Chica needs a new blog, one specifically about the craftier, tastier, and more colorful side of life.

Thoughts on the name?

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Hope you celebrated National Talk Like a Pirate Day in fine style yesterday.

We did.

If you’ve never poached an egg in bacon drippings …

… I strongly suggest that you should.

• Olives (per Oprah):
  As I’ve failed to see anything but pure delight on her face as she’d crush a full jar in my sight-and-smell range, Oprah will just pound those bitches.
  While black olives are sometimes remotely tolerable*, they are, by and large, guilty of leaving their olive stink on every animal, vegetable, and/or mineral within a tri-fridge-shelf area.**
  And green olives? Yea, about them, I read somewhere, maybe on Wikipedia? They’re The Gastronomic Devil Incarnate, so, I dunno, facts are facts. Do with them what you wish.
• The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade:
  I’ll look at the still shots, especially if Garfield*** or Woody Woodpecker or someone’s decided to end his life, heliumily, in a tree or building somewhere, or if Gomez Addams happens to take a cool pic of some****, but … hold on … yawwwwwwn … er, excuse me, I just … zzzzzz ……
  Oh, sorry, were we talking about the prolonged parade interspersed with “witty” commentary? Sorry, sorry, I just …  zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ……………………….
• Taking Back Sunday (per IdiotWordMan):
  In his own words, “I was a teenager once,” too, but … seriously.
• The smell of falling rain on freshly cut grass (per OpiuMom):
  Considering that it’s late summer in Florida, guess what I smell all. the. time!
  Let it be noted, though, that OpiuMom also likes the smell of gasoline, and that I, while not a smoker, enjoy the smell of second-hand smoke, our opinions are equally suspect.

Feel free to add some more after the jump, and I’ll address those with my superior logic.

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* In a minimal, chopped-up, covered-in-extra-cheese-on-a-massive-pizza kind of way

** Ditto for capers. Eff you, capers!

*** The Heathcliff v. Garfield debate is a blog post waiting to happen, and, yet, I don’t know which way I’d vote. Garfield’s your go-to guy, as painfully (to put it nicely) nonchalant as he may be, but Heathcliff is like, I dunno, kind of how Brad Pitt is only attractive to me when he’s Fight Club-ishly scruffy. Riffraff v. Life of Complacency. Tough choice.

**** And perhaps update his sorely neglected but healingly wonderful blog