Technically, this wasn’t the first dish that I made – that would be the white chocolate macadamia nut cookies – the kind you can get a recipe for on the back of almost any bag of Tollhouse ingredients. While they are tasty, I didn’t originate that recipe – so you are not going to see it reprinted here.

Shortly after my mother had remarried, I was out on my own. I had a job and apartment, but had only set foot in the kitchen to cross it to the fridge and get to the boxed dinners that so many bachelors live off of. One evening, something clicked inside. I don’t know if it was in my head, or my stomach, but the idea of yet another frozen slab of food bombarded with microwaves to make it palatable was simply out of the question. I had seen people cook on TV before, and I was smart enough to boil noodles and brown meat without burning down the apartment building – so off I went to gather ingredients.

I learned a lot from that first plate of spaghetti. I learned that first and foremost, the spice rack can be your friend or your foe, depending on how you use it’s contents. I also learned that the quality of the ground beef makes a big difference; this is mostly viewable when you refrigerate leftovers and come back to find globules of solidified fat sitting on the top of the food. Rule number one – if you don’t want to imagine that building up in your body, don’t eat it in the first place. This rule is also known as the ‘spend the extra money on the higher quality meat now, or you’ll spend it on medication for clogged arteries later’ rule.

As the years went by, my daughter named this dish “Daddy’s World Famous Spaghetti”. I don’t know if it will ever be world famous, but it is in her world, and that makes me very happy.

So, now that you have a little background on this dish, allow me to demonstrate:

(note: you’ll actually have to do the cooking, but I can walk you through it)

Here’s your grocery list:

1.5 ls of ground beef (Sirloin if at all possible – something with a low fat content)

1/8 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 can sliced black olives

1 package Baby Portabella Mushrooms (buy em sliced, or slice em yourself)

1/4 cup minced garlic

1 sm box spaghetti noodles (You’ll use about half – a little over if you are cooking for a few people)

1/4 cup dried basil

1/4 cup dried oregano

1 tsp kosher salt

1/8 cup Worcestershire sauce

1 cup chicken stock

1 cup merlot

3 small cans tomato paste

Get a large pot of water to a rolling boil. While this is heating up, start a medium-sized saucepan (12 – 14 inches wide x 2 inches deep) on medium heat (5-6 on most electric stovetops). Add in your olive oil to the pan, and a splash of Olive Oil to the water for your noodles. Add in your minced garlic, and your mushrooms, and sauté them for a few minutes. How long is a few minutes? Why, until they look a deeper colour of brown, but still keep their form. If you cook them into mush at this point, throw it out and start over.

After a few minutes of scooting these sliced portabellas through the heated olive oil and garlic , add in your black olives, and let it sit for a couple more minutes. When you see that the moisture in the pan is getting low, or cooked away all together, splash some of the chicken stock into the pan. You will do this several times while making this dish, and should alternate between the chicken stock and the merlot. Don’t forget to save some of the wine for yourself!

By now, your water should be boiling! Drop your spaghetti noodles into the water, stirring occasionally so they don’t clump together. Fortunately noodles do not have to be watched closely (please do be mindful of the time you start them, and don’t leave anything on the stove unattended). Now that your noodles are cooking, take your ground beef out of its package, and start browning it in the pan with the mushrooms, garlic and black olives. Add your Worcestershire (don’t try to say it – just add it in) a little at a time, stirring it all around as you brown the beef. Sprinkle your dry spices and salt over the top as well, and mix thoroughly in the pan. Let it sit here and there, splashing in chicken stock or merlot as needed. If the pan gets too dry or too hot, you’ll get a nice little sizzle and cloud of steam when you do this. That is perfectly fine, just try and slap a lid on the pan and get as much of that steamy goodness trapped in with your food. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.

Did you stir the noodles? Yeah – good idea – -go stir the noodles now.

Now its time to make your spaghetti sauce, and we’re gonna do it right in the pan with the meat. You can pour out the excess moisture from the pan if you like, but if you used a high quality meat like I told you to, you really don’t have to worry about there being a lot of fat in there. So feel free to open up those cans of tomato paste, and drop their contents right in. Stir it all up (and turn down your heat a little).

Now it looks like a dried-up mess, doesn’t it?

Not for long.

Take your remaining chicken stock and merlot, and slowly add them into the pan, mixing up your ingredients as you go. How thick or thin you make your sauce it entirely up to you. If you like it thin, go get some water or more chicken stock. If you like your sauce thick, add a little moisture as you go, and stop when it is just a touch thinner than you prefer. Put a lid back on this (it will start to bubble up – if it boils, turn down your fire).

Now, get those noodles off your stovetop and drain them. But how do you know if they are done, you ask? Well, in time you can pretty much just tell by looking, and some chefs will scoot out one noodle to taste. This is a good way to burn the poop out of yourself, and I for one do not recommend it. But before you toss out the boiling water, go ahead, fish out that one, lone noodle…..

…then toss it onto your kitchen cabinet door. Did it stick? The noodle is done! If your noodle didn’t stick, throw it away – don’t put it back in the pot. You can always get another noodle to test later.

After you have drained your noodles, take your meat sauce et al, and mix it in over your noodles. You can do this in a pot, into a large serving bowl, or have plates brought to the stove to heap up the goodness step by step. The addition of cheese atop your spaghetti is encouraged, but entirely up to you.

A few key things to remember while you are cooking:

1) Don’t let a pot or pan run dry for too long. This can equal anything from simply a ruined dinner, to a kitchen fire. Trust me when I say that neither one is a good option.

2) Adding too much merlot to the spaghetti sauce or to yourself will either make the food taste bad, or make you too inebriated to care.

3) clean as you go – if you don’t have little hands to help clean up, then its all gonna be on you. Toss out that can from the tomato paste as soon as you empty it, and its one less thing to clean up after dinner.

Lastly, remember if you have the option, any dish shared always taste better. That older couple that lives in the apartment next door? Scoop some up and bring it to them. It’ll make them happy, and it’ll make you happy (plus you won’t have to store leftovers unless you want to)

Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day; teach him to fish, and he’ll still need to pay the Government for a license to allow him to do so.

This is the problem with deamonizing food stamps and social welfare programs (note I don’t call them entitlements). Yes, there are some people who take advantage – but the majority of those using these programs are doing so because its either get help, or go hungry.

Now, that being said – do the programs need overhauling – yes, most definitely. But should they be gotten rid of all together? I don’t think so. Not unless you change the rules to allow those in need of food to hunt and fish and gather without fees and other costs.

But, that would bypass the food safety system? Which could drive up Medicare costs for emergency room visits?
That could lead to poaching. That could errode the rights of property ownership for those who already ‘have’ food and water.

If these are concerns, I’ll urge to to decide what you want – make a decision on the kind of world you want to live in. There will always be those less fortunate, there will always be those who are just looking for the basics of food and shelter, and there will always be those who have more than enough to share, but don’t. Lack of Social Welfare programs increases crime rates, both drug related and violent. No, the social safety net doesn’t take crime to zero -that’s not realistic. What it does do is give people a leg up when things have turned sour. It makes sure that they can feed themselves and their families, and gives them less reason to even consider theft, drug peddling, flesh peddling, etc… just to get by.

Now, if you can see the points I’m making, then I ask this: how would you restructure social welfare systems in a way to correct the problems? In a way that allows (or even coerses) people to no longer need assistance? There are plenty of options, but none that all people can agree on – so how about a mix of ideaologies?
For example – I’m all for drug testing if you are getting assistance, be it monetary, food stamps, medicaid – if you are unable to support yourself and need assistance, there is no shame in that. But don’t expect to be living a high life (pun intended) on the state’s dime.

As for welfare, there is more than enough work to go around that needs to be done. Perhaps, if the private sector isn’t hiring enough, people using the social safety net could do something to ‘work’ for that assistance – some type of civil service.
Oh, that would be seen as ‘bigger gevernment’ in the eyes of some – and maybe it is. So again, I ask you to make a decision – if your argument against social welfare programs is that ‘they didn’t earn it, and taxpayers are giving them a free ride’, isn’t part of the solution to make people earn their keep? You cannot force private industry to hire people – but you can legislate Government to require that people who need assistance give something back to the community that is suporting them, where possible.

There are no perfect answers, and each new idea raises its own questions and concerns, but scrapping a system that keeps people fed and sheltered is no better an answer than jailing them, or letting them die, or dive into a life of Crime just to survive. But leaving the system the way it is seems just as unacceptable. Reasonable dialogue, as well as compromise, needs to start now, so we can find an answer.

CoastCon 38 starts TOMORROW, March 20th, at the Mississippi Coast Coliseum . Right now, my schedule looks something like this:

FRIDAY: PANEL ROOM 3 , 6pm-7pm
Making Character Count (Character and Dialogue development)
FRIDAY: PANEL ROOM 1 , 7pm-9pm
CoastCon Opening Ceremonies (meet the guest, general roundtable)

SATURDAY: Regional Author’s Table
Opening – til 5pm
Come see me, meet other local authors, get autographs, and more!
SATURDAY: PANEL ROOM 3 – 8pm -10pm
Using RPG techniques to Flesh Out your Characters
Whether we have 4 people or 400, come join us for a two hour GAMING SESSION designed to show *YOU* how to brainstorm your way past writer’s block, develop character behavior and even create Dialogue, using simple, time-proven gaming methods.

SUNDAY, PANEL ROOM 2 , 4pm-5pm
Mixing Fiction Genres

I will try and update things as I can, but you can always follow me on Twitter at @derekedykes.

Looking forward to seeing you all at CoastCon 38!

Ladies and Gentlemen: I’ve been invited to appear as a regional guest at this year’s CoastCon, March 20-22, in Biloxi, MS. As soon as I have an idea of the events I’m scheduled to participate in, I’ll post details here. Until then, go to www.coastcon.org for more information!

Hope to see you there!

With grapevines and all being what they are, I’ve heard tell via the ‘little birdie’ network that an invite for another convention may very well be in the works. Stay tuned for this, and more info!

From my family to yours, I hope you all have a fantastic holiday season. Whether you wish a Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Solstice, or simply indulge in the Secular Madness of the Commercial Holiday season – whatever your wish of happiness, I humbly accept it with a smile, and offer you the same.

Focus on the the joys that bring us together, and give less power to those differences that people use to drive a wedge between us. None of us are perfect, and all of us have hopes, dreams and loves. Embrace that this Season -no matter what label it presents itself wearing.

Yes, I have many friends who have served; they are the expression of the better part of my beliefs; fulfilling a trust that my health denied. So on this Day of Remembrance, I honor not only those who fell ensuring our freedom, and ridding the world of it’s monsters – I honor those I love that served in times of peace – who kept the wheels greased and the flags unfurled; My hopes, prayers and dreams go with those of us who, regardless of nationality, and stood up for what is just and right. To protect the interest of our Nation is admirable; to protect the interest of the world… that’s epic.
Thank you, my friends.

And now, with the start of Fall, and Halloween right around the corner, I post for your reading pleasure one of my old favorites: a little piece entitled

My First Halloween

by Derek E Dykes

“Yet another disdainfully sunny day” I thought as my mother placed me in the stroller. Since my birth one year ago, I had been drowned in images of sunflowers and happy faces, clowns and small animals, and all sorts of bright, sunny, happy things; alas, I have had enough!

“Give me the gloom of a dungeon, or the stench of a rotting corpse, dear mother” I scream from my portable confinement. The woman must be deaf. She looked at me, smiling, and cooed a “that’s nice, sweetie” as a response. The fool had no idea of what I was saying, and my pleas for solitude and dark spaces go unanswered.

I looked ahead, and found what was sure to be our destination: the store. This place of fun-filled torture promised yet another afternoon of being forced into bright yellow clothes painted like the accursed sun, and long conversations with more grown-up idiots that, try as they may, cannot understand a single word that passes from my one-toothed mouth.

The air was crisp as we moved through the parking lot, and something deep inside told me that this was not to be an ordinary day. Of recent, the sun had set earlier (not to one word of complaint from me, of course), and the air seemed somehow cooler. The word “October” had come to my ears lately, although I had no idea what is was or what it meant. As we entered the store, I was about to find out!

The entrance to the store had changed recently; leaves of red, yellow, and a wonderfully dreary brown decorated the front doors, and to my amazement, my ears were not assailed by the usual sounds of women moaning pleas of lost love, or even worse; hammered organ music; not the usual “elevator music” as my painfully common mother called it. To my great joy and surprise, my ears were greeted with the sounds of people screaming in the distance.

“Is that a person being tortured, dear mother?” I optimistically asked, expecting gibberish for an answer.

“Maybe if you’re good”, the woman replied.

Could it be that the imbecile actually understood me?

We pushed further into this place of mindless commerce, past the usual $1.99 stack of junk, and through row upon row of large, perfumed women with bottoms the size of watermelons, admiring pants the size of playing cards. We passed the cameras, and the sporting department (I had lost interest as soon as I discovered they wouldn’t allow you to shoot the stupid people), and the fabrics and crafts…. And then I saw it.

Fantastic creatures of flowing white hung from the ceiling of a particularly dark aisle. Purplish light draped down from the fixtures above, giving a beautifully sickening look to all that came near. The screams were louder here, and now I could hear the sounds of things fluttering by, and deep voices with strange accents promising all manners of death and dismemberment to those foolish enough to test their will.

I had come home! As my mother, blissfully unaware of the obvious danger someone of her “happy” disposition was in, began her perilous trek through this place of glorious misery, I sat waiting for something to pop out of the darkened racks, and take her head off.

As we journeyed down the aisle, wondrous things passed before my eyes: bats and cats, witches and brooms, bubbling test tubes full of god – knows – what. This was truly a place of rapturous elation!

We went further down this tunnel of fantastic misery, and my mother, fully entranced by the hypnotic voices now coming from all around, began to fill her basket with things I never thought she’d purchase: black roses, for the living room, she said; a skeleton to hang on the front door; bag upon bag of tooth-decaying candy. The word “Halloween” sprang form her mouth more than once, and I futilely asked,” What is this ‘ Halloween ‘ dear mother?”.

“You’ll like Halloween, sweetie” the dumb woman answered.

Just then, I beheld a sight that surpassed all things I had seen until now. It was more morbid, nasty, and truly amazing than the witches, or cats, or skeletons, and yes, even more exciting than the bubbling test tubes full of god – knows – what. There, on the shelf than only two weeks before had held “precious”, sickening statuary of lambs before the slaughter, was a head.

Next to it was another head, and then another, and another! Joy of joys! This is what I had wanted to see! There they were, hundreds of them! Entombed in black boxes with their eyeless faces starring through their plastic windows, row after row of disembodied heads! How ghastly, fantastically morbid this was indeed! Maybe they do shoot all the criminally stupid people after all, and this is what they do with their heads! Just when I thought things could get no better, my mother, foolish, plain, common, idiot woman that she was, leaned over and asked, ” Which one do you want, my sweet love?”.

I nearly fainted. This woman, who couldn’t understand the simplest words that came from my mouth, had by her sheer nature as a mother anticipated my deepest desire. She was going to buy me one of these severed heads!

As we rode to my home, dear mother trying her unskilled best to control the direction of the vehicle, I sat strapped in yet another device of infant torture. Yet, unlike most of my previous journeys home, this trip I was content. In the bags at my small feet lay witches and cats, ghosts and bats, and bubbling test tubes full of god – knows – what. At my side lay black, dead roses, and a skeleton for my front door, and bag upon bag of tooth decaying candy. All these things were marvelous indeed, but in my tiny hands rest my greatest trophy of all: the head of Richard Millhouse Nixon.

Thirteen years; seems closer somehow. We had just moved up to Vermont at the tail end of August 2001, and I had started at the Valley News. I was still in the whirlwind of emotions that come with a cross country move to a place with a very different lifestyle, and the new job was not exactly a good fit. Less than two weeks into this new adventure, the September 11th attacks brought the joy and magic of the move to an abrupt end.

At the time, the Classified Ad dept at the Valley News consisted of one small room with carpet that was older than my mother, three desks, computers that weren’t even capable of hitting the web, and phone books for out calls. Quite the step down from the Mobile Register, and while I wouldn’t say it was culture shock for me, I knew I didn’t belong there. Whenever you are at a job and all you can think of is reasons to leave… well, that’s a bad sign. I was desparately looking for things to do that morning, when we heard all the hubub from the news room – one of the only places in the building that had a television. Someone outside of our little space said something about a plane hitting the World Trade Center. Being the new guy (and low man on the totem pole) my co-workers hopped up from their seats and went to ‘get the news’. A few minutes later, they came back into the room talking about the horrible ‘accident’ and what kind of problems the plane must’ve had to be so far off course and run into a building. Now it was my turn, and I went into the news room to watch the news for a few minutes. The TV was mounted from the ceiling, tucked into a corner and pitched downward so everyone could see the twenty five inch screen. I still knew almost no one at my new job, so when I saw the first images that day, I was surrounded by strangers, and felt very alone.

I was about to feel even more alone. You may or may not remember, but the first sights most of us had of the first strike were shakey cell-phone videos (which at the time were pretty low resolution). These were images caught ‘accidentally’. Lets face it – who sits and watches a building all day, every day? The only thing that allowed other images to surface was the fact that a 747 flying that close to the skyline was unusual, so camera crews and people from all walks of life pointed their lenses just in time to capture the impact. When I first saw the image of the plane slamming into the tower, I felt sick. At this time, people were still tossing around the word ‘accident’; then the news anchor interrupted to say that the second tower had been struck, and new images of a second plane hitting the second tower began showing on the screen. Now we knew there was no accident – it was a purposful act. Soon after, we heard about the Pentagon. I didn’t hear about Pennsylvania until later in the day. Rumors of all sorts started pouring in. Someone said the Hoover Dam had been hit, along with the White House, Mount Rushmore, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Fortunately these were just rumors. Unfortunately, the fact that any of it was true was a nightmare.

I think I left early that day, but I honestly don’t remember. I do remember getting to the apartment to find my spouse starring blankly at the television, as the scenes of the day played over and over again. I remember the death toll going up and down, the now unairable scenes of people jumping from fifty floors up trying to escape the burning buildings. I will never forget the feelings of helplessness as I watched the towers take all they could, until one by one they fell, turning day into night with an almost unending roll of smoke and debris that flowed through the streets of New York City like a tsunami, covering everything in its wake with the ashes of the now cremated fallen.

People say that we as a nation lost our innocence that day. I disagree; what we lost was not innocence, but a false sense of security. We’d seen terrorist acts all across the world for decades; the reality that the rest of the world had long faced was now one we had no choice to but look upon. That isn’t as much a loss of innocence as it is an awakening. And now, after years of war, new terrorist groups still spring up, using fear, intimidation and murder to bully their way into power. As we remember those who died on 9/11, thirteen years ago, we ready ourselves for more bloodshed, more battles, and hope all the while that what happened that day will never again happen in America. I fear it is just the beginning – and I pray that I am wrong.

Had a fantastic time as a Guest at Mobicon XVII, at the Riverview Plaza Hotel in Downtown Mobile, AL. Met a lot of wonderful people, had some interesting discussions, and as always, saw some amazing costumes! Pics and free downloadables will be coming soon!