he is one of the things I said “Yes” to, but definitely not one of the things I shouldn’t have.  It is a huge blessing to have him in my life and I find that he’s teaching me more about me than I’m teaching him, well, anything.

So, I’ve decided (Just now, as I wrote the last paragraph–which was a process: I paced and everything.) that I’m going to treat my writing time like it’s work time.  This should be obvious, and something you’d think I would be doing anyway, but I haven’t.  I’ve been treating it as “my time.”  It is something I love to do, so it couldn’t possibly be work, right?

So not true.

I’m going to start with prioritizing my projects and then work on them as close to “one at a time” as I can.  We’ll see how this goes over the next few weeks.  I’ll keep you posted.  Thanks for “listening.”  It helped me figure out my problem.  You know, saying it.

Now, back to Diablo.  😉

My Son Turns One

 

The beginning is the hardest part to write.  Endings come easy, and depending on who the author is, can be filled with hope, promise, and a fulfillment only appreciated after taking the journey.  The ending is the reason we tell the story in the first place.  Tomorrow, my son will turn one.

Where to begin?

I am firmly in the second act of my life’s story, the “Complications” or “Rising Action.”  I’m a fan of the five act structure–mainly, so I can live longer–but also because I feel it’s the best way to get to the heart of the matter: my dénouement (or “catastrophe” for those of you who want to see me go out with a “bang.”)  T3 though?  No, he’s in Act One, the “Exposition.”

If one year of parenting has taught me anything, it is that the beginning can be just as exciting as the end, or the middle for that matter.  My son teaches me new things about myself every day–it’s a little frightening.  But it has made me a better person, and a better writer.  I now understand the feeling one gets when a whole other compartment of your heart, that you didn’t even know was there, fills up with an endless supply of unconditional love.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that perfect little boy safe.  My life changed forever on June 8th, 2012.

They are perfect, you know.  Our children.  They’re made that way.  And, as I see it, it is our job as parents to ensure they reach adulthood with as little “baggage” as possible.  Heroes with troubled pasts can help make for an exciting read, but not our children.  He should reach Act Two without so much as a broken bone…if only, right?

My wife has decided that his birthday party should have a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme as he’s quite the fan of Mickey.  So we’re having a “hot dog, hot dog, hot-digidy-dog” hot dog bar with condiments and potato salad.  I’m excited about the potato salad, and the few hotlinks I will be sneaking onto the grill.  And my son won’t remember it.

C’est la vie.

My act two has had an influx of rising action lately, as I said a few days ago, I’ve been writing a lot.  I submitted the spec script to several television production companies with the hope of earning a place in one of their writing programs.  I’m optimistic.  My friend, who’s working for a small independent production company, has asked me to write the script for a remake they are doing of a 70’s cult classic–to go unnamed for now–assuming they can get the rights.  It’s a “if we get paid, you get paid” kind of gig, but I like the challenge of reinventing something for a contemporary audience.  It’s going to be fun.  Also, I’m almost completely done the “outlining” and “thinking” stage of the next pilot I’m writing, so I’ll tell y’all more about “Eden” soon.

As for my “climax,” “falling action,” and “resolution?”  No one knows when they will die, or how–I just hope that one of the last things I see is my son’s smiling face.  Because whether my life takes a turn I’m unprepared for, or not–I will die a proud father, and that I’m okay with.