You'll Eat It and Like It

Retro provocation

2012-02-02T11:32:00.001-08:00

I don't really want to read this book, but somehow i like the idea of it sitting on my coffee table when guests arrive.

Fiddling around

2012-02-01T09:51:00.000-08:00

I have a new-ish phone, and I've been having fun fiddling around with the camera. I found a free app called Vignette that adds cool distressing and light-intensifying effects to pictures.

This is the current view from one of my kitchen windows. The row of Buddha Beer bottles is actually kind of pretty in this light.

This is some kind of tree in Eagle Rock that is in bloom right now. Tiny white blossoms were drifting around it like a localized snowstorm, although you can't see any of them in this photo.
Here's a thunbergia (Black-eyed Susan vine) that was blooming outside my back door a few weeks ago. The pathetic sticks in the pot are actually a nutmeg plant that has sprung back to life after a brief winter dormancy and is now in bloom, too. I'll try to get a picture of its teensy pink flowers soon.

Lame!

2012-01-30T14:36:00.001-08:00

What kind of stupid cookbook promises gooey, scrumptious cheesy goodness but contains NOT A SINGLE PHOTO? Why, this one, of course:

Boycott on general principle, I say!

Book of the week

2012-01-04T07:49:00.001-08:00

One of those delightfully odd things I run across occasionally at work. From the back cover:

"From B.B. King to Billie Holliday, blues music not only sounds good but has an almost universal appeal in its reflection of the trials and tribulations of everyday life. Its ability to powerfully touch on a range of social and emotional issues is philosophically inspiring, and here a diverse range of thinkers and musicians offer illuminating essays that make important connections between the human condition and the blues.

"So, if nobody loves you but your Momma, open the pages and explore:
- Blues and the human condition
- Women and the blues
- Why it can feel so good to feel so blue
- The transformation of trauma and loss in the blues
- Whether whites ripped off the blues"

This book is but the latest volume in the heretofore unknown-to-me "Philosophy for Everyone" series. Other intriguing titles include Christmas - Philosophy for Everyone: Better Than a Lump of Coal and Serial Killers - Philosophy for Everyone: Being and Killing.

More of me?

2012-01-02T14:31:00.001-08:00

I have spent a lot of time thinking about this blog the past few months -- almost certainly more time thinking about it than actually posting. I don't think blogs are a thing of the past, but I've wondered if this one was. I've never really had a theme or even a consistent tone here. I've gone weeks and weeks without posting a word, then I'll post a little flurry of things over the course of a few days. (I do the same thing on Twitter.)

The upshot is, I came thiiiiiiis close to deleting the whole thing the other day. Just . . . "Hey, it's the year's end. Let's do some housekeeping and get rid of stuff I don't need." But I couldn't. I suppose a large part of it is sentiment. Some of it is pride in a few of the posts I've written. And a very small bit of me still loves having a corner of the universe in which I can be creative. So my goal -- my GOAL, not a resolution! -- for now is to take advantage of this firmly established if seldom visited spot and try to post a little more often and see where that takes me. If you're reading this, I hope you'll stick around and let me know how I'm doing.

2011 reading wrap-up and dead pool results!

2012-01-01T10:13:00.000-08:00

2011 was a good year for reading. At the beginning of the year I made a conscious but not rigid decision both to read more fiction and to not worry so much about keeping up with new books. Just read and have fun! I told myself. That's what I did, and consequently I read more books -- and overall more enjoyable books -- than I had in years.

The titles I especially enjoyed are marked with an asterisk.

1. The Radleys by Matt Haig (finished 1/8/11)
I enjoyed this novel about a family of British vampires integrated into non-vampire society -- so well integrated, in fact, that the teenage kids don't even realize they're vampires. Still, my affection for all things bloodsucking has waned in recent years, and what might have once struck me as a truly original idea now reads almost like a parody of vampire fiction.

*2. The Sherlockian by Graham Moore (1/18)
It's odd summarizing this novel, a Sherlock Holmes pastiche about the mysterious death of a Holmes expert/obsessive, at this particular moment because I'm currently reading a collection of essays by David Grann that includes a piece on the real-life case The Sherlockian is based on. The novel was quite entertaining and seems to have stuck closely to the true story. There was a sort of naive quality to the narrator that I particularly liked.

*3. American Rose: A Nation Laid Bare: The Life and Times of Gypsy Rose Lee by Karen Abbott (1/29)
Wow. If you think you know the story of the famous stripper because you've seen the movie Gypsy, well, you don't know the half of it. Sibling rivalry, massive fame and fortune followed by crippling poverty, multiple murders, dance marathons, a multi-generational household filled with women each asserting her own power . . . the list goes on. Mama Rose is still the central, powerhouse figure in this story -- it's unavoidable. But Gypsy herself emerges as a strong and highly eccentric character, not at all the sweet, ladylike young woman Natalie Wood played in the film.

4. Popular Crime: Reflections on the Celebration of Violence by Bill James (2/24)
This book was highly readable but totally wack. Bill James is best known for being a baseball stats guy; his hobby is reading true crime books, and in this oddity he turns his mind towards solving famous crimes throughout the last couple of centuries. At times this volume reads more like a series of book reports, as he pits the relative merits of one true crime book against another. At other times he is clearly playing detective, a role he takes quite seriously. Nutty but entertaining.

5. The Dirty Life: On Farming, Food, and Love by Kristin Kimball (3/2)
I hardly remember this. The author marries a young farmer and becomes a farmer herself. (I was going to write "a farmer's wife," but as I recall she is totally involved in the running of the farm and not just some accessory.) It was all right but, clearly, not terribly memorable.

6. Unfamiliar Fishes by Sarah Vowell (3/20)
This wasn't nearly as awful as The Wordy Shipmates, but after reading this ho-hum account of the early days of Hawaii, I am not going to be eagerly anticipating more books by Vowell.

7. Mildred Pierce by James M. Cain (3/29)
I read this fine novel, which was not at all the crime story I expected, in anticipation of seeing the new HBO adaptation. Then we canceled our HBO subscription shortly before this aired and I never got to compare the two.

*8. The Borrower by Rebecca Makkai (4/5)
Delightful! A children's librarian inadvertently "kidnaps" her favorite young patron and they set off on a meandering road trip to save themselves. The author has a great way with words and a low-key sense of humor that I loved.

*9. Just My Type: A Book about Fonts by Simon Garfield (4/28)
I so loved this book that I wrote a brief review of it for Publishers Weekly. Anyone who loves fonts and graphic design would get a kick out of this one-of-a-kind read.

10. The Tragedy of Arthur by Arthur Phillips (5/6)
Confession: I didn't read this whole book. The first half, which I did read and sort of liked, is an "introduction" that Phillips has supposedly written to a newly-discovered Shakespeare play, in which he claims his father fabricated the entire thing and that the publisher should never have published it. The second half, which I didn't bother to read, is the play itself. Phillips has written a couple of other things that sound interesting, but this novel doesn't make me want to run out and get them.

*11. Let's Kill Uncle by Rohan O'Grady (5/12)
A weird, wonderful, obscure little novel about a young boy and girl who are convinced the boy's uncle is trying to kill him . . . so they decide to kill the uncle. Two of my favorite characters were an angry bull, just seething with rage, and a much put-upon leopard. William Castle, the producer of all kinds of gimmicky horror and thriller films in the 1950s and 60s, made a dreary-sounding movie based on this book and starring Mary Badham, who played Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird.

12. Lost in Shangri-La by Mitchell Zuckoff (5/18)
I wanted to love this true account of a plane that crashed in New Guinea during WWII, leaving only three survivors, but it just wasn't that great. I liked it, though.

*13. The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearne by Brian Moore (5/22)
Such a sad, beautifully-written story! Judith Hearne is a struggling spinster in 1950s Ireland, and she carries a dark secret that is slowly destroying her life. Even though this book tells a very specific story, it really made me think about the vast number of lonely people who must exist at the margins of society.

*14. The Sisters Brothers by Patrick de Witt (5/31)
This year's Smonk! Charlie and Eli Sisters are assassins for hire in the Old West, and their violent, darkly humorous account of their latest assignment was nominated for all kinds of literary awards in 2011. I loved it.

*15. The Psychopath Test: A Journey through the Madness Industry by Jon Ronson (6/3)
Funny and disturbing. Read this book and you may start to recognize psychopaths in your own life.

*16. Life Among the Savages by Shirley Jackson (6/27)
Yes, the same Shirley Jackson who wrote The Haunting of Hill House. This book is utterly different from that Gothic classic, a rollicking memoir of buying a house in a small rural community and raising four rambunctious children. Who would have guessed that the author of Hill House and "The Lottery" could be so funny?

17. Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs (7/13)
Another highly-anticipated book that fell a bit flat. I did enjoy the creepy photographs, but the story didn't do much for me.

18. Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child (7/17)
A ridiculously entertaining reread of something I first encountered about 15 years ago. The writing isn't very good, but the story is over-the-top exciting and great fun.

19. Shock Value: How a Few Eccentric Outsiders Gave Us Nightmares, Conquered Hollywood, and Invented Modern Horror by Jason Zinaman (7/21)
A bit of a disappointment, this history of modern horror filmmaking suffered from the fact that what should have been its centerpiece had already appeared in perfect form in the book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls by Peter Biskind -- a chapter on the making of The Exorcist.

20. Impact by Douglas Preston (7/26)
I should stop reading these silly thrillers by Douglas Preston. They're never very good, yet I keep going back to them. In this book, the primary thing I learned was that Preston seems to have purchased a boat with the money earned from his other thrillers and he is eager to share with readers all the nifty sailing lingo he has picked up. Impact's ending is both a total cop-out and totally ingenious, which is probably why I keep reading schlock like this.

21. A Thousand Lives: The Untold Story of Faith, Deception, and Survival at Jonestown by Julia Scheeres (7/28)
A sensitive, compassionate account of the Peoples Temple and their doomed utopia. I admit, I read it hoping to find mention of someone I once knew who was a member of the Peoples Temple; she wasn't in the book, but her parents were and came across as pretty terrible people. It made me sad.

*22. The Help by Kathryn Stockett (8/1)
Dammit. After all the hoopla surrounding this book, I didn't even want to read it, let alone like it. But like it I did.

*23. One Day by David Nicholls (8/7)
Another book I read in anticipation of a movie I never saw. Casting Anne Hathaway in the female lead is probably what ruined the idea of the film for me. The book, however, was wonderful. A very unexpected ending.

24. Elliott Allagash by Simon Rich (8/10)
This story -- rich genius superkid manipulates everyone and everything around him -- was done much better a few years ago in I Am a Genius of Unspeakable Evil and I Want to Be Your Class President.

25. The Magician King by Lev Grossman (8/21)
The satisfying sequel to The Magicians. Grossman's definitely improved at ending his novels -- this one is the best yet. When I met the author shortly after reading this book, he informed me that the advance copy I'd read was substantially different than the finished book, so now I guess I'll have to buy the real thing and read it someday.

26. Skyjack: The Search for D.B. Cooper by Geoffrey Gray (8/23)
A moderately entertaining account of the infamous skyjacker, written upon the 40th anniversary of his escapade. There are lots of plausible suspects but still no answers as to his real identity.

*27. Rules of Civility by Amor Towles (8/28)
A lovely novel, so well written, about a young woman's ascent in society in 1930s New York. Honestly, the subject matter is not something that interests me much, but someone whose opinion I respect encouraged me to read this book and I'm glad I did. It's probably the best fiction I read all year.

28. Methland: The Death and Life of an American Small Town by Nick Reding (9/2)
An absorbing account of the meth epidemic. It was published a few years ago and it would be interesting to see where things stand now.

29. The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (9/15)
Blecchhh. More high hopes dashed. This book started of promisingly, but by the halfway mark it was beginning to falter; what had seemed charming and whimsical at the outset began to feel cloying and irritating. A most unsatisfying read. I can't believe I finished this one.

30. Hound Dog True by Linda Urban (9/26)
Linda is a friend of mine and she's a fantastic writer, with an especially keen ear for dialogue, but I find the plots of her novels to be a little precious for me. This was a nice little read but not really my type of thing.

31. Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber (10/3)
This book sat on my shelf for years before I finally picked it up to read it. It was published back in the 1940s, and it's about a college professor who discovers that his wife is using witchcraft to ensure his academic success. When he calls her on it and forces her to stop, her carefully constructed protections collapse and he is at the mercy of the wives of his fellow academics, all of whom are using witchcraft to advance their husbands' careers. The novel reached what I thought was a stopping point about 2/3 of the way through . . . but continued on in a most unexpected way. It wasn't the greatest thing ever, but it was a cool surprise to find this gem among my old books.

32. Thornyhold by Mary Stewart (10/8)
Another never-read, long-ago purchase I rescued from my dusty bottom bookshelf. The important elements: post-World War II England, a country cottage, a touch of romance, witchcraft. It sounds like I'm damning it with faint praise, but this was just a really nice read, very cozy and entertaining in a low-key way.

*33. L.A. Confidential by James Ellroy (10/18)
I've been a fan of the film for years but had never tackled the book. What a rewarding read! It's even darker and more brutal, more complex, than the film; while the movie wraps everything up in a satisfying, comprehensible way, the book is not afraid to leave loose ends and allow bad deeds to go unpunished. I now truly appreciate how someone managed to wrangle this huge, unwieldy book into such a good screenplay.

*34. Those Across the River by Christopher Buehlman (10/21)
Definitely the most poetic title of the year. It's the 1930s. The main character is a disgraced college professor who has inherited a house in a tiny Georgia hamlet and decides to move there with his mistress, even though the person who has willed it to him expressly warns him not to do so and to try to sell the house as quickly as he can. What's going on in this isolated town? Here's a clue from page 2: "It occurred to me for the first time that they might eat me. Then I shook that thought away; if they meant to eat me, they wouldn't let my flesh get this rotten." Think you've got it? Think again.

35. Full Dark, No Stars by Stephen King (11/13)
This collection of novellas is the first thing I've read by King in ages, and it was solid. The first story, in particular, was nice and gruesome, a real return to classic King form.

*36. 11/23/63 by Stephen King (11/21)
So of course I immediately read another King book. I'd actually been anticipating this novel about time travel and the JFK assassination for months. What I ended up liking about it was how much of it was not about time travel and the JFK assassination, but rather about making choices and adapting to new (old?) situations and falling in love. King got nominated for that "bad sex scene writing" award by some British newspaper, and I thought that was a bit harsh; I found the love story in this book to be quite affecting and the sex scenes not horrible at all.

*37. Used and Rare: Travels in the Book World by Lawrence & Nancy Goldstone (11/29)
Another reread for me. This is a marvelous memoir of how the authors became book collectors; they progress from thinking, "Ewww, a used book?" to attending auctions and traveling the country to find volumes they want. It's quite funny.

*38. Stoner by John Williams (12/8)
Yeah, this book is as great as everyone says it is. For some reason, probably because of the setting, I thought it had been written in the early 1900s, but it was first published in 1965.

*39. Packing for Mars: The Curious Science of Life in the Void by Mary Roach (12/15)
The life of astronauts, as discovered by intrepid, never-afraid-to-ask-those-questions science writer Mary Roach.

40. The Woman in Black by Susan Hill (12/28)
A gratifyingly old-fashioned ghost story, featuring a wonderful little dog named Spider. Daniel Radcliffe is set to star in the film.

So that's it for my reading year. Forty books! That's a lot for me. I have no reading goals for 2012, other than to continue to embrace the opportunity to read older books that I might normally overlook.

As for the Dead Pool . . . Sean won bragging rights and the $6 pot in our 2011 Dead Pool. He had two hits: Osama bin Laden and Kim Jong-Il. Mary and Karen (Elizabeth Taylor) and I (Andy Rooney) each had one hit, and poor Curtis and Norman had none. Lucy opted out of the 2011 Pool but let her 2010 list ride "mentally," as she put it -- good thing it was just mental, because she would have creamed the rest of us with her four hits!

Last night, over a fine Chinese meal, we constructed our 2012 lists. Besides myself, Sean, Lucy, Norman, and Mary, we had a few new players: my sister Susan and my niece Cameron and nephew Jake. I don't think the kids know half the people on their lists -- they just copied names from their moms. As usual, I don't like to make celebrities who may be Googling themselves feel bad by listing our guesses, but I will note that both the kids seem to have it in for Charlie Sheen and practically all of us have Dick Cheney listed as our "aspirational" kill.

The Twelve Books of Christmas, Part 3

2011-12-19T10:41:00.000-08:00

I apologize for taking so long to continue with this oh-so-vital list, but I've been waiting for this particular book to come in -- every time a few arrived they would immediately sell out, so I couldn't peruse it for confirmation that it is an awesome book. Well, I snagged a copy today, and I'm here to tell you that if grooming your cat and ending up with a handful of fluff that you think could be put to some use is your idea of a good time, then this book is awesome. There are instructions for making coin purses, tote bags, book covers, finger puppets and more. What you're doing, really, is felting, which doesn't seem gross when you're using wool (i.e., sheep or goat fur). But when it's your cat -- your cat who coughs up fur balls and tracks cat litter all over the apartment -- it's kinda yucky. Still, the projects are cute and it's a deeeelightful set of projects for serious recyclers.

A must for the world traveler! Who knew that such innocent-seeming moves as rubbing your neck, touching your nose with your index finger, or beckoning someone with a finger could get you in so much trouble? Black and white photos and handy explanations throughout. Rule of thumb: try not to use your left hand for any sort of gesture in the Arab world.

I adore this little book, based on the blog of the same name. In it, real people recreate photos of themselves that are years, often decades, old. Often they are wearing very similar clothing; occasionally they are able to pose in the exact same spot. Spontaneous shots from childhood are wonderfully weird when they are posed for by self-conscious adults. I'm tempted to try to talk my siblings into doing something along these lines!

The Twelve Books of Christmas, Part 2

2011-12-09T09:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it can be hard to talk to your family and friends, even about the most trivial things. This book of questions provides dozens of thought-provoking icebreakers to get the conversation started. One I opened to randomly: "What were you totally unaware of about yourself until someone said something?" I was unaware of my tendency to pronounce certain words (frontier, cereal) in a way that other folks apparently find highly amusing; thank goodness nobody has yet called me on hamburger (which I now notice I pronounce "hambooger"). Other questions: "Who have you gone to for advice that, admittedly, can't even get their own shit together?" and "What's the first movie you saw that you were too young to see?" Fun stuff, and another perfect stocking stuffer.

The Twelve Books of Christmas, Part 1

2011-12-08T15:47:00.000-08:00

Well, it has certainly been a long time since I posted. I should probably remove that NaBloPoMo badge from the sidebar, eh? No need to remind people what a slacker I am.

As we draw nearer to the holidays (i.e., Christmas -- honestly, let's call a spade a spade, shall we?), it occurs to me that it's a prime opportunity to mention a few books that might appeal to some of the more hard-to-buy-for people on your gift list, books that you can find right now on the shelves of your local independent bookstore!

Let's get started.

Here's a great little guide to aid those who keep mixing up their Majoreras with their Zamorano Leones. Twenty-four breeds (who knew there were so many?) are pictured and described in a book so tiny, it can fit in your back pocket. It's only $6.95! Know Your Chickens, another book in the series, may also be lurking in the farming and rural life section.

A delightful cookbook for those who eschew fancyass modernities like food processors and stoves. Most of the recipes can be prepared in a Dutch oven and cooked on a grill or over hot coals. There are some weird things in here, like Baked Woodchuck, Squirrel Soup, and Jackrabbit Stew (any of which I would at least taste, by the way), but it's mostly normal-sounding stews, braises, and breads. This book might come in handy after a natural disaster. A great stocking stuffer!

In which I make a tactical error . . .

2011-11-08T15:47:00.000-08:00

"Excuse me, young lady," said the 50ish man standing in the mystery section. "Do you work here?"

"I do," I replied. I should have left it at that, or added, "Can I help you find something?" but no. I had to say, "And thank you for calling me 'young lady.'"

"Oh, thirty-eight's still very young!" he said cheerfully. Meaning he thought I looked a LOT older than 38 and picked a "low" number he thought would please me. He was wrong.

Hippie getaway

2011-11-07T12:26:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, Norman, Lucy and I took a little jaunt up California's Pacific Coast Highway, a.k.a. (to my mind, at least) the Hippie Trail. We had no real goal in mind, other than to get out of town and relax a bit. I had to work Friday morning, so we hit the trail about 12:30. It was raining and chilly, but we were well-provisioned (no Donner Party fate for us!) and equipped with both GPS and satellite radio.

We had a decidedly non-outstanding lunch at Willy's Smokehouse in Agoura Hills -- nothing wrong with it, but nothing special, either. My BBQ didn't even warrant a photo. We drove north towards our night's destination, San Luis Obispo, passing through small agricultural towns. We saw lots of broccoli growing, as well as cabbage, pumpkins, and what had once been corn but was now just dried, brown stalks. One little town we drove through, Guadalupe, seemed particularly hard-hit by the recession -- lots of empty storefronts and abandoned-looking houses. We were perplexed by a sign for the Living Water Church.

"What does that mean?" Lucy wondered.

"It means they drink their own urine," I said. Naturally, I know nothing at all about the Living Water Church.

Guadalupe does have an awesome-looking cemetery right on the highway.

It was almost dark when we reached San Luis Obispo, and even with the GPS, we had a little trouble finding our lodging, Sycamore Mineral Springs. Don't be fooled by the lush photos and spa packages -- this place is a total hippie getaway! Each of the rooms comes with a private natural sulfur springs hot tub, and the emphasis is on "private." Our rooms were tucked away at the back of a building called Harmony, pressed up against a wooded hillside. Lucy's room was called "Y-Not," and she immediately dubbed it the Whore Room. "There has been a lot of sex at this place," she declared, and I don't doubt it.

By the time we were settled and ready for dinner, it was full-on dark; we didn't feel like driving around an unfamiliar town trying to find a dinner place, so we decided to eat at the resort's dining room. Good choice!

None of the menu's entrees really grabbed us, so we decided to share several appetizers for dinner. Above is our lovely cheese plate, which included quince jelly and a piece of honeycomb. We also shared some scallops, foccaccia, and tiny Spanish sausages on a bed of mashed potatoes. We asked our waiter what made the butter, pictured at lower left, so fantastically delicious, and he said it's because it's whipped. That boy didn't know what he was talking about. I think somebody in the kitchen mixed some crack into it before they sent it out.

Mmmm, dessert: creme brulee with a piece of lavender shortbread on top. It was a delicious, very grown-up meal.

The next morning, after Lucy had a close encounter with an Edward Cullen-lookalike who came to her room to "adjust her shower" (or so she said), we went off in search of good breakfast. Lucy had found a likely-sounding spot on Yelp, but we spotted the Madonna Inn from the highway and decided to eat there instead. See? Isn't it nice to be flexible?

Norman and Lucy contemplate the wonder that is the Madonna Inn. I'm sorry, but I failed to take an exterior shot that really captures the rococo pink Swiss Chalet style of the place.

This shot is a bit better.

Breakfast at the Copper Cafe. It's kind of expensive, especially for breakfast, but the food was good and the service was excellent. My coffee cup was never less than two-thirds full.

Mmmm, corned beef hash, poached eggs, and hash browns. One of the bread choices was biscuits, which means two large, crumbly buttermilk biscuits. I was only able to eat one of them and felt bad about leaving the other. They were served with apricot jam, raspberry jam, and honey. I told our waitress that I thought it was cool the restaurant served something besides your typical strawberry jam and grape jelly, and she told us she had just picked her two favorite jams. Talk about personal service!

After breakfast we walked around the inn a bit. Here was the dining room adjacent to the cafe, already tricked out for the holidays.

A tasteful chandelier.

An even more tasteful staircase. A wedding and a baby shower were both taking place that morning so we couldn't wander as far as I might have liked.

Here's a famous sight at the Madonna Inn: the urinal in the men's room. That red light at the right senses when a gentleman has finished his business and stepped back, and it triggers a waterfall down the rocks above. Men were far outnumbered by camera-toting women in that restroom.

One last look at the Madonna Inn: a glimpse at the cake shelves in the bakery. Pink!

Once we got out of San Luis Obispo, we hit Highway 1 and were driving along the coast. We passed through Morro Bay and eventually came to Cambria, which is one of the most beautiful little towns I've ever seen. It is effortlessly charming. I think Cambria was the first point at which Lucy said, "I want to live here. How do you get to live in a place like this?" It was not the last time she said something along those lines, although in Cambria she specified that she'd be willing to stop shaving her legs, let her hair go gray, and get a cat in order to live there. We had two things we wanted to see in Cambria. The first one was the Redmoose Cookie Company.

We never would have found this place without GPS. I'd heard it was in an industrial neighborhood, but that doesn't really describe its location. It honestly seemed to be housed in a large unit in a storage facility. Inside it was no great shakes: a glass counter filled with goods, and a simple table filled with more goods. But, oh! those goods! I bought a package of peanut butter cookies and something called a Naughty Rod, which is a large pretzel rod covered in caramel, chocolate, and other goodies. Norman got some chocolate chip cookies, some root beer cookies, and a couple of Pumpkin Moose Pies, which are sandwich cookies made with pumpkin spice cookies and brown butter and vanilla cream frosting. Lucy got some Cinnful cookies (Y-Not? whore!), O Joy (triple chocolate, coconut, and toasted almonds), and Nutless Wonders (which the owner said, Lucy swears, he named after himself). Yummy! Do visit Redmoose Cookie Company if you're ever in Cambria.

The other place we visited was Linn's Easy as Pie Cafe, which is also a series of fun little shops crammed with edible gifts, kitchen accessories, books, and assorted gewgaws. I had hoped we might eat lunch there, because I hear their chicken pot pie is delish, but we were still so stuffed from breakfast that it was out of the question. We just looked around. I bought some tipsy maraschino cherries in whiskey for my sister Mary, who has become quite the bartender of late.

A raspberry mascot out on Linn's patio. Or maybe it's an ollalieberry. I can't tell the difference.

We kept on driving. The day, which had started cool but sunny, grew ever more overcast, but the three of us didn't mind that at all. Lucy's car has satellite radio and we alternated between the Outlaw Country station and something called The Bridge, which is mellow 70s rock. We heard a lot of Elton John, Fleetwood Mac, and The Eagles on Saturday afternoon.

We drove through San Simeon. I remember hearing that at one time, William Randolph Hearst owned everything as far as he could see from Hearst Castle, perched atop the hills above San Simeon. Damn. We could see the castle on top of those hills, but there was no way to get closer without committing to a tour. It was so far away that, while I could make out some details through Lucy's dad's old binoculars, there was no point in taking a picture. We decided to visit the pier on the beach across the highway from the castle tour's entrance instead.

It's a substantial pier. Hearst probably had provisions shipped in from the wilds of Los Angeles.

Norman taking in, and enjoying, the gloom.

The state of California owns San Simeon and Hearst Castle now, and they have placed some informative signs along the pier for visitors. I read this one and immediately started looking for sea otters, harbor seals, sea lions, dolphins and whales. All I saw were some seagulls and kelp.

The weather started to get nicer as we wound our way up the coast. And I do mean wound -- the road got curvier and less flat as we made our way north. At one point Lucy looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, "Hey, are you all right?" "I feel kind of woozy," I admitted. My head ached and my stomach felt uneasy. Carsick! Criminently! Turns out, my fellow travelers felt much the same way. We decided to pull over for some coffee. The thought of eating lunch was unbearable.

I can't even tell you where this is. It was more of a wide spot in the road than an actual town. I'm not sure why Lucy looks so peevish.

I wish I could tell you where this is. It was so pretty, and I'd rather remember it as someplace other than the spot where I nearly threw up.

Fortified with caffeine and non-drowsy Dramamine, we crossed the highway to take a few pictures. California's Hippie Highway is gorgeous. This is the view right off the side of the road.

A slightly different perspective.

See? You can shoot the scenery from any angle and get a great picture.

Norman and Lucy. The Dramamine is kicking in! That stuff really works.

It grew more and more overcast the farther north we went. We were driving through stunningly beautiful country but didn't have time to stop, because we wanted to reach Point Lobos before it got too dark. We flew right by Deetjen's and Nepenthe with time only for a longing backwards glance. Next time, upscale hippie hangouts. Next time.

The funniest thing we saw -- well, I saw, anyway -- on the whole trip was just outside Big Sur. It was at one of those scenic points along the road, where it widens so cars can pull over and you can get out and take pictures. As we approached this one, we noticed a bunch of camper vans and old pickups parked in a row. People were waving signs and posters; it looked like some kind of protest. Sure enough, as we whizzed by, we realized it was an OCCUPY BIG SUR demonstration, about as far from a corporation as is possible in the continental U.S. Whether ironic or earnest in nature, it totally cracked me up.

Point Lobos State Natural Reserve is amazingly beautiful. Norman had come across their website and suggested we visit there. It turned out to be a perfect choice, because Lucy had brought some of her dad's ashes to scatter on our trip, and she could not have found a better spot for her nature-loving father. While she found a quiet cove to liberate her dad, Norman and I wandered the rocks along the shore. I love this witchy-looking spiral someone made of pebbles.

How long does it take, I wonder, to break enormous boulders into sheets and to wear holes through stone?

A cave! It was a little too treacherous to get to.

Sunset over the Pacific at Point Lobos. So, so beautiful. A line of pelicans flew by just before I took this shot, probably right at the moment Lucy was scattering her father's ashes. Her dad was an avid birder, so I like to think of the pelicans as a sort of 21-gun salute.

We continued on our way north. We ate an early dinner at Vivolo's Chowder House in Pacific Grove, a place recommended to me by a coworker who used to work there. She said to try the clam chowder in the bread bowl with the garlic cheese bread. That's what Norman and I ate, and it did not disappoint. Lucy ordered some other kind of bisque in a bread bowl with lobster, scallops, shrimp, and other goodies. She said it was amazing. We split a single, perfect piece of pumpkin cheesecake for dessert. It was starting to rain and getting very cold when we emerged from the restaurant. It felt great to check into our hotel, which is located in historic Cannery Row in Monterey. I got a blaze going in the fireplace in my room and fell asleep to flickering orange shadows.

Here's a view of Cannery Row from the walkway of our hotel yesterday morning. I had a great view of the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company from my hotel room -- a surprisingly pleasant sight, although a little out of place in historic Cannery Row.

After a lackluster breakfast at a restaurant next door to the overcrowded one we really wanted to patronize (who knew bacon could leave such a yucky aftertaste in one's mouth?), we headed towards home on the 101. We decided to visit Mission San Miguel in San Miguel. I've been to a few of the missions but never this one. It turned out to be a quiet, contemplative stop that kind of set the tone for the rest of our journey.

This is posted in the Mission parking lot. "A nun must have put that there," said Lucy.

A fountain in the courtyard.

I'm not sure what this is. A bread oven? I would hate to have to stoop over that thing all day.

The bell tower from the cemetery.

Can you spot the typo? These words are carved into wood -- you'd think someone would catch the misspelling before actually digging in with their Dremel.

The inside of the bell tower. I climbed up high enough that I could see over the wall on the right into the cemetery, but I was afraid to go any higher because the steps were mossy and slick. It didn't look as though anyone had climbed them in a very long time. Naturally, Norman later climbed all the way up to the bells.

I dozed off during the next leg of our journey and awoke to learn that an Executive Decision had been made: we were having lunch at Pea Soup Andersen's in Buellton!

Sean calls the place Andersen's Pea Soup and makes fun of me for saying Pea Soup Andersen's but . . . well . . . look at the sign! I enjoyed the Traveler's Special, which is all you can eat pea soup and bread. One bowl was enough, thanks. It was delicious.

A photo op for us tourist types.

Can you spot the typo? After lunch we took a little detour to Solvang, the town that smells like donuts. (Or at least it did the last time I was here; this time, not so much.) The donuts in question are really ebelskivers, and we enjoyed a serving of them in a little cafe. Solvang is kind of neat because it's kitschy but seems utterly sincere in its depiction of a Danish town on California's central coast. It's also home to The Hitching Post, where part of the movie Sideways was filmed.

After Solvang we just drove. The three of us barely talked on our way back to Los Angeles. It felt good to sit quietly, listen to Stevie Nicks, and contemplate the universe. Now, of course, I'm ready for another road trip.

California, here I come!

2011-11-03T21:49:00.001-07:00

"There is science, logic, reason; there is thought verified by experience. And then there is California." ~ Edward Abbey

Tomorrow I'm leaving on a short road trip with my pals Lucy and Norman. We'll be traveling up the coast to Monterey, then driving back inland on the 101. Three days round-trip. We haven't taken a substantial road trip together since our Diners and Disasters escapade back in aught-six. I won't be able to blog much from the road (though I'll do my best to hold up my end of NaBloPoMo), but I hope to have a complete account of our shenanigans sometime next week. Next up for me: bedtime.

Day of the Dead

2011-11-02T22:24:00.000-07:00

I'm quite the collector. Or at least I used to be. As much as it pains me to say it, it is possible to have too many things. That's what has happened with what I have variously referred to as my skull collection, my Day of the Dead collection, or my "you know, stuff" collection. My collection -- consisting mostly of Day of the Dead figurines, monster movie memorabilia, and assorted morbid trinkets -- now fills the shelves, drawers and top of a large curio cabinet and I've had to admit to myself that it's pretty much complete, simply because I have no room for any more, you know, stuff.

While most of my beloved objets d'art are mass produced and quite common, I do own a few rare items. For instance, I fell in love with The Nightmare Before Christmas upon its initial release and started buying the few collectibles available as far back as 1993. How many other modern-day collectors went through the Burger King drive-thru just to buy not one, not two, but three Nightmare watches for $3.99 apiece? Just me, baby. I also have a few one-of-a-kind pieces, as you can see below.

This is Jennifer. I know she is one-of-a-kind because I made her myself nearly 20 years ago. (Criminently, I'm suddenly feeling old.) This Day of the Dead doll is based on a young woman named Jennifer who used to do the children's storytime at my place of employment. I worked very hard to get the details right in her outfit: she frequently wore black pants and a black blouse with a bright pink floral vest, and she also donned her blue work apron on the sales floor. I like this doll because I can see its handmade quality, right down to my fingerprints on her shoulders and shoes. The real-life Jennifer and I were not friends but we were on a friendly basis; today, however, I have no idea why I decided to capture her in action in a Fimo Day of the Dead figurine. I also couldn't understand why she simply would not take it when I made a gift of it to her -- it never occurred to me that someone might freak out seeing a small representation of a dead her. Today, small Dead Jennifer resides in a little glass case inside my larger curio cabinet, surrounded by equally small plastic and plaster skulls and Little Big Heads. It's a dark, quiet life, but at least she is wanted here. If I ever decide to make another Day of the Dead doll, it will either be something generic or it will represent someone who's already dead.

NaBloPoMo, Day One: In which I start posting random stuff for 30 days in a row

2011-11-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

Gangster at bar: "Erin go bragh"? What the fuck does that mean?
Murphy MacManus: It's Irish for "you're fucked."
~ from The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day

Happy All Saints Day! Whatever the fuck that means!

Make lemonade . . . er, biscotti!

2011-09-25T17:19:00.000-07:00

Friday was the first day of fall, and I could feel it in the air. Oh, it was pretty warm out, of course, but there was a cool breeze following an overcast morning that whispered "autumn." And there is something about the quality of light this time of year that is different from high summer -- the sun is lower in the sky, I guess, and the shadows are longer. Even when it's really hot, you know it's fall. L.A. has very subtle seasonal changes, but we natives know when they're happening.

I figured the best way to celebrate the autumnal equinox was to bake something autumnal. I decided on my mom's pumpkin bread, which is light and moist; it's great as is, and it's even better lightly toasted and buttered. I was out of the walnuts her recipe calls for, so I substituted pecans and dried wild blueberries; other than that, I had all the ingredients in my pantry so it was an easy job to whip up a batch. The recipe makes 3 loaves.

Imagine my disappointment when the loaves came out of the oven only about a third of their expected height. Worse, they were dense -- I mean dense like a brick, like a black hole -- and even though they had tested done, there were pockets of undercooked dough in the center of each loaf. A quick consultation with the recipe confirmed that I had left out the baking soda. Oops. Sean and I decided to dig in anyway; after all, they might not have been good, but they were hardly inedible. And even a subpar slice was improved a bit with that toasting and buttery topping I mentioned above.

(Note: my family has never been one to toss out improperly prepared but otherwise edible food. A case in point is the batch of brownies my sister Mary baked while in high school. She left out the flour, which resulted in a thick, gooey, chocolately sort of pudding. We just got out our spoons and had at it. Yum! The only time I can remember someone preparing an absolutely unconsumable meal was when my friend Curtis decided to cook me, my sister Susan, and our friend Denise some genuine Southern fried chicken and gravy. I should have known there was going to be a problem when he asked for more pepper. We ate pizza that night.)

Anyway, I was all prepared to live with pumpkin brick, freezing a loaf or two and morosely slicing off a slab to toast when I needed a snack, when Sean said, "Why not make it into biscotti?" And I thought, "Why not?" After all, it was already more or less shaped like the loaf a batch of biscotti is before it gets sliced into individual cookies, and an extra trip to the oven could only help the undercooked situation. So today I made the remaining two loaves (yes, Sean and I had already consumed one of them) into pumpkin bread biscotti. And you know what? Not bad.

It has been a lovely start to fall. Yesterday I went out to lunch with Lucy and Norman and then went to see Moneyball; afterwards, we went to Lucy's house, watched lame TV, cooked up a spaghetti dinner, and played Apples to Apples. Today has been about laundry, embroidering, baking and reading. I'm trying to finish my friend Linda's new novel, Hound Dog True, before her signing at the bookstore on Wednesday. It's getting on towards dinnertime now, and Sean and I have no real plans for our evening repast or what we'll do later this evening. But at least we have biscotti for dessert.

Food and friends

2011-09-03T07:47:00.000-07:00

Last night Sean and I, along with a couple of his students and fellow profs, went to see Girlyman perform live at Scripps College in Claremont. Before the show I stopped by Sean's office in the theatre and left a batch of Oatmeal-Chocolate Chip Cookies for the students and faculty to enjoy. Girlyman sounds better than ever -- it was my favorite live performance of theirs so far!

Ushering in autumn

2011-09-02T12:23:00.000-07:00

Last night my friend Tricia came over for dinner. Afterwards, she gave me a tarot card reading.

I've known Tricia for about a year or so, ever since she started working at the bookstore. She's the type of person I am consistently drawn to: warm, funny, creative, smart, unpretentious, and very grounded and calm at the center. (I adore a number of people who don't fit all of those descriptors . . . but if you do, watch out, because you will have a hanger-on for life.) I'm not as sure why she wants to spend time with me, since I think "flaky" best describes my outside-of-work behavior with her, but I welcome her friendship.

Tricia and I are the same age but have had very different lives. She grew up in a well-to-do family in Massachusetts but somehow ended up in the foster care system, which mercifully did not destroy her, and is pretty much estranged from her siblings. Her now ex-husband, whom I've never met but have a rather low opinion of, left her for some high school sweetheart he became reacquainted with on Facebook. Unfathomable. At least he left her the widescreen TV! Besides toiling at the bookstore, Tricia also works part-time for a guy who manufactures some sort of specialty sports accoutrement (from the way she described it, it's basically a doormat that basketball players rub their shoes on before they take the court), as well as doing freelance photography and writing. She has a new puppy named Noah.

We had so much fun talking before and during dinner that it was nearly nine o'clock before she broke out the tarot cards.

Tricia learned how to read tarot cards when she was a teenager. She was painfully shy, which is hard to imagine now, and her foster mother taught her how in hopes that it could be an ice breaker for Tricia at parties Turns out, Tricia has a real knack for it: last night I learned that, before she moved to L.A., she worked for a time in another state as a professional psychic, giving tarot readings for a living. She told me a few stories about some of the funny, weird, and often desperate people who became her clients. I assured her that I was not looking for her to answer all my deepest, most burning questions, that I was just hoping for a fun reading, and she seemed pleased by that.

She owns a number of decks, and last night she brought one called the Spiral Tarot, a darkly beautiful modern deck. (The image above shows three of the cards.) She had me select 10 cards at random and then she laid them out in a pattern called the Celtic Cross and launched right into my reading. She noted that I had four Major Arcana cards in the spread, meaning that the events she was going to foretell had a strong likelihood of occurring, and then startled me right off the bat by saying someone close to me, probably a family member, would announce her pregnancy in the next 6 to 9 months. All the females in my family are either too old or WAY too young to be having kids, so this is quite a mystery. Tricia said the news would first be met with shock and ill feelings, but that it will ultimately turn out to be a good thing.

A lot of my reading had to do with my career. Tricia predicted that I will experience an unexpected job change in the next 3 to 4 months but that I won't be leaving the bookstore -- rather, new responsibilities and authority will be thrust upon me, and that I will rise to the challenge. (She also said it would mean making more money, which I know for a fact won't be happening.) She said I need to work harder to draw more attention to myself and take credit for my accomplishments, which may be more a simple observation than a revelation in the cards. She also predicted that in the next year I will experience a big personal change that is related to writing. (All the swords in the Nine of Swords and Justice cards told her that.) The end result will be overwhelmingly positive, but it means working hard in the meantime on a variety of writing projects -- she specifically mentioned this blog, as well as movie reviews and a cookbook. She definitely sensed a connection between food and my writing. She said I will achieve well-deserved recognition for my writing, which is mildly embarrassing even for me to type.

Other tidbits from the reading: a male member of the family may move east, even as far as the East Coast, because of a great job offer; two of my sisters will start dating in the next year, and one of those new relationships will become serious; there will be some surprising and interesting genealogical revelations for my family; and within the next 2 to 3 years Sean's job will change again into something more profitable and noteworthy, doing something he loves and is very good at, perhaps in the film industry. If any of these things come to pass, I'll let you know.

Tricia concluded by saying that the cards told her I'm too hard on myself and am my own worst critic, and that I need to cut myself some slack. "You wouldn't think that to look at you," she said, "but that's what it says here."

For dinner we had Three-Onion Quiche (recipe here) and a green salad. Today the whole house smells of grilled onions.

Looking ahead

2011-09-01T14:55:00.000-07:00

"Unless you try to do something beyond what you have already mastered, you will never grow."

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Potato harvest!

2011-07-22T11:26:00.001-07:00

A tiny crop of tiny potatoes. Considering most people I know haven't any potatoes at all to harvest, I feel pretty lucky. I need to figure out something special to do with these little guys, which are a mix of Yukon Golds and Red Golds. Mmmm, maybe something along the lines of this?

Aaaauugghhhhh!

2011-07-18T12:25:00.001-07:00

If you need help doing it, you probably shouldn't be doing it. For our sakes, if not yours.

Who says gardening isn't sexy?

2011-06-26T15:25:00.001-07:00

Or at least obscene?

The joy of browsing

2011-06-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

For some reason I've been all rah-rah independent bookstores the last few days, and really down on Amazon (despite my having ordered a new coffeemaker and some pickling salt from them in the past couple of weeks). I got really steamed reading some guy's comment on a blog about how he hasn't bothered to set foot in a real bookstore in 5 years because he can find everything he wants to read on Amazon.

Can he? Can he really?

Bookstores are such wonderful places to browse. Even the smallest shop contains delightful surprises. People who know exactly what they want to read and don't enjoy the serendipity of coming across something unexpected are such bores. They have no "scope for imagination," as dear old Anne Shirley said in Anne of Green Gables.

Just look at what I've stumbled across today. And it's not even lunchtime yet!

From our insects section. Fun fact: tarantulas are known as mata-caballos, or horse-killers, in Latin America.

From our general science section. AMAZING artwork from old issues of Popular Mechanics.

From our crime section (which is probably not the best place to shelve it). Excerpt: "If you think the choice between flogging and prison is a false choice, that there should be a third option, go right ahead and propose it."

From our garden essays section. The less said, the better.

From our language section. Now I'm peckish for jelly babies, roly-poly, and spotted dick.

From our pop culture section. Most of these dolls are, in fact, very creepy.

Book of the week

2011-06-08T10:29:00.000-07:00

Oh my god. An entire book devoted to biscuits! I make a deeeelicious sausage gravy, but I've never been too good at producing the perfect biscuit accompaniment. I don't think I've ever met a biscuit I didn't like, and I'm especially keen to try the recipe herein for Big Nasty Biscuits -- I mean, who wouldn't want to eat something called a Big Nasty Biscuit?

I suppose now is a good time to mention that just yesterday I started the You'll Eat It and Like It Recipe Annex. I wanted a way to store my favorite recipes online so they'd be easily accessible from work or elsewhere if, say, I get a sudden urge to whip up a batch of Sherri's mother-in-law's mac 'n' cheese or Lisa's awesome salsa and need to know the ingredients. If you're interested, you can find the annex here. There's not much listed just yet, but I'm working on it.

The end of the world as I know it?

2011-05-20T18:16:00.000-07:00

I hear the world is going to end tomorrow at 6 p.m. (Apparently it will end at 6 p.m. local time worldwide: a rolling rapture.) If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I am not among the chosen who will ascend to heaven.

I'm fascinated by the ongoing discussions everyone is having online about what to wear to the rapture. What does one wear to such an event? Cocktail dresses seem to be the outfit of choice for the ladies, and I say that's bogus. If you're headed for heaven, wouldn't a nice bathrobe be more appropriate? For those of us left behind, I think a good pair of jeans, a warm shirt, and some running shoes might be a smart idea. Right now seems like a good time to make sure my emergency preparedness kit is in order; maybe I'll have time tomorrow to run over to Target on my break and stock up on some supplies. Although how exactly one prepares for the onset of Armageddon I have no idea . . .

The end of an era

2011-05-09T07:23:00.000-07:00

I knew it was coming, and I even had a vague idea of when it was going to happen. But I was still a little bummed when this showed up in the mail on Saturday:

It seems like every other car on the road these days is a hybrid. My carpool lane stickers were a way of declaring, "I bought my car back when it was socially responsible, not merely trendy, to opt for a hybrid." Now what am I going to do to feel all self-righteous?

Some days I love my job

2011-04-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

Lately the booksellers on the sales floor have been setting up little displays in their sections that bring two or more related items together to create an eye-catching little tableau (and, perhaps, sell a few more bits of merchandise). Often the connections between things seems vague, and sometimes they're completely lost on me. But sometimes they're perfect, as in the new display for our true crime section, which features this and this.

Beautiful book cover of the week

2011-04-26T09:47:00.001-07:00

Cover art by John Coulthart

"When George's father died, he left his son
a watchmaker's shop --
and a whole lot more.

"But George has little talent for watches
and other infernal devices. When someone
tries to steal an old device from the premises,
George finds himself embroiled in a mystery
of time travel, wild music & sexual intrigue."

No recollection

2011-03-31T15:15:00.000-07:00

I'm always writing myself little to-do lists and making notes of things I want to read. I usually use small scraps of paper (often the backs of pages from old page-a-day calendars) that get shuffled into piles of larger paper and disappear for days, weeks, or even months at a time. Today I came across this note; I don't remember writing it, but I like its enthusiasm!

In a nutshell

2011-03-24T16:02:00.000-07:00

I think the two books I'm buying today
pretty much sum up who I am.

Spring has sprung

2011-03-13T10:22:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles, obviously, doesn't get nearly as cold as other parts of the country, but we had a pretty chilly winter. I awoke one morning last month to find my birdbath frozen over and knew it was going to be a little while before I could start my spring planting. Well, the last week has been gorgeous and my gardening efforts are in full swing. I looked around my awakening garden this morning and was pleased with all the colors I saw. Still, I think the garden looks best in close-up, so here are a few shots of what's happening in early spring.

Culinary sage. I love to water this when the sun is shining on it, because it's so fragrant.

Red salvia. They're a couple of years old and a little rangy. I should probably yank them and put in some smaller, bushier plants, but god love 'em, they keep blooming.

Parsley. Anybody want some parsley? I have a ton of it.

Wisteria. This smells loveliest after dark -- it makes the whole neighborhood smell like spring.

Nasturtiums. They're growing in a pot with a little caper bush that doesn't appear to have made it through the winter. Bummer.

Lantana. I love this stuff, particularly its robust aroma, and have it growing throughout the yard. It reminds me of a hillside in our yard when I was a little kid, one that was covered by a wide swath of purple lantana; I used to pick the flowers and try to make them into little chains. I think this variety is called "Confetti."

Rosemary in full bloom on the left. The bees love it and completely ignore the French lavender, upper center, while it's blossoming. Lower center is a variety of oxalis that the previous owners of our house planted throughout the yard; it's an annual that reseeds itself and grows back every winter. It's a low-growing ground cover with pink and white flowers, and IT IS MY MORTAL ENEMY. I spend hours every spring yanking it out, trying to destroy its creeping stranglehold on my garden.

A camellia. We have a big camellia bush outside our living room window that doesn't bloom very often, but it appreciated all the rain this winter and is giving us a nice show right now. The pale pink and fuschia-striped flowers remind me not only of peppermint candy but of my grandmother, who was in the habit of picking camellias blooms and floating them in a bowl of water.

Bamboo. I have a little stand of this highly-invasive plant growing at the edge of our property, and I keep it under control by never, ever watering it. I sometimes chop down the stalks and use them to make trellises and bean teepees in the garden.

On to the front yard! This is a blueberry bush covered in unripe blueberries. I just planted it this morning. I'm worried it won't get enough sun but all I can do is wait and see what happens. I threw a bunch of coffee grounds into the hole before I planted it to help acidify the soil.

Cape honeysuckle. The hummingbirds love this stuff.

Red cabbage. I'm on the lookout for aphids, but so far, so good.

Lion's mane, center. Another favorite of the hummingbirds. On the left is some boring variety of geranium that's growing over the fence from next door, and in the background you can see Mexican sage and some more lantana. At the bottom center of the picture is one of 11 boysenberry bushes I planted this spring. A few of them are blossoming and I'm hoping I'll get a few berries this first year.

Pasadena is going to be under a water lockdown or some such thing next week -- due to repairs on a major water line to the city, no one can do any outdoor watering for several days. I'm hoping to get my potatoes (4 varieties!), pumpkins, cucumbers, peas, beans, and herbs into the ground and thoroughly saturated before the imposed drought.

Give up?

2011-03-11T10:28:00.001-08:00

Earlier this week I asked my friends for suggestions of what I should give up for Lent and, sadly, received no satisfactory responses. When Sean asked me this morning what I'd decided on, I spur-of-the-moment said, "Sleep!" My ongoing insomnia ensures that I will have no trouble keeping this resolution.

Quote of the day

2011-03-10T10:29:00.000-08:00

"I knew one thing: as soon as anyone said you didn't need a gun, you'd better take one along that worked."

~ Raymond Chandler

Prediction

2011-03-09T10:59:00.001-08:00

This graphic novel is coming out April 5. I can already picture it on the remainder table!

Understood

2011-03-05T10:44:00.001-08:00

Sherri, our head book buyer, left this advance reading copy on my desk for me. It's so nice to work with someone who gets me.

Book of the week

2011-02-17T10:11:00.000-08:00

A couple of these recipes don't sound too appetizing (Chocolate Fries? Tofu Fries?), but I wouldn't send back the Mustard Fries, Fresh Green Bean Fries, Cincinnati Chili Cheese Fries, or Greek Fries if they were delivered to my table. I'm especially intrigued by Bistec a lo Pobre, a Chilean recipe that includes fries, steak, sauteed onions, and a fried egg. French Fries also includes a nice little chapter on dips and sauces. Suddenly my healthy soup and fresh fruit lunch doesn't sound so appetizing.

Why sure, we'll get right on that

2011-02-16T07:22:00.000-08:00

Haven't written for a while, I know, but there just hasn't been that much to talk about . . . until this morning. This morning I found a letter from a customer lying on my desk at work, a letter the store manager had told me about yesterday. I don't know why it's here and not in the manager's office, but I took it as a sign that I should reprint it and let the world know the kind of ridiculous stuff we deal with on a regular basis. Here goes:

To Whom It May Concern:

I am an avid reader of books and have been a customer at [your bookstore] for years. I am writing this letter to express my concern about the content of books. The book jackets always contain glowing reviews and comments about each book. However, reviewers never reveal the existence of profanity, sex or violence contained in each book.

In 2009 I purchased a book entitled The Devil's Punchbowl by Greg Iles which was displayed on your best seller bookshelf. Even though I was repulsed by the content of this book, I read it in its entirety so I could speak knowledgeably about it. I was truly horrified by the extreme profanity, brutal sex and perverted violence therein. I would never have purchased this book if I had known that it contained such bestial and vile material.

Movies are rated for content, so why aren't books rated? I am not in favor of censorship, but I am in favor of providing information for the prospective purchaser. As a consumer I believe I am entitled to make an informed choice about a book before I purchase it at current prices of $25 to $30 per book.

There's a lot I could say about the contents of this letter, but I'll limit myself to two things. First, I love that the customer who sent it was so outraged by her experience reading this novel that it took her over a year to send a letter of complaint. Second, here is the very first line of the blurb which appeared on the dust jacket of the edition she picked up and purchased in our store:

"From New York Times bestselling author Greg Iles comes his most electrifying thriller yet. The Devil's Punchbowl reveals a world of depravity, sex, violence, and the corruption of a Southern town."

I would characterize that as fair warning.

Fishy

2011-01-15T11:02:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago a bunch of my coworkers were thrown into an absolute tizzy by some viral "news" story about changes in the zodiac. Have you heard about this? Apparently the earth has shifted somewhat on its axis in the couple of thousand years since the Babylonians came up with their astrological system and the stars are no longer in the same spots they once occupied in the sky; thus modern day folks' astrological signs have to shift, too, resulting in a lot of people being reassigned to a different sign. I am now a Pisces instead of an Aries. Even better, an ancient, neglected sign (the unpronounceable Ophiuchus) has been dusted off and thrown back into the mix. Here's a brief yet amusing article on both the changes and the resulting freak out.

Actually, this is old news, as far as I'm concerned. When I was a kid, I worked my way steadily through the occult section in the town public library, reading almost every book on every subject from witchcraft to biofeedback. I read a number of books on astrology and came across this very idea -- the earth tilting on its poles, the relative position of the stars changing, my sign now Pisces instead of Aries -- 35 years ago. Because it was the first and (until earlier this week) only time I'd come across this notion, the novelty of the story stayed with me; it was a fun factoid I'd occasionally haul out at parties. Nobody was bothered by it; nobody except my friend Curtis was even very intrigued by it. And as far as I know, nobody, including me, ever felt compelled to think of him- or herself as, say, a Pisces instead of an Aries.

So it's an understatement to say I was startled by the outcry among my coworkers, a fun-loving and easygoing bunch of people who are also smart and generally not too gullible, when these new "facts" started making the rounds. Really, people were practically wailing at learning their new signs. What's the big deal? I thought. On a practical level, all it means is that you read a different paragraph in the newspaper's daily astrological forecast (which, incidentally, is clearly marked "for entertainment purposes only"). On a deeper level -- well, if this "news" hits you on a deeper level, you've got bigger problems than I can address in this blog.

The only thing I can think of to explain people's dismay is the way most of us treat astrology. It's sort of like learning how to tie your shoelaces or learning the order of the planets: you pick it up at an early age and it's just sort of there, in the background, all the time. Knowing your sign and its basic attributes (Aries are stubborn, brave, natural leaders, selfish, and impulsive) is fundamental information about who we think we are. Maybe people are worried that they're either going to have to change their personalities in order to fit some new sign's definition (which is ridiculous), or they're reappraising what they know to be "true" about themselves (which is a somewhat more interesting notion but also kind of silly). The most telling line in the article I linked to above sums up my feelings about this whole frenzy: "The problem of whether the new zodiac is a load of hooey is certainly complicated by the associated problem of whether the old zodiac was a load of hooey."

Ghost of Christmas past

2011-01-02T11:50:00.000-08:00

I know Christmas is now but a distant memory, but I wanted to share some odd folklore (I guess that's what it is -- it hardly qualifies as an anecdote) from my mother-in-law's childhood.

A few months ago I came across an online article about Krampus, "Santa's sinister sidekick" in Germany and other alpine countries. While Santa brings toys and candy to good children, demonic-looking Krampus beats bad kids with a stick. "Hey," I thought, "that sounds like that creepy guy Heidi told me about." On Christmas morning, over leftover potatoes and bockwurst, I got Heidi to tell me again about her experience with Krampus -- or, as she recalls him, Krambambus.

Heidi was born in Germany during World War II. After the war ended and Berlin got divvied up by the Allied forces, she and her family found themselves on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. Eventually they fled to the West (a story for another day) and were living in a Quonset hut in northern Germany. All well and good, but winter was coming on and that hut was cold; the family didn't have a lot of money and the only shoes Heidi owned were sandals. Her parents decided to send her to live with her Aunt Liesl in a town called Passau, in Bavaria, much farther to the south. Heidi was four years old.

Heidi lived in Passau for the better part of a year. Her aunt was a widow who lived with her 18-year-old stepson Walter and a maid, Else. She owned what Heidi called a drugstore, although it sounds more elegant than that: she sold fancy soaps and colognes, among other nice things. Liesl lived in a big apartment in an old building, and Heidi, who was not in school, roamed its dark halls and, indeed, the entire town.

Somewhere along the way Heidi got the idea of giving "facials" to earn some money. I say "facials" because the whole procedure consisted of little Heidi spreading an egg white on someone's face, then waiting for the egg white to dry and washing it off. She charged 50 pfennig for this, which I think amounted to a few cents. She found quite a few customers -- I've seen pictures of her as a little girl, and she was adorable.

One of her customers, a gentleman, failed to inquire about her service fee until the facial had been washed off. He grumbled, "I'll pay it, but it's too expensive. Krambambus is going to come looking for you." Heidi didn't know who or what Krambambus was, but she knew it sounded bad. She tried to give the man back his money, but he wouldn't take it. He warned her to watch out. (When she was retelling the story, she said she now thinks he was sort of mock-scolding her, the way you tell American kids to be good or they won't get anything from Santa, but at the time she was pretty scared.) Later she asked some of the older kids in the neighborhood, "What is Krambambus?" They told her (and I'm quoting her now), "He's this awful guy covered in chains who comes looking for children to hit."

A few weeks later, she overheard kids saying, "Krambambus is coming! Krambambus is coming!" Heidi specifically remembers it being Fasching, or Carnival season, which roughly coincides with Mardi Gras and Lent, although Krambambus (or Krampus) is supposed to show up in early December. Anyway, she became frightened and hid in the darkest corner under a staircase in her aunt's apartment building. She remembers hearing chains rattling, and then she saw Krambambus! She thinks now some guy had been hired to portray Krambambus for Fasching to terrify kids and entertain adults, but at the time he seemed very real. He didn't discover her hiding place and she survived to tell the tale.

Today she doesn't know whether her memory somehow transmogrified the word "Krampus" into "Krambambus," or whether the latter name is a regional moniker for Santa's sinister sidekick (I suspect the former). Heidi has all kinds of interesting stories from her childhood in Germany, and this one seems to be one of the earliest and most vivid of them.

Out with the old, in with the new: 2010 wrap-up

2011-01-01T11:32:00.000-08:00

Does anybody care if I promise to be a better blogger in 2011? From what I hear, the kids are abandoning blogs and their grannies have all flocked to Facebook. Since I fall somewhere between those two demographics, I guess I can do whatever I want -- the question is, will anybody notice?

2010 was a year of lists. For the first time I tried to keep an ongoing list of movies I watched, but it got out of control very quickly: I saw 18 movies in the first 5 weeks of the year and then fell behind; I started losing ticket stubs and misremembering viewing dates. So I gave up on that. But I did record all the books I read and create a dead pool list, so I'll share those results with you. I'll start with my reading list (the titles I especially enjoyed are marked with an asterisk):

*1. The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England: A Handbook for Visitors to the 14th Century by Ian Mortimer (finished 1/10/10)
This is the kind of history book I really enjoy -- it makes facts, figures and events seem immediate. This book was really written as a sort of travel guide, explaining what you, a 21st-century visitor, might expect in terms of travel methods, lodging, dining, wardrobe, and much more. Ian Mortimer, who's a British historian, is matter-of-fact about describing things like bear-baiting, which sound barbaric to our modern sensibilities, and provides the best description of the anguish people must have endured during the bubonic plague outbreak that I've ever read. Outstanding! What a great way to start the year.

2. Rabbit Hole by David Lindasy-Abaire (1/10)
I read this because Sean was going to be directing it. It's a really good, solid read, though I preferred it in performance. Sean just saw the movie version last night and was extremely disappointed. "What I don't understand is, why would the filmmakers choose to take that material and make it even more depressing?" he said. We both agree that the humor that offsets the play's sadness is one of its great strengths.

*3. The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton (1/19)
This book has the ugliest old lady cover, and the publisher just repackaged all of Morton's books to have the same look. Too bad, because she's a good writer, adept at handling multiple story lines and different eras, and I don't want her to miss out on readers because her books look stuffy. I have described this novel as "The Secret Garden for grownups." It's a family saga that takes place at four different points in time and in both Australia and England, and there's an intriguing mystery that can only be solved by looking at the events in all those times and places.

4. The California Roll by John Vorhaus (1/28)
I picked this one up because John Vorhaus stopped by the store and I so enjoyed talking with him that I had to find out what his writing is like. This is a fun, exciting mystery with noir touches. The best part is how Vorhaus plays with language, mixing genuine grifter patois with his own verbal creations.

5. The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett (2/12)
Much more noirish that the movies it inspired, The Thin Man reads like a book in the middle of a mystery series -- man, I wish Hammett had written more about Nick and Nora Charles!

*6. The Lonely Polygamist by Brady Udall (3/13)
The best book I read all year, and that's saying something. Golden Richards has four wives and 28 children, he's contemplating an affair with his boss's wife, and yet he's lonely. The plot is kind of shapeless but the writing is sharp, both funny and observant. Golden, the youngest of his wives, and one of his sons take turns telling the story, and it wasn't until I was about three-quarters of the way through this novel that I realized they are all polygamists, and they are all lonely. Very funny and very touching. I absolutely loved it. Oh, it also has a fantatsic cover.

7. Curtains: Adventures of an Undertaker-in-Training by Tom Jokinen (3/17)
This was pretty good. Jokinen became an undertaker just so he could write about it, so I had a little trouble taking him seriously. He did have some interesting things to say about how things work behind the scenes and about the future of funeral homes. Time to start thinking about contacting the Neptune Society!

8. 52 Loaves: One Man's Relentless Pursuit of Truth, Meaning, and a Perfect Crust by William Alexander (3/26)
This book actually took me a very long time to finish -- I think I finished the previous three titles while struggling through this one. While it's a well-written story, I found William Alexander quite annoying. He seems to have unlimited time and money for his hare-brained schemes. (I've heard the same criticism leveled at his previous book, The $64 Tomato.) Nevertheless, the book conveyed one great idea -- the perfect is the enemy of the good -- which doesn't make me want to copy any of Alexander's stunts but has left me with a desire to finally read some Voltaire.

9. So Cold the River by Michael Koryta (4/26)
My boss read this novel and loved it; she outlined the plot so breathlessly and enthusiastically that I just had to read it! All the great stuff she described occurred within the first hundred pages and then I was left with 400+ pages to slog through in this turgid book. It took place in Indiana, though, which was a nice trip down memory lane.

*10. Made by Hand: Searching for Meaning in a Throwaway World by Mark Frauenfelder (4/30)
Frauenfelder is, among other things, the creator of Make magazine and a leading force behind the whole new DIY movement. Here he details his desire to learn how to do things for himself, rather than buying stuff made by others or hiring someone to do things for him. His particular interests -- making cigar box guitars, carving wooden spoons out of fallen tree limbs, building a chicken coop, etc. -- are not my own, yet he describes his whole learning process (attempt, fail, attempt again, fail again but better this time, attempt yet again, eventually succeed) in a truly appealing way. His story is inspiring without being the least bit sappy. The fact that he lives in L.A. is a bonus -- it's such a pleasure to think of this kind of guy living in my neck of the woods.

11. The Chicago Way by Michael Harvey (5/13)
I'm embarrassed to say I can remember almost nothing about this contemporary noir except that I enjoyed it. Harvey has written a couple of sequels featuring the same P.I. and I wouldn't hesitate to read them. Oh! I just remembered that I read this while I was visiting Budapest -- make of that what you will.

*12. At Home: A Short History of Private Life by Bill Bryson (5/31)
Bryson is one of my favorite authors, and his latest didn't disappoint. He takes readers through a house (using his own as a model), describing how each room came to be used for its modern-day purpose and how the objects in that room came about. Social history at its most entertaining.

*13. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender (6/4)
The title is what sucked me in, but it was the writing that held me. The main character is a girl who can taste people's emotions in the food they cook, and it opens up a world that is almost unbearably painful to her. Through food, she learns that she is not the only member of her family harboring a secret or a strange gift. Exquisite.

*14. The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson (6/30)
Whoo boy. Nearly 60 years old, this book has a crazy freshness about it that makes it feel like it was penned yesterday. The Killer Inside Me was originally published as a cheap pulp paperback, and its graphic descriptions of horrific crimes and sadistic pleasures were ahead of its time. I read it in anticipation of the movie, which I never ended up seeing.

15. Role Models by John Waters (7/20)
Eh. Didn't live up to my expectations.

16. Mad Men Unbuttoned: A Romp through 1960s America by Natasha Vargas-Cooper (7/25)
I love Mad Men and I love the author's blog, in which she pulls out some detail of each episode and examines it closely, putting it in the larger context of 1960s America. When I heard this book was coming, I was a bit worried that it would just be a reprint of stuff she'd already written about online, but no: it's full of fresh material, examining everything from sexual mores to interior design to food. It's a great way to wallow in Mad Men minutiae while waiting for the new season to start.

17. A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness (8/24)
A big, fat novel about the hidden history of witches, vampires and demons, and, sadly, an all-around disappointment. I grew immensely weary of the repetition of mundane details (did I really need to know every single time the main character drank a cup of tea or put on a pair of black leggings?) and the ending was maddening: chapters and chapters of buildup, only to stop just before the protagonists set out on an epic quest. It's clearly the first book in a series, one which I will not continue reading.

18. Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins (8/29)
A good but barely satisfying conclusion to the otherwise great Hunger Games trilogy. What annoyed me most is that our heroine, Katniss Everdeen, was absent from much of the action and served mostly to report others' adventures after they happened.

19. The First Family: Terror, Extortion, Revenge, Murder, and the Birth of the American Mafia by Mike Dash (9/19)
For some reason (probably that awesome title!), this book grabbed my attention and I had to read it the moment it came out in paperback. It ended up being just OK, but it did introduce me to a criminal with the best Mafia name of all time: Giuseppe "The Clutch Hand" Morello, whose withered, deformed right hand didn't prevent him from becoming a powerful Mafioso in turn-of-the-20th-century New York.

*20. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (9/26)
Another book I read in anticipation of the movie, and I loved it. Mysterious, deeply sad, and thought-provoking, it was a hundred times superior to the film.

*21. True Grit by Charles Portis (9/30)
I read this book a couple of times as a kid (it was one of my dad's favorites, so there was always a copy around the house), and it definitely held up on this reread. I had watched the original movie again shortly before I read this, and I was amazed at how closely they resembled one another. I'm looking forward to the Coens' take on the story, but it looks very different from the source material.

*22. The Wilder Life: My Adventures in the Lost World of Little House on the Prairie by Wendy McClure (10/10)
What fun! I love the Little House books, but my enthusiasm pales in comparison to McClure's. She traveled all over the midwest visiting and commenting on various Laura Ingalls Wilder sites, exposing the cult of Laura-philes. I've decided to reread all the Little House books this year, thanks to her delightful account.

*23. Skippy Dies by Paul Murray (11/21)
This is another book that took me ages to read; it seemed to take even longer because almost every day a particularly enthusiastic co-worker would ask me, "Did you finish Skippy yet?" and it started to get on my nerves. This book, however, I loved. Skippy is a 14-year-old Irish schoolboy who does indeed die on, like, page three, during a doughnut eating contest. The story then jumps back several weeks to show us what led up to that event, but the plot involves so much more than just the titular character's demise. Funny and tragic and wonderfully written. Yes, Kate, I finally finished it.

*24. The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson (12/24)
An oldie but a goodie, it was a great little book to finish on Christmas Eve. I was surprised at how familiar it seemed, considering I hadn't read it in more than 30 years.

*25. The Distant Hours by Kate Morton (12/29)
Another fine tale of family secrets held for generations. How can I best describe Morton's writing? Gratifying, I think, is a good word -- she satisfies and pleases with her stories and the way she tells them. Now I need to go back and read her first novel, The House at Riverton.

Well, that's my reading list. Every year I try to read at least one book more than I did the year before, but this year I came up far short: despite feeling as if I were reading all the time, I finished 8 fewer books than I did in 2009. I could have gotten closer if I'd pushed myself to read the last few chapters of two books I started (one on taxidermy, the other on deep cave exploration), but neither seemed worth finishing. I also failed to read the one book I'd promised myself I'd finally get to, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Maybe this year, but maybe not. Probably not.

***********

Dead pool news!

There was no winner in our 2010 dead pool. Lucy (Lena Horne), Curtis (Robert Byrd), Sean (also Robert Byrd) and I (Zelda Rubinstein) each had one "winner," while poor Norman managed to kill off nobody -- apparently, his list is life. We compiled our 2011 lists last night and convinced my sisters Mary and Karen to participate this time; Karen hesitated at first because someone at work tried to talk her into joining a dead pool that cost $100 to enter, but she jumped right in after I told her ours was only a buck to play, winner take all. Curtis, who's now living in Atlanta, joined us via speakerphone to share his predictions; as usual, Dick Cheney topped his list. Dick Cheney, in fact, appears on everyone's list, I think, except mine -- if collected, focused hatred is enough to kill a man, you're not long for this earth, Dickwad. As usual, I think it's in poor taste to name everyone on our lists here, but I will reveal that Nancy Reagan, Ray Bradbury, and Mickey Rooney (especially Mickey Rooney) made more than one person's cut, and Lindsay Lohan made a successful and welcome comeback. Surprisingly, Fidel Castro disappeared from the roll call.

***********

Finally, The List!

Entertainment Weekly revealed its list of 25 Movies You Need to See Before Oscar Night this week, and I'm in surprisingly bad shape, having caught only 11 of the 25 thus far (though I'm going to start rectifying that immediately when I see True Grit later today). Here is The List, with the movies I've seen in red -- I intend for them all to be in red by the February 27 Oscar ceremony:

1. The Social Network
2. The King's Speech
3. Inception
4. The Fighter
5. Toy Story 3
6. True Grit
7. Black Swan
8. The Kids Are All Right
9. 127 Hours
10. Winter's Bone
11. The Town
12. Rabbit Hole
13. Another Year
14. Get Low
15. How to Train Your Dragon
16. Blue Valentine
17. Biutiful
18. Animal Kingdom
19. Waiting for "Superman"
20. Alice in Wonderland
21. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
22. Inside Job
23. The Illusionist
24. Tangled
25. Burlesque

Get Low threw me -- what was that? It took me a moment to realize that not only did I know what it was, but I had actually seen it and liked it. Embarrassing. The only thing I'm really dreading is Burlesque because -- well, it just sounds too awful for words. Maybe I'll be surprised, but maybe not. Probably not.

Quote of the day

2010-12-08T09:52:00.000-08:00

"I write so slowly that I could write in my own blood
without hurting myself."

~ Fran Lebowitz

Random, potentially exciting stuff

2010-11-24T07:55:00.000-08:00

My husband Sean is in the new Martin Scorsese documentary on Fran Lebowitz! He's featured in a clip from his Jeopardy! appearance, in which he correctly answers a question in the category "Quotes from Fran Lebowitz." You can watch the doc on HBO on Demand -- check it out!

***********

One of my co-workers has taped a price label on the wall next to the time clock. The label is for the book A Time to Kill. I don't know what it means, but I'm hoping there's no disgruntled employee shooting spree in my future.

***********

I read this unusual comment over on the NPR website, attached to an article about worthwhile young adult novels:

I don't read too many YA novels, but the best one has got to be "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess. It's the story of a gang member named Alex who is sentenced to prison for murder and rape. After going through aversion therapy, Alex becomes a changed man and is released back into society once again.

***********

My friends Sherri and Rich are having a pig roast at their house on Saturday. Sherri just forwarded me a photo of the guest of honor:

New release sales smackdown!

2010-11-10T10:01:00.000-08:00

Quick, which of these major new books, both released yesterday, do you think had better one-day sales at Southern California's oldest and largest independent bookstore?

10 copies (that's actually about 7 more than I thought we'd sell)

31 copies

The Wimpy Kid trounces the Decider!

Revolting cookbook of the year award!

2010-10-25T09:28:00.001-07:00

Y'all know me. You know I'm not a food snob. But come on, does anybody, even the lowest of the lowbrow, really want to eat Three Cheese Chilequiles, the ingredients for which consist of a pack of Keebler Cheese and Crackers, a pack of Cheetos, 5 packets of ketchup, a package of Nacho Cheese Doritos, and a small can of V8? Or a French Onion Soup made from Utz Onion Rings, hot water, and Cheetos? No. No, no, no.

What I learned today

2010-10-21T13:25:00.001-07:00

Look at those guys. Aren't they sweet? Well, actually, no. These lions, who were brothers, were known as The Ghost and The Darkness (which was which, I cannot tell you), and they killed something like 135 railroad workers in Tsavo, in what is now Kenya, in 1898. They are also known as the man-eaters of Tsavo. Apparently it's typical for male lions of the region not to have manes. The lions' pelts now reside in the Field Museum in Chicago.

Dirty girl

2010-10-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

Created by Oatmeal

What I learned today

2010-10-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

Finally, a book for me! To wit:

"SAW ME COOKIN' EGGS, SHE THOUGHT I WAS BACK AT IT"
LYRIC FROM SONG: "STUNTIN' LIKE MY DADDY" ON ALBUM: LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON BY ARTIST: BIRDMAN AND LIL WAYNE

After spending the night with a woman, waking up in the morning, and making my way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, I was seen standing in front of the stove by my female guest. Rather than investigating the situation to see that I was merely being a good host and cooking a meal for her and myself, she jumped to the conclusion that I was using the skillet in the manufacture of crack cocaine.

What I learned today

2010-10-08T15:35:00.000-07:00

In the Little House books, "the character of Nellie [Oleson] was based on three different girls Laura knew in real life. One [Nellie Owens] was a storekeeper's daughter in Walnut Grove; the second [Genevieve Masters] was the first girl's school-yard rival, a spoiled girl from New York (and like the Nellie of the books, she wound up at a school in South Dakota a few years later). The third [Stella Gilbert] was a girl whose family homesteaded outside De Smet and for a while had competed with Laura for Almanzo's attention: she was the one who'd come along on the buggy rides until Laura finally made Almanzo choose, just as she did in These Happy Golden Years. The fact that Nellie wasn't any one person but rather a composite of three of the real Laura's antagonists' worst traits makes her even more terrifying, some kind of blond Frankenstein assembled from assorted bitch parts." ~ from the excellent forthcoming book The Wilder Life: My Adventures in the Lost World of Little House on the Prairie by Wendy McClure

Quote of the week

2010-10-05T14:14:00.001-07:00

"Adapting material is like marrying a widow. You have to be very respectful of the late husband's memory, but at some point you've gotta fuck."

~ Guillermo del Toro

An A for effort

2010-09-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

The best medicine

2010-09-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

Last week I discovered a new (to me, anyway) blog: the "Life Stories" page on the salon.com website. These are brief, slice-of-life tales by ordinary people. I found the page when I was directed there by another site; I wanted to read the full story of "My Relentless Pursuit of the Guy who Robbed Me." I stuck around after finishing it and started checking out other stories on the blog. It took only a minute to realize that what I was enjoying were the headlines, not the articles.

It was like reading tabloid headlines while waiting in line at the supermarket: "My Pen-Pal Romance Went Bad." "My Apartment Was Burglarized and Now I'm Terrified." "How Bedbugs Ruined My Life." "Can I Take a Lover in My 50s?" "My Old High School Friends Won't Go Away." "Is Don Draper to Blame for the Male Makeup Boom?" "The Discovery Channel Gunman Hated 'Jon & Kate' Too." I didn't need to read any of the articles; I was perfectly entertained with the headlines alone. I told Sean about my favorite headline of all: "Why Does My Son Keep Coming Out to Me?" I did read that article, and it's actually rather touching -- the teenage boy in question suffered a severe head injury not long ago and probably can't remember that he has already told his mom he's gay. When Sean heard the premise of the article, he exclaimed, "That is a play or a short film! Send me the link."

Last week I read the best headline EVER on the Vulture website: "Clint Eastwood Wants Joaquin Phoenix to Play J. Edgar Hoover's Lover." I don't think anyone was trying to be amusing with that one, but for some reason I started giggling uncontrollably when I read it.

Maybe I'm just primed for a good laugh. I've been feeling kind of crummy lately, with a stuffy nose and chest congestion that never seem to completely go away, and I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping at night. When I'm overly tired, the first thing that goes is my sense of humor about myself . . . yet I am more prepared than ever to laugh at something that doesn't involve me. That's probably why I decided to reread Charles Portis' delightful novel True Grit instead of picking up West of Here, a new novel coming out next year, like I'd promised the publisher. There's something so comforting about rereading a good book, especially one that's full of laughs and adventure, as True Grit is. I wanted to find a lengthy passage to quote here, but although the book constantly provokes my laughter, it's hard to pinpoint exactly what's so funny about it. There's a dry wit that's difficult to convey out of context. Does "At the city police station we found two officers but they were having a fist fight and were not available for inquiries" seem funny to you? It made me laugh aloud. True Grit was also one of my dad's favorite books, and both he and my mom have been on my mind a lot lately; that might have something to do with my decision to reread this particular book at this particular time.

Then again, maybe it's just that the teaser trailer for the Coen Brothers' new take on the story has just been released. Their movie doesn't look funny at all.

'Nuff said

2010-09-21T08:33:00.000-07:00

No dignity

2010-09-20T09:18:00.000-07:00

Normally I am opposed to dogs in costumes. Most dogs have little enough dignity as it is, and to rob them of even that tiny bit for the sake of human amusement seems cruel. But damn, this Boston terrier looks adorable in his pumpkin bonnet!

Don't stand so close to me

2010-09-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

Last night Norman and I went to the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood to see Escape from New York. As is our habit, we parked at the Metro station in Universal City and took the train one stop to Hollywood and Highland, then walked the couple of blocks to the theatre. Escape from New York was pretty fun; I can't believe I've never seen it before.

On the train ride back to Universal City, an older Asian woman was walking through the car, asking for money. "Would you like to make a donation to . . . ," she kept saying, her voice trailing off so that I couldn't hear exactly what she wanted money for. She seemed to be soliciting donations for some kind of newspaper. She had a pronounced accent and a sing-songy voice, so that it sounded as if she were saying "lieeeeeek." Everyone kept turning her down but she seemed determined to try absolutely every person in the car. Norman and I were clinging to a central pole near one of the exits when she approached us.

"Would you lieeeeeek --"

"No," Norman snapped. "Don't touch me."

As the woman moved off, he whispered to me, "She was touching me."

A moment later he said, almost apologetically, "If you were soliciting donations for the homeless, I'd let you touch me."

"No you wouldn't," I said.

"You're probably right," he admitted.

Beautiful book covers of the week

2010-09-14T10:43:00.000-07:00

I am a bad blogger. It figures that the month I have posted the least all year turns out to be the month I signed up to participate in NaBloPoMo. I suck. Well, at least enough gorgeous books have recently come to my attention that I can again regale you with a gallery of Beautiful Book Covers:

These covers may be beautiful, but this has got to be the ugliest-looking post yet on this blog. I really can't stand Blogger's formatting. Ugh.

The last straw

2010-09-01T09:54:00.001-07:00

At least it's a quick read:

Thanks for the tip, Mr. Maskrado!

A little disappointed

2010-08-21T10:15:00.000-07:00

You'd think something called "voodoo chips" would be pretty damn exotic. Alas, they just taste like BBQ chips. Still: cool name and packaging.

Back in print!

2010-08-10T14:58:00.001-07:00

Wow. It's turning out to be a good season for vintage cookbooks. This one showed up on a cart today, packaged in a beautiful new cover.

Alice B. Toklas was Gertrude Stein's longtime companion. Her cookbook is famous both because it's good reading and because it contains a recipe for marijuana brownies, which must have been pretty shocking in 1954; I've heard of youngsters seeking out old library copies of the book, which is sometimes kept in the "adults only" section and watched over by stern librarians, in order to unlock the secrets of making mind-altering treats. In reality, the recipe is called "Haschich Fudge (which anyone could whip up on a rainy day)," and its combination of pulverized spices, nuts, dried fruits and sugar sounds like a recipe for stale fruitcake. Still, it does contain a good deal of cannabis, and Alice promises, "Euphoria and brilliant storms of laughter; ecstatic reveries and extensions of one's personality on several simultaneous planes are to be complacently expected." You can find the recipe here if you'd like to give it a try yourself.

Everyone GOT the memo, but only one person remembered it

2010-08-05T13:50:00.001-07:00

Today I feel a little sorry for my coworker H. She's mid-50ish and works in our stationery department; she's an odd duck who talks to herself all the time and often hums little snatches of music (Fur Elise is a favorite -- listening to her hum that first bar over and over again is maddening). Still, she's really sweet and even set up a rudimentary village in Frontierville so I'd have one more neighbor's livestock to tend. Anyway, the stationery department decided to have a "Dress like the 80's!" day today and H came in her wacky gear -- a short, tiered skirt, purple top, leg warmers, lots of dark blue eyeshadow, and a ponytail on the side of her head. Unfortunately, she was the only one in the department who remembered that today was the day, and I think she's mortified. Come to think of it, I was the only employee who remembered when it was store-wide "Loud Shirt Day!" a couple years ago. I felt like a right eejit in my fluorescent orange shirt emblazoned with a cartoon pig saying, "Please hug me. I'm full of sausage."

If I were to come dressed as I did in the 80's, I don't think I'd look much different than I do on a daily basis in 2010. Yes, there were a few Glamour fashion don'ts in my teenage years, but most of my 80's wardrobe consisted of jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes. My hair was feathered, though, and for that I apologize.

Back in print!

2010-07-28T14:37:00.000-07:00

I don't hate to cook, but I've always enjoyed this cookbook -- it's a good read. That 1940s - 1960s humor has always appealed to me. I'm glad it's available to a new generation of reluctant chefs. Some of the recipes include Skid Row Stroganoff, Clam Whiffle (a "souffle that any fool can make"), Hushkabobs ("So-called because the family isn't supposed to know it's just that old Sunday roast still following them around"), Fake Hollandaise, and Hootenholler Whisky Cake. There's a chapter on household hints ("If your veils or lace collars get that tired look, you can crisp them by ironing them between two sheets of waxed paper") and an even more amusing one on how to talk about food as if you understand and care about cooking. This would make a fine, entertaining gift for newlyweds or someone newly out on his or her own.

Here's Mrs. Bracken's recipe for Sweep Steak -- "So called because a couple of seasons ago, this recipe swept the country":

4 - 6 servings

2- to 3-pound round steak or pot roast
both 1-ounce packets in the package of onion-soup mix

Put the meat on a sheet of aluminum foil big enough to wrap it in. Sprinkle the onion-soup mix on top of it, fold the foil, airtight, around it, put it in a baking pan, and bake it at 300 degrees for three hours or 200 degrees for nine hours, it really doesn't matter. You can open it up, if you like, an hour or so before it's done, and surround it with potatoes and carrots.

3 family factoids for the day

2010-07-21T14:16:00.001-07:00

Lately I've been thinking a lot about my family and our family stories. For no good reason other than that, here are three things I'm sure you'll enjoy learning about my relatives:

1) During the Great Depression, my paternal grandfather had a steady job . . . working in a bank. My maternal grandfather was an out-of-work steelworker who rode the rails everywhere, looking for a job. Rumor has it he had a second family in Mississippi.

2) My father was one of the first people to be certified in scuba diving in the U.S.A. He also had a pilot's license. I never knew him to scuba dive or fly a plane.

3) Both my brother and my sister married people named C.E. Miller.

Great cover, tired concept

2010-07-20T10:25:00.001-07:00

Dodged a bullet

2010-07-15T07:56:00.000-07:00

This morning I noticed that Larry Hagman was trending on Yahoo! and my blood ran cold. A month or so ago I started an "in-the-running" list for the 2011 dead pool, and guess who is at the top of the page? Larry Hagman. Dammit! Did he die? I did a little checking and was relieved to learn that all the current stories seem to be about his devotion to solar energy. Whew! Larry can stay on my potentials list for the moment.

Funny, I've never read anything by him . . .

2010-07-14T08:45:00.000-07:00

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Unexpected jolt of the week

2010-07-10T10:52:00.001-07:00

I've been circling this book for a couple of weeks now, intrigued by the title and the notion of modern, original fairy tales. Yesterday I was startled to learn that the title comes from a Charles Manson quotation: "These children that come at you with knives, they are your children. You taught them. I didn't teach them. I just tried to help them stand up."

The milky way

2010-07-08T12:41:00.000-07:00

There's a nifty article in today's food section of the L.A. Times about the resurgence of milkmen in Southern California. Milkmen, I thought, had gone the way of rotary telephones and roller skates with metal wheels . . . but no, it appears that they're making a comeback.

We had a milkman the whole time I was growing up. I think we got a delivery of four half-gallons of whole milk (later 2%) twice a week until I was in high school. Four gallons of milk a week! Well, there were six of us in our household, and we all drank milk. My brother and sisters and I all loved milk -- we poured it on our cereal every morning and each drank at least one glass at night for dinner. Milk was, in fact, one of the few dietary items that my mom put any kind of restriction on: we were allowed to have a second glass at dinnertime, but no more than that, and it was frowned upon to take more than about half a glass's worth for that second serving. I think Mom just didn't want to run out. Mom and Dad drank milk, too, though not as avidly as we kids did, and Mom used it in a fair amount of her cooking, especially in desserts.

Our milkman left our milk delivery in a little wire basket outside the back door. He arrived in the wee hours -- probably around 4 or 5 a.m. -- and whoever was up first brought the milk inside and put it in the fridge. Our milk did not arrive in glass bottles as pictured -- it came in plastic jugs with screw-on caps. We would put the basket back outside the night before the next delivery was due. I never thought much about it until, as I said, my mom stopped the milk delivery and started buying gallons from the supermarket sometime during my high school years. I don't know if whoever sold us the milk stopped offering home delivery around then, or if my mom decided that it was more economical to buy milk at the market.

I learned about centrifugal force when my brother took an uncapped half gallon of milk and swung it in a circle over his head, and none of the milk flew out of the jug. (And just now, when I was looking for an online article on centrifugal force to link to, I learned that it doesn't really exist! Yet more youthful notions shattered.)

The house Sean and I live in now, built in 1922, has a milk door (please note: that picture is not our milk door) in the back wall of the house. The milkman, in days of yore, would open the little door and place the milk on a shelf inside what is now the laundry room. The door is sealed shut now, but the Times article almost makes me want to sign up for delivery service and make that milk door operational again. I wonder if there's anything that would ever make me want to start using a rotary phone again?

From the Got Milk? website, here is the recipe for Salted Caramel Milkshakes (serves 2):

Ingredients:
1 pint of vanilla ice cream
1/4 cup caramel sauce
1/2 cup milk
1 tablespoon salt
To finish: whipped cream

Directions:
Combine all ingredients in a blender and pulse until combined. Divide between 2 glasses and top with whipped cream.

Quote of the week

2010-07-06T13:33:00.000-07:00

"Paul, a bearded restaurateur, turns out to be randy

but unthreatening, warm to the touch but cool
about stuff, with a dash of smugness in his easy smile,
all of which is a way of saying that he is played by
Mark Ruffalo. One of these days, someone should
cast Ruffalo as a quarterback,
or a Cistercian monk, just to see what happens."

~ Anthony Lane on The Kids Are All Right

Other people's photos

2010-07-05T08:25:00.000-07:00

Last week my coworker Jan brought in a couple family pictures to photocopy. I offered to scan them for her instead, then print them out on photo paper. She happily agreed. The above is my favorite of the photos -- it's Jan at about age 5 (I think she's 57 now).

Today she brought in another photo she thought I'd be interested in. Her grandmother took this one in 1934 somewhere in the Grapevine north of L.A. Do you recognize the guy in the picture?

It's Clark Gable. Jan's family (although of course Jan was not yet on the scene) was traveling by car over the Grapevine and Jan's mom, then about 12 or 13, was suffering from her usual carsickness; the family stopped to give her time to recover. Gable was filming It Happened One Night in the area and kindly posed for a snapshot.

Targeted advertising

2010-06-27T07:01:00.000-07:00

This is what my life has come to:

This morning I received an email from Amazon that began, "As someone who has shown an interest in napkins, you might like to see our top picks." Not hot new DVD releases, not great summer reads, not sexy footwear. NAPKINS.

God help me, I actually scrolled through the list to see what they were offering. Meh.

Homegrown snack

2010-06-24T13:02:00.000-07:00

You remember a few months ago, I planted some seed potatoes in a garbage can? I was hopeful, though not terribly, that I'd eventually have a bumper crop of spuds to feast upon:

Well, sure enough, the seed potatoes started to grow. And grow. I kept shoveling potting soil into the garbage can as the vines got taller and taller. They grew right out of the top of the can and eventually became so long and heavy that they started flopping over. This is what they look like now:

Last night I scrabbled around a bit in the dirt and fished out a single, perfect, very small Yukon Gold potato. Eureka! This morning I dug through the top three or four inches of soil and found two more. I may not have a garbage can overflowing with potatoes, but I think it's safe to assume there are a few more lurking down there in the darkness. In the meantime, three small potatoes are enough to make a great snack:

FRIED POTATOES A LA SHAMBLES

Scrub three small Yukon Golds until clean. Place in small pan and cover with cold water. Bring water to a boil and boil potatoes for 10 minutes or so, until fork-tender but not completely cooked. Remove from pan and cool.

Heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a medium skillet. Slice the cooled potatoes into 1/8-inch thick slices. Place them in a single layer in the skillet and fry until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Grind some fresh pepper onto them and flip to cook them on the other side, another 4 or 5 minutes or until they are browned to your satisfaction.

Remove from pan and place potatoes on a serving dish. Sprinkle crumbled bleu cheese and some freshly chopped chives on top. Enjoy.

Unintentionally hilarious book of the week

2010-06-23T07:46:00.001-07:00

Some tips from The Single Girl's Guide to Meeting European Men:

"Male hikers cannot resist the hair flip."

"Sleeping with random men can be dangerous."

"These Latin lovers are known for wearing button-up shirts with the top three buttons undone, so you can spot an Italian male in any country."

"You do want to eat to impress, but porking up is never fun. Then your clothes won't fit and going naked is not a viable alternative."

"All of the girls I know who got French boyfriends did not have large bust lines."

"My girlfriends who have visited [Scotland] want to let you know that the Scot's [sic] accents can be very difficult to understand at first, but it's worth making the effort to get over this hurdle."

My favorite tip is "Avoid the bubble butt" -- in other words, don't work out so much that you overdevelop your gluteus maximus. The author relates the touching tale of a friend of hers, a competitive figure skater, who suffered the heartbreak of bubble butt. She was too fit! She solved the problem in four months by taking up Pilates.

Sorry, ladies. You will have to wait until October for this gem to go on sale.

The latest atrocity

2010-06-16T10:07:00.000-07:00

Available 6/22/10
Mr. Goldsher, who cares?

Book of the week

2010-06-15T14:13:00.001-07:00

From the Publishers Weekly review: "Dedicated to helping novices 'cook an amazing meal and bring out their date's inner slut,' Walker presents basic cooking and entertaining techniques doused in graphic anecdotes, casual insults, frat-boy innuendos and plenty of disdain for the opposite sex. Sound advice on presentation, kitchen essentials, wine pairings, and flirting is buried amidst Walker's steadfast commitment to the low road, including digressions on farting, recipe titles like 'Tap That Ass-paragus Soup' and 'Miso Horny Cod,' and witless bon mots like, 'boozing has always been as American as apple pie eaten off Betsy Ross' tits.'"

"Classy," said my boss. Guess we won't be hosting an event with the author anytime soon.

John Grisham, jackhole

2010-06-14T07:32:00.001-07:00

From the Telegraph: "Speaking about his new novel, Theodore Boone, to an audience of Telegraph readers the American author joked that he had changed direction to emulate the success of JK Rowling.

"For his latest work the 55-year-old, known for his courtroom thrillers, chose to focus on a 13-year-old aspiring lawyer rather than a legal professional, and the novel will be the start of his first ever series of books.

"He said: 'Theodore is really an effort to catch Harry Potter. Back in the 1990s I was routinely introduced as the bestselling author in the world. I tried to pretend like it was no big deal.

"'Then along came Harry Potter and suddenly I was number two. I've got to tell you, I really miss being number one. I'm going to catch Harry one way or another.'"

Just love hearing that it's all about sales, Mr. Grisham, not anything pansy like -- oh, say, loving to write, hoping to introduce younger readers to the exciting world of thrillers, and so on. Way to go, jackhole.

Dr. Demento has been canceled: The end of an era

2010-06-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

Danger! Danger, Tom Sawyer!

2010-06-07T12:06:00.000-07:00

I now consider it my civic duty to warn the public about this sort of thing.
Publication date 8/3/10

The spittin' image . . .

2010-06-07T07:44:00.000-07:00

Sean's grandma saw an interview with an actor on the Tavis Smiley show and asked us if we could help her figure out who it was. "He was so nice!" she exclaimed. She just couldn't remember his name. But she did remember that he is tall, has blond hair, is American, is in his 40s, and has a wife and some kids. Here's who it turned out to be:

Well, he is tall. Nice detective work, Sean!

All in the family

2010-05-31T14:24:00.001-07:00

I am so easily amused.

Today I became friends with my ten-year-old niece on Facebook. I decided to check out her page, and it killed me -- she is so totally ten years old! Typical status update: "I love Diary of a Wimpy Kid!" and "I'm tired after a long day of shopping with my mom and aunt." She posted a picture of her little brother, then "liked" her own picture. My favorite post was when she reported of her real-life best friend that "Haley is now my friend," to which Haley responded, "Yep." Her activities include crafts, art, and sleep. And she likes Caddyshack, which means I will always love her.

"5 bedrooms, finished basement, interesting history"

2010-05-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

Well, well. The Amityville Horror house is on the market again, for a mere $1.15 million. I wonder what it would be like to live in a house with a . . . um . . . history?

I read The Amityville Horror when I was a kid, and I'm not ashamed to say it scared the bejesus out of me. (That, of course, did not prevent me from reading it at least two more times.) I never saw the original movie, because it looked more hokey than scary, but the image of the house in the film made quite an impression on me. The real house has been extensively remodeled and even sports a different address than it originally did. It's now a beautiful, elegant home, filled with sunlight; it was originally called "High Hopes" (I love houses with names!). You can read a bit about the sale here.

Since I last read The Amityville Horror, I have come to believe that the whole haunting was a hoax. The house's real horror occurred in 1974, a year or so before the infamous Lutz family moved in, when Ronald DeFeo, Jr., murdered his entire family in the house while they slept. The Lutzes purchased the tainted house for an excellent price but lived there for only a month because they claimed they were driven out by violent paranormal activity. The little bit of research I've done strongly suggests that the Lutzes, despite the bargain they'd purchased, immediately realized that they were financially out of their depth and were suffering from buyer's remorse. The entire story was concocted so that they could walk away from the purchase with no financial obligation. Still, even believing what I do now, I bet if I read the book again today I wouldn't be able to sleep at all tonight.

Sean used to work with a guy who grew up in Amityville, who knew the DeFeo family and was friends with Ronald DeFeo, Jr. Richard told me he remembered eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the kitchen of that house. He said, "Ronnie was the most normal kid in the neighborhood until he killed his whole family."

What I learned today

2010-05-26T08:34:00.000-07:00

From Wikipedia:

"Resistentialism is a jocular theory in which inanimate objects display hostile desires towards human beings. For example, objects that cause problems (like lost keys or a fleeing bouncy ball) exhibit a high degree of resistentialism. In other words, a war is being fought between humans and inanimate objects, and all the little annoyances objects give people throughout the day are battles between the two. The term was coined by humorist Paul Jennings in a piece titled 'Report on Resistentialism,' published in The Spectator in 1948 . . . The slogan of Resistentialism is 'Les choses sont contre nous' -- 'Things are against us.'"

UPDATE (10:02 a.m.): Oooooh, related!

One last view of Budapest . . .

2010-05-25T17:26:00.000-07:00

Would you want to eat here?

Say it ain't so!

2010-05-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I stopped by Moffet's Chicken Pie Shop to pick up some uncooked potpies for lunch today. I bought two chicken and two beef; I also had the guy at the counter throw in a container of chicken gravy. I didn't see any tubs of beef gravy in the refrigerated case and asked if they had some.

"Sure, in the kitchen. It's hot," the guy said.

I hemmed and hawed for a couple of seconds. My plan was to put the refrigerated pies and gravy in an ice-filled cooler in my car and leave them there for the evening while I went out to dinner and a play. Hot gravy sounded like a case of food poisoning just waiting to happen. I was about to tell the guy no thanks when he surprised me.

"The beef gravy is the same thing as the chicken gravy. It's just got food coloring in it."

Actually, he went on to say that Moffet's beef gravy has Kitchen Bouquet in it, but still. Jeez! My mom used Kitchen Bouquet occasionally in gravies and stews and I might even have a bottle tucked away in my own pantry, but I never thought a restaurant would 'fess up to it. Much more upsetting than finding out about Moffet's little secret is learning that Kitchen Bouquet is made by the Clorox Company. Ewwwww!

What I learned today

2010-05-20T11:05:00.000-07:00

A boudoir is a woman's private sitting room or bedroom. The word boudoir is derived from the French word bouder, which means "to sulk" or "to pout." A boudoir is thus a room where a lady goes to sulk.

2010-05-12T03:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Sean and I decided we wanted to see a few sights around Budapest, so we opted for one of those hop on/hop off bus tours; we'd enjoyed them in London and Dublin and figured this would be a similar way to get an overview of the city that wouldn't kill us with a marathon walking tour. We waited for the bus in Heroes' Square (above), where the leaders of the seven tribes that founded Hungary are commemorated. There are also a couple of art museums there, one of which we'd visited the night before on an eerily quiet, deserted outing arranged for the INPUT conference attendees -- a few dozen of us wandered around the Museum of Fine Arts in half-light, wondering how we were going to get back to our hotels after the buses dropped us off.

There is a lot of construction going on at Heroes' Square, which is far more than a square: it's a huge park. Above is, I believe, a lake that has been drained. All over Budapest you can find half-finished construction projects; some one them seem to be active, and it's nice to see run-down areas and sites of importance getting a face-lift, but you'll also find piles of broken-up asphalt, mounds of dirt, half-dug trenches, and so on that appear to be abandoned. It's difficult to figure out what Budapest's plan for the future of the city is.

This stunning castle sort of building is located behind Heroes' Square. It's an agricultural museum.

Finally, the bus arrives! Chuck Pocket selects the language he wants for the audio tour. Such a kidder -- I think he opted for Finnish. All the signs on the bus seemed to be in German.

Sean and I decided we really only wanted to hop off and see two things in depth, and here we are at the base of our first stop, Castle Hill. To the right you can see the tracks of the funicular.

A view from the street level of Castle Hill; the funicular is out of the frame to the right.

In line for the funicular. (Siklo means funicular.) We waited about 20 minutes in line for a 2 minute ride up the hill. A worried American couple behind us in line seemed perplexed about the cost and wondered why it was going to cost them half as much again to come back down the hill on the funicular as to go up; I had figured it out but didn't feel like explaining to them that the "return" ticket they were so worried about included a trip up and back down. Lame! Let 'em sweat.

Inside the funicular. We shared our car with another couple, who were far too blase for my taste. Come on! How often do you get to take a funicular ride? Stand up! Take a couple of pictures! Have a little fun, guys.

More than halfway to the top. There's the other car in action.

At the top of Castle Hill there's a castle, a labyrinth, a church, a bunch of restaurants and shops, and a lot of other things I can't remember. One of the things offered as a tourist attraction was the chance to shoot arrows at targets. The girl in the black tank top, who sounded American, was a pretty bad shot. The bow recoiled against her shoulder after one shot and she yelled, "Jesus Christ, that's going to leave a bruise." At least two of her shots flew far beyond the targets.

Sean took archery in college so I thought he should give it a try. He didn't hit the center of his target, but each shot got progressively better as he quickly figured out that the bow pulled to the left and he needed to compensate to the right a bit. He put that tank top girl to shame.

Here's a fountain that seems to be under repair. I say "seems to be" because there's a ladder, some tools and a bunch of electrical gear lying around, but there's no one in sight who seems to be doing any work.

A raven with a gold ring in its mouth atop a cool gate.

Did I mention that the raven is part of the gate's design? Something tells me this gate is trying to tell a story or myth I'm not familiar with. Ha! That reminds me: When I was a kid I had wonderful, fat book of Native American folktales that had been translated in English from Hungarian.

This sign was so adamant that I thought it was telling me the fence was electrified, which seemed unfortunate since I had already touched it. But no, it was just telling me to keep off private property. OK, Mr. Sign Poster, I will not wander through yet another pile of rubble. There are plenty of others available throughout the city.

I really liked this giant, medieval-style mural.

Here's a street atop Castle Hill. Again, it has this almost undefinable European feel to it.

Maybe it's the cobblestones in the road.

Or the shop signs, like this hand-forged beauty outside an antique shop.

A cathedral atop Castle Hill. I can't remember who it's named for -- perhaps St. Matyas? The yellowish part of the roof is a colorful mosaic of tiles.

Um, some religious figures. They are atop a steeple near the cathedral. I didn't catch their names.

I asked the lady who ran this antique shop to write down the name of this fellow for me (which of course I don't have on me right now -- sorry). These masks are worn in a festival in a southern area of Hungary every year to commemorate a medieval battle in which the Turks were driven from the area. Hungary, incidentally, seems have been a favorite place for invaders: the Turks, the Mongols, and the Habsburgs all have claimed Budapest for themselves. The Castle district was viewed as a particularly desirable stronghold, as it is near but several dozen meters above the Danube.

A bit of the view from atop Castle Hill.

Could this be what it sounds like? A marzipan museum?

Sure enough. Here is their prime exhibit in a front window. The Marzipan Museum, however, is primarily an ice cream parlor, and by this point Sean and I were looking for something more substantial for lunch.

The Fisherman's Bastion, another monument to the seven tribes who founded Hungary. It offers a panoramic view of the city and its construction was completed in 1905. It has a soft, puffy, fairy-tale look to it. It has been described as "kitsch but beautiful."

Finally, lunch time! Sean and I wandered down a little street lined with small cafes and picked this one at random. It was a good choice.

The remains of my carbonara pizza. It had ham, bacon, mozzarella, mushrooms and sour cream on it. It was a little salty but very tasty. Sean had beef goulash stew served atop gnocchi, which was far more like the goulash I remember my mom making than the soup I had the other night.

Here's some sort of weapon sitting outside the Citadel on Castle Hill. The Citadel was built as a stronghold and lookout tower. You can see, around the edges of the picture, that it was badly damaged in WWII. It did better than the castle, which was destroyed (for something like the third or fourth time in history) and had to be completely rebuilt, starting in the 1950s. Today the castle is an art museum. We did not visit.

This is a terrible shot of the back of Szabadsag Szobor, or Liberty Statue, the Hungarian equivalent of the Statue of Liberty. It was erected in 1947 to commemorate the Soviet liberation of Hungary from the Nazis. Talk about leaping out of the frying pan into the fire!

Here's an even more distant shot of the statue as we bused back to the Pest side of the Danube. (Betcha didn't know that Budapest is actually made up of two cities, Buda and Pest, separated by the ugly brown Danube.)

Shortly after I took the above picture, something happened to our bus. I say "something," because neither the driver nor the guide conveyed any information to us. All I know is, we were driving along to our next destination when the bus stopped in a lane of traffic behind a white van. I don't know if we broke down (I don't think so, because the driver left the engine running) or if we had rear-ended the van. All I know is that we stayed there for about fifteen minutes while the guide and driver kept getting off the bus, conversing with a guy in a white t-shirt who was on a cell phone (whom I assumed to be the van driver), then getting back on the bus. Sean and I were sitting upstairs on the double-decker bus and were mystified, as were all the passengers around us. Eventually the guide came on the intercom and told us all that there had been an accident and another bus was arriving to pick us up. We never learned what happened.

The new bus was slooooow and kept making layovers along the way. At one point something seemed to be wrong with the intercom system so our guide got off the bus and disappeared (we later saw her walking blithely down the other side of the street), while a young guy with a computer keyboard got on, plugged into the bus's system and . . . did something. Then the driver shared some homemade cookies with him, the guide returned, and we once again resumed our journey. None of these delays was terrible, but it was all annoying because no one ever bothered to explain what was going on. Sean and I (especially I) were fuming when we got off at the other stop we'd planned on, the infamous Terror House.

I wasn't allowed to take pictures inside the building except on the ground floor, where there's nothing going on, so I'll do my best to describe it. Terror House is a large, otherwise ordinary looking building on a pleasant, busy thoroughfare. Only the fact that it was been painted a dull gray and a huge metal overhand placed atop the building, featuring the word TERROR and a giant arrow cross, makes it obvious that this is a museum and not, say, some more mundane business. Oh, yeah, and the tiles that look like mugshots but are actually photos of the building's victims that run along the outside of the building at about eye level.

The Nazis and later the Arrow Cross Party (a Hungarian fascist organization) used this building from 1944 until some later debated date -- 1956? 1961? -- to imprison, interrogate, torture, and execute political prisoners. The museum acknowledges this, albeit in a highly stylized way. None of the exhibits is realistic (except the prison cells in the basement level, which have presumably been cleaned out but are otherwise starkly nauseating). For instance, one of the first rooms you enter has a large wall down the center, with a bank of four big TV screens on each side. One side of the wall shows images from the Nazi invasion of Hungary, while the other shows images from the Soviet regime. While all this is going on, loud, pulsating electronic music is playing -- the juxtaposition of the violent, frightening images with music associated with dance and abandon is jarring. At a later point Sean and I had to wander though a short maze made of walls of 1 kg blocks of soap. I don't know what the soap signifies, but it was eerie nonetheless. A lot of the exhibit was lost on me as it was primarily in Hungarian, German and Russian, but I was struck with a sense of unease nonetheless. I would find it very difficult to work in such a place, yet there were two young women giggling behind the ticket counter as we paid our admission. Photos of victims and their torturers are everywhere, and most of the building's interior is painted in muted colors like gray and black. Sean's mom is sensitive to negative energy in buildings, and I have a feeling she wouldn't be able to go anywhere near this place, even if she didn't know what had happened here. I picked up English language flyers in almost every room so I can read up on the building's history. It's both fascinating and mysterious.

After that little jaunt, Sean and I were ready for a bit of lightness. We joined Curtis and Veronika for dinner at our favorite new Budapest joint, Fanyuvo.

My dinner, the Transylvanian mixed grill on a wooden plate. It was a steak, a battered and fried chicken cutlet, and a battered and fried pork cutlet, served atop French fries. Meat!

For some reason I can't find this dish on the restaurant's website menu. This is what Sean ate, and I swear if was called the "meat mound" or "meat mountain." It's chicken and cheese baked in a casserole, served with a slightly sweet honey dipping sauce. That's a heap of mushroom rice on the left.

Amazingly, after all that food and couple of desserts that we split, I didn't suffer massive indigestion last night, although I did dream that I was peripherally involved in a massive outbreak of lice. The less said about that, the better.

Sunday in the park with Gyorgy

2010-05-09T08:59:00.000-07:00

So. I'm in Budapest. Bet you didn't see that coming! Actually, since only about 5 people read this blog and all of them know me personally, you all probably did see that coming. Sean and Curtis' latest movie, Something Blue, was selected to screen at this year's INPUT Conference, an international conference of public television programmers which is meeting this year in Budapest.

I am a nervous flier, but of course I wanted to see some more of Europe. Armed with anti-anxiety medication, we left LAX on Thursday. Someone stowed away with us: Chuck Pocket, my pal Lucy's little legless buddy whom I believe she envisions as her personal Travelocity Roaming Gnome. I told Lucy I'd carry him around in my purse and take him out every so often to see the sights. Yes, I am a 44-year-old woman. Wanna make something of it?

Here's Chuck enjoying his last taste of Mexican food for some time. (Though I doubt the Camacho's Grill at LAX could in any way be dubbed authentic.)

Thanks to Ativan, my new favorite pharmaceutical, I dozed much of the flight from Los Angeles to London. Things have changed a bit since the last time I flew, way back in 2004. For instance, this is the first time I've had my own personal TV/movie screen. I watched the remake of The Taking of Pelham 123 (not very good) and sampled episodes of The Big Bang Theory (overrated) and How I Met Your Mother (also overrated). I was expecting the very worst in food and amenities, but that wasn't so bad: British Air supplied us with toothbrushes and toothpaste, eye masks, and socks. Dinner was a choice between chicken and lasagna, both decent, and we ate a perfectly serviceable breakfast (served at 3 a.m. L.A. time).

Chuck waits patiently at Heathrow to board the flight to Budapest. We ate lunch on this flight; Sean and I were offered a choice of either a cheese or tuna sandwich, but Veronika, Curtis' girlfriend, told me later that their flight a few days previous to ours provided only a coleslaw and cheese sandwich. The hell . . .?!

The flight to Budapest lasted only a couple of hours and it was still light when we arrived. I didn't take any pictures as we cabbed it from the airport to our hotel, but suffice it to say that the Soviet style of architecture is still alive and well in post-Communist Hungary. LOTS of big, blocky, gray, impersonal buildings, mixed in with a few historical structures. Our hotel is quite nondescript and our room is best described as spartan. Since we are being offered nothing in the way of amenities, I don't feel too bad about asking for a clean towel every day. Still, it's clean and not too expensive, and we're right next to a subway stop. Budapest has the oldest subway system in Europe.

This is where we had dinner Friday night. The place has this funky, woodsy theme going on; it reminds me of, of all places, Clifton's Cafeteria, although it's not quite as wacky as that L.A. landmark. We ate downstairs, where fewer people seemed to be smoking. Smoking is allowed in many places in Budapest, and there are cigarette butts everywhere as testament to just how many people indulge.

One of the pages from the menu. (A lot of signs, menus, advertisements, etc. are bilingual or in English exclusively, and lots of people speak English and German.) I wanted to order the Dangerous Plate or the Wooden Plate of Profusion, simply because they sounded so silly. I ended up ordering a chicken cutlet with peaches and Gorgonzola, with a side of mushroom rice. Side dishes are referred to as "garnishes," and they are heavy on the rice and potatoes around here.

Vern and Curtis looking happy. I think their beer had just arrived.

Chuck hangs out by the salt cellar.

Here's my dinner. Yeah, canned peaches with Gorgonzola sauce sounds weird, and it probably was, but it tasted good.

On Saturday Sean and Curtis took off early for the INPUT conference. Vern and I got a more leisurely start. Since she and Curtis had already been in town a few days, I let her decide where we'd go. We took off towards the major market in town, which is housed in a large building close to the center of town.

After we got off the metro, we walked down a couple of little side streets to get to the market. The blobby yellow thing above is a much-used candelabra covered in old, dripped wax, sitting in the window of a little cafe. It was late morning, too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, and the streets were quiet. The cafes that lined our route all had patios, and it looked like it would be a bustling spot in a couple of hours.

Hey, Vern! The center of this street was closed to traffic and instead lined with tables, chairs and umbrellas. It's hard to describe, but it felt very European.

This is the market building. I wish my camera had a wide-angle lens so I could capture how enormous it is. There are three floors. The ground floor is full of market stalls selling fresh meats and vegetables; the second floor is nonstop artisan goods, much of it tacky but some really cool, aimed squarely at tourists; the basement is fish and other supermarket goods, like canned foods. Vern and I immediately headed upstairs.

Here's a view from one end of the second floor. The building is obviously old and filled with lots of natural light. The shops on the second floor mostly hug the walls and the aisles are very crowded. Vern advised me to push through the crowds because no one will just stand aside and let me pass; she turned out to be right. I bought a pretty hand embroidered table scarf for myself and a couple of gifts for others.

Here's another shot from the second floor. The roofs cover the food stalls on the bottom floor. Later, Vern and I headed down there to look at the food. There were all sorts of fruits and vegetables, including quite a few we couldn't identify. There were lots of booths devoted exclusively to paprika, which seems to be the national spice of Hungary. We were both struck by the meat markets -- it looks as if no part of the animal goes to waste around here.

Case in point: chicken heads and chicken feet.

After the market, Veronika and I cabbed to the INPUT Conference to catch Sean and Curtis' program. They had prepared a special one-hour cut of Something Blue (which normally runs about an hour-and-a-half -- don't worry, Norman, your big scene is mostly intact) for the conference, and it was on the program with 3 other public television shows. (And just in case you're wondering, yes, Something Blue was shown on public television. In South Carolina. Last week.) The first show was from Belarus and ran about 20 minutes. It was a depressing, wordless little film shot from a photographer's apartment of the street outside his apartment over the course of several months. Most of the action seemed to consist of a group of men getting drunk, starting fights, and then passing out in a small park. To be honest, I dozed off a few times, which made the film seem even longer. After it was over, the audience got to question the filmmaker, who said that the show couldn't be shown on TV in Belarus (because Belarus is "the best country in the world" and things like guys getting publicly drunk on what seems like a daily basis just "doesn't happen there"), so it originally aired in Poland. Like I said, depressing. It was followed by an episode from the British TV series Wonderland, called "The British in Bed." A number of British couples were interviewed in their beds, and they talked about all aspects of their relationships. My favorite was the couple who opened and closed the show, an elderly Jewish duo who had been together for about 50 years. They talked over each other and poked not-so-gentle fun at one another; they were surprisingly candid and quite funny. That show seemed a little long, but it was a blessed relief after seeing the same drunk young Belarusian guy fall over a picnic table for the fifth time. The third item on the program was an episode of a Danish TV show called The Farmer, which is a reality show that follows a twenty-something guy around his small farm as he tries to create a life for himself that he considers simple and good. It's an incredibly popular show in Denmark (I think it's Denmark; it could be Norway), but it raised some hackles with the audience, some of whom seemed incensed that the farmer is now being paid by the TV network to work his farm. "He's not a farmer; he's a celebrity!" seemed to be the complaint. Eh, it didn't bother me. Curtis thought the show was awful but the concept interesting. I kind of liked it.

Here are Sean and Curtis on the right, along with the moderator, discussing Something Blue after its screening. The audience was pretty subdued during the Q&A, possibly because they liked the show overall and had no complaints, but also possibly because they were tired and hungry. Some dim bulb actually asked why Sean and Curtis didn't make a documentary instead of a mockumentary. Um, because there are no real blue-skinned people? I think the mockumentary format was lost on a few of them, but a couple of guys were very enthusiastic and talked to Sean at length in the lobby after the screening. I liked the one-hour cut of the movie a lot, though my big scene as the incompetent florist was left on the cutting-room floor.

There was a cocktail and dinner party in an adjoining building so the four of us headed over there.

The five of us, I mean. Chuck basks in the glow of bulk-purchased blush wine.

Ready to disco!

Enjoying the free libations.

I don't know why Sean looks so angry. Maybe he's just hungry; it was getting pretty late, with no dinner in sight. Please don't ask me to explain our surroundings.

Members of "Hungary's most famous dance club" performed a couple of numbers for the guests. BORING! Obviously none of them have ever seen Dancing with the Stars. I couldn't imagine any of these staid couples shaking it up.

This couple was supposed to be dancing the "hot salsa." Trust me, it was mild. While they were prancing about, I wandered over to the buffet table and perused the appetizers. We hadn't been informed that it was chow time yet, but come on -- there were platters and platters of hors d'oeuvres just sitting there! I grabbed a slice of baguette with some salami on it and went back to our table. I peeled the tomato and cucumber off and ate the bland rest, which was nothing more than salami, butter and bread, but at least it was food. Vern was starving so she headed off for the table. Within a minute she was back, pulling on her jacket and announcing she was leaving. Apparently, when she picked up an appetizer, a waiter grabbed it out of her hand and told her no one could eat until the dancers were done. Veronika said, "Well, I've touched it. What are you going to do now, put it back for someone else to eat?" No, said the waiter, he was going to throw it out. The whole thing was kind of ugly so we left.

I was glad I had eaten one of these before the screening. It's hard to describe -- I don't think it's ice cream, but it's chilled. It tastes kind of like a chocolate-covered marzipan-flavored ice cream bar. I really liked it, despite the horrible name.

Vernokina wasn't feeling good this morning, so she stayed in while Sean, Curtis and I walked to St. Margaret's Island in the middle of the Danube River, which flows through the center of Budapest. It was a cool, overcast morning, perfect for a stroll through town.

Paul Anka's coming to Budapest! Does America know how to export culture or what?

Name me one American distilled liquor company that would feature redwork embroidery in its ad campaign. Just one!

Huh. The Beautiful Blue Danube is neither.

The skyline visible from the bridge to the island was kind of pretty, though. It was easy to look at it and imagine an earlier time.

This is a fancy resort and spa on St. Margaret's Island. Here, let me give you an idea of the beauty of the architecture:

Standard issue Soviet. It reminds me of the dorm I lived in my freshman year of college, which had been designed by a guy whose previous experience was in designing prisons. I kid you not.

A little church on the island. I wanted to get some closer shots, but I think a service was in progress.

There were busts of noteworthy people all over the island. We were struck by how familiar many of them looked. For instance, this guy was a dead ringer for John Malkovich.

President Taft.

The somnambulist from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

We couldn't decide between Sam Neill, Hugo Weaving, or this guy Sean and Curtis went to grad school with, but I can't expect my readers to recognize Jeremy Simonson.

Orson Welles.

Omar Sharif.

This is part of a ruined 12-century abbey that stands on the island. I was struck by the sensitivity with which part of it has been restored. Yeah, those cinder blocks blend right in!

Chuck enjoyed visiting St. Margaret's grave. Apparently Margaret (or, more properly, Margit) was "given to God" by her father, the king, after he successfully drove the Mongols from Budapest. She tended to lepers and reportedly never bathed herself above her ankles. Chuck has a bit of a foot fetish, not having any himself, so Margaret is right up his alley.

Sometimes you just gotta be fabulous, even if it's on the altar of an ancient place of worship.

This fountain was covered with graffiti and filled with trash. It was kind of depressing. The whole island, as a matter of fact, was muddy, covered in weeds, and home to a lot of garbage, especially cigarette butts. People aren't fastidious about cleaning up after their pets, so there is definitely a tang of dog shit in the air.

A water tower on the island. We walked by it once and completely missed it and had to catch it on the way back.

At first I thought this was a poster for the new movie version of Robin Hood, but then I realized it's a musical theatre production opening in Budapest this summer. It looks like a vampire version, if you ask me.

Here is a little Japanese garden kind of randomly located on Margaret Island. There were two ducks (one of them asleep) and some tiny fish the same color as the mud at the bottom of the pond.

This little turtle kept arching his neck and staring winsomely at the nude statue. Part of me wants to think it was love, but another part realizes there were hardly any places for the little guy to crawl out of the water; this rather narrow ledge was one of them, and he looked uncomfortable rather than amorous.

A little waterfall disguising the side of a building.

After we left Margaret Island we went to lunch at a little bar/cafe down the street from our hotel. Even though it was sprinkling, we opted to sit outside because the bar was stuffy; out by the street the air was fresh and cool, and an awning protected us from the elements.

This monstrous building was across the street from the cafe. Curtis said it's a smaller version of the big market Veronika and I visited yesterday. What the hell is going on with all those yellow curves and filigrees? Just because you can design a building any old way you want to doesn't mean you should do it.

Sean found the best thing on the menu: a chicken cutlet stuffed with kielbasa and smothered in an herbed cheese sauce.

Chuck and I finally got to sample some goulash! I remember my mom's goulash being a stew that either had noodles in it or was poured over noodles. On all the menus here, though, it's listed as "goulash soup," and it's considered an appetizer. It's a tomato-based broth heavily seasoned with paprika and caraway, filled with beef, carrots, and potato. It's all right but hardly something to tout as an international delicacy. Dessert was pretty damn good, though -- basically, they were small, warm cake doughnuts covered in a creamy custard sauce.

It's about 6 p.m. local time and I'm pretty wiped out. Sean and Curtis are back at the conference and headed to a dinner afterward, while Vern has finally ventured out of the hotel for some food and fresh air. I think I'm going to stay in tonight and read.

A note to whomever writes my obituary

2010-05-03T09:33:00.000-07:00

Sadly, actress Lynn Redgrave has died. In the obituary from the AP, a statement from her children reads, in part, "Our beloved mother Lynn Rachel passed away peacefully after a seven year journey with breast cancer." I hope that if I die from cancer or some other lengthy disease that the last days of my life will not be described as a "journey." I hope I will warrant the word "battle" or something along those lines. I want to go out fighting, not peacefully. Well -- maybe last-minute peace would be good, but I'll be striking back as long as I can.

Speaking of obituaries, I was really irritated when the Pasadena Star-News changed the obit I wrote for my dad, printing that he "passed away" instead of "died." What's wrong with "died"? Can the readers of the Star-News not handle a simple, honest word?

Behind the times but trying to catch up

2010-05-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to create some more space on my iPod, so lately I've been listening to a backlog of episodes of This American Life. If you don't listen to this show, you're really missing out on something -- it's frequently funny and/or illuminating, and it's always entertaining. I'm a relative latecomer myself, having only started checking in occasionally with Ira Glass and his intrepid crew a couple of years ago, and it's only the last six months or so that I make a point of trying to listen regularly. Anyway, this morning I finally caught up with an ep from last September entitled "Return to the Giant Pool of Money," which is a repeat of a show originally broadcast in May of 2008 coupled now with a lengthy followup to the story.

This show is the best, simplest, most straightforward explanation of the housing and financial boom and bust I have heard. For the last couple of years, I have struggled to understand much of what is going on with the collapse of the world's banks and so on; I've felt as if I've had only the barest grasp on what I'm hearing. This particular episode of This American Life does a great job of explaining things (for instance, making it clear to me for the first time why those bundled adjustable rate mortgages were so appealing to investors) without dumbing any of it down. If you get a chance, listen to at least Act One of the show. It's enlightening.

Undoubtedly misleading title of the week

2010-04-29T13:12:00.000-07:00

I don't have children, but I know lots of women who do. And I've talked to those women, and not one of them has ever used a word even remotely like "orgasmic" to describe giving birth.

Someone needs to put a stop to this

2010-04-27T11:32:00.000-07:00

Pub. 5/4/10

Pub. 6/8/10

What I learned today

2010-04-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

I'm reading Mark Frauenfelder's wonderful new book, Made by Hand: Searching for Meaning in a Throwaway World, and on my lunch break I got to the chapter on his love of espresso. Frauenfelder had been making espresso at home for years but couldn't make a perfect cup -- a "Godshot" -- consistently. He visited a successful commercial espresso brewer to get some tips, and this fellow told him that his $500 home espresso machine would never be able to give him consistent results. Writes Frauenfelder, "He said buying a brew system like a Chemex (a glass carafe popular with coffee geeks) would be easier to master and more fun."

A Chemex! I haven't thought of those in years. My parents had one, as did, years later, my friends Bruce and Gena. With my love of all things circa Mad Men, I'm surprised I haven't considered buying one, if only for nostalgia's sake. I Googled Chemex when I got back to my desk, and sure enough, they're not only still being made, they look exactly as I remember them. One wouldn't look at all out of place in Pete and Trudy Campbell's apartment.

I wondered how much one of these babies would set me back, so I looked 'em up on that purveyor of all things, Amazon. Between thirty and forty bucks for most models, it seems -- not too bad. I scrolled through the "customers who bought this item also bought" list: special coffee filters, a special lid, a special cleaning brush. Lots of books on how to brew and enjoy coffee. All of these items seemed to be rated highly and enjoyed by customers. And then, mixed in with all these well-liked coffeecentric items, a popcorn popper. Specifically, the Toastmaster 6203 Popcorn Popper, rated an average of one-and-a-half stars by 38 people. What was this? I love reading terrible things about products on Amazon, so I quickly clicked to the reviews page. Apparently, the 6203 has a tendency to burn popcorn (also to spew superheated, unpopped kernels of corn all over the kitchen counter and floor). People described it as "junk," "not so snazzy," "a dangerous dud," and "worst consumer product I have ever bought." But why would people who love brewing a good cup of coffee by hand be buying this crappy popcorn maker, too? One of the reviews gave me the answer: apparently you can roast coffee beans in a popcorn popper, and this lousy model does that just fine. That's what I learned today.

Ross sisters - Solid Potato Salad (VHS quality)

2010-04-25T13:13:00.000-07:00

What I learned today

2010-04-14T12:26:00.000-07:00

The tin can was invented in 1810. The can opener was invented in 1858.

I learned this while reading a bit about the last U.S. sardine plant, which closed down today. I love sardines, which always remind me of my dad. He sometimes used to eat them for lunch on Saturdays while the rest of us ate -- I dunno, something else. I thought it was fun rolling back the tin's metal lid with the little key that came attached to it. (They have pop tops now and it's just not the same.) Dad preferred the little tiny sardines with the tails still attached, and he'd usually let me eat one or two; I loved how extremely fishy they smelled, how delicious that olive oil they came packed in tasted. Dad would eat sardines on Saltines, which to this day is the only way I think Saltines are palatable. He often used to enjoy a bottle of Dos Equis with his sardines.

Sardines aren't a species of fish -- they are any of a number of small varieties of herring. They are always "wild caught" because there are no sardine farms in operation. Sardines are high in omega 3 and low in mercury. You can buy them packed in gross stuff like mustard, tomato sauce, and pesto, but I think they're best when packed in good old olive oil. Sardines were the first kind of fish ever to be canned and were popular until the 1950s, when canned tuna began to dominate the canned fish market.

Aging disgracefully

2010-04-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Lucy has a great post about noticing "signs of age . . . err . . . maturity" in herself. I can relate to just about everything she lists, and I would probably add something about wanting to smack the skateboarders who like to practice their moves on the sidewalk corner outside our house as well as the idiots who drive through the neighborhood with their car stereos pounding -- don't they know what that's going to do to their hearing?

Yesterday I learned that my insistence on not fighting all the visible signs of aging may actually be cutting edge. According to the Shaw Report in this week's Entertainment Weekly, red chunks are out, brown lowlights are five minutes ago, and graylights are in. Graylights? I'm loaded with 'em! How much more fun to think of them as graylights instead of white hairs.

I'm going to be 44 tomorrow, and suddenly I don't mind at all.

Tweet of the day

2010-04-08T12:05:00.000-07:00

"I assume from recent tweets that Malcolm McLaren has died
or someone else has and he took credit for it."

~ BeTheBoy

Quote of the day

2010-04-08T11:58:00.000-07:00

"The Philly cheese steak, a combination of cheap industrial
cheese, cheap industrial steak, onions and a roll that
strains to contain it, like the casing on a cholesterol torpedo,
could be the truest expression of the American dream
of easy plenty for all."

~ Tim Hayward

Beautiful book covers of the week

2010-04-06T10:10:00.001-07:00

Designer not credited

Jacket design: Kimberly Glyder Design

Nooooo!

2010-04-01T12:13:00.001-07:00

Sadly, not an April Fools' joke.

Car for sale!

2010-04-01T08:54:00.000-07:00

car for sale from Casey Neistat on Vimeo.

Not-quite-as-exciting-as-it-sounds book of the week

2010-03-29T07:35:00.000-07:00

Still looks like a good book, though.

Junie, I hardly knew ya

2010-03-29T06:37:00.001-07:00

June Havoc died yesterday. She was a noteworthy actress in her own right (I even wrote about her briefly a couple of years ago), but she is probably best-known for being the sister of ecdysiast Gypsy Rose Lee. My favorite tidbit of information about her is that she and a partner once competed in a dance marathon and danced for approximately 3000 hours over the course of four months . . . . and came in second place.

Oops

2010-03-28T12:33:00.000-07:00

Aw, man. I forgot to post yesterday! Boo.

Today, please enjoy this photo of a Golden Monkey that looks startlingly like Michael Jackson: