Sunday, May 09, 2010

SOCIAL NETWORKING: A 100-WORD STORY

Brian was one of those people who sit at stoplights picking their noses, not caring whether they have an audience. And right now he was in full-on Booger-Hunt Mode, index finger crammed into his right nostril to the second knuckle.

Success! He carefully extracted the glistening prize, pausing a moment to examine it.

Now, a decision. Roll it between his fingertips, forming a flickable pellet, or wipe it on the floormat?

Neither. He carefully applied it to the window. Within moments, his friends all knew of his achievement, thanks to the newest, most revolting social networking site of all...

Paste-Boog.

Saturday, May 08, 2010

CARVING HIS PLACE IN HISTORY

As I was preparing dinner Friday afternoon, I thought of George Washington Carver.

Carver, you may recall, was a brilliant scientist with humble beginnings. Born into slavery in Missouri in 1864, he obtained a college education despite the prodigious roadblocks African-Americans faced in the Reconstruction era South. Carver found his intellectual home when, in the closing years of the nineteenth century, he received an invitation to join the faculty of Tuskeegee Normal and Industrial Institute from its founder, Booker T. Washington. Signing on as head of the Agriculture Department, he would remain at Tuskeegee for for the rest of his life, an achievement-packed career lasting 47 years.

An accomplished agronomist, Carver created over 200 recipes using peanuts. While some 105 of these were for various foodstuffs, the rest were for non-food applications such as cosmetics, coatings, plastics, fuels, and even explosives. Yes, if you wanted to make a bomb from commonly available agricultural materials, George Washington Carver could show you how to make nitroglycerin out of peanuts.

But it was when Carver turned his attention to the sweet potato that he really came into his own.

Ipomoea batatas - the humble sweet potato - grew profusely in the South, but for years had been considered a weed, its warty orange-fleshed tubers a “clownish lampoon of a proper potato,” according to Mark Twain. Carver, however, saw a cornucopia of commercial possibilities in the garish vegetable. In his nearly five decades at Tuskeegee, he developed 117,432 different products - dyestuffs, explosives, fertilizers, medications, preservatives, construction materials, hair replacements, medical prosthetics, and many, many more - all from the sweet potato. The ocarina, a musical instrument that vaguely resembles a sweet potato (and which is in fact commonly referred to as such) experienced a nationwide surge in popularity thanks to Carver’s having played it in the Tuskeegee All-Star Jug Band. In 1940, shortly after Einstein sent his famous letter to President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Carver was the first to see the potential of the sweet potato as a source of inexpensive, clean atomic power; years later, the Navy would name its first sweet potato-powered submarine the “George Washington” in his honor. Today, a life-size statue of George Washington Carver, sculpted entirely from a single, enormous mutated sweet potato, stands at the front gate of the former Tuskeegee Normal and Industrial Institute - now Tuskeegee University.

And yet nobody was more surprised than Carver to discover that, in addition to all of these life-enhancing uses, the sweet potato was actually edible.

* * *

Yes, indeed: The sweet potato is eminently edible. And you don’t need a lot of sugar and marshmallows with which to festoon it, Thanksgiving dishes aside. Simply scrub your sweet potatoes well, rub down the exteriors with kosher salt, and bake in a 350-400°F oven until tender. A dab of butter is all you need. Or try a squeeze of lime and a scattering of chopped cilantro if you want to be exotic.

I thought of George Washington Carver - amazingly enough, the man never actually ate a sweet potato - as I was preparing a side dish, a purée of sweet potatoes and roasted garlic.

Yes, you heard that right. Sweet potatoes and roasted garlic. It’s a recipe I adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables, a 1996 book by Alice Waters, one of the pioneers of the local/organic food movement. I’ve long had a deep respect for Chez Panisse, where She Who Must Be Obeyed and I had a memorable dinner one spring evening back in 1984. [The restaurant’s name is not, by the way, pronounced “Cheese Penis,” but, rather, should be pronounced to rhyme with “clay valise.” Don’t ask me how I found this out.]

The recipe calls for two pounds each of sweet potatoes and russet (baking) potatoes; a head of garlic, 1-2 cups of hot milk, and extra-virgin olive oil. (Having no russet potatoes on hand, I simply used sweet potatoes.) You take the head of garlic and slice the top off, drizzle it with olive oil, and wrap it in aluminum foil, then roast at 425°F for 30 minutes or so until nice and soft. The roasted cloves, aromatic and mellow, will pop right out with a little gentle pressure; reserve these. Peel and quarter the potatoes, sprinkle with a teaspoon of kosher salt, then steam them for 20 minutes or until tender. Run them (along with the reserved garlic cloves) through a food mill or ricer, then add 1-2 cups of hot milk to moisten them up. Add a splash of extra-virgin olive oil, a little freshly-ground black pepper, and you’re good to go.

This is one of those dishes that combines ingredients that you don’t expect to work well together to reveal multilayered, complex flavors. I was astonished at how good it was. Try it, and be astonished too! Ol’ George would be proud.

LAPSE DANCE

Ever since I saw The Time Machine - the 1960 George Pal version with Rod Taylor and Yvette Mimieux - and became hopelessly fascinated with time travel, I have loved the magic of time-lapse movies.

In a time-lapse film, hours and days flash by in seconds. Traffic becomes a pulsating river of light, and clouds puff into and out of existence. Time travel may be a physical impossibility, but thanks to the magic of the camera we can pretend that it is real.

Follow this link to Tim Tyson’s site and check out this stunning high definition time-lapse of the view overlooking the Chao Phraya river. That river, the lifeline of Bangkok, looks like nothing so much as a busy street in this speeded-up view, the boats doing their complicated, syncopated dance as the hours zoom by.

Friday, May 07, 2010

BUFFALOED

A few days ago, the Missus and I were in Harry’s Farmers Market picking up a few odds and ends. Now that it’s owned by Whole Paycheck Foods, Harry’s is a bit pricier than it was back when it really was a farmer’s market... but you still can’t beat their selection of produce. And that’s mainly what we had gone there for. That, and a bottle of sherry wine vinegar - a key ingredient of my homemade vinaigrette.

Of course, it’s almost impossible for me to stick to a fixed purchasing agenda at Harry’s. There are way too many interesting goodies to distract and entice me. Indian food? Check. German food? Check. South African goodies? Check. English candy bars? Check.

Somehow, this time, I avoided all of those temptations... only to fall under the spell of the Meat Department, where I espied a beautiful chunk of bison chuck.

Bison is purported to be much better for you than beef. Way less fat. And in my previous encounters with it, I have found it to be quite flavorsome. Just a few days ago I had made myself some bison burgers. Cooked medium rare (more on the rare side), they were nice and beefy, yet not dry despite their low fat content.

I purchased that chunk of Bison-Flesh. After all, how often does one get a chance to eat one’s high-school mascot? We made our exit, managing to get out of the store without bumping into the Food Network crew (Alton Brown, a local resident, often films segments of “Good Eats” at this Harry’s location) and took our Food-Swag home.

As far as what to do with that gorgeous chunk of meat, I had formulated my plans the moment I had laid eyes on it. It would make a fine Hungarian goulash. Sure - bison goulash! Why not?

I’ve found that, with braised or stewed dishes like Hungarian goulash, carbonnade flamande, coq au vin, beef brisket (Eastern European style), etc., their flavor improves markedly if you cook ’em a day or two in advance. You also get a chance to skim off the excess fat that rises to the surface and then congeals in the fridge.

Normally, when I make my goulash with beef chuck, I can scrape off a goodly amount of thick, orangey beef grease. (The orange color comes from the humongous amount of paprika in the dish.) But today when I brought that bison goulash-laden pan from out of cold storage, I was surprised to find that there was no fat on the surface at all!

This is huge. The flavor of beef with a whole lot less saturated fat. That’s gotta be a good thing, right? (Plus there’s that mascot business.)

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

Holy crap! Is it Friday already?

Why, yes. Yes, it is. And that means the weekend is almost here... so close I can practically taste it, along with the Bison Hungarian Goulash I have prepared for this evening’s repast. It also means that it’s time for yet another Friday Random Ten, the weekly Morass o’ Music as puked up by the Little White Choon Box. Oh, boy!

So - what’s on today? Lessee:
  1. All Along the Watchtower - Dave Matthews Band

    This Bob Dylan song has been covered by a small army of other notable bands, including the Jimi Hendrix Experience and Dave Mason. What does it mean? Damned if I know... but it is awfully catchy.

    “There must be some way out of here,” said the joker to the thief
    “There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief
    Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth
    None of them along the line know what any of it is worth”

    “No reason to get excited,” the thief, he kindly spoke
    “There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke
    But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate
    So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late”

    All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
    While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too

    Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl
    Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl


  2. Three Is A Green Crown - The Incredible String Band

  3. Incognito - The Judybats

  4. Look at the Sky - Original Cast, Urinetown - The Musical

  5. She Came In Through The Bathroom Window - The Beatles

  6. Morning Bell - Radiohead

  7. Right Off - Miles Davis

  8. Gimme Some Loving - Spencer Davis Group

    When I was a freshman in high school, I would listen to the radio (AM, of course) as I washed up in the morning - and I have very clear memories of listening to this 1967-vintage song.

  9. I Lost All My Money At The Cock Fights - Minus The Bear

  10. Careless Love - Madeleine Peyroux

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

Thursday, May 06, 2010

ON HAKUNA

All curled up in her little bed
She sleeps.
Whene’er she sees the Laser Dot
She leaps.
At night, in mousie-hunting stealth
She creeps.

CurledUp
Hakuna curls up for a nap... not in her little bed this time, but on the ottoman in the den.

Hakuna lives the life of Reilly these days. (If Reilly were a cat, that is.)

Long, languorous naps in the daytime... a few frenetic sessions of Laser Dot chasing... and nocturnal hunting expeditions that leave her collection of Fake Mousies scattered throughout the house. For a kitty, it doesn’t get much better than this.

Friday Ark #294 is afloat at the Modulator - and this Sunday, Carnival of the Cats #321 will be hosted by Nikita at Meowsings of an Opinionated Pussycat. Be sure to stop by and visit... and tell ’em Elisson sent ya!

Update: CotC #321 is up... but at Life from a Cat’s Perspective, where Samantha, Clementine, and Maverick have done a fine job of pinch-hitting after medical issues sidelined Nikita’s human companion.

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

CUNEIFORM

PORTABLE INFORMATION STORAGE SYSTEM
requires no batteries, stores images or alphanumeric characters with equal ease. Data retrieval uses principle of SELECTIVE REFLECTION™ in conjunction with electromagnetic radiation source (not included). Access any part of your database with simple manual operation! Available pre-programmed with large variety of software.

Store below 451°F.

FOR ADDITIONAL INFORMATION, CONTACT
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RAHWAY, NEW JERSEY


* * *

With technology like Amazon’s Kindle, smartphones, and Apple’s unfortunately-named iPad, one could very well wonder what the future holds for printed books.

There is, as there always is, a tradeoff. Reading a book with the latest portable Ars Electronica means forgoing some of the sensory pleasures of page and print: the tactile qualities of the paper, the subtle smell of the binding, the feeling of holding an object that has both physical and intellectual substance. These are important qualities, especially in certain books that celebrate the publisher’s and designer’s arts. McSweeney’s offerings come to mind, as do the leather-bound tomes sold by the Easton Press... and, in the Olden Days, the products of the beloved Heritage Press.

But then there’s the portability factor. One hand-held device can hold an entire library’s worth of books, which certainly is convenient if you want to polish off a shelf-load of stupid-ass Danielle Steele novels during your beach vacation. To an old gink like me, a Kindle will never have the home-enriching beauty of a shelf full of books, but at least you can carry a pile of cheesy novels around with you without giving yourself a hernia... and without people seeing that instead of reading War and Peace you’re working your way through the latest Kitty Kelley hatchet job.

I do not own a Kindle, nor do I have any plans to purchase one. If ever I should invest in an iPad, it will be driven by other applications besides electronic readers. But since I do have an iPhone, I gave the Kindle app a whirl, purchasing Lincoln’s Dreams, Connie Willis’s 1987 novel about a woman who has horrifyingly detailed dreams about the Civil War, seemingly via a direct channel into Robert E. Lee’s mind.

The novel itself was good enough, although not on a par with Doomsday Book (1992), Willis’s Hugo and Nebula Award-winning magnum opus. Reading it on my iPhone was no problem; the type was comfortably large, even if (given the small screen size) each page took only a few seconds to read.

It was not too deep into the book, however, that I began to notice a huge number of apparent typos... the kind of typos that result from scanning printed pages and converting them to a text file with an OCR program. However good your OCR software may be, there will always be errors - and this Electro-Book was packed with ’em. It made for a certain low level of background annoyance (never a good thing while reading) resulting from having to stop and decipher a nonsense word every couple of pages.

I will therefore not be in a hurry to download more books to my iPhone.

Sure, it was cheaper than a print edition. Plenty faster delivery, too. And I’ve heard all the clichés: caveat emptor, you get what you pay for, et cetera. But if this Electronickal Literature business is ever to get off the ground, publishers will need to have a little respect for their readers. Proofread and correct your fucking publications, will ya?!?

Meanwhile, a question: How long will it be, d’you suppose, before printed books are as obsolete as Egyptian papryrus... or a clay tablet inscribed with cuneiform symbols?

DRINKO DE MAYO

Today is the fifth of May, AKA Cinco de Mayo - a holiday that celebrates Mexico’s 1862 victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla.

It’s not much, as holidays go. Most Mexicans ignore it, with the exception of those living in the state of Puebla. In that respect it’s a little like the Mexican equivalent of Shavuos.

Surprisingly, however, Cinco de Mayo is a big deal in the United States, having been observed in California since the mid-1860’s. Presumably, Californians were happy to see Mexico kick France in the ass back then, but now the day has become one of those Celebrations of Ethnicity that Americans love so much. We have Saint Patrick’s Day for the Irish, Columbus Day for the Italians, Oktoberfest for the Germans (a whole month in order to provide sufficient calendrical lebensraum), and Chinese New Year for the Chinese (who simply refer to it as “New Year”) - so why not a day for our friends south of the border?

Besides, we Americans love our food and drink - so what better than a holiday the observance of which consists of drinking yourself silly on Margaritas and then stuffing your face with good, healthy Mexican food?

Me, I’m not much of a Margarita drinker. I prefer my tequila reposado or añejo neat, or with a shot of sangrita, that quintessential Mexico City chaser... but if ever I do visit Margaritaville, I like mine straight up, Martini-style. The ice-headache-inducing frozen goop that passes for a Margarita in most places? You can keep it.

Better yet, pass me the single malt Scotch. Salud!

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

ON RECYCLING

Another Shopping Center

In this modern era of Environmental Consciousness, recycling is all the vogue. As it should be: Anything that can mitigate the effects of our wasteful American love of everything disposable is a Good Thing.

It’s not a new concept by any means. When I was a young Snot-Nose, soft drinks were sold in heavy glass bottles. You would bring back the empties when it came time to reload tour Soda-Pantry, and you would receive a deposit... something on the order of two cents a bottle. That was real money to a kid in those days when a bottle of Coke cost a thin dime. The bottles would be shipped back to the bottling company, where they would be cleaned and reused. There was a lot of transportation involved, but it made sense when fuel was three gallons for a dollar.

Stores like Whole Paycheck Foods make a big deal about their commitment to the environment. They sell reusable grocery bags, which patrons are encouraged to use in lieu of disposable plastic bags. And despite the fact that I spent years in the pay of the Great Corporate Salt Mine selling hundreds of millions of pounds of plastic to those selfsame folks who make those disposable bags, I’m all for the reusable bag. They’re sturdy, and they hold a metric shitload of groceries. If I could only remember to bring the Gawdforsaken things into the store with me.

Speaking of Whole Paycheck Foods, they’re building one just up the road from us, in a perfect spot to duke it out for the Upscale Foodie Dollar with Fresh Market and Trader Joe. It’s at a shopping center yclept Merchant’s Walk, an open-air mall sort of affair that was built in the late 1970’s and that was heavily renovated sometime back in the 1990’s. I guess commercial space of this type has a useful lifecycle of some 20-25 years, after which it needs to be torn down and built anew... which is exactly what Whole Foods is doing. Recycling on a grand scale, you could call it.

Great swaths of the former Merchant’s Walk have been leveled, razed to the ground, in order to accommodate the new Whole Foods and its peripherals. Where once was a (defunct) Media Play store and a branch of the county library now stands flat land festooned with mountains of Asphalt-Chunks, bricks, concrete, and other detritus. A Wachovia Bank branch was torn up and carted away... but not before another one was built 200 feet south of it.

Say what?

Yes: They built a new bank right next door to the old one, which they then tore down. Suddenly that doesn’t sound so “recycly” any more, does it?

It seems one of the provisions Whole Paycheck Foods insisted on when they agreed to fund this massive piece of reconstruction was that their store be visible from the street... and the old bank, situated on a slight rise, was blocking the view. The solution? Remove the bank and the hill it sat on.

According to the Whole Foods website, one of their corporate Core Values is “caring about our communities and our environment... We respect our environment and recycle, reuse, and reduce our waste wherever and whenever we can.” Perhaps... but am I the only one who mourns the loss of that little hill upon which the bank once sat?

They may sell pricey organic free-range broccoli and locally raised quail. They may sell delicate baby arugula that is picked as lovingly and as thoroughly as your pocket is picked at the checkout stand... but they’re Big Organic, and at the end of the day, their environmentalism rings just a tad hollow. Or am I just being cranky?

Monday, May 03, 2010

A DISASTER IN THE HEADLINES

One of the first things they teach you in Newspaper School is how to write headlines. It’s a tricky business.

You have to convey a lot of information in a short space, and you have to make sure the headline looks good on the page. Two-line headlines have to be written so that there is a natural conceptual break between the lines; the lines must also be the right length to fit the column. Awkwardness is a constant danger.

Headlines should use the active voice. In addition, they have a few stylistic quirks that differentiate them from body text. One example: Quotes are enclosed in single, rather than double, quotation marks.

Avoid “headlinese”... unless you write for Variety, where headlines like “Mick, Nick nix pix” are part of the house style. Resist the urge to get cute or to editorialize. And watch out for double entendres. A headline like “Textron Inc. Makes Offer To Screw Co. Stockholders” (a real example) is not going to please the folks at Textron - or at the screw company.

It’s a lot of rules to remember, so it isn’t too surprising when someone messes up: an epic fail by the Woonsocket (Rhode Island) Call, indeed.

[Tip o’ th’ Elisson fedora colander to Ole Phat Stu for the link.]

Sunday, May 02, 2010

BEAT THE CLOCK

We Americans love our Silly Shit. If you doubt that, just turn on the TeeVee any Sunday evening, when you can see the spiky-haired Guy Fieri hosting the latest silly-ass game show, “Minute to Win It.”

The show is simplicity itself. A contestant is given an increasingly difficult series of stunts to perform, with sixty seconds to perform each one successfully. Get the job done and you win prize money; screw up enough times and you go home unhappy. The stunts are fairly uncomplicated tasks, usually involving some sort of physical dexterity or coordination; props are basic items like playing cards, plastic cups, and ping-pong balls. The Philip Glass-like music that plays while the robotic-voiced female announcer explains each task is a surprisingly high-toned bonus.

Of course, all of this has been done before... and on a much lower budget. I’m referring to the vintage TV game show “Beat the Clock,” in which contestants were given sixty seconds to perform various stunts with props that usually consisted of simple household items. “Beat the Clock” was a television fixture in its original run from 1950 to 1961, a time when contestants would actually get foam-at-the-mouth excited about the prospect of winning a C-note. But in American popular culture, everything old shall be new again... and so we have “Minute to Win It.” It’s the closest thing we have to an authentic Japanese game show (except for “I Survived A Japanese Game Show,” which is really a meta-gameshow). To make MTWI more authentic, all the producers need to do is add a liberal dose of Contestant Humiliation. They’d really have something then.

I have no idea whether the show is any kind of success. Given the continuing devolution of the National Taste, however, I suspect the producers are printing money by the ream.

Personally, I’d prefer to watch Guy Fieri in his native Food Network environment, pounding down monster portions of Diner Food and popping his patented Shit Eatin’ Grin at the camera. But that’s just me.

Friday, April 30, 2010

PARE THE PROBOSCIS, PEEVE THE PHYSIOGNOMY

Paring the proboscis to peeve the physiognomy - cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face - is rarely a good idea. But that’s exactly what is happening as declines in state and local tax revenues force spending cuts.

There are certain state services that really need to be supported in order to maintain a functioning, habitable society. You can’t do without police and fire protection. And, although the effects of cutbacks are less immediate, you can’t do without education.

Teachers have a hard enough go of it even in good times. Salaries are well below those available in private industry, and under the current No Child Left Behind philosophy of ensuring that, by 2014, every child in the United States is above average - Lake Wobegon writ large - a teacher’s career, more than ever, depends on factors beyond his or her control. If you work in an economically disadvantaged school, or if you teach a class with a large cohort of students on the low end of the bell-shaped Intelligence Distribution Curve, you are well and truly fucked.

But now, with state money thin on the ground, teachers are getting hammered. I’m talking about involuntary furloughs, RIF’s (Reductions in Force, a corporate-sounding euphemism for “firing a shitload of people”), and elimination of whole programs. The net effect: Fewer teachers, fewer programs, and less pay... without any change in the huge Unfunded Mandates like NCLB that must be accommodated.

Cutting education spending may be an unfortunate and dire necessity, a cascade effect of declining tax rolls, a nation- and worldwide economic meltdown, and record unemployment. But it’s an action of desperation akin to eating your seed corn, the full effects of which will - make no mistake about it - be severe and long-lasting. [And it’s not as though Georgia has that far to go before its quality of education is ranked dead last.]

Good schools attract employers and help create a productive, competitive workforce. Conversely, bad schools drive away prospective residents, employers, and jobs. Maybe our honorable governor should rethink his priorities so that Georgia remains an attractive and economically sound place to live and raise a family.

FUZZY FRIDAY

Friday Ark #293 is afloat over at the Modulator.

One of these days, I’m gonna figure out just what, exactly, this guy modulates over there.

For more cat-related foolishness, head on over to iMeowza this Sunday evening, where the 320th edition of Carnival of the Cats will be hosted by (of course) Meowza. (I suspect Mog will be involved as well.)

Update: CotC #320 is up.

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN

Viernes. Freitag. Yom ha-Shishi. Vendredi. Venerdi. Vrijdag. Perjantai. Jumat. Xīngqí wǔ. Kin yōbi.

Any way you say it, it’s Friday... and time for the Friday Random Ten, the weekly Mess o’ Musicality as coughed up by the iPod d’Elisson. Let’s see what’s playing today:
  1. Act I, Scene 1: The People Are The Heroes Now - John Adams, Nixon in China

  2. Lumeen nukkuneet - Alamaailman Vasarat

  3. The Hussein Skank - Skankin’ Pickle

  4. Señorita - Chick Corea and Béla Fleck

  5. Absolutely Free - Big Swifty & Associates

    Being an instrumental cover of the Frank Zappa tune.

  6. Lonely At The Top - Randy Newman

    I’ve been around the world
    Had my pick of any girl
    You’d think I'd be happy, but I’m not
    Ev’rybody knows my name
    But it’s just a crazy game
    Oh, it’s lonely at the top

    Listen to the band, they’re playing just for me
    Listen to the people paying just for me

    All the applause - all the parades
    And all the money I have made
    Oh, it’s lonely at the top

    Listen all you fools out there
    Go on and love me - I don’t care
    Oh, it’s lonely at the top
    Oh, it’s lonely at the top


  7. Bogus Pomp - Frank Zappa

  8. Euphonius Whale - Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks

  9. Scar Tissue - Red Hot Chili Peppers

  10. Killer Inside Me - MC 900 Foot Jesus

    You’ve probably seen me hanging around
    I’m a very familiar face in this town.
    A day doesn’t go by that I don’t meet
    A lot of my friends walking down the street.
    I’m never too busy to stop by the way
    And I’ve always got something pleasant to say.
    Maybe some perceptive thoughts about the weather
    Or the latest news from Wall Street, whatever.
    I could stand around all day making small talk
    Gushing platitudes, blocking the sidewalk
    Tying people up for hours with ease,
    My one big talent is shooting the breeze.
    When they start to squirm, I really get going
    But only my happy-face smile is showing.
    Why can’t they see what I’m trying to hide,
    I’m bustin’ a gut, laughing on the inside.
    It’s in their smile when I say hello
    I can see they think I’m a little bit slow.
    But after a while with me, they look dazed
    Their eyes covered with a donut glaze.
    I really start to cook when I see that look
    I hit ’em with every cliché in the book.
    Their knees wobble and they start to weave
    It’s like they’re begging for permission to leave,
    They think they are having a brush with stupidity
    I don’t laugh, even though it’s killing me.
    Watching them wilt like day-old flowers
    Ticking off the minutes as they turn to hours.
    They are wondering how much more they can take
    I give ’em a friendly smile and a handshake.
    We say goodbye very politely
    Now say hello to the killer inside me

    Now say hello to the killer inside me.
    Everybody has their doubts about my sanity
    But nothing happens ’cause they all feel sorry for me
    I’ve got the whole town under my thumb
    and all I’ve gotta do is keep acting dumb.
    “Oh that boy Lou,” they say, “what a guy,
    A little on the slow side but wouldn’t hurt a fly”
    “And such a gentleman!” “Oh yes, I know.
    He sure can talk your ear off though!”
    I tip my hat and pretend I don’t hear
    Grinning like a half-wit from ear to ear
    I can think of a thousand ways to say hello
    So I start through ’em all, and go real slow.
    They listen hard, and act like they care.
    How can they be so completely unaware
    Of the truth the answer is always denied me
    So I introduce them to the killer inside me.


It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

Thursday, April 29, 2010

TODAY’S PITH AND VINEGAR

My mother-in-law survived Auschwitz, and I am trying to survive my mother-in-law.

[From The Collected Wit and Wisdom of Irwin W.]

CAT OF GOOD FORTUNE: A 100-WORD STORY

[Another Guest Post - this one a 100-word birthday tribute to Hakuna by long-time admirer Rahel.]

Somewhere in eastern North America is a cat the color of mocha, chocolate, and café-au-lait. The legend goes that those who stroke her fur and hear her purr shall have good fortune.

But – it is said – this cat does not let just anyone approach. Only a lucky few may come close, extend a hand for sniffing, and then, in fear and trembling, offer her the tribute of a skritch.

The line extends eastward, over an ocean and beyond a sea, to a woman at the edge of a desert.

She gazes at the screen, into the blue eyes...

and waits.

[Happy birthday, Hakuna!]

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

FIFTEEN

This is your Birthday Song!
(It isn’t very long.)


Attentive Hakuna

Today is Hakuna’s fifteenth birthday!

She’s a Senior Citizen in Kitty-Years, but she still scampers around like a kitten when I trot out the Red Dot Machine.

I would give her special treats, but Hakuna disdains special food of any kind. And so she will needs be content with some extra ear-scratches.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

THE OATH: A 100-WORD SPECULATIVE TALE

[The following is a 100-word Guest Post by Houston Steve - and his first-ever 100-word story.]

In 2021 I was a 14 year old immigrant; carried my green card everywhere. No telling when a policeman would reasonably suspect I was illegal.

I envied the Americans. When we entered a building, they weren’t questioned, but someone would always demand to see my “papers.” I looked like them; talked like them. Texans sounded more out of place here in Massachusetts.

In 2026 I took the oath. Afterwards a syringe was inserted behind my right ear. It was injected.

Those doorpost flags were readers, not American mezuzahs. Now I was like my friends, and I had my American citizenchip.

APRIL GUILD EVENT

Winey Elisson

Alas, I will not be attending the April Guild event, AKA the Big Fat Greek Wine Tasting at Kyma this evening. Not that I don’t enjoy Greek food and wine - I most certainly do. A gyros sandwich makes my head spin, I love a nice slab of lamb, and I even will drink retsina, the often-despised turpentine-flavored Greek vino that derives its peculiar pong from the addition of pine resin.

Denny will have to handle this one on his own. Perhaps Houston Steve will be there to exchange politically charged bons mots with him as they get their collective Greek Freak on.

What’s on the menu? Let’s take a look:

Speaker’s Wine:
Domaine Spiropoulos Brut Moschofilero “Ode Panos” NV

First Flight:
Domaine Spiropoulos Mantinia Moschofilero 2008
Dalamara Malagousia 2007
Domaine Sigalas Santrini Assyrtiko 2008

Grilled octopus with pickled red onion salad, red wine vinaigrette. Seared tuna herb crusted ahi tuna, quinoa salad, preserved lemons, pine nuts, tomato, mint

Second Flight:
Popova Kula Tikves Vranec 2005
Boutari Naoussa Xinomavro 2007
Gaia Nemea Agiorghitiko “Notios” 2008

“Tiropitakia”: cheese pie with blend of four Greek cheeses, baked in country phyllo. Three-boned pork rib, coriander yogurt

Third Flight:
Pape Johanea Nemea Agiorghitko (Old Vine) 1999
Paivou Nemea Agiorghitiko (Reserve) Vintage TBD
Domaine Skouras Nemea Agiorghitiko “Grande Cuvee” 2006

Single cut marinated lamb chop. Braised Acadian redfish, onions, carrots, celery, potato, garlic, tomato “plaki”

Dessert:
Achaia Clauss Patras Mavrodaphne NV

Baklava “boureki” (rolled baklava), candied pistachios

It will all be delectable, I’m sure. Opa!

Monday, April 26, 2010

ZELIG

Zelig, you may recall, is the title of a 1983 Woody Allen film about one Leonard Zelig, a “human chameleon” who had no identity of his own, but who would take on the characteristics of the people around him.

I’m a little like that. Not quite the same as the Zelig of the eponymous movie, my talent is a sort of Zelig-like ability to be mistaken for a member of whatever ethnic group I find myself among.

If I’m in a crowd of Italians, everyone assumes I’m Italian.

When I am amongst Greeks, everyone thinks I’m Greek.

With Turks, I am Turkish. Russians, Russian. Albanians, Albanian. I can pass... until I open my mouth, of course.

There are exceptions. Nobody ever thinks I am Scottish, Irish, White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, or Asian. (Well, actually, someone once thought I was Asian. But that person was either drunk or terminally stupid.)

Perhaps the strangest instance of my Zelig-osity took place at a party She Who Must Be Obeyed and I attended in Houston some fifteen years ago. Our neighbor across the street was the Indian consul, and one evening he and his wife decided to do some Major Entertaining. The guest list included representatives from pretty much every diplomatic mission in Houston, a gaggle of consular officials from every continent - plus a handful of The Locals sprinkled in. We, along with a few of our other neighbors, served as The Locals.

As I wandered through the house with SWMBO, drink and tandoori chicken drumstick in hand, Zelig moments started taking place at regular intervals. People were genuinely surprised to find out that I was a “mere” neighbor rather than an ambassador from some exotic foreign locale. (Ireland excepted.) Things got even stranger, however...

There was a small group of bearded men wearing white robes and headcoverings sitting together in one corner of one room. When they saw me, the immediately motioned me over and introduced themselves as the Iranian consular mission. Possibly owing to the beard I wore at the time, they were absolutely convinced that I was Iranian. When I politely explained that, no, I was not, at first they didn’t believe me.

“You must be Iranian.”

“No, no - really, I’m not. Trust me on this one.”

And when they finally gave up and invited me to visit their country one day, I said I would be honored to do so.

Under my breath, I added, “Ven di Moshiach kimmt (when the Messiah comes).”