Dear Abby...

I don't know why I followed this link, but it offers a typically off-the-mark Dear Abby answer, something the old bat did when she was alive, and her daughter or assistant or whoever it is who is Abby now, continues.

The correct answer is:

Your daughter is eight years old and that is the slate of activities she is forced to endure? And cheerleading for an eight-year old? Motocross? Is this a joke? Are you insane? Do you hate your daughter?

The reason little Emma hits other children is that she imagines that it is your face she is pounding, and, quite frankly, I don't blame her. Let me guess: you are typical status-obsessed Prottie Yuppies who are using your daughter as part of your status-seeking.

People like you disgust me, and I don't even like the fact that you read my column. In fact, I don't even like you reading any paper that my column is in. Please cancel your subscription at once.

Creep.

The Crusader State

Go read this from Cacciaguida on why we should support Israel. I have often said that our primary interest in the region is the preservation of and access to holy sites. Israel does a very good job of seeing that these aims are achieved.

Always Our Bishops

Courtesy of Cacciaguida comes this moving pastoral letter. Go read it.

Art. Old.

I realize that the art section of the old Rants and Recipes has fallen even further back than the Recipes section. So it goes, and so it will go for a few days.

However, you can hear me yap about Fra Angelico (John da Fiesole, Beato Angelico) on August 15 at the National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi in North Beach, San Francisco.

What am I going to say? Beats me. I have a couple of ideas, and we will see which one wins.

Meanwhile, in my own art we are seeing a period of drawings, drawings, drawings, and not enough paintings, paintings, paintings. That must change.

Color. Me like color.

I want to do encaustic, but the idea of working with heat in this weather thrills me about as much as standing over a hot stove and making a hearty beef stew.

So, it will probably be watercolor and oil. Not that the two can ever mix or anything.

Gotta go. Tomorrow I might have students eager to brave record-setting heat for a drawing field trip to one of the hottest, least-shaded parts of the Bay Area. I hope they are not as crazy as that, though. If they are, then, well, so am I!

Let me Crazy!

Squash Blossoms..An Iron Chef Challenge

OK. At the Farmers' Market I bought a big bag of zucchini blossoms. One of the other farmers asked "what are you going to do with those."

I told her, and I will tell you...after you have submitted your iron chef recipes for zucchini blossoms. Use the comments' box and have fun!

Francisco Franco

In light of the terrible situation in Spain currently, I am going to spend more time on this blog writing about the great Generalissimo Francisco Franco.

There are times when I disagree with Cacciaguida, mostly on his overestimation of the absolute goodness of the free market, common law, and all of that Anglo stuff. He is definitely a cut (or twelve) above the average so-called neocon. When he writes, as he has done recently, in favor of Franco (and properly distinguishing Franco from Hitler, which is much easier to do than de-linking Roseveldt
(pardon my attempts to restore the name to Hochdeutsch from Swampdeutsch) from Stalin. After all, when the Civil War was over, Franco gave Hitler nothing. When WWII was over, Roseveldt gave Staliln half of Europe), even linking to the Fundacion Nacional Francisco Franco, I cannot help but remember why I link to him.

I am more and more convinced that Francisco Franco is a Saint and shall be formally declared such in my lifetime. I am willing to take this position, even knowing that it puts me in the same camp as almost no one but Salvador Dali and that really whacky anti-pope with the blue gloves. I am always happy to be seen as in the camp of Salvador Dali, so 50%, I can live with.

The people who think Franco was evil? Pete Seeger, Paul Robeson, Jane Fonda, etc. You can have 'em. All of 'em.

Back from The Far North...

Well, as far north as you can be and still be in California.

We saw a mountain of obsidian, lava fields, caves, a scary volcano crater, waded in a lake at the bottom of an active caldera, watched NASCAR, enjoyed (?) 111+ degree heat, etc.

One stupid thing I did when I got back was to delete a comment from a Chloe regarding Limoncino/Limoncello. I apologize to her, but I have no idea of how I can retrieve the deleted comment. I was in a fury of spam deletion and forgot to uncheck her comment from the deleted. Oops. Into the blackhole of the internet.

I hate when I do that.

Art? Music? Food? Anything but Soccer? Please?

I realize that I have not been writing on the things that are supposed to be the main foci of this blog: food, music, and art.

I have been cooking and eating, I have been looking at and making art, and I have even been listening to and making music.

So what gives?

I don't know. I will be in Redding all this week, and will try to write something amusing on one of these topics.

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!

Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!

Prayers Please...

In Italian culture we find it important to be discreto over possible good fortune, mostly because if you talk about something good, someone else will probably move in on it.

Certain cynical folks will point out that we think that way because we know that we would act in exactly the same fashion. They are probably right. We are a bunch of conniving, scheming, power-hungry pirates, but we do it with zest.

So, forgive me for not filling you in with details, as there are those who might read and decide to move in on what could be a good thing for our family, but if you could toss a prayer or two in our direction, it would be greatly appreciated.

Deutschland...

Well, the Germans played well, and the Portuguese continued to have difficulty playing as a team, especially when the ball neared the goal. If it were anyone else that Portugal lost to in the Third Place game, I would be sad, but you gotta love a team that played like the Germans (and are German, to boot).

Now, it is all about Italy!

Go Azzuri!

San Fermin!

Happy Feast of San Fermin!

If running, stay clear of the horns.

Will someone please teach the lusophones how to play as a team?

Bah. Humbug.

Newspeak! Or shood that be noospeek?

Oh, we need this like we need a hole in our heds. I do giggle at the preposterous spelling that our language has picked up, but what we need is to de-standardize spelling, and have fonetik spelling as one possibl opshun allong with elaborate ye olde type frootcake spelling as well as the increase in the various forms of "s."

Of course, by then I will be only speaking a sensible, truly phonetic, easy to spell language, like German or Italian.

Da Da....Da DAA Da Da DAA DAA DAA Da De Da DAAA Da Da

That is, for those who, like Melanie, wonder "what is that?" is the Triumphal March from Aida. I had to listen to it three times after one of the most exciting games I have ever watched.

I have to admit that I was a little bit torn. I was not expecting to be, as I tend to generally go with an All Italia (not Alitalia, who lost my bag of art supplies and sketchbooks, though) agenda. However, when they played "Deutschland Uber Alles" and I saw all those fellows who look like my relatives standing at attention, well, for just a moment I thought "I could live with Germany winning." But that passed in about three minutes, and I was firmly on the side of the Azure Storm.

Tomorrow there is no possible ambiguity. Viva Portugal! And, if they win, I will root for Germany for third place. There is something particularly satisfying about watching the Germans beat the French. They can at least avenge our lusophonic brothers in Brasil who threw away the victory by putting a bunch of showboaters on the field who refused to work as a team. Gits.

If it comes down to Portugal and Italy, we will really be a torn household. This is the menu for that day (hopefully):

Grilled linguicas and bifanas
Pasta al pesto
Portuguese sweet bread
Favas
Italian wine

For music we will have to have a balance between Italian and Portuguese.

I actually would not be upset with a Portuguese victory, simply to honor Our Lady of Fatima, the Portuguese bullfighting tradition, and the memories of Antonio Salazar and Amalia Rodrigues. I guess I really am one of those Three F types.

Overheard at the Secret Base somewhere on 13th Avenue in Oakland...

Melanie (observing all of the little shampoo bottles I have from various hotels): we have so many of these little shampoo bottles, it's kind of funny.

Erik (thinking to himself): you just wait until I build a wall of empty pimenton cans.

Tomorrow!

Tomorrow is, of course, the big game between Germany and Italy. I should be conflicted and torn, being German and Italian, but there really is no contest here: Viva Italia!

I would say that I am going to eat Italian food tomorrow, but that is what we eat just about every day anyway, so instead we are going to eat Portuguese grilled steaks, getting into the mood for Wednesday. And by the time I get our food together the Italy game will be over anyway.

We are a little disappointed that Brasil got knocked out, as it would be cool to have 1st, 2nd and 3rd go to real Latin countries (France does not count, as they are really degenerate Germanicized Celts anyway), but Alas! I can still live with France, eldest daughter of the church and all, someday she will rise again.

When Italy wins I will create a dish in honor of her team.

Viva Italia!

I am back (well, sort of, at least to Sacramento) from lovely Lake Tahoe, where we camped with bears, thunderstorms, and mosquitos as well as some lovely weather, great views, good food (we made pizza from scratch using a semi-improvised brick oven), great friends, movies under the stars, and an army of happy children.

While we were gone, Italy has marched on, making me hum that march over and over and over again.

Tomorrow we are off to Santa Cruz, and Portugal should be sending the Englisch back to their crummy little island, with their tails between their legs.

As for the Spanish, I would love to have mourned their loss, but until they give their current government the boot and reign in the Catalonians, HA HA. If you want to be the French, it is entirely acceptable to lose to them.

See you in two days.