Braden's Blog

New Year's Resolution no.2

2015-01-03T16:27:00.001-05:00

Expose the kids to more of life's mysteries.

Mark it. At at 3:19 pm Chicago time on January 3, 2015 at Eataly, upon request from Marin, Andrea explained 70% of how babies are made and where they came from.

Then she stood up and said she was going to get more wine. "Dad can take it from here."

So, naturally, dad says "and then some magic, and boom, a baby is born. That's why they call it the 'miracle of child birth'."

Maybe this particular resolution can wait until next year.

New Year's Resolution no.1

2015-01-03T14:40:00.001-05:00

Less apps. More art.

Happy New Year

2015-01-01T12:14:00.001-05:00

2014 was full of tall tasks and big rewards, great friends and wonderful family. Thanks for your part in that. Cheers from me to you and here's to kicking the everlovingshit out of 2015, whatever it may bring!

(Maybe by 2016 he'll have this finished.)

Sticks and Stones

2014-12-28T15:56:00.000-05:00

During the summer 2014 Marin suffered the Nicholson's first broken bone. Which was nice. She's the tough one. If her brother had gone first, we would have had to put him down.

The irony; she broke it while playing with other kids on the sideline of one of Mason's tackle football games. Mason barely broke a sweat. Marin broke her arm. Go figure.

She made us write only our first names on her cast. IE; not 'Dad'. No, that wouldn't do. I had to write 'Braden'. Whatever dude.

I Folded Like a Lawnchair

2014-12-28T15:21:00.001-05:00

In August of 2013, I caved in. I drove out to a Humane Society in the country and selected our family dog. I'm pleased to introduce to you Alice Roy Nicholson. She's been a fantastic addition to the family.

Time Traveling

2014-12-28T14:56:00.001-05:00

In July 2013, the boy and I took a road trip to Vermont. My parents drove from Arizona, picked Mason and I up and we drove to VT for 4th of July festivities. And it was glorious. I went 25 years back in time via my son. Life was good then. And it still is today.

Norman Rockwell high-fived Grant Wood in heaven the moment this photo was taken. Stowe, VT.

Creek stomping in Stowe, VT.

Waterbury, VT's 'Not Quite Fourth of July Day Parade'.

Captain Nicholson at the helm on Woodbury Pond.

The fly-over during Waterbury's 'Not Quite Fourth of July Day Parade'.

The Alpine Slide at Stowe Mountain Resort. You may recall, during winter months, Stowe doubles as The Divorcer.

Uncle Mark's boat on Joe's Pond.

Thunder Road quarter mile track in Barre, VT.

Bampa and Mason watching Little House on the Prairie at my 92 year old grand parents house outside Waterbury, VT. That is the familial equivalent of perfect planetary alignment.

So Much has Happened ...

2014-12-28T14:41:00.001-05:00

... and I've documented none of it. It's been two years and a day since I parked Braden's Blog. My bad. But, you've seen this from me before. First time, shame on me. Second time, shame on you.
More to come.

Happy Birthday Mason

2012-12-27T16:43:00.001-05:00

Mason turned 7 a couple weeks ago ...
1) Holy crap. I have a seven year old.
2) He has friends that seem to like him. I hope he can keep that up.
3) Birthday parties where other people take your kids and wear them out while you relax = awesome.

Prescription for having children

2012-12-27T16:38:00.001-05:00

I'm building a wine cellar. Because we have children. If this doesn't make perfect sense to you, you don't have children.

Update: It is done. And it is sweet. Photo coming soon.

Paternal obligation met

2012-11-19T15:47:00.001-05:00

I took my family to Disneyland over the summer. Here's a couple things I learned in the process.

It's expensive.
Yet, Orlando looks like it's economy got the worst of the recession.
By taking my family to Disney, I'm and permanently exempt for the 'bad parent' list.
Mason is much braver than I was at his age. (See: Space Mountain, Tower of Terror)
I can only pray to some day be as good at my job as the people who dress up like princesses at Disneyland are at their jobs.
The AV and special effects at Disneyland are Un-freaking-believable, whether your six years old or 60.
The 'It's a Small World' ride is the creepiest experience I've had since I found a tick on my balls.

I am a Warrior/very dirty/very stupid

2012-11-19T15:01:00.000-05:00

Gary, Daniel, Patrick and myself at Warrior Dash. August 2012

I did something out of character this year. I participated in a physical activity. Specifically, the 2012 Warrior Dash. The last time I ran three miles was Sept-never 32nd. And, the last time swam through mud, climbed up huge cargo nets, jumped over fire and crawled under barbed wire was a few days before that.

Here's an overview of my preparation for the Warrior Dash; I signed up four days before the event, I drove in from Chicago the night before, I drank three scotchs before bed that night and I had beef jerky for breakfast the morning of the event.

Standing at the starting gate, I proceeded to explain to coworkers Gary (who suggested this retarded idea in the first place), Daniel and Patrick why failing at things every now and then is good. And how I look forward to the humbling experience. And how excited I'll be if I can simply avoid throwing up all over myself. As I was building my case for the sure-to-be-epic failure, they started the race. And then something spectacular happened. I beat the shit out of everyone. Almost everyone. I came in 68th out of 5,179 racers. That is exactly 5,111 spots from where I deserved to finish.

Here's the moral of the story kids; stuff like situps and power bars are overrated. Scotch and beef jerky = fuel of champions. And, most importantly; just because you're too lazy to exercise doesn't mean you're not also too stupid to know that your body shouldn't be doing things that you're brain is making it do.

It's that time again!

2012-11-19T14:11:00.000-05:00

... you know, that time in which I fake-grovel for not having posted in, oh, I don't know, more than a year. So, um, sorry. Oooh, look! Pictures of children!!

Marin at the pumpkin patch and corn maze. October 2012

Mason at the pumpkin patch and corn maze. October 2012

Asshole baby

2011-11-25T12:15:00.001-05:00

Read this blog. Why? Because it's fun to live vicariously through someone who is totally accurate.

The baby is clean

2011-11-09T11:34:00.003-05:00

Exhibit A.

Dads, as every one knows, get all the good credit. Just by showing up. It's not really a fair deal for the mom's, and we know that. Here's a little confession for all the moms ... We don't know any better. We don't try to steal all the thunder. We just don't really know about a mother's intuition and all that fancy crap. And, therefore, we are willingly taken advantage of. And everyone wins.

You want gummy bears for breakfast son? Sure!
You want to take a bubble bath in the jetted tub little girl? Absolutely!
You want to be applauded for a good fart? I'm your man.
You want to do something that we both know you shouldn't? Um, go ask your mother.

You see, ignorance really is bliss. You, as a mother, just have to come to grips with the fact that the father of your children is probably an idiot. And that's okay.

PS; I know. Two years old does not a baby make. But, politely, shove it. She'll always be my baby.

Braden's Perfect Porterhouse

2011-11-06T09:44:00.000-05:00

I love steak. I love steak nearly as much as anything else in the world. A Porterhouse is actually two steaks (a strip and a filet). Therefore, as cuts of meat rank, it's somewhere between 'completely freaking awesome' and 'finding a briefcase full of unmarked hundreds'. I fail at things like 'moderation' an 'self restraint' and will often have a couple Porterhouse a week, which is fiscally impossible unless you cook them yourself.

I sear-roast most of my steaks and in the case of a Porterhouse, the following is how I cook them.

Ingredients:

1 or 100 Porterhouse Steaks (depending how hungry you are) 1.25" thick or more

Olive Oil

Sea Salt

Whole Black Peppercorns in a grinder

Directions:

1. Pull your steaks out of the fridge, sprinkle each side with a little sea salt and let them come to room temperature, an hour or so

2. When they reach room temp, stick a cast-iron skillet in the oven and preheat it to 500°F

3. While the oven and skillet heat up, pat your steaks dry, rub an ever-so-small amount of olive oil in to each side and grind a teaspoon or so of peppercorn in to each side, pressing it in

4. Once the oven reaches 500°F, remove the skillet and place on range over high heat

5. Immediately place steaks in the middle of the skillet and cook 1 to 2 minutes (depending on thickness) without moving them; flip them with tongs and cook another 1 to 2 minutes (this is the 'searing' part)

6. Then, put the cast iron skillet, steaks and all, directly into the oven and cook an additional 3 to 5 minutes depending on thickness (this is the 'roasting' part)

7. Take the skillet out of the oven and move the steaks to a plate, cover loosely with aluminum foil and let rest 5 to 10 minutes before serving

"Braden, why do you wait for it to get to room temperature first?" Oh. You're in a hurry? Make a sandwich Nancy.
Outside of acquiring a steak, this is the single most important part of cooking a steak. If you cook it while it's still cold in, the outside will cook and everything will look fine. Then you'll cut in to it and it'll be cold and bloody. And then you'll throw it back on the grill/in the oven/whatever and it'll turn to crap on the outside and you'll have, if you're lucky, an only slightly edible portion buried somewhere in the middle.

"Braden, why do you salt it while it's warming to room temperature?" Taste. Some people call it 'salt curing' but I'm probably not sophisticated enough to do that right. It's really important that you don't drown the steak in salt. Salt draws liquid (juices, in the case) to the surface and if you go crazy on the salt, you will draw the flavor right out fo the steaks before you've even cooked it.

"Braden, why do you pat the steak dry before cooking it?" So that it doesn't turn in to a chewy grey piece of shit. Here's the simple science;

Meat starts browning at 310°F.

Water boils and turns to steam at 212°F.

If your steak is covered in moisture, you will steam it 100°F before you start actually cooking it, and as such, it will be a shitty steak.

"Braden, do I have to let it rest for 5-10 minutes?" Yes. For two reasons;

1. You'll burn your little facehole off if you don't wait.
2. During this time the meat continues to cook and the juices redistribute.

Coach Braden

2011-10-30T14:42:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I made my coaching debut; Mason's 5 year old basketball team. Let's take a look at my resume to really appreciate how hilarious it is that I was accepted for this position ...

1. I know what a basketball is.
2. I tried out for the middle school basketball team.
3. I did not make the middle school team.
4. Last year, my fantasy basketball team came in second.
5. I have a 5 year old.
6. I have a pulse.

That said, and despite the gaps in my resume, we had a great time. Only one kid cried. Within the first ten seconds of meeting the kids, one of the kids asked me if he could be the point guard. After he explained to me what a point guard is, I knew my job was going to be easy. 'Give the ball to that kid.' Turns out, I'm a brilliant coach.

photo credit: Nana

Braden's Firepit Chili (party-sized)

2011-10-30T14:05:00.003-04:00

This is going to make a tremendous amount of food. Prior to cooking this chili, make sure you've invited 18 to 20 friends over. If you're a reasonable person, which I am not, divide these quantities by four and you'll still have some left over.

Ingredients:
6 lb. lean chuck, ground

3 large yellow onions finely chopped
1 oz. ground ancho chili pepper (go to the spice section)
2 oz. ground chipotle pepper (spice section)
2 packets McCormick's Original Chili Seasoning Mix
2 large Anaheim peppers seeded and finely chopped
3 Serrano peppers seeded and finely chopped
3 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce finely chopped (I used Embasa, they're in a can.) Careful with these. Unless you hate yourself, do not rub your eyes or lick your fingers after chopping these bad boys.
3 jalapenos seeded and finely chopped Ditto. Goes without saying, but don't pick your nose unless you've washed your hands after chopping these.
2 orange bell peppers seeded and chopped
2 red peppers seeded and chopped
2 green peppers seeded and chopped Why all the different peppers? This is purely for color.
12 oz. tomato paste
30 oz. golden sweet corn (canned)
45 oz. diced tomatoes chili style (canned, I used Hunt's)
50 oz. diced tomatoes and green chilies (canned, I used Rotel)
30 oz. black beans (canned)
60 oz. red beans in chili sauce (canned)
60 oz. dark red kidney beans (canned) Why all the different beans? Again, this is all about color.
1 can Guinness (And 1 or 6 for yourself.)
Brown sugar

Directions:

1. Chop and dice everything that needs it. Get a sharp knife. You'll thank yourself.
2. Pour all of the beans, diced tomatoes and tomato paste in to a giant pot on a back burner. Don't strain anything. Just open the cans and dump it in. Start it cooking over low heat. It'll start reducing and thickening while you move on to the next step ...
3. In a large pan on a second burner, brown all of the ground meat with the chopped onion. Mix in the spices and McCormick's as you're browning. (I had to do this in two batches using a large pan.)
4. Once beef is browned, add it to the giant pot.
5. Pour in the Guinness. Also, drink one or two yourself.
6. Add the chopped Anaheim, Serrano and chipotles in adobo to the giant pot.
7. Bring to a boil then reduce heat and simmer.
8. Add the chopped bell peppers.
9. Strain the water from the corn and add that too.
10. Continue to simmer for an hour or so, stirring occasionally.

At this point, your chili is gong to be smokey and very spicy. The longer you let it simmer, the more it's going to thicken up to your preferred consistency. Now, taste it as it simmers. If you dig a smokey and spicy taste, you're probably good to go. But, I like to add a subtle sweetness to it ...

11. After it's been simmering for an hour or so, start stirring in heaping spoonfuls of brown sugar. After each spoonful, give it ten minutes or so and taste. Repeat as necessary.

The brown sugar won't take away from the smokey spice but will add a sweet after taste. You'll get the spicy bite up front and a sweet finish at the end of each spoonful.

Now dress your chili as you like. I go for shredded sharp cheddar and sour cream. You could add macaroni. You could put it on a chili dog. You could make nachos with it our eat it with corn chips. You could pour it in your ear if you want, although I don't recommend it.

Go buy this

2011-08-23T11:06:00.001-04:00

Go buy this. And read it. Or first, listen to Samuel L. Jackson's audio book version. And then, ask yourself why you didn't come up with this. You've thought it a hundred times. You were just too lazy to write it down. God, you need to get off your ass and do something with your life.

Real men cook

2011-05-07T10:24:00.002-04:00

I don't profess to be a real man. Or, to know how to cook. But I try. I'm adding this page to Braden's Blog as a rolling history of my experience as a new cook. For better or worse, I'll share with you recipes, mistakes and successes.

Ed O'Neill would be so proud

2011-01-10T11:25:00.002-05:00

The Divorcer

2010-12-24T11:56:00.000-05:00

We just booked our tickets for another January trip to Vermont (thanks mom and dad!) and it reminded me of our last trip. Let me tell you a story about marriage and how good intentions are a terrible terrible cancer and having them is generally a horrible horrible idea.

Andrea is from Plainfield, IN. Plainfield isn't really known for it's skiing and, accordingly, Andrea is not much of a skier (read: has never done it). So, while in Vermont, we went to Stowe and got her some lessons.

After skiing all over the land like the mountain lion of a specimen that I am, I made it over to the ski school at about the time her lesson was to end fully expecting to find that she quit half way through and got wasted on cocoa drinks at the lodge. Amazingly, she was still skiing. Solo now. She was hopping on the lift for the bunny run, barreling down, jumping back on the lift and repeating. She never fell and she was actually smiling. It was insane. I was beside myself. There was no reality TV playing anywhere to be seen and, somehow, she was still having a good time. She was actually having fun doing something I also enjoy. This was bananas.

And that's when it happened. It was at that precise moment that my best intentions took a big juicy dump directly on top of everything good about this day.

Me: "Andrea, this is fantastic! Look at you go! I'm so proud of you. This is something we can do together and isn't this wonderful? Rainbows and bunny rabbits! I just farted glitter! And, I have the best idea in the world ever since the beginning of time! There's a big huge mountain up there (pointing towards the rest of Stowe which, to Andrea, must've looked like K2). If you like this (pointing to the bunny slope), you'll LOVE that!"

Andrea: "Awe, that is so sweet. You are such a supportive husband and I want to support you supporting me. And snow skiing is better than ten kittens making sweet love on a fluffy cloud while a symphony of butterflies play the first Enigma album on tiny violins! So, I am going to go to the top of that mountain with you (pointing at the top of K2) and I'm going to ski down it."

Any reasonable person within 37 miles: "You two stupid fuggers are going to go up that mountain as a married couple and come down divorced. Two of you will go up and only 1.76 of you will come down. Either the husband will be covered in bite marks, missing his ass and the majority of his face or the wife will come down in a handful of pieces stuffed neatly in to a body bag with all the tree branches and leaves she took out on the way down."

Unfortunately neither of us engaged any reasonable people for advice. The only person we consulted was my father. "Hey dad, I'm going to take her up. See you in a few."

In hindsight, I should not have shrugged off the thinly veiled terror in his eyes when he said, "Are you sure? You could stop while you're ahead."

"Silly man," I thought. "Of course I'm sure. She's been skiing about seven seconds in her entire life now. What could go wrong?" And, up the lifts we went. To the top.

To be clear, at the base, this was all a very good idea. But, by the time we got to the top of the mountain, Andrea was spewing thick foam, blood and fire laced with terrifyingly vulgar profanity out of what used to look like her face but now resembled something you'd see on a six legged dog-like creature in a nightmare about the gates of Hell. Clearly, she was now the devil incarnate.

But, this was my fault.

I failed to recognize that skiing a bunny slope is akin to skiing to the end of your driveway at your suburban house in Plainfield, IN. However, skiing the entire height of a mountain in Vermont is not like that. And, if you've never been on a mountain, the idea of skiing down one from the very top where you can't see the bottom forces you to assume that there's nothing but jagged rocks, trees rigged with razor blades, pissed off grizzly bears and dismembered body parts between you and the cocoa drink at the lodge that you'll never see because, without doubt, you are going to die in the next 20 minutes.

After about thirty minutes of what must have resembled the sled scene from Christmas Vacation, we found ourselves at the top of another ski lift, still about 750 miles away from the bottom of the mountain. Fortunately, all that was sacrificed thus far was my testicles. (I'm pretty sure she bit them off in all of the confusion. And, by 'confusion', I mean 'unbridled husband-hating rage'.)

But it was too late. All hope was lost and it was now time to throw in the towel. I could have either buried her there on the side of the mountain (which did have some appeal at the time) or I could call a snow mobile up to the lift house and get her a ride down while I doubled back to find my testicles. I went with the latter plan and within 20 minutes, a 19 year old ski patrol version of Fabio-meets-Dr. McDreamy on a snow mobile was there to whisk her to safety. They rode off in to the sunset with his golden locks of hair flitting around showering her with essence of Cupid's breath while I skied to the base contemplating what my new future of marital discord was going to be like.

And that, my friends, is why good intentions only lead you to veiny rabies-faced verbal beatdowns at the hands of your spouse. It's also how a ski run in Vermont gets the dubious, unofficial name of 'The Divorcer'.

Buy this house: UPDATE

2010-12-23T15:46:00.003-05:00

Remember this post?

It worked. You bought the house. So, thank you. Very much. We close on February 16 and I'd appreciate it if you go easy on us during the inspection. The house is a freaking tank so there's really nothing to worry about anyway. The wife and I have narrowed our new house to two options and the less drama involved in selling this one, the better.

More to come on that. I'd love to tell you all about our new house but we haven't bought it yet. So, I will not be jinxing it.

Whatever Carrie

2010-12-09T12:03:00.010-05:00

My sister Carrie just got back from a few weeks in El Salvador. Where she built a bridge.

Here's something some media outlet wrote about it:
"Berta Alas is in her early fifties. Each day she has to negotiate the Río Comasagua, the river that lies between her home and the elementary school, chapel, small shops and community center that are the civic heart of El Charcón. When the river is low, Berta crosses a rickety suspension bridge. Badly damaged last year by Tropical Storm Ida, the bridge takes her half way across. She wades the rest of the way. When the river rises, as it always does during the six month rainy season, Berta cannot cross at all. The swollen river prevents her husband, Francisco Artiada, a member of the community governing board, from participating in sessions at the casa comunal (the community meeting room). Their five children miss days at school ... " etc, etc, blah, blah ...

So, these villagers in El Salvador don't have the resources to engineer a suitable bridge. Accordingly, for six months each year, they go with out education, medicine and all the goods that you'd secure in a market. Six months a year they are cut off from any resources they don't pull out of the dirt themselves. So, logically, Carrie's solution was to spend real money, fly down there, live in a jungleshithole with the Chupacabra (just kidding, I'm sure it's lovely this time of year) and use her big expensive civil engineering education to build them a bridge so that they can prosper as a civilization.

Hey Carrie, you know what I did over the last couple weeks while you were out saving the planet? Me neither. I don't think I did a goddamnthing.

So here's the deal Carrie, I'm going to need you to go build a few more bridges, advance a few more societies and maybe find a cure AIDS. That way, you can front me some good Karma from your surplus and then I can get in to heaven too. Deal?

photo credit: Bridges to Prosperity

Check out my dad's ass

2010-12-08T11:44:00.002-05:00

Passing the torch

2010-11-28T12:29:00.008-05:00

My parents recently moved in to a new house (three doors down from a house they previously owned) and came across my old Brio train sets. Thinking they'd make a great hand-me-down for Mason, they promptly shipped them out to me.

I'm not sure why, but I forgot how completely bad@ss Brio trains are. As soon as I got them, I tore open the box and confirmed that they are, in fact, still awesome. Then, I hit up eBay and doubled my collection.

Maybe one day I'll pass them on to Mason. In the meantime though, stay away from my trains boy.