I am flying to Las Wages...Boy my arms are going to hurt!

I have never been to Las Vegas. Tomorrow will see the end of that situation. I will, as I have mentioned before, be bringing a camera, and will take lots of pictures. Since I find gambling and golf both dull, my guess is that I will be doing a lot of sightseeing during the day.

What I really want to see is Las Vegas in the 1950's, but it is not going to be like that. I have little interest in "the great restaurants" (give me a break. I live in the culinary center of the world).

So, that is what you can expect from me from Thursday to Sunday...nada. I might post again later tonight, but after that nothing. I will be bringing my computer for photo archiving, but will not be on the internet.

Bullfight report

Last night, as you know, was the Modesto Festa held in the Praca de Toiros in Stevinson, California.

Now, if you somehow ended up off the freeway and blew through Stevinson without really knowing that you were in a town, let alone the town with one of the most important bullrings in California, you would be excused. It is a little place populated by 300 folks, most of whom are Portuguese dairy farmers.

The ring itself is interesting, a circular berm ringed with flags and torches. A central staircase leads to the Presidencia and two ramps creep up to the top on either side. The main gate doubles as the toril in some manner that I looked at once, several years ago, but don't remember quite how the logistics work. I should have taken a peek last night. The business of sorting the returned bull from the steers and cows used to return it is a fascinating thing by itself.

Ah, but I digress. The burning question is this: how were the bulls?

From the Ganaderia Acoreana in Hilmar, the bulls were solidly built and fast charging, although they looked a little short legged. Only one of the bulls distinguished itself, although there were another two that were pretty good (and another one that could have been a better bull if it had been handled better by Cavaleira Praticante Ana Rita Costa, but more on her later). The sixth bull of the night was a manso, solely fit for grilling..

Cav. Paulo Ferreira was precise and emotional, working tightly with the bull and horse, and, on his third bull, the fifth of the night, completely dominating the animal, to the point of controlling its speed on whole laps of the arena. When he went in with the sticks he was smooth, accurate, and completely inside before pulling out to safety. He kept his cuadrilla under his control and prevented them from overly distracting the bull (of course the absence of one particular peonwho, a few years back, got in the way of Patricia Pellen so badly she had to give him a dressing down on the sand, had a lot to do with that).

Taking advantage of the fine horses from M and M of Hilmar, Ferreira included a couple of crowd-pleasing adornos, most notably a series of bows after his succesful faena on the fifth bull.

Ana Rita Costa, on the other hand, has a long ways to go in her training before she is actually able to master the bull. Instead of working on the elements of the corrida, such as the pacing, she repeatedly attempted over-the-head placements (a la Rodrigo Santos), which were dazzling when successful, yet lost their lustre when botched, which was the majority of her attempts. Even in her regular placement, Costa was inconsistant, sometimes forming that essential oneness between cavaleira, horse, and bull, and other times completely missing the timing and striking out at the air where the bull was but split-seconds before.

On her second and best bull (fourth of the night), Costa was successful in placing a stick while working the most dangerous and difficult territory between bull and callejon. Wanting to keep up the momentum, she tried to do it again, yet this time misjudging and allowing the horse to be pinned against the boards (of course the bulls' horns are sheathed for the horse events, so the horse was fine) and herself to be tossed into the callejon. The bull was rapidly distracted by the peones, the horse trotted back to the gate, Costa quickly remounted and came back on fire, ready to redeem herself, which she did with a flawless over the head placement.

Her last bull, the last of the night, was the aforementioned manso. It was unable to sustain interest in much of anything, was barely interested in the horse, and forced Costa to quickly move to the bandarilhas. In a brave, yet mostly futile, attempt to pique the public's emotions, she used the short sticks, a move that would have been dramatic had she not had so much difficulty, compounded by the fact that the band leader thought that one of her attempts did not stick, even though it had, leaving an awkward silence and many puzzled looks, including the band leader's.

This manso was returned without facing forcados, which brings us to the scandal of the night.

The old Turlock group and the Artesia group were there, and, while both groups were making successful one-try grabs, neither one was very finessed about it. Turlock, with its long tradition in the area and nearby location, showed with depth. There were probably more suited up forcados in the callejon than on the sand. Artesia, on the other hand, was not in such a good position, with only a ocuple of backups. Therefore, after two slightly sloppy, yet very brave and, ultimately successful grabs, they were in less than stellar shape.

Figuring that their condition was not at its best, and the sixth bull, what would have been their last, was unpredictable and had not been run enough, the Artesia forcados must have realized that an attempt at a grab was a recipe for major injury. Fair enough. One could complain that they should have come up North with more forcados, but they had what they had, and their headmen had taken a fair drubbing by the last bull.

So the president signaled for the bull to be removed. Now, before the herd came out to retrieve the bull, the Turlock forcados petitioned to be allowed the final grab, which the president dilly-dallied on and finally consented to, but only after the herd was in the ring, making the question moot. Now, whether he did that so as to save face for the Turlock boys, who, even with their experience and depth, probably should not have taken that bull, or whether or not it was simply because he took too long to make up his mind, the crowd definitely felt shortchanged of the last grab, which is the most important part of the bullfight to the Azoran farmer. Cries of "that'sh bull!" could be heard in our section.

Compounding the confusion and disappointment was when Costa came out for a lap, which the president did not award. Misreading his gesture, she started one, only to be reprimanded. She looked shocked and hurt as she went back to the center of the ring for a final salute. However, the president was right, for several reasons:

1. The lap of honor is not a given. It should be awarded, and it is a presumptuous lack of proper respect to due authority to take it before the president orders it.

2. Costa's performance was not very good on that bull. Certainly part of the problem was the bull itself, but in a way the lap of honor is for both toro and torero. And, given her problems with her first bull, I have to wonder if perhaps the bull would have given more if she had been more experienced in drawing something out of it. Yes, she placed the short sticks, but there were too many missed attempts.

3. The crowd was visible upset and leaving the stands. Even had her faena been magnificent, it would have been an embarrassing situation for the festa and for her. The crowd was annoyed at the situation with the forcados, and some would have stood around like scolded schoolchildren, begrudgingly giving her applause, yet most would have been on their way back to their cars. In fact this was the situation on her aborted attempts at a lap of honor, so she would have saved herself the embarassment had she waited for the official honor.

Overall, we had a great time, and the newbies we brought seemed to enjoy themselves. I like a bullfight like that to bring newcombers to, because they get to see the good, the bad, and the mediocre, with its moments of good to keep it interesting.

Australia! It's the new Canada!

Criky, Mate!

Your country is on the road to taking the New Sodom title.

When will the backlash begin?

John Taverner, Proulx, and the rest of those Insipid Twits

The worst aspect of our musical culture, worse, even, than crime and violence saturated (c)rap music, are the timid, dull, inept twits that make up the backbone of the neo-tonalist movement. They generally merge their awful harmonic retreads with gimpy mysticism, a general feel-good worldview, and a rabid dislike of anything more interesting than their own pap.

As a rule, they are long-haired, "thenthitive" types who often dabble in vegetarianism, pouting, yoga, and other false religions. They tend to be (surprisingly) heterosexual, and use these nasty limp-wristed traits to attract the wrong sort of women.

The first of these on my list, John Taverner, a boring schlockmeister from England, is probably the worst of the bunch. Repulsed by the logic of the Western Tradition he went Eastern Heterodox and now seems to have moved even farther into Blavatsky land. It will be a good day when the last score of Taverner's treacle rots and the last recording is found unplayable.

"But," sputters my readers, "Proulx! How can you say that?"

Easy. Proulx is nothing but Marty Haugen played on pipe organ instead of piano/guitar. Useless, boring, awful. A disgrace to the traditions of the church, not the restoration thereof. Blech!

Waaaaah!

Wow! If we were to have a whining Olympics, Cindy Sheehan might give the anti-immigration crowd a run for their money.

I am normally not a "love it or leave it" sort of person, but Sheehan herself suggests it, sort of like those Film Actors' Guild members who were going to move to Canada if Bush got elected. We're waiting.

Unfortunately she is moving back to California. We really don't need her back. We have enough like her. The startling thing is that she is a native Californian. Usually that sort of crap comes from people who move here from Nebraska.

Off to the Toiros!

I have a lot to do today to get ready to take off for the bulls this afternoon, so this will be it for blogging until tomorrow.

However, the good news for my readers is that there is someone out there who is more worth reading than me, Fr. John Malloy, SDB, from Ss. Peter and Paul parish in San Francisco's North Beach. He is a fantastic priest and runs a good, well-written and thoughtful blog.

So, go read the words of a Holy priest while I go off to drink beer, eat pork sandwiches and watch the bulls.

The Biggest Problem in our Society

I realized that the easiest way to describe the biggest problem facing us is this:

Most people, in fact the vast majority of them, cannot distinguish between "it is", "I think", and "I feel."

Speaking of which, I saw the movie Idiocracy tonight. It has its very crude moments, and there are a couple of problems with it in terms of some basic assumptions, but it is worth watching. One of the interesting things is that it gives a good visual or the notion of cultural capital, although for the population to get as stupid as depicted, the artifacts of a better age would have deteriorated much faster, and would not have been able to be maintained. Also, some of our dumber causes are not thought so by the creators of the film, so they are not shown. If I had made the film, there would be a strong sentimental/sappy side to the culture, and it would have had our current neo-puritanism/overindulgence syndrome magnified by a thousand. Unfortantely for Hollywood types, these things are not seen as stupid in their circles.

In spite of that, it is funny, in the Team America World's Police mode. In other words, crude to downright offensive, certainly not for children, yet outrageously funny and spot on in its parody of some of the worst traits of our culture.

Bullfight tomorrow!

Tomorrow night (Monday) is the Modesto Festa in Stevinson. Look for me. I will probably be in a white guayabera or a Hawaiian shirt. I am six feet tall and have a red beard.

That's some cinghiale!

A 1,050 lb wild boar?

The sad thing is that all they are doing is making sausage, if the story is correct. Now, I love wild boar sausage, but you would have two amazing prosciutti and loins that would feed a whole parish.

Speaking of Raising my Writing Fees

Due to the increased cost of gas, I am going to have to raise the fees for my blog by 18% effective July 1. I am sorry to do this to you, as you have been wonderful readers, but rising costs have forced my hand.

So, fees have gone from $0.00 to $0.00, a net increase of $0.00. I hope that this will not be too much of a hardship, but with mailing costs, fuel costs, and so forth, I really have no choice.

We thank you for reading Erik's Rants and Recipes.

Excellent Points...

No, this blog is not going to become Erik's Perpetual Commentary on TSO, but you should read what he has to say here.

He is spot on. The high gas prices (we are at about $3.40 a gallon in California) cost us an extra fifty bucks a month. A pain in the kiester, but not the end of the world, and that, combined with the dollar toll increase, has made me more inclined to use BART when going to the City (we get public transit fare with pre-tax dollars).

Part of this is that, due to our Explorer's crappy mileage, a trip to the City costs about $12, not counting parking or coffee or food or doing anything that costs money. So, four trips a month saves me $48, and that is four decent bottles of wine. I like spending money on wine more than on transportation.

Of course we don't really commute by car, and we have not gone on a lot of road trips. Even so, this is hardly the stuff of "major financial crisis." You can budget and plan for these things. And if you can't, well, that says more about you than it does about the price of gas.

PS. Of course when the price of gas jumped a few years ago, I used that as part of my justification to raise my writing fees, but you have to make your fee stay in line with your costs of doing business.

Picking on Friends, Again...

No, TSO, Purgatory is not beyond time. Heaven and Hell are beyond time. Eventually Purgatory will come to an end. Things move in Purgatory. Purgatory is sort of like University, but a University where everyone will eventually graduate. It might take a hundred thousand years, but everyone there will eventually walk across the Celestial stage, shake hands with Dean St. Peter and Chancellor God, and get handed their diploma as the angels hum Elgar. And, of course, the saints already in Heaven will be there, snapping pictures, and giving you advice on how to spend your eternity.

"Today, dear graduates of Purgatory, will mark the most important transition in your life. Perhaps you were only here for a few minutes, perhaps you have been here for a thousand years, but today you leave this place, never to step foot in it again. I doubt that any of you will miss it, but you will undoubtedly remember these moments as profoundly life-changing, cleansing, refreshing, the end of one era and the beginning of the next..."

Now, imagine that last scene as done by some Prottie or JW illustrator, and you might just have an image so horrible that it will suffice for your Friday penance, thus allowing you to eat a steak without an extra decade of the rosary.

Aw, Boo Boo is sad.

I know, he looks and sounds like a teenager, but he is a big boy lawyer, so he can take it.

Poor Russell has a nightmare of "inexorable devastation." Someone buy him a violin, fast. At least he will always have Pat Buchanan on his side. If these people don't like a land of immigrants, why don't they move to Finland? Or Norway.

Now, in fairness, Russell seems like an all right young man when he isn't sulking about Mexicans. In fact, some of his other posts are down right worth reading. Check him out.

Poor TSO

No, it doesn't sound about right.

The best cooks, the best musicians, the best literature, the best films, all are Italian.

Look further down on the Kraut's list. He includes ABBA as something that one listens to voluntarily. Shows what he knows.

Great Photos

Did I mention before that Don is one fantastic photographer?

Go check him out. His daily photos make me want to jump on a plane and visit this one of the few states I have yet to visit.

Nueva Italia is in Mexico

Well, I ended up cooking Italian food tonight, or sort of Italian food, as it is really my own creation, and since it has Monterrey Jack, it should probably count as California cuisine.

But...Nueva Italia is in Mexico (Michoacan). I have never been there, but as far as I know it is the only such named place in the New World, so perhaps this counts.

It is too late for me to post the recipe, because I might forget what was in it, and I have to teach in the morning, but basically it was a grilled chicken, sauteed mushroom/Marsala, balsamic vinegar deal with a finish of jack, parmiggiano and chopped parsley. Very tasty. Holler if you want details.

Carne Asada

I made a simple carne asada the other day, which was really good and pretty easy.

You start with thinly sliced beef flank (your best bet is to go to a Mexican butcher and ask for carne ranchera). Rub it with pimenton ahumado (I used the Dulce, but the Agrodulce is fine, too. You should always have a tin of both around), allspice, garlic, cinnamon, pepper, cumin, and Mexican oregano. Scatter onion slices and cilantro sprigs over it and douse it in beer. Let it sit for at least two hours, although overnight is better.

Grill it over a hot charcoal fire (hardwood chunk charcoal is the best for this).

Serve with hot tortillas, salsa, guacamole, crema, chopped cilantro and onion, radishes, and cold beer.

How do you say "Schadenfreude" in Spanish?

I have to say that I have been having a little bit of fun with the hysterical anti-immigration folks out there.

As a tribute to them, I think I am going to cook Mexican food every night this week, as I listen to conjunto music.

They tend to be at their funniest when they retreat into the "they're taking away our freedoms" wail. Good Lord, you would think that the drive for neo-puritanical nanny statism is coming from the fellows who line up in the hiring lots.

One of the best is the fellow (a grim and earnest looking young man), who, while insisting that statistics are the only hard facts on the matter, complained that all of the immigrants are uneducated and unskilled (counterexamples be damned! Statistics!). Of course every single mic and wop who arrived at the beginning of the last century had a Harvard degree, but that was then and, and, and...but this has NOTHING to do with race, I tell you! NOTHING! Get those filthy brown paws off of me...you...you...!

The thing is: they already lost, and bleating about sealing off the border is preposterous, as there are enough fifth columnists who, for various reasons, some noble and others less so, will see that there remains a steady flow of immigrants.

Happy Birthday Sun Ra!

Sun Ra, aka Herman "Sonny" Blount or Le Sony'r Ra, was born on this day on 1914 on Saturn or Birmingham, Alabama, depending on which account you believe.

His Arkestra was a lot of fun:

Here he is with the Arkestra on Night Music:

Yes, this man was Fletcher Henderson's arranger:

1974 was a weird time, and Sun Ra made it weirder:

He still inspires people, as there seems to be a cottage industry of folks editing animation and anime to his music:

Funny Search Request...

To the person looking for "prison recipes":

Please tell me that you are not nostalgic.

According to the audio tour at Alcatraz, the food there was pretty good. The federal prison code mandated that it be decent, and the wardens followed this. I am curious as to how it would stand up to 2007 scrutiny, as our post-War cuisine was a low point in the American palate. I know that late twentieth century dorm food was an abomination, though, and I cannot imagine that mid-century prison fare was much better (nor could it be much worse - I remember "Parent's Night" my freshman year, when the chicken was still slightly raw in the middle. If that is what they served on the "show the parents that the food is really not bad and the kids are just exaggerating" night, you can imagine what we had the rest of the time).

Women's Colleges

I have not read TJIC before, but his little article on womens' colleges is very good.

Via Relapsed Catholic.

Kalifornia Uber Alles

The conservative Canadians seems to think that the country they want to flee to would be better off without immigration.

The money quote: "All we really have to do is look at California to see the national future..."

And, if you people had it so good you would be lucky.

As for Hispanics converting to Mohammedanism, I have yet to meet one. I have met plenty of Angloes who now bow to Arabia, though. Mostly young women, who are taking the "shock Dad" thing to extremes. I remember reading one website of an Australian feminist grad student convert to Mohammedanism, and I thought, "poor Mohammedans. Another round of converts like these, and they will be begging us to take back huge chunks of Christendom."

Another great thing from England

Go check out this video:

Cutting Up My Friends, which sounds awful, but really is about editing video of the author's friends (various creative experimenters in the Bristol area) improvising in various setttings. It is quite brilliant.

This fellow also has a computer that plays music, which is equally brilliant.

And on the subject of things that grow underground...

Well, we weren't really talking about things that grow underground at all, but we were talking about the Englisch, and there is an Underground in London, so perhaps we are there.

Beets. Or beetroot as the Englisch say. Clean 'em, trim 'em, wrap them in foil with a splash of water, roast them at 400 for about an hour or so, or until you forget about them and get hit by this roasty, earthy smell. Let them cool a little. Peel them. Cut them into chunks. Toss them in a little white wine vinegar and EVOO. Sprinkle with salt and pepper (freshly cracked, natch). Put them in the icebox for whenever you are making a salad. They have an affinity for goat cheese. Bon appetit!

To Balance Out the Englisch Basching...

Now, I fully admit to being a bigot. But I don't hate the Englisch. In fact...all together now...some of my best friends are Englisch.

I just want to help my little pale brothers. They could use it.

Anyway, I suppose that for every post I write bashing the poor islanders, I ought to write one praising them for something really outstanding... for instance Steeleye Span or the fact that Englisch beer is better than German beer (don't tell anyone I said that, but it is true. And the American microbrews that are the best are the ones that are emulating Englisch ales, not the ones that want to be bier hall lagers).

Today we will praise the Englisch for Harris tweed. Remarkable stuff, really. One of the finest fabrics I can think of. I love it. Wear it all the time.

And Scotch...another fine Englisch product.

Wait. I am getting word in that the Scottish don't consider themselves Englisch. But then again, Scottish men are known to wear dresses, so obviously confusion runs rampant up there. It is the weather. I have been to Scotland (and you did not need a passport to go from England to Scotland, whereas in those days you did need one to go from England to France. Therefore: England and Scotland are the same, and England and France are not). Lovely place. Cruddy weather.

So, whichever side of the border you favor, let's lift a glass of single malt yum to the Englisch and the Scottish!

And in Other News...the Pot calls the Kettle Black

I am no fan of George Bush and his little Pseudo-cons. But that jackass Carter should just sit on his hands, lest people remember his administration.

Immigration Reform

TSO should vote for me, then.

I am openly in favor of an almost completely open border with Mexico.

If we are going to talk about immigration abuse, lets get all of the non-Native Californians to pack up and go home first.

You're better off in
Beautiful Texas,
Oklahoma, Kansas, Georgia,
Tennessee.

I could probably get behind a border wall that runs North-South, along the Eastern edges of Modoc to Imperial Counties. It could bend west up in Modoc County, as Oregonians are only a stone's throw from Lower Canada, and the Frozen North herself.

I saw a bumper sticker today that brought out my Teutono-Roman invasiveness.

"You are on Indian Land."

Not anymore. Europeans won that war. And if someone were to come out with a proposal to wipe the last vestiges of pagan Indian culture off the continent, I would support it, even if it means eliminating some valid cultural expressions that could still possibly be disentangled from the paganism, for instance the languages.

Massive immigration is imperialism, and I support both. It is better to be European in culture than it is to be non-European in culture. It is better to be Latin in culture than it is to be Anglo in culture.

So we have Angloes, who have utterly failed at building an original culture, whining futilely about the coming of a vital culture. Angloes, you are doomed as a people. Get over yourselves.

"But they're stealing our jobs!"

I have a friend, a sort of liberal, who used to be an extreme liberal, but is gradually moving rightward. In about five years he will probably salute photos of Franco with me. This fellow is a contractor, and he has just about given up on hiring Angloes. They are, he says, lazy, whiny, and selfish. They demand to be overpaid and expect great praise for the most minor achievement. They suffer from more physical ailments, they are more sensitive to their work environment, they are more sensitive to comments and criticism, and they pay less attention to the quality of their work (Have you Driven a Ford Lately?).

Now, do I advocate shipping all the Angloes back to Anglia? It wouldn't break my heart if it were to happen, but, no, I don't. There are still some good, honorable Angloes. In fact, most of our native-born Angloes are pretty honorable folks. It is the outside agitators who come to California, expecting a California of their own Imagination, and proceed to build it. I have no fear for the long run, as they are doomed to fail. But in the short run, we have to deal with, and, ultimately, correct, all sorts of daft notions, which we are then credited with having given birth to.

No, the Angloes will become a complete irrelevancy very soon. The future of California is a Latin future, and it shall be a glorious future.

The only group that, as a group, should be completely denied entrance, and should face internment and deportation, regardless of their race or place of birth is Mohammedans. And a wall between Mexico and us will do nothing to help that.

PS To Kathy, no if immigration bothers you, stay in Canuckistan.

Sweet, sweet stone fruit

Cherries. Apricots. Nectarines. Apriums?

Yes, apriums are the latest apricot-plum hybrid we have tasted. Flesh and skin like an apricot, with a plummy flavor with hints of apricot on the palate. Very good.

Anyway, the aforementioned stone fruit and large, red, delicious strawberries herald the beginning of the really fun cooking season, which will last until the end of October.

Ah yes. Food talk. When was the last time I posted a recipe? It is probably about time.

Isla de los Altcatraces

It is just one of those things.

Just as New Yorkers don't go to the Statue of Liberty, Bay Area folks don't go to Alcatraz. Strictly for tourists, along with the restaurants at the wharf, waiting in long lines to drive down Lombard Street (locals do it in the middle of the night during the winter, when it can actually be a shortcut to North Beach), or eating anything out of a bowl fashioned from a loaf of sourdough bread.

But that is where out of town relatives come in. Just as every New Yorker, when pressed hard enough, will admit that, "well, there was once, when we had family in from Iowa," you will get a quiet, "a few years ago we had some guests from Tennessee..."

Well, yesterday we had family in from North Carolina.

Now, this was not my first time. I had gone on the obligatory childhood trip to Alcatraz many years ago. Growing up in Sacramento made that OK. And I have sailed around Alcatraz, I have passed it on the way to Angel Island (which is very much frequented by locals), and I see it, if not daily, then close to daily. Neither Melanie nor Amalia had ever been, though.

A trip to Alcatraz begins on a boat, which leaves from Pier 33 in San Francisco. Even if you are not going to Alcatraz, at some point in your life, you should take a boat offshore from San Francisco, as it offers some interesting views of the city:

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

After a short and pleasant voyage you approach "The Rock," as locals are supposed to call it. We don't, but it's what we tell tourists. You see, it is good to know that you are dealing with a tourist (as if the under-dressing, hastily covered by a last minute purchase of a fleece jacket that says SF on it isn't a dead enough give-away).

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

You can be forgiven, as you walk up, if you think that you are somehow on some Mediterranean fishing village on an island.

"Ah yes, up ahead is the stone millhouse where the village has made its olive oil for centuries."

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Ruins and a shimmering blue sea heighten the effect:

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

A blooming century plant lends the aura of subtropical balminess (and too many photos like this are responsible for the miserably cold tourists you see every summer):

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

I mean, c'mon! This could be Portugal:

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Wildflowers, cypress trees, pleasant pedestrian paths...

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Allright. Fun's over. Strip. Shower. Into your blues. If you break the rules, you go to prison. If you break the rules of the prison, you go to Alcatraz...

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

From 1934 to 1963 Alcatraz was the hardest, most severe outpost of the Federal Prison system. Al Capone, Machine Gun Kelly, Creepy Karpis, Birdman Stroud, are just a few of the names that became numbers in this wind-swept penitentiary.

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

The shimmering blue of the sea, which looked so inviting on the lee side of the island, where the officers lived, takes on a stark and even brutal character when framed by razor wire and the cement walls around the recreation yard:

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

The Golden Gate Bridge bekons, "come on Tantalus, reach...for...it..."

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

But, for an inmate, this was the more usual view:

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Sometimes the prisoners could hear the music and voices from fetes at the yacht clubs accross the way. Especially on New Years Eve...

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Well, I hope you enjoyed your tour. Be sure to visit the many fine shops and restaurants of San Francisco before you return home! Thank you and come again!

Copyright 2007 by Erik Keilholtz

Jerry Falwell, RIP

Now, I have never been a Falwell fan. He was the spark that began the firestorm of GOP bluster, his attacks were often aimed at the right idea, but the wrong target, and he often backed down when he was right.

And yet...he was on the right side. He didn't understand it all the way, and took the Quixotic Road more than once (Tinky Winky understands, though he sure wishes that Falwell had attacked the true Homosexual Ambassador to Children's Television, Barney), and he even got the man who would be the undoing of American conservatism elected to the White House, but overall his influence on this country has been more for the good than for the bad.

I would take twenty Jerry Falwells over a single Babs Strsnd.

And it is without any malicious irony that I suggest prayers for his soul.

Italian Food and Garlic

There is this notion out there that Italian food is loaded with garlic. Now, I am not going to talk about Southern Italian food, because that is really something different, rather I will be talking about True Italian food, made by True Italians (Tuscans, Umbrians, Piemontese. Oh, I suppose Bolognese as well).

We cook with a lot of garlic, but we don't eat a lot of garlic. I was taught to generally use whole cloves of garlic, peeled, perhaps lightly cracked, but kept in large enough chunks for easy extraction. The garlic delicately perfumes a dish, but does not cause massive digestive havoc.

In the old days, Italian immigrants were called "garlic snappers" because of the jealousy felt by the Anglirish islanders who ate food that was half a step above chewing the cud. Then, after a few decades of slopping at the trough of mass production, the Anglirish suddenly got a taste for the "real authentic" Italian taste of lots of garlic.

Along come garlic fries. An abomination.

Fortunately most garlic fries are nearly inedible, for instance the Gordon Biersch ones that they serve at PacBell Park. They smell bad, they look bad, they taste worse. The garlic is oxidized, raw, and eye-stingingly potent. The fries are coated with grease that tastes slightly industrial. Blech. People love 'em, though, so it is hard to escape the stench.

Now, some fiends make garlic fries the right way: they use fresh garlic, cook it just through, and mix it with parmiggiano. Then they put that on properly cooked fries, and the result is heavenly. In fact, the stuff is so good, that as you linger over them, and the fries are gone, you end up eating the garlicky, cheesy good bits that remain in the basket.

And you pay.

You remind yourself: no, don't eat garlic, flavor things with garlic.

There are "health food" addicts (I use scare quotes, because have you ever seen a "health food" nut who looked remotely healthy?) who claim all sorts of health benefits to garlic. But they don't like to have the stuff oozing from their pores, their breath reeking, their digestion merrily cavorting in spasms of good health. So they take de-odorized garlic pills.

If there are health benefits to garlic, then I am convinced that they must go along with the rather drastic effects of the bulb. If it does anything, it does it as it burns your nasal passages, as it oozes from your pores, as it makes your stomach flip for joy.

Also, what are these health nuts doing taking a product in a refined state? Isn't that of more concern thatn any ailment the garlic is supposed to cure?

I don't understand these people, and, frankly, I no longer care to.

On an unrelated note: is there anything that Wolfowitz is not incompetent at? Good Lord! How has this man ever been employed at anything with more responsibility than street sweeper? I don't get it.

Arriba JONS-Falange!

It would seem that the Bishop of Pamplona has cojones!. I, of course, always and everywhere urge people to vote for JONS-Falange, even outside of Spain. What? You don't have a chapter in your neck of the woods? Start one!

Via Cacciaguida, who is a good guy, in spite of his anti-endorsement of God's own party.

Oh yeah, please note that this is coming from a Basque bishop. So much for the Basques all hating Franco, as the leftist-written histories of Spain would have you believe.

St. Francis of Madrid, Pray for us!

Baggy trousers...

I have always insisted that the police should simply round up anyone dressed like a gangster and lock them up. Baggy trousers, oversized hair, rap music, all of that stuff should be used as evidence of criminal intent. You see these kids and you know that they are either coming back from a crime or are on their way to a crime.

Oh, no, all of the liberals say! You can't judge a book by it's cover!

Bah humbug! I say.

The Joys of Oakland

People talk about the joys of living in the country or in civilized cities, but how often do you have a SWAT team collecting a wanted criminal holed up in your neighborhood?

East Oakland...where we don't need reality cops shows!

Amazing thing about the Irish

You know, I am always honest and up-front about my bigotries. However, a casual reader might get the idea that I am, due to my anti-Englisch views, somehow pro-Irish. What they don't get is that I don't differentiate between the Englisch and the Irisch. The bonus? It bugs both sides!

Anyway, I have plenty of Irish friends. And yet...something interesting about them: they always turn out to have some German ancestry. So, no wonder I like TSO.

Not just Deutsch, but Suddeutsch! Good for him!

Carbon Debits!

You know something?

I have been an environmentalist for years. I have always believed in preserving wilderness, keeping crap out of rivers, going easy on the hunting of genuinely endangered species, removing Mormon dams, etc. Part of my loathing of Mormonism has to do with their views on Western water policy (not to mention the coffee, tobacco, and alcohol thing, and the paganism, the pyramid scheme cosmology, the mind-numbingly poorly written frauds of The Book of Mormon and it's rip-roaringly funny sequel, Pearl of Great Price. And their generally ghastly aesthetics).

The reason to do these things is that it ultimately makes the Earth a better place for people to live on and to use. You preserve endangered game species so that your grandchildren can hunt them. If that notion sounds shocking, well, to Hell with you then. There are compassionate folks who would say, "well, geez, I will pray for you," but I am not a compassionate folk. I am a Volk, but the extent of my compassion is that I will tell you that you are an idiot, in order to help you get out of idiocy.

We don't preserve nature for the sake of nature. That is stupid on many levels. We preserv nature for its salutary benefits on society. We want our teenagers to experience beautiful wilderness. We shouldn't give two flips over wilderness that is so remote and has a climate so hostile that it will only be enjoyed by the savages who aren't smart enough to leave it and the super wealthy who fly up there to show the world how much they care about nature.

So, increasingly, I have become more and more hostile to the mainstream environmentalists. They are pagan turds and double dip their membership with the secular neo-puritans, who I would send off to detention centers in a second.

Senator Gore's son, the former Vice President, is one of those idiot Boomers that I have a deep loathing for, and have since before he was even Veep. This Cabron Credits ($1K for each inch of horn?) business is about the height of Gaia idiocy (yet it will get worse. It always does).

So, imagine my delight when I discovered this via Kathy Shaidle! I have already wanted a shirt that says, "I am increasing my carbon footprint!" These folks might be rednecks, but they are my kind of redneck.

We missed you...

None of the people in attendance at the lecture came up and introduced themselves as longtime readers of the blog. Too bad. We missed you, and hope that you can come to the next one in July (a discussion of nineteenth century neo-byzantine art and French Symbolism).

Today was a school field trip to the Aquarium of the Bay, which is really cool, and has come down in price, to the point that I would recommend it. Little ones get their energy by sapping it from their parents.

Ah, sweet rest!

Milanabad?

Wachet auf, Italia!

This is unacceptable. It would be better to remove the Mohammedans from the hospital, or the city, or the country, or the continent. And, no, I don't care where they were born. Send 'em all back to Saudi. And make them take their ugly mosques with them.

iTunes Random 10

You know the rules, if you want to play: hit random on your iPod and post the first 10 results, even if they are horrible, horrible things that will bring shame to you for ten generations.

Surprisingly, there is nothing in Portuguese this time, but there are three country songs.

1. "Down by the Train" composed by Tom Waits and sung by Johnny Cash (Louisiana).
2. "O Sole Mio" sung by Mario Lanza (this one is for you, John! And I assure you, it is a gorgeous recording)(Italy).
3. "I'm Ragged But I'm Right" sung by George Jones (Texas).
4. "Melancolly Gaillard" composed by John Dowland, performed by Amsterdam Loeki Stardus Quartet (Englisch composer, Swamp German Band).
5. "Shiva Cocktail" by Forte' (India/Italy).
6. "Es Mejor Vivir Así (Better To Live Like...)" composed by Ángel Ortega Gómez and sung by Compay Segundo (Cuba).
7. "RestArtatant" performed by RestArt (Italy).
8. "Cumbia Pa' Oriente" performed by Lisandro Meza (Colombia)
9. "Elle fréquentait la rue Pigalle" composed by Asso/Maitrier and performed by Ute Lemper (France/Germany).
10. "Green Green Grass Of Home" by Merle Haggard (California!).

Of course the next ten were dominated by Portuguese music. I don't know why I find these things so fascinating. I suppose it is because I am easily amused.

Anyway, back to work.

Overheard at Chez Keilholtz (or Dr. S____________ would be proud)

Amalia: Why do I have to do chores?

Melanie: Because you want an allowance, don't you? If you get an allowance, you have to do chores for it. What do you think I am, the gov'ment?

Amalia: Who's the stinking gov'ment anyway?

Erik: Ah, she is becoming a Libertarian already. Dr. S____________ would be proud.

Still Busy...

Still buried under most of the same stuff (strike cooking project off the list - last night went very well, thanks to the couple who did the lion's share of the cooking. I just made the vegetable dish. I have to say that it is strange to be a sideman in a cooking project. It rarely happens these days, but it is nice to have someone else thinking about the over-arching scheme of things) as was on the list yesterday.

If things stay on schedule, all will be well. I might even post something later today or tomorrow morning.

Remember: lecture tomorrow at St. Margaret Mary's in Oakland at 7:30pm. Free. Be there and learn about nineteenth century art.

Oh we'll have fun fun fun until Ruskin throws the Turners away!

Of course all of that turned out to be apocryphal. Not know what I am talking about? Show up tomorrow.

Gentle Reader...

Today blogging will be sparse. In fact, there is a strong possibility that this will be it until Friday. Maybe not. I will certainly try to come up with something witty, provocative, interesting, informative, allthewhile remaining charitable, kind, compassionate, and otherwise decent.

But I wouldn't bet on it. At the most, if there is indeed another post today or tomorrow, it will be the usual grumpy, mean-spirited, hastily-written, repetitive and dull crap that you are used to in this space. I would apologize, but you do keep coming back for more.

Perhaps I ought to charge money. You are the addicts. The poor saps who need their daily fix of Keilholtz.

"It's a beautiful spring day. The sun is shining. If I am going to shirk my work, I ought to do it outside. No. I think I'll just open a second browser window and read what Keilholtz has to say."

Pathetic. But you can's help it. You have an addiction. And I am the dealer and the dope. So, from now on, it will cost you money to read this. A constant stream of small amounts of cash will keep the dope flowing. No money, no dope.

The first three years were free, but now you are hooked.

"No! I won't pay! I won't pay! I won't pay! I....must.....have.........my...........daily..............diatribe! Give me! Give me! Give me! I will pay anything! Anything at all! Just give me a rant about Protestantism!"

But, no. Not today.

"No, man, you see...there was this bust in Oakland. They seized hours of Keilholtz's time, so supply is going to be really tight, man. I don't know, I mean, if you have the stuff stored up you are in good shape, but otherwise, I don't know if I can get it for you. And if I do...it's going to cost you a pretty penny."

I have a cooking thing to do today.

I have a lecture coming up on Thursday night (7:30pm at St. Margaret Mary's Church in Oakland, lecture on John Ruskin, the German Nazarenes and the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Free. Fun. Enlightening).

I have a messy kitchen.

I have this studio that is almost functioning, but still needs considerable work, including some carpentry.

In the midst of all of this I have an energetic daughter who, for some reason, likes to be fed and taught things and read to and played with and led on hikes and explorations.

So. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

vive la france!

Verily, the French are annoying, but I wish them the best, really. For one thing, when France is doing well, it is in a better position to really annoy the English, and there is nothing that warms my heart like knowing that someone out there is holding up the torch of annoying the English.

So, I am glad that the Conservatives (really, I should say "conservatives" as they are really secular Liberals) won. I would rather have a Catholic party win, but it is going to take a lot of missionary work before there is a restoration of order in France.

It's just that there would have been even more work had the Socialists won.

Cinco de Mayo

I don't get excited about Cinco de Mayo for a variety of reasons: the most personal being that it becomes one day out of the year that I really don't want to go to Mexican restaurants.

However, as an excuse to have a nice glass of tequila after dinner, well, who can argue with that?

Liquid Mercury

This is supposed to be news. Well, duh! Everyone knows mercury is liquid. Solid rock wouldn't work in a thermometer.

If these scientists just majored in Common Sense then think of all the money that could be go into rollerderby instead of these silly studies.

Next, they will find out that what I have been saying all along, that the Earth is flat, is obviously true. I mean, when was the last time you ever saw anything roll off of it?

But these "scientists" with their "mathematics" and "geometry" (oh, we're supposed to be scared just because they use big French words on us), say that the Earth is like a ball. Haven't they ever played ball before? Haven't they ever stood on a basketball before? It's not easy. And standing on the Earth is easy (unless you have had a little too much of the clear stuff that Uncle Chester keeps in the jar in the kitchen cupboard).

If the Earth is a big ball, why doesn't everyone go around saying, "whoah! whoah! whoah!" all the time?

These scientists ought to make themselves useful, and invent stuff, like bigger engines.

A Daily Photo

It is a great idea. In fact, I almost dove in myself.

You take a photo a day and post it on your blog. Wow! Simple. Interesting. Easy.

No way.

I just can't do it. I have enough on my plate, and what would happen is this: the first week, seven photos. No problem. Then, I would be busy, or wouldn't like my photo, and I would skip it.

A day would go by. Well, now do I post two photos, or just one and write the missing one off?

Fretting over that cost another day.

Now I have three. OK. Post the photo. Write two days off.

Get back into the swing of things.

Oops. Forgot about it for a couple of days.

Do I "make up for it"?

Fret for another day.

In a frenzy of creativity: post three or four or five photos.

Wow! That was fun. How about ten?

Well, that was a lot of photography, curating, uploading to photobucket...and the realization hits: I should be spending this time organizing the studio, working on my upcoming lecture, photographing my art!, etc.

So, no, I will not do this. Keeping up with a minimal prayer routine is hard enough. Not to mention the aforementioned work tasks.

I love the idea, and I will be thinking about those doing it. I might even check out their work every day.

For a good example of some great photos, go here and see what Don has. Perhaps someday I will embark on this project, but until then, you get a schedule dictated entirely by my own whimsy and the fullness of my calendar.

Sorry.

Kent State

Around here, people look at me like I have two heads when I tell them that I support the conduct of the Ohio National Guard at Kent State. Would that our own Golden State National Guard had the same reaction in the Bay Area. It is nice to see that Kathy Shaidle agrees with me. For a Canadian, she is awfully sensible. With a few more like her, that place might grow up to be a real country someday.

iTunes Random 10

I don't have time for a full post today, so instead I give you this edition of the iTunes Random 10. I was thinking about restricting it to music in Portuguese only, but I decided not to, so I was amused when the first track was a fado anyway.

1. "Que Fazes Aí Lisboa" sung by Cristina Branco (Portugeuse fado)
2. "Tercio De Vara" played by Manolo Sanlúcar (flamenco)
3. "Tu Scende Della Stella/Tarantella Di Giovani Lo Zampognaro" played by Sean Folsom (Southern Italian bagpipes - folk tune)
4. "Ritmo De Negros" sung by Pepe Vasquez (Peru)
5. "Su Cojoviu Novu (Ballu Lestru)" sung by Tenores Di Bitti - Mialinu (Sardegnian polyphony)
6. "L'invitation Au Départ" by jacques lejeune (electronic classical music from IRCAM)
7. "Recondita Armonia (Tosca)" by Puccini, sung by Mario Lanza (Italian operatic)
8. "Ku'u Pua Mikinolia" sung by Raiatea Helm (Hawaii)
9. "Akita Sugagaki" performed by Kohachiro Miyata (Japanese shakuhachi)
10. "Before You Go" sung by the late, great Buck Owens (the greatest music ever made: Californian Country! Viva la Oildale!)

If you want to play, just hit "random" on your mp3 player of choice and report on your blog the first ten. No cheating. If Babs Strsnd comes up, you gotta list it.

Perhaps later I will do a themed one, where I make it pick from a certain playlist.

Role Playing Games Run Amok! Wicca and other Pagan Revivals.

A few months ago I wrote a fairly scathing retort to some advice by one of the advice column hags, Margo, I believe. The situation was tragic: a girl about to give birth had to deal with her mother (Granny) converting to Wicca from the Catholic Church. The daughter, quite rightfully, wanted Granny Goofypants to have nothing to do with her baby.

Margo came up with typical pap about acceptance and the equality of all religions, etc.

Well, ever since I posted this I have been getting a fairly steady stream of comments decrying how horrible I am for saying mean things about Wicca. Their "arguments" (really tantrums is more the case) tend towards the very simplistic: well, why can't they say the same about your personal beliefs?

Now, I don't do apologetics. I recognize that apologetics is important, but in my universe, I hold it about half a notch higher than ecumenical dialog. At least I think that it is a good idea that someone, somewhere, out there, preferably way out there, do apologetics. Ecumenical dialog, on the other hand, is best achieved with a bundle of kindling and a book of matches.

I would say the same for dialog with Wiccans (and I maintain that the one shame of the Spanish Inquisition is that they did not burn a single witch, something the Protties did much better). They have no use for dialog since they have no use for reason.

However, deep down inside most of them must be a little seed of logic that can be watered. So, if you are one of these pimply, teenaged girls (of either sex and various generations) that wants to spout off indignation, first try to answer the following questions:

1. What is the source of your knowledge of the Divine? Why do you think that there is a goddess and her consort? How was this revealed to you?

2. Can something be "A" and "not A" simultaneously?

3. Since Wicca was made public following the law legalizing witchcraft (!) in England in 1954, it has, like most do-it-youself cults (take the Protestants for instance), fragmented into many little subsects, many of them bitterly opposed to each other. Which one is right? How do you know?

4. Why Celto-Germanic paganism and not Greco-Roman paganism? Or animism? Or North Asian shamanism?

5. Would you be willing to die for your Faith? Why or why not? And, no, I am not asking this with a notion of assisting. That should be the government's job.