It's All About Simplicity

Item 1: Teenaged Daughterness
This is a quote, from my beloved teenaged daughter, as explanation for why she'd requested that I discontinue speaking: "The vibration of your talking is irritating my sense of well being." This is why ego is useless.

Item 2: The Quality of Simplicity
Here is my menu for an upcoming very small holiday dinner at my place, as demonstration of the principle that quality ingredients prepared simply are the secret to culinary happiness:

Menu

Champagne

Caviar on crackers with crème fraiche

Very Light Salad

Cheese soufflé with lobster sauce

Hot chocolate with peppermint Schnapps or Frangelico

Gingered Sugar Cookies, Peppermint Sugar Cookies

Yes, all simple. Nothing to cover up, nothing to obscure. If any of these ingredients were less than fresh or less than fine the meal would suffer horribly (and thus the guests). So, we'll work with live lobster, fresh (even though the inexpensive domestic kind) caviar, good eggs, local cream and milk, fine cheese and chocolate, homemade cookies baked that day, and the freshest salad makings (Kelly is bringing them, and I know she won't go astray). That's it.

Seasonal Seasonness

This is a fun holiday season for me. My second winter in the Square, I am beginning to get into the swing of the rhythm of the Parlor Tour and a few parties and changes in the park and the people and it's really all just quite nice. Oh -- one of my food blogs was picked up by a portal. Go look! While you're there please click on the VOTE icon. Please?

And 'tis the third year for going with Metal Ox to Powell for the SLSO holiday concert. This year it will be the "Holiday Songbook," traditional carols and hymns and things. I really can't wait! This weekend. And see my pretty tree:

It turned out well, didn't it? All silver and white and blue decorations. It's the first year in may years that I've had a "real" tree. In the past many, well, when the kids were little we had very real trees -- with the root balls on, which were later planted in the yard at the South Forest house. Then I found a marvelous huge stick, branch, whatever, barkless, and put lights and the ornaments on that, and it was quite pretty. Then I lived in smaller places and had a very small fiber optic tree (ya, I know, ick). Then last year MO picked up this nice, tall artificial tree for me after the holiday, on sale.

So, one trip to Hobby Lobby and one to The Future Antiques later, wa-la! A tree! Happy me! Too bad I'm an empty nester and must enjoy it all alone. With my little glass of Bailey's. And the quiet. And the peace. Smile.

Just as a Matter of Record

Poor me, I never did get my tomato soup and grilled cheese. There just wasn't time in the day to make it happen. But, yesterday, with the help of an aesthetically astute friend, I did get my Christmas tree up! And decorated! And it's very pretty.

Oh! Oh! And one of my food blogs, Smith Family Recipes and Stories, was invited to become a featured publisher on the food blog portal foodbuzz.com! And they pay me! And they are pretty cool and so far I'm likin' it, ya!

Sick and the Single Girl

Look, I can own from the starting line that I am a wimp when it comes to being sick. That’s why I’m so proud of myself for bearing the Burn Ordeal so well. But the thing most men, all married men in fact I’m betting, save one or two with really mean, drunk wives, don’t understand is that having the stomach flu and working a 10 hour day after coming back from 24 hours of total stomach flu misery and then thinking of having to go to the store to buy those tomato soup and grilled cheese makings – the only thing that sounds even vaguely palatable and after a day of one donut and one orange section – that prospect just is, well, it just wants to make me cry.

See, these men (my bosses here in Corporania) all have wives at home. If their wives get sick they stop off and buy them their tomato soup, and maybe even make it for them. If they get sick their wives certainly make it for them. And really, I would have been happy if I could have just worked nine hours and had that little jump start that would have put me at the store and maybe even home before dark.

But no, see, there’s this directive that we all have to work 10 hours every single day. And there was a memo, and the memo stated quite clearly that no one could work less than that without permission from Himself. And really, truly, if the company hadn’t gotten itself in this position through very poor management, and if they would let us hire the people we’ve been saying we needed for the last two years, then everyone could work eight hours and all would be well. But it’s their fault. And the icing on the cake is that, in my department, we’re not behind. We never are. But we still have to work the overtime because upper management only looks at the numbers, and if our little three or four people (we’ve been short one for several months because they haven’t let us replace the one who quit, even though we interviewed) don’t do the overtime it pulls the overtime numbers stats down for the larger department.

OK, all that said. You get my bitchy drift. But the main point is, these managers are men. They don’t know what it’s like to be sick and have to fend for themselves totally. All I want to do is leave early so I can get to the store before dark and get a little rest for my fluey body before tomorrow comes and here I am again.

French Thanksgiving Touches

It's less than a week until Thanksgiving, menu planning is in full swing, and as usual my determination to KISS (keep it simple stupid: turkey, oyster and non-oyster dressing, roasted root veggies, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, slaw, corn casserole, cranberries, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, tiramisu) is under erosion from the torrent of fabulous recipes I somehow encounter during the course of a typical day. Steely resolve is mine, however, and so far I have succumbed to only one gully leading to the weediness of our traditional wildly straining-under-the-bounty holiday table. But I still haven't received from my kids their dishes of choice requests. In the mean time, since I know you want to add a touch of French country savory goodness to your own table, here is the magical tempress of a dish that's led me off the path of KISS. If you know me, you know that by the end, unless my discipline is well-tempered and it usually isn't, I will have added several "small, simple little touches" and the menu will have doubled (actually the tiramisu was the first sign of erosion -- the recipe in the latest Cooks Illustrated was just too tempting to ignore). And now it's this Chestnut-fennel purée (Purée de châtaignes au fenouil) from Le Jardins Francais : http://www.frenchgardening.com/cuisine.html.

Chestnut-fennel purée (Purée de châtaignes au fenouil)

3 lbs. fresh chestnuts
2 medium heads fennel, bruised and tough parts removed, sliced in sixths
1 tsp. fennel seed (wild fennel seed if possible)*
4 T. unsalted butter
1/2 c. crème fraîche
Salt and pepper

*Wild fennel seeds are smaller than the usual variety, nearly black in color, and incredibly flavorful.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Cut a slit across the rounded side of each chestnut and place them on a baking sheet. Roast for 20-30 minutes, until peelable (they don't have to be perfectly tender.)

Cover the chestnuts with a towel to keep them hot while you peel them. If they cool, the inner skin won't come off. (If the skin refuses to come off a few of them, don't throw them out. You'll be able to remove it after the next step.)*

Place the peeled chestnuts and the fennel and fennel seeds in a heavy saucepan and just cover them with water. Add a good pinch of salt. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to medium low and simmer until the chestnuts and the fennel are very tender.

Keep the pot covered to conserve the cooking liquid.

Drain the chestnuts and fennel over a bowl, reserving the cooking liquid. Remove any skin that is still clinging to the chestnuts or has come loose among the vegetables. Pass the vegetables through the fine blade of a food mill back into the saucepan. Add the butter and crème fraîche and whisk until incorporated. Then whisk in enough of the flavorful cooking liquid to make the mixture nearly pourable, or to a consistency that pleases you.**

Note that the purée will thicken as it stands, so don't throw out any remaining cooking liquid until serving time. Correct the seasoning with flakes of sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.

*The technique of roasting the chestnuts before peeling, and then boiling them with the fennel allows you to develop the delicious cooking liquor essential to the flavor of this dish. Boiling the chestnuts in their shells and then peeling makes peeling more difficult in my experience. Reboiling them after peeling gives a less flavorful result. And you can't use the liquid from boiling them in their shells because it has an acrid taste.

**You can reduce the amount of butter and cream if you desire by increasing the amount of cooking liquid you incorporate into the purée. The result will be less unctuous but still flavorful.

Note: This is the most delicious puree I've ever tasted. It's worth the effort, and unfortunately using vacuum-packed chestnuts seriously diminishes the result. A guaranteed star of the Thanksgiving table. You probably won't have leftovers, but if you do, thin them with homemade chicken broth for a fabulous soup.

What is it?

CNN says it may be a ghost on a gas station surveillance video. What do you think?
http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/offbeat/2007/11/14/lai.gas.ghost.woio

Bye-Bye, Coffee, Bye-Bye House Help

Now that coffee is supposedly good for you, I’ve suddenly lost my taste for it. Now, contradicting my recent purposeful declaration to several friends that I, in fact, didn’t like tea and all and was tired of trying to, I now love tea and wake up craving it. This, after several years of unsuccessfully trying to get off the coffee.

It was a conversion of factors. Chronologically it went down like this: The guy who’d cleaned my house a few times just stopped showing up, and stopped returning my phone calls. At first he pled strep throat, true. But it’s three weeks later and he’s as gone as the May moonlight. Coffee connection? I worked at the coffee house in my neighborhood – that’s how I found him. And I liked him a lot! He was ok. I trusted him in my house. And he blew me off! Even after I recommended him to the whole listserv. Maybe he didn't like our arrangement of one room a week, but I was flexible on that. And I don't think there were that many skeletons laying around that he'd be that frightened of my house. Anyway, he doesn’t work at the coffee house any more, but the association remains, and I can't help but wonder if whatever I did to make him disappear has bled over to the coffee house? I don't know, because I have no idea why he disappeared! Some people are just irresponsible, I guess. Darn it.

Which on it’s own would be scant force to break the coffee addiction, so then comes factor number two. The burns. While I was on house arrest (the doctor’s orders week for healing) I had no way of getting my coffee. At first I was scared to death – how was I going to make it? Would I get gruesome caffeine withdrawal headaches? But on the second day I decided to do a bit of a cleansing diet and put it out of my mind.

Emerging, the first thing I did was stop by the coffee house and get my ritual Americano. But it was bitter, I didn't like it, and I didn’t finish it(!). The next day I woke up wanting a cup of tea. So I stopped by the Park Avenue on the way to work to get one. I know, way more expensive than making my own tea, but I really used to enjoy going to the coffee shop first thing in the morning, for there I was always greeting with a smile, someone saying my name, maybe even telling me that I looked nice or pretty or something, asking me how things were, telling me about their life or their day. Living alone, this friendly way to begin my morning trek to work really gave me a morale boost. But the staff has turned over and the guys working there now are, though completely competent and decent seeming, just not exuding the warmth that I used to feel from Chad and Cole and Dale and Marilyn. I don't even think they remember my name. It's kind of depressing. Not once has one of them ask me how things are, or complinented my outfit, or whatever. That may sound babyish to say, but the thing is it was a big part of why the coffee ritual there was important to my life. The charm of my morning coffee stop is gone, it doesn’t feel so personal any more, and no one made a Thai iced like Chad did, and he’s long gone, and now they are weaker and waterier and don’t have the love in them that made them so fine, and no one ever even asked if they are ok. So now I feel just as happy making my tea at work.

Which is all sad, but also good, in that my health will probably improve and my budget certainly will. And I'm enjoying the birth of this new tea ritual, which itself is full of rich potential. There is so much in tea. So much history. So many tangents. I could pick a culture -- Turkey, India, Japan, Persia -- and explore the life of tea in it. One culture at a time. Slow little journeys through the east, coming home again, the land and the dishes and the mannerisms and the importance of community, which is the other thing that makes me sad about the House Help and the coffee shop. Those were parts of the fabric of this community I've grown fond of. The motions and sounds of connection, little waves, touches and brushes on my quiet little shore line.

Nornan Mailer's Mother Wouldn't Hear A Bad Word Said

Regarding persons criticizing one's children. I recall an interview with, I think, Normal Mailer in which he said that his mother, like any mother, would always defend him. I paraphrase: "If someone ran up to her screaming that I'd just opened fire on a crowd of people in a shopping mall, she would probably say something like, Well, somebody probably made him mad."

Teenagers are a special breed. I used to pride myself on being able to turn touchy situations with teenagers along totally around by simply taking them seriously as human beings and not judging them. They would appreciate this so much! It could really save the day for the parents on a trip or at a meal, whatever.

I think part of what sent me to that response was the memory of my uncle at a Sunday lunch when I, as a teen, was just cranky and so appalled that I had to sit at the table and listen to all the stupid things my family had to say. I was getting dirty looks from everyone, when my uncle leaned over and said, "You want to get out of here and get some ice cream? Let's take a ride in the Yellow Submarine."

The Yellow Submarine was his beat up Porche, yellow of course, and it was very fun to ride in. Mostly, though, I was so touched at not being judged, so amazed and thrilled and grateful that someone had, even for a moment, understood my pain, that, really, I think it opened a door in my heart that has never closed. I have great sympathy for the pain of the teen, and my uncle showed me a way to ease life up for a teenager, for a moment, here and there.

I don't get the opportunity that much any more. One's own children don't buy it; through that phase of life they need to push against us, and their friends are usually pretty darn well behaved around me. But sometimes all it takes when I see one of them struggling is a question and a look and a smile. Something that tells them they are not being judged, that they are still lovable people.

Teenagers are not adults. While bad behavior shouldn't be indulged, of course, annoying teenage angstishness does not need to be pointed out at every turn. It's a useless power struggle, anyway. Lead by example. Have a bit of compassion. It's the only thing that works, anyway.

Finally, Healed.

Yes, it's taken all this time to get the burn wounds healed. Last week, due to the un-unconfinable-in-public nature of two remaining wounds, I was forced on doctor's orders to stay in my house with my, um, bosom exposed to the air. I'll spare you the icky details.

All in all I really have to say that even though I thought I was rather stoic through the whole thing and soldiered on darn well, in truth it was pretty traumatic, all told. The sight of all that bleeding and the not-healing wounds and, yuck, it was just all really yucky and horribly, horribly painful. Plus, I received scant sympathy, save from Metal Ox, who was the most patient and let me tell him those icky details nearly every day -- go figure. And Miss R brought me aloe plants from her house in a lovely pot (Thank you, Miss R!) and tried to get me the book club book for while I was confined. And Scorpie I came over a couple of times and was really sweet and helpful. Once he even did the dishes without me even asking! Wow. And SII was kind and visited, as well, and fetched some organic bottled aloe from C'dale. And the Princess was gracious about missing Elizabeth: The Golden Age, which we were slated to see the very day I did the deed. But the main point is that I don't think I whined or felt sorry for myself hardly at all, and you know what a baby I am when I'm sick. But I got the first throughthemail Get Well Card I've gotten since, I don't know? since I had my tonsils out in 5th grade? Thank you, STLST!

I think I've finally come to a place where i don't really expect someone to leap through the door with a hot toddy and lovely soup every time I don't feel good. Which is progress. I'm sure if I were really practically dying or something someone would show up. But the point is that these days instead of thinking Why isn't so-and-so coming over to help me? I think Now how in the hell am I going to get X and Y done when I can't even put on a shirt? And that is progress. And I'm happy for it. Anyhow, extended visitations were impractical in this instance, given the bosom exposure mandate and all. Of course this is all tied in with being single. Wishing for the gentle, nurturing, manly mate. And acceptance of the beauty of life as it is.

The Dalai Lama was wonderful, of course. But the two redheads do not get along, and they both made their grievances quite clear, such expression first manifesting from the peer-aged redhead. Of course I love the peer-aged redhead, but when push comes to shove I will always adore and protect my lovely daughter. This is the nature of motherness. And frankly, for her 17-year-old self, I thought she was fine, especially considering riding in the back seat for four hours up and four hours back, with not even her own music to listen to and all. Still, I tried to be neutral and not participate in their little girly sniping. Ironic that they chose to be so judgmental of one another on the Dalai Lama trip. Compassion, anyone?

Work is crazy. I wish for a job offer else where. Preferably for more money.

Don't Cook Naked!

At least not when hot oil is necessary. I ended up in the emergency room this morning after carelessly tossing a hamburger into smoking oil as I, still half asleep and dreaming of our upcoming trip to see the Dalai Lama, was trying to make lunch for work. Splattered super-hot oil all over my torso and the tops of my thighs. I ran to bathroom, turned the shower on cold, and let it run over me for five minutes. Then a dousing with aloe, then another five minutes with ice cubes wrapped in a cloth.

Then is a daze I got dressed in a little black dress I usually reserve for evening, but I needed something really lose and there it was, and went to work, worrying that I would miss the 8:30 meeting I’d called. Before presenting my material I told my boss and coworker what had happened, explaining that I may be a little less coherent than usual because I was in some degree of pain, and requesting that they tell only their wives and not spread the image of my frying hamburgers naked and half awake first thing in the morning all over work(!), when my boss responded by telling me to get my ass to the emergency room and that we could deal with the meeting issues afterward. Thanks, boss. I do appreciate that.

So, a few laughs from the emergency room staff later, I’ve got some red hot welts but luckily the burns are only 1st degree. Tetanus shot, codeine, aloe, fish and chips at the Tap Room and back at work.

Honestly, as I was jumping around the house cursing and crying, thoughts of His Holiness kept popping into my head, and I would calm down a bit, imagining how he might be equipped with a mantra or two that would help with the pain. Funny.

So really, I’m serious. There is a reason why one should not fry food in the nude.
Only I could have a moment that blond. Only I.

My Dreams Are Trying to Help me

Thanks to The Princess for this:

Kali says, "Men of Earth, sexual responsibility is yours too. This sense you have that women are sex, are responsible for your sexual urges and choices, is wrong, deadly, stupid, childish, and simply not up the par of any real or serious masculinity. I will crush you like bugs."

The thing is, the dreams keep putting it pretty clearly. He is either not answering the phone, or he’s telling me straight out, “I can’t help you.” Or, he’s off, all dressed up, and won't tell me where he's going.

I've been having these dreams since I first got to know Metal Ox. Almost six years ago. In one early one, he was an astronaut on the space shuttle. All the astronauts' partners were calling them to say hi to them in orbit, and it was on TV, like it used to be during the Apollo program. But he wouldn't answer my call. I kept calling and calling, and he kept ignoring me. We could see him doing it on the TV! Finally, he answered. Told me he was busy, hung up. This is the pattern of the dreams. They follow life. But I stick around, off and on. Friend or lover. What am I hoping for? That he'll learn what he was never taught?

So the dream I had on Sunday night after I called him and asked his help exploring the possibilities of paying his mother a visit on my way home from Michigan, the dream in which there was a gang rape in progress, on me, and led by his brothers and buddies (though I doubt there is little to the presence of his brothers in a way that’s personal to them – it has more to do with MO's failure to stand by me with his siblings, and their way of ganging up on “outsiders”), and when I pleaded to him for help he said, turning his head away from me, “I can’t help you,” right there, in the dream – it was clear that his concern was that he look tough, look like he’s one with the men who are doing something manly, that he was not "pussy whipped" -- standing up for me would demean his standing with his brothers and buddies. “You’ll be alright,” he says, “There’s a long tradition of this.” (This "tradition" thing sounds close to arguments for stripping and prostitution, that they've always existed and so will always exist and ending them is just a silly endeavor; this is logical fallacy, of course -- that something has always existed is not a valid argument for the impossibility of ending its existence.)

Now, having this dream at Joyce and Tony’s had a particular effect. I know, from years of being near them, that while theirs is not a perfect relationship (since such does not exist), it is one I would be more than pleased to have. Largely, this is directly due to their integrity as individual human beings. For whatever reason, I have not been exposed to copious amounts of integrity in men. Nor politeness. And politeness, to one’s partner in particular (for many people seem to overlook the role of good manners in a successful relationship of that sort), is, it becomes more and more clear as I mature, critical to harmony in the home. If you will.

Good manners. Taking responsibility not only for one’s own actions but also for one’s own thoughts, for Christ’s sake. Seriously. The way I see Tony, he has accepted the necessity of controlling his own mind. Joyce and I talked about this, referring to ourselves. Then he and I talked about it a bit. If this sounds like repression, it’s not. It’s integrity. Yoga and other forms of meditation teach it – part of these practices is keeping the mind focused and clean. The man who was just arrested for trying to make arrangements to have sex with a five year old? He had clearly allowed his thoughts to follow a train they should not have. At any point, he had the choice to stop, move his thoughts in another direction. In my view, people like Metal Ox who have a porn habit and all the other roads that leads to (while denying to themselves the harm that comes from it, on a jillion levels) are displaying a weakness of mind and a lack of integrity, and the two operate hand in hand. Strength of mind that leads to integrity need not be repressive; one needs, though, to be intelligent enough to understand oneself in the context of all the aspects of one’s environment. Refusal to consider one's role in the functioning of that environment is a kind of denial that makes self-regulation seem like repression. In the end it's an adolescent mind set: "I'm a free person so no one call tell me what to do!" and is unproductive. The mature, intellegent mind/personality can see and accept the consequences of its words and actions and it has accepted its own investment in helping to create a harmonious environment, and environment of trust, in order to benefit itself and its co-inhabitants.

Or, maybe it will work is one is just innocent and protected enough, but dumb. Most dumb people, though, aren't innocent. Not any more.

The way I see it, Metal Ox. having not accepted any responsibility for his integrity and its impact on his relationships, is allowing himself to follow unworthy thoughts. And he has never been taught the role of manners in relationship. These two factor together, though i thought at first they wouldn't do so, are depleting even my wish to be his buddy. It’s just tiring. There’s never a time when I can count on him not to get rude and selfish (much less seedy and gross – but the idea was I’d leave behind caring about that when I left behind being his “girlfriend”) at really bizarre moments. You would think that, even if he didn’t care about helping me out, he would have wanted to facilitate helping his mom. And it’s not that he doesn’t want me to visit her. He’s always suggesting I call her, or asking me to go with him to see here. It’s not that. It’s carelessness. It’s lack of Home Raising. It’s mind caught on tracks that require secrecy and selfishness.

So maybe it does matter to me that Metal ox, “as a friend,” is a porn and strip club frequenter. Maybe it’s just an iciness I don’t want to have to tolerate. And maybe I do think that there’s addiction there, and that addiction feeds his insulation against really sharing his life. And that growing up watching people treat one another with rudeness and disregard, and having never questioned that, he is continuing it. It sucks that there’s this generous part of him that makes him, for instance, one of the few “friends” who felt it important to remember my birthday. There is the sweet side of him. But isn’t there always?

So, visiting J&T I get the reminder: it’s possible to have a relationship that’s not conflicted issues of basic integrity. There are men who feel, and not because of a religion or a fear of freedom, that responsibility to integrity is indispensable. That there’s no excuse for violating that responsibility. And that, damn it, good manners are important.

I don’t get that close to many other couple’s ways of seeing, behaving. And even outside of coupledom, just visiting them as friends, it’s very comfortable to know that issues of mind and manner are at an agreeable baseline. This reminds me how conflicted I feel on this level when I’m spending any time at all with Metal Ox. Sure, I love him like a brother, and he’s important to me. And sure, he is one of the few people who remembered my birthday and he brought me very sweet and thoughtful gifts. But there’s a price for all of that, and ultimately it’s my peace of mind. For there is always that moment when he turns his head away.

What are the words to this song?

You know, the one about "I met a girl from Kalamazoo...?" In Hannibal a few weeks ago I was talking with this cheese shop guy and he played me the song while I ate his cheese samples. Benny Goodman's band? I can't remember.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. It's pretty nice here. Visiting Joyce and Tony. Meeting some of their friends, had them over for dinner, all English faculty at Western Mich, so of course I was right at home with that. Everyone calls the Upper Pennensula "the UP," which I find funny 'cause it's sounds like some Midwestern version of "the OC."

Went to The Lake (Michigan) last night for sunset picnic -- very scenic. Feels like the ocean. Took the back roads.

There's a big foresty nature preserve a few minutes from J and T's house, getting ready to go explore that. And things are cheap here. Aritsan bakery: Scottish Something bread, tripple espresso, cappiccino, two Danish: $7.25. All excellent quality. Good Lord. I could live like a queen here.

So, adieu momentarly while I return to vacationing, and the long drive home tonight. (Sorry about the typos -- I'm on Joyce's laptop and the keyboard is awkward and I can't get this blogspot spellchecker to work.)

Notes

1. First private cheffing gig. So much fun! Learned so much. So lucky to have been engaged by a kind and gentle client. Couldn't have been more lovely gushing about the food from the guests. I worked about twice as hard as charged for it -- charging money is still hard for me. Something to work on. I worry so much about people's budgets. Not like mine has much wiggle room, so I can't explain why. But at any rate it was a good and happy experience, in spite of the fact that I lost my help at the last minute to SII's sudden pukiness, and my clothes drier broke the night before with all my clothes for the event wet in the washer so I had to spend part of my planned morning prep time in the laundry where the bitchy laundress declined to put a rush on drying them for me so that I could get back to work and go get the baguette and cut the figs even when I offered her a $20 tip to do so. And then I did find a darling friend who was able to give me 2.5 hours of prep help, and thank you dear really it would not have come together on time without you. So: lesson learned: have a back-up plan for help! Time to call the culinary school and ask for a list of willing chefs in training.

2. Must see movie: Trade. An engaging and well-made narrative film about human sex trafficking. Kevin Klein lends his well-trained acting and cache to the project. This film is not for kids, though. It's pretty graphic and grueling. But for those who are only marginally or even completely unaware of this horrendous injustice that's totally rampant in the world right now this is a pretty effective way to get them engaged. Especially since it manages to be uplifting in the end, though I won't say why so as not to spoil. http://www.tradethemovie.com/

3. Alice Waters has a new cookbook. Of course she is the local, simple, sustainable foods pioneer who inspires us all. I just read the introduction to the book and I must say that her words are so close to my feeling about food that I'd love to share them with you all: http://beta.bordersstores.com/online/store/ArticleView_artofsimplefood.

4. I was unaware that I had won a Best Individual Garden Award from Gateway Greening for my little plot in the Lafayette Square Community Garden, back in the earlier summer. I guess I read the email wrong! I am so happy. Inspired by this recognition I've decided to create little micro-worlds within the garden, starting in this fall/winter planting and organization, then hopefully coming to a fuller fruition in the spring. I went in last night and did a lot of pulling up of plants for fall clean-up. But I left the flowered-out basil because My God the bees are just loving it. I was at least three types of bee enjoying the flowers, especially the purple basil's tall blooms, while I was working. There were dozens on them, the bees, and it was really nice to work along side them. I have always found bees to be very friendly and cooperative, you know, as long as one doesn't frighten them or accidentally step on one or something. But who can you not say that of? I planted a sage plant, and two winter savories. I've got the idea to get a good variety of culinary herbs going. The globe basil is perennial and I will definitely leave that in. I also planted some pansies. Little violet colored ones. A little fall color, and if we're lucky they'll peak back out in spring. Oh! And I finally bought a Allium Giganteum! I can't wait for that one to bloom in spring! I've wanted one my whole life. My grandma Nonie grew them. The blooms are as big a softballs (or bigger) and they are just as magical as a moon growing in the garden. I may go down to Bowood and get some more. It's just that they're $5 a bulb, which actually isn't a bad price, but still. And five hyacinth, four white and one purple. I also took all the twiggy bamboo staking materials that had been supposedly supporting the okra, eggplants, and leggy sunflowers and made a couple of mystery-looking spots. And a brass Tibetan Buddha, small, under the skeleton tee-pee, a rock circle, some shells. I am beginning to feel my little garden as a sacred space. Cultivating that has to make for even yummier herbs and vegetables.

So, love and the joys of knowledge, compassion, earth, food, and growing things. Fall. Change. Never to forget change. The only constant.

The Letter Writer Strikes Again

Dear Dr. Bollinger,

I am saddened to see how ungraciously our country was represented by you in your introduction of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Regardless of what one might think of him as a person or a leader, he was, after all, invited by you to speak, was a guest in your "house," and deserved respectful treatment.

My liberal arts education led me to believe that we who hold advanced degrees and live the life of the mind are to represent ourselves and our way of life as rational and more fair than the emotionally driven lives of religion and jingoism. It is a shame that we have been degraded by your behavior. President Ahmadinejad's own words would have done all that was needed to show the world the sort of person he is. It would have been nice if we'd come out looking like the civilized and well mannered ones.

You've added another elemental bit of ammunition to those who desire to disrespect the United States. I wonder what you might do to repair it?

Perhaps you should consult Ms. Manners?

Sincerely,

Margaret Howard

If you'd like to drop him a note, pro or con his manner:

bollinger@columbia.edu

Phone: 212-854-9970

Ko htike's Prosaic Collection

Non-violent resistance is alive in the world. Now that the monks are being jailed (and who knows what) by the military government, though, I pray that the people, who will surely keep protesting, have the strength and presence of mind to continue in a non-violent manner. A modern form of peaceful resistence: information dissemination against the will of an oppressor; getting the truth out at risk of life and limb. Like Ko Htike. Evidence that it matters: the Burmese government just shut down internet access and cell phone communication.

http://ko-htike.blogspot.com/


From CNN:

By Wayne Drash and Phil Black

LONDON, England (CNN) -- Armed with a laptop, a blogger named Ko Htike has thrust himself into the middle of the violent crackdown against monks and other peaceful demonstrators in his homeland of Myanmar.

Ko Htike runs his Myanmar blog out of his London apartment and says he's trying to stop the violence.

From more than 5,500 miles away, he's one of the few people getting much needed information out to the world.

He runs the blog out of his London apartment, waking up at 3 a.m. every day to review the latest digitally smuggled photos, video and information that's sent in to him.

With few Western journalists allowed in Htike's blog is one of the main information outlets. He said he has as many as 40 people in Myanmar sending him photos or calling him with information. They often take the photos from windows from their homes, he said.

Myanmar's military junta has forbidden such images, and anyone who sends them is risking their lives.

"If they get caught, you will never know their future. Maybe just disappear or maybe life in prison or maybe dead," he told CNN.

Why would they take such risks?

"They thought that this is their duty for the country," he said. "That's why they are doing it. It's like a mission."

Htike, a 28-year-old who left Myanmar seven years ago to study in England, said about 20,000 people visit the site every day.

On Thursday, as soldiers reportedly fired into crowds and beat Buddhist monks in the nation's largest city of Yangon, Htike's site posted photographs of the violence and some messages from the region. One sent at 1500 local time said, "Right now they're using fire engines and hitting people and dragging them onto E2000 trucks and most of them are girls and people are shouting.

Hillary Tasering Too, Sort of

She's trying to taser the Bill of Rights, anyway. No pun intended.

I just sent this letter to her campaign:

Dear. Ms. Clinton,

Is it true that you are setting up "Free Speech Zones" at your speeches and rallies and/or screening for "dissidents" at these events? I saw a member of Code Pink on cable news this week who made this claim. Wow.

I have to say: If this is true, if you are following the Bush administration's template of suppressing free speech and assembly, if you are doing anything other than working hard to reverse the damage to civil rights and democratic discourse the Republicans have done, then you can count me out of ever voting for you under any circumstances. As a matter of fact, if I don't see you openly addressing this issue immediately and reversing your policies in this matter I hereby commit to do all my campaigning against you, henceforth.

My family has been staunchly Democratic since the party has existed. Even though a woman President in my lifetime would make me very happy, and I have been leaning toward voting for you in the primary until now, I will not let you ruin my party or codify the ruin of my country that Bush & Co. have undertaken! We need someone who can lead this country back to its core ideals, and those are based on the Bill of Rights and the Constitution, for God's sake!

Then I sent this to the Obama campaign:

I just sent Hillary Clinton the underlying [it's overlying for you, dear blog reader] letter. I am wondering how your campaign is handling this issue.

Travelogue Tazered!

On my lunch break today i had really hoped to write about my solo trip north to Hannibal, the day spent on my boss's land, my re-found joy of travelling alone, the crazy so-called B&B I stayed in, my drive down Highway 79, along the Mississippi. Not to mention the birthday present my brother gave me: Green seats to last Saturday's day game against the Cubs! But alas, looking around on CNN I see this video:

Student Tasered at campus forum for Kerry
http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/09/18/student.tasered.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview#cnnSTCVideo

Tazers should be outlawed. They are being used in situations, too often, where there is clearly no danger to anyone. There are being used, as in the above example, just to shut people up.

John Kerry, what are you going to do about this? Why didn't run you rush into the audience and free this guy? Are you going to get behind him, now?

And besides, I am so busy at work that there's no time, even at lunch, to really write the way I want to.

More Gibson, More Food

Wow. Busy week at work, little time to post.

So much going on this weekend. This- and That-Fests all over the city. Fab! Near my house: Taste of Lafayette Square, of course, from noon to 8PM on Saturday. Free concert in the park, samples for our wonderful restaurants. You simply have to come. Call me. We'll go.

Over in Benton Park, just around the corner, Schaffly will be sharing free samples of it's fall microbrews at Blues City Deli: www.bluescitydeli.com.

St. Louis Art Fair is happening over in Clayton: http://www.saintlouisartfair.com/.

And that's not all. There's no excuse for being bored around here, no there's not.

What other news? Cards are one game back. Cubs in the lead. My brother has given me green seat tickets for my birthday(!) for the Cards/Cubs game on the 15th! Ya, those are the seats where you get all your eats and drinks for free from real waiters, not to mention the behind the scenes buffet, and the fact that their right behind home plate. Ya, hate me. Go ahead. I can't wait! Nice brother. Or: nice, brother.

Finished reading my second William Gibson novel on two weeks. He's brought me back to my love of reading, after some disgruntled months coming in and out of boring books. Spook Country. Not quite the perfect thrill ride of Pattern Recognition, but lots of total fun as well as a pretty cool take on the current administration's ridiculous, wasteful, ugly, dangerous, and just plain stupid handling of intelligence, money, the Constitution, and "war" prisoners post 9-11. As seen through the eyes of artists and, well, Spooks, otherwise known as spies. With another fun woman primary protagonist.

Cayce in Pattern Recognition, that novels female lead, so much reminded me of me that I wish everyone who knows me would read it in order to know me better. I know, that's narcissistic. Also partly tongue-in-cheek. But really. Hollis, in Spook Country, doesn't so much remind me of me, and further more is a less well developed character all around. There are certain inconsistencies in her intelligence, for instance. She does a stroke of genius figuring out the nature of the VR box floating in the air above her head where a virtual giant squid covered in gorgeous and disturbing imagery in supposed to be, but she proves incredibly dense are other moments about things that would seem pretty darn easy to decipher. Or even to notice. Or suspect. I suspended my disbelief, however, because riding with her and the other characters was so much fun.

I do find it interesting that Gibson so often sets up a guy with a receding hairline as the most "attractive" male character to the female protagonist. Have you seen Gibson's photo lately? Funny. He has to know this is completely transparent.

Happy to have been invited to join a neighborhood book club. The monthly meetings include food made more or less to "match" the book. I love this neighborhood. Any excuse to make good food is immediately pounced upon! So, this weekend off to get Amy Tan's Saving Fish from Drowning.

Come on by this weekend, K?

TI's Firday

And it's a good thing. Work this week required rather a bit of brainpower. A long project that is stimulating to the sleuth in me but would likely be intensely boring in description so I won't subject you to that. Let's just say: minutia. Minutia, airplanes, parts fitting together properly.

And so now I can barely spell, and will not take long here.

As a matter of fact I had something to say but it's left me. Check the baseball standings. Be friendly to your neighbors. Have a good holiday.

M

P.S. OK, just remembered. The souffle poll. Having had three brave souls vote (thanks for visiting -- I love you), 'tis perhaps not a representative sample. Still: 66% for chocolate; 33% for lemon.

More St. Louis TV Fame

So, Alton Brown, on his road show "Feasting on Asphalt," ate at Fast Eddies and Pie Town Stomping Grounds in Alton (with a whole fun goofy thing about the pronunciation differences), and then went on a donut tour of the 'Lou. Cool. Pie Town, not everyone knows about it I'm guessing, is in a tucked-away part of Alton near to where I lived in Bethalto. I went there rather a lot, only place within five miles making espresso. Two observations from Mr. Brown: Fast Eddies makes the only chicken wings worth eating he's ever had (that's the Chick on a Stick, BTW), and Pie Town the only pecan pie north of the Mason-Dixon line he's ever had that stands up to scrutiny. As to the donuts, that was very fun. I've looked for a list of the ones he visited but no luck so far. Definitely he went to World's Fair and Drive-In Donuts.

We Have Taste!

Let it be known that of the five eateries chosen by Bon Appetit magazine to best represent the five iconic American foods, -- pizza, ribs, steak, hamburgers, and tacos -- yours truly has eaten at two of them. Woo-hoo. 17th Street Bar and Grill in Murphysborough, Illinois won the amazing honor of best ribs in the whole freaking U.S., M'bo being, of course, right next door to my second-home-town of Carbondale, where I lived for 17 years. Yes, we are there all the time.

Best pizza went to Pizzeria Bianco in Phoenix, where of course Metal Ox and I vacationed last summer. Thank goodness for my persistent insistence that we eat there. It was truly wonderful in every way, even though they don't take reservations. They were quite kind even considering his obvious annoyance at having to wait in a separate building while I drank a glass of wine (which was fine by me) and then as we sat at the bar and watched Bianco himself craft the fabulous pizzas as we ate our own. It was, I admit, one of those times that one might have wished to be with someone who might get some enjoyment out of lingering and sampling, which MO is not into, his sensual abilities and senses being quite underdeveloped, poor thing, and him unwilling to be tutored... but I digress. I'm just glad I got to try this food-fired deliciousness.

For some reason Bon Appetit is not showing this "contest" prominently on it's web site, so I'm linking to Serious Eats in case you want to take a look.

Scorpio II is thrilled by the 17th Street development, as she has been on a quest to find the best ribs in the STL area since she's quit the vegetarian limitation. Bon appetit, Miss Girl!

Red Herrings, Dogs

I'm going to try to say this with brevity.

Regarding the Michael Vick thing. I saw some guy on FOX news the other night saying that he thought hunting was even worse than what Vick et al allegedly did to the dogs, and that therefore we should not get so excited about dog fighting in general, and we should lay off Vick specifically.

Two things: Numero Uno: Ethical evolution has to start somewhere. If we continually assert that one action is "not as bad as" or even "just like" some other action, we get no where in our development as human beings. What we should do is look closely at the action we're disturbed by, ask ourselves if it is related to another action, find the points of relationship that are relevant, look closely at those, and from that investigation consider plans of remedy. To suppress our revulsion or whatever for the initial action seems to me some species of denial, and unhealthy. Shading this FOX guy's reasoning, of course, is the logical fallacy it develops from, the old red herring that two wrongs make a right, and it amazes me that there are still people using this argument.

Numero Dos: To address the hunting issue briefly, I would only say that in my view there is humane hunting and inhumane hunting, just as there is humane animal farming and inhumane animal farming. I mean really, there is a quick death with respect for the animal, and then there is torture. Torture is always inhumane. Yes, perhaps never killing any creature is more humane, period, but the truth is we're not there yet, and it may be anyway that some of us have the physiological need to eat animals, 'cause, hey, that's how we evolved. But, is it possible that our collective ethical understanding might be at the point at which we're getting tired of torturing animals for our own convenience and entertainment? Maybe! More people are buying humanely raised and killed meat. And maybe this huge reaction to Vick's torture for entertainment of dogs is part of that consciousness raising.

And no, I can't see that this is happening because Vick is black. That argument just seems silly to me. As silly as the same argument was when it got tooted all loudly in the O.J. trial days. I, personally, am really tired of seeing awful people treated like heroes, and football seems to be a really active sphere for that sort of thing. Personally I hope Vick never plays ball again.

Soufflé, Faire des Progrès

Finally, progress on the soufflé front. Last night, soufflé class at the Viking Cooking School. What fun! Five participants, two men, two other women, me. Two chefs -- both kind of cute, by the way, which doesn’t hurt the experience at all. This class is part of their “Cooking without a Book” series,

But here’s the real goods: I asked head chef about the problem of my soufflés rising only in the center (see the photo below, left) and he had the solution instantly: I wasn’t giving the mixture adequate foothold to climb the sides of the dish!

I watched him as he buttered each dish (he used individual ramekins), then coated each in either sugar, cocoa, or bread crumbs (depending on the recipe), paying close attention to the coating of the dish sides. This addition of texture is the scaffolding that the soufflé climbs as it rises. Voilà.

You see, I have so far tried making only one kind of soufflé, a cheese, from, if you’ve forgotten, Julia Child’s basic recipe in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. She does say to coat the sides of the dish in butter, then parmesan cheese, yes. But she gives no explanation beyond that. Really, I thought this cheese coating analogous to adding flour to a cake pan’s coating, and I didn’t really pay that much attention to it. Also, I used parmesan I grated myself, and so it may have been moister and less fine a crumb, if you will, than it would have been if I’d bought it already grated.

Another tip: wipe the edge of the dish clean of butter/crumb/whatever, so that it doesn’t climb that last ¼ inch or so. This will help it not overflow the dish.

And so. That information alone was worth the price of admission. Never mind that we had three soufflés to devour: Grand Marnier, Cheese and Spinach, and Chocolate, with accompanying sauces, a lovely appetizer of parmesan and artichoke (way better than the usual artichoke concoctions I’ve previously had thrust upon me), and all the wine, basically, one could drink, which in my case was three glasses. All of this while drinking good wine, seated comfortably in a big kitchen, watching pleasant looking men prepare delicious food in an instructive manner. Gee, if I can do this regularly maybe I don’t need to find a husband after all, since such a scene is indeed part of my dream of the perfect relationship. Of course, I don’t get to kiss the chef-instructors after they feed me. A considerable down side. A man who can cook for me then kiss me? Me want. Que sera.

So I’m hoping to go to their pastry class, part of the Without a Book series, for I can use a little help with my crust confidence level, and this one is all about crust.

Maybe you want to take a class, too? Maybe we can go together? Here’s the url – scroll down for the schedule: http://www.vikingcookingschool.com/hc-cgi-bin/hc?templ=new_vcs/calendar.html&store=37.

Apophenia

"Apophenia is the spontaneous perception of connections and meaningfulness of unrelated phenomena. The term was coined by K. Conrad in 1958 (Brugger)." -- The Skeptics Dictionary

Spontaneous. As opposed to looking for. Ran across apophenia over the weekend in William Gibson's Pattern Recognition. Googled it, found that many sources, probably including (though I'm not sure yet) he who coined it (Conrad), really mean it -- the "ia" part -- as an illness, as in the "ia" in "paranoia," where of course "ia" is the Greek meaning state or condition, and a condition is a bad thing to have, a state, a bad place to be, in current usage, I suppose. But don't get all in state about it.

Which is all, of course, perception (back to the definition). The word perception, recent-modernly, has come to facilitate the put-down. As in, "Well, that's your perception." This being a corruption of the use meant for it when psychotherapy introduced it to us as a way to acknowledge one another's moments in the world without giving up our own ("I hear that you perceive me to be saying that I dislike you, but in fact I am trying to say that I dislike the toothpaste you leave on my blow dryer every morning.") but has been corrupted into a sly responsibility deflector ("You may think that I am yelling at you, but that's just your perception" -- said in a very loud voice; or gaslighter ("I didn't wink at that woman. You perceived that I winked" or "Footsteps upstairs? There are no footsteps. That's only one of your perceptions"), so that "perception" begins to mean "crazy," rather than "the act or faculty of apprehending by means of the senses or of the mind."

Online Etymology Dictionary - Cite This Source perception 1483, "receiving, collection," from L. perceptionem (nom. perceptio) "perception, apprehension, a taking," from percipere "perceive" (see perceive). First used in the more literal sense of the L. word; in secondary sense, "the taking cognizance of," it is recorded in Eng. from 1611.

In this manner the word "perception" itself has been corrupted. One could interpret the Skeptics definition above through that lens, and thereby grok the connection between Conrad's concept and assholes using the psychological meaning to deflect one's attention from their assholedness or lying.

I like these two definitions of "perception" from dictionary.com:

1. the act or faculty of apprehending by means of the senses or of the mind; cognition; understanding.

2. immediate or intuitive recognition or appreciation, as of moral, psychological, or aesthetic qualities; insight; intuition; discernment: an artist of rare perception.

Now, noting the introduction of "intuitive" into the mix, we move to the obvious "feminine" flavor of this apothenia idea. From there it's not hard to see how the concept is undermined. But I like Gibson's character Cayce (pronounced Case; a woman), for her job is apothenia. She is hired by branders to intuit "cool" -- to see emerging patterns of commodifiable, well, whatever. Fashion, music, habit. Even deeper than that, Cayce can "sense" whether or not a logo is going to make it for a company simply by gaging her body's reaction to it. One could argue that this is a form of apothenia,even though the logo response is not to a currently available, concrete pattern, but rather to the potential pattern (that would emerge if the logo were dissemenated), or to a pattern underlying a current but sub-whatever (liminal, terranean) pattern of connections (since in some theory all potentials are current). Perhaps a sensing of connections that could lead to a discernible pattern (even if that pattern is discernible only to the apothenetic -- apotheniod?). Which plays pretty naturally into themes or questions of Time, which are there, too. As in the discussion of the possibility of changing the past. All of this is pretty spot-on to some New Physics stuff, of course, and why we love Gibson even beyond his ability to, as the Princess said on Friday, "grab you around the throat" with his story telling.

He really does write women well. I am going to be thinking a bit about this. Maybe get back to you on it.

Maybe this writing women so well is partly due to, as with Cayce, his willingness to let them have their femininity in the way it is real -- as in making spontaneous connections and drawing meaning from seemingly (under the patriarchal, linear model) unrelated phenomena. This, rather than expressing themselves through the questing after A Man or A Child or A Toilet To Scrub or, as is the current fashion in how women are perceived in the world, Someone To Screw. Yes, believe it or not, there is more than one way for women to push against what's expected of us. Not surprising that, in a world still fashioned more than not by The Patriarchy that we'd be manipulated into believing our best defense against oppression is to engage in sex with as many men as possible, or take our shirts off in crowds as often as possible. Gee, I wonder who would have thought that up? And besides that, it has now become so commonplace, this perception of women as collectively embracing our inner sluts and therefor quite ready all the time for sex, if the man is just attractive... I mean hot enough, that it's just boring already. And yet another way to remove from us -- just as effectively as putting us in the kitchen permanently (and I don't mean the professional kitchen) -- our three-dimensionality. Another boring expectation based on stereotype, just like becoming a housewife was expected and boring and repressive when I was growing up. Fogetaboudit. Anyhow, in a word, Cayce is neither hyper- nor a- sexual. Neither a ballbuster nor a pushover. Neither obsessed with her looks nor unaware of them. Neither kittenish nor manlike. Imagine. She just is. And for that alone, WB, I salute you. Never mind the rest of your genius, which I'd all but forgotten the specific channels/nodes/depths of, given I hadn't really read you since grad school.

Maybe there are manners of liberation that would benefit us a bit more than being hypersexual, which is just another way to be on call for men, not really all that different in the end than being on call to make coffee or iron the clothes or whatever (well, except that sex is a lot more invasive and risky than making coffee)? Ya think? Maybe a way, like, say, honing our faculties to make discrete connections between seemingly unrelated objects/events/memes and to intuit our environment's trends, fault lines, directions; use that together with some logic and thereby get an edge on, well, everything, but in such a way that we could actually, like, maybe improve things rather than dismantling and dissolving them?

Think about this: to discern patterns is a priori to put things together.

Hmm, I wonder who might be threatened by that?

___________________________________________________________

Here's an interesting woman who has taken the word for her scholarly/professional use:
http://www.apophenia.com/.

FCC Kindly Clarifies

No, not the Federal Communications Commission (don't we wish they'd be more clear, and fair, and less inclined to OK monopolies, etc.). Instead I mean my friend as referenced in yesterday's post. Here are the other rolls we had at Wasabi, and their contents, from her own keyboard: "Jeff's Roll" (white tuna, seared tuna, black tobiko, sesame oil, cucumber, avocado, and soybean paper), "Shogun Roll" (Deep fried lobster salad, tobiko, asparagus, cucumber and avocado. Served with sweet wasabi soy broth), & I think the "Rasta Roll" which had tuna (and maybe crab) with mango and jalapeño."

The Princess is working on this side of the river today and tomorrow and is going to sleep over, thus saving herself the drive home and back again. Nice. Company. Nice company. Perhaps I'll make a quiche. I can stop by the garden and see if I've got any tomatoes to toss in it. God knows I've got the basil.

For my mom's birthday tomorrow I'm going to put together her all-time favorite Lemonade Cake. I've not made it before, but my god it looks so simple. I think, were it up to me, I would make it in a cookie sheet rather than a 9 by 12 pan. I haven't had it in a while, but it seems to me the sort of thing that would benefit from thinness. I'll try that another time, when not making it for mom. She won't be pleased if it's not as she expects it. Anyway, basically it's just a yellow cake with frozen lemonade added in place of some of the liquid, then glazed with a frozen lemonade and confectioner's sugar glaze. How hard can that be? I got her An Inconvenent Truth, to go with the DVD player Gemini got her for Mother's Day. She earlier expressed an interest. Also, another NYT crossword puzzle book. Had to resist getting her novels. In the past five years I think I've given her at least 30. Happy Birthday, Momsey.

Wasabi or I Love Mr. Sushi? Guess Who Wins.

Scorpio II was skeptical. "How can you beat a sushi chef who sings Sinatra?" she implored, as I quickly agreed with, "And a catepillar roll that looks just like a catepillar?" But then, I added, everyone just keeps raving about Wasabi! She and I and her older brother have been going to I Love Mr. Sushi forever. Always perfect. Mr. Sushi is perfect. The catepillar roll has actual antenna, you see. Sprouts. Eyes of salmon roe. Lots of yummy acodaco "skin." An elegant curve to its body. Anyway....

Everyone I know has told me that Wasabi, the Washington Street sushi place, is just devine and the very very best and has no local competitor and so I have been trying to get there for, like, two years and for some reason have been stopped short by karmic impulse every time. So when Former Colleague Cook asked me to lunch the other day I suggested we meet at Wasabi.

We had the catepiller and three other rolls -- one with a seared tuna and something quite hot, one with some mango, and something with a flesh-colored skin that in texture was most like nori. Sorry, FCC was telling a pretty interesting story and it didn't even enter my mind to write these down.

They were good. But not divine. Given, I have not had anything there yet that would highlight the possible perfect freshness of the fish, and I do intend to. But as for these rolls, they were very heavy on the rice, to such a point that I felt way too carbed out at the end of the meal. There was plenty of opportunity to lead the rolls in directions other than major rice-edness, and those opportunities were lost. The rice itself was really pedestrian. A little too dry and seperate from itself, bouncing around my mouth and getting in the way of the fish and the fruit and the yummy roe. It didn't even have the kind of delicate sweetness that perfectly prepared sushi rice should have. Even that I've made at home has been more flavorful. So, what's up with that? And the atmosphere is nice enough, but again, not divine.

As to my old favorite, I Love Mr. Sushi, way out on the presently inaccessible gallactic beltway of Olive, between 270 and 170 (9443 Olive Blvd.) the rice is great, the atmosphere sweet but cramped, and everything I've had on the menu the best in town. In the pinches between I'll keep going to Sekisui (3024 S. Grand), which is close to my house, and usually has the ballgame on.

Baseball, by the way, is a lot of fun watched in a sushi bar. The chef at Sekisui is pretty into it. Does anyone know if there's a really into baseball sushi bar in town? As with a scoreboard over the bar and that, like in Bourdain's show when he goes to Tokyo and gets with the Tigers fans at the Tigers sushi bar?

Dick Cheney? I Never Said He Was Stupid.

Pretty sure the word was "liar." So here he is, telling the truth about Iraq, though way back in 1994. Check it out.

And in Our "Christian Country" the Judgement Increases

Two really gross pieces of news:

1. Vet's Funeral Canceled Because He Was Gay
Church Says Homosexuality A Sin
http://www.local6.com/news/13880376/detail.html

and

2. AT&T censors Pearl Jam, then says oops
Band says lines cut include ‘George Bush find yourself another home’
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20201788/

On (1): Pretty sure Mr. Jesus wouldn't be behind it. He didn't hang out with tax collectors and prostitutes for nothing, man. There was a point to all that. WRITE THIS CHURCH and TELL THEM HOW YOU FEEL: http://www.churchunusual.com/address.html

On (2): If I'm not happy with how this all turns out, Pa Bell, I will drop my contract with you as soon as it runs out (what a crock, anyway, these contracts!). WRITE AT&T and TELL THEM HOW YOU FEEL: http://www.corp.att.com/contact/forms/inquiries.html

Thanks Again, Flannery

Here's a paradox:

1. Karl Rove has resigned. That's good. He is an incorrigible liar and relentless imperialist.

2. On Sunday, Jeanette, in her sermon, quoted Flannery O'Connor as saying, "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you odd." Karl is odd. But it's not the truth that makes him so. Because he's a liar. But wait. Maybe it is the truth that makes him odd, but in a way different from what O'Connor meant. You know that spooky feeling one gets around a person who is into not telling the truth, like, as a manner of living? In that way, the truth is making that person odd because it's hidden, and so there's this icky opaque veneer over everything? Do you feel me? Others are odd, though, because the things they say don't sound like what most people are used to hearing (i.e., The Usual Propaganda). I think that's more like what O'Connor meant. Yes? Anyway, me loves it and is putting it on me email signature.

The heat is relentless, too. I had a second heat-related illness episode, and I think that unless I can manage to get this thing behind me my future fighting crime on tropical islands is limited. Which sucks. I'm serious. But one worries about all the old people and all the homeless people and the world just getting hotter and hotter. One tries not to be sad about it all, but alas.

Thank God for the bits of love and happiness that come one's way. The bits and the showers. The luckiness. The droppings off of juice and cookies; the invitations to sudden salmon and steak. The unexpected kirs royale (like courts martial?). Did you know that in Monaco all subjects are given a residence from His Highness? Next life, may I please be born a subject of His Serene Highness Prince Albert Alexandre Louis Pierre, Prince of Monaco, Marquis of Baux? Do you know how really pretty it is there? You see, this is what confuses me: Those who would damage the earth, can they not see all its beauty? Do they not know that without beauty there is no life? I just don't get it.