Summer fun

So I wake up Monday morning, which is never fun in the first place. First of all, it was raining. Rain is never good. New Jersey roads are fairly treacherous on their own; the introduction of precipitation just makes things infinitely worse. You think that Jersey drivers couldn't get any worse? Wait until it rains. You'll hate everyone and everything, and all you wanted to do was get to Wegman's. Bastards.

After looking out the window, the first thing that I do when I wake up in the morning is turn on the news to see what traffic is going to be like and how much I’m going to hate my life. From the sounds of things this morning—I’m going to hate it a lot.

So I resolve to beat the traffic gods at their own game, and go in early. This usually means that I’ll beat most of the idiots onto the highway, which tends to make life suck just a little bit less. I’m off. The first thing that I do before I hit the shower is take out the trash. I figure if anything spills, drips, or leaks, I’d rather have a one-shower buffer between me and a wardrobe malfunction. (props to Janet)

So I head downstairs, throw on some kicks and head to the back door. The fact that I was up at 6:00am and going to take out the trash already should have been my first clue. This after all is Monday. Mondays just don’t flow that smoothly. Ever.

My fears are confirmed as I hit the back patio. I open the blinds and I see my trash can, covered in a white mess. Not having had my morning coffee, it takes a few seconds for me to (a) focus, and (b) put two and two together. It’s at this point that I should probably backtrack.

Last week was Memorial Day Weekend. It’s a fairly large holiday that marks the beginning of Summer, and is usually filled with fairs, barbecues and beach travel. This is where my saga begins. Memorial Day is also a huge day for cookouts. This means that most people in the free world are engaged in some type of communal dining experience, usually prompted by a potluck gathering which really has no “luck” involved. There are a couple of staples in the summertime food fare. They include:

• Barbecued chicken
• Potato Salad
• Ribs
• Potato chips
• Soda

This is of course what happens unless someone decides to get creative, which is what I did—much to my dismay. I was feeling a little homesick that day, which tends to happen from time to time. Maintaining a good thousand miles between what you once called home will do that to you. When this occurs I usually cook up something from home, which generally takes me out of my funk. This is what I decided to do on this fateful Memorial Day.

My food of choice? Crawfish pie. To someone that isn’t from the “Cajun Cockpit” (props to L’il Weezy), this dish sounds nothing short of strange. It really isn’t. It’s actually one of the greatest delicacies known within the realm of Creole cuisine. A simple comparison would be to liken the dish to a Pot Pie of sorts, with a substitution of crawfish tails as opposed to chicken or turkey. Anyone that’s raised anywhere near the Mississippi Delta knows that it’s so much more than that. It’s a plethora of flavors that combine to form what can only be described as “the best thing you’ve never tasted before.” It’s that good.

But I digress.

The pie and it’s preparation could comprise an entire story on its’ own. The pertinent thing to remember here is that I had prepared a seafood dish. And that it was Monday. Coincidentally, Monday is also one of the days that trash gets picked up in my neighborhood. This is relevant because the day that I prepared the pie was a Monday. This meant that it was going to be another week until the trash guy came back around. (He comes back on Thursday, but that’s only for recyclables. I know, I know, it’s dumb. That’s just what they do.) So I knew going in that I was going to have those remnants stewing in what amounted to 90 degree heat for about a week.

Knowing that, I did what anyone in my situation would do. I double-bagged the trash, and threw it in the can. I made sure the lid was secure. I figured that double-bagging would keep the smells to a minimum as well as prevent ants or any other pests from getting to the garbage. Boy was I wrong.

About a few days in, I realized that there was a hole at the top of the can. I don’t know if this was for venting, or to prevent gas buildup within the can or what. What I did know is that there were a couple of flies hovering near that hole. I found this troubling, but didn’t think much more of it.

That was until that following Monday. There was about a minute of looking at the can before the light bulb came on. Let's do the math here: take some seafood, add a few flies, maybe 10 or so. Then just for kicks, throw in a steady temperature of about 90 degrees for about a week or so. Yes, I had a lovely new maggot infestation to call my very own. I realized that not only had the rain roused the new inhabitants of my can, but they were everywhere. Taking out the trash has never sucked so badly.

“Happy Monday motherfucker.” I’m sure that’s what those little bastards were thinking.

It wasn't even 6:30. I hate Mondays.