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Saturday, October 31, 2009

The Award Game

Many thanks to Miss Yves, whose Photograff blog I always enjoy, for offering me a Creative Blogger prize! I've been trying to make up my mind what to do about these prizes -- they all require time to complete the requirements and they all ask that you pass them on to other bloggers.

Up till now, I've happily participated but, more and more I'm finding that many blogs don't accept prizes, just because they are so time consuming. So I'm going to do as they have and say thank you but I just can't play the award game any more. The daily blogging is time consuming enough!

All the blogs over there on my sidebar are deserving of prizes! I love visiting them, whether in North Carolina, Chile, Missouri, Austria, Ohio, France, California, Maine, Ireland, New Jersey, England -- you get the idea. I love this virtual travel. And I feel like these are my friends. So unconditional awards for everyone!!!

And now some recent photos . . .

This is a little old-timey filling station that some clever person has restored in the nearby community of Walnut.

An old headstone in the cemetery surrounding a no longer used church, also in Walnut.







The graveyard continues across the street and creeps up into the woods.














More autumn leaves -- these from Sweet Gum (Liquidambar) trees in the parking lot of our local Tractor Supply store. The shapes of the leaves and the wide range of colors are breathtaking! I'm going to have to think where we might plant one.
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FALLING BACK

Hey! A minute ago it was an hour from now!

ON THE ROAD

The Road to Hell is paved with good intentions,
And also-rans, and Honorable Mentions;
The back-pats that puff up our self-esteem,
The MVP’s for ev’ry member of the team,
The “atta boy” for mediocrity,
The trophy that is purchased for a fee.

When men no longer care if they excel,
They’re rolling down the Boulevard to Hell.

BABY’S FIRST HALLOWE’EN

Halloween 1982
Hallowe’en, 1982.

“Baby,” in this case, refers to the Mistress of Sarcasm, here enjoying - or, more probably, putting up with - her very first Hallowe’en, twenty-seven years ago today. The photograph was taken less than five miles from here, in our old neighborhood... during our first sojourn in the Atlanta area.

There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and she has outgrown that bunny costume. Lookee:

Flapper Mistress
Hallowe’en, 2009.

Now a full-fledged Grown-Up, this year she’s dressed as a Jazz-Age Flapper. [A glass of Bathtub Gin would make this outfit complete, but the Mistress does not care for Hooch.]

And yet, some things don’t change. She may be twenty-seven years older, but she still loves her Hallowe’en candy... thanks to the sweet tooth she inherited from her Daddy!

Friday, October 30, 2009

All Hallows Eve

Halloween night . . . a time when, the old stories say, the veil between this world and the next is thin . . . a time when spirits walk . . . when signs and portents abound . . .

Does this crow bring a message from that world? His eye has a meaningful gaze . . .

From all the coves and hollows, pale mists swirl and rise . . . spirits of the Cherokee . . . the Scot-Irish, the English, the Germans . . . all those who called these mountains home. . .

The mist clings; it whispers in your ears. . . twines in your hair . . . you breath it in and with it all the history of these haunted hills . . . you are part of us forever . . . the voices echo and recede . . .

It's a good night for drawing near the fire and telling ghost stories . . .

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IT PAYS TO PLAN AHEAD

It was sometime Wednesday that I noticed an item in my electronic in-box: a coupon that invited us to Houlihan’s - one of those popular American restaurant chains, in case you live outside of the U.S., or in a cardboard box in a swamp - where we could enjoy any burger or sandwich for a mere five simoleons.

That offer sounded attractive enough. There’s a Houlihan’s close by, and the food there is reasonably good. I don’t usually order their burgers or sammitches, but I’d be willing to do so given the price incentive they were dangling in front of me. And all I had to do was bring my iPhone and show our waiter the e-mail - I didn’t even have to print it out! Gotta love that Modrin Technology.

And thus we headed over to Houlihan’s in the evening... only to be greeted by a mob of people and a forty-five minute projected wait. For everyone else on the planet had received the same e-mail offer.

We normally don’t wait excessive amounts of time for a restaurant table, especially at a chain operation... but a lot of people were bailing, which meant our wait turned out to be not nearly so long. And, by coincidence, our friends Barry and Malka showed up, so we decided to join forces and dine together.

When we were seated, we saw plenty of empty tables. But with a long wait on what normally is a quiet night, what was going on? Well, it seemed that the place had not laid on extra waitstaff in anticipation of the rush of business the e-mail campaign would generate. Either Corporate was not communicating with the local operations... or the local shop’s manager did not have his shit in one sock.

We ordered our meals... and, some fifteen minutes later (!) were informed that they had run out of burgers.

Run out of burgers... on the day of a major Burger Promo. Genius, I tells ya!
Corporate: “We’re going to have a special e-mail promo that will double your store’s traffic. Be sure to order in plenty of hamburgers.”

Local Management: “Naaah.”
The waiter was polite (albeit harried) and energetic. We suggested that it would be a good idea if we could order an alternative dish - and not necessarily a sandwich - at the five-buck price. We thought this was a reasonable request, given the length of time it took for them to figure out that they couldn’t give us what we had ordered. The waiter agreed... and the manager did, too.

And thus it was that we dined like kings for mere pennies. I had a an iceberg wedge salad and a steak... the Mistress a huge pile of pot roast... the Missus an ahi tuna salad... and each one, only five bucks.

Dined like kings? Well, maybe very patient kings... for our dishes were long in arriving. I’m figuring the crew, from waitstaff to kitchen, was overwhelmed. Completely in the weeds. And then, at the end, our check was miscalculated and had to be redone.

The meal took about an hour longer than it should have. Oy!

All in all, if the objective of Houlihan’s burger promo was to get people into the house, they succeeded. Partially. But if it was to make a good impression, it was a dismal failure. Only our knowledge that it’s not always like that will keep us coming back. (Plus, the food is pretty good.)

Message to Corporate... and to the Local Management, too: It pays to plan ahead!

FRIDAY RANDOM TEN - HALLOWE’EN EDITION

Scary Nails 2009
SWMBO’s Scary Nails: this year’s edition. Check out them hand-painted thumbnails!

Not only is it Friday today, it’s the day before Hallowe’en, that most sacred of days to people in the party supplies, costumery, and candy businesses.

Eunoia, AKA Old Phat Stu, left a comment with a Hallowe’en-related question: “Elisson, you often blog about various Jewish holidays, so I was just wondering what’s your equivalent of Halloween?”

There’s a two-pronged answer to that. If you’re referring to the semi-pagan, semi-Christian holiday that is a vague amalgam of Samhain and All Hallow’s Eve - a holiday that is involved with witchcraft, demons, sorcery, the Spirits of the Dead, and all that goyische narrischkeit (non-Jewish foolishness), the answer is “no” - we Jews have no equivalent. I remember my Hebrew School teachers telling us that we shouldn’t go out trick-or-treating because Hallowe’en was a Christian holiday at best, a pagan, superstitious celebration at worst, certainly nothing any self-respecting Jewish kid should have anything to do with. Nevertheless, given the completely secular nature of Hallowe’en in the U.S., we just ignored our teachers, costumed ourselves, and cadged candy from our neighbors just like everyone else.

But if you’re referring to a holiday on which people dress up in costumes and exchange gifts of food, the answer is “yes.” Our version is called Purim, a holiday that celebrates the deliverance of the Jews of Persia from a plot to annihilate them - a story that is related in the Book of Esther. It has nothing to do with ghosts and Evil Beasties, however.

Now that we’ve answered that question, it’s time to check out the assorted musical randomosity of the Little White Choon-Box. What’s playing today?
  1. Barbara’s House - Philip Glass, Notes on a Scandal

  2. Alice Childress (iTunes Originals Version) - Ben Folds

  3. Sand Mandala - Philip Glass, Kundun

  4. Gun Street Girl - Tom Waits

    Fallin’ James in the Tahoe mud
    Stick around to tell us all the tale
    Well, he fell in love with a Gun Street girl
    Now he’s dancin’ in the Birmingham jail
    Dancin’ in the Birmingham jail

    Well, he took a hundred dollars off a Slaughterhouse Joe
    Bought a brand new Michigan twenty gauge
    He got all liquored up on that roadhouse corn
    Blew a hole in the hood of a yellow Corvette
    A hole in the hood of a yellow Corvette

    He bought a second hand Nova from a Cuban Chinese
    And dyed his hair in the bathroom of a Texaco
    With a pawnshop radio quarter past four
    He left Waukegan at the slammin’ of the door
    Left Waukegan at the slammin’ of the door

    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home
    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home

    He’s sittin’ in a sycamore in St. John’s Wood
    Soakin’ day old bread in kerosene
    Well, he was blue as a robin’s egg and brown as a hog
    He’s stayin’ out of circulation till the dogs get tired
    Out of circulation till the dogs get tired

    Shadow fixed the toilet with an old trombone
    He never get up in the morning on a Saturday
    Sittin’ by the Erie with a bull-whipped dog
    Tellin’ everyone he saw, “They went that-a-way, boys”
    Tellin’ everyone he saw, “They went that-a-way”

    Now the rain like gravel on an old tin roof
    The Burlington Northern pullin’ out of the world
    Now a head full of bourbon and a dream in the straw
    And a Gun Street girl was the cause of it all
    A Gun Street girl was the cause of it all

    Get ridin’ in the shadow by the Saint Joe Ridge
    And the click clack tappin’ of a blind man’s cane
    And he was pullin’ into Baker on a New Year’s Eve
    With one eye on the pistol and the other on the door
    One eye on the pistol and the other on the door

    Miss Charlotte took her satchel down to King Fish Row
    Smuggled in a brand new pair of alligator shoes
    With her fireman’s raincoat and her long yellow hair
    Well, they tied her to a tree with a skinny millionaire
    Tied her to a tree with a skinny millionaire

    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home
    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home

    Bangin’ on a table with an old tin cup
    I sing, I’ll never kiss a Gun Street girl again
    I’ll never kiss a Gun Street girl again
    I’ll never kiss a Gun Street girl again

    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home
    I said, John, John, he’s long gone
    Gone to Indiana, ain’t never comin’ home


  5. Big Bang Baby - Stone Temple Pilots

  6. Damn Bugs Whacked Him, Johnny - Minus the Bear

  7. Back In The U.S.S.R. - The Beatles

    This is the version from the White Album, the one with which most of us Old Goats are familiar.

  8. Heroin - Velvet Underground

  9. Too Much Too Young (Live) - The Specials

  10. Act III: I Can Keep Still - John Adams, Nixon in China

It’s Friday. What are you listening to?

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Autumn Kaleidoscope



I'm dizzy with autumn color!




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LITTLE ADVENTURES

I’m sure many of my Esteemed Readers are waiting with the clichéd Bated Breath, waiting for me to post some sort of Epic Piece o’ Doggerel based on last weekend’s Hysterics at Eric’s...

...alas, you will have to wait a bit longer, as I have been preoccupied with other weighty matters... but I will not disappoint you...

[after a weekend at Eric’s, I apparently still need to brush the ellipses off my pants]

Today had all kinds of little adventures. Morning minyan, followed by breakfast with Da Boyz... nothing too unusual there. Then, off to the dentist, there to repair a filling that went AWOL a couple of weeks ago, leaving a strange notch at the base of my right mandibular second premolar.

Novocain? Eet ees for pooseez.

Upon leaving the dentist’s lair, I discovered to my dismay that the Elissonmobile would not start. I suspected a dead battery - mine was over four years old and living on borrowed time - a diagnosis that was confirmed (and quickly remedied) by Triple-A. That enabled me to get back home in time to meet She Who Must Be Obeyed, who had taken time off school to accompany me to the cardiologist.

Yes, the Heart-Doc. Not that I was having any problems, mind you... but SWMBO is notably testy about these matters, given that her daddy suffered a fatal infarct at the tender age of fifty-seven. My age. And so we were going to get me a baseline stress test... and find out the results of the calcium scoring cardiac CT scan I had had two weeks prior.

The stress test is no big deal. They wire you up and put you on a treadmill, taking your blood pressure and running EKG’s periodically as you take what amounts to a brisk uphill walk. As they speed up the belt and jack up the incline, your heart rate and BP head north. I guess if you don’t keel over, you pass.

I got a clean bill of health - hooray! - along with the expected Supplemental Instructions: lose a few pounds, get more exercise, etc. Believe me, it’s a relief to know that your heart is happily functional.

A bit of shopping - SWMBO is making breakfast for a hundred of her closest Work-Buddies - and dinner, and here I am.

Oy.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

The Drummers


As I pulled into the parking lot of the school where my writing classes are held, I was thrilled to see that a drum rehearsal was underway. This happened last fall as well, and on some nights there were lots and lots of fancy marchers too. I don't know if it's for an upcoming parade or what; I just know I love watching -- and wish I could have recorded the sound as well because these guys are GOOD!



I love that they're of all ages . . .



I love the parents watching -- grinning and tapping their toes just as I was to the infectious beat . . .
And I love the way the big kids are showing the younger ones how it's done . . . not in a superior overbearing sort of way . . .










But with tremendous joy and enthusiasm and a shared sense of accomplishment.




Not a lot of things make me tear up -- but this drum practice did.

I'm hoping there'll be marchers too next week.

I'll be there early.







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And on that note...



I found this note in my son's backpack:

"Remy, I'm sorry
what I did.
I shouldn't have done that.
Next time I will through away the paper
and
at that time at school
I was feeling weird so
I just wrote
it for no resin
so
I don't know what I whas doing
just
fieling not very nice."


Your friend,
So-and-so


Wow, huh?
Remy won't give me the details or tell me what happened.

So, on that note...
I'm left perplexed.



What do you think happened?!

FRED, ABED

One of the small pleasures of a weekend at the Straight White Compound is the opportunity to visit with Eric’s cats. There’s the grey, gregarious Fred, shown here curled up in a couple of his beds...

Fred in Bed 1

Fred in Bed 2

...and there’s Bob, who showed up on the doorstep one day and never left. Bob keeps to himself a bit more, but will wander around the celebrating multitudes now and again and give out with his plaintive, screechy miaow.

Bob

I noticed that both of the cats divided their time between hunting varmints in Eric’s big, woodsy back yard (“Hey, Fred - why is that snake steaming?”) and observing the Horde o’ Visiting Blodgers with a wary, bemused eye. They’ve been to these affairs before, clearly.

Update: Friday Ark #267 is afloat, per its custom, at the Modulator. More kitty bloggery is avalable at Carnival of the Cats, the 293rd edition of which is up right now at Elms in the Yard. Number 294 should be posted at Three Tabby Cats in Vienna Sunday evening.

Update 2: CotC #294 is up.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Three More Books




Due to lack of room in my baggage, I was very restrained in my purchase of books in Indianapolis but I managed to bring home three goodies . . .



A Duty to the Dead is the first of a new series by the talented mother-son teams writing as Charles Todd. It's set in England of 1916 (not 1016 as I originally typed!) and Bess Crawford, the protagonist, is aan engaging young woman serving as a volunteer nurse in France and later on a hospital ship.

I always enjoy visiting this time period and the Todds' writing is both rich and compelling.

Click on the book cover to visit their website and to learn more about this and their other books.




I've mentioned more than once how much I like Laurie King's books. This ninth entry in the Mary Russell series continues the high standard of writing I always know I'll find in King's work.

It could be read as a standalone but I recommend beginning at the beginning so as not to miss any of the fun in this clever, complex, layered, intelligent story of young Mary Russell and her mentor/partner/husband, the much older Sherlock Holmes.

This book is set in England (and Scotland) in 1924 -- earlier entries range from Palestine to San Francisco to India and beyond.

Click on the book cover to visit Laurie's website (one of the best I've seen.)









And here is a long postponed pleasure. I met Beverle a few years back and was intrigued by the setting and subject of her series. She writes about Titi Amato, an 18th century castrati singer in Venice.

Tito is a likeable protagonist who inhabits a fascinating world. I can see that I'm going to have to read the rest of the series.

Again, click on the book cover to learn more.






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Funkity Funkalistic Funk

I'm in a funk.

So, while I complain, I'm going to share funky photos from
one of my favorite places to take pictures:

Third Monday Trade Days.




I'm sick of all my clothes.

I want new clothes.

Comfortable, black clothes.




I'm sick of my hair.

I'm ready to chop it.

It's way too long and crazy.



All I seem to do is work and sleep.

I need to take some time off this weekend (how far away is the weekend?)
to recharge doing creative things.

Like take photos.

and blog.




I'm grouchy.




How do you get out of your funk?



PLEASING TO THE EYE,PLEASING TO THE PALATE

Yesterday evening, before dashing off to my weekly poker game, I put together a dinner that was worthy of a magazine cover.

A science fiction magazine cover.

I have a thing, you see, for Weird Food. The exotic always appeals to me... provided, of course, that it tastes good.

We had a couple of flatiron steaks. The Mistress of Sarcasm and I had taken a spin by Harry’s Farmers Market to pick up a few odds and ends, and among those I had hoped to score a hanger steak. Alas, none were to be had, and so I went with an acceptably beefy-flavored substitute. A little kosher salt, a little black pepper, and a sprinkle of ground thyme (on my steak only - the Missus is not a fan of Herby Flavors), and these babies were ready for a quick turn on the grill. (A hot skillet is a perfectly good alternative.)

For the veg, I steamed some asparagus and garnished it with a few slices of Australian blood orange. Unusual, maybe, but not outright weird. I saved “outright weird” for the starch: Mashed purple sweet potatoes.

Yes - purple sweet potatoes.

These are locally grown and have a dark purple flesh in lieu of the familiar yellow-orange of your everyday sweet spud. But the taste isn’t too different. We’ve had ’em before, chopped up and roasted... and the idea of mashing them up to make a pile of purple paste somehow appealed to the Bizarro-Child within me.

It was a simple matter of peeling the tubers, hacking them into chunks, boiling them until tender - about twenty minutes - and then running them through a ricer. Whisk in some milk, salt, and butter, and Bob’s yer uncle: mashed sweet potatoes, but with a truly oddball appearance. Delicious. (A dash of cinnamon and nutmeg would be welcome additions next time.)

What? You don’t have a ricer? If you like mashed potatoes, a ricer is an indispensable tool. It forces the food through a perforated plate, creating the perfect airy texture in mashed potatoes... and it works brilliantly with other root vegetables like carrots and parsnips. A food mill does the trick nicely as well.

Bottom line: a tasty repast, prepared from scratch in less than 45 minutes. Pleasing to the eye, pleasing to the palate. (Well, one out of two ain’t bad, Mister Science Fiction.)

Monday, October 26, 2009

A Royal Flush of Oysters







These are such beautiful fungi!







Recent damp days and warm temperatures have brought forth flushes of mushrooms on the inoculated logs.

Blue oysters . . . and pink ones too. (No, they don't taste like oysters -- I suspect they got their name because of the way they grow in little colonies.)

It's such a treat to see these delicacies appear!

And there are shitakes too . . .



A big basket of oyster mushrooms . . . what shall we do with them?
















I found a recipe for Pasta with Oyster Mushrooms, Sage, and Parmesan.

Saute' garlic, onion, and mushrooms in butter. Add some chicken broth and chopped sage. Finish with light cream and toss with shredded Parmesan and cooked pasta. Salt and pepper to taste.





It's a lovely, simple recipe that lets the delicate taste of the mushrooms come through.
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