thedadreport.com

This morning, me and Mrs. Dad Report decided to run down to Einstein Bros to pick up a few bagels. We’re sitting at the light where Franklin Avenue runs into Colesville Road. As the light changes on the Colesville side from green to yellow, a minivan coming down Colesville (South) tries to stop. He slams on the brakes and starts skidding through the light. At the same time there is a man walking down the sidewalk on the same side of the road.

As the van is skidding, the driver oversteers and the van flips over onto its top and is skidding toward the man walking. Fortunately the man was aware of what was coming and nimble enough to move out of the way. The van skidded to a halt, half in the street and half on the sidewalk. Read more »

To all 4 people who read this blog: I’m moving to a different server to much better serve my readers because it’s cheaper. So one day soon there will be nothing here for a short time. See you on the other side.
TDR

We love us some pancakes here at TheDadReport.com. I like mine with Diet Coke the elixir of the Gods. Anyhoot, my long time best friend Joel (he, another elixir/pancake aficionado) turned us on to a home version that beats ALL comers. The recipe is from GQ magazine, May 2008.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD these are FUCKING GREAT PANCAKES.” Can you believe my wife talks like that? Actually she doesn’t, it’s what I was thinking upon first orgasmic bite. Good thing my kids can’t read minds, or this blog. They really are that good. Oddly I couldn’t find a link to them so I typed em up here with my own little paws. Try them and let me know what you think.

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

GQ’s UnGodly Buttermilk Pancake Recipe

- 2 cups all purpose flour
- 4 teaspoons sugar
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
- 1 1/2 cups buttermilk
- 1/2 cup whole or low fat milk
- 2 large eggs
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled plus additional butter for frying
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and baking soda.  Mix with a fork to combine.  In a small bowl, beat together the buttermilk, milk, eggs, melted butter and vanilla.  Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir with a fork just until combined.  (a few small lumps
are okay, don’t over mix).  The batter can sit for up to an hour.

Heat a cast-iron skillet over medium heat.  Add a tablespoon or two of butter. When it begins to froth, use a large spoon to pour the batter into the pan.  Don’t overcrowd.  No more than three pancakes will fit in a 12-inch skillet.  If desired, press mix-ins (blueberries, etc) into the pancakes at this point.

When bubbles are visible through the batter on the uncooked surface and edges are golden brown, after about 4 or 5 minutes, flip.  Cook 2 to 3 minutes more.  Serve with warm maple syrup and more butter.

Makes 12 four-inch pancakes

Just watched my Terps beat Cal in the NCAA Tourney. So UMD is up by 15 with about 4 minutes or so to go. Cal is starting a little run so I’m getting kind of nervous. Cal cuts a 15 point lead to 10, so we need a “hup” as Bones McKinney would say. Then Adrian Bowie slices into the lane for a sweet layup to push the MD lead up to 12 points.

Sez me, “Niiiccce”
Sez Erin, “That’s how WE roll.”

Took the DadReport crew to UMD the other night to see the lady Terps beat up on BC. Driving home from the game I’m thirsty as a rat with anti-coagulant poison boiling in his throat. So I decide to pull into McDonalds for a Grande Elixir of the Gods.

As I’m pulling into the drive-thru Erin pipes up from the back seat:
“What are we going to McFatty’s for?”

I’m driving down University Boulevard in Langley Park today minding my own business. “Beeooowwipp.” Wha? I look in my rear view window and a PG cop is pulling me over.  Jesus Christ . . . my mind is racing . . . all my outstanding warrants, an open liquor bottle. Damn it’s tough hiding a still smoking crack pipe as Johnny Low is walking up to your car. Oh wait, that’s on Cops, not me, relax.

“My name is officer Johnny Low, PG Police, this stop is being recorded. License and registration please . . . “ sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.
“Your brakelight is out.” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.
“Lot’s of accidents here on University” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.

So he walks back to his car with my ID and reg to do what they do in their cars. At this point I gotta admit I’m kinda gangsta leaning/scrunched down in my car. “Yeah yo, broken brake light and shit, that’s right. What’you looking at?”

I can see people driving in the opposite direction looking over at me. Hhhmm . . . they look like I look like I’m guilty of something more than a brake light. Damn, so that’s what I look like when I’m “tsk tsking” at that obvious perp the thin blue PG line has accosted. Good, another “one” off the streets. That look I’m getting only grows when PG cop number 2 pulls up behind Johnny number 1 lights flashing. Man, my street cred is through the roof. “Yeah, took 2 of dem bitches to stop me yo . . .”

“Here’s your work order for the light. You have 10 days to get it done. Have a nice day. You’re free to go.” sez he.
“Uh huh” sez me.