All the Dots

The Chef & I wish you and yours a Happy New Year -- one that bursts with joyful moments and lucky breaks. A pox on resolutions, just remember to pay attention to the quiet nice things that happen every single day. Loud nice things count too.

Santa Hat Cactus

Santa Clara Creche

When we were at the Grand Canyon we went to an overpriced tourist gift shop to browse Native American crafts. It was there that I spotted this Santa Clara Pueblo pottery creche and decided that I had to have it. I have never owned a creche before, but my mother collects them when she travels and puts them all out on display during the holidays. I have always been impressed that she is able to find unique creches from all over the world (Africa, Peru, China, etc.) as I have never seen any souvenir Creche Marts. But here was this creche, and I was traveling, and I was not with my family for the holidays and I really missed them. So I went bonkers and I bought this creche. When I got home I looked up the artists and discovered that they are a husband & wife team named Dorothy and Paul Guterriez and they are known for their animal figures that are "made to put a smile on your face and to remind you not to take life so seriously all the time." Now I can put this creche out during the holidays and remember throwing snowballs at the Grand Canyon and follow in my mother's tradition all at the same time. Totally worth it.

Attack of the Giant Tumbleweeds!

Our trip home yesterday was like driving through different levels of a video game. Except that we were in our car in the middle of nowhere instead of being comfortable on our couch with a joystick. It started out just fine from Chandler, AZ through the desolate Sonoran desert -- aside from the exciting 4-5 dead cow carcasses on the side of the road (level 1 - don't hit cows) along the way. However, past Yuma the winds started to pick up and there was a little sandstorm going through the dunes section of Hwy 8 (which runs right next to the Mexican border) just past The Center of the World. We made it through that (level 2) and headed up the scenic Sierra mountain pass on our way to Escondido only to hit rain (level 3) then hail (level 4) then fog (level 5). That was my toughest level as foggy driving conditions with no visibility on a giant mountain pass with no guard rails is um, well, I tried to avoid thinking about it.

The bonus prize for level completion was a stop for lunch at the Stone Brewery in Escondido, CA. Wow. It was much fancier than your usual warehouse microbrewery and involved elaborate stone architecture, a beautiful outdoor patio and glass walls on one side of the restaurant that rolled up like garage doors. I felt underdressed. I still regret not taking a picture in the bathroom, which had a design of small pebbles and barley (!) stuck on the walls. They were celebrating their tenth anniversary and were offering pours of every single one of their beers. This was appropriately titled the Stone Winter Storm. The Chef had the Double Dry-Hopped Stone Levitation Ale w/ Amarillo & Crystal hops (I'm not making this up) and I sadly had to pass on the brew because it's hard to drink beer at lunch and then drive for seven more hours. Plus, if I drink beer before 5pm I get very cranky and then fall asleep. Thus, it wasn't much of a hardship to watch The Chef drink while I ate my fancy Southern California lunch (duck tacos!). Note that there were lots of guys in there who looked like they were extras in the smarmy L.A. HBO mini-series that I never watch called "Entourage."

By the time we left I realized we were going to hit L.A. rush hour and I became very cranky despite not drinking any beer. That's not a good trade off. Traffic was horrible (level 6) but it still wasn't as bad as the last time we drove through L.A. which was even worse. I don't know how people live in that city but insane traffic is just one reason. When we entered the incline to Tejon Pass it started to rain, and then even better, sleet! (level 7) We got higher and higher and temps dove to freezing and then cars were scattered on the side of the road. We grimaced and wondered if we should pull over, but there really wasn't anywhere TO pull over, so there we were, with the Chef white knuckled on the steering wheel and the wiper blades not working so well. I put on some more Marisa Monte samba music for the Chef because that helped me when I was back in level 5. We went up to 4000 feet and then started down again, the temps rising and turning the slush back to rain. (the next morning we read in the paper that they closed this section of Hwy 5, probably right after we made it through.) So, it's true -- it snows in Southern California.

Wait - I forgot to mention the high winds (level 8) -- which made things very loud, like a monster boxing our ears, so we had to blast the music to attempt to ignore, which didn't work.

We were very happy to be left with just the rain & the high winds when we got to Bakersfield, so we decided not to stop for the night but be insane and barrel through to San Francisco so we could sleep in our own warm bed with furry kittens. Yet, further along on Hwy 5 there was a big warning sign that said "High Winds Causing Dust to Blow" or something like that. Dust? Who cares about dust? Also, it had just stopped raining, so could there be dust? Pah! we said to the flashing sign. Soon, we realized that "dust" was code for GIANT TUMBLEWEEDS blowing across the highway (level 9). First we were all "HA HA HA, tumbleweeds!" as usually that word summons memories of cartoon westerns and easy-going "tumbling tumbleweeds" songs. I mean, c'mon, tumbleweeds, you never think of them as being scary. That was until we realized that there were LOTS OF THEM and some were as BIG AS OUR CAR! We stopped laughing. At first I attempted to avoid them as they flew across the road (which was exactly like a video game) but then I decided (as this technique was getting impossible and seemed very unsafe) I would test hitting some of the smaller ones to see if anything bad would happen. They sure thwapped the car, and a big one got stuck on the front of our car for a while (which was only funny because eventually it blew off) but they didn't cause any damage and we missed that HUGE ONE which was certainly a blessing. The giant semis on the road with us certainly didn't have to worry about them. When we stopped for gas the Chef removed some Tumbleweed detris from the grill of our car and commented "Ouch, tumbleweeds are prickly."

Note, even at 9pm in the roadside town of Kettleman City -- the In & Out Burger parking lot is jam packed and you still have to fight for a table (level 10) and wait ten minutes for your order. Overheard at the table next to ours, "You know, I just don't do so well when I can't see the road."

High winds followed us all the way home (level 11) but by the time we reached the Bay Bridge The Chef just scoffed at the flashing "High Wind Alert" warning sign. He said "You call these high winds?" However we still had one more level (12) -- when we reached the other side of the bridge, construction had closed the hwy and dumped us off into downtown San Francisco with no detour signs. Luckily, we live here and know our way. I felt bad for the people going to San Jose who got stuck driving around lost at 2am.

The kittens yelled at us when we got home because we took so long. After some patting and fresh water they forgave us (kind of) and we all went to bed very thankful that we were able to complete all levels of "X-MAS ROAD TRIP" (rated MA) with people and car intact and not stuck stranded on the side of road in sand/snow/rain/sleet/wind.

whew. it's nice to be back home.

Grand Canyon Snow!

On Friday we made it to the Grand Canyon (from Kingman, AZ) in the middle of a snow fall. There was zero visibility, but who cares when you can run around and throw snowballs! In Arizona! Oooo, now it does seem like Christmas. It was fun to drive around to scenic viewing areas with other international tourists and see absolutely nothing. There was lots of giggling and make believe. Thankfully, the next morning we woke up, and there it was, that big hole everyone is always talking about. I could use the word "majestic" to describe the scene, but I think that's been done.



We drove down to Chandler, AZ through the red rocks of Sedona, and now we are in Sun Lakes, where it's still a little brisk, but no ice to scrape off the car (like Saturday morning.) There is a tiny Scotty dog named Sundance here who is cheering everyone up.

Season's Greetings

My apologies if you receive a holiday card from me & the Chef with a bunch of nonsense written on it.

It meant to say -- Happy Holidays! We miss you! May you be showered with goodness in 2007.

Special shout out to the librarian and her sweetheart in St. Paul -- hang in there, we are sending you good thoughts and warm fuzzies.

Hollaback @ the Post Office

I was in line at the post office mailing packages (darn you X-mas!) when an older-than-me postal worker plugged in her iPod to the speakers in the corner. All of a sudden I heard, "Uh huh, this my shit/All the girls stomp your feet like this."

Did she just say shit? In the post office? Did an older-than-me postal worker just hook up the post office to the unedited dance remix of "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani?

Maybe it was a different word, that just sounded like shit.

As I was puzzling and trying to make sense of this odd post office soundtrack, again I heard "Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit, Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit, Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit, Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit, I heard that you were talking shit and you didn't think that I would hear it."

Okay, she is definitely saying shit. Gwen is singing about her shit, IN THE POST OFFICE with old ladies and moms with kids in line mailing their holiday presents, and did they play this version on the radio? Am I THAT out of it? Does everyone now just accept the broader usage of the word shit even in public buildings like the post office?

I looked around wide-eyed at everyone, but no one seemed to notice. Only the older-than-me postal worker was squinting at me, daring me to complain and make her take off the highly inappropriate Gwen Stefani "Hollaback Girl" remix. Of course I just giggled to myself and continued to listen, even though I did think it was highly inappropriate. I don't even mind the song, but you sure couldn't play this version on the radio.

"Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit
Let me hear you say, this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
Again, this shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
This shit is bananas
B-A-N-A-N-A-S
A few times I've been around that track
So it's not just gonna happen like that
Cause I ain't no hollaback girl
I ain't no hollaback girl
[2x]
Oooh, this my Shit , this my Shit [4x]

At the POST OFFICE!

Amalgamating Smells

The kitten hissing at our house has ceased. Sort of. There is still the random slappy fight or a tail chomp out of the blue. The worst was the who-the-hell-is-that-other-cat-on-the-bed shock at 2am. Let's just say we have not been sleeping very well this past week. Every day I would explain to Clementine (the cat who didn't go to the vet who was attacking her sick sister) "That's your sister. We adopted her the same day we adopted you. You are sisters from the same litter of kittens." and she would just look at me puzzled, with the expression "red alert! red alert! there's a strange cat in the house!" The worst part was that Sweetpea, after being on the receiving end of a hissing attack, would look at us, like, "What the f*#ck?" In the morning she would sullenly sit and stare as if she was the loneliest, misunderstood, under attack kitten in the whole wide world.

When I explained to the vet that the actual trip to the office was creating more havoc in our house than the sick kitten (who is all better now, whew) she apologized for not warning me about the whole territorial cat thing. She also recommended this product called Feliway that helps to difuse the behavior of sparring cats. Get this -- it's a plug-in! "Feliway is an synthetic analogue of the feline facial pheromone which reproduces the familiarization properties normally produced by a cat when it deposits its own facial pheromones in the environment." I was explaining this to someone at work and they said, "Do you think that is a real thing?" like I had seen it on some television ad in the middle of another sleepless cat hissing night. Only $9.99! Order now! It does sound made up. The vet also told me "you can buy it on the internet" which also makes it sound like a Ron Popeil product. We figured that by the time the Feliway plug-in arrived in the mail that the cats would be sick of each other, which is pretty much what happened.

We did use the cheaper "towel technique" method, which involves rubbing a towel on a cat and then yourself, and then the other cat, and then yourself, and then the other cat, and so on and so on and so on, and how much fun are we having?

Amalgamating smells is a good way to spend the time, but I'm glad it's over. Aside from the occasional slappy sister fight and tail chomp out of the blue.

Next time, BOTH cats go to the vet, BOTH cats will smell exactly the same.

Good TV

After watching this season's final episode of "The Wire" (and like a hammer when I realized that the friend of former junkie Bubbles was former junkie Steve Earle) I realized AGAIN what a miracle it was that this intricate, intense drama representing people of all sizes, classes & colors even made it to the airwaves. Each season opens up a WHOLE NEW WORLD.

HOW DO THEY DO THAT?!?!

Another show I've been watching this year that does a similar amazing thing is "City of Men." Like this season's story behind The Wire, the plot of each episode is so universal in terms of kids growing up. There are lots of television shows about kids growing up. However plunk the same old story into the settings of the Baltimore housing projects or the favalas of Brazil and it's a lesson in similarities and huge contrasts. These programs are a peephole into learning about a drastically different environment -- and for me, they bridge a huge gap in understanding. For when will I ever spend a good thirty minutes in the slums of Brazil, because they will never let me pass up the hill to eavesdrop on their conversations. Plus, I don't understand Portuguese, although I could listen to it all day and not care -- it's so lovely and soft sounding, all those zaraleenas and woochola sounding words.

The other odd thing -- both these shows follow the lives of boys, young boys -- an age group and a gender that I would easily cross the street, run out of the room, not make eye contact with, plug my ears and sing to myself to avoid. Teenage boys, they are annoying, no? Is there anything more annoying than teenage boys? Just another reason I find myself mystified that I'm completely drawn to their stories. Like a good book, here I am, wondering what the hell is going to happen to Randy. The characters are so good I can't let them go.

Plus, those kids -- where did they find those kid actors? Oh yeah, some of them are Shakespearean trained, and some of them lived in the neighborhood. Again, I'll just say it's a miracle. That these kids could represent these kids in these stories about their own world and be so damn' good at it tosses me smack into the middle of the story. There is so much crap on television that when something good makes it on, I'm shocked. I want to thank everyone involved in getting these shows on the airwaves -- the WRITERS, the directors, the casting directors, the heads of HBO and whoever is their liaison to Time/Warner that fights for letting them do what they want to do, the BBC and the Sundance channel and whatever funding in Brazil that got into the hands of the insanely talented director Fernando Meirelles (and co-director Katia Lund) and gave jobs to actors who IMPROVISE THEIR SCENES and translate their environment for TIVO owning losers like us who just want to sit down, turn on their television and be magically transported.

HOW DO THEY DO THAT?!?!?!?!

Lest you think I'm a TV snob who only watches critically acclaimed programming about social issues, I just finished watching "10 Best Truck Stops of the World" on the Travel Channel. The truck stop in Racine, Wisconsin made #3 because it has a chiropractor.

Merry Muppets

This may reveal my melancholy tendencies, but my favorite Christmas song is "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." It perfectly acknowledges the real things in life, like the golden value of friends and family and the preciousness of time without wasting it singing about babies in mangers. It's a song that makes me sentimental, teary and happy all at the same time in a seasonal sad little might-as-well-enjoy-the-fleeting-bright-spots sort of a way.

To this day, my favorite (and the most sincere!) version of this song is the duet between Rowlfe the Dog and 70's (future suicidal) superstar John Denver. To me, real emotion is best expressed through the use of piano playing puppets. That's probably why they use them so much for therapy. Trust no one but puppets to express your emotions!
When I was growing up, this John Denver & the Muppets lp was pulled out and played over and over and over again during the holidays and I still never get tired of listening to it. A few years ago it was reissued on CD and my sister bought a copy for everyone in my family. I like to image that when I'm listening to Miss Piggy leading all the muppet characters in a round of "Christmas Is Coming" that others in my family are all singing along.

Hop-It!

This Belgian ale was so HOPPY that the cork popped off with no prompting. We screamed AHHEEEHHH, checked to make sure no one lost an eye, and then drank it up. We liked it more than Moylan's "Hopsickle" brew -- which was over-the-top "hopsick."

Okay, enough Barney, I'll stop blogging about beer, but that doesn't mean that I've stopped drinking it.

Miss Sweetpea

Three cheers for Miss Sweetpea! Today she had a big adventure at Mission Pet Hospital. In the waiting room there were two giant greyhounds, one rottweiler, two pit bulls, and various cats that (in comparison to barking dogs) weren't that scary. We warned her that kittens who are treated like babies (pro - sleep on fluffy duvet) are also treated like babies when they get sick (con - rushed to the pet hospital by worryworts.) She was very brave and not as scared as the time Goompy & Gampy came to visit, despite having a fever w/ high temp even for a hyperactive attention deficit disorder princess. They also x-rayed her to make sure that she didn't eat the metal zipper off the Chef's jacket (his suspicion for the last two weeks.) The vet asked us, "Does she eat things? plastic? string?" This was met with great laughter as Miss Sweetpea has always found everything non-edible quite delicious. Zipper, yum.

She is back to acting like her old self again but NOW her sister Clementine has decided that if a cat (related or NOT) has left the house for over two hours she is a veritable STRANGER --- HISS! Who the hell are you?

I guess if you were a kid and someone put your annoying little sister in a box and took her away, perhaps you would hope that she was gone for good and you would be forevermore the queen of all attention. It would be a big let down when they brought her back.

HISSSSSSS

Dateline 1933

"On December 5, 1933, the 21st Amendment to the U.S Constitution is ratified, repealing Prohibition. The manufacture, sale, and possession of alcoholic beverages is no longer illegal and the government enacts an emergency ordinance permitting the sale of beer and wine."

Tonight we went out to celebrate this joyous anniversary at Park Chow, drinking (what else) a big pint of one of our local favorites, Speakeasy's Prohibition lager.

Aren't you glad it's not 1932? or 1919? Or any year in-between? I hadn't realized that the Women's Christian Temperance Union made everything dull for nearly fourteen years. Did you know that the WCTU still exists? Initially they did not accept Catholic, Jewish or African-American women, or even women who had not been born in North America. However, today even men can join as honorary members. They still hate alcohol, cigarettes, "club drugs" and of course, because there is more than enough hate to go around, same-sex marriage.

Arrogant Bastard

Just be glad that I have more beer to talk about, instead of going on about watching "Finding Neverland" this evening while trapped with a cat on my lap, unable to reach the Kleenex. Resistance was futile. Besides, there's a time for getting weepy, and there's a time for avoiding "the ticking crocodile."

Arrogant Bastard to the rescue! This stuff is oaked dammit. I am certainly not worthy.

p.s. I believe in fairies. Always have, always will.

An Homage to Beer

We usually avoid Bison Brewery beers because of our admitted anti-Berkeley bias (remember, we lived there for a while, we can slam it) alongside their unusual flavor choices (coriander? gingerbread? honey basil? ewwww.) However, this Farmhouse Ale was quite delicious. Light and saisony. Plus, it appeals to our beer snob sensibilities as it is a hard-to-find "Brewer's Reserve" ale. They recommended drinking it with "a nice Emmenthaler or Gruyere as part of a Ploughman's Lunch," but I think we just ripped it open on Friday night and glugged it down. Note that they shut down the pub/restaurant they used to have in Berkeley (we went there a few times, but there were too many annoying college kids there, go figure!) Now all their beers are commercially produced by the Coast Range Brewing Co. in Gilroy. That's the garlic capital of the world -- you will smell it before your arrival, providing a much nicer whiff than driving through the city of Mosinee, WI and getting a noseful of the paper mill.

I'm Barney!

Holy smokes -- encouraged by the Irish Goddess, I took the "Which Simpson are You" test. I'm BARNEY! It was some comfort that the Chef also took the test, and is also Barney. A match made in heaven I would say. Burp.

You Are Barney

You could have been an intellectual leader... Instead, your whole life is an homage to beer You will be remembered for: your beautiful singing voice and your burps Your life philosophy: "There's nothing like beer to give you that inflated sense of self-esteem."

The Simpsons Personality Test

Shiny New Stove

Bling!

The difference

After last night, I think I've figured out the difference. Radio nerds talk about music they like, music writers argue over which music writers they hate. Guess which topic I find more interesting.

Perhaps I'm just grumpy when I'm the designated driver and everyone else is having more fun than me. I also hate that.

SF Bling!

This is a new shoppe in our neighborhood. So convenient to have immediate access to shiny Bling right down the street.

Oatmeal in the UK

While it's in a land far, far away (dammit!) where they speak with funny accents and have pictures of the queen on their currency, even in the UK --- they eat oatmeal for breakfast! Here is "Frank" proving this breakfast similarity between nations true. However, in England, they might be more likely to call it "porridge" (or perhaps "gruel" if "Frank" was an orphan in a Charles Dickens' novel.) Hey, wait a minute -- where are the baked beans and the rest of the funny stuff?

Fungus Fest

There was a "Fungus Festival" at the Ferry Building Farmer's Market -- which didn't amount to much aside from a few tables with different stages of fungus growing. I especially liked the 'shrooms above. The Chef salvaged the theme by buying a bag of black trumpets and making a delicious dinner w/ them. It was the first time we used our new oven, roasting chicken and baking persimmon pudding. Another delicious feast!

PPQ Dungeness Island

Who has time to blog about breakfast when there are so many delicious things to eat this week. Not only did we stuff ourselves (burp) on Thanksgiving with turkey, wild rice, mashed pototatoes, rutabagas, squash casserole, green beans, endive/blue cheese/pecan appetizers, cranberry sauce, pumpkin cheesecake, pecan pie, ginger spice cookies, bourbon balls, but yesterday we realized... it's CRAB SEASON. We always screw this up and miss it.

Determined not to blow it this year, we drove straight to PPQ Dungeness Island restaurant in the Richmond district. A few years ago, we went to the WRONG PPQ restaurant in the Sunset and there wasn't much crab on the menu. Huh? We said to each other, confused. We thought this was the place to go eat crab, where are the giant crabs? Turns out it was a whole different PPQ. Who knew?

Friday we went to the correct PPQ (I think the giveaway is that it's PPQ "Dungeness" Island.) We immediately ordered the "crab dinner for two" (which is kind of like shouting -- "BRING US A GIANT CRAB") and eagerly awaited our giant bibs that said "Time to get cracking'" on them. It's odd to have a waiter put a bib on you, I guess I've missed out on that experience by avoiding the Red Lobster and other shirt-protection-required restaurants. It wasn't as bad as I thought, and he tied it up tight.

Crab dinner for two is not a good first date dinner -- 1) you must wear a giant bib 2) it's hard to make conversation when you are poking into crab parts with a tiny fork 3) you get crab & garlicky sauce all over yourself and make a big mess. Crab dinner for two is perfect for old married people who know the messy extremes of their sweetheart and have an agreed upon gluttony arrangement.

Crab dinner for two --- Imperial Rolls, Chicken Salad, Roasted CRAB, garlic noodles and deep fried bananas and ice cream. We decided that this would be our new day-after-Thanksgiving tradition, making a beeline to the PPQ Dungeness Island crab palace, especially now that we know where it is.

Pilgrim's Pride

We interrupt breakfast week for a delicious Pilgrim's Pride, courtesy of Dr. Robby Virus. Gobble Gobble, Glug Glug.

Turkey Day Breakfast

Kellogg's Raisan Bran and coffee (one packet Splenda, one blop 1% milk.) Reading the morning newspaper is also an essential part of my breakfast routine.

Part 2 -- things I do for work -- today's featured holiday playlist "Give Thanks, Eat Pie" -- Happy Thanksgiving!

The Chieftains "Here's a Health to the Company"

I should memorize all the words to this traditional Irish song and sing it loudly everytime I get together with people I love. "Here's a health to the company and one to my lass/Let us drink and be merry all out of one glass/Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain/For we may and might never all meet here again." Words to live by and celebrate with.

The Soul Stirrers "I Am A Pilgrim"

Sam Cooke w/ his first gospel group. In this song he sings happily about "going home" and while I know that doesn't mean to eat at the family dinner table, on this day let's pretend.

Ray Davies "Thanksgiving"

Who better to sing about an American tradition than an English guy. This is an un-cynical song about families, functional and disfunctional, the real deal.

Cracker "Sweet Potato"

A yammy love song.

The 5,6,7,8's "Hey! Mashed Potato, Hey!

Japanese garage girl dance song stomper that calls out to Mashed Potatoes -- hey! Added bonus, the broken English (i.e. did they just mention gravy?)

The Kaisers "Mashed Potato"

More surf type stuff with lots of shouting about taters. Because singing about taters never gets old.

Golden Smog "Pecan Pie"

Delicious, because Jeff Tweedy takes lead vocals on this one ("A piece of pecan pie, and you that's all I want.") and pecan pie is my favorite Thanksgiving pie. We are bringing one to our Thanksgiving dinner tonight. Plus! The "Down by the Old Mainstream" CD itself is printed with a picture of a pecan pie. You'd miss that delight if you only downloaded music files.

The Ex "The Pie"

Because songs about sweet potato pie go together and this song starts with a recipe for how to make a sweet potato pie, then a noisy request to "globalize the pie." The pie in this song is actually meant to be thrown in the face of a corrupt politician or someone from the world trade organization. The Ex are anarchists from Holland. Here "pie" is a verb.

Art Paul Schlosser "Thanksgiving Stuffing"

A Madison favorite who writes and records songs as prolifically as Daniel Johnston (with as much heart but, um, well, less talent) this is a straight up reading of Oven Top Stuffing directions from a box and other disasters in cooking.

Nellie McKay "Food"

Joyous chorus about getting and eating food fading to a dark underbelly of worldwide hunger issues verse, but then it's back to the happy chorus before you can dwell on the bad stuff.


Sarah Vaughn "Gravy Waltz"

More jazzy odes to delicious gravy in a waltz time signature, please.

Yo La Tengo "Be Thankful for What You Got"

Indie rock cover of an R&B classic by William DeVaughn from one of my favorite bands.

Big Star "Thank You Friends"

More straight up Alex Chilton gratitude, you know, giving thanks, being thankful, it's all here.

William S. Burroughs "A Thanksgiving Prayer"

I hope I don't get fired for sneaking this one here because it breaks many rules in the world of broadcasting, but in an ironic well-meaning way. Maybe not "well-meaning" as I don't think Williams S. Burroughs could ever be described as "well-meaning" but sometimes cyncial mockery with blunt anti-patriotic bad language helps us think about things. Your grandma probably won't think this song is funny.

Four Tet "Sleep, Eat, Have Visions"

A bleepy instrumental after all the trytophan indulgence of the day. ZZZzzzzzzzzz.

Momma MaeRae

Presenting celebrity mom (and pancake maker) of Miss Ruby Rose -- here is MaeRae with her big cup of breakfast mom coffee. I hope that there is also a big multi-vitamin somewhere out of photo range, as I'm a strong bones calcium pusher and, if there is anything I can be accused of prostheltizing, it's that "breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Even though she may only be fueled in the morning by mom coffee, it's obvious that MaeRae has very strong bones (and vocal chords), all you have to do is listen to her new album to figure that out!

Ruby Rose Breakfast

Today's breakfast is brought to you by Miss Ruby Rose. Sometimes Ruby Rose calls me "The Lady" which sends me straight into my best Jerry Lewis impression. "HEY LAYDEEEEEY!" Look at that pancake!

Breakfast of Goddesses (Irish)

Who better to kick off a week of breakfasts than the mighty Irish Goddess. She usually just has a cup of coffee, but she added the cinnamon butter rum muffin just for me. mmmm. I met Irish Goddess in Junior High and immediately took a shine to her. She had (and still has) a complete understanding of all things sarcastic. Irish Goddess and her witty ways helped get me through Horace Mann Middle School AND the Land of Lumberjacks. If she lived closer I would give her another delicious muffin.

Nun Boutique

Every year we drive down to Fremont (soon to be new home of the Oakland A's) to attend the Dominican Sisters of Mission San Jose "Holiday Boutique." It's held right next to historic Mission San Jose (photo above). I'm talking 1797 people -- when the Spanish missionaries came to California and told the Ohlone Indians to move it. Their convent is right in the middle of an olive grove. It was here I finally understood (doh) the whole olives-grow-on-trees concept. Like, wait a minute, what in the heck are on those trees?!?! Olives? Really? WOW!

We've been going for six years, the first year as a lark to buy olive oil, but then we were hooked on the niceness of the sisters and the deliciousness of their holiday treats. Nun fruitcake is now part of our California Christmas tradition.


As a fundraiser, the sisters sell their 100% "extra virgin"olive oil (that's their joke!), along with fruit cake, holiday cookies, bourbon balls that pack a punch and homemade jam (which was all gone by the time we got there on Sunday -- sigh.) In a land without snow, for me the holiday season starts when we get to the nun fair. We buy olive oil and fruit cake (shut up -- it's good!) for both of our families. One year I forgot to bring home the nun fruit cake to my parents in Wisconsin and they were very upset with me. This year I will have to mail it so it will get there in time.

We are usually too shy to take pictures of the nuns out of respect (i.e. catholic guilt and the strong chance of a giant lightning bolt from the sky striking me down in mid-flash.) Although one year one of the nuns was wearing a Rudolph nose and I was very sad I didn't bring my camera, and then I felt guilty about the delighted thought of taking a picture of a nun wearing a Rudolph nose. This year we took pictures, and they didn't mind at all, and there was no "signal" from above that this was wrong, not even a holy tap on the shoulder that it was a venial sin.


Many of the nuns seem to be wizenheimers (Rudolph nose, etc.) and the ones selling the cookies made funny faces when the photo below was taken and made everyone on that side of the room laugh. They always have a door prize raffle -- this year I was only ONE NUMBER OFF! I guess that holiday gift bag with the Applebee's gift certificate went to someone who prays.


We bought olive oil, fruitcake, persimmons, christmas cookies, the famous (loaded with) bourbon balls, a felt turkey head (which is supposed to be slipped over a pineapple?! but my thought is a wine bottle) and nun knitting. I bought a tiny green & red knitted bag that holds things for joggers (?) and all of a sudden the Chef desperately needed yellow & brown hot pads.

Our Nun Boutique bounty is below.

Nert Certified

Today I put out fires, triaged boyscouts, learned what "cribbing" means (no, it's not cheating on the final test) and mistakenly tagged someone as dead when I just needed to put their head in an air intake position. Oops. Sorry volunteer victim. Now I'm a certified NERT volunteer with my own helmet, gloves and orange vest.

Deirdre's breakfast!

In honor of the Chef's food blog A Week of Porridge , I (jokingly) asked people to send me a picture of what they had for breakfast. Here's what Deirdre (the animal expert) eats -- "Greek fig yogurt and coffee with cream and a whole lotta sugar."


Now I'm serious -- please send me a picture of your breakfast!

Make Out Mix

I have a weird job. One of the things that I get paid to do is to create a weekly playlist of sexytime make out songs that are automatically loaded into portable "devices." That way, people can just plug in their device, and start their Friday night listening to, um, sexytime make out songs. Kind of creepy, huh? My suspicion is that those in charge had a big laugh assigning this particular list to me -- and while at first my face got all red when I had send them to my editor (e-mail goes something like, hey bob, here's this week's big make out songs. Do they meet with your approval?" blush blush.

However, turns out it's loads of fun to put together (and much better than whoever is stuck with the weekly "work out mix" UGH!) I try to pick some corny "classics" that are funny to listen to in context (although at closer listen I discovered that Journey's cringeworthy "Lovin' Touchin' & Squeezin'" is actually a jealous and bitter loser song -- I'm pointing at YOU Steve Perry.) I pluck songs from lots of unexpected genres (George Jones & Tammy Wynette's "Take Me" is a great one.) I also try to throw in a few curveballs, like Mirah's "Murphy Bed" (which is a plea to her on-the-road sweetie to tie her to the bed and "let's do all the things we said") to see if anyone will mention it to me, like, hey -- maybe not so S&M on the next list, ok? Of course, no one says anything about the list to me -- ever. Except for once laughing at me about after a particular indie rock Belle & Sebastian tinged sexytime list. Too sweet, okay. Maybe that's how I ride.

I was very pleased with this week's sexytime list:

• "You Sexy Thing" - Hot Chocolate
  

At my parent's house I have a tattered gradeschool CCD workbook somewhere (CCD is Catholic class for public school kids spared from daily exposure to nuns.) There's a page that asks lots of questions like -- what's your favorite color, what's your favorite food, and then, what's your favorite song? My response in scrawley grade school writing? -- Hot Chocolate "You Sexy Thing" I had no idea. Come to think of it, no one ever said anything about it to me then! You cannot deny the greatness of this song, even when you are 11 and have no idea what it really means.

• "Your Touch" - The Black Keys

Scrawny white nerds from Ohio who sing gritty sexed-up blues songs, the perfect match.

• "Do You Wanna Touch Me" - Joan Jett

Another classic that we all sang along loudly with in high school without giving a thought to being assaulted. Plus, Joan Jett in black leather with an Elvis snarl. Need I say more?

• "Come Close" - Common

It's hard to find a sweet, sincere hip-hop love song that doesn't use bad words to describe the ladies. This is a sweet, sincere hip hop song that will make you want to track down Common and give him a kiss. (update, I just saw Common on the TV rapping "Peace, Love, The Gap" so I'm re-thinking him as someone I would want to kiss. Peace, Love, The Gap? blah!

• "Let's Stay In And Make Love" - Nick Lowe

An adult old married folks sexytime song, that is quite blunt! Getting the message across, because old people don't have time to waste.

• "Make The Night A Little Longer" - Dionne Warwick

This song rules because Dionne actually makes a plea to GOD to extend the length of the evening so she can have more sexytime fun. Does that make it a gospel song?

• "Want No Other" - Holly Golightly

An underappreciated UK vocalist who sings many alluring 60's vintage-style songs about romance that range from upfront (the Headcoatees "Come Into My Mouth" -- I was not daring enough to include that one this week -- eek) I picked this one because she tells her bloke that even though he's a big jerk, she still digs him anyway. Who can explain the magic of love?

• "We're Gonna Boogie" - Primal Scream

See Black Keys above, replace scrawny nerds from Ohio with scrawny nerds from Scotland singing gritty sexed-up blues songs. Boogie, you know what I mean? nudge nudge, wink wink. Note that this is from their first new CD in years, and it rocks.

• "The Way You Move - (featuring Sleepy Brown)" - Outkast

My least favorite of the list, I never quite got the whole Outkast frenzy, but I try to throw un-adventerous listeners a familar treat if they can make it this far down this list.

• "Kiss Me Neck" - Lee "Scratch" Perry

An instrumental, yet one of the sexiest songs of them all. This was one of the Upsetters' very first singles, from the 1960s. Mix the title w/ the rock steady chugachugachugs and the vocal exclamations at the close -- wow. Sometimes the sexiest songs have no lyrics.

So next time someone asks me, "so what do you really do again for work?" I'll tell them I make lists of sexytime makeout songs that can instantly downloaded as a "dynamic" playlist to their portable "device" so they can enjoy a sexytime weekend, and maybe I'll hand them this list.

Big Cookie lunch

No, I didn't sit on the floor and eat giant chocolate chip cookies (burp.) Today I had lunch with DJ Big Cookie. She's a world travelling super-artist whose sweetheart is more than prepared for the next disaster to strike. They have MRE rations! She said that we could come over to their place after the next earthquake, but only if we bring the liquor. Agreed.


Not only did Neko Case wear the DJ Big Cookie two heads designed T-shirt when she played Bimbo's earlier this year -- she also wore it on the cover of nerd-guitar magazine "Frets."



Last week I was watching the hopeless new (and probably last) season of "The Gilmore Girls" and there was dopey musician character Zach, AGAIN wearing that Neko-approved Big Cookie designed two heads T-shirt! I took it as a sign that I should quick get one for my niece (it's her 18th birthday on Thursday) before all of Hollywood AND alt.county has purchased one.

A Week of Porridge

This week the Chef is doing a food blog for egullet.org - an on-line food community that he participates in by moderating the drunk and disorderly (i.e. cocktails) section. It's a lot of pressure, all this food documentation, as other people who have participated have traveled to Cambodia or live in Italy. He is going to take pictures of his oatmeal every morning.

My stroke of genius was to buy a giant bag of Peeps and present a different Peeps preparation for each meal for seven days. Peeps & Eggs, Peep Sandwich, Grilled Peeps (and so on) -- however, the classic Peeps are not "in season" so I'll have to wait until Springtime to recreate this fantasy.

Here is A Week of Porridge.

Media Love

It's fun to open up the newspaper and read about your friends.

Congratulations to Catherine Second Life & Deirdre the Animal Expert on all the media attention!

Fireman Frank

 

NERT

Tomorrow, the Chef and I will be getting up EARLIER THAN WE EVER HAVE BEFORE ON A SATURDAY MORNING to attend NERT training. That's Neighborhood Emergency Response Team. I think this means that we'll get to wear hard hats and orange vests during the next earthquake, and maybe even help people.

My New Wallet

This is my new wallet. My old Poketo wallet that my friend DJ Big Cookie gave me was getting all worn out and the change kept exploding out of the coin purse. DJ Big Cookie's designs were all sold out (and I'm hoarding my Postal Service freebie), so I took my chances and went directly to artist Susie Ghahremani's website to see if I could score one of her typewriter wallets. Whew, it was there. I also ordered one of the notepads, there were birds and owls on it, how could I resist?

The funny thing was, when I walked up to the grocery store yesterday (the Chef needed mushrooms) and I pulled out my wallet at the checkout line, the grocery store check-out kid said, "Nice wallet!" and when I started to explain how I knew someone that did designs for them, he pulled out his own wallet and said, "Look! I have a Poketo wallet too!" We got all excited talking about vinyl wallets, until the stupid middle-aged women behind us wanted (ahem) to have her goddamn groceries checked and I had to go home.

Do you think I should be worried that the highlight of my day was talking vinyl wallets with the grocery store check-out kid?

Moldy McSunkenhead

The Halloween season is officially over. Unfortunately, pumpkins don't last as long here as they do in the Midwest. Here is McMoldy in happier times, before he bit the doorstep.

!Ya Vote!

Is it wrong to vote for Hydra Mendoza for school board just because her name is so marvelous?

(oh, but she's endorsed by Gavin and that's a big plus too.)

Mondays

I go into the office on Monday. It bursts my illusion that I don't have a full-time job. There are times when I think I would be happier if I went into the office more often (as they would like me to do, so that they could suck out my brain and still not give me benefits) but there are other times when I'm very happy to be free of the get-up-ride-the-bus-only-to-sit-around with strangers routine that I feel like I'm living in a dream world.

Just me. Just me and the cats. Just me and the cats, sitting in the basement meeting all my deadlines. Just me, talking to the cats, just me, singing to the cats. Just me, isolating myself from the world. There are many days I have to resist picking up the phone to call the office in a fit of paranoia, and scream, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON THERE?"

Maybe I should go into the office more often. Then again, what about the cats?

Plus, riding public transportation is over-rated (if only by MY MOM.) Last year, my mother and I spent a weekend in Chicago and (because my mom has a bum knee) we took the bus down Michigan Avenue to the Art Institute. It was a public bus, but because nearly everyone who got on it was a clueless visitor who asked the bus driver for directions, it basically was a "tourist shuttle."

My mom said to me, "You know, riding the bus is great!" and I (sarcastic daughter) retorted, "Yes THIS bus is a nice bus, but not all buses are like this." She said, "But it's so convenient to hop on a bus and get to where you want to go." I responded, "Well, a few blocks on a bus down Michigan Avenue with a bus driver who is giving everyone directions is great. But really mom, not ALL buses are as nice as this bus." She just looked at me blankly -- she has no idea! My mother has missed out on the day to day horrors of big city bus riding.

Sometimes when I'm riding the #14 down Mission Street, I come to the realization that I'm the only white yuppie lady on the bus -- arms rubbing against probable gang members (who use bad words that hurt my tender ears), prostitutes (who discuss late-night intrigue and their "little somethin' somethin'" and who is trying to steal it where to hide it) and (ooof) blindingly pungent homeless drug addicts full of the crazies on their way SF General for methodone treatments. I try hard not to make eye contact with anyone and hope that I haven't just sat in something horrible and I think, wow, my mom would COMPLETELY freak out if she knew I rode the bus. She would probably make me move back to Wisconsin. But that bus ride down Michigan Avenue from Watertower Place to the Art Institute of Chicago -- that's a sweet carefree ride.

Shiny Shiny Stove

We finally decided which stove we wanted to buy, but when we got to Sears we were hypnotized by the more expensive shiny-shiny-shiny-fancy range. Thus, after days spent researching on-line, comparing, contrasting and weighing our options -- we bought that one instead. It looked cooler.

I curse you Consumer Reports.org -- why can't you control me!?!

2 Foot Yard

2 Foot Yard -- tonight @ the Jewish Community Center.
Carla is also in the Tin Hat Trio (our wedding band!)

Destinations

Places to go:

Oaxaca, Mexico
Genoa, Italy
Quigley’s Point, Ireland
Barcelona/Bilbao, Spain
Kauai, Hawaii
Arnes, Norway
Jacksonville, Florida
Acadia National Park, Maine
Grand Canyon, Arizona
Beijing, China
San Diego, CA (Stone Brewery!)

All Soul's Altar

This was a year full of souls. The Chef's father died and we both lost former (well-liked) co-workers. Above they are represented with WD-40 (Mr. E) Herbs de Provence (Florence) and a Belle & Sebastian CD (Jamie). Also a salute to ancestors on both sides, Eileen and the big black Kitty.

Dia de los Muertos

An opportunity to make sugar skulls (or watch someone else do it) and celebrate the lives of loved ones.

There is always an amazing altar exhibit at the Encantada Gallery on Valencia Street. Last night, we passed by it on our Halloween walk and I had to stop and press my nose against the glass.

We also plan to head to the Mission Cultural Center this weekend for more altars and installations.