Ad Hudler's Blog, page 8

NOW do you believe me?

I don't know about y'all, but I've pretty much given up on restaurant Chinese food. Stopped eating it for the most part. That's partially because there are so many other options these days -- Thai and Vietnamese, mainly. But I also avoid Chinese food because I'm invariably disappointed in it. Unless I'm in a big city like New York or San Francisco or Washington D.C. ... if I ask for spicy I get something that's about as daring as the gravy in an old-folks' home.
A friend who's married to a Chinese woman explained it to me one time: "You're what they call lo fan," he said. "It means white rice. Look at you; you look like a redneck. Rednecks don't like authentic, spicy foods. They're dumbing it down for you."
Today, very hungry, I stopped into a Chinese restaurant to order some Szechwan tofu with vegetables. It looked fresh and delicious but, once again, it was so benign that I would have fed it to a baby. I wondered: What can I do to convince these Chinese cooks that I like SPICY?
And then I had an idea: I'd just been grocery shopping, so I went out to the truck and pulled out a fresh serrano chili and took it inside and asked to speak to the cook. With him watching, I bit off the chili all the way to the stem, chewed it slowly and swallowed without flinching. His eyes widened.
"See?" I said. "I'm not lo fan. I want it hot. Please. I grew up with Mexicans -- I'm used to it."
He took my entree back to the kitchen and whipped me up another. When he set it down in front of me I could smell that he'd added fresh ginger and I could see red pepper flakes coating the shiny vegetables like confetti.
As I ate my wonderfully spicy food I could feel the cook and his cashier-wife watching me over my shoulder, as if I was some exotic animal that had wandered into their restaurant.
"You want something to drink?" she asked.
"No, thank you." I replied. "This is perfect."

Mr. Hudler, we regret to inform you that your Man Card has been revoked.

This is what you're reduced to when you go out partying with someone named "Big George."

The Moving Diaries: Post #8443E5

Though the movers don't come to Coconut Drive until the first week of January, I'm getting ready for them. I'm all by myself, and it's easy getting weepy as I sort through a quarter-century's worth of belongings.
Today I cleaned out and repaired my daughter's dollhouse, which had been all but abandoned beneath the stairs for the past decade. It's a little girl's dream dollhouse, made for Haley's fourth birthday by her Grandma Wanda. Wooden floors, real cedar shingles, three stories high.

I took all the contents outside, to the patio, with a pan of Mr. Clean-and-water and one of those spray cans of compressed air. I cleaned it all, then sorted everything by room into Ziploc bags. Also fixed and glued lots of things that had broken over the years.
I figured I needed to get this done. The movers will build a crate from wood, then seal it shut, and I'm guessing it will sit in the attic of our new home in Nashville for years to come ... probably until Haley has a family of her own. And on her daughter's fourth birthday, Carol and I will load it up into my truck and drive to wherever the hell she's living ... and we'll open it ... and Wanda's gift will be enjoyed for another generation.
Oh ... wait ... What if she has boys and no little girl? I suppose the house could be used as a barracks for little plastic army men. But which soldier would have to sleep in the pink canopy bed?

Party Planning Hint #82294R3

What to do when you're transporting three dozen cupcakes with no one to hold them.

Something we need: Refrigerator Alert System

And this is how it works: Every day, early in the morning, an electronic brain in the refrigerator takes stock of things inside that haven't been touched for at least a week. And then it transmits a message to a marquee on the front of the refrigerator door, blinking in red letters as you walk past: "Cottage Cheese! Remember you have cottage cheese in here. Mmmmmm. How about some cottage cheese with sliced peaches? Doesn't that sound good?"

And you think, "Hey! I'd forgotten all about that cottage cheese." Because how many times do we buy something and forget that we've bought it, and it lingers there in some dark corner, behind the pickles and olives and cabbage?

A Sneak Peek at My Western Roots

Every year for Thanksgiving all Hudlers converge in Burlington, Colorado, at my folks' house. We're a small clan. While my family does most things very, very well ... breeding isn't one of them.
Mom just emailed me the photos from this year's get-together.
I want to introduce you to my wonderful mom and dad:. Meet Joy and Rol.

The names are interesting: Dad's full name is John Rollin Hudler II. And Mom's is Muriel Joy Hudler. She goes by Joy. Her sisters -- and I kid you not -- are named Happy and Lucky. (Aunt Lucky and her daughter Debbie also join us for Thanksgiving. On some years, Debbie performs her Elvis impersonation concert)
An eccentric family? You bet. A few examples of my mom's whimsical decorating are most telling:


The little snake hides in a plant in the bathroom. Women tend to miss him because they're sitting, but men are greeted, eye-to-eye with the little guy as they do their business.
My mom's spirit and personality have wound their way into at least two of my novels: Linc's runaway mom in Househusband and the character Geena in All This Belongs to Me. So far, dad has escaped my author's eye in crafting characters, but, nonetheless, he is there with me every day as I write: My dad taught me how to work, to get things done. I don't think I would have finished even one novel without his influence on my work habits.
Love y'all.

Reporter at Large: Central Ohio

Wanted to share a few oddities I encountered while watching daughter Haley compete in Moot Court regionals in Ohio.

First, this shot from the small town of Wooster:


Black squirrels! All over the place! I had no idea such a thing existed.

And then, in a suburban Columbus Hilton, this interesting choice of a sculpture just inside the main door:



Not sure what to think of it. This bronze, contortionist human appears to be ... umm ... pleasuring him/herself while trying to fly?

This Christmas ... for the man in your house who has everything ...

Was Christmas shopping with my wife in suburban Columbus, Ohio and I found this really nifty coffee cup.

This is for you, Pee-Wee.

Tattletale at 36,000 feet

Sat by a commuting flight attendant yesterday ... a lead flight attendant, I might add. And take a look at this mess she left in her front-seat pocket. Half a candy bar, some paper trash and a half-filled glass of water. She also slept with her ipod on even after passengers had been told to power down all such devices.
Note to Barb (I read her name on her pin of wings):
Dear Barb: Please try to set a better example for the passengers.
Sincerely, Mr. Fussy

Bean Enchiladas and Pina Coladas: Why I like country music

I grew up in the middle of nowhere -- East Jesus, we called it -- a town on the High Plains of eastern Colorado, 170 miles from the nearest airport or McDonalds, though there is a McDonalds there now. This meant we only had one radio station to listen to ... and that was KNAB, 1140 on the AM dial. And since my town was in the middle of ranch and farmland, KNAB's format was ... you guessed it: Country.

As a result, I grew up not liking country music because it was my only option, so, obviously, I rebelled against it.

But, having lived most of my adult life on the East Coast, I have since re-visited country music and have come to love it, especially classic country ... not that new crap that can't make up its mind whether it's rock or country.

I think the other reason I like country music is because I can understand the lyrics. I've always thought I had this genetic flaw that didn't allow me to understand song lyrics. (Remember the Pina Colada song from the '70s? I thought they were singing "I like Bean Enchiladas," not "I like Pina Coladas.")

Years later I realized that it wasn't my ears that were the problem -- it was the singers' inability to articulate. But those country singers ... their diction is awesome. And here is a great song by Deana Carter called DID I SHAVE MY LEGS FOR THIS?

"Flowers and wine is what I thought I would find
When I came home from working tonight
Well now here I stand, over this frying pan
And you want a cold one again

I bought these new heels, did my nails
Had my hair done just right
I thought this new dress was a sure bet
For romance tonight

Well it's perfectly clear,
between the TV and beer
I won't get so much as a kiss

As I head for the door
I turn around to be sure
Did I shave my legs for this?

Now when we first met
you promised you'd get
A house on a hill with a pool

Well this trailer stays wet
and were swimmin' in debt
And you want me to go back to school

I bought these new heels,
did my nails
Had my hair done just right
I thought this new dress was a sure bet
For romance tonight

Well it's perfectly clear, between the TV and beer
I won't get so much as a kiss
As I head for the door
I turn around to be sure
Did I shave my legs for this?
Darlin', did I shave my legs for this?