Great Bullfight Site

If you are interested in bullfighting, California Portuguese culture, and so forth, check out this great site. From Ranch Cardoso, they have information about their horses, some neat clips of the forcados, good clips of Vitor Ribeiro (clip 4 is fantastic), slides of Antonio Telles, other assorted goodies, as well as a link to the fantastic Filarmonica do Artesia D.E.S., the best of the Californian Azoran orchestras, directed by David Costa, who is a great musician and extremely dedicated to promoting the bullfight and Portuguese culture in Artesia and the rest of the state.

The site is rather image and music heavy, so might not be so great for dial-ups, but if you have broadband, it gives you a good picture of the Portuguese bullfight.

I have always wanted to be thought of as a number!

It is an interesting survey for webbloggers. It makes you think about issues of communication. I am sure that the information will be used for nefarious purposes, as it has the ring of where sociology meets commerce, and that is always ugly, but go ahead... become a cog in the information machine!

How to Overeat without Intending it At All...

1. Start with a day that is cool, not realizing that it will warm up considerably. Nothing makes one feel ickier than eating too much grease on a hot, muggy day.

2. Do not eat lunch until an hour past your usual lunch time. Or, make it an hour and a half. The point is to be really hungry.

3. Eat the leftovers that are on the edge of their viability. Realize that after a decent sized portion, there is really not enough to keep, so you might as well eat it all.

4. Make sure said leftovers are carnitas, or other suitably rich food.

5. Eat up!

6. Ugh. Is there a rock I can lie down on for a few hours?

7. Great! The rest of the family is not in my state. I need to make them dinner. Just what I want to smell: food! Oh boy! Oh boy!

8. Maybe I can talk them into taking a very long walk first. I wonder if Amalia is up for three miles or so?

Nocino Alert!

We had a friend over for dinner, and in the rush to get everything ready, I forgot to remind you that the Feast of the Birth of St. John the Baptist is traditionally the day to pick walnuts to make nocino. You pick them green, before the shells are fully developed. You can scan my site to find the recipe, but please remember to use only the zest of the orange. A little pith will bitter the batch! A reader found out from experience (on a particularly large batch, too). Only the orange part. None of the white part. Pick 21 walnuts per batch. Next Easter you will have a great digestivo!

If you did not do it today, you probably have about two weeks before the shells are too developed. Last weekend I was looking at a tree in Amador County, and it was definitely ready for nocino making.

The Society of St. Pius I

Via Cacciaguida:

We find The Society of St. Pius I. I am so glad that SOMEONE out there sees the truth and is keeping the remnant alive during these dark ages!

A clarification

I realize that the last post was a bit cryptic, but blame Dick Nixon for that. I should clarify my position on the latest decision from the Supreme Degenerates:

1. I have no problem, in theory, with the seizure of private property for the public good, so long as the property owner is justly compensated. I am, when push comes to shove, more inclined towards Big Government Euro-style than I ever am towards Libertarianesque deregulation. Sorry, but we Falangists tend to go that direction (and yes, other than Roosevelt, Kennedies, and Truman, I probably am much more of an old-time Democrat than a Republican of any time). Bad regulations can always be slowly and slightly modified, but when you let the cat out of the bag, good luck stuffing the hapless thing back in there when it turns out to be a monster.

2. I can even allow the seizure of private property to allow other private interests to have it, in extremely limited cases, in which the transfer is ALWAYS from larger interest to smaller interest (so, yes, I can get behind, in theory, very limited land reforms of the Latin American variety, but they must be handled very carefully).

However, the notion of seizing private houses to build more Walmarts, or to destroy an established organic neighborhood in order to build some sterile ticky tacky development is terrible. And this is exactly the flood gate that this awful decision has opened.

Here is a case where my centrist, authoritarian, pro-regulation, pro-common good creed must be relaxed in favor of a balance in the direction of property rights, because the only outcome we can expect in this day and age is the very worst exploitation of the weakest members of society, the various forms of local government corruption (not that that is high on my list of problems to worry about - seriously, I have seen too much good come out of corruption), and the destruction of interesting architecture in favor of the bland and the sterile.

Basically we can expect the worst trends of modern planning to be magnified, for the cities barely hanging on to any character to lose it, and for the elderly and marginal to lose their homes.

Good work Souter, Breyer, Kennedy, Stevens, and Ginzberg! You have just, again, made the world a little bit of a worse place.

I knew it!

Ghost of Richard Nixon here.

I finally got into this blog without having to go through the little demented mind of the blogduce. Thanks to my team of plumbers, I can now write directly to the blog, and I have to say: it feels great.

At least much better than my little cell down below, where I have to listen to that jackass Roosevelt bleat all the time. He earned his place in Hell, but me, it is an injustice that cries out to Heaven, if Heaven weren't obviously controlled by commie stooges (you know, they tell me that even God's Son is a Jew, which just goes to show you the infiltration these people have. G. Gordon, please see that God gets a thorough IRS audit this go around).

I repeat, I am not a crook. It was a misunderstanding, and I will be vindicated in the end. I will come out of my trials in Hell all the stronger for it. Me and my Checkers.

Oh, that's another thing. Why am I lower than Roy? Do you know what that man did with other men? I bet he used his Jewish connections. I did get a kick out of watching him dance on the hot sand. Funniest damn thing I ever saw in my life, to tell you the truth. The look on his face as he said, "help me, Dick, get me out of here!" Just precious. I was laughing very hard, but then they dragged me down, and you know that SOB, who used to work for me, actually grinned?

Now, don't get me wrong. There are plenty of fellow Quakers here. In fact, most of them. I was just talking to Bill Penn, and he said to me, "Dick. Thou hast made a mistake by bombing Cambodia." Even my own people are infected with the Peace movement!!! It is really easy to see why most of these people are down here, but I was given the bum rap. I shouldn't be here! Certainly not as low as I am.

But you don't want to know about Hell, at least not yet. You came to read (what, one of that nut Keilholtz's recipes?) my take on the latest Supreme Court Decision.

Now, I think I should have been more involved in City government...Hey! Stop that! I will not leave! I am not a crook...

Phew. Say goodbye to Milhous.

Bye, Milhous

[fading] well, you won't have Richard Nixon to kick around anymore....

Too bad, but he is right. Hey, Dick, take a bite out of Roosevelt for me, will ya?

Anyway, Richard took advantage of my own inner Milhous to break down all order on the blog. I was contemplating a run for city politics, so that I could isolate my enemies by seizing their constituencies' property, giving it to friends and allies in the name of "renewal" and building massive blocks of Keilholtz supporters, all under the glowing eyes of the Supreme Court.

It will be perfect, because if the enemies are forced out, and the Court backs it, they can be forced out of areas where they can vote me out. Then, with careful politicking among neighboring cities, we can build a power coalition and can run the cities for our own personal pleasure, with the Supremes smiling on.

Do you know how much a Fascist dreams about stuff like this?

Why, I could run Oakland as a personal fiefdom... My own isle, Don Quixote!

HAH! Now that that pesky Keilholtz is lost in his reveries of power...

I'm Back! Like a bad nightmare.

Anyway, it just dawned on me that I haven't seen Spiro around. I was sure he would be down here, but no. You know Greece is pretty close to Israel. He probably went to confession and sang.

Nothing makes me redder than some weakling who confesses.

So, boy, I wish we had these Justices back in 1972. If they were in, I would still be in power.

But, you'll see. I'll be back.

Should I banish him?

It would be the shortest lifespan on my links list, but read the last line of this post and you be the judge. Ban him? Blacklist him by banning all sites that link to him? Go over to Iowa or New Jersey or whatever east-of-Lake-Tahoe state he hails from and rough him up, in the ancient manner of the Oakland fan (no, actually the ancient manner, or Ancient Manner as it is properly called, involves going to foreign cities and smashing things up regardless of the outcome of the game. Not a very organized bunch, we Oaklandites)?

Maybe this warning will suffice. I hope so, because I do not tolerate such gloating over "sweeping" the A's, unless it comes from the Giants' fans. At least that way it is kept in the Bay Area. Foreigners, on the other hand...

Anyway, I am still boycotting baseball for the month of June. Bah. Humbug.

More Links, not linx, because that makes us think of Manx, and that is just weird. Cats ought to have tails, you know...

Julie asks what it takes to get listed on my links section. She is wondering if she is in exile for drinking tea. I am certainly against tea, although I will drink it once in awhile (Dragonwell Green Tea, Thai iced tea, and Earl Gray, for those who are wondering. Oh, and a good jasmine tea), but not to the point of banishing anyone for it.

The thing about my links sections is that they are completely done at my whim. I might feel like doing it, but then get distracted by photos of Stromboli (I have mentioned Stromboli-on-line, haven't I?), and then the links don't get changed.

Anyway, I am currently changing things, so please check out Julie's two excellent sites: Happy Catholic and The Glad Gastronome. Julie does a great job on these two sites, and I am pleased to link to them.

Poor Mattie Fox...

Sometimes I think that the old "Rev. Dr." Fox should pick up a new animal for his patronage: Mattie Weasel has a great ring to it.

Yes, Rev. Dr. Weasel, tell me about the Technocosmic rave mass again...

Or not.

Anyway, look at these pictures from this bad in a giggly sort of way post on Mattie Fox's website. I have always noticed a similarity in mannerisms between Mattie Fox and the late Timothy Leary, but recently, as he gets older and more gaunt, he reminds me of someone else as well. Care to guess?

(subtract the hair).

Still don't get it?

"Pope Benedict, you big yellow cheese!"

Still no clue?

What if the Holy Father had a talking tiger as his pal?

If you still don't get it, you never will, until you read some old Captain Marvel comic books.

Beer, Links, Penance and the Indigo Girls...

OK, TSO, since you mentioned it, and I have been thinking that my links list is in dire need of updating (I am zapping a couple of broken links, for instance), it is time to list Video meliora, proboque; Deteriora sequor. It is a generally fun read, and is written by a country music fan (who is to be forgiven his liking of the Indigent Girls just this once).

He should note that what really impresses me is not his Latin title. Anyone can quote Latin, but his references to TQM, which is one of the more idiotic management fads to come down the pike. I was somewhat involved in TQM implementation in the 1990's, and could barely keep a straight face then. It is funny how being "big in Japanese businesses" has lost a bit of its lustre.

Comments

For some reason, I added a blank entry to the ISP banning, which effectively banned everyone from commenting. If you tried to comment in the last few days, and were unable to, I am sorry. The error has been fixed, so comment away, unless you are a horrible spammer!

UPDATE: Two hours after I corrected the error, I had 35 spam comments. I should have known something was up when I went spam free since last Tuesday.

Post of Substance

I know, I know. I promised something of substance. At least more than just Sicilian jokes, although Sicilian jokes are so much fun. At least until horse heads get involved.

Seriously, though, why are none of my Sicilian friends "connected" that way?

Anyway, the post I was thinking about, talking about art and important things, is going to have to wait. Sorry. The day slipped by. I read a lot, though, including some stuff that will probably influence what I wanted to say about art.

I will give you a preview:

Are the definitions of liberal arts in need of rewriting? Has the understanding of visual arts changed so that they should be seen as a liberal art? Does the distinction between the servile nature of craftsmanship and the liberal nature of content need to be redrawn?

I will be off to my Godfather's cattle ranch tomorrow, and will not be posting until Monday at the earliest, but these are the things to think about for when I come back, refreshed, and thinking happy thoughts of beef.

Hah! Hah!

This one is for all my Sicilian friends, who have endured my countless comparisons of compost and Ensalata Siciliana:

Q: What is the most dangerous job in Palermo?

A: Riding shotgun on a garbage truck!

More substantial posts tomorrow or the next day. I promise.

My Sexist Creds Are Fully Established!

Someone came here looking for "rants against women!"

It was that woman, who YOU gave me!

Hah!

Maybe Gloria Steinam (did I spell that right? You know who I mean - that chick with the National Organization of Ugly Women) will issue a fatwa.

Q: How many feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?

A: That's not funny.

On Michael Jackson

The Imperial Tribunal, in reviewing the Michael Jackson case over a pitcher of margaritas (recipe? 1/3 lime juice (with the juice of an orange thrown in for added depth), 1/3 triple sec, 1/3 100% blue agave tequila. Stir on ice and serve up), followed by a plate of carnitas and homemade guacamole (that was, what, 14 hours ago, and I'm still not that hungry. There is something to be said for frying pork in goose fat), has determined the following:

1. Michael Jackson may or may not have been guilty of the allegations brought to the court in Santa Maria. We were not really following it, having better things to do. Those who actually watched the dramatic recreations of said trial should be forever barred from voting, holding public office, or teaching.

2. Either way, he is a sick puppy who should be supervised by adults whom he cannot hire or fire, who have no connection with his parents or with the sicko Jehovah's Witness cult that they belong to, and who are not employed by the record label. Any parent who thinks that it is smart to let Junior stay the night at the Jackson compound should face Child Protective Services scrutiny.

3. However, none of this clears the Jackson name of years of making crappy music for years.

4. Since the Jackson name is just about worthless in terms of selling records and getting airplay, the whole thing is moot, unless a Jackson revival were to happen. Don't laugh. It happened to disco.

Thus, in Our considered opinion, no more action is required to this point in the Jackson affair. However, in the first signs of a revival, We may order the burning of his records.

Savory Goat Cheesecake with Smoked Salmon and Balsamic Onions

Recipe time. I know that I have neglected with the recipes part for some time, but I haven't really been too excited by any new recipes for awhile (at least nothing that is worth writing out - one thing we have been doing is making lemonade with orange blossom honey instead of sugar, and that is quite pleasant, but a recipe for it? Nah. Too much depends on the lemons. I could say use X cups of honey for Y cups of lemon juice, and it will turn out that your lemons are more acidic, so just use your taste).

Anyway, this one isn't Cheddar-on-Trout, which is supposed to be lovely this time of year, certainly worth a detour from the Cotswolds, but it does break the prohibition on combining fish with cheese.

First, the crust:

Peel about four russet potatoes. You will only use three, but you will nibble on about a potato worth of yummy fried potato bits, so allow for it. Shred the potatoes with the shredding disc of your food processor.

In a large bowl mix with an egg or two, salt and pepper.

Heat up at least a half inch of oil (I used a mix of canola and EVOO) to frying hot. Plop (gently - avoid burns) a mound of potato into the oil and spread it out. As it fries, stir it so that it does not become a giant potato pancake. When the bits of potato are deep golden brown, remove them with a slotted spoon and put them on a plate spread with paper towls. Resist the tempation to snack on too many of them, but it would be futile to tell you to completely avoid them.

Now, this is important: do not allow any of the little bits to burn. It is better to toss out the oil and all the little particles every third batch (I was careful and extended it to four or five, but it is better to be careful) than to allow the oil to darken and for little bits of charcoal to make it into your crust.

When the bits are cooled spread a generous layer of them on the bottom of your springform pan.

Preheat oven to 250 degrees.

Balsamic Onions

Thinly slice an onion. I don't think it matters all that much what kind, they will be different but they should all work. If you can slice paper thin and have a sharp knife, go ahead and do it by hand, as there is something fun about holding up a super thin slice of onion and thinking, hah! I did that! Otherwise use a mandoline or a food processor.

Put the onions in a skillet with a half cup of water, a pinch of salt, a generous splash of balsamic vinegar, and a teaspoon of sugar. Bring to a boil, cover tightly and hold over low heat for ten minutes.

At the end of ten minutes, remove the cover, add a Tablespoon of sugar (more if you are using standard yellow onions), another splash of balsamico, and raise the heat to high. Cook out the water and remove the onions to a bowl as soon as the sugar starts to brown.

The filling: Beat 48 ounces of chevre (Californian or Canadian work fine), 8 oz of sour cream, a generous splash of heavy whipping cream, and 6 Tablespoons corn starch together. Add four eggs and beat in.

Assemble. Above your crust, spread a generous inch of filling. Layer the onions. Spread some more filling. Layer with slices of smoked salmon (preferably wild). Cover with filling. Place in 250 degree oven for an hour (if you assembled in advance and put it in the icebox, add half an hour for a cold cheescake). Then turn the oven off, without opening the door. Keep it in the oven for another hour. Remove. Cool on a rack for two hours. Use a wet, thin-bladed knife to loosen the edges, and carefully remove the spring-form pan. Chill for three hours.

Serve with a Robert Mondavi sauvignon blanc or a Bonny Doon Vineyards Malvasia Bianca and a lightly dressed salad.

Happy Feast of St. Anthony of Padua

Padua, Lisboa, take your pick. Around here it is Padua, but I wouldn't say that too loudly over in Gustine.

Anyway, have a great feast day, hammer some heretics, pick lillies, go look at the website for the St. Anthony of Padua Institutespeak Portuguese and Italian, etc.

Hello! A Correction. Goodnight!

First, sorry for the lack of posts. I know that my silence has been killing you. How can you do anything without my commentary on California Abstract Expressionism? But I knew you could manage. Otherwise I wouldn't have left you in the dark.

Anyway, busy weekend. Lots of cooking and driving and seeing the Violent Femmes at the Black and White Ball and trying desperately to leave before the Village People came on (as we were walking to BART we could hear "YMCA", and it sounded just as bad as it does on record), two masses, confession, some more cooking, running into a friend at the pizza parlor.... it goes on and on and on.

I should really be in bed right now, but you know how it is. After a busy weekend, there is something absolutely glorious about the silence and solitude of being the only one awake in the house. No talking. No demanding another glass of water. Just the hum of the icebox, the clicking of the keyboard, and the nagging realization that I will be awake in six hours with a lot of stuff to do.

Fantastic. Sure, I could get to sleep, but the weather is perfect, and the house is mine. Once in a while I hear a slight stirring from one of the bedrooms, but otherwise it is just me and the sounds of mechanical things. My own Private Antheil.

I like the sounds of night, whether in the country or the city. They are mostly the sounds of the day, barring nocturnal insects, but they are stripped of many of the other sounds of the day, so you really get to hear them (that is, after you ears stop ringing from the Violent Femmes show), without distraction.

The icebox just stopped. Now I realize that a clock is ticking in the other room. The wonderful thing about silence is how elusive it is. When one sound stops you hear another sound that you realize was going on all along.

Anyway, enough of this stuff, because it gets me to thinking about John Cage, and then I might have to pull out Fontana Mix and Melanie would wake up and ask, "what is that noise you are listening to?" Then I give a long-winded and wild-eyed explanation, and she thinks I have finally lost IT, whatever IT is, and whether or not I had actually had IT to begin with.

Let me Crazy!

An idea I had while walking through Chinatown: what if I were to speak only in Janglish, the strangely nonsensical English phrases that pop up on Asian consumer goods to give the user a certain image of Anglophonism? Maybe I could rename the blog with one of those great Chinese-sounding brand names: Happy Longevity and Prosperity!

But it won't happen. I am far too western.

Erik's House of Teutonic Pondering. Ah, much better.

Alright, the correction. I was reading the post on coffee beans and realized that something looked amiss. The coffee beans are arabica, of course. I have no idea where aribica came from. Perhaps I will have to ask the Sheik of Aribee.

Sorry. You might want to reread that with the correct spelling in mind. Or not. It is your life, spend it wisely.

I kwow not what course others may take, but as for me: give me bed. Good night.

Rain in June!?!

What is this Commie business, anyway?

Rain. In June. In California.

Bah....

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

NOTE: what follows is more in the line of thinking with the keyboard. I do not propose to actually hold to any of it (nor do I claim not to). Looking at it after I finished it, I realize that it is disjointed and really talks about several things that probably should be broken up. If it weren't 2:06am I might even do this, but I am afraid that if I were to save it for later, it would never make it, and I would rather get some of this out there. I would love to hear your thinking with the keyboard on this matter. Comment away!

I have been thinking about the Beautiful recently. And if one is thinking about the Beautiful, then one must think about the limits of Beauty. In other words: where does Beauty end and Ugliness begin?

If matter is Good and Beautiful (if the Capitalizations offend, sorry, it's just my Inner German taking over), and evil is the result of the witholding of a due Good, then ugliness must be strictly a product of a rebellious will, no?

So, ugliness doesn't exist in nature, correct? I mentioned this to a friend and he replied, "what about poop?"

I have been thinking about poop, and have to come to the conclusion that we must make a distinction between the repulsive and the ugly. Repulsion has a function in the natural world: poop is not good for us to consume, so it is repulsive. Thus the repulsion is a beautiful thing.

Of course not all nature is so well coded. Certain mushrooms are quite delicious, before the liver fails and breathing stops. But to say that poop lacks Beauty seems to be false. Poop is not a consequence of sin, rather it is a consequence of eating. Good, wholesome, completely moral food eaten in moderation still results in poop.

Yes, we are going through the trials of potty training (not me, nudnik!) in our household. Why do you ask?

Anyway, it all boils down to this question: If ugliness is to beauty as evil is to good, then ugliness must represent the willful lack of a due beauty, and must be the product of sin, then is ugliness impossible in nature without the workings of fallen man or demons?

This brings us to Art. It would seem that the charge of an artist is to create beauty. Now, if the artist observes something ugly, what is his duty towards it? To omit it (and avoid the risk of glamorizing it)? To highlight it, thus creating due repulsion towards said ugliness (bringing good from existing evil)? To find the parts of the thing that are good and emphasize those?

On the one hand you have art as spiritual uplift: the artist does not portray ugliness, rather shows the beauty of the ugly situation had the wills involved been oriented towards the Good. If a situation is so bad and ugly that this is impossible for the artist, then the subject is rejected as unfit for art.

However, there is the duty of the artist to portray Truth. And the truth is that we do some pretty hideous things to one another. By portraying events, situations, states of mind accurately, we deepen our understanding of the subject matter. We may create resonances in our audience that communicate (always a dangerous thing to look for in art) the commonality of the human experience, bringing about the possibility for later uplift.

Then there is the part of me that recoils against the whole notion of content in art. Art is something bigger than simply reporting, something that does its best teaching by teaching obliquely. If I were to look at a Diebenkorn Ocean Park painting, there is no clear moral, there is not even a subject, exactly. Instead there are various references to things in the world that I might see or can imagine, but without a subject that can be verbalized. What is there is Beauty, Joy, and an invitation towards an interior dialog: Contemplation.

However, I cannot say (or won't say) that the obliteration of the Subject is the ultimate end of Fine Art. To paraphrase Arnold Schoenberg: there are still plenty of great paintings to depict things and events. I do find in my own work a tendency to move towards a Symbolist approach to art: to find as much inspiration in musical (abstract) structures as in concrete structures.

While I am working a little less in the messy abstract expressionist vein that I normally work in, I still find a lot appealing in the raw, encrusted, painterly surfaces of AbEx (which is one of the reasons that I am working in little, miserly brush strokes, as a discipline to focus my attention on working within strict parameters, a valuable lesson I got from studying composition with Gordon Mumma at UC Santa Cruz). I find the aesthetic of AbEx fairly easy to grasp: paring painting/sculpture down to the creation of things, often using the detritus (in terms of images as well as objects) of society to bring forth the Beautiful.

And here's the clincher: I find it easier to come to terms with this understanding of painting than with dealing with concrete subject matter. When I stand before a canvas and work with gesture and line and color to create something that is itself first and foremost, it seems pretty straightforward: I am attempting to create something beautiful. It might not work, but the goal is there. I am not trying to say anything about something. But when I go at a canvas with a historical or narrative in mind, there is something else that comes into the picture, and it is nearly impossible to get away from the temptation to paint words, to argue by pigment, which then weakens what should be the primary aim of art, which is to create Beautiful things.

The Second Anti-Spam A-bomb

The word "casino" has been added to the blacklist, for the same reason as "poker." I have far more joy in adding this one, although it may prove troublesome when dealing with public policy discussions of indian gaming. Perhaps we should use "houses of blight" when referring to Indian casinos, especially when they pop up in otherwise beautiful places like the Anderson Valley.

As to Kenny Rogers, I used to think of him as bland pseudo-country, but the other day I was listening to a country station in the Central Valley, and "The Gambler" came on, and I realized that it isn't a bad song. I pulled out the album it was from, and was pleasantly surprised.

On coffee beans

The only posts that seem to generate less interest than art posts are coffee geek posts. So, if your eyes glaze over, don't say I didn't warn you.

I am starting to think that robusta beans are essential to the making of the very best espresso.

OK. I will let that sink in. I also believe that Budweiser is the best drink to serve with fine caviar. You already know that, though.

Robusta. Yes, the "junk" beans that the French burn to charcoal to make the universally horrid coffee served throughout France (and, no, I am not picking on the French, although they really do tend to make wretched coffee). The cheap "junk" beans that Nestle and their ilk fill their blends with to save money.

I normally buy 100% Aribica beans, little aromatic flavor bombs that perfume the air when I grind them. I normally make a very good espresso, too.

However, this last week they had a special on Italian espresso beans: $9.99 for a Kilo. The bag said it was a blend of aribica and robusta, so I figured that at that price it was going to be a pretty hefty percentage of robusta, and it was. No problem, since I know that most Italian blends (not Illy, though), use some robusta, and I know that it is about as difficult to find a bad espresso in Italy as it is to find a good one in the United States, so no big deal.

So, with a Kilo of beans to experiment with, I went to it. If they are really bad, I am only out ten bucks, and there is very little espresso so bad that it cannot be used in tiramisu, granita di caffe, chocolate souffle, etc.

The first thing to note is the aroma of the freshly ground beans. It is here that you immediately understand the prejudice against the robusta. There is a slight smell of burnt grapefruit that comes from the beans. OK. Strike one. But they grind fine, and pack fine in the gruppa, so I went on to brew an espresso.

The first one was a bit overtamped, so it dripped slowly. I decided to taste it before tossing it in the granita. Pretty good. In fact, much better than if I had subjected my normal blend to such shoddy coffee making. Downright drinkable, in fact. Not perfect, but not bad.

The second one was much better, as I had tamped it properly. Now, it was also less than perfect, but it had the best body of any espresso I had ever made. The burnt grapefruit notes were still there, but in the brewing had been transformed into more of an earthiness. What was missing were the winey and floral notes that come from a good 100% aribica blend.

Naturally I put two and two together, and added a scoop of Illy beans (not my normal brand, as they cost too much, but they were on sale, so I bought some). The result was the best espresso I have ever made. Perfect body, rich aroma, fruit and floral notes held against mineral and earthy tones, rich crema, and a perfect balance of acidity without a hint of excess bitterness.

The drawback to using robusta is the higher caffeine content, because the espresso is so good I want to drink more of it, but the higher caffeine makes it more important to pace myself. 6 to 10 shots of espresso a day is probably enough anyway (which sounds like a lot, but you must remember that I drink mine molto ristretto, so a shot is short of an ounce of delicious espresso syrup).

Anti-spam A-bomb

I just did something that I was reluctant to do: I banned the word "poker" from the comments boxes. It is not that I have anything against poker, in fact, I have been known to play it once in a great while (although it has been so long I really cannot remember the last time - I am not much of a gambler, although I like Kenny Rogers).

However, it seems that every day I have to delete combox and ping spam advertising on-line poker, so I finally took the drastic step of banning the word itself. If you wish to discuss poker use some sort of creative substitute (I know that the spammers will soon anyway), and I can change it to "poker" from the inside.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

June is Painting and Sculpture Month

Having made it through May, which was a busy month of writing (I was warned about these months, as well as those other months where you get next to nothing, by an old friend and fellow writer), and seeing a break in the super heavy writing schedule (I actually welcome it this month - sure when the May checks arrive I will be happy, but weeks of two, even three, deadline days get tough), I have declared June to be Studio Month.

Well, that and finally build a website for my art. OK, more like, finally come up with the content for my designer to build a website. You see, I do not know HTML, and would rather spend my time mastering mosaic than it. Ann, on the other hand, is quite good at this stuff. Unfortunately one can only pester friends, even very good friends, for one free website design, but she is quite reasonable and does a great job.

Of course this means that I will have to get digital images together of my work, and I will have to curate it, which always suggests a direction to take in the next round of paintings.

And, I think I have it. Since I will be working on mosaics for more pragmatic reasons, why not delve back into the archaic and combine tempera on gesso with gold? Yipppeeee! Halos! Wings! Also, I need to do some fine, small stroke painting. I have been back in the realm of big, messy oil painting with big, messy gestures, and have to balance that with lots of fussy, diagonal strokes, building layers and layers of color over a carefully squared and transfered drawing.

Now, why should this concern you, you ask?

Because I have the habit of talking about art a lot when I am doing it a lot. It always seems to be on my mind. And that will probably spill over onto the blog.

Also, when I am in heavy art production mode, my thinking of art tends to involve a lot of technical and theoretical stuff. I know that art writing generates almost zero comments, so I guess that my readers are less interested in those topics, so...

If you, a regular reader, feel that you are not getting your money's worth (and free certainly gives you good reason to complain. Har har har. Don't worry, I will not be putting out a PayPall tips jar), then holler for something else. I will probably say something like, "well, that is nice, dear, and yes, perhaps. Later. Thank you for your comment," or something equally condescending, but you might as well complain anyway. After all complaint must be good for you. It builds healthy bodies and minds in nine different ways!

And everyone loves a constant complainer.

So, to start the ball rolling, I am going to make a complaint. Actually it is a meta-complaint, since it is a complaint about a type of complaint. And it is not really my original meta-complaint, rather one that Melanie noticed.

Don't women (I suppose some men do this to, but I don't hang out with men like that) who wear ill-fitting shoes in order to follow some fashion, only to complain constantly that their feet are killing them drive you nuts? Is this really just a ploy to get comments on their stupid shoes?

"Oh I bought these new Masochist900 Slippers and they are just killing my feet!"

"Shucks, I left my antique eighteenth century surgeon's kit in the car. Just hold on and we can take care of the affliction immediately. You might want to order a double martini, as I am plumb out of ether."

Which reminds me of a cartoon in an early music journal. A fellow is in the dentist chair and the dentist is proudly explaining all the period tools he will be using in tonight's operation. I suppose a harpsichordist probably should submit to a foot-pedal powered dentist drill.

But back to those stupid shoes...

First, let me say that I hate shoes. I wear them as little as possible. Sure the callouses on my feet are something like rhino horns, and, yes, it is true that when a glass breaks in our kitchen I do the final inspection by walking barefoot over the area and then picking the shards out of my feet, where they did no harm whatsoever, but I still see them as a slightly necessary evil. There are times when I need them for the protection they offer, and I think, "well, if I did this more often I wouldn't need these stupid shoes."

But, as they are socially and sometimes physically necessary, I have my favorites, all of which win points based on comfort and price (OK, with the exception of wingtips, but that is because I like intricate leather work). If a shoe is uncomfortable I will not wear it. Now, surely there are people who will dispute this, but I don't think that my cheap and comfortable shoes look all that bad. OK, maybe the recent kick for Land's End Mocs is a little Teutonic looking, but all I can say is $19 and comfortable.

So, why bother with uncomfortable (and always expensive, I would guess. As I hate shopping about as much as I hate shoes, I really don't know) shoes?

And, if there is any merit to wearing miserable shoes, then, surely, the greater merit must come in suffering in silence. Penance for fashion. I don't get it, but I don't generally understand fashion anyway. But at least a penitential view would put some bloody nobility in the undertaking. Naturally, the best combination for such a thing would be to wear ugly and uncomfortable shoes, and maintain a pleasant demeanor, even while dancing the tango all night.

So, maybe that could be a fun sculptural project: penitential shoes. Ugly, bulky, painful shoes. Maybe with a rating system for degree of penance: the once in a while curse at another driver: Degree A, for a once a month gluttony episode: Degree B, for killing someone: Degree C, for proposing the ordination of women: Degree D with barbed wire insoles.

Ah, I feel healthier and happier already.

Imperial Order on the Handling of the Koran

The situation in G-Bay is getting out of hand. Or at least the reaction to it has been, and it all boils down to silly reactions.

So, I am issuing an edict for the Particular situation at hand:

1. Any soldier involved in stepping on, pissing on, etc. the Koran in front of Mohammedan prisoners should get a stern talking to. Then, each should be told to not do it again, and be given an extra ration of rum.

An investigation should take place to make sure that the Koran flushed down the toilet was torn up first, otherwise it would indicate that soldiers are not taking proper care of the plumbing, which is US Government property.

2. Since the Mohammedans are an oversensitive lot and since the Koran is the root cause of most of their problems, not to mention of their being in the slammer to begin with, for the protection of their own delicate constitutions and for the sake of their souls, the Koran shall be forever prohibited to them.

3. Since the Koran seems to have incited and inflamed passions throughout the world, not to mention being a book full of dangerous lies and deceits, its publication shall be banned in all parts of the Empire.

4. Anyone who calls what the soldiers have done "mistreating the Koran" shall be punished by tarring and feathering. Mistreating the Koran is publishing it.

5. The Whiner Award will go to the first person who says...all together now..."but what if it were the Bible?"

Well, it isn't, and they are different. One is right and the other is wrong. Go tell the Mohammedans about your nuance. Ask if you can start a mission in Saudi Arabia.

The Indigent Girls?!?!?!

Just as I was going to add TSO to my links list, he goes and quotes the Indigo Girls. Yuck.

I have to wait until it sinks down on the list. Meanwhile, he can be a lot of fun (and he knows TQM!) so go over there and read him, skipping the quote from the aforementioned wretched folkie-dokie duo.

Deep Throat

I am really the only one qualified to comment on Deep Throat, because I am the only one who really could be Richard Nixon*. Pat and G. Gordon, Chuck and Jeb ** might have worked for him, but they really can only hope to ascend to top stoogedom. People like them serve people like me, and that makes them terribly useless as commentators on situations like the current one.

Deep Throat did the right thing in entirely the right way. You heard it from Richard Nixon***, folks.

You hear the convicted and unconvicted stooges talk about going through proper channels, which is just rhetoric borrowed from the heady days, when the late great Spiro Agnew**** was giving free advice to college students. Work through the system. Play by the rules.

No, if the number two man at FBI had attempted to work through proper channels he would have been dead, and the investigation would have ended there.

Wait, you say, CREEP never killed anyone...

Well, they didn't yet, but didn't I tell you that I have all the potentiality of Richard Nixon. Look at the trajectory we were on. Let's see, it started with criminal burglary and went down from there. This is in the administration of the man who ordered the completely nonstrategic bombing of Cambodia. Murder? Well, you know, if it is in the interest of state security, and anything in the interest of the president is in the interest of state security, and if you don't think so, G. Gordon would like to talk to you late at night, well, then, rules can be bent, broken, ignored, etc. If you still persist in complaining, then you can be bent, broken, ignored, etc.

Deep Throat had no choice but to go the route he did.

Those of us who really, deep down, understand Richard Nixon know what we would have done if he were in our administration and went to a grand jury. Brake lines would be cut, fires would break out, accidents would happen. And I would still be in power today!

Actually I probably go beyond Nixon in that way, as I would never have resigned. Impeachment hearings would have ended with martial law. And I would be ruling from Erikkeilholtzstadt, D.C. to this very day.

*Yes, I fully admit that if I were president, while I might aim for a noble administration like that of Franco, Salazar or Dolfuss, I would most probably find my comfort level around the likes of Nixon, although I would not have bombed Cambodia. Enemies Lists, Plumbers, Saturday Night Massacres, that is the sort of thing that I could easily see myself slipping into. Ah, cruel temptation.

Especially if I were a sociopathic Quaker from Arizona. Just drop thy bombs any old where...

**OK. I kind of like G. Gordon Liddy in a sort of noir fiction way. Sort of like Vic Damone with balls. Pat Buchanan is a third rate turd and a crypto-Nazi, and I don't trust Prottie heresiarchs like Colson and MacGruder. Oh, they are going to lecture us about integrity?!? Give me a break. If I started listening to them I might as well start reading C. S. Lewis and Ian Paisley. Two peas from the same rotten Ulster pod. Only C. S. Lewis should have known better.

***You don't know this, but Richard Nixon met with me secretly in the parking lot of the San Onofre Power Plant and gave me the authority to speak for him, right after he looked at the domes of the reactors and said, with a twinkle in his eye, "you know what those two domes over there remind me of, whenever I drive down I-5?"

****Ah, Spriro. They sure don't make 'em like that any more. I would trade a hundred John McCain's for a single Spiro T. Agnew.

What, you don't like him, you impudent corps of effete liberal snobs, you nattering nabobs of negativism? Feh!

The Book Meme

1. Total Number of Books I’ve Owned. Thousands. I am gradually trying to catalog them all.

2. Last Book I Bought. I am not sure I remember which one was the most recent. Probably one of the books on concrete sculptural techniques I picked up recently.

3. Last Book I read. The last book I finished was Fast Food Nation. The last book I read parts of was The Mosaic Sourcebook

4. Five Books That Mean A Lot to Me:
(a) The River Why by David James Duncan. Funny, touching, well-written, and fishing-centered.

(b) The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino. Outstanding story.

(c) The Divine Comedy by Dante. Each time I read this I am more blown away by what a great writer Dante was.

(d) At Play in the Fields of the Lord by Peter Matthiessen. Great characters, an interesting story, good descriptions of the area.

(e) The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene. An outstanding, powerful story by one of my favorite writers.

(f) I know, only five, but I was so late doing this I will give you another: The Little World of Don Camilo by Guaraschi (I think that is the name, forgot the first name). I tend to go for great characters, and Don Camilo is one of the best.

5. Tag 5 people and have them do this on their blog. I think I am the last person to do this, so if you are reading and haven't done it, consider this an invitation.