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November 30, 2007
Wow. Just ... wow.
From the Yakima Herald Republic (h/t Jesus' General):
Stunned by play's content
To the editor -- My husband wanted to surprise me with tickets to see a Broadway musical, "The Producers," at the Capitol Theatre on Nov. 17. We were both very surprised.
We saw producers, assistants and others endeavoring to produce a play. They were hoping to have a flop, close it down and pick up the remaining finances.
Eventually, after enlisting other people and groups, they did succeed in producing a successful musical called "Springtime for Hitler."
We saw the SS troops with swastika armbands, German soldiers in uniforms and even Hitler sang and danced.
Our President Roosevelt appeared on stage in his wheelchair -- Hitler pushed him off the stage.
Sunday morning I awoke and was sure it had all been a dream. No! That really happened at the Capitol Theatre in Yakima in the United States of America.
A tribute to a monster responsible for millions of deaths.
AUDREY JESKEY
Prosser
Satire wasn't funny
To the editor -- On Nov. 17, my wife and I attended the award-winning play "The Producers" at the Capitol Theatre. I came away with mixed emotions. The singing, acting and dancing were top notch as usual. However, the general theme was unsettling. The plot involves two characters trying to produce a Broadway play that would fail but would make them rich through "creative accounting." But their surefire flop, "Springtime for Hitler," became a hit instead, landing them in trouble.
I realize this was supposed to be a satire comedy, but I failed to see any humor. When I think that just a week earlier this country celebrated Veterans Day to honor military veterans who have given so much, I find this sort of entertainment disgusting. Thousands upon thousands of lives were lost worldwide due to the Nazi movement and from that Mel Brooks writes a comedy?
The crowning blow, though, was when two large flags with swastikas were dropped down as a stage background. A week ago in the same theater, the Camerata Club ended its concert by singing a salute to all of the military branches in honor of Veterans Day and a large American flag was lowered. There were many compliments from the audience for that, along with many tears.
In light of that, I thought it was in rather poor taste to put on a Broadway play depicting the Nazi movement, even in satire. I think we could do better in the selection of future plays for our grand theater.
DICK SCHUT
Yakima
Posted by Your Protagonist at 01:50 PM | Comments (0)
November 29, 2007
Uninterested in posting about cats, food or anything nostalgic.
And I can't imagine that you'd really want to read it, anyway.
I'm looking forward to the end of National Blog Posting Month.
Actually, I do have something to share: my friends Brian and Korin had a really amazing Thanksgiving.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:56 PM | Comments (0)
November 28, 2007
Through the living room window.
Chicago accent and the jingle of a choke chain: "Ah, come aaaan, leave it! You're not ginna smell every frikkin' tree."
High-pitched bleep of a large vehicle backing up. A beer delivery van is having second thoughts about squeezing past the UPS truck that's double-parked.
Soft clinks and clanks as a sturdily built, elderly Asian woman rifles through our recycling bins. She carries many pounds of bottles and cans in plastic baskets attached to both ends of a long pole.
Across the street, two Hispanic guys using their pickup to gather recyclables toss bottles two at a time into buckets and barrels that line their flatbed. It sounds like angry wind chimes. I wonder if there's any tension between them and the old woman? It would be funny to actually hear someone say "I'm working this side of the street, bub."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:29 PM | Comments (0)
November 27, 2007
I really needed to laugh today.
These did the trick:
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:26 PM | Comments (0)
November 26, 2007
Coalinga, CA
If you are born and raised here, are you even aware that your entire town smells like cow shit, or is it so fundamental to your frame of reference that the stink escapes notice?
(typed with my thumbs)
Posted by Your Protagonist at 01:32 PM | Comments (0)
November 25, 2007
Niners 37, Cardinals 31.
My dad with Big Red, the Cardinals mascot
Don't get me wrong, I had a great time. The new stadium is aesthetically pleasing and extremely well-engineered. I was happy to learn that the chief architect was Peter Eisenman (I knew his son, Nick, in college).
I won't describe the action on the field, as I'm a poor sportswriter. The SF Chronicle did an accurate job of describing the goings-on.
My father's been a Cardinals season ticket holder almost as long as he's lived in the Valley of the Sun. They've had exactly one over .500 season since he's started attending. We once went to a Christmas game where they filmed several game scenes for "Jerry Maguire." The home team lost so poorly that night, the head coach was fired before we reached our car in the parking lot.
Still, there's a thriving community here. There were thousands of tailgate parties in the parking lot, and when we settled into our seat, it felt like a church social, with people asking after children, health problems, job situations, and how many pounds of turkey their neighbor had eaten in the last few days.
The game was quite the nail-biter, so losing in overtime due to a missed field goal hurt. I was a little impressed with the ballsy Niners fans who crowed over their win alone in a sea of dejected Cardinals, but when I saw the beefed-up law-enforcement presence, I realized why they were so mouthy.
"But hey, your guys won," said one neighboring fan, clapping me on the shoulder. He'd heard my dad mention that I was visiting from San Francisco.
"Eh," I said, shaking my head. "I always root for my dad's team when I come to the game with him."
An elderly fellow in a faded sweatshirt jabbed his finger at me and grinned. "You're a good son."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 06:58 PM | Comments (0)
November 24, 2007
Ruby red, the hard way.
As a child, I would watch my dad peel a grapefruit with fascination. I've still never seen anyone else peel a grapefruit and pull it apart into segments before eating it. Everyone seems to slice them.
Grapefruit doesn't peel as easily as other citrus, so I often find myself scraping off the bitter white rind with a paring knife. It's well worth the effort.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:28 PM | Comments (0)
November 23, 2007
Black Friday: a few impressions
By special request, Liz and I went to Fry's Electronics tonight to pick up a wireless repeater that boost my dad's wifi signal. He wanted to use his laptop in the living room, but the signal really peters out in the kitchen.
We grabbed a sales circular and piled into the rental. I was a little skeptical about wading into the fray on Black Friday, but we got through it okay.
Halfway through the line, Fry's Electronics, Phoenix AZ, 1/2 hour before closing
A few notes:
Short dude behind us in line: work on expanding your definition of personal space. You crowded me so hard that at one point I rolled up sales circular into a tube and held it behind me to create a small buffer zone. You bumped into it four times before I stopped counting. If we meet again, perhaps you could help me to understand why you need to be 12 inches from me at all times.
Teenaged couple with infant child: I know you kids live in the desert, but when we got out of our car tonight, it was 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Where I live, that means people dress their babies in more than just a diaper and a smile. The young man had cash enough for a few Xbox games; maybe you have a spare Korn concert T-shirt at home you could use to swaddle your child.
Seasonal employee who checked us out: I know it's just a shitty minimum wage gig for the holidays, but do try to familiarize yourself with a few store policies. For example, if you need to cancel a transaction and start again, the customer does not need to wait for a void slip -- all they need is their correct receipt.
VP Operations, Fry's Electronics: we conducted two transactions this evening: one cash, one credit. When I handed over my credit card and ID, the transaction was concluded in less than a minute. When I forked over three crisp twenties, our checker disappeared so her manager could check to see if they were counterfeit. She was gone for nearly two minutes. If paying with plastic is now faster than using paper money, you should share this information with customers.
I really love you, Dad. Clearly.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:57 PM | Comments (0)
November 22, 2007
An industrious Thanksgiving.
All in all, the day turned out very well.
I woke up at 6 a.m. -- even before my dad, the C-SPAN addict. I started coffee and set to work with the turkey -- preparing stuffing, dressing, etc. The turkey was in the oven by nine, and then it was off to the races making side dishes.
Guests were set to arrive at 2 and eat at 3, but that wasn't a plan I was aware of until late in the morning, so I decided too do my best not to worry and to keep focused. It would have been unreasonable for me to expect to have everything prepared and together exactly on time, so I didn't really make that my goal. As it was, people started eating around 3:40.
If you'll see my previous entry regarding the Thanksgiving menu, you'll note that I stuck (more or less) to the plan:
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Dinner conversation was wonderful, and the Nahe Kreuznacher Kauzenberg Riesling Spatlese went well with the turkey. I'm newly impressed with my father, since he purchased an entire case of it.
Speaking of turkey:
A double batch equals four loaves. My arms were tired from kneading, but it was well worth the effort. If not for the incredible help from Liz and Ella, this would have gone really poorly. They helped clean and did amazing prep work. Ella made the greens, Liz did the bean casserole, and both were damned tasty.
And hooray: I cooked, so I didn't have to clean. Though I did help sort food into storage containers. Thanks to Quentin, Alisa and Liz for cleaning up everything.
I'm proud of myself for cooking everything (except the relish) today between 6 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. Iron chef, indeed.
I hope you had good things to eat and got to spend time with people you were glad to see today.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:42 PM | Comments (0)
November 21, 2007
Brined, drained and ready for bed.
Today, I:
- left San Francisco for Arizona at midnight
- spent 2 hours in traffic trying to cross the Bay Bridge
- charged $87 of gasoline to my MasterCard
- drove 12 hours across two states on the busiest travel day of the year
- hugged my parents
- brined a turkey
- made cranberry relish
- rearranged the contents of an entire refrigerator
- was thankful.
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I was zesting oranges at the kitchen island while Ella made a mincemeat pie and we got to talking. The last Thanksgiving I was here, she was kicking breast cancer's ass, my grandfather was in rapid decline and my aunt was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer.
"When you think about it," I said, "it all seems pretty fragile." I was having mixed results with the zesting. I needed a sharper knife.
"Sort of makes it hard to just kick back and enjoy yourself sometimes, you know?"
Ella shook her head and chuckled as she rolled her pastry into a perfect circle. "And that's why it's so important to kick back and enjoy."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 08:32 PM | Comments (0)
November 20, 2007
Getting underway.
After scrubbing the house well, I slept a good part of the day away so we could pile into the car and drive to Arizona for Thanksgiving.
I'm thrumming from the fuerte cup of coffee I brewed, and the grilled cheese sandwich I ate with it is sitting nicely. I like a light nosh before traveling.
Assuming we have decent wireless coverage, I may compose tomorrow's blog entry with my thumbs, by the side of the road.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:19 PM | Comments (0)
November 19, 2007
Sheepish in wolf's clothing.
I met my first pit bull many years ago. I was amazed that such a powerfully built dog could be so playful and affectionate. This was long before popular culture convinced us that the entire breed represents a canine sleeper cell, each animal waiting for an opportune moment to maim or kill.
Many people now regard pits with suspicion, if not downright alarm. Hard to believe they were once America's most popular dog.
I know I'm anthropomorphizing, but the pit bulls I see these days look slightly downtrodden and defensive. The head hangs low, and the eyes are full of sorrow and shame, as if the animal had internalized a lifetime of wary glances that, in turn, had metastasized into self-loathing.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:43 PM | Comments (0)
November 18, 2007
Thanksgiving Dinner 2007
I love to cook, particularly for family and friends. This Thanksgiving, we're visiting my parents, where I'll share the kitchen duties with Ella, who is an amazing cook.
She cooks up a storm for holidays, but I like to take the load off her shoulders when I can. She'd never agree, but I wish I could talk her into just sitting down with a glass of Zinfandel while I handled everything.
This year, she's agreed to split it 50/50, but we'll see how that shakes out. Here's the menu on which we're collaborating. I've called dibs on the macaroni and cheese, the turkey, and the stuffing, she's already got the greens in the freezer:
- roasted turkey
- cranberry relish
- garlic mashed potatoes
- stuffing (inside the turkey)
- dressing (baked in a casserole dish)
- gravy (traditional and gluten-free)
- green bean casserole
- macaroni & cheese (traditional and gluten-free)
- collard greens
- grilled salmon
- cornbread (traditional and gluten-free)
- roasted sweet potatoes
- whole wheat raisin walnut bread
- winter root cobbler
I'm making everything from scratch, including the dressing, stuffing and cranberry relish. My dad will be disappointed if we don't have the gelatinous stuff that retains the shape of the can, so I made sure that was on the shopping list.
I'll bake an extra loaf of whole wheat raisin walnut bread for the stuffing. I made the winter root cobbler last year -- parsnips, onion, carrots and fennel under a buttery crust. Tomorrow, I'll scout around for a bag in which to brine our 14-pound turkey. I could use a trash bag, but they're treated with chemicals to retard food spoilage and deter scavenging animals, or so the Intertubes would have me believe.
I'll have to make sure we have some nice wines to go with the meal. After spending hours to create a wine list for our wedding dinner, pairings for this meal will be a piece of cake. Speaking of which, my dad's made it clear that I shouldn't even bother to make the trip if I don't show up with a coconut-pineapple layer cake from It's All Good Bakery.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I don't make a lot of forward-looking personal statements in this space, but next year, I would very much like to prepare a meal for family and friends in our home. We have a lot of renovations and work to do before that can happen, but it's something to work toward.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:03 PM | Comments (0)
November 17, 2007
Crepuscular, discriminating, lactose-intolerant.
My cat and I have a lot in common; like many housecats and African-Americans, Polly and I are both lactose-intolerant.
Still, we enjoy dairy quite a bit. In six years, Polly's learned to ask for it by name. I know it sounds crazy, but my cat makes a very specific vocalization when she's after some half-and-half.
Not only can she recognize a carton of dairy from across the room, she starts whining for her share as soon as I start brewing coffee. She won't cry for skim, but she recognizes 2% milk. On the hungover morning when I made that discovery, I recall wondering if my cat could read.
It's hardly sounds like a plea -- it's more like a demand, and her volume is proportionate to the fat content. I used heavy whipping cream a few weeks ago to make green tea gelato for a baby shower and I thought she was going to cut me.
I'll see if I can record it so everyone doesn't start to think me mad. Am I the only person whose cat has a food vocabulary?
Posted by Your Protagonist at 08:28 PM | Comments (0)
November 16, 2007
Tito Leiba Wants to Meet You.
(Liz and I went to Roatan, Honduras on the big trip and returned with her sister Suzy and bro-in-law Carey to check up on the real estate scene.
I wrote the following article after we returned and pitched it to a few airline and travel magazines. This was a first attempt to sell something, so I wasn't expecting too much. There were no takers, but I was more or less pleased with the way the product turned out. Since I'm not skewing it for the in-flight audience, I've let some of the snark seep back into this draft.
Shortly after writing this, I found a full-time job and set aside the notion of freelancing for a while.)
Tito Leiba Wants to Meet You
Decked out in colorful costumes that accentuate their black-coffee complexions, several musicians and dancers gossip idly beneath the tourist center’s thatched dome roof. They’re waiting for the first bus from the cruise ship terminal to roll up and disgorge passengers seeking an emotional, authentic cultural experience. In about twenty minutes or less.
The most active person on the scene is Tito Leiba, the recently elected mayor of Punta Gorda, a village on Roatan, Honduras. Leiba’s village was created in 1797 when the British marooned his ancestors on a rocky beach at the east end of this Caribbean island. This morning, the mayor is unconcerned with historical wrongs – ants completely occupy his mind.
Thousands of insects swarm the concrete patio and walkways, creating a mobile carpet that makes one itch at a glance. Stepping quickly around the facility, Leiba exhorts the entertainers to attack the writhing black mat first with brooms, then buckets of water. Finally, he sighs and checks his watch before dispatching someone to the store for bug spray. He shrugs at me, perhaps a reference to earlier conversation about the island's push for eco-tourism.
After several minutes, a young man with a melancholy face returns with cans of Raid. Spray cans in hand, the costumed crew walks in small circles, each member saturating an assigned zone with poison. Leiba smiles with satisfaction as the ants start twitching in their tracks.
As the last of the pests are hosed away, a sunny cruise director promenades a throng of North Americans into the performance area. Drummers exchange nods before commencing a routine that compels three young women in flowered skirts to shake and roll their hips like God’s own maracas. A twentyish fellow under a headdress and blowing into a conch shell looks up at the palm roof of the palapa as he puffs out his cheeks.
The sight of the women gyrating freely to the jankanu and punta music is compelling. One cruiser in her sixties covers a nervous smile with her brochure while a man wearing a matching windbreaker flushes from pasty to ruddy in the space between drumbeats. “Reminds me of ah, some tribes I’ve seen in Nigeria and West Africa,” comments the cruise director woodenly.
After several minutes, visitors file past cooking and crafts demonstrations before inspecting the gift shop and reboarding their air-conditioned caravan for a tour of Punta Gorda. An unscientific survey indicates that only one in five is brave enough to try the fresh, crispy cassava bread.
As the first group leaves, another shiny van pulls up outside. Looking younger than his 40 years, Leiba folds his arms and leans against a stout support pole, relaxing for the first time this morning. The Yubu center is a partnership between expat entrepreneurs and local residents, and nearly 300 tourists will pass through today to sample unique aspects of Garifuna culture. It’s Leiba’s job to make sure things run smoothly; insect control is but one brushstroke in the Big Picture.
Leiba, like most of the 2,000 residents of Punta Gorda, is descended from Afro-Caribbeans stranded on Roatan by British colonialists. Also known as Garifuna, this group traces back to captive Africans who swam ashore after a shipwreck near St. Vincent and assimilated with local Arawak Indians. In short order, these kalipuna, or “cassava eaters,” grew to dominate the region. In 1793, Leiba’s forebears were the first indigenous group in the Caribbean to compel the British to sign a treaty recognizing their sovereignty. This uneasy peace endured until 1795.
“They could not keep us under control,” Leiba says with a bright smile. “Garifuna had their own language, and the British could not understand what we were saying and thinking.” After killing leader Joseph Chatoyer, the British rounded up approximately 5,000 of the darkest-skinned “Black Caribs” and put them aboard ships bound for Roatan, a few hundred miles west. Only 2,000 survived the voyage.
Food shortages and poor living conditions made island life hard, leading many Garifuna to petition Spanish authorities for permission to sail to the Honduran mainland. In need of cheap labor, the Honduran governor was only too happy to approve. Even today, Garifuna leave Roatan to make a living. Says Leiba, “we have people that live off of fishing, there are people that work in an office, and then guys that go to sea – a lot of captains, mates and officers work overseas. That’s how we maintain – people that live in other countries helping the community.”
“The Garifuna people have never been slaves,” Leiba attests. “Never. They’ve been warriors, and peaceful at the same time. We’ve been united together and we’re going to fight together.” Today, their battle is for a slice of Roatan’s development pie. Roatan is in the early phase of a boom that is reshaping the island.
In fewer than 10 years, tourism has replaced fishing as the main source of revenue. Bearing this in mind, Leiba seeks to keep his community intact as canny speculators comb Roatan in search of bargains. Local wags say advance teams from the Hyatt and Wyndam hotel chains are already scouting choice parcels for future resorts.
Forty miles north of mainland Honduras, independent travelers and retirees discovered Roatan in the mid-nineties. Four miles wide and forty miles long, this lush, tropical strip of the third world is transforming itself for well-heeled tourists from North America. First came cruise ships and airlines, followed by crews from “Temptation Island,” MTV and HGTV. Now, signs for Century 21, RE/MAX and other real estate firms are nearly as ubiquitous as palm trees.
Roatan’s call is hard to resist. The local economy is thriving, U.S. dollars and English conversation are freely exchanged, and its barrier reef (“second largest in the world!” chimes Leiba) is a magnet for snorkelers and divers. The new arrivals have deep pockets, but Leiba says his village has “a lot of work to do to bring tourism into the community. We’re not getting any benefit, but we’re looking forward.”
The island’s growth will depend largely on the federal and local government’s ability to make significant infrastructure improvements. Winding, two-lane roads traverse the length of the island. Outside the tourist zones, electric, water, sanitation and sewage utilities are all in need of serious upgrades. If Leiba has his way, the rising tide of development will lift more than a few boats in Punta Gorda, too.
On a rainy afternoon in his village, Leiba pauses under a tarp to adjust his Yankees cap. Adults with umbrellas and puddle-stomping children greet him by name as he walks down a rutted, narrow beach road fringed by small, squat dwellings. In one yard, a bantam rooster squawks over the indignity of sharing the small, fenced space with several mature rabbits. Like a master planner, the novice politician reshapes his town with a sweep of his hand. “In the past, our houses were made out of coconut leaf and mud, and hardly do you see those kinds of houses in the community now. Most people build with wood and concrete – it lasts longer.”
When surveyors and realtors arrive in Punta Gorda is solely a matter of time, not faith, says Leiba. “Down at the west end, they getting full and crowded, so people are now looking up to the east.” All of the upscale shops, hotels, businesses and beaches lie at the west end of the island, and the nascent boom has Leiba convinced that opportunities now lie closer to home. Identifying the right partners will make it easier to manage the challenges that accompany development, believes Leiba. “The people that can help us to get jobs, respect us, and let us live in peace -- those folks are absolutely welcome.”
A Garifuna entrepreneur who recently returned from the U.S. is completing construction of a supermarket/office complex in town, and Leiba has plans to renovate Punta Gorda’s city hall. Two Americans recently purchased the village’s sole hotel and expect to begin renovation work in Spring 2006. Whether it’s through shrewd politicking or sheer force of will, things seem to be breaking Leiba’s way.
It’s impossible to ignore the poverty on Roatan’s east end, but Leiba makes it easy to envision the opportunities that lie ahead. Walking around his village, his infectious enthusiasm transforms an uneven, potholed road into an asphalt ribbon; a pebbled shoreline becomes a gleaming white beach.
So far, the improvements exist only in his mind’s eye, but the new mayor can’t imagine living anywhere else. “I love the peace and the sea and the beach,” says Leiba. “And when it gets hot, we have a lot of wind, so we can come down to the beach and relax. I talk to friends of mine, and they wish they had what we have here.”
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:23 PM | Comments (0)
November 15, 2007
Top to bottom, left to right...
I've just learned that a new version of The Electric Company is under development for the Fall 2008 season.
I feel like I should be very unhappy at hearing this news, but I'm entirely indifferent. I know there's no way the revamp could be as fresh and original as the version I grew up with.
Looking back, I'm amazed at the talent behind TEC: Rita Moreno, Morgan Freeman, Mel Brooks, Tom Lehrer, Chuck Jones, Gene Wilder, Bill Cosby... Irene Cara?
It's unlikely that they could reconstitute such a diverse group of artists for this next go-round. Besides that, I can't imagine that TEC II would receive the same creative freedom as the original. With yet another GOP hack at the helm, the Corporation for Public Broadcasting is putting the Bush Touch on educational TV.
Ultimately, contemporary children's television is about merchandising and little else.
Before anyone points it out, I'm well aware that this post has a cranky "In my day..." tone to it, but I'm resolutely smug and self-satisfied about this: my generation came up in the golden age of educational TV.
I feel a little sorry for kids who dig on Dora the Explorer and Barney & Friends. The little I've seen of these programs lead me to believe that they're about as healthy and educational as lead-contaminated hamburgers coated with GHB-related compounds.
Anyway, you've eaten your vegetables, so here's dessert:
Is it just me, or is there a sexual vibe between Easy and Carmelita?
Posted by Your Protagonist at 01:02 AM | Comments (0)
November 14, 2007
Clearing a path.
Never mind the actual doing of a thing; even commencing a new project comes with its own set of pitfalls, or at the very least, potholes, slippery slopes and uneven sidewalks. One had better watch one's step.
Many Hindus make an offering of sweets to Ganesha to gain support when they're making a fresh start. I'm not religious, but I do have a small tapestry we bought one day in India, as well as some lollipops impulse-purchased from Candy You Ate As A Kid, so:
(I've lighted a candle in St. Patrick's Cathedral, received a bindi at a temple of Kali, led a group of singers in "Hava Nagilah" and attended an address by the Dalai Lama. So, I'm apparently comfortable with religious rituals, but not religion. Interesting.)
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:43 PM | Comments (0)
November 13, 2007
Atonement can take many forms.
Man marries bitch to beat curseAn Indian man has married a female dog, believing the union will help him atone for stoning two other dogs to death.
P Selvakumar, 33, said he had been cursed since the killings, suffering paralysis and a loss of hearing.
The wedding took place at a Hindu temple in Tamil Nadu state. The "bride" wore an orange sari with a flower garland and was fed a bun to celebrate.
(BBC News)
I'm sure Rick Santorum is organizing a protest in Madurai while I type this.
For all our braying about personal responsibility, we don't see a lot of atonement in America. Punishment? Hell, yes. But atonement, not so much. I'm not a religious person, so it's hard for me to point to someone and say exactly how they should be held accountable for their actions against others. I'd be a very poor karmic sorcerer's apprentice.
My general sense of things is that you lock killers away, force fraudsters to compensate their victims and make vandals restore or beautify things that have been made ugly. It just seems fair.
A recent ARG poll reports that 54% of Americans believe Bush has committed crimes that are impeachable, but only 34% want to see him held accountable. I don't get that, but maybe people don't like the idea of impeaching another president so quickly.
If it comes to pass that Bush and Cheney are impeached, here's what I'd like to see:
For the duration of his sentence, GWB is compelled to work in children's hospitals inside Iraq. Dick Cheney is dispatched to refugee camps in Syria and Jordan, where he'd provide basic services to people fleeing the charnel house he helped create.
That would be fair, wouldn't it?
Posted by Your Protagonist at 06:11 PM | Comments (0)
November 12, 2007
Two great tastes that taste great together.
When I was small, I would bring my "Spirit of '76" GE transistor radio into bed so I could stay up late and soak up Americana.
Call-in programs, advice shows, sporting events -- any kind of conversation would do. I wasn't contented with absorbing the colloquialisms and regional accents. I was utterly fascinated by the world of adults and the way they spoke to each other.
There was one major benefit for an insomniac kid who had a radio jones in the 1970s -- I had a well-rounded musical education. I don't know many people who enjoy Hank Williams, Bette Midler, Gladys Knight and the Pips and David Bowie, but I do. Many years later as a sleepless adult in The Age of Napster, I was extremely happy to pick up where I left off.
One song I remember well from the old days is Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In) by The First Edition. To a seven-year-old, the song had crazy, nonsensical lyrics that paint a vivid picture, Seuss-style. As an adult, I have a slightly different take on it.
Imagine my delight when I came across a cover by Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, a stellar soul band that I hope to see perform live someday. Their version puts a much different spin on this bit of psychedelic bubble-gum pop and the video only adds to the fun:
(For the record, I would very much for there to be a Soul Train dance line at my memorial service.)
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:52 PM | Comments (0)
November 11, 2007
"Shall we begin?" "Yes, Lisa."
For my money, Prince's Computer Blue perfectly summarizes 80s pop.
The (for its time) shockingly Sapphic intro, the hypnotic keyboard hook, driving synth drums -- very much a product of its place and time.
If you haven't heard it in a while, cue it up and fast-forward to the 1:44 mark.
I was listening to the song this afternoon at the gym, and as soon as the instrumental break started, I got a sharp picture of myself circa 1984, stashing a brown nylon wallet with Velcro closures in the pocket of my acid-washed jeans as I walked out of a "record store."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:23 PM | Comments (0)
November 10, 2007
Judging a kvetchy book.
After several delays, I made a shopping excursion to our local supermarket tonight. The rain was cold and steady as I walked from the far end of the crowded lot to the front door. Must remember to ask Liz what happened to that umbrella that used to live in the map pocket.
Our list was rather long, so to simplify matters, I printed it out and stapled my coupons. I made a slow mosey up and down every aisle, since I hate doubling back to Natural Foods for soy crisps when I'm already strolling through Beer and Wine.
I was bedeviled by a young couple the entire time. She was tall and thin, moving slowly on crutches as she supervised her husband. His job, apparently, was to push the cart and maintain a thousand-yard stare while Gimpy McControlfreak limped behind.
"No, not that wheat germ, the other kind. Don't you notice? Wait, is that the nonfat yogurt or the lowfat? I told you I wanted the lowfat. Oh, you have the lowfat. Well, the package looks so similar -- you wouldn't believe how many times I've gone home with the wrong one."
Based on appearances, she had two gears: harp and kvetch.
I don't know these people, so I have no idea if she's like this all the damned time. For all I know, she broke her ankle last week running for a streetcar and the discomfort and inconvenience have her nerves on edge.
Still, something in the way she moved led me to believe that she's pretty comfortable in Queen Bee mode. I do all of our grocery shopping, because weirdly, I sort of enjoy it. If I couldn't walk unassisted temporarily, I'd either place an order with Safeway.com for home delivery, or I'd send my beloved to the store with a detailed list.
And if she came back with the wrong yogurt, I wouldn't get my boxer briefs out of joint, either.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:49 PM | Comments (0)
November 09, 2007
Lookit!
As soon as my wife left this morning, I unmounted the bathroom door to finish what I started two days ago.
I tired myself out with a lot of scraping and scrubbing on Wednesday, so I decided to let the Jasco sit a few minutes longer. I also laid the door horizontally on the drop cloth; shorter strokes are much easier on arms and shoulders.
I was liberal with the hose to reduce lead dust, so I was dripping from head to toe when I hauled the door back upstairs. An extended session with some sandpaper couldn't hurt, but I'm very happy with the results:
Liz has suggested setting aside the idea of painting the door fin favor of a two-tone color scheme: rich, red stain for the center panel and black stain for the outer rectangle.
Black and red don't appear anywhere else in that part of our flat, so it should make a bold statement. Once it's underway, I'll post the progress here.
I'm feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride. It's nice.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 08:48 PM | Comments (0)
November 08, 2007
What I'll wear to a job interview.
First off, I haven't worn a tie to an interview in about 10 years. I moved to California 11 years ago, and my neckwear collection has thinned considerably.
Strike that. I did wear a tie to a job interview in the last 10 years, but that job was located in midtown Manhattan.
If you're considering me for a role in your organization, here's what I'll probably be wearing to our first meeting:
- Navy pinstripe Calvin Klein blazer or black, 4-button Versace jacket
- professionally-laundered dress shirt (for me, a must)
- Black Levis 501s
- Black, square-toed Stacy Adams
- an interesting pair of socks like these or these
This morning, I shaved my head and put on this ensemble before checking myself out in the bathroom mirror. Despite the morning fog, I slipped on a pair of Maui Jim sunglasses before shooting myself the double-guns and heading out.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:09 PM | Comments (0)
November 07, 2007
Stripping is hard work.
Because we were once lax when it comes to our plumbing, my cat has gotten used to drinking from the bathroom taps.
Now, we regularly replace faulty washers, but Polly still shoves her way into the bathroom and bellows until someone (read: me) starts a trickle of cold water for her in the bathtub. At least she doesn't demand Pellegrino.
After a while, Polly's leaning on the bathroom door wore away a flaky patch of paint, which I peeled off to reveal a rich redwood grain. Since I now have some time on my hands, I suggested to Liz that I finish the work my cat started and strip the door completely. My idea was to paint it a rich red called "Flaming Sword" that's frequently used in Chinese furniture and worked out very nicely on some oak bookcases we had custom built last year.
This morning, I chipped away at the thick layers of paint on the door hinges, unmounted it, and struggled downstairs with the door to the shared alley between our house and an apartment building.
I secured my air filter and slathered a corner of the door with Jasco paint remover. After the paint bubbled and blistered, I scraped with excitement -- only to discover that the chemicals had loosened just the first three layers. Elbow grease revealed three more layers.
I began to worry about time; I'd planned to be done when Liz got home from work. At 2:30, with just one half of one side stripped, I took a break to get more Jasco. As frustrating as it was, I found the work somewhat satisfying. It felt really good to transform an object with my hands.
It got chilly as the afternoon wore on, and talk radio and Diet Coke failed to break the monotony. When I heard the UPS guy ring our front doorbell, I took a certain pleasure in startling him by bursting through the alley door wearing my air filter, yellow work gloves and wrap-around sunglasses.
By 5:15, it was getting dark.
I wrestled the door into a stable position by a hose in our backyard and scrubbed it with cold water and steel wool until it was too dark to see. I toweled it dry and hoisted it back upstairs so I could replace it on its hinges.
I'll need to go over it again with Jasco, but as you can see, this is a nice redwood door. The last of the six layers I was able to discern is a spearmint green that looks like something from the 1930s.
After she got home, Liz and I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door to admire the exposed wood. We speculated about how the other doors in this old house might look with some color, but I'd like to see how this one shakes out first.
Coming up: a visit to the paint store.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 10:29 PM | Comments (0)
November 06, 2007
I voted today.
The whole enterprise took about 5 minutes.
I sat down with a cup of tea and a voter information pamphlet that contained the full text of each initiative. On a piece of scrap paper, I made a "Y" or "N" next to each ballot measure.
The cheat sheet came with me to our nearby polling location. It took the woman at the check-in desk longer to look me up on the rolls than it did for me to complete my ballot.
I was home before my tea was cold.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:53 PM | Comments (0)
November 05, 2007
This dish needs a name.
Well, it looks OK:
I'm waiting until Liz gets home from work before I slice it open. The rice is steaming, the asparagus will only take a few minutes.
Still not sure about putting the butterflied prawn in the center. If I could do it over again, I'd use an artichoke heart or a roasted bell pepper instead.
Tentatively, this dish is called "Chicken Chiprapan," but only because I couldn't think of anything else.
Hey, she just walked in the door!
Posted by Your Protagonist at 09:08 PM | Comments (0)
Errands/Shopping = Hunting/Gathering
Because I needed to visit the post office, I ended up walking home through our neighborhood's shopping district.
I like 24th Street. It's lined with specialized shops that are locally owned and staffed by people who are largely savvy and pleasant. I don't usually have time to run the gauntlet and put together a freestyle dinner on the way home, so today, I took advantage:
- corner market for onion, asparagus, half-and-half and a black cherry soda
- butcher for boneless chicken breasts, pancetta and large prawns
- wine shop for a bottle of Columbia Valley Riesling
- bakery for raisin-pecan rugelach
- bagel store for a nosh to go with tomorrow's coffee
I also stopped by the hardware store for paint stripper, latex gloves, and air filter, steel wool and a dropcloth (more on that project later).
I got home and cleaned the kitchen thoroughly before setting to work pounding the chicken breasts flat between parchment paper. In a bowl, I combined finely chopped onion with goat cheese, Herbes de Provence, garlic, pepper and sea salt.
I spread the onion-cheese mixture in a thin layer across the chicken and added a secondary layer of pancetta. I butterflied the prawns and laid them out in the center before rolling them up into the tidy packages below:
After arranging them in a glass baking dish, I topped each one with garlic, ground pepper, basil and sea salt before drizzling with a bit of olive oil. For extra savor, I sprinkled on a few pinches of gluten-free baking mix. I enjoy skinless chicken breasts, but they feel so prim and virtuous I feel compelled to add a sensuous crunch.
It's in the oven now at 350 degrees. I'll turn it up higher near the end to brown them and will plate them on a bed of steamed rice with the asparagus, glass of Riesling on the side. Will post again with another photo when it all comes together.
The half-and-half will be used to make ice cream with my fabulous KitchenAid standing mixer -- combined with some minced ginger, blackberries, raspberries and strawberries, it should create a funky flavor that will either delight or torment the palate.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:36 PM | Comments (0)
November 04, 2007
Polly and Scooter.
Catblogging is one of this medium's lowest forms of expression, but we just returned from seeing American Gangster. It's an epic, you see. This means that by the time we parked the car and got inside, I had only a few minutes to come up with something pithy for today's entry.
I'm giving myself a break here, as this month is about establishing good habits. Quantity, not quality.
Scooter, my wife's cat, is an affectionate creature who's not at all afraid to demand attention. I had an important call to make last week, so I'll admit to scattering some catnip in a sunbeam in the hopes that she'd be too knackered to be noisy. As the photo attests, mission accomplished.
Polly -- my cat -- is far more reserved. She plays her cards pretty close to the vest, but she lets her guard down when there's a pile of fresh laundry warm from the dryer.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:48 PM | Comments (0)
November 03, 2007
Plum wine, sake, brains.
I'll admit to enjoying time spent in Whole Foods. I don't visit frequently -- it's exorbitantly expensive, which presses many of the buttons on my guilt console.
Last night, I breezed through the new location at 17th and Rhode Island on my way to picking up Liz at Caltrain. I'd spent the afternoon doing phone interviews and was a little too crispy to think about pulling a meal together, so I went through the deli counter and compiled a smörgåsbord.
While searching for a spaceship of Sapporo, I came across a row of other Japanese beverages and decided to take two home with me:
I was pleased to learn that the little white cap on the Gekkeikan Sake is a cup, which, in retrospect, should have been obvious. It was nice, but I think I prefer my sake hot. To my palate, rice wine tastes kinda boring when it's cold.
The Choya Umeshu was OK, but I've had better. I'll give it a B+ for presentation, though. Each jar of wine contains a little soused plum at the bottom -- it looks like the preserved brain of a small woodland creature:
The plum flavor became more intense as I got closer to the fruit. Although I knew better, I couldn't get the image of a zombie squirrel out of my head.
Liz says I whimpered in my sleep last night.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 05:07 PM | Comments (0)
November 02, 2007
Color me a rich, forest green.
So, does this mean we can finally stop engaging with intellectually dishonest, unserious people who are outside the mainstream?
Posted by Your Protagonist at 06:48 PM | Comments (0)
November 01, 2007
I'm not much of a joiner.
For someone with a little experience in social networking, you'd think I'd be eager to affix my name and face to a bunch of online communities that reflect my interests. Sadly, due to personal experience, I view all social nets as work, not play.
I'm considering stepping outside myself for thirty days: for the month of November, I'm thinking about joining up with either NaNoWriMo or NaBloPoMo.
I'd like to cultivate some virtuous habits; both of these ventures would encourage require me to write daily. It's tempting to make a public declaration and hold myself accountable, but, well, see the title of this post.
Don't know why I'm so skeptical of groups. I've been to a NaNoWriMo kickoff party, and they seemed like nice people. I wouldn't say the room was swarming with Updikes, Oateses and Walkers, but they were all passionate about writing, which is ultimately what matters.
I don't have time to even outline a novel this month, so the idea of spinning 50,000 words into a cohesive thread of narrative is hard to swallow.
Decided: as I can blog a haiku from my iPhone whilst in line at Safeway, I think I'll take the path of least resistance:
Posted by Your Protagonist at 11:22 PM | Comments (0)