BLEND IT AND THEY WILL COME

"BLEND IT AND THEY WILL COME"

It was older than my kids. My almost 16 year old Oster blender, a wedding gift affectionately known as "Excalibur", sustained major injuries this week as a result of being mishandled by obviously disgruntled employees of the ever dysfunctional Delta airlines. Excalibur made milkshakes from time to time, but its true calling was the perfect mixing of Frozen margaritas-the "frozen concoction that helps us hang on", as the song goes.

I have been traveling with Excalibur for some time, now, having discovered that when away from home that not only would a frozen margaritas would be cheaper if one made them themselves, but it was a great way to "make some friends", as Stu Drake, one of Excalibur's best customers, always said.

Indeed.

It made Margaritas for all my rowdy and not so rowdy friends, but most times for my National Guard buddies-in most of the 13 original colonies, and most recently Nebraska, who mourn with me in my recent loss. It has blended from Memphis to San Diego, and even entertained international guests from the Republic of Georgia. Excalibur had no enemies, and left happiness in its wake. The FRAPPE button on Excalibur was the key that made our margaritas just a little bit better than the competition---FRAPPE is a French word that, when roughly translated, means "MIX THE EVERLIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF..."

To Frappe with Excalibur was like getting a chance to run the bases at Fenway Park. Excalibur made quite a sound when frappaying-once the margarita was halfway complete, the motor would shift gears, go into climbing gear and the sound would go from a high pitch climbing gear into a deep throated, 8 cylinder 455 cubic inch positive tractioned roar that would make an F-16 in full afterburner pale in comparison. And the result? A perfect Margarita, a room full of friends, and good times to the max. No Limes? No Salt? No Problem.

So one can imagine my shock when, as I unpacked from my flight into Barstow from Atlanta this week, I discovered that the plastic pitcher had been cracked.

"BASTARDS", I screamed out loud, followed by a string of profanity as only me, my Father, and Grandfather would be capable of spewing. I cussed the overpaid baggage handlers. I cussed Delta airlines, and wished them bankruptcy. I cussed the Atlanta airport with all its trappings, a place that I have grown to detest. I then did what anyone else would have done who faced the prospect of having a roomful of buddies expecting FROZEN FRAPPAYED Margaritas available in less than 2 hours-I tried to put it back together.

The crack was a long one, so I tried to align in such a way as to possibly just allow for a small leak -I could get by with that-I filled the blender up with water from the sink and it continued to pour out. GODAMNSIEVE!, I screamed again-- The tequila would surely do the same, and since tequila is not the cheapest stuff in the store, I decided this wouldn't work.

Not knowing what to do next, I called Stu. Thomas S. Drake. The Stubester. Stu is beyond being the bomb. He is righteous. He is coveted, and hallowed is his name.

"STU!" I said, all the while trying to keep my composure, "the Bastards broke my blender!".

"WHAT?!?", Stu asked incredulously.

I then explained to him my tale of woe, and as he knew that I had a better chance of peeing on somebody's head and tell them it was raining than try to give our buds margaritas on the rocks. That wasn't, or isn't, in my humble opinion, the way to run a railroad. It surely wasn't the way to conduct Happy Hour in room 143 of the Holiday Inn Express, Barstow. It's the FROZEN CONCOCTION, like the song says. I had to be true to myself. To do anything less would be just as bad as smoking crack with the devil while dancing around the bible fire.

"We can go to Wal-Mart and get another one", Stu suggested. In my state of shock, I had not thought of buying another blender. For god sakes, I hadn't even had a chance to mourn for Excalibur, and now here it was being suggested to replace it. Didn't Excalibur deserve a little more reverence? It was all happening too fast. My shock intensified. Stu said, "Get ready, I am on the way", and hung up. In less time than you could say "salt on the rim" he was at the door. He put his arm on my shoulder and told me it was going to be alright. When Stu says that, you can take it to the bank. Since I trust him with my life, we departed out the door, headed to Wal-Mart.

By this time some of the other folks had found out somehow that Excalibur had bought the farm, and so they too came along with us, offering support.

In my haste, I had forgotten to call my wife and tell her the tragic news. While Stu and the others were working feverishly to get us to Wal- Mart, I called Sue and told her about Excalibur. She took the news like a man, and said we would just have to get another one. She didn't seem too concerned that I was trying to deal with my grief. "Just don't get some wussy froo froo smoothie making blender-no REAL MAN would be seen with one!"



Damn, I think to myself. Tough Crowd. I agreed with her, but only for the reason that the smoothie maker was more at risk during travel than the standard blender. I was still thinking of some kind of closure for Excalibur and I while Stu drove hell-bent for Wal Mart. Stu was driving at least 10 miles over the statutory speed limits, and for Stu to drive like this surely was a sign of this being a serious situation. But I was in good hands, and by now I had reconciled to the fact that desperate times call for us to SUCK IT UP AND DRIVE ON, and that's what we were doing.

We arrived at Wal Mart in what I am sure is record time, and promptly went to House wares. As I looked on the new blenders, my mind flashed back of Excalibur. The good times. The Frappe button. And all of my friends that may have winded up hugging the porcelain queen because of all the fun we shared. Excalibur, broken pitcher or not, had seen its duty and done it. Remember the Alamo. Pearl Harbor. 9-11. And Excalibur.

Stu busied himself by getting right to the heart of the situation and looking at the technical specifications of the 5 or 6 blenders that were available, including the wussy froo froo smoothie maker that my wife had threatened to cut off my boy parts had I purchased it. We decided on another OSTER. A 450 watt 10 speed two gear ratio Sherman tank of a blender with a thick glass pitcher. 450 watts of bone crushing power at my fingertips. Surely the lack of having a "FRAPPE" setting would be of little consequence.

Five minutes and twenty eight dollars later, and we are speeding back to the Hotel. Margaritaville Barstow would be opening its door in room 149 in less than an hour. We divvied up assignments on the car going back. Wayne would get the ice, I would unpack the new blender yet to be given a name and Stu would grab the chips and dips from his room.

In less than ten minutes, we were up and running. I had a moment or two alone, and decided to blend the first batch before the rest of the crew got there. "If you are half as good a blender as Excalibur, then you will do fine", I said to no one in particular, particularly because there was no one in the room but me, and hit the liquefy setting, high speed. The blenderjumped to life like the space Shuttle on the launch pad. I could tell right away this was a thoroughbred. Its throaty roar blended the first batch of ice and Margarita mix with little effort. This was childs play. About this time Stu showed up ant the door, grinning from ear to ear. "I could hear it all the way down by front desk", he said. "The clerk thought we were having an earthquake!" I knew we were back in business.

Fast forward a few days and several batches and newly made friends---

I have discovered that the Glass pitcher from the new blender fits perfectly on the old chasis of EXCALIBER. After all, wasn't Excalibur's Heart and soul in the motor, anyway? So now I will keep the new Blender at home, and still travel with the new and improved EXCALIBER II.

It is a match made in heaven. And now me and my friends will be able to "HANG ON" for years to come.