Mac McCarty
Jul 30, 2017 · 2 min read

Your butcher no doubt has some equivalent of the cellar door where you hid your failed BLT. Happens to all of us. I used to skin animals to make complexly sewn African drum heads (it’s still hard for me to even look at a goat without considering — based on age & size — what kind of drum heads I’m seeing on the hoof). That was my final failure here, since Filipinos — in finest Asian waste-not fashion — have so many ways of including the skin it the preparation of goat-based cooking.

After successfully pleading for the skin of a goat destined for main-dish status at a birthday celebration, my execution of the initial pickling process went wrong in some unforeseen tropically environmental way & I ended up having to secretly bury the hopelessly spoiled hide in a flower bed belonging to the birthday celebrant himself. I’ve generally done better with food preservation, though I’m now out of practice because the endless fecundity here ensures year-round harvests — of something. Mangos, of one strain or another, from one island or another, for instance, are always available.

I respect the authority of your authority — though more from the gin & shad roe than from the academic credentials — hell, anybody can go to school!

W/r/t the “wise child,” he makes me wonder what life will be like for someone who will grow up viewing millennials at approximately the same temporal distance that I, as an early stage Boomer (straddling the Beat-to-Hippy border) was viewed by Gen-X late-stage Boomers. Though I’m curious, most of the time I’m also kind of relieved that I probably won’t be around to see how that all plays out in their adult lives. Small favors…

    Mac McCarty

    Written by

    Purveyor of anecdotal information; pattern recognizer; tool user; into that creative thingy.