I spent some time this morning filling some small hot sauce bottles with some of the red hab/apple sauce I made in the fields in 1999. As one of the bottles is a Choula bottle, with the narrow glass squirt top, I had to use a marinade injector that looks like a hypodermic needle for livestock. I felt like the secretive mad old uncle in the basement, fussing among evil bottled compounds with sinister intent. Except of course, the apartment has no basement, so I was in the kitchen. It reminded me of a bit of stage performance by Frank Zappa: Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Mr Pugh minces among bad vats and jeroboams, spinneys of murdering herbs, and prepares to compound for Mrs Pugh a venomous porridge hitherto unknown to toxicologists which will scald and viper through her 'til her ears fall off like figs, her toes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comes screaming out of her navel. One bottle will reside here in my office desk, as my mainstay of heat for lunches. Another bottle goes to a Russian lady programmer in the office who, along with her husband, is a hot pepper lover (I'm a bit surprised we have no Russians on this list - ya lublio krasni pipir). The third bottle, the one that had Choula in it yesterday afternoon, goes to a former co-worker who as it happens is working across the street. It's just a strange day, I guess - I've already finished out my bag of wasabi snacks with my first mug of coffee. - A _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com